Night Night

Here’s me gushing about being a Daddy. Look away if you can.

So, Isabella (the newly christened 8-year-old) was sick at school. Threw up. Blah. I picked her up, and she slept most of the afternoon in bed.

In the evening, she, mommy, and I (someone, validate my grammar) cozied up on the sofa watching a repeat of Chopped. Until, one of us started to slumber off (no, not Mommy…)

I carted Iz off to bed, and gently snuggled.

Me: Honey, are you sleepy?

Iz: Are you here, Daddy?

Me: Yes, of course.

Iz: Then I can sleep. Zzzzzz.

[Actually, the conversation was much longer, there was some tickling involved, I made fun of her butt, my belly, and yes, my butt. But, I sound much more heroic and good-looking than a reasonable person would ever judge. What’s not to love? A flawed theory, but, that’s the jist.]
Sleep is at hand.

Being the Daddy can totally suck much of the time. But, sometimes… It’s magical.

Also, Sleep. Please!

The New York Times Effect on Man

On the ride in to school today, Julianna (she’s 10) has control of the radio.

Alt Rock: Commercial. Click.
Classic Rock: Commercial. Click.
Morning Zoo: Have you been hit in the balls? Click.
Oldies: Bee Gees. Click
Adult Contemporary: Commercial.

Me: Wait. Go back to the Bee Gees.

Words I never thought I’d say.

Stayin’ Alive. Now, the questions…

Julianna: Dad, what’s a woman’s man? And, how do you walk like that?
Me: Swagger.
Isabella (she’s 8): Are those boy singers or girls? They sound like girls?
Me: Boys. Falsetto.
J: What kind of music is this?
Me: Disco. Sucks.
Iz: Then why are you sticking your finger in the air?
Me: Stretching.
J: Was this from a movie?
Me: Yes. Saturday Night Fever.
J: Because “Stayin’ Alive” would be a good title for a movie.
Me: It was. Travolta. Not good.

“I’m stayin’ aliiiiive.”

Iz: Wow, that’s a high note. Daddy, you can’t sing.
Me: I know. Thanks.
J: Also, you walk stiff.
Iz: Yeah, no swagger.


Here’s the real reason my darling wife and I don’t get out much: Babysitters.

The truth is we have to spend hours and hours(!) cleaning up before they show up. No one wants to see the squalor that we actually live in. Shoes and socks. Plates and cups. Last night’s blanket fort. And all the pillows. Something sticky.

But tonight is special. Lynn bought tickets to Louis CK’s show at the LA Forum (Merry Christmas to me!).

I’ll even take out the trash.

Slumming in Hollywood

From time to time, the Hollywood thing pays off. Lynn (Daddy/Daughter’s Mommy) and I had the opportunity to spend some quality time with some of America’s greatest songwriters of the past 50 years.

Here’s Lynn with the incomparable Mike Stoller (Hound Dog, Jailhouse Rock, Yackety Yak, Stand By Me, and many others.)

Lynn, Mike Stoller, and songwriter Danielle Brisebois  (who may very well walk home with an Oscar for her work on this year's  Begin Again.)

Lynn, Mike Stoller, and songwriter Danielle Brisebois (who may very well walk home with an Oscar for her work on this year’s Begin Again.)

Oh, and did I mention the we had an extensive conversation with Disney Legend Richard Sherman, who wrote almost every single beloved Disney song from my childhood.

Lynn, Richard, and me.

Lynn, Richard, and me.

Apparently, Richard and I thumb-wrestled.  He won.

Apparently, Richard and I thumb-wrestled. He won.