To Paraphrase Norman Bates, "A Boy's Best Friend Is His Father."

at the risk of sounding like a conceited fameeffer, i should begin by saying that because of where i work and what i do for a living, sometimes my children are afforded access to the kinds of cool things their peers are not, even if they aren't yet old enough to truly appreciate it.

for instance, for the past two years, i've been able to bring them to this big celebrity hoohah charity carnival, where they rode the rides, met power rangers in the flesh and were doted on by no less a superstar than tina majorino of napoleon dynamite fame.


yeah, her.

anyhow...

so far this week, i got to flex my connected dad muscles twice in two days - once to great effect, and once in a way that backfired so badly, i'm probably going to have to cash in my 401k to pay for enough therapy to repair the damage i've done.

sunday afternoon, i had an interview with jack black and kyle gass, to promote 'tenacious d in the pick of destiny'.

now, readers of The Metz already know that thanks to the nickelodeon kids' choice awards, this promo...



...and now nacho libre, jb and ab are big fans of mr black's work. so much so that when i told them that i was going to interview their main man, they immediately ran off to fetch paper and crayons to create little tributes that they wanted me to hand deliver.

within a few minutes, jb had whipped up this little note...


and he and his brother collaborated on this very rough portrait of nacho libre.


and being the good dad that i am, when i was done with my 10 minute chat with jack and kyle, i gladly presented my sons' gifts to the man who had inspired them. he seemed honestly - if curiously - appreciative...but not as much as the boys were when i came home and told them that he sent them a special thank you.

but now, after tonight, all my good will has been washed away.


let me start by saying that the boys have ridden pirates of the caribbean twice, both times to great acclaim. they have seen the movie based on the very same attraction, and sat patiently through all 2 1/2 hours - a very rare feat for them. so, i ask you, wouldn't you think that they would enjoy an opportunity to see one of their favorite people - the host of my show, who happens to be a friend of mine - dressed up as captain jack sparrow - a character i know they like - to shoot wraps for our halloween show? on a closed off section of the universal backlot, no less.


i mean, sure, everything was set up in the shadow of the psycho house and bates motel, but that specific location shouldn't mean any more to a 4 and a 1/2 year old than any other dilapidated house and motel would, should it?

anyhow, on the way to the shoot, the boys were over the moon, yammering on and on about what they were going to see. but once we made our way up the steep stone stairway to the foot of the house where my man was all dudded up in full pirate regalia, all bets were off.

first jb cried. then when he calmed down, ab cried. and when capt jack finally made his way over to say hello with a big smile on his face, happy to see his two biggest fans, ab went into a nice silent weep and jb stifled his own impending terror tears by opening his mouth as wide as he could, sticking out his tongue and bugging his eyes out - somehow paralyzing his tear ducts in the process.


it was so grim, that on the ride home that i had to resort to asking them how to spell "pig doody" and "mud fart" to lighten the mood.

needless to say, they will not be tuning in to see the show tuesday night.

Eating Like a) I'm Going To The Chair b) Someone Is Going To Take The Food Away From Me c) I Have Two Assholes

my wife is growing a baby. i am growing a foodbaby.

a baby is made of cells and is nourished through a cord that pumps the good stuff in through a hole in its belly. a foodbaby is made of, let's see...today it was a toasted bagel with cream cheese and tomato, about 1/3 of a pound of dry roasted almonds, a half of a turkey/pesto/cranberry sandwich, a small piece of grilled chicken with chipotle sauce, a cup of thai vegetable soup (cream based), a small stack of pringles (from the silver can), some pad thai, 4 small peking duck rolls, 2 steamed dumplings, a bottle of singha, 4 trader joe's schtroopvaffle cookies, and a bite of kit kat... all stuffed directly into a hole conveniently placed on the bottom half of my face, just above my tits.


last night for dinner, just before work, i treated myself to a hamburger with bleu cheese, bacon and avocado.

the pug burger @ hungry cat aka pretty fucking tasty

and as i read back the fat boy menu off which i've been ordering for the last 27 hours, i am both completely ashamed and - dare i say it? - sort of impressed.

is there an excuse for the way i've been gorging? perhaps. not that excuses will prevent me from packing on another cupsize. but self-pity and stress can do amazing things to a man's capacity for gluttony.


that said, if anyone wants to meet me this weekend for a little ice cream eating competition, i'm taking on all comers. bring your own hot fudge, bitch.

Oh, And I Should Mention That We Drove Home In The Brand New Honda Odyssey That I Bought Mrs. B As A Present

life is short and birthdays only come once a year, which is why tonight, in order to celebrate mrs b's 33rd in a manner befitting her class, dignity, and pregnant glow, the boys and i took her to dinner at - where else? - our family's disgusting home away from home, ruby's.

first, my beloved enjoyed a big bowl of room temperature birthday soup



followed by the customary "march of the dead-eyed waitstaff" birthday serenade, complete with complimentary sundae - always a big hit with the boys.



(is it me, or does their corporate version of 'happy birthday' sound like a bizarre south american war chant when you filter it through a tiny phonecam microphone?)

i helped close out the evening by introducing myself to a lady who looked kinda similar to my mom.


if she was offended that by telling her that she looked like my mother, i was basically telling her that she looked old enough to be the mother of a 34 year old, she was kind enough not to let on.

with that, i took my family home to enjoy what was left of monday night football.


and so, in conclusion, let me say to the love of my life - even though i know she's never going to read this and will only hear about it when her sister tells her - happy birthday, baby. the best is yet to come. and by "best", i mean "future birthday celebration that doesn't take place in a mall".

A Spoonful Of Sugar Or Peanut Butter, A Good Scare, Drinking A Glass Of Water Upside Down...

this week marks the passing of my third year living in los angeles - and the battle for my soul is apparently still being fought.

last night i dreamt that arnold schwarzenegger - the governor of the state in which i currently live - and matt lauer - who works in the same new york building in which i used to work - were trying to kill me, stop-at-nothing-hit-man-style.


it was terrifying. i mean, we've all see how arnold operates when he's out to get someone, but believe it or not, lauer was every bit as frightening.


in the end, after running for my life, breathless for what seemed like hours, i was able to defeat lauer by pushing him into a hot tub (i know, how very californian) and standing on his head until he drowned, but had to beg for my life/apologize to the governor while he was wearing a tux at some kind of red carpet event in las vegas. he was very gracious as i yammered on.

you don't need to be freud to see the symbolism here. hell, you don't even have to be dr joyce brothers.


and regardless of what everything means, it all stems from the fact that whenever there is a hiccup in my life, i start to wonder (at least subconciously, i guess) whether or not mrs b, the boys and i would be better off within expressway distance of our family and OG crew of friends. and at the end of last week, there was a hiccup. a hiccup we hope to have cleared up soon enough, but a hiccup nonetheless.

and that said, i've got no punchline tonight. (but i do know someone who does.)

I'd Say You've Had Enough Already

tonight was male bonding night round the Berg home.

with mrs b at some sort of nursery school mom's night out, the boys and i plowed through a bachelor's dinner at ruby's and then watched the mets win game 6 in a pile on the sofa. jb made me tivo back chris carpenter picking his nose on the bench over and over until he couldn't breathe with laughter and ab entertained us all deep into the 8th inning by cluster farting like like a bean-fed cowboy.

swap out the milk they were drinking for a couple of cold bottles of grolsch and it would have looked like some demented midget rush event.


let the 22 week old unnamed fetus be warned...your brothers are setting the bar pretty fucking high. you might want to start working on your material now.

And Yet, It Hasn't Haunted Me To The Point Where I Don't Stuff Myself With Samoa Cookies Every Spring

leaving work today, i drove by a mother who was walking a cute young lass dressed in a girl scout uniform and immediately flashed back to the day i had my own painful introduction to what scouting is really all about.

first of all, let me preface this very quick tale by saying that, while i currently live my life in a titted state, as a boy, i was fettucine-thin. i only mention this because, come the payoff of the story, i don't want you to picture a fat little augustus doing what i did. that would paint a tragic picture, instead of an amusing one.


that said...

one fall morning, when i was in first grade, an announcement came over the school PA.

"anyone who is interested in brownies, please meet after school in the lunchroom."

i think you can probably imagine what happened to The Kid later that day when he skipped the schoolbus and made a beeline to the cafeteria, leaving a slick trail of anticipatory drool behind him.


not only was i the only boy who showed up, i was the only person who expected to stuff themselves full of hot, gooey chocolately cake.


in hindsight, almost 30 years later, i guess i was being naive when i thought to myself as i happily made my pre-embarassment march down the hall, "wow. i guess everyone else likes cupcakes."

Not As Much As My Wallet, Kid! Haw, Haw, Haw!

at the age of 4 1/2, my son jb has come up with a perfect excuse for men to use when they are dragged along on an extended shopping expedition.

he dropped it on us this morning.


"mommy, my penis hurts because we stayed in the mall too long."

gentlemen, feel free to try it out for yourself this holiday season.

It's A Small World After All

another october, another visit to disneyland.


(for a recap of last year's event, peep the archives.)

anyhow, here's what i learned this year.


1) the new, improved "pirates of the caribbean" is the same as the old, unimproved "pirates of the caribbean" ride, only with a longer line and three random appearances by johnny depp peeking out of a barrel.

2) my sons are too smart for me to try to convince them to go on the haunted mansion - the lone ride i really wanted to go on - by referring to it repeatedly as "the silly castle".

3) there are people - like the large, very butch lady standing behind us at the parade - who have no problem soliciting and eating a child's unfinished cotton candy. when these people - like the large, very butch lady standing behind us at the parade - see a father push a trash bin open and prepare to toss in the aforementioned candy, they will become very alarmed, shout "don't do it!" and reach out to snatch the sticky pink mass for themselves before it officially becomes garbage. they will then consume it loudly, regardless of the fact that it looks like a rat with a very wet mouth has already had a turn at it.

4) 250 pounds of vomit is cleaned off the teacup ride annually.


5) number 4 is a lie.

(oh, and vote for tom bartos. vote early and vote often. don't ask why. just vote.)

Filler

friday night i flew to new york. saturday night i was there as my friends karen and david got married at sunset in a vineyard on the north fork of long island. sunday i developed a very itchy allergy to my deodorant. this morning i flew back west.

i am so tired that my sternum is vibrating.

bear with me.

(and go get yourself a copy of 'windy city heat'. if you don't think it's funny, we can't be friends.)

Mr. Mushy Turns 1

so what have we learned in a year?


(i mean, besides that i kinda stalked this girl one time.)

i learned that what began as an outlet to keep writer's atrophy at bay can evolve very quickly into a very successful type of therapy. i certainly feel better now than i did when i sat down last october 5th, in the middle of what was basically a month-long anxiety attack, grabbed ahold of what was on my mind, and sent it for a ride. it says a lot about what i've done here that one of the main worries in my life now is making my self-imposed Metz deadlines - opposed to what was dragging me down last fall.

give or take a forced post or two, i take great pride in having stuck to making the Metz - especially after having spent most of my life flitting from one obsession to another, burning out on personal flavors of the months and leaving projects-i-have-to-do-right-this-instant half-finished year after year thanks to unreasonable expectations. but 52 weeks into this experiment, i'm still as psyched to click the orange 'publish' button as i was on day one. i guess we can chalk that up to not expecting anything at all. i didn't expect to get a week worth of posts under my belt. i didn't expect to build an audience, no matter how small. and i certainly didn't expect that anyone would ever read my words and actually take the time to let me know exactly what they thought...good and bad.

so whether you're my blood kin, a friend, a complete stranger, a secret admirer or just a perv who likes looking at pictures of my kids, please accept my thanks for dropping by. and tell a friend. i've got a lot more stupid stories to tell. my kids are bound to do something interesting in year 2. and then there's that fetus cooking in mrs b's guts right now, the same one i felt kick for the first time last night. i put my hand on that great swollen mass and that little bastard kicked me right in the tear ducts. funny how that works.

I'm Not A Doctor, But I Play One On The Internet

as The Metz approaches its first anniversary, there is still one subject that brings in the traffic above all things.

the coxsackie virus.

unfortunately for the people who show up here hoping to find some real information about this annoying and painful malady, all they end up leaving with are two posts that really don't have a thing to do with what they were looking for. it's just that the more i leave the word 'coxsackies' or 'coxsackie' or 'cork sucker' or 'sucky sucky' in among my posts, the more google feels like it should offer me up as something people might be looking for. and the circle of frustration continues. until now.

as a public service to all the worried moms, dads and orphanage owners out there, today i have decided to publish a few tips as to how best to deal with the coxsackie virus if you find it in your home.

1. What are the symptoms?

Your child may at first feel tired, develop a sore throat, and have a fever of around 101 °F(38 °C) to 103 °F(39 °C). These symptoms usually last for 8 to 20 days. Mouth sores that are similar to canker sores then develop and are usually painful. Your child's breath will stink to high heaven. So much so that when you catch a whiff you will retch like you are smelling steamed garbage. If you do not retch, you are not a good parent. Small red spots or fluid-filled blisters next appear on the hands, feet, mouth, and occasionally, the buttocks. Do not snicker at your child if the buttocks become involved. In addition, do not - under any circumstances - touch these blisters. The instant you do, they will explode! Blood and Coxsackie Goo will go everywhere and stain your hardwood floors.

2. How is it treated?

Do not allow your child to sleep for the duration of the infection. In addition, no solid food should be consumed. The child should not be bathed nor should its hair be combed. When the child uses the toilet, tell them they have produced 'pure evil' and they should feel shame for doing something so bad. If the blisters become painful, let a dog lick them. If this does not bring comfort, let a mailman lick them.