Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Postcards from the Edgy

Allow me to introduce myself. I am an edgy dad. As a matter of fact, I am That Edgy Dad!(tm) You may not remember me from that little-seen one man show, or from the sporadic appearances at various sparsely attended local comedy shows.

I say edgy things at which you laugh, even though you know they are wrong. Then you shake your head or fist with mock disgust and say, "Why, you edgy dad! Oh, that edgy dad. What can you do; he's an edgy dad!" Imagine Louis C.K., but not famous or likable.

But I can't help it. Edginess is a part of me; it runs in my blood. It isn't just some pose or fad I adopted in my teens and 20s. I resolutely refuse to dull my cutting remarks or fluff up my jaundiced viewpoint. I am the living embodiment of a sardonic, leather jacketed loose cannon. I am a rogue cop and the world is my angry captain.

Sure, I'm a middle-aged white guy who lives in the suburbs. My two kids are adorable and make me feel like weeping in dreamy wonder. Yes, I've been reduced to accepting Target as a fine boutique that has some pretty decent Michael Graves can openers. But so help me god I will never stop wearing my arch cool smirk and sardonic logo t-shirts, no matter how much they accent my burgeoning midriff.

Except when I am around my kids, because I don't want them to become infected with ennui at too young of an age. They can get their bitterness the hard way: they can earn it. I am not going to pre-emptively make them feel like life is a rigged game and that there is almost no way to affect positive change for yourself. Sadly, they will probably figure that out by themselves. I will do everything in my power to make them feel empowered and capable and confident. In short, I will try to make them Not Me.

But since I am a comic and That Edgy Dad(tm), and since my kids can't read yet, I will say whatever I want right here, on the web, where no one can be held accountable for their thoughts or actions.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Pink Floyd vs The Most Adorable Animals at The Zoo.

Last weekend, I took Snappy to the zoo on Nature Trail day! The Nature Trail at the SF ZOO is a little area of the Children's Zoo where volunteer Junior Keepers show you pettable (and not so pettable) animals. The Kiddie Keepers had all memorized a list of facts about their animal. For example: "This is Frank. He is a tortoise. He has a shell that is connected to his spine. He is twenty-three years old."

This tortoise is her bitch.

Now Snappy, fresh off of her first year of successful speech therapy since we first started trying to fix her unintelligible speech when she was two, and also being a bit of a chatterbox, took these animal introductions as an invitation to introduce the only animal that matters, her cat. I'll  use these adorable animal pictures to describe exactly* how it went down.

Oh really? Your fucking tortoise has claws?

My cat uses his to scratch the ottoman and not his scratching post because he's a bad ass.

Your ferret is soft? Fuck you. That's not soft. 

This motherfucker is soft!

Oh really? I can pet your fucking Hedgehog? You know who else I can pet?
This Bitch! That's right. He sleeps on a doll bed. Like a boss.
Your bunny's name is Flopsy? That name sucks. You know what name doesn't suck?
Pink Floyd. Memorize it, fool.
* Only without quite so much swearing. But you get the idea.