Public Transportation's Entertainment Value Can't Be Measured

I must say I run into the most interesting people during my morning and (to a lesser extent) evening commutes. And leftover food, for that matter. Invariably one of the following will befall me on the way to or from work.

I will sit on the bench waiting for the bus and immediately a) will notice the half-eaten burrito still in its styrofoam take-out contaner, complete with a scoop of rice in the appropriate partition or b) will have to walk over or around a chicken bone, as if I just walked into some sort of frenzied wing-eating contest with leftovers being flung around like water cups at the New York City Marathon

I will be asked for directions. Usually the people asking them are not even close to where they want to be, and it takes a while to orient them. Believe it or not, a woman once asked me for directions and then began to argue with me that I was wrong in pointing her where she wanted to go. I think she was from Kentucky.

I will be asked for money. I've seen all the tricks in the book, from the "hey man can you spare 20 cents for a sandwich" to the much more engaging, but still annoying, "Can I ask you a question?" My favorite are the elaborate stories that involve an ex-wife, a car that just ran out of gas on the way to deliver a check to said ex-wife, and some sort of war-related injury. Typically I'll politely say "no, thank you" (to which I once received a reply of "Wait....I'm asking --you-- for money". In more extreme cases I'll have to resort to a "fuck off", but usually after getting yelled at for not forking over a buck or two. Every now and again, I'll have to give the person a tip on how to ask for money (be direct and somewhat humble; don't tell your life story when all you need is a dollar to get on the train, and, as in Glenngary Glenn Ross, always be closing). This advice is gold in my opinion. I still don't give them anything. I believe I pay taxes to cover that sort of thing.

Welcome !

Fatherhood. What a wild ride. The second your wife/significant other suggests you clear your calendar for the next 18 or so years, it starts. And it really never ends. The single act that is now getting you excited about researching strollers and contacting lactation coaches is at the same time common (it happens every day) and truly miraculous (in terms of all the things that had to be exactly in place, biologically, for your little sprog to set up roost). I daresay the jamokes running around the stage, grabbing their Knicks jerseys and yelling “boo-ya” after hearing Maury Povich announce “(enter made-up urban name here)…you ARE the father” don’t realize this.

Over next 10 months as all these things swirl around your mind and you begin to get comfortable the entire concept, it becomes clear what you’ve become – an American Sherpa. Pack the car, unpack the car. Get furniture. Assemble it. Spend time deciding whether the screws left over from the crib assembly process are spares or are structurally critical. Pack the car again, unpack the car. You see what I am getting at. The day your child is born, however, your role as Sherpa transcends its “carry my stuff” connotation, and you truly become a guide, a companion, a bodyguard, and all those other things that fathers (good fathers) become for their children.

My beautiful daughter Sloane Olivia was born on February 17, 2006. My life since then has been an adventure in every sense of the word.

Welcome to American Sherpa. I trust you’ll enjoy my observations and ruminations on fatherhood, life, and whatnot

Fatherhood Rants

Americans are born complainers. We complain about traffic as we drive to our soon-to-be outsourced jobs. We complain about gas prices as our SUV's slog through drive-throughs, getting our food in petroleum-based cartons. We complain about those second mortgages as we sit in our overstuffed leather furniture watching our 50 inch high-def, space age TV's/movie consoles/coffee makers. And I think I need to those rants. My target - fatherhood.

For every Erma Bombeck with a some cute theory about where old socks go, there are 10 fathers who, following the advice given to French troops at Verdun (be quiet, keep your heads down, and you may get out of this alive) have kept tight-lipped and borne the abuse (and we see how well that did for the French). Well no more ! Let the kvetching begin !

1. Father's Day Cards

Mothers (as Hallmark would have you believe) never make mistakes and are always on top of their games. One minute they're whipping up a costume for the school play that would make a Broadway designer envious, and the next they're throwing together a Charlie Trotter-esque souffle (on a Tuesday night no less) just for the hell of it, all while being perfect care givers/moral compasses/best friends for their kids. Fathers, on the other hand, are sleeping on the couch, getting lost on trips to the Grand Canyon, and generally acting as buffoons. Eff - that ! I have plenty of dirt on my mom (and other moms) that rank in the "It's a miracle I made it to adulthood with all my fingers and toes" area. So on the next Father's day, please tell your dads that, despite that one time they almost killed you with the weed wacker, you really do appreciate all they've done for you.

2. Related to # 1 - Judgment (or supposed lack thereof)

Face it, dads, moms have more standing in the Court of Child Raising. Despite the fact that you’ve both been parents for the exact same amount of time, you will loose any and all “the other 99 times I tickle my daughter she loves it...I don't know why she's crying now” arguments. Just like any truism, like the Sun sets in the west, don't bring your ATM card to a Vegas casino, and God is generally benevolent, there is a truism in fatherhood that reaches across time and culture. It goes something like this...If baby is crying and mom is on duty, clearly baby is tired, hungry or possibly ill; if baby is crying and dad is on duty, clearly dad is doing something wrong. Just accept it and save your energy – it would be like trying to go up against Clarence Darrow after prepping by watching a few Law and Order episodes. In this case it’s Mom Knows Best.

3. Changing Tables

Men are taking more responsibility in child raising then their dads and granddads did. Please, restaurateurs and merchandisers, please install changing tables in the Men’s bathrooms. And if you do, don’t orient them facing the door. I don’t want an innocent lunch at The Macaroni Grill to turn into a pre-Giuliani 42nd street peepshow. (Apologies to fans of "the golden era" of the Eighth and Forty-Deuce).

I'm sure there's more to complain about......keep checking in, dear readers.