Cheeky's Hideaway

Will You Sign My Facebook?

I'm a little surprised to find myself quietly obsessing over Facebook.

It's stupid, really.  It's just another social media site, like MySpace without the annoying bands or deceptive angles. 

But I find myself logging in a lot, sniffing around for people I know to connect to, and trimming the hedges of my profile so everyone can see what movies I like, what countries I've been to, and dozens of other incredibly inane facts about me.

I do internetty things for a living, so I'm exposed to a lot of these sites.  I rely on LinkedIn regularly to keep up with my professional contacts.  I'm hooked into a music-lovers' site which makes me feel utterly out of touch with what the kids are listening to.  I've got a Virb account gathering dust somewhere.  And Twitter...well, that strikes me as technology-enabled narcissism/voyeurism; why anyone would be interested in whether I'm buying cereal or washing my hands at any given second is beyond me.

They're all silly in some way.  I've got a Zombie Ninja on Facebook that infects and attacks other users (do not attack Kara...her Zombie is like freakin' Chuck Norris).  People have written on my virtual wall and bought me virtual beers.  Ironically, I'd normally mock people who engage in such activity.  Yet hear I am, joining interest groups about Pluto and grammatical accuracy for no other reason than I can.

So what's the big deal?  I don't know, but I'm having fun with it.  An old friend from college found me on it the other day, and she put me in touch with another one, who has unbeknownst to me married yet another one.  So that's cool.  And I can apparently "Super Poke" other people, which sounds mildly dangerous and probably illegal in some states.

Maybe it's just reached a point where there's enough people on Facebook that I'm likely to know at least some of them.  And it's less work that going through my Google Reader and visiting everyone's web pages (as you've all surely noticed by now) even if it's not nearly as emotionally rewarding.

At least until the next big thing comes around.

The Fruits of a Life in Politics

We have a good friend who lives in Washington D.C.  She was part of Oodgie's wedding party, and has always been able to make us laugh.  To be one of our friends, you have to be able to take a lot of teasing, and we incessantly tormented her about her vegetarianism, sobriety, and furniture (when we last visited her, she still had her "My First Stereo" next to her TV).  She always took it with a laugh and played it up.  But there was one topic about which she was always a little touchy.

She's a Republican. 

Now, I have lots of Republican friends, and we always get into spirited discussions around politics and issues.  But it's good-natured and respectful; we often agree on much more than the talking-heads would have you think.  I never let politics get in the way of a friendship.

But this particular friend is a little more active in politics than the rest of us.  She helped run the successful re-election campaign of a New England senator (who apparently is crazy and has a weird psychological aversion to staples).  Then she moved to Washington and worked for the EPA.  Then she worked in the communications department at Homeland Security.  While working there in late August 2005, she had planned to come visit us in New York, but things got a little busy at the office and she had to cancel.  Although she loves her career, she seems to have a knack for taking jobs that explode around her, and for some inexplicable reason (to me) she's now taken another local job in a slightly higher-profile department.

One the one hand, my sympathy for the catastrophes that happen to her is somewhat limited.  After all, I have loathed the current administration since day one.  I think they are incompetent liars who have always put personal or dogmatic interests ahead of logic, reason, compassion, or accountability.  I take great pleasure at watching the catastrophe's pile on top of them--it reinforces my sense of karmic justice. 

But I also see first hand the impacts that this has on the individuals who have to deal with it every day.  Our friend is a good person trapped in a tough place, trying very hard to make ends meet and do the right thing for this country because she believe in it.  She doesn't agree with the way things have been handled, but she's doing more than me...trying to repair the damage and keep the wheels moving so the benefits we all reap (and take for granted) are there when we need them.

Despite all the vitriol I spit towards our current government, she's a stark reminder that there are thousands of people like you and me who aren't evil, who have to not just shoulder the burden of protecting our way of life, but bear the hatred of people like me who curse their names and unfairly blame them for all that's wrong with the world.

So next time your knuckles get white over the state of our union and the decades it will take to undo the damage, take a moment to remember all the good people who are toiling away in the trenches of government, trying to do things right.

Did you have your moment? 

Good. 

Now let's get fired up to send the rest of those jokers packing in '08.  Let's hope the damage is reversible.

You Can't Spell "Forty" Without a Big Dubya

(At least not in some languages, I assume.)

I'm a creature of habit.

When I first started blogging almost two years ago (Jesus, has it really been that long?) I didn't really know what I was doing, so I surfed around looking for other dads from whom I could take some cues.  There weren't a ton of them, but I did manage to dig up a few that seemed to have a similar personality to me.  I've added a few blogs to my blogroll since then, but I mostly keep up with the old standbys that I've known from the beginning.  Like Paulie, I'm loyal that way.

One of those dudes turns really old today:  Mr. Big Dubya.

I've got a special bond with the big guy.  Cheeky and Little Dub are almost the same age, and I often found him struggling with and writing about the same things I was.  We were both founding fathers at DadCentric, and shared a common love for the minutiae of movie references.  I would sometimes drop obscure references in my blogs knowing he'd be the only one to catch them.  (OK, those were easy, but still...)

He came down to NYC a couple times and we hooked up for lunch.  He's not that big, nor that dubya.  He's a "good guy" in that way that guys refer to each others as "good guys" after a lot of drinks and the discharging of firearms.  I'm glad to count him as one of my friends.

One of my OLD friends!

So let's all raise a pint of Guinness to Mr. Big Dubya, who is entering a new census demographic which, as a consequence, will be written in a much larger font the next time he takes it.  He can no longer argue when someone calls you a "dirty old man," and he's officially eligible for an AARP discount on hip replacements.

I'd offer you a beer. big guy, but it will have to wait until Fenway in July.  But it's your birthday, so let me at least offer you this tip on how to get beer for free!

Props need to go out to Kara for organizing this.  My birthday is August 22, BTW, and I promise to act surprised...

Exodus

Why are all our friends leaving us??

We're the type of people who prefer to keep a small group of close friends (and a smaller group of enemies).  So when three of them announce that they are fleeing the Big Apple it's a crippling blow to our social life.   Do you think Oodgie and I want to talk to each other all the time? 

Whenever this happens it gets me musing about leaving New York myself.  I'm not from here, so I remember what it's like to drive a car and buy groceries in aisles wider than a quark.  We have one friend who teases us with real estate listings of affordable houses seven-times the size of our own.  But her efforts are completely negated by their location New Jersey.  Other friends are scattered around the country in cities that are either too cold, too obnoxious, or too close to my parents.  (Check the comments for a rebuttal from my mom in five...four...three...two...one...now!)  We still have a handful of (mostly unwed) friends in the city, but for the most part this latest exodus will leave us with five plants and the remnants of Oodgie's mother support group to talk to. 

We're not going anywhere anytime soon, though.  New York may not be the most affordable city in the world, but it could be worse, and we like it here.  Besides, ECG would chain herself to our moving truck if we were to even consider it.  And although we're willing to take a trip every once in a while, we're definitely taking local applications for new friends.  Racists need not apply.

You'll Be Seeing Us on Gawker Tomorrow

I've had the good fortune of meeting a handful of bloggers over the last year, all of whom have turned out to be normal fun people in real life.  You can tell by the way they write and the things they talk about whether they're someone you could split a six-pack of cold ones with, or whether they store body parts in their freezer.

So when Laid-Off Dad suggested that some of the New York bloggers get together for drinks last night I jumped at the opportunity.  Not just because we all share the same tolerance love for this congested, over-priced, gem of a city, or because I secretly hoped I could score some babysitter phone numbers from them, but because they are also some of my favorite writers.

Admittedly, I felt a little like Aquaman sitting around in the Hall of Justice, hanging out with real super-heroes and hoping my power to summon manatees would come in handy.  Aside from LOD, who seems to have emerged from The Eliminator that was NaBloPoMo a lean, mean fighting machine, there was also Mom-101, who it turns out literally lives in the building next door to me (no joke...I've probably been spying on her for months).  And no party is complete without tall Asian Springsteen fans (I think you can rent them now), so MetroDad came as well.

It's fun to share a good laugh and a cold pint with people you like and respect.  The fact that they're all much more talented and considerably less dependent on fart jokes and movie references than me barely came up, much like John, Paul, and George having dinner with Ringo.  We discussed The Good Shephard (thumbs down), Amy Sedaris' cupcakes, Christmas in Florida, and the game that's sweeping the nation, "What's That Next to Your Head?"   I challenge you to find such quality entertainment at a table with Huffington and Godin...

I'm not a blogger who secretly aspires to be a writer, or a writer who pretends to be a blogger but desperately hopes that some publisher will notice them.  I'm not a journalist who thinks that telling the world that Cheeky ate half a chicken finger and a pint of ketchup for dinner is even remotely interesting, and god help me if I ever bore you with those details.  I just like to occasionally spew out some crap that gets lodged in my brain like driftwood under a bridge, and if I can make up an excuse to link to something funny or weird or so horrifying you want to gouge your eyes out with a melon-baller then I'll do it.  It's a treat knowing that doing so has given me the opportunity to meet such bright, funny, and interesting people. 

Do I Get a Lap Dance if I Invest With You?

Do you ever wish you could feel like you did when you were 23 years old?  No responsibilities, a little income, and a well-honed lack of judgement?  If so, then I'd recommend rounding up 11 guys and going to New Orleans for the weekend.

If you haven't been down there, I highly recommend it.  Set aside the fact that God (and W) both hate it and want it destroyed.  We spent the weekend just steps away from Bourbon Street, where the bead and novelty t-shirt-based economy has fully recovered.  Much of the workforce has returned, and the food was ridiculously awesome.  It may not have the best reputation, but it's still a beautiful, fun city.

As per bachelor party requirements, I'm happy to report that the bachelor was both greatly honored and utterly abused.  Unfortunately for all of you, I cannot go into greater detail without (a) a beer in my hand, (b) the opportunity to publicly humiliate anyone who may have passed out, and (c) acknowledging a certain gender-bias in the stories which would implicitly break the Code.  You'll have to get it out of me some other way.  Besides, this is a family blog and I don't want to show up at the top of Google searches for "Joe Pesci bukkake".

Don't check.  You probably already did, didn't you?  Not worth it, was it...

Anyway, I followed that fun-fest with two days at a finance conference, exploring such innovative topics as "Creating Agility with Business Process Management" and "Best Practices in Managing Enterprise Risk & Compliance."  That's not easy after the way I treated my body over the weekend  but I know more about opportunities in internet banking and baby boomer retirement planning, and it was worth it.  And when you work in an important field such as mine you can't be too well-prepared.

So needless to say I've been busy.  How have you all been? 

Bracing Myself...

My liver and I are spending the coming weekend helping revitalize New Orleans' economy.  My boy Utkarsh (of Dutch/Inuit descent, as you can tell by the name) is shuffling off the bachelor-coil and hitching his wagon to a woman who deserves better (kidding, man!)  I have been told on multiple occasions by Oodgie that "you're not allowed to go out with him anymore" because he has a certain reputation.  But he single-handedly bailed me out for my bachelor party many years ago, so the least I can do is return the favor.  It would be rude not to, right?

Aside from reconnecting with my less law-abiding youth, I'm psyched to catch up with some good buddies I never get to see (how apropos).  My handsome, successful, single pal Dave is flying in from San Fransisco (that one is going out to all the ladies out there) while two spoken-for but rarely seen buddies, Tom and Brett, are making the trip as well.  I sense impending danger, as more than a few participants have expressed the urge to see what the legal definition of "public indecency" is. 

Remember when you were a kid you thought that teachers and doctors and business people were all big, serious grown-ups?  Do you ever look at your friends now and think, "geez, if this is what we're like, I wonder if my dentist/school counselor/next door neighbor was a gutter hugger?"

Anyway, I'm sad to be leaving Oodgie and Cheeky to fend with each other for themselves for three days, but I know this is the right thing to do.  For Utkarsh.  For America.

Plus I've got to know....do I still got it?  I'll let you know Monday.  Or maybe Wednesday...

Quick work-out update:  Every Tuesday I play an ancient sport called racquetball (rkt-bôl) practiced by the ancient Hittites and Sumerians during the Rubik era.  It burns about a ba-billion calories per hour, and thank god I played tonight because I've spent the last few days working my way through a wheel of aged gouda.  That counts as two days in a row, and if my heart will stop racing like a hummingbird on crack I'll try to make it three...

I'm Not Waiting On a Lady...

"When the character of a man is not clear to you, look at his friends"
                                        --Japanese Proverb

I've been thinking a lot about my friends this week, and how long it's been since I've reached out to them.  I'm very lucky in that I have some utterly amazing friends, many of whom I have known since the earth cooled, and despite the vicissitudes of life we still manage to stay in touch.  When you pick up the phone and talk to someone you haven't talked to in a year and it's like you just talked yesterday, then that's a true friend.

Unfortunately, I haven't exactly been picking up the phone a lot lately.  Some of that is just the general craziness of life, and some of it is my own issues of laziness, distraction, and the constant white noise in my brain.  It's incredibly important to me to cultivate friendships and remind those you care about that they are treasured, yet I'm about with them as proactive and attentive as Rumsfeld at a nation-building seminar.

First, there's my college roommate and best man Rich, who calmly watched me cycle through a dozen "girlfriends" and put up with my propensity to eat corn chip crumbs and ranch dressing like it was cereal.  We watched Running Scared and Strange Brew so many times we can still quote them end-to-end, and each of us have embarrassing photos of the other (I may have been painted with a Magnum 44 marker one night, and he may have had a drunken conversation with a vacuum cleaner).  He lives in Oakland with his family, and if it weren't for him showing me that you could have a kid and still live a normal life I may never have gotten the courage to do it.

Then there's Brian, my best friend from high school, who is an army engineer in the 10th Mountain Division.  He and I became friends while pursuing the same girl in high school (he didn't know I liked her...I just egged him on while simultaneously embarrassing him in front of her) and it was his willingness to take a fat kid to a health club and teach me racquetball that enabled me to lose 90 lbs before my senior year.  He's bounced around to such scenic places as Bosnia, Oklahoma, and currently Louisiana, and will soon be shipping off to Afghanistan.  It's because of him I can put my liberal bias aside and appreciate the tremendous courage and honor that our men and women in uniform have.

I get to see my friend Hud more often because she lives here in New York, too, but not nearly enough.  Sometimes you take for granted those that are closest because you always think they'll be around tomorrow.  She was a beer-swilling Seahawk fan who hung out with a group of girls who were all dating my roommates, but was more like one of the guys (and one of the few who didn't leave cups of used chewing tobacco around the house).  She's a hopeless romantic who aspires to live in Italy and suck the rich marrow out of life, all the while swearing like a sailor.  The intensity with which she approaches life inspires me to challenges my lackadaisical and superficial tendencies.

And that only scratches the surface!  There's Todd & Sparky, a tall white Wisconsin boy married to a little brown Indian girl, who kept me sane while I froze my cojones off in Minneapolis.  There's Laura, the Mountaineer with a voice perfect for a phone-sex line, but with an attitude more akin to the Daytona 500.  Or Dr. Laura (no relation), a funny-as-hell exiled New Yorker trapped in a world of strip-malls & country clubs.  There are dozens more who I only get to see sporadically, but whose company I cherish.  If I had magical powers I'd teleport them all into apartments in my building and create my own little Melrose so I could see them all the time. 

As we get older true friends--the ones that will pick you up at the airport, help you move that giant couch that won't fit through the door, and aren't afraid to point out when you're being an idiot without judging you for it--are harder and harder to come by.  Jobs, kids, and apathy can suck up our time and our energy, and true friends understand this.  They probably deal with it themselves.  But that doesn't mean you shouldn't nurture those friendships, despite the challenges. 

My motivation for doing so is purely selfish--my friends make me laugh, connect me to happy memories, and are often ample fodder for good stories and the occasional excuse to travel.  I miss them a lot, and I get frustrated when I realize that our lives may never afford us the closeness we once had.  But I'm going to make the effort over the next two weeks to reach out, give them all a mental high-five, and let them know that if I had my druthers we'd all be kicking back with a brew and chatting every night.

What say you all?  How good are you at keeping up with your friends?  And what do you do to stay in touch?

Rock the Vote! It's Your Civic Duty

The BoB Awards are upon us, and my side-project with the boys over at DadCentric has been nominated for Best Daddy Blog.  I'm not usually one to pander for votes, but Jack Abramoff promises there's some casino money in it for you.  There are some other worthy blogs nominated, notably Cynical Dad, Mr. Nice Guy, and Poop and Boogies, so vote with your conscience.  Some other favorites of mine, Morphing into Mama and Friday Playdate are also nominated for Best Mommy Blog, as is Sweet Juniper for best new blog.  You can't bitch about the winners unless you vote, so head on over and make your voice heard.

Stand Up and Be Counted

Chris at Rude Cactus and Mr. BigDubya are both acknowledging National De-Lurking Week, which was started by Sheryl at Paper Napkin last year.  I'm not under the illusion that I have a ton of lurkers visiting this site (the west face of Siula Grande gets more traffic than I do) but I know that there's a few of you out there who stop by and don't say "Hi."  Hell, my wife is notorious for this....

So if you're a frequent visitor, fan, NSA agent, or just a visitor who accidentally Googled something like "cheerleaders+poop", then reveal yourself!  Leave a comment!  Say Hi!  Tell me to shut up!  Here's your chance!  There are few advantages to not being seen.