All posts by Matthew Callan

Pointless Nostalgia

Pledging

I experienced an awkward moment at a PTA meeting I attended recently. This was something above and beyond the normal awkwardness I feel in a room full of people I do not know and whose only connection to me is having children who attend the same school as my child, as I struggle to form some cruel parody of conversation. “So, I hear your kid likes Justin Bieber?”

The moment came at the beginning of the meeting, when the PTA president insisted we all rise and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Once I heard this, I was gripped by a childlike but very real panic. I hadn’t been asked to do this seriously* since high school, and for a terrifying split second I wasn’t sure what I should do with myself.

*I include the adverb seriously here because the live Pee-Wee Herman Show I saw with my daughter opened with Pee-Wee reciting the Pledge along with the audience, which I don’t think counts, really.

The reason I wasn’t sure what to do is because I spent a good chunk of my childhood as a Jehovah’s Witness. Witnesses refuse the say the Pledge of Allegiance. They don’t do a lot of things, due to their selectively literal interpretation of the Bible (or their translation thereof; it’s a very long story, the more you hear of the less you truly know). Being a Witness is almost like keeping kosher, but instead of worrying about what you eat, you have to worry about everything else.

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Tuneage

Friday Jamz for 3/23

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It’s Friday! I bet you guys got some big plans for the weekend, like gettin up in the club and so forth. If so, may I suggest a solid tune for pregaming? It’s a song called “Butter On Ya Muffintop” by 4two7. I heard recently it on Billy Jam’s show on WFMU, and it is exactly as ridiculous as that title implies. It is, in fact, so dedicated to its specific area of the female anatomy that it nearly transcends the Ick Factor (almost like Foot Patrol).

I am tempted to transcribe some of the best rhymes here, but I think it might be better to just let you listen and experience them in their full glory. What Sir Mixalot did for big butts, 4two7 will do for muffintops and buttering them, with perhaps a bit of jelly as well.

[audio:http://scratchbomb.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Butter-on-Ya-Muffintop-Clean.mp3|titles=Butter on Ya Muffintop (Clean)]

If you’re in a more old school mood, perhaps you’ll enjoy this slow jam by the generically named duo Charles and Eddie, “Would I Lie to You.” This video was available on demand on our cable, so my wife played it on a whim one evening, and I found its early 1990s-ness exquisite. That very particular time fascinates me, in large part because that’s when I had the misfortune to be in junior high/high school. It’s an era most people haven’t quite tried to mine for nostalgia or comedy, certainly not in the way the 1980s have been raided. But good lord, is it ever ripe for mining.

There’s a parallel here with the 1960s, which didn’t really start to happen until The Beatles came along. If you look at artifacts from the early portion of that decade–particular what was played on the radio–you can see people stumbling to figure things out, almost as if they’re waiting for something like The Beatles but they have no idea what that thing is yet. The pre-Clinton 1990s are a bit like that, with the catalyst being the arrival of Nirvana. The difference is that in the early 1990s, every aspect of fashion and culture was a million times worse. The Simpsons are a notable exception, but even The Simpsons didn’t really become The Simpsons for at least a season and a half. It’s like irony had to wait to arrive until we had an ironic president.

If you know nothing about the Very Early 90s, this video is a crash course. The Cavaricci outfits, the needless camera trickery, the white guy’s Fabio hair, the Quiet Storm beat–it all screams First Bush Administration, which we all know was a time of tumultuous change. Sadly, the Charles portion of Charles and Eddie passed away in 2001, but Eddie now fronts a band called The Polyamorous Affair. They never let the music die, guys.

Parental Guidance

The Style Dad Council

I’ve been working out for a couple of months, with a consistency and determination I haven’t shown in many moons. I’ve also been trying to eat better, or at least not eat such enormous portions of things. My problem has never been snacking or eating much junk food. For the most part, I eat what you might call “good food,” it’s just that I have no real sense of proportion when I do. You know the saying “live every moment like it’s your last”? That’s what I do, except exclusively for meals.

By the end of last year, I was feeling truly horrible about my appearance and general well being. Stress plus lack of exercise conspired to make feel like absolute garbage. Making changes to my lifestyle was difficult, but I accepted that I’d reached an age where taking care of yourself means something different than it did when I was younger. Now that means, “eat salad for lunch every day” whereas ten years ago that meant “guess I won’t have that ninth taco.”

I’ve been pleased with the results thus far. My general energy levels and ability to not eat like a monster are much improved. As for my appearance, I think I look marginally better. But I also realize that there is a rigid ceiling to what I can achieve, appearance-wise. I could go on the Insanity regimen and I would still look like a Dad.

For the rest of my days I will look like someone whose every spoken word is greeted with a vigorous rolling of the eyes. That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. After all, I am a dad and I like to think I’m as good at that as anything else I do. And maybe I’m finally growing into what I am. I’ve never known quite what to do with this thing that stumbles around below my brain, and every time I thought I might have half a clue, genetics have intervened.

I also have this odd condition I like to call anachronistic dysmorphia, wherein I can see pictures of myself from five years ago and think I look okay but can’t be happy with what I see in the mirror. “Why did I think I looked like crap then? I looked fine! But today, Jesus, I look like a bridge troll.”

In other words, the bar for what I expect from myself in the Looks Department is very low. And maybe looking Dad-Like is what I was meant to be all along. I should be okay with that. I would be okay with that, I think, if I didn’t live in New York City. Because there is a class of parent found in NYC that makes me feel powerfully inferior. I look like a normal dad, but I feel at times that I live in a city full of Style Dads.

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