My passion for baseball runs deep. I've been playing, watching, studying, analyzing and loving the sport since my ability to retain memories kicked in. There are many others who share my sentiments. Judging by the number of baseball related blogs out there you would think 1 in every 3 people are passionate followers. Blogging is not a revolutionary new way to communicate and due to the rapid advances with blogging software being easy to use and inexpensive to host, it seems like a blog is the new business card. It's also the new black. Well my loyal compadres I think I reached my blog limit when I discovered a thematic army of blogs solely dedicated to being a dad.
I'm a mere few months away from being a first time father. To boot, I'm having a daughter, which stereotypically is supposed to have me worrying about the 16 year old version of me knocking on my door one day to take her on a date. You know the type. The one who can't dress well and is so hormonally imbalanced that conversations with your male friends included what teacher you "would do". Unfortunately I came from a generation that didn't include attractive teachers. Sure, now there are hot teachers everywhere. Some are even my friends and it kills me that these women exist now that I'm 31 and far removed from a desk and a protractor. To be honest I'm not worried about being a Dad. I think a lot has to do with growing up with fairly laid back parents who set the ultimate example of not sweating the small stuff with your child. Of course it was related to the fact that the small things I did were mere peanuts compared to the Three Mile Island disasters I created as a child.
Well much to my dismay my wife sent a funny email today that included a link to a
Dad related blog. She had no intention of creating the shock and horror that unfolded in front of my eyes, because she was only making a stroller joke. Note to future parents. Baby product humor consumes you for a period of time. If you have a witty companion and some equally witty and pregnant friends it's tolerable and sometimes downright funny. I decided to venture into Daddy Types to see what Dadblogging was all about. Conclusion. They're all a bunch of Suburbanites (the Bible had the Canaanites. I have the Suburbanites AKA my arch enemies who worship at the altar of Philippe Starck.) who are obnoxiously screaming out "I wish my balls were frozen like Ted William's head, but in reality my wife just took them away and I can't find them". A Suburbanite, in the Book of Giro, is defined as
city dwelling quasi-humans who have placed themselves on an elitist pedastal sponsored by Starbucks. While honing their skills as coffee jockeys for a few years after college these caramel macchiatto induced snobs are on a mission to rob real people of their identities via their Lost Season 2 DVDs and Louis Vutton diaper bags. Depending on the time and place you can replace diaper bag with Chinese made Chuck Taylor All Star sneakers, an extensive collection of Banana Republic clothing or lack of ability to truly understand The Colbert Report. To put it into some perspective these are the type of guys who would be as giddy as a school girl when purchasing their Tom Brady replica jersey.
I am a city dweller. I have an iPod. I also am writing from a 12" Titanium PowerBook G4 while looking at the most beautiful piece of living art, the iMac Gen 2. I enjoy style as much as the next person who doesn't subscribe to
Mullet and Mid-Western Chic Quarterly. To be honest, I probably sound like my own brand of elitist snob for writing this, but I don't care. The semi-men need to be stopped. They're ruining it for the rest of us. Unlike a Suburbanite I prefer Tedy Bruschi's jersey.
The list of offenders includes such fishing buddies (The Brokeback Mountain type of fishing buddy) as the following.
The Blogfathers (Has an IKEA inspired closet that he's hiding in)
MetroDad (Is pissed that Manolo Blahnik's are women's shoes.)
Sweet Juniper (I think he drives the James Blunt Edition minivan)
More Diapers (If you're looking for a sex change this guy has some spare estrogen)
Jonathan Coulton (#792 on my list of people deserving a random and severe beating. To add insult to injury Stella, my dog, actually tried attacking the computer while I was forcing her to listen to
Stroller Town. I'm not kidding.)
This is a small sampling of the new, sackless, society that is infiltrating my internet experience. Coulton is a musician who writes cute things about the world of fatherhood. He even has a small legion of fans who admitedly like his music although most of those guys have
Barney tatooed on their arms, because they were told it would help with child development. Coulton may have even inspired me to go J.D. Salinger on my Dadness and take my new title to a cave in New Hampshire. It has also forced me to start jotting down a Giro Dad Manifesto. Here is what the future has in store for my little girl...so far as this is a work in progress.
- Outkast is going to be our silly music of choice.
- Godzilla, by Blue Oyster Cult, will be her theme song.
- Dad will drive no slower than 85 on the highway especially with all of those airbags in the car.
- We're going to drive a small, European, car. It will fit baby, Stella, Mom and Dad comfortably.
- The stroller that we're going to buy will actually double as an urban assault vehicle complete with Kung Fu grip.
- Our boxer is your guardian and will be the only living creature who can communicate properly with you for 3 years.
- Dad's PS2 will be your primary source of entertainment. "EA Sports. It's in the game." will be your first words.
- Most importantly, you will always be ready for 7:05 starts at Fenway.
I truly fear that I may have to interact with these people someday soon. Pushing a stroller will tip them off that I may be one of them. A Suburbanite may try to get me to try the pumpkin latte. One may strike up a conversation about organic baby food and life without a pair of cajones while all I can say is "Can you believe Tito left Tavares in there to face Chavez last night?". This will all coincide with my baby girl entering the launch code to the guided missles that will be attached to her stroller.
Can you tell that Opening Day cannot come fast enough?
