Neurotic Dad

The journey to parenthood. And irrational fears.

Apr 18

Things I Worried About Today

  1. A freak accident on the East River ferry with my wife and child aboard
  2. (Yet again) that I am not fit for any gainful employment other than writing literary fiction about aging male Jews in crisis
  3. Getting fat
  4. Global warming

Apr 17

An Open Letter to My Writer Colleagues

Dear Writer Colleagues,

If you complain about your book tour, you don’t sound charmingly self-deprecating. You sound like a tool.

If you complain about people asking you for blurbs, you don’t sound irreverent and insidery. You sound like a tool.


Neurotic Dad

Apr 15

To Do List

  • Finish novel
  • Find a job
  • Be a good husband & father
  • Make matzo brei

Apr 14

I figured it out

Okay so if you don’t vaccinate your kids and then you have “chicken pox” parties or the like, the next logical step would be to encourage your children to take up smoking.

An Open Letter to Fellow Daddy Bloggers

Dear Fellow Daddy Bloggers,

I can understand why a onesie that mocks a father’s caretaking abilities would offend you.

Actually I can’t. I can’t bring myself to give even one shit. I suppose that strictly speaking it is “sexist,” as you put it. But the word “sexist” also connotes oppression.

And you if you are an American male, you are mostly like not oppressed.

This is the same thing as when stupid white people cry racism. Yes indeed, people of color sometimes hate white people. Wouldn’t you?

And even if using the term “sexist” is less ridiculous than when Christian Americans call themselves “oppressed,” it is ridiculous nonetheless.

To sum up: By all means blog about whatever offends you. But when you co-opt the language of people who face real discrimination, you sound obtuse at best.


Neurotic Dad

Apr 13

The Nap Trap

Tired all day + falling asleep for an hour with the boy while putting him to bed = up late = tired all day tomorrow

Apr 12

Saturday in New York City

6am: “Daddy, I peed.”

6.30: Oatmeal and caffeine

7-9.30: “I don’t need pants. I don’t need a shirt. I don’t need socks. I don’t need sneakers. I don’t need a jacket. I don’t need a hat. I NEED MY SCHOOLBUS.”

10-10.45: Soccer. The boy gazing at the sky while the other kids learn the drills.

11-12pm: Mancakes at the diner.


5pm: Wine.

6pm: Linguine with sauteed mushrooms and shaved parmesan.

7-8pm: The three B’s: Bath, Books and Benadryl (kidding about the last one).

8-8.15pm: Snuggle up with boy to help him sleep, and then for some reason recall that job you had right after college, and how over lunch with your dad at the diner you told him you thought the work was unethical, and how he said, “Don’t quit, learn the business and you’ll make a lot of money,” and you listened because you were 24 years old and you didn’t yet understand that your father was looking to make money off of you, and then you got colitis you hated the job so much, and even then you waited for them to fire you, not because you wanted unemployment but because you didn’t know how to get a better job and deep down you didn’t think you deserved one; however, two good things did come out of the Year of Colitis and Self-Loathing: (1) you never, ever, took your father’s advice again, not even for driving directions, and (2) as you lay next to your own boy, listening to him breathe, you took solace from what you wanted from him, which was only that he should grow up confident and kind.

8.30pm: Beer.

Apr 11

People I’ve Seen Today Who Hate My Stinking Guts

1. That barista who I snapped at one time
2. An ex-girlfriend

Page 1 of 132