Author: Brett

Those of you who know the Gay Uncle personally know that while he loves children, he has a much lower tolerance for other forms of cute and cuddly life, namely: animals. Much of this is due to allergies (cats, dogs, rodents) but some of it is historically based: he never had a pet as a child and thus failed to learn the appeal. (He also hates cleaning up the poo of other living creatures.) Anyway, he tells you this so you’ll understand why he’s chosen to include as his second post-vacation post this week, another Caribbean creature feature. (This, and the fact that he never tires of the charismatic buffoonery of his brother-in-law, Marty.) This story involves a lizard. Like donkeys and mongeese, lizards patrol the lush terrain of the island of St. John as if they own the place, sunning themselves in drainage ditches, scampering underfoot, and sometimes stopping traffic by drawing a cluster of camera-wielding tourists. Don’t get the wrong impression here. When G.U. says lizard, he’s not talking about cute little geckos or green anoles. He’s referring to these terrifying creatures which are about three feet long, covered in scales and spikes, and clearly just a teensy evolutionary micro-blip away from the T. Rex. Given this information, Gunc will tell his tale in the form of a question: How would you behave if you were a 200 pound, 43 year-old man, managing the care of three young girls, and one of these hissing monsters approached your beach chairs, its beady eyes trained on your lunch? You have five choices.

a) Stomp the ground, wave your arms, and shout “Shoo evil raptor! You will not devour my daughters and niece this afternoon!”

b) Gather said children in your arms and retreat into the relative safety of the water until such point as the danger passes on to another, more vulnerable, beach-going family.

c) Call “resort” security

d) Stab the reptile through the heart with a sharpened stick, build a fire, and make dinner for the entire island.

e) Abandon the children where they sit, lure the animal towards the waterline by holding a small piece of your sandwich perilously close to its razor-like teeth, drop the bread on the wet sand as bait, and begin pelting the predator with pebbles and chunks of coral. When confronted by an environmentally conscious 11 year-old Australian boy about your concerted efforts to harm a protected species of lizard, respond with the caveat that you were simply “Trying to train this iguana to fear humans!”

If you selected e) you may have something in common with Gunc’s B-I-L, Marty, (as well as lion tamers, Homer Simpson, and the Defense Department analysts responsible for planning the post-invasion management of the city of Baghdad): a very specific–and little understood–form of “intelligence”. If this is the case (or if you know someone like this) please help science to understand their synaptical mysteries, by sharing your story in COMMENTS below.

The Gay Uncle has returned from the tropics, now well informed of the difference between a TRIP and a VACATION (the latter is what one goes on without children), and ready to share his new pearls of wisdom. The first one revolves around wild animals. Due to some cruel Darwinian twist, the island of St. John–on which G.U. was tripping–is overrun with gangs of feral donkeys. One sees them everywhere–along the side of the road, among the ruins of Colonial sugar refineries, brushing past Jeeps in mini-mart parking lots””baring their menacing smiles and, when they”re feeling randy, their even more menacing erections! G.U. got to witness one of these first hand when he came upon a horny burro couple during a total-family snorkeling excursion. Donkey dick, indeed! Said member was roughly the size and shape of a baseball bat, and disappeared none too quickly into the female. As daddy climbed aboard and began rutting, G.U.”s three nieces watched in frozen horror. Fortunately, his brother-in-law Marty was on hand to explain the situation. “The one on the bottom is trying to give the other one a piggy back ride.”¯ Gunc reminded himself not to offer the girls said ride ever again.
A bit later, clearly feeling some post-coital hunger pangs, these donkeys reappeared near Gunc”s family”s shady beachfront set-up, and began nuzzling among their picnic scraps. Marty”s younger daughter, fresh from some pleasant experiences grooming horses at summer camp, decided that this signaled an opportunity, and approached the ass’ mangy snout, her hand outstretched, with petting its clear goal. “That”s a wild animal,”¯ G.U. said, repeating the information he”d read on about a thousand signs posted at five foot intervals around the entire island, and on every available piece of tourist literature. “They bite and kick whenever they feel like it, so it”s a good idea to stay away from them, particularly when they”re eating.”¯ This seemed to dissuade the girl briefly, and she returned to building sand-castles and taunting her sister and cousin. But when Gunc looked up from his book a bit later, he found Marty standing at the water”s edge, leading a hungry donkey into the sea with an apple core, his daughters right alongside him. Imagining that a child”s funeral might put a damper on the three remaining days of the trip, G.U. felt obliged to intervene. “I think the kids are a little close to that donkey,”¯ he said. “What exactly are you trying to do?”¯ Marty continued walking backwards; the donkey now in the surf up to its ankles. “I”m trying to lure it into the ocean,”¯ he explained, “so the girls can ride on it.”¯

The Gay Uncle is on vacation in the Caribbean with his boyfriend”s entire family this week, which means three things. First, he won”t be doing much posting, as the Cyber Hut at the “resort”¯ in which they are ensconced, is literally 188 steps down from the dumpy, claustrophobic room he and Tal are sharing. (Note that the rest of the family is luxuriating in larger, breezier suites, each with its own expansive view of the sea: Homophobia of the worst kind; or payback for all the scenes about them in his book? You be the judge.) Second, since his sister- and brother-in-law are both present and have their three young girls in tow, he will have access to a treasure trove of wonderful new bloggable material following the sojourn, which he will share with you, loyal readers, immediately on his return (or, if he decides to brave the steps again, perhaps even sooner.) Finally, since the trip south required a long airplane ride, G.U. was once again exposed to the consumer-fetish glories of SKY MALL, and discovered the little treasure pictured above and to the left (click on it to get the full size image). It is apparently meant to allow you to “Elevate your child”s world!”¯ by giving them access to all the exclusive experiences previously available only to those of us who are over four feet tall””things like looking into a sink full of dirty dishes, putting Tide in the washing machine, and utilizing a salad spinner. Besides the fact that this genius item costs $184.99, and looks like a cross between a wine rack and one of the little cages on the side of a box of animal crackers, Gunc believes we have a perfectly acceptable extant technology for granting children the ability to help mix cookies at the counter, and it”s one that most folks already have in their home (and usually matches the dĆ©cor much better than this chunky, charcoal monstrosity). It”s called a chair. If you turn it around so its back is to the desired viewing arena, and put a non-skid rubber pad under each leg (4 for 1.99 at any K-Mart), your kid will not only be able to discover the rich universe that exists over their heads, you will prevent them (and you) from looking like a total a-hole, like the dorky toddler in the ad. Admit it, you sort of want this kid to push that expensive red bowl off the butcher block, and receive a very inappropriate punishment.

The Gay Uncle had an interesting conversation with an expectant mommy recently in which they discussed one of his favorite topics: baby crap. Not the actual excrement (though he loves to talk about that too, encouraging parents to admit that, in reality, it does stink) but the consumer-y kind that one purchases at Kids ‘R Us. Those of you familiar with the Gay Uncle’s book will know that he covers off on this subject quite thoroughly in Chapter 3, Get Stuffed (and those of you not familiar with the book better buy it right now) but this friend wanted to chat about a specific topic that G.U. had chosen not to discuss in writing, thinking it to be almost clichĆ©: strollers. Bugaboo and Peg Perego jokes seem like standardized fare in the urbane world in which the Gay Uncle circulates, but as they talked, this mommy-to-be added an enlightening new twist. It seemed that she had spent the better portion of her recent Saturday attempting to get the nursery ready, and had managed to convince her husband to give up an afternoon of watching basketball and detailing his gas grill to accompany her to Buy Buy Baby. The gent was none too happy about this, wincing as they passed through aisle after aisle of adorable onesies, temperature sensitive feeding spoons, quilted infant in-crib sleep positioners, and PVC-free everything. But his interest suddenly piqued when they hit the stroller corral. “He spent at least ninety minutes there, listening to demonstrations, going over lists of features, and pushing the buggies around the store,” Gunc’s friend said. “It was exhausting for me. But his eyes were lit up for every god-damn second.” It was at that moment in the conversation that the G.U. made a startling realization: STROLLERS ARE VEHICLES! Straight dudes could give a shit about adorable outfits, satin-lined bassinet sheets, or padded nursing bras. But cars? Now we’re talking. No wonder there are now strollers that resemble G.I. Joe’s Blackhawk helicopter, take up as much sidewalk space as a Escalade, and have as many features as an iPhone (or a really good gas grill). So if you want to get your Baby-Daddy interested in shopping, keep this in mind. While you fill the cart with The Eighty Things You Absolutely Must Buy Before Your Baby Is Born, he can kick the tires, select his trim level, ask about option packages, and take out the home equity loan required to purchase your new Orbit Infant Travel System.

As part of his ongoing quest to prove that the world gets exactly what it deserves, the Gay Uncle would like to present to you a product called Heelarious . G.U. is not quite sure it is as “funny” as its brand name indicates, but then again, he’s never been a huge fan of debilitating footwear on children. It’s Gunc’s belief that all kids should be encouraged to wear shoes that allow them to run, jump, climb (and strut) with ease, while minimizing the risk of falls, abrasions, broken ankles, and strained spines. Based on these standards, he’s thinking that these infant stilettos don’t really make the cut. But perhaps you have different goals? For example, maybe you’re interested in foot binding. Or you think girls should learn to sprint in heels so they’re prepared for outrunning potential assailants in their teens. Or you wish to encourage your daughter to become a pole-dancing stripper/whore. Or maybe you just have one of those drag-loving femmy boys. In which case, have at it. Who knows, maybe wearing these will help your child develop a mean roundhouse kick, and they’ll become a “famous” action star. It worked for RuPaul!

Thanks to Nancy for the tip!

Mother’s Day and Father’s Day have traditionally been celebrated by purchasing cheap sentimental paper greeting cards, showering the appointed parent with gender-specific gifts, and relieving them of their traditional maternal or paternal duties. On Mother’s Day, this means that mom is supposed to be excluded from shit-work like, cooking, cleaning, wiping asses, and giving (but not receiving) oral sex. However, despite what the New York Times has to say on this whole “new equality” in contemporary parenting, recent studies show that the average American father (out of the 60% that actually live with their kid, that is) spends about 42 minutes a day dealing with his offspring. Thus, the Gay Uncle has one question: Exactly what is daddy going to be relieved of on his special day? Reading three bedtime stories? Giving one bath? Co-viewing two TiVo-ed episodes of Family Guy? Gunc also wants to know: What will daddy do with this extra three-quarters-hour? Read iPhone 2.0 e-opinion reviews? Do some additional grilling? Continue to hog the Wii?

Or perhaps things really have changed. The Gay Uncle’s daddy friends are all liberated, sensitive, and giving, and love to cook, clean, wipe ass, and go down. In fact, they’re the ones bringing up the time-on-child average for all those dudes who only spend a daily 42 seconds with their kiddies. He would honestly believe that anything is possible.

So, dear readers: Do Tell! G.U. wants to hear all about your Father’s Day plans! Let us know in COMMENTS below.
Best story wins a Say Uncle t-shirt, and gets published on the site…and maybe elsewhere?

The Gay Uncle wants to give a shout out to his pal Jason Berkowitz and his animated kids’ rock band The Kablamos. Check out their music on Amazon or iTunes. Better yet, BUY the album and let your kids rock out!

The Gay Uncle was invited to cover an exciting event at the end of last week, the fourth annual Anti-Prom: a celebration for all the amazing outlier teens from all over the city who reject the blonded Gossip Girl conformity of traditional year end dance events. Having been an outlier kid himself in high school (faggoty asymetrical 80’s hair-do, combat boots, trench coat, thrift store tux) the G.U. felt total affinity with the participants, giggling gleefully at their awesome costumes, dancing, and assorted antics. He thanks Mike Hogan from VF.com for recognizing this, and sending him to report on this thrilling party. Take a look at his VanityFair.com coverage here.

Photo Credit: Jori Klein

Apparently, winning the Democratic nomination wasn’t enough for go-getter candidate Barack Obama. He’s now willingly subjected himself to a new challenge, one much more difficult than even facing down Hillary. The Gay Uncle read that this weekend he will be HOSTING A SLEEPOVER PARTY for his seven year old daughter Sasha! Apparently eight little girls were due at his Chicago home on Saturday evening around 6:00. G.U. is guessing that they’re all still awake right now. Being the good citizen that he is, Gunc would like to offer advice for next year’s sleepovers, when the Obamas are in the White House: decaf sodas, a dusting of ground-up Valium in the make-your-own-pizza dough, and a spiking of grape flavored Children’s Benadryl in the punch bowl. Viola! Dinner, then bed. If none of that works, the then-president could also have some Secret Service members use their infamous “sleep hold”. He’s heard that it’s totally painless. GO (to sleep) BARACK!

Check out The Gay Uncle being interviewed on Blog Talk Radio
Monday, June 09
7:00 p.m.
Listen to his clever quips and actionable advice. Hear stories of parents crazier than you or your friends. Or call in at the number below and ask a question of your own. Should be fun.
(347) 838-9159

View the Press Release here.