Author: Brett

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 cliché: 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.

Here’s an exquisite idea whose time the Gay Uncle believes has truly arrived: give little kids fake pills in order to try and elicit a placebo effect. They’re going to have to get used to swallowing medicine soon enough anyway, since we all know that every newborn baby is just an incipient case of ADHD, episodic depression, and/or bipolar disorder. So why not prep them right now by having them take capsules to “cure” intractable problems like the pain of skinned knees, the grody taste of spinach, or the sadness associated with the end of today’s episode of Dora? They can develop their esophagus muscles. They can learn that nothing that exists (particularly the banality of nothingness itself) that can’t be cured by modern science. And it would do away with all that nasty physical contact involved with our current “a kiss will make it better” placebo practice. Gunc gives it two thumbs up! What do you think?

The Gay Uncle took a (long) subway ride out to Coney Island yesterday because a) it was his boyfriend’s birthday, and that’s what he wanted to do, and b) they’re talking about closing down Astroland again and he wanted to ride on the Cyclone at least one more time before he dies (or simply die riding on the Cyclone). Fortunately, it was a perfect day–sunny, clear, and breezy. Also fortunate was the fact that the copious quantities of pizza and beer that G.U. consumed had little impact on his enjoyment (NOTE: the one-to-one beer-to-slice ratio does not work for the number four.) He strolled the boardwalk. He rode the coaster (twice!) He even went to the Aquarium and saw a mother walrus and her baby (a strange term for a being that was born at 112 lbs). The problem came on the return trip, when a three year old boy boarded the subway with his mother and grandmother and proceeded to SCREAM at the top of his lungs for about eleven stops. He wasn’t in pain. No one was molesting him. He didn’t have to go to the bathroom. He didn’t even seem tired or angry. He was simply screaming. Loud. Very loud. For no reason. And how do you think his mommy and granny reacted? They did NOTHING. Not a stern glance. Not a weak suggestion to please use an inside voice. Not even a hollow threat that if he didn’t stop yelling right now, they would never go to Coney Island/visit Grandma/ride the Q train ever again. Now, the Gay Uncle hasn’t had much luck correcting parents’ behavior on the train, so he kept his big monkey mouth shut. But he had secret fantasies of using some of his patented methodologies on the child: ones that are not in his book, and involve lead weights, wire, duct tape, honey, and fire ants.

The other afternoon, the Gay Uncle was out in his yard studying the new growth on his forsythia–another of his compulsive daily habits–when he heard a strange rumbling. Imagining it might be a logging truck or ATV-er, he prepared his best scowl, but was surprised to see an eleven year old girl on a pink bicycle coming down the road. Unless she weighed about four hundred pounds, or was in terrible gastric distress, she had no right to be making this noise, and he stared at her, trying to figure out what was up. He finally recognized her as an unfortunately pie-faced little neighbor child–who had, happily, finally started growing into her head–and smiled and started to wave, pleased to see a kid enjoying the outdoors in a free-spirited and unstructured way. Realizing the tremor was unconnected to her locomotion, he even thought to warn her of the eminent approach of a tractor or bulldozer from her rear. But it was then that he noticed the true source of the noise. It was her father, trailing about fifteen feet behind her in a Bobcat Utility Vehicle like the one pictured above: a gasoline powered, four-wheel drive, go-anywhere golf cart. The Gay Uncle’s scowl returned. It wasn’t just the unnecessary carbon footprint that outraged him. Or the dorkiness of an gentleman farmer/urban second-home owner driving one of these down a public road. It was the fact that the dad was following this kid around at all while she rode through our rural streets. The G.U. recently recorded a piece for National Public Radio’s All Things Considered critiquing the short tether that contemporary parents keep on their tweens; a British study claimed that a full third of 11-15 year olds in the U.K. have never been allowed outside of the house alone. He strongly advocates letting your youth off the leash. Kids this age need unstructured free time away from their folks to make sense of the world and improvise responses to new input. If we don’t want them to become a part of Generation XL, they also need a space bigger than their living room to roam around in. This girl was certainly getting some exercise, but under the constantly prying eye of her father, who kept his gaze trained on her rear tire as she motored up the hill. Gunc wondered if he was simply escorting her somewhere, but he saw them pass by a few more times that afternoon and since, as if he was running a horse. Note to parents: teach your almost-teenagers how to navigate the world so they don’t live in fear of it, and give them some room to become themselves. The world is honestly not as dangerous as you think.