Brett Berk

The Gay Uncle is in Sacramento this week, working on a consulting project for a major manufacturer of kids’ educational electronic toys. Though he usually lives his life in something of a mainstream media blackout, when traveling, he finds TV and Clear Channel more difficult to avoid: they’re playing in the rental car shuttle, the waiting area in the airport, or the taxi to and from JFK. He’s no newbie–he’s seen the kind of garbage ads that get perpetrated during a political season; he actually finds some of them kind of funny from an objective perspective. But nothing prepared him for the bilous streams of hot hate that the folks in favor of Proposition 8 (outlawing the already sanctioned gay marriage) are dumping into the California media supply. Sitting in P.J. McFunsies–the bar in his hotel lobby–last night, he was shit-blasted with at least two or three examples. Now the G.U. isn’t particularly interested in getting gay married himself–he and his boyfriend look stupid in matching white tuxedos, he finds it difficult to pick rice out of his frizzy Jewfro, and he believes that the bundle of rights that come with marriage would be better acquired through campaigns for things like universal health-care and tax reform–but still, he finds it difficult to understand just what it is about the practice that has these concerned citizens so up in arms. He’s working on an article right now about the “New Queer Media for Kids” that will cover off on some of the books, movies, and tv shows aimed at children that promote the Homosexual Agenda–many of which deal with two dudes or two chicks (or two male guinea pigs or female songbirds) getting married, so stay tuned here for some exciting and bombastic theories.

This week, the Gay Uncle’s sort-of weekly column on Yahoo’s parenting site is all about one of his favorite topics: teaching little boys to pee sitting down. The piece contains five thrilling reasons why young males should be initiated into this practice, and not one of them has anything to do with emulating the way that Sarah Palin urinates. Check it out.

http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/parenting/true-mom-confessions-answers-with-uncle-brett-5-reasons-to-let-your-son-pee-sitting-down-295030/;_ylt=AuM8IPblm.GSeWu4CqTXPdFhbqU5

The Gay Uncle was fortunate enough to be invited to an advance screening of the eagerly awaited, brand new, big screen, destined-to-be-more-popular-than-Christianity, Disney sequel High School Musical 3: Senior Year last night. Could he have said no? Sure. That is, if he hadn’t already seen both HSM1 and HSM2 multiple times; if he didn’t own the soundtrack to the first movie and listen to it with embarrassing frequency on his iPod while working out at the gym; if he didn’t have a Tiger Beat poster of Zac Efron hanging in his writing studio; and if wasn’t his JOB to be profoundly, disgustingly, market-savvily aware of the kind of candy colored, inane, and extraordinarily compelling filmic goo young people are watching these days. Of course, as with achieving anything worthwhile, he had some obstacles to overcome in attending–mainly in terms of derisive public opinion. When he told his friend Babs that he was going, she teased him that anyone over twenty-five who attended the movie without a child should have to register as a sex offender. When he told his nine year-old niece that he’d was going, she said: “Uncle Brett? I have just one thing to say to you: You are extremely gay!” But was he dissuaded? Absolutely not. He rode up to Time’s Square, pushed in front of lines of children literally doing back-flips in anticipation, and took a seat in the roped-off reviewers’ section.

So what did he think? Well, while his ears are still ringing from the deafening shrieks of the clots of spoiled seven year-olds in the audience, he has to say he had a pretty good time. The core conflicts and narrative trajectory could have been much clearer. The film was about fifteen minutes too long in the middle. He finds Ashley Tisdale’s face impossible to focus on, and her voice reminds him of someone ice skating on sheet metal. And there were a few too many ballads. But Troy’s two big numbers were great, all the Footloose inspired choreography and butchy dancing with basketballs and junkyard cars made him giddy (perhaps too giddy?), and the lunchroom scenes continued to wow. Not that those of you who are parents will have any choice, but he recommends that you go see it.

One of the Gay Uncle’s friend’s six year-old daughter recently, and quite vocally, endorsed John McCain for president. Said friend expressed dismay, then anxiety, then the rest of the seven stages of grief, before asking what one is expected to do in this situation. The G.U.’s immediate retort was that the child needs to be “liberated” from the family. (Give her a taste of the “ownership society” her candidate espouses.) But on second thought, Gunc wondered if it might be possible to have some sort of open dialogue with kids like this about the election. Of course, being who he is (and Barack being who he is) the G.U. doesn’t know a single other young person who actually supports The Evil Toad. Dear readers: do you? If you do, fill him in. What are these (very) Young Republicans’ issues? They want to see the full-on demise of public education so they don’t have to go to school ever again? They really like camo and are hoping to be a first-round draft pick? They already evolved a set of gills and are thus well-suited to live in a post-climate-change earth? They think the Great Depression only happened in the American Girl movie? Gunc sort of gets what’s the matter with Kansas, but what’s the matter with these Kids? DO TELL.

The Gay Uncle went out canvassing for Barack again this weekend. But it was no ordinary, head out into the remote reaches of rural Pennsylvania with his boyfriend, knock on strangers’ doors and say, “Hi. We’re two gay guys from the City. Can we count on your vote for our candidate?” kind of thing, like it usually is around this time of year. Not at all. This time, his close friend Danika had emailed that she wanted to go to PA with him, inspired to hit the streets (for the first time since the Dukakis campaign) by her nine year-old daughter Erica’s desire to help elect the Big O. Mother and daughter were thrilled when Gunc told them he could provide a hook-up just across the river from his country house in a deeply red blob of the Keystone State, but as the date approached, little Erica became increasingly nervous. “She’s kind of shy around strangers,” Danika wrote “and she’s worried about having to talk to them.” Gunc replied reassuringly. “She doesn’t have to say anything. Her job is just to stand there and look cute, and help soften the effect of me and Tal’s presence so it doesn’t feel as much like we’re some invading fag army.”

The tactic seemed to work out in the field. The two families divided up into various mixed-gender pairs, and after four nauseating hours of driving, parking, and walking among the tiny unmapped dirt roads of a enormous lakeside development, the Gay Uncle is proud to report that only one of the “undecided” voters on their lists was still considering John McCain’t (and this person just happened to be an Evil Racist Bitch who said “it was too close to 9/11 to be voting for a candidate who was running as an African-American” whatever that means). The rest were strong for Barack. This was deeply satisfying to all of the participants. Even Erica said she enjoyed the adventure. But when Gunc asked the girl if the day had gone as she expected, she shrugged. “Not really. When you said we’d be going door-to-door, I sort of thought we’d be, like, parking on a street, going up to every house, and ringing the bell. Like Halloween” The G.U. nodded. There had indeed been more driving than interacting. (And a complete lack of costumes or free candy.) “But I felt like I did a good job using my special ability,” the girl said. The Gay Uncle squinted as if he didn’t understand. “You know,” she smiled. “Looking cute!”

The Gay Uncle had dinner with some parent friends the other night, and this couple told him about an interesting new trend in New York pre-schools. Apparently things have gotten so competitive in this category–with school directors being plagued by constant calls, demands for visits, thousand child wait-lists, and paper-bagged cash bribes–that some popular early childhood centers have chosen to go off line completely. They don’t have websites. They keep their phone numbers unlisted. They disavow signage, advertising, or press. Some have even gone so far as to require a secret knock and password before entering. Okay, that last bit is a lie, but they do operate solely on word of mouth and a certain hush-hush in-the-know quality–like the exclusive and unadorned nightlife spots that have sprung up around Manhattan in recent years–and when moms are granted an ultra-exclusive opportunity to tour the facility, they are required to vow that they will not tell anyone of the time or date of their rendezvous, not even their closest friends. Gunc’s pal was one of the fortunate few asked to drop by one day, and was shocked to see three of her closest mommy mates in the same group, not one of whom had mentioned the appointment to any of the others. Like most practices related to contemporary parenting the G.U. is at once horrified and intrigued by this, and is attempting to come up with an appropriate (and appropriately condemnatory) name for this practice or school. Extrapolating from the name of the bars that sprung up around New York during prohibition, but adding in a little crying toddler noise for good measure, so far he’s running with Shriekeasy, but he’s open to suggestions. Drop a line below with your ideas.

Confess and you shall be Answered…by the Gay Uncle. Read Gunc’s helpful tips on how to rid your child of an irritating Binky habit. Also effective for most other annoying appendage addictions.

Here’s the link: http://www.truemomconfessions.com/clean-blogroll/view.php?id=79

You know what the Gay Uncle hears all the time from the members of his million-plus fan base? Adorable stories about their kids’ activities: My two year old daughter said fuck in the middle of church services. My son let his Tonka truck run into our street, causing a three car pile up. My toddler yanked her hamsters tail so hard that it pulled right off. And while he’s generally fascinated with tales like these, what he’s most interested in receiving are anecdotes about kids getting hurt. Not because he takes a prurient interest in children’s injuries, but because he wants to come up with creative ways to protect every single delicate inch of their vulnerable bodies. If he could, he would lock them all in padded rooms, wearing padded suits, until they were full grown, feeding them only organic soy-protein shakes (with a greens boost) through straws, like factory-farmed veal. But that’s not really an option (is it?). Well, fortunately for the youth of the world, some creative folks have beat him to the punch, at least in terms of a few frangible areas. Now, whenever you let your precious darling out of their rubber room, you can doll them up in the items pictured above.

Gunc thinks that the helmet is particularly stylish, what with those adorable “ears” or “propellers” or whatever they are lolling about the top. And he’s told that the kneepads come in a variety of designer colors to match the patterns on baby’s diapers; carpet burn, you’re banished! The G.U. is working with a top prosthetic designer right now on a line of his own Baby Bump Battlers TM, including a latex lip-guard, a titanium genital protector, and a carbon-fiber eyeball mantle (this last one is proving challenging on the whole “seeing” front, but which is more important: sight, or the assurance that your child will never poke their eye out?) Make sure to return daily for updates on other new products!

Likely because of his penchant for routinely dissing the boatloads of idiotic baby crap that many parents feel obligated to buy, and then ruefully regret (see Chapter 2 of his book The Gay Uncle’s Guide to Parenting, “Get Stuffed”) readers often send the G.U. enticing lists of insane infant merch (20 Fucked-up-est Baby Products, 10 Things Your Toddler Absolutely Doesn’t Need, etc.) Gunc loves the idea of these compilations, and always appreciates receiving them, but his eyes often glaze over when scrolling though, not because he’s seen it all before, but because half the time he has absolutely NO idea how this shit works: what its intent is, how it reflects a valid need-state, which end of the baby it’s supposed to go in or out of. But every so often, there comes a product that is completely self-explanatory (if still mystifying). Like this one: The Toddler Urinal. Now as those of you who have read his book know, the Gay Uncle strongly advocates teaching boys to pee sitting down: it decreases worries about aim, it’s a consistent approach that more naturally leads to pooping sitting down, and it’s a nice way to take a load off (he pees seated most of the time himself and finds it relaxing). He also thinks familiarizing kids with the bathroom (from a young age) as the locus for all watersports activities helps aide the eventual training process. And he’s pretty sure that most houses in this country come with at least one extant piece of plumbing perfectly designed for piss-practice. So why anyone would want to add yet another place in their house for their son to wield his urine gun (with the safety off) is beyond him: especially placing said receptacle in what appears to be the corner of the living room, like the folks in this photo have. By the way, he read that this thing actually “flushes”; you just need to fill the “reservoir” at the kitchen sink. (Emptying the “reservoir” on the other end is another story. Ew.) Gunc just has one question: Does it come with child-friendly urinal mints? He suggests flavors like bubble-gum, kiwi-strawberry, and pizza.

Ever wonder why your child doesn’t abide you when you talk? It’s because you’re doing it totally wrong! Check out this timely new chunk of advice from The Gay Uncle in this month’s issue of Parenting Magazine. The interview on which this article was based took place way back in March, and the G.U. didn’t know that it actually got published until he happened across it in the bathroom of his friend’s house in Long Beach, CA this evening. The fact that it’s Yom Kippur, and that his friend is a Rabbi, makes him think that this is somehow a sign from god that he has been inscribed in the book of life for the year, despite the fact that he wiled away his faith’s holiest of holy days trying to help a major beverage company figure out how to market an artificially-sweetened, fruit-flavored, electrolyte-filled beverage to teens. Now that’s not nice! Good Yom Tov, everyone.