Brett Berk

The Gay Uncle wants you to look over to the top right of this page. See that cute little blue button with the word facebook on it (it looks just like the one on the left, but bigger)? If you’re a facebook person, you can now click on that link and travel right to Gunc’s facebook fan group where you can JOIN UP. You’ll be the first to get updates on all the G.U. scuttlebutt–readings, events, articles, gossip, etc. You can write Gunc personal messages which he may ignore, respond to, or simply use as fodder for this blog. You can even give him gifts of cupcakes and hamsters and whatever that other crap is that he sees other more popular people receiving on facebook and doesn’t really want because it looks kind of idiotic but wants to be wanted enough for someone to think to send him something like that so he can then reject it. You will not play Scrabble with him because he hates that game. Click and join!

The most recent dispatch in The Gay Uncle’s weekly Vanity Fair car column, Stick Shift, is officially up, and guess what? It outs the Gay Uncle’s very own gay vehicles. Want to see how Gunc gets around when he’s not swishing along the sidewalks? Click here.

Here’s an extremely infectious concept the Gay Uncle would like to sow in your brain: Virgin Bikini Waxing. Apparently the idea here is to depilate the pigmentless hairs from the body of a little girl before she hits puberty (which is not an uncommon occurrence in the high single digits these days) and her pelt gets all wiry, dark and coarse. Salon owners say that business is “booming” in the under-10 market, and are calling the treatment revolutionary. Apparently, they claim that if a second grader goes under the hot wax just five or six times, her grody real body hair will never grow in. The Gay Uncle is not sure if there’s any research to back up this claim, but he does think that the whole thing seems kind of…nasty to him. He wonders what will be next? Pre-pubertal breast implants (kids heal faster!) Toddler dermabrasion (prevent zits from forming; keep that soft baby skin growing forever!) Infant nose jobs (the cartilage is so soft and pliant at that age!) Gunc is not opposed to cosmetic procedures prima face. He’s had a few himself (though you could never tell.) But he believes kids deserve to be kids for as long as possible, and that when we’re dealing with them, we need to balance utility or functionality with the lessons we’re imparting. Have you ever had a Brazillian? Think about how that would feel to an 8 year old, and what that’s telling her about her body. Do you agree? Disagree? Let us know below. [Thanks to the G.U.’s loyal reader Irit for the tip.]

The Gay Uncle was perusing the pages of TimeOut NewYork Kids online today, searching for an interview with him that’s supposed to run this month (why else would he read this stellar journal; he has no kids!) when he came across this headline about kids going bare-ass in New York City playgrounds. He didn’t read the article because, frankly, he doesn’t really care about other people’s opinions, but seeing this reminded him of a question he’d recently been asked by a reader regarding a similar situation at a public beach. This mom had been troubled by the sight of a five year-old girl playing naked in the sand and surf and wanted to “throw a towel around this young child”. Said reader wondered if she was in her rights, or “just uptight”? The G.U. had to think about this for a bit, particularly since the subject of beachfront clotheslessness reminded him of being forced to look at photos of his parents’ vacation to a nudist resort in the Caribbean, circa 1978 (there’s dad eating a live sea urchin with a crowd of strangers: Nude!) But when he cleared his head of this memory, he gave a measured response. His recommendation: do what you want in private–in the tub, in the backyard, at clothing-optional birthday parties–but when in public, put something more than sunscreen on your kid’s lower half. He thinks brief exceptions can be made–let them take it off underwater if they want to feel the waves in their sails–but otherwise, they should keep their private parts private in public: it’s respectful to others, it helps keep dirt/sand/mud of their various cracks and creases, and it prevents viruses and parasites from leaking out of their butts and going into other kids’. That said, he advocates letting your kid go naked in a like-minded and safe environment without freaking out that they’ve got something else on their mind (or that everyone around them does); nudity is interesting in a society where we’re always clothed, and bodies are fascinating and not something for your tot to be ashamed of. With respect to the specifics of his reader’s question, he also strongly recommends against throwing a towel around anyone else’s kid on the beach, or anywhere else. That might get you punched in the face.

The Gay Uncle spoke with an old friend recently who, in the intervening time since they’d last conversed, had gotten herself married and had a child. Said baby is now an adorable two year old with whom mom spends a good deal of time while holding down a full time academic job. Talking as she was to the G.U., the conversation turned quite quickly to recreational activities (drinking, gunplay, porn), and mommy-friend said she hadn’t been doing much of this. “Right,” Gunc said, “because it’s the summer. You’re not teaching and you’re home with your son full-time.” His friend shook her head. “No. It’s not that. I find that drinking just puts me to sleep. Actually,” she paused, as if working up the nerve, “I think that taking a little puff of something often helps me to focus on my son, and not to sweat some of the small stuff he does, to let it go. I feel like I’m a better parent when I’m just a little high.” The Gay Uncle nodded like he understood. And in many ways, he did. He often finds himself to be more agreeable with his B.F. when he’s smoked up, less likely to be his usual combative self. And he knows that interactions with his nieces (and everyone else) on family trips can certainly be lubricated by an afternoon beer or Bloody Mary, or a half a Percoset and a Vodka/soda at cocktail time, so it’s not like he doesn’t get the lure of being altered when interacting with a group of those closest to you. He’s aware that plenty of mommies raised “healthy” kids on daily doses of Valium. And he’s certainly well-versed in the idea that a host of experiences–watching a bad movie, having sex, reading the New York Review of Books–can be made much more interesting when one has their weed on. But it still seemed a bit…off to him to think that this would make one a better parent. Being high makes him feel at once focused and forgetful. He loses track of time. He misinterprets actions and signals. He doesn’t take control of power tools of vehicles under the influence, and those are inanimate and respond directly to his actions, so the idea of solely supervising a kid in this state makes him nervous. He’s hardly one to pass judgment (ahem). So…YOU do it. What do you think? Bong-hit parenting: yea, or nay. And why? Have at it in COMMENTS.

The Gay Uncle must confess that he broke his own cardinal rule (“If you’re not cross-selling, you’re not doing your job”), and forgot to remind you to read his Vanity Fair column this past week. Bad Gay Uncle! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Once again, the column goes up every Thursday, usually by noonish. Here’s a link to last week’s exciting piece.

This is the Gay Uncle’s seven month old niece. He’s not sure if her early onset (and gender variant) puberty is caused by factory farm hormones in the milk, whatever it is that’s killing the bees, or her father’s testosterone-replacement therapy creams.
But he does know one thing: she has grown a mustache that would make any of the Village People jealous.

The Gay Uncle received a note from a mommy-friend the other day in response to a recent-ish post on sibling rivalry. She told the story of her boys Adam (5) and Josh (8) who began the morning, prior to going to their summer day-camp, engaged with an “action figure”ť that the older boy had built out of fruit leather, fudgy cookie crĂ©me, and a stale chocolate-covered malted milk ball (which G.U. assumes was the head). While the boys were engaged in their “play”, the mom took this opportunity to enact what Gunc calls Sunscreen Torture: the ritual application of ultraviolet blockers, a favorite past-time of parents everywhere. [Note: imagine enacting this with 18 kids every morning before heading out to the urban sprinkler park and you have some idea of what the Gay Uncle’s job was like.]

With only five minutes remaining before the boys’ bus arrived and mom had to peel out to head to the office, the younger of the two boys (Cain?) became over-excited (G.U. wonders if it was the fault of the action figure’s ingredients, which could make a hyperactivity-inducing breakfast). In his rage–sugar-induced, or otherwise–he managed to mangle FruitLeatherCrĂ©meWhopperMan. This irritated his older brother, who was the genius behind the creation of this charming toy. “You are the stupidest brother in the world,” the 8 year-old screamed, “and I hate you forever!”ť This boy is apparently quite a sweet child, and doesn”t ordinarily talk this way to his sibling, and his reaction stunned and shocked little Adam, whose face froze for a moment as he absorbed the intent of this hateful comment. Then, in typical second-child fashion, he went full-on Naomi Campbell. “You fucking biiiitch!!!”ť he screamed, and he grabbed the first thing that came to hand and began beating his brother about the face and neck with it (fortunately, it was a stuffed animal, and not a mace). Then, once mother managed to pry them apart, he kicked off his shoes, removed his socks and shirt, and announced that he wasn”t going to camp. The babysitter was on vacation and mom had to get the boys on the bus (and come to work), and so she suggested that G.U. simply “imagine what the next 5 minutes looked like.”

The problem is, he isn’t at all sure . He could picture it involving duct tape, roller skates, and a long nylon rope, but that’s just where his mind always goes.

The Gay Uncle’s close friends, and parental whipping posts, Kate and Dylan came upstate for a visit this weekend, bringing along their adorable kids Max (nearly 6) and Athena (3). Fortunately for the Guncles’ sleep patterns, a friend with an empty country house nearby offered to put the family up there, allowing a win-win situation: hanging out with the parents as late as possible at Chez Empty once the kids were in bed, and then being able to retreat home to sleep and sleep in. Oh yeah, and being able to get rowdy with the little tykes without worrying about breaking any of the Gay Uncles’ shabby but beloved crap. The first daytime activity was a trip to a local swimming hole on the River, which entailed taking a short walk through tall grass. Urbanites to the core–both New York natives–Kate and Dylan were worried about bugs. Fortunately, they also have ADD and forgot to be worried during the trip, focusing more on keeping their tots from being washed downstream by the strong current. But this concern came alive again when they were performing the children’s bedtime ritual. “I have to check you for ticks,” Kate said once she’d finished reading them their stories. “And they say it’s particularly important to check your genitals–your private parts.” The wee ones lit up at this opportunity–Mommy’s going to tickle our fancies?–and once they’d enjoyed their first check, Athena insisted on a repeat. “You need to check me again,” she said, smiling slyly. This catalyzed a need for another check for Max as well. “You checked her again,” he burbled, pointing at his penis “now you need to check me again.” Oneupmanship followed. “You checked him more times than me! Again.” “Now you checked her four times, and me only three!” “You need to check me again, mommy!” “Mommy!” Finally, Kate had had enough. “You’re done. There are no ticks. Now go to bed.” She came out of the bedroom and grabbed her margarita. “I don’t know who’s more perverted, him, or her.” The G.U. shrugged. “Kids are pleasure seekers. It’s human nature. Would you turn down the opportunity? In fact,” he turned to Tal, and smiled lasciviously. “Maybe you should check me…?”

The Gay Uncle’s beautiful sister called the other day to alert him to a milestone: his baby niece’s first word. Being a clothes hound, like the baby’s mother, G.U. was pleased to hear that the child’s first coherent utterance was…”Outfit”. He knew he liked that kid. But her second word held an even better story. Sis Roxy has been trying to get the little bugger to say “Mama” for months, repeating it to the girl all day long in various inflections. “Mama. Mama. Maaama. Maaama. Mama.” The child seemed to relish this focused attention, so even though it delivered no results, Roxy kept it up. Finally, one evening when she was getting together an OUTFIT for her weekly girl’s night out, she became so frustrated with the girl’s steadfast refusal to deliver the all-important maternal designation, that she began browbeating her with it. “MAMA! MAMA! MAAAA-MAAAA! Say MAMA. Mamamamamamamamamama. Say it! Say it!” Her baby, perched on the bed, looked up at her, tilted her head, and spoke. “DA-DA.”
Roxy was devastated (and enraged) by this betrayal, until Gunc reminded her that the infantese word for father in just about every language contains an easier-to-pronounce hard consonant sound, whereas the word for mother contains a more-difficult soft one, stacking the odds in daddy’s favor. “Why is that?” Roxy asked. “Well,” G.U. responded. “It’s a little thing called The Patriarchy. But don’t worry. We’ll bring it down soon.”