Category Archives: Parenthood

Reproductive Hot Air

Oooh, Momma

These days I’m becoming a teensy fraction less revolted by parents, the most repulsive of which crow incessantly, Being a parent is the hardest job in the world.

To borrow a line from the comedian Bill Burr, Yeah? Tell that to the guy from eastern Kentucky with black lung disease.

Look, Kim Kardashian is a mother. Some pro athletes have spawned from sea to shining sea. I rest my case.

"Virgin" Mary

Anyway, I’m starting to soften toward parents thanks to the refreshing writing of parenting blogger JJ Keith, about whom I’ve yacked here previously.

Now, I know a ton of Pencillistas are moms (and you know — don’t you? — that you all are cool Mommas simply because you read me). So you, too, probably want to run away screaming when confronted with a room full of parents who are filled to the brim with themselves.

So here’s another tip: JJ Keith has a very cool Pinterest page. It’s called Mother Fucking Homemaking. If that title doesn’t grab you and hold you for all time, you’re probably the kind of mom who actually digs baby showers. In which case, you’re beyond hope.

Worry not, fellow members of the species Homo Sapiens sapiens. The Loved One and I are not planning on reproducing ourselves (for which decision I fully expect to be congratulated — well, I’m waiting…). It’s just that I’m actually enjoying reading about the act of raising brats, thanks to Keith. Maybe you will, too.

BTW: If you want to really get into the whole burgeoning STFU Parents movement, dig this blog of the same name. Get this: the blog’s author, Blair Koenig, has coined a fab new word to describe what’s going on in certain precincts: Sanctimommies. Beautiful, no?

That’s all. I’m finished today.

Hot Air, Again

The Hardest Job In The…, [Snore]

Generally I have little or no patience for parents, largely because I’m quite certain I would be better at parenting than 99.9 percent of the world populace. Want proof? Ride a bus or take a stroll through any grocery store.

Kid at Grocery

Now, I say this even though I’ve never had spawn of my own. Early on, I told myself I would sire children only under two conditions:

  • They must be born adults
  • They must live somewhere other than I do

Sadly, this benighted holy land would look askance at such an example of enlightened child-rearing, so I decided to abandon the whole idea.

I imagine the parents among my loyal readership will snort and say, “The jerk. He can say that because he’s never had to raise a kid. It’s the hardest job in the world.”

At which point my eyes roll uncontrollably and, after I regain my balance, I retort that there are some seven billion results of parenting experimentation in the world today and that number includes members of al Qaeda, football fans, stick-up men, wife-beaters, child molesters, compulsive Tweeters, and Republicans. I rest my case.

At the very least, my decision to not procreate means there is one less set of precious urchins you won’t be forced to look at on Facebook. Personal to parents: It is assumed by one and all that your kids will grow. It’s not a terribly fascinating process to the rest of us. (Well, okay, me.)

Anyway, the interwebs are chock-full of blogs written by parents who are convinced they and they alone have thought of the one true, right, and innovative way of raising a brood. These blogs are even less interesting than ten thousand Facebook pix of trophy children.

But I have found perhaps the singular engrossing parenting blog in existence. I recommend it highly. It is called This selfsame JJ Keith dame is the real goods, trust me. She has written about raising brats for Salon, Huffington Post, Jane, PopMatters, and even — gulp — the Reader’s Digest. She drops the F-bomb about as frequently as I do, which makes her cool. I doubt, though, the word made it into the Reader’s Digest.

Just go to the blog. It’ll make you laugh. She even calls out “progressive” mom Mayim Bialik for refusing to let her kids be vaccinated. So she’s doing a public service as well.


Now A Mom [Shudder]

Bang, Times Twelve

Do I need to say even one goddamned thing about this mass shooting at the DC naval yard? I didn’t think so.

Title Card: "Gun Crazy"

I Saw Her Again

I was leafing through the very fascinating book, A Perfect Haze: The Illustrated History of the Monterey International Pop Festival, this afternoon and came upon a picture of Mama Cass eating a piece a watermelon while watching one of the acts onstage. The choice to include this photo struck me as unseemly, considering the book includes no other pix of rock stars jamming comestibles into their faces. Then again, rock stars generally shy away from food unless it’s a savoy truffle, green onions, or a Mars bar. And, hey, speaking of stupid urban legends, Mama Cass did not choke to death on a ham sandwich.

Cass Elliot

Cass Elliot

Anyway, this is a glorious song. The M’s & the P’s delivered perhaps the most brilliant harmonies in the history of R ‘n R. BTW: Listen for John Phillips’ apparent blunder at the 2:44 mark. (Actually, it wasn’t Phillips’ mistake but the engineer’s)

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