My Father's Day: Surely Better Than Yours

Father's Day means a trip to the Brooklyn Shrine of St. Barbaralletta: Patron St. of Brooklyn Dads. Typical offerings include sheep's balls pounded flat and set ablaze at the fabled statuette's feet.

I won't do anything as cliche as tear this bogus holiday a NEW ONE... Because it's such an easy target, isn't it? This day, vulgarized by the evil empire (Hallmark), on which we pat ourselves on the back for doing what simple decency expects of us. It's so American. Look at me! Look at me! Buy me a new tie!

Still, I must say, when the Life Force Sucker came home from preschool and presented me with a card and a multitude of sweet-mouth kisses, my heart did melt. What sweetness--mouth kisses from my Mini-Me. Mwa mwa mwa mwa!

So, you are wondering, what did Mrs. Unit Parental do or get for me? Did I get mimosas in bed? Was I awarded that elusive bit of conjugal affection all fathers call "The Golden Ticket?" No, I got something better...

Yesterday morning, upon awaking, I was greeted, as usual, by the Life Force Sucker's patented armpit tickles. And then Mrs. Unit gave me my present, wrapped and boxed.

I rubbed my hands together? What could it be! 24 karat golf tees (I don't play!), the new iphone (there's a recession on!)... Oh what! Oh what!

I tore apart the Diego gift wrapper (all we had, apparently) and pried open the lid of the box.

Inside I found a black t-shirt. Okay, I said to myself. A t-shirt. (Boxers would have been better, I started thinking; my collection of Old Navy knickers is in various states of disintegration.) I held up the t-shirt, expecting some cheeky and hipsterish Brooklyn design: like a cherry tree growing out of the burnt out carcass of a 1976 Chevy Nova on blocks... But instead, I saw on this t-shirt the words "self" and "absorbed" printed on the front in blocky white lettering, separated by the cruelest of hyphens...

Good God, dear readers! What a Father's Day morning I had. First, molested in my sensitive armpits by my little sadist. And then shown a most unflattering reflection of myself in what was, unfortunately, NOT a funhouse mirror, not a FAT mirror, but rather, I was shown a reflection of myself in the mirror called love. Because what is love, my dear readers, if not honesty.

Was she right? Was I "SELF-ABSORBED?" I am sorry to say I, the Unit, have been! Guilty! Mea culpa! I am a blogger after all, and therefore, by definition an exhibitionist who wants you to watch as he/she picks at his/her profound navel!

I'll spare you the details of my self-absorption, save to say that it was getting to big-yellow-contractor-sponge proportions.

THE GIST: So, to my dear Mrs. Unit Parental, my Life Force GIVER, the better half in this lopsided three-legged race we're in, I.E., our typical American marriage, I thank you for this gift of bone-crushing honesty. And to the Life Force Sucker, I appreciate the handmade card, even if your teacher wrote all the accurately spelled words inside it--I know you feel love for me in your small, fast-beating heart. And, oh, I appreciate the little mouth kisses! And even the bruising 5:30AM armpit tickles! Extra high-fructose corn syrup for you this week, in whatever highly concentrated and processed form you like!

So, to all, a belated Happy Father's Day! And if you are not one of my international readers, if you are not one of my San Francisco followers, if you are, say, one of my fellow Ditmas Park residents, then you might see me along Cortelyou Road this week in my brand new DUNCE SHIRT...

My Cool 'Hood: Ditmas Park

House porn: She likes her gutters cleaned regularly.

Holler and represent. That's right, we live in Ditmas Park. Take the Q-Train, motherfucker, or the B. Step off, and drop your jaw at the giant houses. Worship at the stately Victorians. Bring your camera, and you can snap off some house porn...

Then, come down to the wine shop and talk to my man the WINERATOR, who'll point you to a fine vintage, the drinking of which will be like "sucking on stray cherry pits as a diminutive nun beats you about the spine with a long chalkboard ruler from high school." Ouch! Sign me up for a case of that fine moonshine!

Yup, that's how the WINERATOR is. Descriptive...

Or traipse on over next door and see the friendly moms at the realtor's office, for some hot real estate action. Now, there's nothing like looking at some smokin' hot real estate with friendly local moms, is there?

Or go next door to the Mimi's and get some gourmet humus with whole wheat pitas! Cuz that's how Mimi's rolls! (Don't ask her for falafel. You've been warned.)

Or go down to The Farm for a world-class meal, or Picket Fence for some of the Life Force Sucker's fave smoked gouda mac and cheese. (What a Brooklyn babe, no! He likes his mac and cheese with gourmet fromage! )

Or go visit our Anarchist Cafe for some beer and popping jazz after hours. What, you heard the place was closed? You're dead wrong. It's very open again, and there's a new sheriff in town; her name is Debbie. And word is, aside from managing the Anarchist Cafe, she also manages the Freakin' Mermaid Parade down in Coney Island. Now how capital C cool is that?

Park Slope don't got that. Uh-uh. All the women folk over there are doing what? Doing what? That's right, they're running Credit Suisse, New York Division. They're pulling in the bucks, they're the ladies of FINANCE. But they don't run the Freakin' Mermaid Parade, no they do not.

MY OWN HOUSING REPORT:
Now, I am sad to report I do not live in one of the big houses. Instead, I live in one of the battleship-like brick coops that, if I lived in one of those houses, I would call a blight on the landscape. But here we are. What are you going to do? It is what it is. At least we got our sun-blasted patio on which the Life Force Sucker can peer down to the street and at his own mortality. (Standing out there with him makes me nauseous.)

But seriously, let's discuss today's topic. To be a cool Brooklyn Dad like yours truly, you got to live in a cool 'hood. Here are formerly cool 'hoods that, according to the nyc.gov website, have lost their designation as cool:

1. Williamsburg
2. Park Slope

Here are the three cool 'hoods remaining in all of Brooklyn:

1. Prospect Heights
2. The Gowanus
3. Ditmas Park

Prospect Heights is just cool. Vanderbilt has like mad bike lanes and Soda Bar and Zaytoons and that French restaurant without the real kitchen and no ventilation. Cool.

Gowanus: Anyone willing to live next to the biohazardous Gowanus qualifies as brave enough to be cool.

And little old Ditmas Park...

Now, I'll be honest. I wasn't sold on this neighborhood when we moved here X years ago, during the Great Artistic Migration of the Early 2000's, when hardworking folks who, unfortunately were not working in finance or as lawyers, strapped their painting easels and guitars to their backs and fled Park Slope, like refugees getting bombed out of their homes. (But we ourselves aren't innocents swaddled in cottony whites are we? We displaced some local residents as well. Just bowing my head to history, for a second here. To the TRUTH...)

What I miss most about Park Slope is the culinary convenience. I mean, to this day, I find myself craving Red Hot Szechuan like crazy--cheap, filling, fast delivery. In 6 years in the slope, Mrs. Unit and I spent $6,000 at Red Hot, give or take. (Yes, I did the math.) Kung Po chicken. Spring roll. Maybe even a steamed pork bun fresh out the oven... And wonton soup. Hmmmm...

But Goddamn, this place has grown on me. Ditmas Park. Love it. Just glad I didn't pay half a million for 500 square feet. Even if that 500 square feet is next door to Red Hot Szechuan...

Ahhh, the 11218... Represent!

FATHER'S DAY IS ALMOST HERE. PLEASE EMAIL ME TO ARRANGE DELIVERY OF ANY PRESENTS FOR THE UNIT PARENTAL.