Walt Whitman vs. Walt Disney

My neighbors often assume that our son is named after Walt Whitman, maybe because Whitman lived in Brooklyn, maybe because Brooklyn parents tend to give their kids pretentious names.

Our Walt is named after Walt Disney. As I described in another post, this has caused some consternation among my neighbors. I am equally perplexed as to why anyone would name their son after Walt Whitman.

Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman wrote poetry a century before the Beats made poetry cool. Leaves of Grass is his most famous work. I've never read it. You probably haven't either.

Walt Disney

Walt Disney was one of the creative geniuses of the 20th century, right up there with Duchamp and Picasso. He created Mickey Mouse, arguably the most famous cartoon character ever. Mickey was the star of Steamboat Willie, the first cartoon with a completely post-produced soundtrack of music, dialogue, and sound effects. Walt went on to create Snow White, the first animated feature. And he built Disneyland which revolutionized amusement parks.

There is no Whitmanland but, if there were, it would be a place that Brooklynites would praise even though they had visited it only once in high school and remember none of it.

Visions of 2050

Part of being a sci-fi writer is getting the future wrong, like Arthur C. Clark anticipating commercial flights to the moon in 2001. Sometimes the error goes the other way, underpredicting the technology. Check this 1892 imagining of aerial warfare in 1955.

Egad! The commies have the balloon!

That's part of the fun of reading sci-fi, my buddy Rob said. Rob is a dad and a writer so I proposed this challenge - we're both going to write sci-fi stories for our sons to read in the year 2050. The story must begin on New Year's Day, 2050 and describe everyday life in some way. The goal is to predict the future as accurately as possible. Of course we'll be wrong. That's the fun.

The deadline is New Years Eve of this year when we'll seal up the envelopes and set them aside for the coming decades.

If any other writers with kids want to participate, please let me know.

Take This Organic Cucumber And Shove It

The Park Slope Food Co-op brings out the worst in me. When I joined, I thought the experience would have the opposite effect, imagining myself standing shoulder to shoulder with my fellow man, proving that there is an alternative to the hyper-capitalist system and getting some cheap, organic produce in the bargain. Instead I find myself suppressing the urge to punch my fellow man in the head.

I've never been community-minded. Drumming circles, Teach for America and Plato's Retreat have never appealed. I've always fancied myself the individualist but now that I'm older, mellower and a Brooklynite, I thought that I would try something new. Plus I have an example to set for my son. "We must be the change we wish to see", said Ghandi, probably while enjoying a warm glass of his own urine.

A lot of people complain about the Co-op so I'm not the only one who knows the misery created when people try to make the world a better place. What's worse, I go there almost every day. If I had a car, I would stockpile a week's worth of groceries but I can only buy as much as I can hang off the stroller. That means I have seven opportunities a week to get into it with one of the other members. The trouble usually starts with someone telling me what to do. The co-op has a phone book full of rules, most of which are selectively enforced. I even had this conversation with the woman ringing up my groceries...

HER: What's your son's name?

ME: Walt.

HER: Like Walt Whitman?

ME: No, he's named after Walt Disney.

HER: You should reconsider that.

Incidents like that are why we're always on the verge of quitting. We stick around for the great produce and the exceptional meats. I'll take it on faith that organic produce is better for me than frankencrops but ethically raised animals taste much better than supermarket meat. And I feel a little better knowing that the cow enjoyed a free range, daily massages, guided meditation and tantric sex before being murdered for the benefit of sloppy joe night.

We're going to try a week of just shopping at the Met Food around the corner and ordering from Fresh Direct. If that goes well,we'll quit, and we'll do it the day before we're scheduled to work our shifts.

Suck

The little guy is using a lot of new words these days and one of them is "suck". My Good American Wife thinks he means stuck because he says it while entangled in the magazine rack or up on a piece of playground equipment he can't climb down from.

I suspect that he means suck because I use that verb all the time, as in the Park Slope Food Co-op sucks. Such language may not be appropriate around toddlers but it is a necessity at the co-op, a place where even the most basic finctions of a grocery store cannot be counted on.

Being stuck can also suck so the meaning isn't clear. And sometimes he'll say suck for no reason that we can discern, like "bye, suck!" It also sounds a lot like sock, another one of his words. Time will tell if I'm raising a Bart Simpson.

That's Not My Assailant...

A friend gave our son this book, one of the "That's not my..." series. Pirates, once the scourge of the seas, are now cute. This is wrong. We need to teach our children that criminals are scary. Here's what Amazon.com would write about my book, "That's Not My Assailant..."

This disturbing board book is aimed at very young children. Real mug shots are designed to develop a distrust of strangers. Babies and toddlers will cry while turning the pages and pointing to the suspects.

That's not my assailant. His mohawk is too green.

That's not my assailant. His facial growths are too small.

That's not my assailant. His demeanor is too insouciant.

That's not my assailant. His nose has been punched too hard.

That's not my assailant. His mustache is too old-timey.

That's not my assailant. His look is too "Sean Penn on crack".

That's not my assailant. Her chins are too saggy.

That's not my assailant. His t-shirt is too ironic.

Zeke & Luther

Coming to Disney XD on June 15th, it's Zeke and Luther. They're best friends who want to be cool skaters but they'll always look like dorks because they'll be wearing full protective gear whenever they're on their decks.

I'm A Parent Not An Idiot

I subscribe to Wired magazine. The ads in there assume that I'm smart, sophisticated, hip and can afford a $5,000 watch. I also get Parenting where the advertisers assume that having a child is equivalent to having a lobotomy.

There's a special place in hell for the Oxi morons who create the Oxi Clean ads. Check out these two scamps, both of whom look way too old to be making "magic potion" out of chocolate syrup, marshmallows and a green substance that I'm guessing is pig's bile.

The casting specs must have called for "a young Warren Beatty."

Mott's Tots ads are more lame than irritating. The mom is Marcia Cross from Desperate Housewives. Does she hit her kids? I hope so. Especially the daughter.

Suck is right.

Talking about nutrition avoids the issue that canned ravioli only tastes good to soldiers in combat. If I were Chef Boiardi, I'd work under an alias too.
.

A full serving of "WTF?" in every bowl!

George Orwell said, "advertising is the rattling of a stick in a swill bucket." I can accept the swill bucket. All I'm asking for is a smarter stick.