How to Spot a Douchy Parent

I haven't posted since March, but like a dog that inevitably licks himself in the fun area, I have returned to doing what I do best- complain. I became a parent last April. It was a scary experience. And not just because I became unavoidably responsible and human feces on my hands became normal, but because I became even more aware of what tools other parents can be. I've been appalled to play soccer with my son at the park, only for some four-year-old who should totally know better to take the ball away from him. Since I can't exactly punt the kid into oncoming traffic, you can imagine my frustrations.

So, anyway, through my travels, I have narrowed my list for how to pick out a douchy parent to the following characteristics:

- Kids names all start with the same initial

Here are my children, Frankie, Freddy, Fiona and Fuckface! Aren't they adorable? No. They're pretty unpleasant-looking. Starting your children's names with the same letter is no more creative than dressing them in nauseatingly matching outfits. Don't get me started on that shit.

- They are wearing a #1 Dad shirt, hat and wristbands

Nothing says "punch me fast" like these overly exuberant family men whose wardrobe consists of these ghastly MVP Dad gimmicks. Just because disinfectant wipes are now your life is no reason to give up hope you can still be at least kind of "cool." I mean, come on man. And it's always doofy white guys who wind up going in this dark, dark direction.

Guys who wear this hat have as much personality as this bearded mannequin does.

- Fanny packs. My God, the fanny packs...

There is absolutely no excuse for this. You have pockets, your unsightly wife has a purse, you're probably carrying a diaper bag the size of Vern Troyer. Why the need to dangle personal items over your nutsack? Is it really so small you feel inclined to hide it? I feel sorry for you. And your child who has such a nerdy father to look up to.

Thanks for crushing my childhood image of what a real man is, brother!

- Their kids are pooping in crayon boxes and coloring on toilets

Hey mom, guess what?! When that child of yours popped out of your vag and eventually figured out how to put one foot in front of the other, he became your responsibility until he gets hooked on crack in college. Letting your child roam free and not creating boundaries for them isn't being liberating, it's being an asshole. Kids need rules. Otherwise, they'd whiz in your mashed potatoes and when you laughed, they'd think that was acceptable. Hence, you'd raise a dickhead bully who thinks fucking with other people's shit is kosher. Way to go, Antonio Cromartie.

- You call their house and their 14-month-old is on their answering machine

Quite possibly the coup de gras of parental douchyness is allowing your barely literate child to leave the outgoing message on your home answering machine. Here's a general rule: If your kid is a well-spoken five-year-old and you think it's cute to have her represent your household to literally anyone who calls, that's fine I suppose. But if your toddler sounds like Helen Keller choking on a donut, let her play with a fucking BABY phone. Pretty sure that's what those are for.

- They proudly display their child's meaningless scholastic achievement on their rear bumper

You've seen them. Oh, we've all seen them.

"Proud Parent of a an Honor Roll Student at Douche-Chill School for the Deaf"

And then there's the bumper stickers that attempt to counteract this:

"Proud Parent...Period!"

So, if you're keeping score, the kid in the first scenario is kinda smart, but his parents are announcing this one accomplishment just in case this is the end of the road and his intelligence stops with 2+2. The kid in the second scenario is an idiot and his parents don't want to admit it.

There are plenty of other ways to spot a douchy parent- if they bring their child to a non-child-friendly event (like a hanging), if the kid's name is Kyle, Chad, or an abstract hippie concept like Faith or Inner Peace, etc. The hate goes on...

Thanks for reading. I'm currently in the home stretch of finishing my fiction book, which has been a labor of love for years now. I think I can, I think I can!

jdp

jdeprospero@gmail.com

Understanding the Hate: Five Things I Would Change About American Idol

I watch American Idol. As a singer, I feel compelled to watch, despite the fact that it loses me miles of respect with my circle of male friends. It frequently disappoints me, I often find myself thinking, "I could even do better than that," but it's the one show on TV I've tuned into religiously for the past five years. And although I'll defend my viewership to anyone who hurls tomatoes in my direction, some of the lamer aspects of the show are starting to become more obvious as the seasons go by and they don't change. So, with that in mind, here's a brief list of the top five things I think need to change on the show in order for it to thrive beyond this season (but mainly to make it easier for me to defend it).

* Making the loser sing right after they've been voted off.

We voted this hack off for a reason. Because we DON'T want to hear them sing. So what does AI do? Why they make them sing again! And what song do they have them sing? The very same song that failed them the night before. Brilliant, Idol producers. Remind me not to come to you after I've experienced a grave disappointment in life. "Fell off a horse and broke your neck? Well saddle up again, partner!"

* Puke-worthy group sing-a-longs

The judges continually encourage the contestants to stand out and be an individual- be your own artist. Then what do they do? They have them all sing a Top 40 pop hit to start each results show, like it's the fucking Mickey Mouse Club. When Chris Daughtry was a contestant, he looked so incredibly uncomfortable during the group songs that you'd think he was carrying a load in his pants. It totally puts people like him (and this season's Crystal Bowersox) in unfitting situations that only takes away from their artistry, and certainly doesn't add to it.

Okay, right when you guys hit the chorus, point in unison at the audience. But be original.

* Contestants blaming their poor performance on "I was just having fun."

Having fun is not a good excuse for totally sucking....in any aspect of your life. If you cheat on your wife and she catches you, would you shrug your shoulders and say, "Hey, I was just havin' fun. I like blowjobs and she was hot. Cut me some slack"? No. Then don't say it after you've clearly tanked while trying to pull off Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing." We, as the audience, would much rather you were miserable and just sang well.

* Showing other contestants in the background who aren't singing

They constantly do this. They make the other singers stand in back of that railing behind the stage, forcing them to awkwardly bob their head and sway their body to the music and try not to shit themselves as they wait for their turn on stage. If you're in that position and you're a rock singer dancing to a pop song, you instantly lose credibility. However, if you just stand there and don't react at all to the music, you look like a prick. Thanks for the no-win situation, Idol folks.

* Hammering home the sob story

I can understand that part of the appeal of this show is that each particular singer has his or her own country song about how they got there. But once we know their story, leave it at that for God's sake! By week 6, I no longer care if Andrew Garcia is trying to make a better life for his malnourished, underprivileged son. That's all fine and good, but him being a good father and making up for his crackhead parents doesn't put new songs on my iPod. In fact, here's a good story. Once upon a time, there was a man who could fucking sing! The end.

This is the first season I can remember that I haven't voted once. Think about that, American Idol. And heed my advice.

-jdp

Coffin in Your Face: Why Attending Wakes & Funerals is a Stiffer Punishment Than Death...and How to Fight It

I don't have a fascination with death. Regardless of the fact that I participate in celebrity death pools and frequently envision the potential outpouring of sadness, or lack thereof, at my own services, I'm not one of these people who watches the news nightly to get my fill of tragic infant drownings. I'm much more interested in discussing the social awkwardness that these deaths create. It's less depressing and far less people are exploring this avenue. So, with that said, here is a collection of some of the reasons why I believe, when it comes to wakes and funerals, the corpse has it easy...

* What's worse than canned tomato sauce? Canned conversations.

I feel like one of those wind-up dolls from the second I walk into a wake till the second I leave. Because there's only a handful of sentences you're allowed to say when attending these events. You are generally confined to the following:

"At least he/she isn't suffering anymore."
"He/she is in a better place."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do."

I refuse to say any of these trite, overused phrases. You know what I do instead? I surprise them with something out of left field, like, "She always cooked with just the right amount of onions." or "It's a shame he never got into Backgammon. I feel like he would've been good at that." They always stare and act confused, but at least they're not crying.

"If there's anything you need, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask anyone other than me."

* Happiness is frowned upon

You have an unwritten obligation to be melancholy at wakes and funerals. Any time I'm at one and I realize that I'm smiling, I try to pretend that I'm on pain medication due to the sorrow and that inappropriate smiling is a side effect. Everyone knows it's bullshit, though. Particularly my wife, who sits there shaking her head in disgust at my egregious lies.

* "I feel so alive! Oh...sorry for rubbing it in."

There's a tendency to feel guilty at funerals, just for the simple fact that you're breathing and someone else in the room isn't. To counteract this feeling of remorse, I try to casually bring up a hardship I've recently experienced so I don't feel as undeservingly fortunate. I'll say something like, "Facebook hasn't been loading for me quickly on my Blackberry. What's up with that?" Then I look around and notice that everyone is knowingly nodding in empathy. Other times I'll go up to the coffin on crutches and everyone will ask, "Are you okay, Joe?" And I'll reply, "Oh, it's just a broken femur. I'll be fine, it's Uncle John who you should be worried about, who just lost his wife of 45 years and will surely be looking for the nearest bridge off which to leap." I always come out looking completely noble, people feel sorry about my broken leg, and no one even remembers that someone just died. It's a win-win.

* "Would anyone care for some finger foods? Great, then eat your fingers."

There is never, ever any food at wakes. Hell, there's not even napkins at wakes. The only way you're getting fed is if you're a family member or close friend and make it out to the funeral and there's usually a repast if you make it to the end of this gloomy gauntlet. And the night wakes are almost always 7-9. That's right in the middle of my normal dinner time! You could at least put out a tray of Bagel Bites. Chips. Peanuts. Something! The only real solution to this is to host a tailgate in the parking lot. It might not be your responsibility, but if the ignoramuses in mourning won't do it, the weight falls on your hospitable shoulders.

These beauties will enhance the mood of any death gathering.

* I'm missing the American Idol results show for this?!

You have to pretend that attending these services is more important to you than finding out live who got booted off "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!" Thankfully, these days we have DVR to fall back on (which I'm convinced was invented by a chronic wake-attender tired of having to program his VCR). When I was kid, I left my girlfriend's father's wake to call my mother and make sure she was taping a Van Halen concert I'd been looking forward to for months. We wound up breaking up shortly thereafter, and coincidentally, so did the band. But at least I saw the show.

"You better hope Grey's Anatomy's a rerun tonight, you inconsiderate old bag!"

* When it comes to fashion, don't outshine the corpse.

You're encouraged to dress like you're ready to be placed in a coffin when you attend wakes or funerals (black suit, white shirt, plain tie). I guess they figure just in case you die while you're at the wake, half their work is already done for them. If you're a woman, a bold act of defiance would be to wear the shortest skirt you can find in the loudest print you can find and make out with the highest ranking mourner in the room. You may not be invited to the next family reunion, but who would want to be anyway?

In conclusion, if you die and attend your own wake as a ghost and I'm either smiling, eating, dressed nicely, or not there, now you know why.

Thanks for reading. Podcast coming soon!

jdp