Grin and Baron

I thought I was done for the year.

Not with Christmas shopping. That I know is not done.

Promotion. For my book.

Really, I thought I was done with that for this year. And I was actually kind of relieved about that.

But it turns out that I've got one last piece of business to take care of.

On Friday, I got an email from my publicist informing me that I'm scheduled to be on the Baron Ron Herron radio show on Tuesday morning.

I'll be live on the air with the Baron at about 8:47 PST/10:47 CST. The Baron's show on KZSB AM 1290 broadcasts from Santa Barbara, Calif., where it will be a sunny 70 degrees on Tuesday, about 50 degrees warmer than it will be here in Chicago.

An interesting bit of trivia: up until a couple years ago, KZSB AM 1290 was owned by actor/comedian Bob Newhart and the station was known by many as "KBOB".   

So if you live in Santa Barbara, Goleta, Carpinteria, Ventura, Thousand Oaks or Los Angeles County, tune in Tuesday morning. I'll be on for about five minutes. In addition, the show is rebroadcast on KNRY AM 1240 in Monterey, Salinas, Santa Cruz and Pebble Beach; KNWZ-II AM 1270 in Palm Desert, Indio and Rancho Mirage. The program is delayed broadcast in Australia on 99.7 FM in Queensland and to another 30-plus radio stations via ComRadSat. For all my fans Down Under. You know who you are.

Update on Thursday, December 22, 2005 at 11:03AM by Randy Richardson

I'd been thinking that one of my resolutions for 2006 would be no more radio.

But that was before I got yet another email from my publicist with the words RICHARDSON MEDIA ADDITION in the subject line.

There's a good chance that I'll still be recovering from a new year's hangover when I go back on the air bright and early on Tuesday, January 3. I'll be live on the morning show with Bob Sebo in Winona, Minnesota, on KWNO-AM at 8:05.

I know nothing about Winona, but I once had a major crush on Winona Ryder. Before the drugs and shoplifting.

Daddy-dipping: Into the eggnog zone

How did I come to write a humor column about the trials and tribulations of being a forty-something father?

Well, I suppose you can trace that back to when I was a teen-ager and my Mom discretely left on my bed a book about the birds and the bees. I think the precipitating event leading to that was my Mom finding a copy of Playboy under the covers.

But that's probably more than you need -- or want -- to know about me.

The reality is that when you're a writer, you write about those things that deeply affect you. And it's hard to imagine anything that's had a more profound affect on me than having a child enter into my life.

My scribblings about the child-rearing process began a little over a year ago with an e-mail I'd written to a friend documenting The Toddler's first professional haircut. Soon thereafter it came time to write the annual holiday letter, which I turned into a poem about our family portrait. I just send out to friends and family my second venture into holiday poetry, so I thought this was an opportune time to bring back last year's poem, which I call Picture Perfect:

Picture Perfect

‘Twas 34 days before Christmas, when into the mall

Entered a toddler, barely two and a half feet tall.

His parents had prepped him with hairspray and buffs,

And then stuffed him with crackers and fruity puffs.

With mama in red sweater, and I in off-white,

We settled into the photo studio, and all seemed all right.

Every hair on the little one was in place,

And he had just the right glow on his face.

Then all of a sudden things took a turn for the worse,

To the plastic snowman and fake snow, the child was averse.

He cried and he cried and he raised such a clatter,

We tried to appease him, but nothing we did seemed to matter.

So I proposed to mama that we just pack it in,

There ’s no way this kid’s gonna let them get one good shot of him.

When the very patient picture lady, in one last desperate shot

Suggested the one thing that I had beforehand sworn, “No way, absolutely not.”

But there we were, sitting as three,

The holiday card version of family.

And to show just how much things change in a year, here's the 2005 version, Tickle-Me-Daddy:

Tickle-Me-Daddy

We had barely recovered from turkey day fun,

When we clothed in cords and rugby our little one.

Then we plastered his hair down in Ken doll fashion.

And crossed our fingers, hoping it was time to finally cash in.

Just to reach this point did not come without debate.

The last time we did this the little one just wouldn’t cooperate.

But a year had since gone by.

Surely it was worth another try.

The family, the friends they all would expect it.

But the question remained: would he sit and not throw a fit?

At his daycare, they tried it just this past fall.
The result? Well, it looked like something you find on a Post Office wall.

So, you might ask, how did we get him to crack that grin you see?

The answer to that question is not a mystery.

A parent will always go that extra mile

Just to get that one little smile.

In this case, the photographer pulled out a well-worn trick.

She made Daddy the target of a tickle stick.

And that is what amused the little one so.

Now you get the picture, along with a hearty ho-ho-ho!

Running with a Sharp review

Look, ma, I’m 44, and I’m running like a giddy kid with a Sharp review in my hand.

Okay, so maybe that’s not as dangerous as running with scissors. But it sure feels good.

Let me take a step back and explain a bit first. Sharp is Linda Sharp, the self-described “head nut” at SanityCentral.com, a parental humor Web site. SanityCentral is home to my DadLibs column.

A while back Linda offered to review my book. There’s a theory in the book business that any words about your book – even bad ones – are better than none at all. So you never turn down any potential PR for your book.

Still, you always submit review copies with a bit of trepidation. Bad reviews are difficult to digest. And I must admit to the greater-than-normal amount of anxiety I had about giving my book to Linda for review, which I guess was attributable to the fact that my book is worlds apart from the writings I submit to SanityCentral.

As it turns out, my natural writer’s angst was, in the words of Shakespeare, much ado about nothing. There are good reviews and then there are reviews that are just perfect. This one falls into the latter category. It strikes just the right tone. It reads as authentic and genuine, not like it was churned out of review factory.

Read the review here. And then order Linda’s newly released book, Femail: A Comic Collision in Cyberspace, which she wrote in collaboration with fellow SanityCentral columnist Shana McLean Moore. I just ordered my copy the other day and can’t wait to read it.

Here’s a description of Linda’s book:

Sex may take place in The City, but there's plenty of sass in the suburbs. While Linda Sharp and Shana Moore might cop to being housewives, these gals are far from desperate. Rather than finding their thrills with a pool boy, Sharp and Moore delight in taking the head-splitting struggles all women experience, and making you laugh until your sides have busted their seams.
Linda and Shana tell it like you've experienced it...only this time around it's funny. Their flat out honest portrayals of PMS and unearned sweat; puppies and grown women who piddle; sagging breasts and husbands who often act like boobs, will leave you smiling, and feeling less alone in your leaky rowboat.

Husbands who often act like boobs? Hey, did she contact my wife as a source for her book?

Three Little Words

One day you plant a seed and from it this most amazing creature grows. A little being that walks and talks.

Well, this was a major notch on my laboratory belt. Certainly it blew Sea Monkeys, my only previous experiment at life creation, out of the water.

A great deal if not most of the credit, of course, goes to my lovely lab assistant, who for nine months sacrificially served as the pod for that seed and who continues to give me lessons in proper parenting techniques.

Somewhere along the way our little experiment went haywire, though. The creature learned that he could use the abilities that we’d played a role in developing against us. Now he was not only walking but doing it all over us. And boy could he talk – back to us.

“No, Daddy. No.”

“How ’bout, “Yes, Daddy?’” I’d naively reply.

“No, Daddy.”

Being the parent of a toddler means you’ve surrendered. You are at his mercy. He runs the house. You are only his servant.

“Daddy do.”

“How ’bout, “You do.’”

“No, Daddy do.”

You can see the genius in his argument, can’t you? There’s no way to win. Sure you could prolong the war, but what purpose would that serve? Because it always comes back to “Daddy do.”

In this autocracy, all parents are not created equal. Mommy ranks No. 1. Daddy is mostly treated as an intruder.

“Mommy do.”

“How ’bout, “Daddy do.’”

“No, Mommy do.”

Sometimes you feel cheated. If there is a choice between Mommy and Daddy, Mommy’s always the chosen one. You become that kid in gym class that gets picked last every time. No matter how hard you try, you just don’t match up.

For Mommy, however, popularity is a double-edged sword. Because with popularity comes expectations. And when she fails to live up to those expectations, well, Mt. Toddler erupts. So she gets the best and the worst the Toddler is able to dish out. Being ranked number one also means that when The Toddler wakes in the middle of the night, he comes to Mommy. While Daddy snoozes in a bed that he suddenly has all to himself, Mommy camps out on the floor with The Toddler.

Who has it better – Mommy or Daddy? I don’t know the answer to that one, and I’m not sure that there is or even should be one. Perhaps it all breaks even. What I do know is that parenting is not an easy job on either side. There are no magic formulas that will make it easier. And even if there were, I don’t know if I’d want them. Sure I’d be tempted at times. But isn’t the greatest joy of parenting those surprises that come when you least expect them?

Yes, you get worn down by the tantrums and combativeness but then one day he says something different. Instead of “No, Daddy,” he says, “Love you, Daddy.” And you look in stunned disbelief. Did you really hear what you just thought you heard, or is your mind playing tricks on you?

“What did you just say?”

And then he repeats it: “Love you, Daddy.”

Only three little words but boy do they make a difference in your outlook as a parent. They’re enough to make you think that maybe – just maybe – this little experiment will turn out all right.

Blogging to that disco beat

I'm back.

I know, you didn't even have time to miss me. Kind of like disco.

After pondering for a few days, I've decided to keep this blog alive. 

I appreciate the e-mails and public comments that I've gotten. Your support means the world to me. It's humbling that people actually taken the time to read what I've written and that there are at least some out there who seem to get something out of my words.

But ultimately I'm doing this for me. Even if no one was reading this blog, I don't think I could kill it. A piece of me would die with it, and it's a piece that I'm not ready to give up.

So while I may not be blogging as often as I have in the past, I'm going to take Dave C.'s advice and come here whenever I feel the time is right for me. In keeping with the disco beat, I'm Stayin' Alive.

Oftentimes you wonder if anyone is paying attention out there. When you market a book (or Do the Hustle), you sometimes feel as if you're screaming and shouting to yourself.

But then someone does take notice. And it makes all that screaming and shouting worthwhile.

Case in point: Chicago librarian Alice Maggio writes the wonderful Ask the Librarian column for Gapers Block, a hip Chicago web publication providing information about news and events around town.

On Thanksgiving Day, Maggio posted her 2005 Chicago Books in Review: Fiction column featuring a selection of new novels and short-story collections by authors who have "some significant past or present connection to the Windy City."

On the list are books published this year from some of Chicago's literary giants including Scott Turow and Sara Paretsky. There are also new releases from some of the town's rising stars: Audrey Niffenegger, Adam Langer, Kevin Guilfoile and David Ellis.

And then there's me. The answer to the question, "Which one doesn't belong?"

How I made Maggio's list, I have no idea. But it's nice to be there. And to know that my screams and shouts do occasionally get heard.

So now it's time to put on that three-piece suit, the gold jewelry and my-my-my-my-my-my my Boogie Shoes. 

Sorry it's too late for mercy killings. This blog is going to keep on dancing to it's own funky beat.