So the Brooklyn baby boom for the white hipster crowd is in full amazing swing. Saturday in Carroll Gardens is Dadurday! So many bearded tattooed dads in cool kicks. And this crowd (ages 26 to 35, essentially) is relentlessly nuclear. These couples live alone with their one-and-a-half kids. So many scooters with matching helmets. And they are split between renters and owners.
Now, what I can tell you about this amazingly traditional set is that, as they approach 40, about half of them will be getting divorced. I'm sorry! But yes.
The stages of urban young adult life are: marriage boom, baby boom, divorce boom, believe it. It happens [...]
If you think that Sims and FarmVille are evil tools to acclimate people into capitalist tedium and corporate consumption and a life of low expectations, then you'll love KidZania—"a multinational chain of family entertainment centers, where kids try out professions that have been downsized, simplified, and made fun." And it is dark! It's a nation-state of "trying on adult jobs" while consuming McNuggets and Chevrolets. "Children do not create their own stories at KidZania. The story that some children are tasked with writing for the journalism activity at many franchises is a report on the how great the police are. Meanwhile, in the painting activity at KidZania Dubai, [...]
I've made it well-known that I'm not a huge fan of children. So now that parents have been lulled by science and journalism into finally believing that "there has never been a single case of any child being killed by a stranger's Halloween candy," I'm finally going to strike.
Disclosure! I will begin by stating that, at the age 31, I currently have no children. Which, in and of itself, will be a driver for many parents to click the "BACK" button on their browsers while muttering that I have nothing resembling a fucking clue about this topic. Click away, self-righteous parents! No doubt you have a poop-flinging banshee destroying your living room at this very moment. Go handle your business. No hard feelings.
Despite not having children, I think about them. A lot. In recent years, the full teeming strength of my biology has been consumed with a single, driving goal: to produce babies. And now that [...]
â€¢ "Brave New Boutique: Baby Sex Selection Sold On East Side," July 24, 2006: "Given the aggressive fertility of New York's breeding set, it was only a matter of time before the joys of elective sex-selection took root in the Land of Milk and Bugaboos, the epicenter of the Gen-X/Y baby boomlet, New York City."
â€¢ "Genetic Engineering for the Preteen Set," March 30, 2010: "Atlas, a Boulder, Colo., company that previously specialized in growth supplements, last year introduced a take-at-home test that detects the presence of a variant of the ACTN3 gene that blocks the expression of the alpha-actinin-e protein. This protein, expressed in both copies of [...]
There was a loud but muffled scream, and when I looked up, the kid was gone.
It wasn't that scary for me; I did know where he was, more or less. But this was what I was leaving my wife with, on the other end of the phone:
[Child's screaming.] Fuck! Shit. Uh, I gotta call you back- [Screaming continues in background.] [Call disconnects.]
I was standing by the elevator bank, all by myself. The screaming was coming from the other side of a closed elevator door.
Via Fark, there's this: No one has ever told 7-year-old Dominic Osorio that he has brain cancer. Instead, his mother devised a story and made him the lead character. When Dominic undergoes surgery, chemotherapy or radiation, he is not a patient; he is the Dominator, waging war with an evil enemy that he calls a megazoid.
His grandmother, Monique Spagna, recalled the day Dominic finished weeks of daily radiation treatments at Johns Hopkins Children's Center that required the Bel Air boy to wear a mask and remain motionless for what seemed an eternity to a child.
"He could not move, so he would change identities and be the Dominator [...]