Love and Marriage, Love and Marriage...

I hope Pea doesn’t overlook the teachings of aging Married… with Children star Ed O’Neill.

The pilot for ABC’s newest comedy, Modern Family, aired last night and it was smart, incredibly funny and pushed all the right boundaries in all the right ways. This show is getting incredible reviews and will definitely be at the top of my PVR recording list, right up there with another ABC success, Lost (premiering Thursday, January 21, 2009… that’s 120 days people!).

Modern Family is all about the convergence of 3 different types of families.

• The Reconstituted Family: Ed O’Neill plays a recently re-married 60-something. He’s hooked up with a much younger Columbian woman and finds himself the stepfather to her sensitive teenage boy, who he struggles to relate to both generationally and culturally. 

• The Nuclear Family: O’Neill’s biological daughter (played by Julie Bowen of Ed and Boston Legal fame) is married to a man (Ty Burrell) who is desperately trying to be his 3 kids’ friend rather than their father. She struggles to manage a house with 3 kids and a useless husband; he struggles to use the hippest language possible to relate to his kids on their level. An actual quote from Phil, the goofy Dad: “I'm a cool dad, that's my thang. I'm hip, I surf the web, I text. LOL: laugh out loud, OMG: oh my god, WTF: why the face.” 

• The Homosexual Family: O’Neill’s son (played by Jesse Tyler Ferguson) is gay, in a committed relationship with his partner of 5 years, and they have recently adopted a young child from Vietnam. 

(Big thanks to my Family Studies teacher for teaching me this information... all apologies for not remembering your name.)

As funny as Modern Family is to me, I can’t help but think about how much more relatable it will be to Pea.

When I was growing up… and yes, I’m now using “when I was young” statements… Nuclear families were still the norm. I can recall a few Reconstituted families, fewer Single Parent families, and there were definitely no Homosexual families on the block.

But Modern Family makes one thing perfectly clear… when it comes to family, “normal” quite simply doesn’t exist anymore. And I firmly believe my daughter will be a better person as a result.

If we look at the numbers, it is undeniable that many of us will end up leading an untraditional family. For kids, it used to be divulging an untraditional family dynamic to classmates would potentially lead to ridicule and bullying. But nowadays, can any kid really justify teasing another because of single, remarried or homosexual parents? To do so today would be to tease the near majority, not the fringe.

Our families, and our children, are evolving with the times. Adaptability, acceptance, tolerance and understanding are becoming some of the cornerstones of our society.

Some of you might be saying “Ricochay, we’ve still got a long way to go before we get to this point.” I don’t deny that we still have work to do. But I do believe that we are closer than ever. As our generation raises its kids with a new set of values that are consistent with our reality, we only get closer to our goal. Our kids, and their kids, benefit.

So here’s to you, Modern Family, for showing us all that no matter what type of family you are a part of, it’s normal… and just as screwed up as the rest of them.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t overlook the teachings of aging Married… with Children star Ed O’Neill.

PS - Glee, you’re off the PVR.

The timeless art of... sand animation?

I hope Pea doesn't ignore sand animation as a potential hobby.

This is, quite possibly, the coolest form of artistic expression I have seen in a long time. And the fact that this was featured on, and won, one of these (Insert country here)'s Got Talent competitions makes it infinitely cooler (props to my Ukrainian readers). Does the world not embrace talent other than singing?

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn't overlook sand animation as a potential hobby.

Judgy McJudgerton

I hope Pea isn’t prone to spontaneous combustion (part II).

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s time to play “What Did You Say to Me? Oh Hell No!”

The game is simple. We give you a series of crazy antics by some wacky characters. You decide who should be FORGIVEN and who should be SENT TO PURGATORY!

First up is Serena Williams. She threw a hissy fit during her semi-final match at the US Open after an apparent foot fault was called by a line judge. Serena’s tirade, which included a threat of putting a tennis ball up a woman’s unmentionables, forced judges to issue her an additional ‘demerit point’, which ultimately cost her the match.

Ricochay’s take: Serena’s behaviour was self-damaging most of all. She flipped out and lost the match as a result. But she also embarrassed and belittled a woman who was just doing her job and that’s out of bounds. I say SEND TO PURGATORY!

Next we have Republican Senator Joe Wilson, who shouted “You Lie!” at President Obama during a recent health care reform speech to America’s lawmakers.

Ricochay’s take: If Wilson is guilty of anything, it’s poor timing. If you’re going to yell, do it when everyone else is too. That said, politics is as much about theatre as it is about lawmaking, so to condemn him for this outburst would be akin to chastising him for doing his job. Wilson is FORGIVEN.

Irish actor Colin Farrell set a photographer straight while walking the Red Carpet at the Toronto International Film Festival. The photographer yelled for Farrell’s personal assistant/sister to get off the Red Carpet so he and the other photographers could get a clear shot of the actor. Rumour has it that the photographer used the dreaded B-word. Farrell defended his sister’s honour.

Ricochay’s take: When you’re walking the Red Carpet at a prestigious film festival, you should expect that people aren’t going to want photos of your personal assistant… even if she is your sister. The photographer’s job is to art direct so he can get good photos. Had the photographer not allegedly used the B-word, I'd be sending Farrell to purgatory, but there's no excuse for using that word. Farrell is FORGIVEN, and in a twist, let's send the photographer to PURGATORY!

That brings us to Kanye West. As we all know by now, he interrupted Taylor Swift's acceptance speech at the MTV Video Awards and caused one of the most uncomfortable moments in award show history.

Ricochay’s take: Given that the entire thing was staged (that's right, I said it), Kanye is FORGIVEN. There's just way too much that is unusual about the whole situation for me to believe all the players involved didn't know what was going on. 

Last up is the story of a tired and frustrated father who loses his patience with his daughter because she won’t sit still during her diaper change. The daughter - let’s call her Pea - continuously grabs at the soiled diaper, attempts to put her hands on her dirty butt, wiggles and writhes her way off her back and makes it generally impossible to change the diaper.

Ricochay’s take: All parents lose their patience at one point or another. And when you’re dealing with feces, the threshold for impatience is lowered considerable. I say FORGIVEN… the guilt he’s feeling for being short with his daughter is punishment enough.

Well folks, so ends another rousing edition of “What Did You Say to Me? Oh Hell No!” Join us next time when we analyze history’s craziest outbursts, including the Big Bang that created the universe... was this behaviour justified? Find out next time! 

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she isn't prone to spontaneous combustion.

Thanks to www.all-about-tennis.com, the US government, www.torontolife.com and Britain's brightest tabloid newspaper The Daily Mirror for the images.

Guilty... and loving every minute of it!

I hope Pea doesn’t overlook the benefits that come with a little guilt.

My life was designed to be as guilt-free as possible. Few vices. Few regrets. Few mornings where I wake up asking “what happened and how did I get here?”

This guilt-free existence was going really, really well… until my little Pea was born. Since then, I have felt shame, remorse and/or guilt at least once a day.

In fact, shame now lives in my spare room and guilt and remorse are building an apartment in my basement.

You want examples. Fine, here are but a few:

• Pea recently fell and bumped her head on the sofa, requiring a visit to the emergency room. She was completely fine, but this was on my watch and I swear that when I picked her up to comfort her she gave me a “how could you let this happen to me?” look. I’m now considering selling the sofa, as it is a constant reminder of the day I let my daughter down.
• We only recently purchased roller shades for Pea’s room, to block out the bright daytime sun during her naps. Just in time too (she is now taking 70% of her haps in another location altogether). 
• We’ve had babyproofing gear in our house for months and I am yet to install everything. What’s more, I’ve failed – on 3 separate occasions – to install baby gates near our staircases. If I can’t do this simple task, how can I be expected to shepherd Pea into adulthood unscathed?
• I haven’t mowed the back lawn in weeks and the mosquitoes that now live in the long grass prevent us from taking Pea in the back to play. Is this my subconscious way of keeping Pea as pale and pasty as I am? Who knows, but I wouldn’t put it past myself.

Despite my ineptitude, Pea continues to thrive. She’s now walking everywhere and appears to have left crawling behind. She’s growing a fresh pair of front teeth and she’s babbling way more than ever before. She is a human sponge, absorbing everything, and I mean everything, at an alarming rate. She’s even sleeping better, on the whole, than she has in quite a few months.

If I had to guess, she appears to have realized that her father is useless and she’s learning to cope on her own, with lots of help from the Pod.

So to all the would-be parents out there, I provide this warning: a guilt-free existence and parenthood are mutually exclusive. You have to pick one and stick with it.

I pick parenthood. Hands down.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t overlook the benefits that come with a little guilt.

Mennonite Chic, Part II

I hope Pea doesn’t lack self-worth.

School’s in, so I thought I’d tackle a dress code issue: some schools in the GTA are removing kilts from their dress code.

If you’re wondering why, you’ve clearly never been to the mall at 3:30pm on a school day.

What was once a coquettish fashion choice has turned into the primary weapon used by girls who are vying for the right to claim visible-ass-cheek supremacy. Some girls appear to believe that wearing a kilt means underwear is optional.

The Pod’s contends, and I am paraphrasing, that a bunch of hoochiemammas with no self-respect or tact should not ruin a comfortable and versatile clothing item for the rest of the young ladies out there. She believes banning the clothing will not change the mentality and that we are not getting at the root of the issue.

I believe anything that gets me one step closer to Mennonite Chic by 2020 is a welcome thing. Turtle necks and pants for everyone.

Here’s a link for more information on this issue. Feel free to weigh in.

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope she doesn’t lack self-worth.

PS – I secretly agree with the Pod on this issue, but don’t tell her… she’ll get a big head and I’ll never hear the end of it.

The day my innocence died

I hope Pea’s friends don’t mistake her for a liar.

What follows is the true story of the night I was "Roofied" at Disney World, in the presence of America’s beloved cartoon rodent. As you will see, I’m not blaming Mickey, necessarily. I’m just saying - he sure didn’t do anything to help.  Neither did my friends.  For shame.

The year is 2004. Fate has placed a free time-share condo in our best friends’ lap and the fact that she is a flight attendant makes this the cheap trip of a lifetime. Excited, we head to Orlando (photos included as evidence of the authenticity of this story).

The first few days of the trip are amazing. We hit up several theme parks, ‘enjoy’ the mandated time-share presentation and get some sun by the pool.

On the third day, after another theme park bonanza, our group decides to have dinner at the condo before hitting Paradise Island for some clubbing.

For those unfamiliar with Paradise Island, it is essentially Disney’s club district. You pay admission to the ‘island’ and gain access to a dozen themed clubs, each playing a different variety of music. You can buy drinks in the clubs or on the street from little booze shacks.

As soon as we arrived, we all headed to a booze shack to get a drink. My pals all get frilly drinks with umbrellas and I order a beer. The bartender pours it into a plastic cup, hands it over, and the fun begins.

Or does it?

As I turn to walk away from the booze shack, something splashes into my cup. At the time, I merely thought my drink was jostled as I tried to make my way through the crowd, but the next morning I would come to understand the real significance of that splash.

What follows this splash is nothing short of horrifying. After a brief stop at a club featuring a revolving dance floor, where I did my best Jamiroquai/Virtual Insanity imitation (it was awesome), I crashed. Hard.

Within 30 minutes I was dizzy, slurring my speech, incapable of staying awake and generally uneasy – all symptoms of Roofiness (source: ever-trustworthy Wikipedia). Less ‘attractive’ symptoms occurred in the cab on the way to the condo, and then back at the condo itself.

Now I know what you’re saying… Ricochay, you’re clearly a lightweight. You were drunk and you couldn’t handle your booze.


I may be a lightweight, and sure, I can't prove I was drugged, but this was different than just being drunk. No one gets that drunk that fast off half a beer. Not even me.

Fortunately, the Pod and my friends stayed by my side the whole time, keeping me from harm. YEAH RIGHT! They tore up the night, leaving me alone on a bench in a remote corner of the ‘island’. In their defense, they checked in periodically and propped my head up using a ketchup bottle, but no ‘lush’ was going to ruin their night.

The next morning was a right-off, but come afternoon I felt right as rain. What hangover have you ever had that just completely disappears like that? A Roofie hangover, that’s what.

The next day, my friends left me to nurse my ‘hangover’ while they hit up another theme park without me as dead weight. Solo, I spent some more time at the pool, and at nearby outlet malls, but I will forever have missed the excitement of that shared.

There it is people. My tale of Roofie misfortune and doubt.  I hope you can learn from this tale.

For years, I questioned the Roofie’ers motivations, until Wikipedia once again cleared things up. It turns out Britons use Roofies to sedate and rob unsuspecting victims. Was I a potential target for some evil-doer? Perhaps. Or maybe I was just some light evening entertainment for said evil-doers.  Only Mickey knows for certain.

At least you, my faithful blog readers, will believe my Roofie misadventures. Feel free to post some words of encouragement and support for me or some remarks of shame for those that don’t believe my tale.

(To leave a comment, simply choose the “Anonymous” option when leaving a remark… I know it’s complicated, I’m sorry!)

I may not know what I want my Pea to become, but I hope her friends don’t mistake her for a liar.