Tippy Talk Radio Interview

On December 30th, I had the pleasure of appearing on Tippy Talk radio–Books I Love . Please check it out when you have a moment: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/booksilove/2015/12/30/how-not-to-parent

Happy New Year!

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The Christmas Wish

This year I vowed I was going to get something for Christmas. Something great.

To clarify, I do get gifts for Christmas. Money. A sweater. Underwear. Socks. An electric screwdriver. Things I need and use.

But it’s the kids that get the incredible gifts—the ones they’ve stayed up countless nights dreaming about. The ones they don’t need but satisfy their every whim and desire.

This year I want something I don’t need and will only use twice before it sits in a corner collecting dust but is a conversation piece and the envy of every underwear-receiving Dad on the damn block.

“Did you hear what Brad got for Christmas?” my neighbor will say to his wife. “A home-brew kit. He can make his own beer.”

She’ll respond in a sardonic tone, “We have a refrigerator. It has beer in it. You can use that label maker that’s still sitting in the box from two Christmases ago, slap a label with your name on it and, voilà, home-brew kit.”

While my neighbor murmurs “smartass,” and frustratingly contemplates the color of his new socks and whether he’s getting Hanes or Fruit of the Loom, I’ll be whistling a different tune because I’ll be receiving one of these babies:

1) Smart key – The perfect gadget for me, the guy who always loses his keys.
2) Flir One Infrared Camera – This beauty attaches to my iPhone and takes incredible infrared pictures…of what, I have no clue.
3) Motorized tie rack – A fantastic conversation piece. “Hey, remember those achy arms and shoulders I’d get from reaching over and grabbing my OWN tie? Well, reach no more! Observe, the motorized tie rack!”
4) Garmin Fish Finder – I couldn’t catch a fish if my life depended on it. But now I can at least find a fish. I can then alert other fishermen while I untangle my fishing line and say “Ooh” as they reel it in.

In sum, I’d lose the smart key, find no practical use for an infrared camera or a motorized tie rack, and can’t fish, which, unfortunately, means it’s socks again. It’s nice to dream.

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How Not to Parent Book Trailer

Better late than never but a book trailer was done a few months back for How Not to Parent. Check it out!

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Hitting the Interview Circuit!

Recently, I had the privilege to appear on the Erskine syndicated radio show to discuss my book. To listen to the interview:
go to http://www.erskineonradio.com/archives/archives.html. Scroll down to the interview – 3/30/13

OR in ITunes, download the 3/31/13 GCN erskine overnight podcast.

I’ve also been interviewed by The Brooklyn Eagle newspaper:
http://www.brooklyneagle.com/articles/harried-dad’s-book-reveals-‘how-not-parent’-2013-04-02-003000

And on the Web:
http://cerullean.net/author-interview-brad-manzo/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=author-interview-brad-manzo
http://charleshenryeditingblog.com/2013/02/28/author-interview-brad-manzo/

By the way, if you’re in NYC, you can pick up How Not to Parent at The Bookmark Shoppe in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

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My Comedy Debut

A couple of years ago, I got an opportunity to be a showcase reader for the Dimestories New York kick off event in Brooklyn. I read one of my favorite pieces, “Boys Will be Boys,” which is featured in How Not to Parent. Finally, the reading is available here on the blog: BManzo_Boys_Will_Be_Boys.

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You Sunk My Sunday Night

It started innocently with a text from my brother-in-law on a Sunday morning.

“Brad, do you and CJ want to come see Battleship with us? Movie starts in an hour.”

Without thinking, I read the text aloud.

CJ’s ears perked up. “Dad, can we go see Battleship. Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh please.”

“If you want to go, you have to ask nicely,” I said sarcastically.

“C’mon, Dad,” he pleaded with me.

“Let me think about it.”

The first thing I did was read the reviews to see if the movie was any good. Heck, if I’m spending $40 it better be good.

CJ followed me around like a lost puppy until I finally acquiesced.

“Okay, we can go.”

He hugged me for five minutes straight.

The reviews weren’t bad and, as I love going to the movies, the two of us sported grins until we reached our seats.

After 37 previews, a quick nap, a few commercials, a shocked glance into an empty wallet, and half a dozen stern warnings to not use our cell phones, I was no longer feeling the love. Out of spite, I was ready to text the world.

Finally, the movie started and my smile returned. With snacks in hand, we were really enjoying ourselves.

Then, halfway through the movie, they introduced the aliens and all hell broke loose.

“I’m scared, Dad.” CJ held on to me for dear life.

He covered his eyes and I covered his ears. It passed—ttemporarily.

A few minutes later, the aliens reared their ugly, alien heads again. He peeked carefully through the fingers covering his eyes before blurting out, “I have to go to the bathroom, Dad.”

We raced to the bathroom to relieve our bladders I naively thought.

“I want to go home. I’m scared.”

“Are you sure? Your cousin is inside waiting for you to come back.”

He was torn and I was annoyed. I spent $40 on a movie and was hanging out in the men’s room. Additionally, I felt betrayed by Hasbro for marketing the movie around a kids game and making it so damn scary. What’s next—a slasher movie based on Connect Four or Old Maid, a movie based on the card game about an aging, bitter woman who seeks vengeance, Charles Bronson style, on every man who ever spurned her?

I wanted to see the end of the movie but it was his call.

“I want to go back,” he said.

I wanted to hug him and say, “I love you, man,” but chose the parental route instead. “Are you sure, CJ?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Let’s go!” He ran back to the theater and I followed closely behind.

Thankfully, he enjoyed the rest of the movie and without covering his eyes.

On the way home, he thanked me profusely. “That was so much fun, Dad. I loved the movie.”

I smiled. The scary, alien fiasco was behind me.

Later that night, we put the kids to bed and Diane and I reflected on another enjoyable weekend. We quickly nodded off to sleep.

A few minutes later, CJ ran into our room screaming. “The aliens are coming!”

Diane comforted him. “What’s wrong, baby?”

That night he barely slept, which meant Diane and I barely slept. But I knew that would not be the end of it—not by a long shot.

The next morning, my daughter got wind of what happened.

“You should have checked to make sure it was appropriate. I think that movie’s PG-13. CJ’s only seven.”

And you’re only 10 and making way too much sense, I thought to myself.

“PG-13, not appropriate,” my wife added.

These two are going to gang up on me for the rest of my life, aren’t they?

I tried to point out that my friend brought his son, so I assumed it was age-appropriate. But my daughter would have none of it.

“If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too?” Damn she was good and had already mastered the annoying motherly clichés.

I knew I wasn’t going to win so I quickly changed tactics and admitted my mistake. “I shouldn’t have trusted my friend. I should have done my own research on the movie.”

My wife approved. “Now you’re getting it.”

I vowed it wouldn’t happen again and saw CJ and I enjoying the new Spiderman on the big screen in the near future.

“The aliens are coming!” CJ shouted as he entered the room petrified.

At that moment, I knew I’d be watching Spiderman by myself on the small screen.

My wife and daughter’s angry gazes quickly confirmed that for me.

Copyright © 2012, Brad Manzo

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Take a List…

Lists seem to rule my life. There are honey do lists (honey, take out the garbage, honey, put away the dishes, honey, get your hands out of pockets, it’s not a toy), to do lists, and grocery lists. And, of course, if you screw up and forget something on one of these vital lists, you end up on the s*#! list.

Of course, in order to keep track of all these lists, you need modern technology. Pen and paper is no longer acceptable. That’s no problem for me. I have an iPhone, an iPad, a work computer, and a home computer.

Therefore, with all this great technology at my disposal, you’d think I’d have all my bases covered, right? Not so.

There’s one major problem: listening. When my wife gives me a shopping or to do list, the list is never right. After a couple of minutes of dictation, my mind starts to wander. (Who’s winning the ball game? Do I really put my hands in my pockets that often? What the heck did she just say?)

So I end up with strange entries like Garlic ice cream—possible with my wife—or Welch’s grape petroleum jelly.

I know this isn’t right but I don’t want to ask my wife to repeat herself.

“Don’t you listen to me?” she’d say, clearly annoyed.

She’d continue to rant and I’d then start tuning her out again, which just exacerbates the situation.

So I grab my list, enlist one of the kids to help me, and hope I can figure it out when I arrive at the store.

I try to get my daughter to come with me as she often shops with my wife. Though Lexy is usually sweet, it can be hit or miss.

“Lexy, can you come to the store with me?”

“No, don’t want to.”

“I could use the company.”

“What part of NO do you not understand?” with her hands firmly on her hips, she’s not messing around.

“So it’s a maybe?”

“Mom, daddy is bothering me. I don’t want to go the store.”

“What’s wrong, Brad? You can’t go to the store yourself?”

I can’t answer that.

So I bring CJ who listens worse than me. However, he’s eager to go to the store—most likely to get a toy—and remembers everything, when he listens. Between the two of us we should be able to figure out something. Besides, I have my incomprehensible list.

When we arrive at the store, unfortunately, my list is still incomprehensible.

Then the word chili pops into my head. I have a brilliant thought.

“CJ, I need you to talk to Mom and ask her if we’re having chili for dinner tomorrow.

I dial the number, repeat what to say, and hand him the phone.

“Say it exactly like that. Got it?”

“Sure, Dad.”

“Mom, Daddy, wants to know if we’re having chili for dinner tomorrow.”

Good boy—stick to the script.

“I don’t know. Maybe he lost the list.”

My heart sinks.

“She wants to talk to you.”

Disgusted, I pick up the phone.

“Yes, hon.”

She gives me the list again and warns me not to screw it up.

“Yes, I’ve got everything, hon. I won’t call again.”

I hang up the phone and immediately realize the store has chili with beans and without beans. Crap!

I take a deep breath and decide to text her. She didn’t say I couldn’t text her. See, I listen sometimes.

I fully expected a couple of angry texts including barbs such as, “do you need me to wipe for you, too?” However, it never happened.

“Hmmm. Maybe my question about beans wasn’t so ridiculous after all,” I said to CJ.

“No, Mom said she didn’t need the chili after all. She didn’t want you to get mad.”

Too late for that. “Anything else?” I asked with a scowl on my face.

“Can I get a toy now?”

Copyright © 2012, Brad Manzo

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