Wishing My Son’s Birthday Never Blows

I don’t recall one special birthday as a kid besides my Bar Mitzvah Party. If the Aussie transplant student Joanne Matthews slow danced with me with too much upper body stiffness, then my 13th birthay would’ve been a total bust. Slow dancing with brace face Denna Kleinman was nice and I liker her spunky, not as peppy cute Punk Brewster personality. But she failed to stimulate visions of walking hand and hand along the boardwalk at Rye Playland at night. The way statuesque, fuller lipped, higher caste, bigger blast laugher Kajal did.

My son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth, AKA Art Show USA, AKA Feather Foot, AKA Number 1 Capricorn, AKA Gimel Be Good, won’t have an issue attracting woman to slow dance with him at Bar Mitzvah parties. Because my son Arthur already looks like a handsomer, pubescent Leo. At 4 going on five, Art Show USA, number 1 Capricorn who was born on New Years Day, looks like a dreamy pairing of child star Chad Allen from Our House and a less aw shucks, mop head blondie Ricky Schroder from Silver Spoons. But never coming off overtly preppy stiff either.

Arthur’s also hilarious already. These are his greatest ad lib hits so far. “Cortana, throw yourself out the window.” And “daddy be funnier than Weird Al by Christmas or I’ll kill you with your sharpest knife for real.” This morning, I’m working on a new blog post chapter post and ask him. “Art Show, what do you think of the title, Book Authors Are Fire Proof?” He says. “Your office is on fire.” And my wife questions my comedic tutelage by exposing my son to an episode of Robot Chicken. Until I realized how Seth Green grew up in Hollywood as a child star. So of course his sense of humor is going to be ten times darker than mine. Assuming he hung out at the Viper Room with River Phoenix 1 more time than I did.

But forget the God given good looks and intrinsic sense of funny man timing, my son Arthur also happens to be the sweetest boy in the world. Who was drawing a picture of me as I picked him up early from Pre-K today. Arthur launches into yummy dances after taking a bite of my blanched broccoli, shitake bake casserole supreme in my honor. Whizzing around the kitchen back into our living room dinning room area. Singing “Best daddy ever, best daddy ever.” Arthur plays so well with his 7 year old big sister Singing Rose Matilda. Besides when Arthur orders his big sister around. Commanding her to put down her Barbies and play Honey with him. Which is their teacher, pupil imaginary game. Under these circumstances, I’ll control my son with comedy and address his pushy, controlling behavior in a playful yet direct tone. I say, “Calm down Little Hitler. You have the best sister ever. Because of Matilda your bare minimum grandparents on both sides are rendered 100% useless.” In case you’re wondering, Arthur, doesn’t like it when I call him “Little Hitler.” If he ever really pissed me off, I’d buy him eight MAGA Hats for Chanukah and drop him off in the middle of Prospect Park by himself and go for a run there for old times sake.

I’ll never get over my parents ho hum embrace of Art Show USA’s birth into our family. The thing is Arthur was born 2 weeks early and my parents were already retired in Scottsdale, Arizona for 5 years already. So on some level, I feel my dad resented Arthur’s birth a tad because it’s not a good look when you only see your not 1 but 2 grandchildren now, only 10 days a year. When you’re both retired in your mid sixties in an Arizona Estate shrine home for themselves. Despite claims of getting it to make it a marquee vacation destination for my family to visit despite their old yenta friends spending way more time than our family has. And despite them buying the home after we already had Matilda and still hadn’t added 2 more children to our Kiss Army family at large.

Don’t get me wrong. My parents worked hard for their Arizona Estate home. Nothing was given to them. I respect their achievement in this respect immensely. Still, this financial, career offshoot accomplishment in a cushy Clinton years economy, pre 911, doesn’t erase the fact that after my son Arthur was born, I sensed 0.0 rush to book the 1st flight to NY to hug and kiss their grandson.

What was more infuriating was me on the phone with my Dad who was on his way to Vegas after my son Arthur was born. On the phone, I said Dad. “Don’t forget to bet on 1 at Roulette in Vegas.” But my dad whose never been a narcissist according to my younger brother. Totally blanked on why he should bet on 1 at Roulette in Vegas. So I yell over the phone. “Let me help you dad. Bet on 1 at Roulette because your grandson was born on New Years Day.”

I return to work, cold calling Directors in charge application development as a new business development rep for the IT consulting staffing division of Robert Half at the time. As the day progressed, I become consumed with clench fisting rage over the fact my parents weren’t on a Southwest Flight heading toward Kennedy already because their flight back east was already pre-booked 2 weeks in advance. Later that evening, I told my mom how I felt. Thank God, my mom realized our fledging remnant of a relationship, depended on her booking a flight ASAP to see her grandson back east. Pops didn’t join her. My dad doesn’t do the cold anymore. Now, his favorite pastimes, retired in Scottsdale, Arizona. Are playing tennis with Dr. Ken and jerking off to the Weather Channel, whenever a new winter storm does a bukkake all over the eastern seaboard. Slamming it harder and harder with more flurries of winter blasts, again and again.

Last year a day before Arthur’s 4th birthday my wife still hadn’t contacted Jame’s mom from Pre-K yet to invite them over for Arthur’s birthday. And James was his only main bud there. To say I was infuriated was an understatement but I assumed ownership of the situation. Called Jame’s mom who I chatted it up with numerous times at Arthur’s Pre-K prior. She’s a pretty, striking, tall Croatian. So I got off making her laugh and she got my off the cuff humor which is always nice. James made it to Arthur’s birthday with his mom, big sister and construction worker Dad. Who made me feel like Rocky staring up at Drago after he kills Apollo. I got every big balloon possible from Party City. It’s a birthday tradition I established with his big sister Matilda from the start. We don’t have a big home, so only inviting James and his family was perfect. Jame’s big sister really got into me after I told her I hosted a podcast even though I hadn’t recorded an episode yet. I’ve done 57 since our exchange last year in case you’re wondering.

My parents always claimed birthdays were never a big a deal for them. But my children’s birthdays are for me. I tell my kids their birthdays are mine to because all 3 kids of mine have made me born again. All 3 of my kids have blessed me with the divine powered opportunity to relive my age of wonderous innocence but through more mature lived through lens this time around. So I can make sure they suffer less than me. So I can make sure they suffer from less career hampering mistakes than me. So I can make sure they develop richer, more substantial, more long lasting friendships than I have.

All of my kids birthdays also celebrates me becoming a family man, not a degenerate, self serving, show biz slut for hire. I love my children’s birthdays because each was a big deal then and always will be, come rain or shine. Without my children, I don’t do my podcast. I don’t decide to become a best selling book author. We make a great home team and celebrate all our unique brands of specialness all the way.

My children are superior company than most. And if you can’t get excited about the birth of my children, which are in essence sweeter, superior manifestations of me. Then, I think it’s safe to assume, I don’t possess a special place in your heart after all. As long as I’m around, my kids birthdays will never blow. I’ll always make sure to make them feel like center of my universe and never be afraid to show it. I love my little Kiss Army with all my heart. Fathering my kids good is my starring part.


Michael Kornbluth

Birthing My Babies

Georgia O’ Keefe, famous landscape muralist, said if you can’t give up something you love for 2 months in a row, you posses no strength of character or something like that. I tried to Google the quote and came up with goonish. So much for my  keyword, Boolean search recruiter background paying dividends for my writing career at all whatsoever.

So what must I give up that’s so important for me to birth my planned 2 babies in me this time around?  In order to prove to my 3 kids, only 1 being intentional how dad isn’t a spoiled, irresponsible, self-indulgent, crazed, alcholic, drug addict flake? Well, 1st I was thinking I only had to give up my cherished IPA’s, even my low calorie alternative Pap’s Blue Ribbon Tall Boys from the Deli. Which make me feel a tady hickish twentyish whenever I find myself buying them 2 at a time and drinking them for multiple days in a row straight. Despite, the famed Milkwakee brewer of such a slamable, crisp, pilsner, becoming rebranded in Willamsburg, Bushwick and beyond as the unofficiall hipster brew of choice.

But now I’m reached the conclusion outside of giving up on going to bars to watch my 1st love the Knicks this winter or with a friend like I see them anymore as a Stay At Comedian/Father of 3, knowing we’re on the cloud here at home. Outside of giving up my bombtastic, supple, hoppy forward, outrageously, lushytistic American made IPA’s, and my Knicks on TV this coming winter, my 3rd grandiose sacrifice in pursuit of securing what upstanding character I have left. And for the preservation of the focused, pure, loving  spirit of the incoming birth of my back to back inspired baby books, Birth of a Pescatarian Comedian. That documents my journey from boyhood to manhood through accepting responsibility for my degenerate lushy weekend, pot head littered ways in the past in exchange for getting high off the pure goodness of my 3 pitch perfect kids, baby Samuel’s inhalable feet and off my most impressive role yet, as our in house gourmand Pescatarian chef and host of our family meal review show starting tonight, Crazy Good Dada. Where I promote the mighty strength glory of the Pescatarian diet. Which is mostly, fish, veggies and cheese. By showcasing the wonderous raw power of my 7 year old daughter, Matilda, Singing Rose, AKA, Deltoids Dawn, doing one armed push ups on our family meal review show. Where we break the down the elements of what we ate, how many yummy dances it generated and what justified critiques, heckles or funny meal time storytelling it sparked in the process. Thereby, helping other do it all dads out there get inspired to make some heathy, delicious, Pescatarian meals for their kids during their ordained days of rest on the weekend. So their kids can make their working wives feel like slackers in comparison for a change.

How dare I imply any women of being  slackers in any capacity outside of bringing home the bacon. Kind of like how men today should believe all woman, regardless of logic or proof who charge a man of sexual harassment even when he works remote from home. Knowing all company Skype meetings start with the same old virtual office procedure as your boss states. Before we get this meeting started, folks, all the guys raise your hands up high where I can see them. Self-imposed butt plugs aren’t considered a form of toxic masculinity are they? But I digress.

So back to the more PG13 friendly leanings of our family meal cooking review show Crazy Good Dada. Where you’ll see my hulking, 7 year old daughter complete her 10 one armed pushed ups. Before barking at the camera with friendly fierce, fired up glee. Not enough protein? Followed by punching her left open palm hand with her close fisted one in a very, slow, deliberate, all knowing smirk. Which screams I’m the most proud, non-annoying feminist to the core. Who takes the utmost offense to anyone implying, I’m a weaker, energy deprived, subservient, flabby underling just because I don’t have any meat in my diet or ham and cheese on wonder bread for lunch either.

Ham and Cheese is a such a boring lunch, my 7 year daughter fumes on camera. She adds. And it’s not like your mom even uses good ham like prosciutto, topped with creamy, funky subdued cheese like Piave, just regular ham and white bread, boringgg. My daddy says the good old fashioned ham and cheese never went out of style. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, I never knew the ham and cheese sandwich had a style.

So do it all dad being me, I also host the Do It All Dad Podcast, dad friendly entertainment for you and me. I’ve produced 54 episodes so far, resulting in 27 hours of stand-up funny material in less than a year off the weed for the most part. John Lennon wishes he was this productive during his stay at home dad years.

Still, the big sacrifice which I must give up for birth of my coming of age baby book Birth of a Pescatarian Comedian and Stay at Comedian, Controlling My Kids through comedy is my non stop worship and relentless pursuit of the most glorious, most high, except you the Lord, the body, spewing, spitastic, yanker laugh.

I’ve gotten quite proficient at being an A list laugh generator for the past 3 years as a Stay At Comedian but I can’t have that be the bane of my existence anymore nor let my obsession with proving my funny man chops. Knowing I no longer have the luxury of living in Queens and Brooklyn without kids to hop on stages whenever I want anytime old time.

My constant precoccupation with rewarding my good natured cheer generation to the world with beer or wine in addition to my addiction to carrying on my incessant love affairs with all my comedy bud strangers on Twitter must end until I birth these author career babies out of me.

My coming of age baby inspired parenting books are a result of beoming an unplanned stay at home comedian dad. And my 3 kids are a wonderful by product of my teaching, hustling and loving. And I’ve been given a taste of paradise and never want to slip away. I want more of it, a 4th kid even to give my 1st born the sister she never had. Doing stand up as a headliner doesn’t mesh with this dreamy lifestyle I want to perpetuate more than I still want to mount Elle the Body Mcpherson standing tall from behind. I have to bang out my next 2 coming of age baby books with aplomb and make them the literary equivalent to Slippery When Wet and New Jersey to give. myself the freedom to create more and be known in my kids school as a best selling, funny man published book author.

Plus, the success of Stay At Home Comedian book will allow me to control my kids even more so through comedy by getting them involved in the magic creation of our family meal review cooking Show Crazy Good Dada on the stay at home comedian work front. Also, more importantly, the success of these books, will allow me to extend my time at home with baby Samuel some more. Who I’m growing closer to every day, yeah, yeah.

Everything about daddy, he’s interested in, especially the Knicks basketballs on my shirts, ball, ball, ball. His 1st word by the way because he’s used to spending plenty of time watching do it all dad over here drain so many balls at the local playground court from way down town.

All of my codes on my phone and computer now are Samuel Wins. And that’s how I truly feel about my decision to launch this blog, do my podcast, write my baby books, get some sample chapters published in national magazines and launch this family meal review show with my kids because kids today need dad around more. And my kids growing love for each other, where they all can’t seem to get enough of each other or me yet, is living proof it. And quite flattering to contemplate, emote about and feel on a daily basis through and through, come rain or shine.

If Amy Shumer is going to have a kid now, I can suck up not drinking for nine months also. For the record, I’m not making this up, Amy Schumer’s really having a Garbage Pale Kid, Snot Nosed Sammy. And Sarah Silverman is crying herself to sleep tonight into her favorite bed wetting averting, nightie hoodie. Lena Dunham is losing.

But in order to put more pressure on myself to make sure I don’t fuck up my last show at proving to my kids dad possess the strength of upstanding character and isn’t a slacker wimp at his very core. I told my 7 year old daughter to withdraw all forms of hugs for me if she sees me drink any beer or wine till I finish birthing my 1st baby book, Stay At Home Comedian, Controlling My Kids through comedy. Because those hugs unlike more empty filler from Paps, I can’t live without.

Yes, Stay At Home Comedian will be my smash book debut. Where I document my rise from slug to stud. Where I become a paid, published author on the stay at home comedian dad front becoming the new face of the remote work revolution. Who at 43 years old finally gets his act together, conducts his weed exit interview on his Do It All Dad Year Podcast, removes the foggy, deadened past, nervous energy weight to his writing and ends up dunking a basketball at the end of the book. With a picture of me doing it, yelling from hanging on the rim. Waste of height no more pops, that being my dad. In your face, I proclaim with all mighty, divine powered gleam in my eyes, in your face, in your face.

Michael Kornbluth