New blog, it finally happened

In case anyone still checks out this blog, I finally got my shit together and created a new site, which you can find here. If you're a subscriber, the feed is here.

See you there!

Christmas Musical Goodness

That's me, probably writing something angry like: "Remember your fucking lines!" Just kidding. The cast of the Christmas musical I'm directing (and that opens this Thursday, so if you live in Austin, come see it), is really phenomenal.

It's the most fun I've had making a performance in awhile.

Photo by Wylie Maercklein.

Where the Hell is Jonathon?

I'm working on a new blog. A bigger, better, more exciting blog -- that'll be finished as soon as I can figure out how to make WordPress work on my own domain (this is the point I realize I'm not nearly as smart as I thought I was, and may succeed in breaking the Internets).

I'll be posting here occasionally until then, but rest assured, more is coming. Oh so much more. Hope you all are doing well!

One Year

I was so pumped when we pulled that dress out earlier this week and it still fit.

Waking Up

It's incredibly early in the morning as I write this. The sips of coffee I'm taking in between sentences are like small hits of liquid crack. There is a soft-focus fuzz around everything I see, while my eyes slowly adjust to being uncomfortably half-awake. My body aches. My breath is unspeakable. I am not a morning person.

However, I don't have to be.

I loathe to admit this, ever, in any context, because, by far, the vast majority of experiences specific to being a separated parent are frightening, lonely, painful, or some combination of the three. Occasionally though, there are small positives to this arrangement (that I would gladly trade, in a heartbeat, for more time with a daughter or a more "normal" life as a parent -- but still).

Sleep is one of those things.

Because I skip at least part of every workday to pick up Edan from daycare, I usually make up for it at the witching hour -- uninterrupted by late-night requests for glasses of water, additional stories, songs, and claims that sleep is a physical impossibility imposed upon children by domineering adults. Then I stumble through mornings (like this one), sipping coffee and trying desperately to smack my brain into readiness -- also uninterrupted by early morning sing-a-longs, second bowls of cereal, or morning cartoons.

Continued at ParentDish.

Amanda is Famous in an Internet Kinda Way

Before she moved to Austin, Amanda lived with the hipsters in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. This is where she met Von. Von is a recording artist who goes by the moniker VonVonVon. He made a song called House of Von, and because Amanda is a dancer, she got to be in the video. (She's the one that shows up on the right, in the t-shirt that says VON.)

Rumor has it Von never breaks character -- like, ever. So watch the video, then picture talking to a person that really acts like that. All the time. Even when you're trying to order a couple beers from a cocktail waitress without sounding like a total douche bag. Amazing. I'm equal parts thrilled and disappointed that Von (presumably) has no plans to re-ignite the late-80s German-inspired house scene in Austin. Because this city could totally use that kind of kick in the ass.

Temporarily Awesome

Yesterday afternoon, I went to give Edan a kiss goodbye, and she recoiled -- like normal -- because she wants me to "wash off" my beard. But then, as I went to set her down and walk out the door, she stopped me, pushed back my baseball cap, and gave me a little kiss on the forehead.

I like this phase.

Because we've been through crappier times -- when Edan got in the habit of asking for her mom whenever she was bored, upset, or frustrated that I wouldn't let her walk through the supermarket in bare feet with seven stuffed animals in tow. Sure, it seems innocuous -- blah blah, that's what kids do. But when you worked 'till 2 a.m the past 8,000 nights in a row (because time with your darling offspring cuts the normal workday in half), and you're exhausted, cranky, and pissed at the world, your child's incessant requests to be with another parent make your life feel -- for a moment -- like some cruel and pointless comedy, where you're the butt of every joke. (Of course then Edan laughs, or says something hysterical, and I, like many fabled fathers before me, am on a heroic quest through dad-dom once again.)

Continued at ParentDish.

Dear Cat That Dumped on My Doorstep

I see you and your scraggly-ass friends hanging out, stalking the house, sneaking around the backyard and sending the neighbor's dogs into a frenzied, highly-vocal state of insanity. I get it -- someone who used to live here was nice to you, and now you miss the attention. Awww, wah wah wah -- cry me a fucking river, because you know what? They're gone, they're never coming back, and no matter how many times you shit on my walkway, I will never love you.

Accept it now, cat: you cannot defeat me. By the power of Grayskull; there can be only one; that's right Ice...man, I am dangerous; etc.