An Interview With Matt Tobey

I’m not sure what happened this past winter but a lot of my friends seem to have discovered sex all over again. Pregnancy is reigning supreme in my inner circle. Behold, I have a dog which has temporarily postponed any baby fever in the Jezarian household. Regardless of that, I’m curious as to how the introduction of pregnancy into an otherwise whacky individual’s life changes things. I sat down with my friend Matt Tobey to discuss.

Congratulations on having sex with your wife at least once. Do you refer to yourself as pregnant or does Jackie get irate since she’s doing all the heavy lifting?
I have a little trouble saying "I'm pregnant" or "we're pregnant," probably because I'm self-conscious about my gut, so I tend to use the expression, "we're expecting."

Have you been craving anything since you got pregnant?
No, and neither has my wife really. There was one time when she was about 6-weeks pregnant and she suddenly had an uncontrollable jonesing for apple cider and donuts. Unfortunately, it was still a few weeks before that shit was in season, so I had to drive around town before I finally got my hands on an overpriced jug of cider. Other than that, the food thing hasn't been a factor. No pickles and ice-cream or anything like that.

There was one dude who wrote in the forums on Baby Roadies about his wife getting a taco and dousing it with chocolate syrup when she had a bun in the oven. I almost think it'd be kind of cool to go through that. Normally you'd have to give someone at least a buck to eat something that gross.

Name five things you will absolutely never ever let your child do. This way, when they become habits, I can remind you of this interview.
I will never let my child murder someone. It's a controversial stance to take, but I'm firmly against parents letting their kids murder. Also, no dating Capulets. Those people are filthy good-for-nothings. Honestly, that's a hard question for me. When I was growing up, my parents really trusted me, and that was a huge motivating factor in the choices I made. I'd like to try to take that same kind of approach with my own kids, and just encourage them to make smart choices. It's all such a terrifying crapshoot though. I'm not convinced my kid won't grow up to be an axe-murderer. At the same time, I'm not convinced he/she won't cure cancer. I'm guessing he/she won't do both though. That's something I feel pretty confident about.

Do you think it’s children crying that lead parents to the bottle or the bottle that leads parents to crying children?
The second one.

What the hell is babyroadies? Where the hell did it come from? What the hell happened to that guy’s head?
Baby Roadies is the dad blog I started with my pal Zac Johnson of .:DataWhat?:. Zac and his wife are also expecting at the moment and we simultaneously came to the conclusion that it's kind of bullshit that all of the "parenting" magazines are geared almost exclusively toward mothers. And most of the few resources available for Dads are creepy promise-keeper-y kinds of things. So we started a blog and a forum for Dads who are geeky hipster types who don't pretend to know exactly what the fuck they're doing, but want to be good parents.

The name came from a bit by Henry Rollins. You can read it on the site. It was Zac's idea, and it just sort of fits in a lot of ways.

As far as what happened to that guy's head, I have no idea which guy you're talking about. Rollins?

Now that you’re scouring the web for things that will allow you to maintain some of your male dignity despite being destined to carry a diaper bag around your shoulder, what is the number one thing you haven’t been able to find that you need desperately.
I think that's something I'll discover once the baby is here. At this point I don't know what the hell I need, and there are contradicting messages coming from all angles. Some people swear by the Diaper Genie, others say it's a stinky waste of money. Some guys like the expensive specialty messenger-style diaper bags, others say just buy a cool messanger bag and toss a changing pad in it.

One thing I'm always on the lookout for is music that I'll be able to enjoy with my kids. My parents weren't ever really into good music, so it wasn't until I got to high school and college that I began to develop any kind of real appreciation for music. I want my kid to be a rock-snob before he/she hits kindergarten. So far, I really dig a record called Bedtime with the Beatles by Jason Falkner. It's Beatles tunes redone as lullabies, and it's surprisingly enjoyable. It was done with a real love for the source material, so the covers don't feel like bastardizations. I'm also into a band called The Terrible Twos who do kid-centric indie-pop. The songs aren't at all condescending to the listener and the melodies are infectious. Of course there's They Might Be Giants too, who have a pair of great kids albums under their belts now, but beyond that, the pickings are slim.

Would you rather your child grow up to be a Ninja or Donald Trump?
That's a tough one, especially if the baby ends up being a girl. Donald Trump is ugly enough as a man; I can't imagine what he'd look like as a woman. I guess if you're asking if I'd rather my kid be an unstoppable killing machine or a billionaire, I'd lean toward the latter. There are perks of being the parent of a ninja, I'm sure, but it'd be nice to not have to rely on my pathetic 401k when it comes time to retire. Perhaps the fruit of my loins will grow up to be the world's first billionaire ninja, like a nunchuck tycoon or something.In preference order, name the five super powers you’re praying on a nightly basis that your child will be born with.

What’s the most rad baby swag that you’ve found on the internet as you scour it for Babyroadies fodder.
There are some really funny irreverent onesies out there. One says, "They're raising me gay." There are more, but that's probably the funniest one to me.

How can people get their products mentioned on babyroadies.com?
If someone has a product they think is up our alley, they should email us at babyroadies@gmail.com and we'll figure it out from there.

Tell me I rock.
You rock.

What’s your stance on knowing beforehand if its’ a boy or a girl?
I think it's fun not knowing the gender, but to each his own. There are days when I really want to know, so I can see someone not being able to stand the suspense.

If you have a boy, at what age do you think you’ll be okay with discovering your son’s penis is bigger than your own?
I'll always be okay with my son having a bigger penis than me. My daughter is a different story. That would probably freak me out.

What’s your stance on the push gift, are you going to cave and buy one? If so, what do you have in mind?
I've never heard it called a push gift before, but Jackie and I decided pretty early on that we would buy each other small gifts when the baby came. There was a point a few weeks ago when things got a little rough one evening and I weathered the storm so well that she bought me a new PS2 game the naext day to say "thank you." Also she's throwing me what I've dubbed a "Dad Mitzvah" this weekend, which will be a small get-together for me to hang out with my dude friends and play cards and shit. I however, still have no idea what I'm going to buy her. Also, she'll probably read this, so even if I did, I wouldn't let the cat out of the bag.

About Matt Tobey: Matthew Tobey is an editor for All Movie Guide, a contributing editor for Cracked Magazine and a blogger at BabyRoadies.com and The City of Floating Blogs (tobey.cracked.com). He lives near Detroit with his wife and their dog and will soon be joined by their first child. In his spare time he enjoys regretting to write funny things in his bios.

Oh God, You Mean That Guy?

"What’s so funny?"

"Nothing. Ba ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ahem. Heh."

"Seriously, what the fuck is so funny, you’re giggling like a pregnant school girl."

"Ok, ok. That guy down there, he totally looks like you. You were both just standing the same way. It was like a mirror or synchronized swimming or something."

"Which guy? That guy?"

"No, not that guy, the one with the glasses, reading the newspaper."

"You think I look like that guy? Jesus. I don’t look anything like that clown."

"No, you do. Seriously, you look exactly like each other. He could be your stunt double on the commute. If you decide to take on the conductor, just call 'CUT! Bring in the stunt double'. He’d be perfect for the role."

"You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?"

"Well, it’s not every day you get to see your stunt double. I would totally put that guy on payroll if there was a need. Like if you were on the lam or something, or our neighbor threatened to beat you up."

"Wait, now you think the neighbor could beat me up too? I hope you don’t mean the downstairs neighbor, I could totally kick that guy’s ass. I’d make his child fatherless by the time I was done with his goateed crunchy lipped face."

"No, you’re right, I’m just saying if, you know, you didn’t really want to fight the neighbor and wanted to call in the stunt double to do it. Prevent a jammed knuckle or something you know?"

I had to admit that was a good save. It was very possible to jam a knuckle wailing on a neighbor’s face. But that guy? I totally didn’t look like the pudgy bastard standing on the platform. He was reading the Post for pete’s sake. I wouldn’t read the Post. Clarification – I would read the Post but he was reading the Post from the front. I only read the Post like the Torah. Back to front, sports first. I never even venture into the classifieds. And I looked like this guy?

(I’m writing this on the train despite the obnoxious woman two seats in front of me who just pounded a Coors Light and then dialed her cell phone. This woman who is talking is making it abundantly clear that whoever is on the other end of the phone is sooooo welcome to come up for Easter but there is zero chance, and I mean zero, that she’s going to change a reservation yet again. The woman also seemed a little concerned that whoever was on the other end of the line might not realize it was a three hour drive, maybe more with traffic this weekend. No, no, of course they were welcome. How rude. The whole train could hear her inviting everyone yet she only invites her friend? She needs a helping from Miss Manners if you ask me. Inconsiderate bitch.)

That’s the problem with small talk. Sometimes it really just smacks you in the face. My wife was just amusing herself with how much I looked like another man waiting on the platform for the 7:48 to Manhattan and meanwhile, if she had stopped to think she would have realized that I totally don’t look like that guy. Eww. And If I really did look like that guy, then there’s two things: 1) It would have been best to keep it to herself because he’s an ugly son of a bitch. This was the type of guy you could easily use an old playground taunt on. Something like, “he fell out of the ugly tree and hit every single branch on the way down” or maybe even, “he’s so ugly they had to tie a porkchop round his neck just to get the dog to play with him”. Seriously, ugly. 2)

(Okay, I guess Coors Light woman is having pangs of regret because she just called back to let them know there is absolutely no obligation for them to come up. Really, they’ll be tired, it’ll be a long ride. Although, if they do decide to come up early, they’d have time to nap before dinner. Why doesn’t this woman just come clean and tell whoever is on the other line that frankly she just really doesn’t like them. I’ll do it for her. I mean, she doesn’t want them to come up but if they do she immediately wants to put them down for a nap? Please, just shut the fuck up lady!).

Back to number 2. So if I did look like this guy she pointed out then I seriously have to question her taste in men. When we began dating and her friends met me, did they think, ‘my God, what the hell has she gotten herself into, she might as well date a decaying rutabaga.’ Undoubtedly, someone will read this and remind me that it’s not always good looks or popularity that gets the girl, it’s who you are. To this I’ll say, “don’t you dare lecture me. I saw Can’t Buy Me Love. I know what gets the girl.” That’s Hollywood though. In Hollywood, a guy like Patrick Dempsey plays the dork. The same Patrick Dempsey who is one of People’s favorite photos and on some show where he’s a doctor making a boatload of money saving people then sleeping with beautiful women to knock the edge off his day. Sure though, looks, money and popularity don’t get the girl. You know what else doesn’t get the girl? That guy that I supposedly look like that’s standing down the platform from me reading the Post. That guy goes home alone 999 times out of a thousand. Unless he pays of course.

I’m married I remind myself. Maybe I shouldn’t worry about these things. I’ve found my love, I don’t need to concern myself with the trivial matters of how mates match. Then again, how can I not when I’m indirectly told I look like a short, balding, fat Danny Devito with glasses; in other words, that I look like a bloated Rick Moranis? The moral of the story you see is, think before you tell someone they look like someone else. Don’t greet your grandmother with your epiphany that she looks like Barbara Bush. That’s bad form. Don’t greet your co-worker on Friday morning after the work Happy Hour that you finally put your finger on who she looked like, Courtney Love. Great, she’ll think, I look like a cracked out whore who can’t utter, or form for that matter, a coherent sentence without people thinking her breath must smell like rickety crotch. Instead, keep these things to yourself. Relationships are built on honesty, but if you’re simply not telling someone something, is that really a lie? Not according to Oliver North and if it’s good enough for ole Ollie then it's sure as heck good enough for you.

Word.

Epilogue: That woman still had not shut up even as my train was pulling into the station, a good twenty plus minute phone conversation where she passive-aggressively tried to persuade whoever it was not to come up for the holiday because she refused to tell them what the real reason was because she hated them. I learned something from this woman however. She kept the truth to herself. While some things are good to release, like gas and phlegm and gasps of relief so you won’t implode, some things are better left unsaid. Thank you bitchy cell phone woman. You taught me a lesson today. And because of that, I didn’t tell you that you reminded me of Sissy Spacek after an all-night coke binge and gangbang. It feels good to be evolved.

Makin' the Babies

I expect that at some point in the next twenty years, I will get notice that I'm going to be a father. That of course, is assuming that I am not unknowingly already a father and that if I am not, when the time comes my boys will be able to swim furiously and take it strong to the rack. If not, I'll just have more disposable income and spend it on toys and motorcycles and beer. Without kids, I wouldn't have to be a responsible parent; I could just be their alcohol abusing, freeloading, high rolling uncle. Assuming however that I won't be able to do my Tom Hanks as crazy uncle guest appearance on Family Ties and would lean more towards the role of Steven Keaton — the father of a young arrogant Republican — there's got to be some sort of option for me to remain sane, despite an outward fatherly appearance.

How can one all of a sudden drop the fantasy baseball leagues, cancel the subscriptions to multiple movie channels, turn the office into an "oopsie" room and bring the baby cavalcade into town? I'd imagine it's traumatic. Right now, one of the biggest concerns I have is that I can't wear sneakers to work. So how am I going to be able to show off my rad new Pumas? Furthermore, if the rad Pumas are sitting in my closet for no one to see them are they still totally rad? Add on questions like, "Am I a good father?" and "Will my child be well adjusted?" and I'm already sweating bullets! I have a dog for pete's sake and that dog is a handful. Where is a man to go?

Yesterday though, I entered a brave new world. My good buddy Matt Tobey has teamed up with Zac from Datawhat to form BabyRoadies. Baby Roadies is a blog for fathers and fathers to be that want to remain tragically hip and funny. Well not necessarily tragically hip and funny but they'd at least like to feel they have some dignity and weren't forced to check their testicles at the reception desk while shopping for cribs, diapers, toys and all that nonsense. Eventually, they're going to be holding a diaper bag over their shoulder like Paris Hilton lugging around her Chihuahua so they'd like to keep their dignity.

The idea behind babyroadies is that there really isn't any parenting site out there catering to dads that aren't tools. Everything is geared towards telling moms how to get the job done which then results in the kids loving their moms as they grow up and seeing their dads as these mopes that sit around in the lounge chair and do their best to drown out the sounds. Not anymore!!! Now dads can be cool, rad and informed all at the same time.

Huzzah for babyroadies! May you live forever!

Oh yeah, and here's the passage that is sort of their mission statement on the site:

Have you seen parents at airports? They just become, like, baby roadies. Like a truckload of gear, for a nine pound thing. Like "Who's the Rock Star?" It is this big, it shits itself, and the guy has like: Hip Pack. Fanny Pack. Front Pack. Back Pack. And he's like walking around with all the diapers and all this shit and the woman's like "ugggggg" and they have Sherpa guides behind them holding packages: "Ho-We-Oh. We-Ohhhh-oh." "Where are you guys going?" "We're loading the baby and entourage onto the plane."

Henry Rollins said that. A parenting blog inspired by Henry Rollins? Jesus Christ, that has to be fucking awesome!

My Next Career Move

This past Friday, I had an epiphany concerning my career. It occurred over drinks with some co-workers. If things don’t work out with my current job and I can’t ever scrape together a living peddling my writings, I have options. Maybe one day I’ll realize that writing for blogs only pays my ego and not my bills. It is then and only then that I will embark on my fourth career. I will become an agent. It’s a logical next step really, those who can’t do, pimp out the talents of others. My area of expertise would be adult films. I think there’s a hole in that market, no pun intended, for an Asian film star. I’m giving the day job a few more years at least but when the time does come to don my agent’s cap, I’ll be ready.

Here’s how my Craig’s List ad will read:

Calling Mr. Ling. Mr. Dang Ling to the set.

Wanted! Asian male with considerable assets. And by assets, I don’t mean a house in the hills and a Rolls in the driveway, I’m talking the ability to really bring it. Me. I’m a talent-less but aggressive and belligerent psychopath who doesn’t take no for an answer. Don’t worry, it’s more than likely that you could overpower me if push comes to shove but the only pushing going on around here will be by you. You’re my client, I’m your agent. That’s how it works. Let’s put the Asian in Invasion if you know what I’m saying. If that didn’t make any sense to you, then please, you’re not right for the position (no pun intended again).

Allow me to transform you into the first Asian Adult Film Star to be taken seriously in the states. Let’s bring the crossover.

Requirements:
- Hot to trot
- Has seen Boogie Nights
- Thinks Burt Reynolds is a God
- Has no family ties that own DVD players, VCRs, or have access to broadband internet access

Job location is Your Pants, USA
Compensation: Huge
Hiring Organization: On a Need to Know Basis

No – Principals only. Recruiters, please don’t contact this job poster. Get your own damned cash cow.
No – Please, no phone calls about this job!
No – Reposting this message elsewhere is not okay. Unless of course it is on the Port Authority’s Men’s Room Stall.