with Avi Spivack
Hi, I'm Avi, and I try to put the work and the dad together, with mild success. This is all about trying to give you a view from what it looks like on the dad-man's side of the world, and I hope you find my ruminations humorous because I try not to take myself too seriously.
I have a five-year-old daughter, and from that you may infer that I’ve watched High School Musical and High School Musical 2 more times than is appropriate for a 38-year-old man with seven Rage Against The Machine songs on his iPod. My guy friends would make me surrender my testicles if they ever found out about this, but I know most of the songs by heart and I’ve memorized some of the dance moves, including the one where you make a clock with your arms.
While I was cuddling on the couch with my daughter the other night, watching the scene where Zac Effron stomps around a golf course, chanting “bet on it, bet on it, bet on it!” my wife walked into the room.
“He’s so cute!” she said.
“Mommy?” my daughter responded. “Are you in love with him?”
“No, silly. I’m in love with him.” She was pointing at me.
I have every reason to believe my wife, and of course the feeling is mutual. But is there a part of me that thinks she’d drop me for Zac in a heartbeat? Bet on it.
I don’t know what the eff(ron) is happening to my life. I used to lead a fairly normal existence – highs and lows like everyone else – but the day those sunza bitches at Disney first aired High School Musical, all of it fell disintegrated like a drenched piece of one-ply toilet paper. Nothing is normal anymore. The walls are closing in around me and I fear I may be the world’s first victim of Death By Disney.
I can assure this isn’t some figment of a hyperactive imagination. The following is a list of changes that have occurred over the last 12 months, and the blame for each one of them can be traced directly to this insidious High School Musical crap:
• When my big-shot literary agent from New York City feels compelled to leave a comment on my blog, she does so as “Gabriella.” Her name is Karen!
• My wife’s good friend Pam, a physician and assistant medical director for a very large healthcare system, has three children, one of whom is a daughter the same age as ours. Naturally, Pam has the High School Musical soundtrack in her minivan. Not so naturally, Pam listens to it in the car, by herself, and she sings at the top of her lungs.
• Once, when I was home alone and could have been watching an important hockey game, I watched High School Musical 2 instead. You have no idea how much therapy I’ve had to endure over this revelation alone.
I don’t know what to do anymore, you guys. Nothing seems real. People are changing as though they’re in some song-and-dance-induced trance. I no longer know who I can trust, who’s immune from this epidemic, who will be the next person to fall under the High School Musical spell. In fact, there only one declarative statement I can make with nary an ounce of trepidation, and it’s this:
I’m soaring. Flying. There’s not a star in heaven that I can’t reach.
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