Michael Jenkins's Blog

Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child by Marc Weissbluth

My rating: 1 of 5 stars


The Monkey's Paw of Child-Rearing

This week, my friend Todd (nicknamed “Tater Todd”) lent me a book this week called, “Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child.” It was a thoughtful gesture on their part, as they assumed (correctly) that our son’s sleep schedule is getting better, but still slightly erratic.

Citing the book as a “lifesaver,” I picked up the book and…holy cow! This book is thick. Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Before I even get started, let me turn to the last…657 pages? Are you fucking kidding me, Tater?? 657 pages?!

You want me (just my wife, actually) to read a 657-page book in order for our kid to sleep for a few hours? Are you daft? Who would buy this?

There’s a quote-review on the front cover: “I put these principles into practice—with instant results. Dr. Weissbluth is a trusted resource and adviser.” And the quote is from…Cindy Crawford??

Cindy Crawford. The same woman who says that her wrinkle-free skin is due to a facial cream that has an extract from a melon that doesn’t expire as quickly as other melons. I’ve been up at 3:00am, I’ve seen her infomercials. There’s a melon that stays fresher longer than most melons, so there’s this French doctor, Dr. Sebagh, who decided that human skin is the same as a melon husk and is now a millionaire.

That is not a joke. Here is an actual product description for her Youth Activating Melon Serum (italics added by me to show the fuck-all stupidity): “Super-charged serum harnesses the skin-restoring power of our next generation miracle melon technology. Melon leaf stem cells are encapsulated for maximum potency to visibly plump and firm skin, even tone and increase radiance.”
…
And this woman wants to tell me how to get my kid to sleep? Cindy Crawford’s record of “reputable doctors” leaves me a bit skeptical, what with the melon skin and all.

What is this book going to tell me? Squeeze a half-lemon into my kid’s face and he should be calm for a few hours? Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe I’m being ignorant. Let’s open a random page. Here we go, page 290: “Crying: All Babies Cry Some of the Time.”

Well, you just blew my fucking mind, Dr. Weissenshyster. The first 289 pages I’m sure were a real drag until you turned the page and come across that little turd of wisdom and it all became worth it.

(Deep sigh) Folks, I think we have a “House of Leaves” situation here. About 10 years ago, another friend of mine, John, read a book called “House of Leaves” and he wanted to share it with anyone who would listen. He described the plot to me as, “A story about a house that’s larger on the inside than the outside.”

And I thought, like, spiritually? Because of the family and stuff? But no, physically larger. Measurements from the inside don’t match the outside and the inside of the house gets bigger and bigger.

What ensued was the most mind-numbingly, frustrating book I had ever read. There was backwards text, footnotes whose explanations themselves went on for pages, spiral text, text that only went along vertically along the perimeter of the page…it was a mess.

But John kept spreading the book around like a mental STD until most of us were smacking our heads to get the thoughts out.

I didn’t think I’d come across another book like it until Tater Todd, using a crane I assume, dropped this book off on our front stoop.

Also, Todd, there’s now a large crack (chasm, really) on the front step from where this book was lowered. I’m gonna need you to fix that. I don’t want Grettle’s paw to get stuck in there.

My assumption here is one of irony. I don’t think Todd and his wife can get any sleep until they pawn this book off on some unsuspecting parents. They say the book was a life-saver, but I think our acceptance of the book is what saved them.

It’s the monkey’s paw of child-rearing!

Come December, this book is on a first-class flight to New York for another couple who is expecting. Hey, Rob and Brianna. Read this book. It will save our lives if you do.



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After months and months of hard work and finally procuring a manuscript in which to publish, most authors are subjected to a media blitz upon publication of their book to create buzz (and therefore, money). Here’s Michael Jenkins, author of Ask Me About My Grandcats giving a rather candid interview with Wayne Kirkpatrick.

Wait, what’s going on?

I’m so glad you asked! I’m Mike Jenkins and I wrote a book of comedy essays. It’s called Ask Me About My Grandcats; it’s full of chuckles. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it.

What do you want?

Well, you know how the publishing business is, Wayne. I have to go parading around and do interviews like this to the mainstream media in order to boost sales. Hey, I don’t want to be here either, but that’s the name of the game. My book is available on Amazon in paperback and E-Book format.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a show! We’re standing behind a 7-11, this is crazy!

7-11, Walgreens, CVS, Wawa, Sheetz, Jiffy Lube, Target, I’ll do it all. No platform is too small when you’re peddling a book, Wayne.

Please put the gun down.

(Sigh) Wayne, that’s not a question. How…how long have you been doing this? God, it’s like amateur hour out here.

Will you please stop pointing that gun at me?

Ah, there we go! I’d love to, but I’m still sensing a little resistance…? So, I’m gonna kind of keep it as is…? I’m sure you understand. Look, I’ve printed out a list of interview questions you can ask me. A little professional courtesy between you and me.

“When--when did you first know you wanted to be a writer?”

Bor-ing! Come on, man. Let’s get our hands dirty. And why are you shaking so much? It’s not chilly out. It’s a beautiful spring day behind the local 7-11!

Uh..Um… “What literary pilgrimages have you gone on?”

Hmmm…(scratches head with barrel of gun)…that’s a good question. “Literary Pilgrimages.” Ummm… I’m sorry, I can’t answer that question without sounding like a pretentious asshole. You understand.

“Does your family support your career as a writer?”

(Wincing, waving gun) Next question. Next question!

Will you please let me go?

Ha-HA! Oh, Wayne, I love this banter! What a dynamic we have! Unfortunately, I have answered that question way too many times today, but this is good. We’re having fun.

“How do you celebrate the completion of a book?”

Now there’s a question! Back at my place I have a book-release party planned with various folks, including some A-list celebrities. I’m talking party hats, I’m talking kazoos, I’m talking sparklers…

A-list celebrities?

If that guy holding religious signs outside the local Shell gas station isn’t considered A-list, I don’t want to know who is. Want to stop by? I still have to go inside the Sev and get some slurpees. It’s going to get crazy up in there!

You know I’m going to call the cops once this is over, right?

See, I want to believe you…? But I think I’ve charmed my way into your better judgement. I’m going to give you my address anyway.
This is a good idea.

I just want to go home and hug my family.

Bring them along! I live above the local hearing-aid place on Main Street. Front-view apartment, no big deal. Oh Christ, are you crying?

You’re just so sad…

See you at the party, Wayne!

Hey, folks. Do any of you remember Sanjaya? He was one of the finalists in season 7’s American Idol. He had a huge group following that allowed him to last for much of the show but the only problem was he was awful; not William Hung awful, but awful all the same.

Critics of the show were perplexed why Sanjaya remained on the show despite the Idol judges abhorring his singing and after a certain point, failed to give constructive criticism on his performances.

The judges would listen to him sing and then go, “Ok, next.”

Simon Cowell even stated that if Sanjaya won American Idol that year, he wouldn’t have come back the next, because determining the next American Idol is a very important thing, apparently.

At first, I thought the Sanjaya phenomenon was just a display of low-brow, unenlightened public-opinion run amuck, but I don’t think that’s the case anymore. Not after reading about Julia A. Moore. Have you guys heard of Julia A. Moore?

Julia Moore was a poet in the late 19th century. The wife of a farmer and mother to 10 children (6 of whom made it to adulthood!), Julia wrote poetry and had the pamphlets up for sale in her Edgerton, Michigan store. One day, a Cleveland-based publisher named James F. Ryder came across one of Julia’s pamphlets and immediately ordered a second-printing. Ryder then sent copies of Julia’s collection, The Sentimental Songbook, along with a letter of overindulgent praise, to every major newspaper in the country.

“[The Sentimental Songbook] will prove a lift to the overtaxed brain. It may divert the despondent from suicide. It should enable the reader to forget the ‘stringency,’ and guide the thoughts into pleasanter channels. It is productive of good to humanity.”

Sounds like a brain and nerve tonic, doesn’t it? So, what exactly was Julia writing about in her poetry that could alleviate the inherent awfulness of human existence? Oh, you know, children falling down wells, deadly epidemics, train wrecks, crib death, and kids choking to death on their dinners. Just thinking about those things make me feel better.

Some people saw what Ryder saw and immediately “praised” her work. Other critics went the other route and had fun giving terrible reviews.

One newspaper wrote, “It is rare food for the lunatic. Shakespeare, could he read it, would be glad that he was dead.”

Another notable review said, “I have counted 21 killed and nine wounded in the small volume she has given to the public. Julia is worse than a Gatlin gun.”

Whether the reviews be negative or positive, The Sentimental Songbook became one of the best-selling poetry books of its day. Even Mark Twain was a fan! Twenty years after the original printing, Twain wrote, “The Sentimental Songbook has long been out of print, and has been forgotten by the world in general, but not by me. I carry it with me always.”

How did Julia react to all this press? She was not surprised by her own fame and figured that it was only going to be a matter of time when her genius was discovered.

However, months into her best-selling fame, she gave a reading complete with an orchestra. She thought all the boos and heckles from the crowd were because of the shoddy orchestral music that was playing.

So, a little while later, she gave another reading of her poetry sans orchestra. When she finally saw that people were heckling and laughing so hard they fell out of their chairs at her poetry, she finally realized the truth. It was a joke. It was all a big joke at her unwitting expense. Can you imagine what that moment must have been for her? When it finally all comes together, like the Kobayashi mug-drop in The Usual Suspects except it was somebody’s life.

I learned about Julia Moore years ago and at first found it remarkably funny; a running gag that the whole country can get in on; a 19th century Chuck Norris joke. But I’ve been thinking a lot about her lately in a more empathetic view. Do you ever think that maybe some of the things you do could possibly be quite terrible? Like, for instance, comedy essays? And the support you receive from others are actually attempts to keep the joke going, but you don’t question it because you’re blind to your own shortcomings? Maybe that’s the 4th dimension we just can’t see out of our grasp. Just something to think about. I ordered a copy of The Sentimental Songbook. I framed it as a reminder and keep it on my desk. I’ll close with a small poem from Julia.

“And now kind friends, what I have wrote,
I hope you will pass o’er
And not criticize, as some have done,
Hitherto herebefore.”

Signed,

Michael T. Moore.

One of the greatest things about getting my book on Goodreads is the wide breadth of readers you can reach in an instant.

There is a "to-read" option for every user where they can flag a book and put it in their "to-read" pile. Imagine my surprise when I saw that I had over 200 people putting Ask Me about My Grandcats: And Other Essays on their "to-read" list.

For those of you keeping score at home, that is over 200% more than I ever had before joining this website. 200 people were interested in reading it! I was excited about it; excited and grateful.

After seeing those numbers, I thought, What would Mr. Rogers do? Which is always a good question to ask yourself at any given time in your life.

Mr. Rogers was notorious for writing back fan letters. In fact, there was not a single child who wrote to Mr. Rogers that did not get a handwritten letter response to them. Shoot, if you met him on the street and took photos with him, he would send you a scrapbook of the photos. He was like a Terminator, but with kindness, understanding, and patience.

To quote Kyle Reese: "That's what he does! That's ALL he does!"

So, I thought I would write to those who put me on their "to-read" list. Even if said reader doesn't actually get around to reading it, I still appreciate the fact that they saw the book, the synopsis, and decided they were at least intrigued.

However, the only way to send a message to these potential readers was to befriend them on the site. With a friend request, I could send a message; the message of thanks I wanted to give them.

It wasn't a pushy note, in my opinion. It just thanked them for putting the book on their list, even if they don't end up reading it, followed by a corny joke. I wrote about 8 or 9 of these notes before I went to the "Author Guidelines" section and saw that what I was doing was considered "inappropriate."

Apparently, I was acting like a rogue marketer who did not respect boundaries. What I should have been doing was sprucing up my author page and let the readers come to me, or join a discussion group and drop my book name in there when appropriate.

I do not care for an en masse type of "Thank you" written on a blog post. It feels lazy, like when someone has a birthday on Facebook and someone just writes, "Thanks for all the birthday wishes, everyone," followed by a heartfelt emoji. No, I wanted to give a genuine, personal thank you with no emojis.

Once again, I consulted Mr. Rogers. Something that I did not think about was that my urge to show gratitude did not outweigh a person's desire to not be "haggled" even if the intention was not to do such.

Ironically, I can't give a personal apology, as that would further exacerbate the problem. General apology it is!

I'd love to further immerse myself in this website, talk with readers of all books, not just mine. To share observations, quips, sarcastic notes, jokes. Goodreads is a social media site that for once I'd enjoy being a part of.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll work on my scrapbooking skills, which is non-existent.

Yes, why not give away some of these books that I have collecting dust on my desk here. It's pollen, mostly, from keeping the window open back in the spring. Don't worry, I'll wipe them off.

I'm giving away three whole books to three lucky(?) recipients. However, I am having a bit of trouble coming up with a funny message to write to the winners. Since it's a humor book, I suppose I should write something gregarious and witty, perhaps slightly intellectual. Here are some ideas I'm kicking around for the autographed title page for my free book giveaway:

*No refunds

*At least one of these pages has been thoroughly licked

*Tell your friends? (Question mark emphasized)

*Do you like movies about gladiators?

*So you say this is the first time winning a book giveaway? And you got this? You poor son of a bitch.

What do you think, folks? Is there anything else worth saying? I know it certainly won't be "Congratulations."

Ask Me about My Grandcats: And Other Essays