Apparently, people just can’t get enough of the “babies in bars in Brooklyn” controversy: LX.TV, which is part of NBC, is having me on at 5 p.m. ET tonight to discuss the subject, so tune in to TimeWarner Cable channel 161 to watch the excitement!

Also: The producers asked me where they could get pick-up shots of parents with babies in bars. I told them Pacific Standard, on Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn, might work, so if you want to participate in the great debate of our times, bring your child there and order a pint or two.

Update: Alas, the TV producers don’t have time to shoot at Pacific Standard today. But go there and have a drink anyway, with or without your kid. They’ve got amazing beers on tap.

Did anyone out there read Matt’s newest “Frugal Traveler” blog post? What am I saying–did anyone out there not read it? The man’s an industry unto himself. Anyway, shockingly, it’s all all about free liquor. Whoa! Matt and alcohol? I can’t believe it.

That’s a joke. For those of you who don’t actually know Matt in person (there are some, hard as it is to believe), but he’s actually a TOTAL FRICKING DRUNK. Don’t believe me? Well, how about this article on bars that give away free food? Is there a phrase for twelve-step in drunken-ese? Or this one, where he goes drunk biking? Or this one on Vilnius, which is supposed to be about tracing his family’s roots, but is really about black beer?

Here at Dadwagon, of course, we all know that he likes to get sloshed with Sasha, but hey, we all love that. We’re drunken fathers too. But to make it a profession? If you’ve got the number for a good interventionist, please send ASAP. Things are gonna end ugly with this, I’m afraid.

In his honor, then, I would like to recommend that our dear readers peruse some of the selections at Youtube that pop up after a simple “drunk baby” search. It’s enlightening.

My favorite: this little one about a squirrel, some Heineken, and a videographer who hates animals. Enjoy.

(This is the Tantrum, in which Dadwagon’s writers debate one question over the course of a week. For previous Tantrums, click here.)

Given my sordid past—dragging Sasha around Italy and San Francisco, carrying her to filthy, seedy bars full of tattooed, puking people—you might think I’d be in favor of kids in restaurants. It only makes sense, right? Idiot yuppie-hipster dad just loooves to show off his pwecious cwotchfwuit in inappropriate settings.

The hell with that. Although Sasha was a perfect doll in restaurants at the age of 6 weeks—snuggled in her carrier, she didn’t want much—lately she’s a challenge. Now she wants to run, not snuggle; to play, not eat. On the increasingly rare occasions when we do go out for a meal, it’ll be lunch or brunch, somewhere family-friendly (highchairs, plenty of room), and we’ll bring enough books and toys to keep her occupied, and we’ll get in and out as fast as possible.

But somewhere nice? Are you kidding? Back when Sasha was around 4 or 5 months old, I brought her, on my own, to brunch with a friend visiting from Korea. (Hi, Dan!) The place: Char No. 4, a pretty decent Southern-ish restaurant in my neighborhood. At first, she was great, sitting patiently in the seat of her stroller, which I’d detached and placed next to me. But, inevitably, she began to cry, and nothing would console her—not milk, not nothing. By the time my food arrived, I was ready to flee—only I couldn’t properly unfold the base of the stroller. I was about ready to fling the whole thing across the restaurant when Dan stepped in, picked Sasha up and walked her around. Instantly, she calmed down. Oh, okay. I scarfed my meal, and we were outta there. Never again, I swore.

So, no. No. No. No. Somewhere nice? Really nice? Like, $400-per-person nice? Sasha’s not worth it—hell, I’m not worth it. (As an aside: I’m not sure this is how rich people think. Follow this link to see what I mean.) And even if I were to bring her to such a place—perhaps as a result of a traumatic brain injury—should the restaurant offer a kids’ menu? Would I ask for an adults’ menu at Chuck E. Cheese’s?

But you know what? Fuck restaurants in general. I’m tired of them. Very rarely do I eat anything at a restaurant that I can’t cook myself, better and cheaper. The whole range of upper-mid-level restaurants is a complete waste of time and money—gastronomical ambition tempered (and therefore neutered) by the need to serve a mass audience. If you’re making something that’s truly beyond my abilities—Taiwanese thin noodles, for example, or some exotic truffle-foam sous vide thing—I’m up for it. But if all you’re doing at your hip $29-entrée spot is roasting free-range hens or braising veal shanks, then thank you very much, but I can do that at home—and serve the leftovers to Sasha.

Ricardo rocks the bassinet

New York City seems like it should be the heart of Bugaboo country. The Dutch company specializes in 20-pound curb-hopping strollers (great for bumping over epic potholes, not great for popping in the trunk to head to the mall). Their most popular model–the Frog–costs $759. (The foam-tire Cameleon is $880.) The price points on their Marc Jacobs and (Red) limited editions ($1,500 and $1,029 respectively) are a lot more Wall Street than Sesame Street.

So when the country’s first Bugaboo retail store opened up this month in El Segundo, a humble slice of Los Angeles, just south of LAX, it seemed curious. I already had the family down visiting in-laws for the week, and I took them and went there undercover–which is pretty easy when you’re a dadblogger–to check it out.

Here’s what I know about El Segundo: it used to be home to a colossally screwed and landless tribe called the Tongva. It has massive oil refineries. Someone from A Tribe Called Quest left their wallet there. It ain’t exactly Park Slope.

The first thing I learned when we pulled up is that it’s not really a store, per se, with any grand retail ambitions. It’s more like a showroom attached to Bugaboo’s new corporate headquarters. The company had outgrown the converted auto-body shop it was occupying down the road in Hermosa Beach (30 employees sharing a bathroom, apparently). So they moved to El Segundo, which won an Eddy Award a few years ago for being the most business-friendly city in the region. The showroom is in front, but just behind it is a bright peppermint-green kitchen (painted the owner’s favorite color), which leads to the cavernous open-plan workspace where the worker bees of Bugaboo (sales? design? accounting?) do their thing.

The upside to the accidental location was that we had to place all to ourselves, along with the undivided attention of the hyperkinetic and enthusiastic account manager named Ricardo who was manning the place. He had relocated from New York not long ago when Bugaboo closed its offices near Madison Square Park and he sounded a little wistful about NYC–he told a few totally New York food-geek stories, about how the Bugaboo staff would monitor the line at the Shake Shack via Webcam and then dash down three flights of stairs when it was short enough. I told him about Tito’s Tacos, but I have a feeling it won’t make him forget all about the Shackburgers.

But he was awesomely indulgent of my kids, who wanted to climb all over the products, and sit in the mesh bags, and push the strollers into walls. And he gave us a sneak preview of the new updated Bee stroller, due out in April, which is basically the same, just a bit sturdier and a bit more expensive, with a slightly more user-friendly strap and thinner side flaps.

Here’s the thing: in New York, I hated Bugaboos. I owned McClarens, which cost a third as much, and $20 Target umbrella strollers, and I was all too ready to buy into the stroller wars pitting haughty Bugaboo owners against the angry rabble rest of us. But in Los Angeles, all that seems petty and judgmental. Yes, $800 is a lot for a stroller, but you do actually get something for the price: design and function. Maybe not where I’d invest, but people spend lots of money on all kinds of geegaws, so why not strollers?  We owned a TV that cost more the Cameleon stroller and got a lot less use. Others (like Matt, who owns a Frog) can tell you with more authority about the suspension and the steering and the shocks over the long-haul. But from our short visit, it did just seem all very buttery.

Not that we left with a new stroller, mainly because we don’t quite have $800 to spend on anything at the moment. But if we did, we would. And there’s going to be a big sale, I’m told, so you should: June 19, 30 percent off everything. Only in-store, only in beautiful El Segundo.