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As parents, we all need to be vigilant about who our kids are interacting with online. But you may not be aware of just how dangerous some of these predators can be. Dateline has investigated them in this exclusive clip, and exposed one of the more sinister ones. Be warned...we ain't got time to bleed....
It's a pretty common conception that, as parents, we should choose our
battles when it comes to butting heads with our small children. The
logic being, I guess, to not sweat the little things and simply
concentrate on the bigger behavioral issues as they come up, therefore,
creating less stress and turmoil while still providing some parental
guidance. Alright, I get it. But recently, I've been taking the
gloves off more frequently to the point that I'm pretty much choosing every battle.
All those little ones we let slide by in the past are beginning to bite
us in the ass and I'm ready to go on the offensive now to bring our
little free-range daughter back to the coop.
We're not spankers. Sometimes I wish we were. If ever there was a child who could use a swat on the butt, our daughter is one. However, we choose not to. Instead, we use timeouts on a beanbag (thanks Super Nanny!) in the corner behind a partition that kind of creates a little timeout zone, so to speak. She hates being there and it has served its purpose for the major behavioral stuff. However, we used to reserve it as the last resort - you know, after several warnings, some hemming and hawing, yada, yada, yada. Partly because no one likes disciplining their kid, but, to a greater extent, we hesitated banishing her there to avoid the inevitable break down she'd have when she's sent to it. Those break downs are not pretty and we'd sometimes cave in to avoid them. Not anymore. The old beanbag is getting a lot of action these days. And so are our eardrums and nerves.
Now it's one warning and, if it happens again, off she goes. Yes, the house is full of screams and cries a lot more often these days and that sucks. But I think we have been too lax in the past and I'm willing to squirmish over the little stuff now to reign her back in. It's not enjoyable and my willingness to battle isn't simply me trying to excercise my authority. It's a necessity, I feel. And I think some new ground rules need to be established even if they only end up being rules of engagement.
Let me be blunt: Happy Feet may well be the worst children's movie ever made.
I had the misfortune of sitting through this ghastly flick this weekend; we took Lucas, thinking that he'd love a movie about a tap-dancing penguin. And I believe he would have enjoyed a movie about a tap-dancing penguin, had Happy Feet been such a movie. Before I go any further, two things to keep in mind. One, this review contains spoilers. Two, regular readers will know me as a left-leaning-blue state pinko commie hippie progressive who had Happy Feet himself during the recent midterms. This will become important when I get to the chief reason for my Weddell Sea-deep, Mount Erebus-cold hatred of this flick. This is the movie that Ted Rall might have written had he decided to pen a Moulin Rouge ripoff featuring singing penguins.
Where to begin? First, the actors. I'm thinking that Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman believed that they were doing a voiceover for Yu-Gi-Oh: The Musical; their overacting (overvoicing?) is on par with the best of the awful dubbing that Japanese anime receives. Elijah Wood sounds stoned (and more power to him if he was; I couldn't have recorded that shit without a few hits of The Kind to keep it in perspective). Brittany Murphy sounds like Brittany Murphy. (Plus the penguin she voices has boobs! Tig Ol' Penguin Bitties!) And let me ask - does anyone still find Robin Williams funny? A side note: as I said earlier, the film rips off Moulin Rouge, with it's soundtrack of mashup pop tunes.
Then there's the plot. Happy Feet is about a tap-dancing penguin, right? Well, it is for about the first 20 minutes of the movie. Then there's some stuff about all of the penguins' fish supply disappearing, and Happy Feet the penguin leaves for some reason, I think to find out why the fish are vanishing, and then he ends up at Sea World. Something like that.
My chief issue with the movie, though, is the fact that (again, leftie talking here!) it's a thinly veiled, ham-handed liberal propaganda screed. Happy Feet the penguin is ostracized by the Penguin Elders because he goes against the teachings of the Penguin God. (Religion bad!) Happy Feet's devout father is ashamed of him because he likes to dance (I think there might have been some sort of subtle real-world parallel symbolism going on there, but I'm not sure what they were driving at. Oh! Wait! Dancing penguin = gay people! Clever!) Humans, it turns out, are the real bad guys of the story - they've apparently taken all of the fish, and worse, they throw Happy Feet into Sea World, where he slowly goes mad. (This PC sensibility apparently does not extend to the movie's skuas and killer whales; they eat penguins, hence, they're evil.) There are ways to get messages across in kid's films - half-assed, half-witted movies like this only prove to show how much better the Pixar crew is at delivering sharp and entertaining movies that don't insult the intelligence of the audience.
But what do I know? I'm a grownup. I'm pretty sure we won't be buying Lucas the DVD. We spent the bulk of the movie chasing him around the theater, because he realized that the fossilized Good 'N Plentys and stale popcorn in the aisles was much more interesting than the dreck up on the screen.
Once again Thanksgiving has come and gone, leaving families full and tired, and turkeys breathing sighs of remorse and relief.
It's a funny holiday, this Thanksgiving, marked by parades, meals and the acceptance of men being drunk and lazy while watching the dog show football. It's swell really.
With all of the preparation, the climax is actually anti-climatic. Two days in the kitchen and then this huge meal, this built-up feast, is over in a heartbeat. It reminds me of sex. Remember sex? You spend hours on the foreplay and then two 20 minutes later you're lying on your back trying to catch your breath and wondering if everyone else is as satisfied as you- but not really caring. Except in this scenario there are dishes to clean.
It is more than that though, and I'm not taking the obvious path of sentimental reflection and thanks here, but the road less traveled by, I'm calling Thanksgiving out.
Basically, it has morphed into nothing more than a doormat to Christmas. 
It can't even get through its own day without Santa showing up. It opens its arms and invites you in, hoping you'll notice the pecan pie on your way to the shopping mall. It's the Canada of holidays, and America, with our excess, our bling and our Ali Lohan holiday albums, we're Christmas. Blasphemy? Hell yes, I didn't even know there was an Ali Lohan.
Now, don't get upset Thanksgiving, or Canada for that matter, I'm not dissing you. You're great. You are actually my favorite holiday that isn't Christmas (even though you kind of are). I'm just saying that you've allowed yourself to be compromised by your louder bully of a neighbor and perhaps you should stand up for yourself.
But don't get too uppity, I've got a nap to take.
It just occurred to me that our family has absolutely no plans for Thanksgiving tomorrow. We have options. It's just that we haven't discussed them any further than simply saying the options aloud. At that point, we simply nod to each other in agreement...agreement that, yes, we have options. End of discussion.
I'm actually cool with this. Fate will eventually have its way and we'll end up doing one of the things we agreed that we would have the option to do. However, it's quite liberating to be able to say that - at this very moment - we have no idea where we'll be or what we'll be eating for Thanksgiving.
Carpe Diem...sometime tomorrow.
It occurs to me that the guys might be a bit busy this week, what with the holiday and all. (Go give the Dubya Family some love. I'll wait.) So I'm going to repeat a post - The Best Turkey You'll Ever Eat - but first, let's talk about Thanksgiving, in my mind the greatest of all holidays.
Why is Thanksgiving the best of The Big Three? Because it's a really difficult holiday to fuck up. Christmas: the pressure of buying The Perfect Gift (one year we got my mom a Clapper; I'm no longer in the will.) New Year's: dropping $300 for a plastic flute of '06 Martini & Rossi Asti Spumante and music that one might have heard in a Tijuana nightclub circa 1989. Thanksgiving, though - all that's expected is for you to eat a shitload of food, get drunk, watch football, pass out. It's brilliant. So, from Nov. 2005, my secret turkey recipe:
I'm going to make a bold statement: I make the best fucking turkey you will ever eat. My wife, parents, in-laws, and dozens of friends will testify to that.
The holidays are rapidly approaching, and it's time to ante up. Show your wife and kids that real men are just as comfortable in the kitchen as they are sprawled out on the couch watching "CHiPS" reruns. If you're hosting the feast at your house, impress everyone by taking the reins and cooking the bird yourself. It's relatively easy, even if you're a complete putz. Many people are content with putting a little salt and pepper on the bird, throwing it into the oven, and cooking the shit out of it for six hours. That's fine, if you want something that tastes like it once had hooves, a mane, and a tail. Here's one of the procedures I've tried. (I'll admit to borrowing and modifying the recipe from Bon Appetit magazine years ago; I have a couple of other methods up my sleeve, but my generosity only extends so far.) Follow these instructions and you will be a hero.
WHAT YOU'LL NEED:
3 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary or 1 1/2 tablespoons dried
3 tablespoons chopped fresh thyme or 1 1/2 teaspoons dried
3 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon or 1 1/2 teaspoons dried
1 tablespoon ground pepper
2 teaspoons salt
1 20- to 21-pound turkey, neck and giblets reserved
Fresh herb sprigs
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) butter, melted
4 cups canned low-salt chicken broth
OPTIONAL: 1 head of garlic
FOR THE GRAVY:
1/2 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup dry Sherry
3 tablespoons butter
12 ounces fresh shiitake mushrooms, stemmed, sliced
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary or 2 teaspoons dried
4 cups (about) canned low-salt chicken broth
1/3 cup whipping cream
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme or 1 teaspoon dried
2 teaspoons chopped fresh tarragon or 1 teaspoon dried
You'll need a roasting pan big enough to hold the bird. Don't buy one of those shitty aluminum foil throw-away jobs. They suck; what happens is, the bird ends up sitting in an inch of broth, blood, and melted fat. Get a real one with a rack. Also, I recommend using fresh herbs instead of dried. It's a pain in the ass, but it'll taste better, and will impress your family and friends, which is more important.
Mix first 5 ingredients in small bowl. Pat turkey dry with paper towels and place on rack set in large roasting pan. Oh, and don't forget to pull out the guts and the neck. I once ate a turkey whose owner did just that. It really didn't taste good. If not stuffing turkey, place herb sprigs in main cavity (here's where the optional garlic comes in; if you like a garlic-flavored turkey, chop off the top third of the head of garlic and stick it in the cavity. If not, no big deal. It'll taste just as good.) If you're stuffing the turkey, you're stupid. Don't stuff the turkey. It screws everything up; increases cooking time, and I truly believe that it dries out the turkey. Make your stuffing separately and bake it right after you pull the bird out of the oven, preferably by itself. The steam and odor of the bird will infuse the stuffing. At least I think it will. I could be wrong. Tie legs together loosely to hold shape of turkey. Make sure you are using natural fiber twine, as plastic string will fuck up your entire program. Brush turkey with oil. Rub herb mix all over turkey. Place turkey neck and giblets in roasting pan. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead if turkey is not stuffed. Cover and refrigerate. Let stand at room temperature 1 hour before roasting.)
Position rack in lowest third of oven and preheat to 425°F. Drizzle melted butter all over turkey. Pour 2 cups broth into pan. Roast turkey 45 minutes. Remove turkey from oven and cover breast with foil. Reduce oven temperature to 350°F. Return turkey to oven; roast unstuffed turkey 1 hour (roast stuffed turkey 1 hour 30 minutes). Remove foil from turkey; pour remaining 2 cups broth into pan. Continue roasting turkey until meat thermometer inserted into thickest part of thigh registers 180°F. or until juices run clear when thickest part of thigh is pierced with skewer, basting occasionally with pan juices, about 1 hour 40 minutes longer. Suggestion: don't worry about the meat thermometer. Meat thermometers are for pussies. Use the poke in the thigh method. I've done this for years and have never killed anyone. Transfer turkey to platter; tent with foil. Let stand 30 minutes. Reserve liquid in pan for gravy.
(NOTE THE COOKING TIME! 1 hour + 45 minutes + about 1 hour and 40 minutes! So a little over three hours. Now, if your parents are anything like mine, they will question your sanity and your motives when you pull the bird out of the oven after a mere three hours and twenty minutes. "It's raw!", they will say. "You're trying to kill us because we wouldn't get you that toy Millenium Falcon when you were 10!" Au contraire. The secret is greasing the bird up and varying the cooking temps. What happens is the skin gets nice and crispy and locks in the juices - which in turn help to cook the bird. If you cook the bird at the same temperature, everything cooks at the same rate - thus, the bird dries out, because the skin is still somewhat porous.)
The gravy: Mix flour and Sherry in small bowl until smooth paste forms. Melt butter in heavy large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add mushrooms and rosemary and sauté until mushrooms begin to soften, about 3 minutes. (Can be made 3 hours ahead. Cover flour paste tightly. Let paste and mushrooms stand at room temperature. What? You don't like mushrooms? Can't help you.)
Discard turkey neck and giblets from pan juices in roasting pan. Transfer pan juices to large glass measuring cup. Spoon off fat. Add enough chicken broth to measure 5 cups; add to saucepan with mushrooms. Add flour paste and whisk until smooth. Bring mixture to boil, stirring frequently. Boil until thickened to light gravy, about 10 minutes. Mix in cream, thyme and tarragon. Season with salt and pepper. Serve turkey with gravy.
A word about what to drink with this. What? You already know that since turkey is a bird, you serve white wine? WRONG. Turkey is a game bird. It tastes gamey. Meaning that unlike chicken, it has some actual flavor. Get a nice Pinot Noir, preferably from a vinter that prefers long-necked bottles; this will not affect the flavor of the wine, but it will be easier to get a good grip on the bottle when you go to break it over the head of the wiseass who makes a comment about how you think you're a wine expert just 'cause you saw Sideways. Don't be afraid to serve a good beer - something on the darker side, Newcastle or a good Trappist Ale might work. Pour the Budweiser Select down the toilet from whence it came.
Enjoy the meal, bask in the adoration, and have fun watching everyone else clean up the mess while you take your well-earned spot on the couch. (Oh, and one more secret: when you cook the bird in the manner described, the dark meat tastes BETTER than the white meat. Trust me.)
My son has this thing with his, well thing, or as he calls it, his pecker. Thanks for that one Papa. It seems to dicktate(sic) his every move. I didn't expect this until puberty. Not only does he feel it necessary to let anyone within shouting distance know that his "wee-wee" is too big (that's from my side of the family), but he's likely to whip it out quicker than Sheriff Bart.
We live in a rural area. The sticks of Southern California, with open spaces and no social graces. We are the Wal-Mart of Los Angeles County. What I'm getting at is that we've allowed our son to pee outside on occasion, often without washing his hands. We're simple folk.
Now that he's three it is starting to lose whatever cuteness one associates with a toddler "watering the trees so they grow big and strong" and starting to resemble something along the lines of the time I got in trouble with the Seattle police after a very drunken Filter concert. Inappropriate.
It isn't just trees anymore either. He's all about making anything grow bigger and stronger. I've had to stop him in parks, shopping centers and most recently Disneyland.
"I want to pee on that candy corn Daddy!" is what he yelled as he took a running leap towards it, one hand on his zipper.
"Whoa! In the bathroom you little weirdo." is what I replied as I chased him through a crowd of amused and/or appalled onlookers.
I caught him.
So is this normal? I know most men are fairly fascinated with their own stuff, mine is fantastic, but at 3?
Should I just lock it up now until he goes off to college or should I chalk it up to him being ahead of the curve?
Someday he's going to hate me for this post.
OK, OK...I know I've alluded to the notion that our youngest daughter appears to enjoy dabbling in alternative lifestyles. Admittedly, she truly is sometimes just an appendage away from joining the pecker club. However, we kind of thought this was something only my wife and I noticed. It's a little inside joke between the two of us and, of course, the handful of people who use the Internet. Not so much anymore. Our friends are catching on too.
Recently we had a little get together for my wife's birthday and everyone brought their cameras because it's important to have 15 different pictures of a round chocolate cake taken from as many angles as possible. So, there were lots of photos floating around our various Flickr photostreams the next day as you can imagine. One photo in particular, the one you see above, was uploaded by our dear friend. Despite what the caption on the Flickr photo may lead you to believe, it's actually of our lovely daughter freshly coiffed by her father [that would be me] after giving her her evening bath. Granted, we've established that she may have some boyish tendencies. And, yes, perhaps I'm not as skilled at post-bathing hairstyles as others may be. But, c'mon...Pony Boy? C. Thomas Howell must be rolling over in his grave. (He's dead, right?)
I have to ask those of you out there with more than one ankle-biter child a quick question. A bleg, if you will. First, some background. For those of you that don't know, Mrs. Big Dubya and I are expecting, like, any freakin' day now. Any. Freakin'. Day. We already have one so this isn't my first time on this particular ride - I'm an expectant dad, yes, but I lost my virginity 17 months ago in a not-so gentle fashion - not even a reach-around.
My question is, if you had your children close together, did the older one have some sense that something was happening? I mean, did they start acting a little wonky as the day got closer? Maybe a little off? Little Dub seems to be a tad off-kilter as we get closer to the End of Days end. Unfortunately, it's not as if I can sit him down man-to-man and go over the whole "Mommy's carrying a little baby brother/sister in her belly so you have to be careful..." speech. I tried practicing all the signs for that and I think I gave myself carpal tunnel syndrome -- I am so out of shape.
So, good readers of DadCentric, I turn to you for your wit, wisdom and insight into this particular matter. Is this to be expected? Is it only gonna get worse? Will I be nicknaming the new baby Ike?
526 posts, 3266 comments and a couple hundred thousand visits - DadCentric is one year old today. Crazy!
Change is good, and I'm happy to announce that we've gotten some new blood. Everyone, meet Whit. Whit, everyone. Whit's been a frequent commentor, and also writes for, like, 25 other websites. We dig him, plus he's a bartender, so free drinks!
As we venture forth into Year Two, a reminder: suggestions, comments, praise, and naked pictures of Scarlett Johansson are always welcome; please email me at petcobra@gmail.com if you have any of the above. Thanks to all of you for reading!
