DadCentric

Ask DadCentric: A Two-Parter!

Reader Sean has a couple of questions:

Jason, I just read the topic "Fair Warning" on your cool site. I don't know about you, but I would have to take a pass on that one. Have you seen those guys lately? I saw them in '83, and I think I will leave that memory as it should be left in the "kick ass concerts by bands that should remain broken up" file. How about this topic for DadCentric: What reunions would you like to see? Personally, I would shoot someone (not fatally, of course, unless that was absolutely necessary) if I thought it would bring back Joe Strummer long enough to get the Clash back together. What do you think?

I just dicovered DadCentric, and it looks cool. Are there any good sites/blogs that you know of for parents of older kids? Mine are 7 & 11 and it seems like most of these parenting sites are for those with babies and toddlers.

Thanks
Sean (punkerdad)
Bend, OR

Sean - as to part one: personally, I'd love to see the following reunions, in no particular order: Husker Du, The Replacements, the original lineup of The Jayhawks, Uncle Tupelo, and Asia. It was the heeeeat of the moment...also, this faux G'N'R lineup sucks. Someone needs to quit fucking around and get Izzy, Slash, Duff, and Adler back up on stage with Axl. As to part two - you've stumped me. I'll throw that part out to the readers: any good sites/blogs out there that are by/for parents of older kids?

Fair Warning

If you haven't heard the rumors yet, Van Halen may be close to inking a deal to bring Diamond Dave back in to the fold for a reunion tour this year.  It sounds as if Eddie and Bro finally came to their collective senses, put Satan Sammy and that clogged pore, Gary Cherone, behind them and are ready to rock and/or roll one more time as the original (and only, if you ask me) lineup.  I know Ed's got half a tongue, a fake hip and looks more like Estelle Getty than anything you'll find on the back of those first few albums, but, this is some pretty big news.  However, it doesn't come without its caveat. 

If this thing goes as planned, Michael Anthony will be replaced by another bass player.  That alone makes this kind of bittersweet.  It just won't be the same.  Not even a half-assed, geriatric version of "the same" that this tour will inevitably be if it happens.  Anthony was as integral a component of Van Halen as any of them.  His harmonies alone cannot be replicated.  His playing abilities?  He was adequate for an arena rock band.  He put on a good show.  And there's nothing wrong with that.  But, let's face it, he wasn't exactly a virtuoso.  Hell, even a kid could play his lines.  Unfortunately, that's exactly what's going to happen.

It's been put out there that Edward will be calling on his 15 year old son, Wolfie, to fill Michael Anthony's shoes for the tour.  No offense to Wolfie.  I'm sure he's good.  It's gotta run in the family blood, I would think.  But c'mon, Ed, we've waited 20 years for this and now you're gonna throw your kid at us when it looks like it's finally gonna happen?  Kind of a buzzkill wouldn't you say?  I won't even get in to the repercussions of putting this much pressure on your son, dude.

So, as much as I wanna see DLR and Eddie romping around the stage one more time performing the only songs that should have ever been released by this band, I may think twice about pulling the trigger for tickets.  It's partially because I want to see the original lineup; partially because I don't want to see a 15 year old playing my favorite songs - that's what YouTube's for - and partially because it may be best to remember them as they were and not the Matlock version they probably will be.

Are any of you interested in seeing this? 

The House of Improv

Things are not what they seem.  For instance, the large Mag-Lite flashlight that stands next to my bed, that's actually a weapon.  It's huge and hard (don't worry, I'll let this one slide) and could really knock someone, i.e, the bad guys, for a loop.

The homestead is full of such things being misused, or if you're a cockeyed optimist, being used beyond its potential. I only buy overachievers.

The kids have some wooden spoons amongst their playroom fare.  Mind you, these items are toys.  They were sold and purchased as such.  Guess what I use them for.  That's right, spoons.  I stir the hell out of some Progresso with those bad boys, and they're toys!  See, that's the shit I'm talking about.

Of course, the reverse is true as well.  For instance, in addition to spoons, the playroom is full of toys of all shapes and sizes that any kid, be they tough kids, sissy kids, or kids who throw rocks, would enjoy.  My kids look beyond the obvious.  Why use a toy hammer to pound on some blocks when you can achieve a much more palatable din by banging them with a metal fire truck?  Those expensive DVD's that I (thought were) placed out of reach? Those are frisbees, and everyone knows frisbees don't go in the DVD player, that's for crayons, and sometimes loose change.

Last night I was the last to go to bed.  As is my usual routine, I turned off the television, which left the house dark, and then went about the nightly business of ensuring that all of the doors were locked, the animals were in, and the alarm was set.  I did all of this, per usual, using the ambient lighting from my cellphone. 

Once I was confident that our home was secure for the night I made the trek down the hall and sat on the edge of the bed.  I closed the cellphone with one hand and sat down the weapon I had absentmindedly carried with me the entire time.  A weapon that looked suspiciously like a flashlight.

This is how I come at you (reenactment).

The Friday Fuckwit: Bees!

Eons ago, Peter would regale us with tales of The Friday Fuckwit. I'd almost forgotten about that, until Beth sent along a link that surely qualifies. I don't really think it has anything to do with fatherhood.

Enjoy!

Oh - Neal Pollack's doing a reading in L.A. tonight; more info can be found on his website. The West Coast DadCentric Posse (Whit, Whiff, and I) will be in the house. I'll be the guy in the rainbow wig holding up the John 3:16 sign.

They Practically Raise Themselves

I haven't piped in over here in a while.  Yes, I've been kind of distracted by the sucking black hole that is Flickr's 365 Days group - where your challenge is to take a self-portrait every day for an entire year.  I don't even blog every day so trying to come up with a decent picture of myself every fucking morning is quite taxing...and addicting.  Yes, it has enveloped me the past couple of weeks. 

But you know the real reason I've been kind of quiet?  Nothing's happening.  I haven't had a bloggable kid moment in I don't know how long.  Things are calm, cool, collected and predictable.  A couple of boundary reminders here and there interspersed with some funny vocabulary moments and that's all I have to work with.  Most of that is hardly entertaining for those out of the loop no matter how much I spin it.

I'm not complaining, mind you.  In fact, I look at this period as a mini-reward for all the hard work we put in to both our kids over the past several years.  Dividends, for lack of a better word.  For those of you still in the trenches of babydom, let this serve as a reminder that there is light at the end of that tunnel.  You may be sleep deprived, sex deprived and two Prozacs away from having the boys in white coats chase you down with a butterfly net, but, hang in there.  It gets better.  Yeah, I know we're looking down the barrel at the next level of parental challenges like menstrual cycles, preschool for the little one, and the inevitable transformation of our wonderfully-behaved eldest in to a raging preteen that curses us with every breath she takes.  That will come soon enough.  But for now, it's cool.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a couple of hundred photos of my eyeball to sift through. 

Please Put the Stick In Your Asses in the Fully Upright and Locked Position

I used to be one of those people who hated kids on planes.  If I can close my eyes I can still feel the back of my seat being kicked, the ear-piercing screams as take offs, and the occasional Lego projectile puncturing my eyeball.  All I could think about was how shitty the parents must be to let rowdy or cranky kids on my plane in the first place, let alone allow them to turn the aisle next to my seat into their personal sandbox.  Didn't these people have station wagons?  I don't care if you're going from Boston to San Diego...if you have kids you should drive!

Now I totally sympathize with parents and kids on an airplane.  How many kids do you know enjoy sitting still and staring forward for five hours straight?  How many adults do you know who enjoy that?  When I hear the whines and screams of kids on a flight it still sets my hair on end, but I simultaneously picture a vomit-stained parent, hair tousled and glasses akimbo, desperately trying to soothe or calm them so they wouldn't have parachutes thrust on their backs and be kicked out the door.  It's painful enough knowing you're going to be trapped in a small space with your kids for hours, but to have the judging eyes of your fellow travelers upon you is enough to drive the bravest soul to hermitdom.

But it looks like AirTran airlines has a solution.  Faced with a 15 minute delay, they kicked a girl and her family off the plane when she refused to take her seat.   She was three years old.  The parents claim that--had the flight crew given them a few minutes--they would have calmed her down and got her into the seat they paid for, but apparently the highly-trained and conscientious staff, eager to get airborne so they could absent-mindedly chuck pretzels at the other passengers, didn't have the patience.  I mean...fifteen minutes?  Planes NEVER leave fifteen minutes late...it might blemish their reputation as a luxurious means of travel! 

So what message is AirTran trying to send?  Are families not welcome on their flights anymore?  They might as well cancel those routes to Orlando, then.  I'm not saying that parents don't have a responsibility to help their children behave on a plane (that's what Benadryl is for) but ejecting them because they're having a hard time sitting still is an extreme and unnecessary measure.   

Here's hoping the next time those flight attendants are on a transatlantic flight they've got the Collicy Baby Club taking up the three rows behind them.

Besides, what if she knew what no one else did...that there were motherfucking snakes on the motherfucking plane!

(Sorry, I think the statute of limitations for Snakes on a Plane jokes is over, but I've never been a good closer)

It's Hip 2 Be Square

Our own Jason got his quote on over at USA Today...um...today...in an article about Hipster Dads.  Spurred on by last year's New York cover story (you know, the one that used the uber-identifiable term "Grups?"  Well, some 40-year-olds living in their parents' basement got it as did some Jeopardy! hopefuls, even if you didn't.) and the release of some books on today's dads, most notably Neil Pollack's Alternadad, the media seems determined to craft a new societal category to replace the ineffectual metrosexual label they lobbed on to the scene a few years ago.

Now, I'm not all that into the whole "label" thing, but I'm worried.  With all this talk lately about being hip and cool, I'm not sure how hip I really am.  As many of you know, I'm barreling headlong, brake-lines cut, steering's out, oh my God this isn't a parachute into 40-years-old.  But I still want to be cool...hip...relevant for crissakes.  I pride myself (somewhat) on being up on what's what as far as music, movies, television, etc. -- I am a pop culture whore -- but I also dig the stuff outside the popular - dammit, I have XMU and The Verge as pre-sets (yes, I also have XM Cafe, but sometimes you just need to relax after a long day).  My mp3 player is currently playing Jack Black singing Let's Get It On (is there anything funnier?) but I've also heard Kasabian, Depeche Mode, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones and The Cramps in the past hour.  I don't spend a shitload of cash on new vintage jeans (an oxymoron if I've ever come across one) and I will sport a t-shirt with Sesame Street characters as quickly as I can throw on a vintage (read: real) 1993 Touring the Angel Depeche Mode shirt or 1994 Pink Floyd Division Bell.  My hair is groomed and still bears traces of the military cut I had for years.  At times I look 40.  Others?  Maybe 38.  37 if I haven't shaved or showered.

I'm well-educated.  I was, at one time, fairly well-read.  I've traveled and I can order a beer in four languages (five if you consider making the universal sign for drink a language).  I like wine, cigars, golf and scotch.  I am far from being a renaissance man, but I'm no rube either.

In short, I am a guy, a father and a husband with a wide range of tastes, likes (walks on the beach, the rain) and dislikes (mean people, books without pictures).  I think that's pretty damn cool...nay...hip.

Honestly, all I really want to do, is pass on my love for these things (and many more) to Little Dub and Dubyette.  Nothing would make me happier than to hear Little Dub in the backseat singing " Gunter glieben glauchen globen" with the same unfettered devil-may-care attitude his father sports.  Or maybe they sit with me on the couch and say the lines along with the characters in The Princess Bride.  I'd love to hear Little Dubyette say "inconceivable" in a few years.  That will be cool.

We Are The Eggmen

It's never wise to put all of your eggs in one basket.   Any chicken can tell you that. 

Let's say you do though, and perhaps you don't want to chance that said eggs wind up poached.  Let's say you really want them scrambled.  Maybe with cheese melted on them.  No problem.  Just pull up to the omelet bar that is a PGD (preimplantation genetic diagnosis) clinic with a fistful of dollars and a pocketful of sperm and you too can play Dr. Moreau.

According to CNN, it is not just the questionable procedure of creating "perfect" babies that is sparking debate, but the slightly more questionable procedure of creating "flawed" babies.  Basically, you might want your omelet a little burnt, because a)you like it that way, and b)you're paying for it.  Sure, that might go over okay at brunch, but I can't imagine justifying the deliberate handicapping of an embryo so that Johnny can have a disability just like mommy and daddy.

Embryo screening, which can run about $15,000 per pop, is usually used to detect any abnoralities in a fetus, which if found is often aborted.  That pisses off enough people in its own right.  However, the possiblity exists that doctors could choose to fertilize an embryo with defects, should the parent request such a thing.

The examples that some consider as acceptable for tinkering are duplicating dwarfism and deafness.  I understand a parent wanting their child to be like them, but why would they deny said child an opportunity to have a healthier or fuller life?

There are many within the communities of dwarfism and deafness, and obviously others, that feel they are not disabled.  I respect that.  Roll with what you're given.  I applaud it.  However, I can't understand someone that cannot hear wishing the same upon someone they love.

For example, it's one thing to have known and seen everything about John Lennon, but wouldn't it be better to hear him than not?  We've all seen Mr. Holland's Opus.  Music isn't limited to the hearing, but man, it sure takes it further.

The best quote from the CNN article is attributed to Cara Reynolds of New Jersey, who considered embryo screening before deciding to adopt a dwarf baby.

"You cannot tell me that I cannot have a child who's going to look like me," said an outraged Reynolds.  "It's just unbelievably presumptuous and they're playing God."

Hello kettle, it's the pot.  You're black.

How is altering the natural act of egg fertilization the way God wanted it?  Just roll the chicken dice like everyone else.

Coo-Coo-Kachoo.

Spank Rock

Can we all agree here that there is a difference between a spanking or a quick swat or two to the behind and outright abuse?  We are, for the most, reasonably well-educated, rationale adults who brought children into this world so we could love them, care for them, raise them, use their antics as fodder for our blogs and take pictures of them in absurd situations, right?  I mean, you're not here for the porn (Peter's recent post notwithstanding), let's be serious.

With that established, can someone please tell me why on earth, California Assemblywoman Sally Lieber (D-Mountain View) finds it necessary to ban spanking?  Allow The American Heritage Dictionary (it's what I had on the desk) to define: Spanking: slapping on the buttocks with an open hand.  Lieber in addition to spanking, wants to ban slapping, smacking and whacking (Green eggs and ham); and kicking, pricking and flicking (Sam, I am).  Ok, maybe not pricking and flicking.  But, just you wait.  It could be nicking, sticking or nit-picking.

I'm sorry, I'm taking a very flip attitude with a very serious subject.  But, if I think about seriously for more than a minute I start to get angry, and I might write things here in the heat of the moment.  I might say things about a woman who (as far as I can tell) doesn't have children but serves as a "pet guardian" to a "politically astute black-and-white-cat."  A cat, who I am sure, has never...NEVER...been swatted off the couch or bed.  An assembly member who also said passage of her bill could prompt a supermarket shopper, for example, to approach a fellow shopper who is spanking a child and warn, "That's against the law in California."  Yep, c'mon over here and tell me how to handle my children.  I dare ya.

Listen, I know some parents choose to spank and I know others do not.  It's your business.  That is until you do some harm to your child, then it's no longer your business.  At the same time, it's not up to the government to tell you how to parent either.  As far as I can tell, abuse is still against the law and if you abuse your children, the same should be inflicted on you ten-fold.  You break an arm, Vinny ovah heah breaks boat and a knee-cap fah good meazhah.

We do not need a nanny state which tells us what games we can or can not buy for our children, what foods we can or can not feed our children or how we can and can not discipline our children.  That's not what we sent them to do.

Notes From The Dad-o-Sphere

Honest, I'm not trying to steal Peter's thunder; it's just that I promised some folks I'd give them some love today.

First, if you haven't checked out Strollerderby, the blog lovechild of Babble.com, please do. Apparently I'm a Hip (grrrrrrrr) Urban Parent, but don't the fact that they let me in the door dissuade you; lots of good bloggers contribute, and it's worth checking out.

Second, brand new to the Dad-O-Sphere is The Father Life, a monthly 'zine (really - you have to download it!) chock full of good stuff. Is it chock? Or chocked? Whatever. It's pretty cool.

Finally, Maya's Mom has a contest going on; details can be found here. The manwinner will received a fabulous crown, handmade by legendary blacksmith and occasional DadCentric contributor Jay Allen.

TFGIFF!