DadCentric

Of Minivans and Men

The garage door track could have shaken loose from the ceiling again. Let's punch in the remote code two, neigh, three more times to be sure.

Whrrrrrr -- CHUNK. Whrr -- CHUNK-CHUNK.

No. I had left the minivan tailgate open while it was inside the closed garage. Now the arm extending from the roller chain to the door was welded into the gate. Frickity frick on a frickin' stick!

It was the first true damage done to the Honda Odyssey since we purchased it on Memorial Day weekend 2006. A VFW Hall fills with laughter at the thought.

This shouldn't have upset me. After all, when My Love first broached minivan-ness in 2003, I applied some classic guy defense logic:

"I'm not driving that big frickin' tub 50 miles up and down the tollway into downtown to work every day. You're minivan ga-ga because every baby-totin' couple we meet on vacation had one. You want it so bad, dump that crappy Ford Explorer that bounces over every ant it hits in the road and drive it yourself!"

This surprised even me. Not because I'm above giving the wife an undeserved tongue-lashing because, shamefully, I'm not. It's because -- shhh -- I'm a car pansy.

I know how to drive one. I maintain proper tire inflation, oil changes schedules and fluid levels. Having experienced it three times now, I can also instantly deduce the reason we have suddenly lost power while do 70 on the highway is because the timing belt has snapped.

Aaaaaaand that's all I got. As I told my 6-year-old son once, wearing the knees out of your pants from playing with Hot Wheels does not translate into a working knowledge of real automobiles when you are older. Hell, I never even aspired to drive a monster truck. Not once.

My minivan opposition, I now conclude, was solely because of the symbolic crumbling of the last bit of manly façade I had left ... outside of the three-day stubble, beer-induced love handles and overcompensating size of my CD collection, natch.

Then Mark explained it all to me. Mark is the male half of one of the baby-toters. He's known for annually jumping off the second-floor balcony of the rental and into the pool. He also managed to father one child born in January and another in December. Of the same year. His wife and her naughty bits still haven't forgiven him.

I confessed my fear to Mark. My old Accord was nearing 200,000 miles and some recent steering issues, while giving the kids a thrill ride far more enjoyable than the last rollercoaster I suckered them onto, gave me some concerns.

"Dude, nothing is more manly than the minivan," he said, as he gave me the tour of his Odyssey. "It's huge. Look at the room, especially when you fold down the seats. What's says 'man'  more than having all this room to haul stuff!"

He showed me the navigation system. The moonroof. The rear-seat entertainment system for the kids. The factory installed satellite radio. We talked four-wheel ABS, variable valve timing, multi-point fuel injection, power-slide doors.

Dang. I had a woody … and I was taking it to Surf City where there are two girls for every guy. Yeeeaaah.

(Later I learned Mark failed to disclose that his wife was the prime driver of the mini. He has a convertible.)

So here it is, two years later, and I'm looking at the God-awful gouge I had just created in the tailgate.

This is a pretty good car. Crappy going up the slightest incline in the faintest dusting of snow, but overall a pretty good car. Keeps the Things entertained in their car seats for hours with Radio Disney or the 67^th viewing of "School of Rock" blaring in the wireless headphones. Holds the dog crate so you can insert the big yellow dog within, then place bags of edibles (chips, panties, you know) safely next to said dog. It's also great to transport your drunken buddies to and from major sporting events.

I fingered the jagged metal edge that I had created through my absent-mindedness.

I cursed my stupidity.

I swore at some unseen deity.

I cranked the AC/DC and started working on a real good cover story for later.

I Am Cheating On The Wind In Your Vagina

Greetings loyal DadCentric heads! I have an account. I have a password. I can say whatever the fuck I want. I tried to get Jason to give me some direction about what to write, but he kept saying "Whatever".

So DadCentric. If I wasn't so lazy, I would've read a bunch of the back posts to get a handle on things. But I am lazy. And I hate cutting the grass. So what the hell do we do here? I've already received 2 nasty emails from Whit and some other dude (dubya maybe? Who the fuck knows?), so I'm assuming that we're a bunch of Dads who bang on each other like we're in college. That's cool. I'm not afraid of these hacks. What else? We write a bunch of posts about beer and strippers? I can handle this.

And if this is where we bitch about our wives, count me in. So let's get this figured out. Do women read this blog? If yes, leave a comment and maybe a provocative pic. More importantly, do any women who know my wife read this blog?

I'm envisioning a kind of Dad 12 Step meeting where we share in a brotherhood of self-pity. Because let's face it: there's a big chunk of being a husband and dad that suckkkkks. Don't get me wrong. The nature of language only permits me to speak from either a positive or negative perspective. If you want all my happy horseshit, click my name off to the right and go read that drivel.

But as I begin to forge my DadCentric identity, I'm leaning toward expressing the Shadow of fatherhood. There's a Black Hockey Jesus inside me who hates his own children. There. I said it. Not ashamed of it either. Because part of you hates your kids too, even if you've locked that part of you in the basement of your mind.

I'm Black Hockey Jesus. Nice to meet you. Now go to the fridge and get me a beer.   

A Note from Craft Services

To Mr. Kevin and Mr. Jesus:

First and foremost, we would like to welcome you to DadCentric.  Please note that lunch begins promptly at 12 noon and the gold tray on the left rack belongs to Mr. Jason.  Your trailer should be ready upon your arrival: Mr. Kevin, the brass pole you requested should be securely installed for your "exercises"; Mr. Jesus, an extra water pump has been installed to facilitate the additonal thrust necessary to dispose of your bowel movements.  We would like it to be known that although Craft Services (dba Call Me Tim Enterprises) is more than happy to accommodate your requests, union regulations do not allow us to monitor or maintain said modifications should they not live up to your standards.

With regard to wardrobe, unfortunately, we are unable to supply the following items: leather "gimp" outfit, naughty nurse costume, Barney suit with assless chaps or Yankees uniform.  Please see our custom outfitter for these items and any others.

Please note that Craft Services takes no responsibility for lost or stolen items while on the set.  Should you see mr. big dubya or CroutonBoy carrying similar items, know that those items, while they might be similar, are not yours and are in fact property of Craft Services per Section 18, Paragraph 12 lines 1-9 in the Chapter labeled Finders Keepers Losers Weepers.

Should you have any complaints. concerns, suggestions or comments, please forward them to Mr. B. Dubya or Mr. C. Boy - please note that their hours are 10-10:15 every other third Saturday in months ending in "h."

Again, we'd like to welcome you to the DadCentric family and hope your time with us is...

Tony, can you get me another beer?

SUPER HUGE DADCENTRIC ANNOUNCEMENT NEWS ALERT

After months of high-level negotiations, we are pleased to announce two new members to Team DadCentric. We're quite confident that you'll enjoy reading the parental musings of these fine fellows.

First, Kevin McKeever, who claims to be Always Home and Uncool.

Second, Black Hockey Jesus, who claims to be Black Hockey Jesus.

(Bit of a dilemma for me writing these last two lines. Both of these guys are fucking rock stars; there are bloggers, and then there are writers, and BHJ and Kevin clearly fall into Category 2. Who goes first? Who goes second? Michael Mann must have felt similar pain when working on the one-sheet for Heat.)

A big deal like this calls for something special. So we all got together for our first group photo. (Fun Fact:  fomer Pistons coach and DadCentric writer Chuck Daly invented the meme.)

Friday Funny: $240 Worth of Pudding

I recently downloaded MTV's last good show, The State, from iTunes (I also bought a season pass to Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog).  Here's a classic moment featuring Levon and Barry (Sagittarius):

Any Other Man Stops and Talks

He's the walking man
Born to walk
Walk on walking man
Well now, would he have wings to fly
Would he be free
Golden wings against the sky
Walking man, walk on by So long, walking man, so long

I doubt James Taylor was singing this song for Dan Hughes, which makes him the only one not talking about Dan and his band of merry men.  I like to think that JT would be cool with it.  Does Sweet Baby James read DadCentric?  He should, he's got kids.

The internet has been abuzz with tales of Dan, a blogger and a gentleman from the U.K. (All That Comes With It) and the quest that he and nine friends have undertaken to support a cause close to all of us.

The lads are walking 78 miles through the countryside of England in six days to raise money and awareness for the Joseph Salmon Trust.  As a matter of fact, at the time of this writing Day 1 is already in the books and I assume that their collective feet are soaking and beers are being savored.  So far, so good.

If you are unfamiliar with "The Walk" or the charity they are supporting, then here is what you should know.   The Joseph Salmon Trust has been set up to help parents bereaved of a child.

Joseph Salmon was a happy and seemingly healthy 3-year-old little boy, no different than the two small boys sleeping down the hall from where I now sit. No different than your son or your daughter. No different than we ourselves were so many years ago.

In the words of his parents, Neil and Rachael Salmon, "Joseph was a happy, healthy three year old who loved life. He enjoyed playing with his toy trains, his cars and his pretend kitchen. He had a busy social life, with lots of friends from nursery, friends who lived nearby and his little sister. He enjoyed cooking with his mummy, going on trains and buses with his daddy, and playing outside with anyone who would join in. Joseph had a passion for books and had just started to ‘read’ them to his younger sister.

"It felt like his life was just beginning."

Joseph died on April 1st, 2005.

He died from streptococcal pneumonia. "It’s very rare and it took him, although suddenly, very peacefully," said his mother. "When I went in to him in the morning it was obvious from his posture that he’d just gone into a deeper and deeper sleep and never knew anything about it. This too is what all the medical personnel associated with him told us. There are not many (if any) consolations when you lose a child, but at least he didn’t suffer. And as a parent, it’s one of the things you want most for your child isn’t it?"

Chances are that if you are reading DadCentric you are a parent, and if not there is an even better chance that you are someone's child.  This isn't a charity based on hope and cures.  This is a charity for those that have lost more than anyone ever should.  It is a charity for remembering.

On behalf of DadCentric, thank you, Dan.  Thank you to you and your friends, and best of luck.

For more on "The Walk" including information on donations and daily updates please visit All That Comes With It.

Also:

The Joseph Salmon Trust

The Dales Walk

Ordinary Dads Walking for an Extraordinary Cause

Video Diary

A Hero Will Rise

One night last week, Lucas emerged from the bathtub, bolted past me, and hauled naked ass through the house, screaming "SUPERPENIS TO THE RESCUE! SUPERPENIS TO THE RESCUE!".

Yeah. Not much I can add to that.

Oh, except two nights later, he emerged from the bathtub, bolted past me, and hauled ass naked through the house, scream/singing "NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA BATPENIS! NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA BATPENIS!"

What's old usually stays old...and sometimes forgotten

I am getting old.  No, let me rephrase that.  I am old.  Not Methuselah-old mind you, but I'm pretty sure I have the same aches and pains he did.  I know I've said this/written this/thought this on many other occasions, so I apologize ahead of time for boring you once again with my "Woe is I" crap.  There have just been a few instances over the past few weeks that have brought it all home for me.

#1 - When Crushes Have Kids (Sorta): Nearly everyone I know - both in real life and on this tubes thing - has kids.  So why am I so traumatized by the fact that Molly Ringwald plays a mother on The Secret Life of the American Teenager?  I mean, she recently turned 40, why should this impact me so?  Well, first it's Molly Ringwald dammit!  Sam!  Claire!  MOLLY for crissakes!  If she's playing a mother on TV then that means I really am an adult now.  Not only is she playing a mother, but a mother of teenaged daughters.  Yes, I wrote that correctly...TEENAGED daughters.  So, not only am I an adult now, I'm an old adult.  An adult with peers who have children that have long since shed diapers in the constructive way rather than humorous and who now have real-world problems other than whether to watch Monsters, Inc. or Ice Age.  Can someone please slow this ride down?  I'd like to get off for a few minutes.  I'm getting a tad dizzy.

#2 - Of Course It Still Fits: I keep in touch with my high school and with some of the people I graduated with - albeit electronically, but it's contact.  Some of the guys I speak with now and then I've known since the first grade.  Last week, one of them sent out an e-mail about getting classmates together for some golf - it's become a yearly, reunion-type thing without Jesuits in attendance.  Anyway, his e-mail was littered with 80s references: sweats bi ebe, coaches shoes, the ubiquitous mullet mention, Celtics-Lakers (heh), turned-up collars and pegged pant legs.  No, I am not waxing nostalgic for any of that - except of course the Celtics, but we know how that ended.  No, many of these things were mercifully removed from the landscape - except the mullet - can't we do anything about that?  Anyone?  Anyway, what threw me was not the litany of 80s items.  Those I can deal with even if I long for a Members Only revival.  What threw me was the reunion year coming up in 2010.  25.  Twenty-five.  T-w-e-n-t-y-f-i-v-e.  Two. Five.  Did you know it's actually the first that carries a designation?  It's the Silver in case you wondering.  Five, ten, fifteen, twenty?  Usually nothing.  At least not when I was an alumni director anywhere.  Nope, 25 is the first.  Outside of the fifth, it's also the reunion year with some of the best attendances.  Twenty-five is when you see how much time has ravaged some and been kind to others.  So, it's official, high school was now more than half a lifetime ago.  Sigh.  Please see the last three sentences of #1.

#3 - E-mail Forwards Are True!: I don't know what spurred this conversation between my lovely bride and me and it was somewhat cliche, but we were talking about things that our kids will just never know about or have never li ved without unless they watch the History Channel or do Wikipedia searches.  B&W TVs, vinyl records, rotary phones, cable, microwave ovens, computers - all that shit has been covered in those Gen Y/Millennials/Echo Boomer/Gen Z/Generation If-It's-Not-X-Who-the-Fuck-Cares e-mail forwards.  No, it's now all about social networks, wi-fi, convergence - I imagine standard PCs will be gone and all you'll need is a home server that will do it all - DVR, PC, Internet, gaming, consumable media, etc - no need for an advanced degree or pages of schematics to wire it all either.  Modems, gateways, hubs will all be a thing of the past - if they're not already.  Technology and the like has changed dramatically in just the past 10-15 years let alone since we were kids programming on our Commodore 64s or TRS-80s and doing horrific thumb damage playing Atari 2600.  In 10 years, how will I react when my son quips: "You had a phone that only had a 2 megapixel camera?  Was it black and white too?"

Sturgeon's Law As It Applies to Product Reviews

Being a recognized leader in the dadblogging world (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, my side.) I get lots and lots of nice emails from nice marketing/PR types asking me to take a look at their clients' stuff. Example:

Dear JASON,

We here at Queso Fundido PR are huge fans of your blog, DADS-CENTRIC, and we know that your readers will definitely love the newest release from Miramax, Sassy Gals, starring Sarah Jessica Parker, Meg Ryan, Jennifer Lopez, Sandra Bullock, and Dame Judi Dench. Sassy Gals tells the story of Jessie Swallows (Meg Ryan), a clothing designer who seems to have it all – a beautiful country home, a rich husband who works at one of those agencies housed in a giant loft where everyone has Macs and glass-walled offices, an adorable 11-year-old daughter and a part-time career as a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for Thirtysomething Trophy Wives magazine. Her best friend, Hope Schtupper (Jennifer Lopez), leads another enviable life – a happily single director of Oscar-winning documentaries, a possessor of a huge closet of shoes and a gal who never has to wait behind the velvet rope, at least not in Cleveland. But when Jessie’s husband enters into an affair with Crystal Meffe (Dame Judi Dench, in the role of a lifetime), a sultry ‘napkin girl’ lurking behind the Saks Fifth Avenue 3rd floor Ladies' Lounge door, all hell breaks loose. Jessie and Hope’s relationship is pushed to the breaking point while their tight-knit circle of friends, including ubermommy Sandra "Sandy" Sands (Sandra Bullock) and author Jennifer Prettyman (Daniel Day-Lewis, in a role that will certainly garner him an Oscar nod), all start to question their own friendships and romantic relationships as well. Laughter, tears, and montages of the Sassy Gals trying on big hats ensue. Please feel free to post the attached JPEG of the film's one-sheet on your blog.

So, no, we don't review every pitch we get. Because Theodore Sturgeon is right. But every so often, stuff will strike me as worthy of a dad's interest. Here are two noteworthy things that I recently received:

The Schick Quattro Titanium Trimmer. This is a nifty gadget. It's a razor with a small, battry-operated clipper on the end. As a proud member of Team Soul Patch, the clipper is the perfect size for me. Beth's happy because now I now longer have to use her lady's model clipper, the one she uses for, ah, personal grooming, to trim my 'patch. Isn't that nice?

Surfwise. Surfwise is an excellent documentary, now playing in select theaters. I received an advance review copy several weeks ago, but like the lazy slackass I am just now got around to telling you about, likely costing the studio millions in ticket sales. Sorry, Magnolia Pictures. Anyway, Surfwise tells the fascinating tale of the Paskowitz family, led by legendary surfer Dorian "Doc" Paskowitz. Paskowitz led what many of us who ride waves consider a dream life; he raised his family (eight boys and one girl, along with his wife Juliette) in a 24-foot camper, roaming the west coast in search of waves and a freedom that 9-to-5'ers would never know. Of course, things got complicated, and the film plays out like The Endless Summer meets The Mosquito Coast. It's a fascinating look at a very unusual family, and definitely worth your time, even if you're a non-surfer.

So there's a couple of good things for you. And for all of you PR/marketing types reading this site, take note: it's called DADCentric for a reason. I'm talking to you, Team Massengill.

Sellin' Out to the 'Soft

There are a lot of perks to being a prominent blogger like me.  First, there's the women.  Second, there's the $0.25 I earned last quarter via Amazon Associates.  Most importantly, though, there's the celebrity status, and it definitely has its benefits.

The fine people at Microsoft, using the same crackin' algorithm in their search engine to identify the blogger who posts most frequently on DadCentric, contacted me and asked if I'd be interested in attending an event in New York to get a preview of some of the "family-inclusive games" that would be coming out this year for the Xbox 360.

Now generally we here at DadCentric try to avoid overt pandering to corporate interests.  But it would take a bigger man than me to turn down a chance to play Madden 09 or Gears of War 2 before the rest of you losers guys.  After all, it is our responsibility to offer timely, useful advice to you, our beloved readers, and if Microsoft wants to provide the brownies and the comfy gaming couches I'm willing to do my part.

Besides, it might give you gentlemen some cover to justify a weekend-long Call of Duty tournament with me and Mr. Big Dubya.

I'm certain some of you (probably female, most likely my wife) stopped reading once you saw "Xbox" in the copy.  But if you're still on the fence you should keep reading, because there's some really cool stuff coming, and it's way more than the photo-realistic blood-sprays when you decapitate enemies with an assault rifle that you've come to know and love.

Some things you, as parents and potential shoppers, should know:

• The Xbox is morphing into a fully-operational media center.  It can stream music from your computer, share holiday photos online with your buddies, and can link to your Netflix account so you can stream movies in you queue directly to your TV.  You can also reorder you queue visually, and it will upconvert movies to the highest quality your TV will allow.  You'll never have to leave the couch to insert a DVD again.
• If Little _______ (insert your child's name here) spends his evenings in front of the Xbox, talking to his buddies on a Backstreet Boys headset and getting fat on cheese doodles while he should be doing homework, you've got a new weapon.  Xbox's will soon come with a parental control that sets a timer on how long the system will run.  That way when you say "you can play for an hour" you can set it up, leave the room, and know the game is gonna end whether he's ready or now.  I think this is a really awesome feature, one which my wife would probably use on me if she had the chance. 
• You can create an avatar.  This avatar will identify you online, and can sneak out of your system at night and beat up all the Mii's that your stupid Wii-owning neighbors created.
• The dashboard itself is being redesigned so it's much more graphical and easier to use.  It sorta looks like what Vista should have been had it not gorged on useless utilities and bad design.  Or, more specifically, it will work a lot like a Mac. 
• Finally, and most significantly, there are some very cool games coming out that you can bring home to the family with a clear conscience.  Obviously there are the sports games like Madden (which, I must say, is sooooo much easier to play now, and looks amazing) and Tiger Woods PGA.  But there's also a virtual karaoke game called Lips, which is basically Guitar Hero with microphones.  The kicker is that you can plug in your own iPod and play the game with YOUR music if you wanted (all AC/DC all the time, in my case).  There was even a party game called You're In the Movies in which you film yourself with an attached camera doing certain motions, and you'll be inserted into a short movie running from monsters or fighting ninjas.  They hinted that you may someday be able to insert yourself into movies you know and love (say, running away from a rolling boulder...)

For those of my brethren who are asking if Xbox is following the Path of Mario to becoming an emasculated virtual tennis machine, I say don't worry.  I'll be posting some brief comments on My Wife Hates My Xbox with my impressions of grittier fare such as Gears of War 2, Fallout 3, Call of Duty: World at War, and Fable 2.  If I knew how to type a drooling sound I'd just use that instead.

Microsoft is going for the same thing that Apple, Sony, and Tivo are going for: complete control of your mind living room.  They're all positioning themselves as a the single multimedia unit that picks up your music, photos, and movies and seamlessly serves them to you.  Few of us would argue that this is a truly noble cause.  If I were a betting man, I'd have said Apple or Tivo had the inside track two days ago.  Today...I'm not so sure.  It's got everything, and it plays Grand Theft Auto IV.   My Tivo can do lots of things, but it can't do that.  Maybe it's time to invest in this "family-inclusive" machine.

Honestly, I'm just surprised it came from John Hodgman.