DadCentric

Family Halloween Costumes: Daddy's Little Vice

Family costumes are a popular part of Halloween. Go to any Halloween party and you're bound to see moms, dads, grandparents, brothers, and sisters working together to make the best group costume that Target can sell. It's sweet. In fact, my own extended family was thinking about going as the cast of Parenthood. Dibs on Coach!

If you need some ideas, this gentleman knows what works:

Booze and smokes were living in perfect harmony long before Wonder met McCartney and/or Sinatra. (Would also have accepted peanut butter and chocolate).

What do you think of this family costume? Is it missing Brother Blunt and Mommy Martini, or do you think they should be in hot water?

Please note, despite the pack of cigarettes, this is not a Herman Cain ad.

Another note, this Friday Funny is actually Jason's find, but his computer is on the proverbial toilet, so long story short, you're welcome.

Telling the Men From the Boys of Summer

"In Game 2, Colby Lewis is scheduled to start after missing his last regular turn in the rotation because -- I'm not making this up -- his wife, Jenny, was giving birth in California. To the couple's second child… If it was a first child, maybe. But a second child causing a player to miss a game? Ludicrous."
 
                                               -Richie Whitt of the Dallas Observer

It is rare, to the point of utter amazement, in these volatile times to find someone that reaches a level of asshole capable of separating them so clearly from the pack. Richie Whitt is on top of his game.

Whitt is slamming the decision of Texas Rangers pitcher Colby Lewis to utilize a new rule in MLB which allows players to take 24 to 72 hours of paternity leave, in order to be present during the birth of his daughter.

The birth of his daughter.

And to make sure that we understood exactly what Whitt meant when he chastised a man for choosing family OVER A GAME he followed his original quote with this gem:

"I don't care if Lewis is a good dad. If I wanted to root for a team of great role models, I'd renew my season tickets to watch the deacons at my Sunday church. I want -- always have, always will -- the Rangers to win.

"If the Rangers lose the AL West by one game -- and if it can be reasonably concluded that Lewis missing that start contributed to them missing the playoffs -- I'll be pissed."

All of which makes me think that Richie Whitt must be a very special kind of fucking idiot.

We all say stupid things. Hell, some of us make a living out of it. However, it's only a matter of time before one is held accountable for said stupidity, and Whitt may want to start painting pictures with the humble brush while he is still on this side of a paycheck.

Granted, I'm not one to suggest a person should be punished for speaking their mind (or what passes for it), but to put the weight of a franchise, of a city, on the shoulders of father and his baby girl? That's so incredibly ignorant that it borders on awesome. No, I'm not calling for his job, or even a boycott of whatever dribble it is that he gets paid to publish, but I would like everyone to point at him and laugh. Loudly.

Kids, don't feed the buffoon.

We live at a crossroads in America, where stereotypes, gender roles and all kinds of thought fueled with hate are being shattered and remolded for the better. Colby Lewis did what any decent man should do, make every possible attempt to be present for his family when they need him. It's a no-brainer.

Therein lies the rub about crossroads, for every right decision or Ralph Macchio guitar solo there is a devil or two hanging around waiting to knock you for it. It's time to pay the devil his due.

I'm speaking metaphorically here.

Someday Colby Lewis is going to be an ex-baseball player, and he may regret certain errors or pitches, or be proud of this stat or that game. However, the best decision he will ever make in a Rangers uniform is already behind him. It won't show up in the box score, and it won't earn him any awards, but it is a far better mark of a man than any earned run average could ever hope to be.

Something tells me that Richie Whitt has no idea what I'm talking about.


Source: Bakersfield Californian

Hooah to these military dads

Those of you who are long-time readers of this site know I re-enlisted in the National Guard after a 13 year hiatus. For those of you who don't know that story, you can read about it here. Anyway, when I raised my right hand last August and swore to protect and defend the Constitution of this great nation, I was well-aware of the weightiness of that decison. Trust me on this, I harbor no illusions of what type of world we find ourselves living in. To paraphrase Stinky Pete, "It's a dangerous world out there for a toy [soldier]." I know what to expect going forward and have accepted any and all possibilities. My wife has as well. Everything is on the table. I would love to roll back the clock to some time during the Cold War where we just compared our junk with the Communists - "My heat-seeking missile is bigger, ya pinko bastard!" "No, my warhead is bigger, yankee pigdog!" - and we all just played wargames, drank beer and, well, drank beer. Alas, those days are gone.

Today, we are in never-ending rotations. This BCT rolls out after eight, nine, twelve months in country, another takes its place. The game never changes, only the players. Men and women, fathers and mothers, are separated from their families a year or more at a time. Eight to ten weeks of mobilization and training. Nine or more months in country before they're back home for good now. Then it's wait three years and do it all over again. Can you imagine the havoc that can wreak on a family? The National Fatherhood Initiative has and each year recognizes those military dads who go above and beyond for their children and families. Read on to learn about this year's nominees.

The 5 Most Important Things I Learned at the Mom 2.0 Summit

Since Whit gave such a great recap of the Mom 2.0 Summit, I'll dispense with the background information and charge directly to the meat of the matter, which will be of especial interest to you bloggers out there who missed it: the most important insights I gleaned during this, my first blogging conference.

1. Conferences are where you connect with the Big Players in the Industry.  Wow.  I met so many movers and--yes--shakers, as well.  These are the people who make parent-blogging the multi-thousand dollar business it is.  I was privileged to meet CEOs and CFOs of marketing and advertising organizations.  We talked about monetization, SEO, brand-building, and a lot of other really important things that I don't understand at all.  Then we exchanged business cards.  Theirs were printed on much higher quality paper than mine, and weren't softened by pocket sweat.
2. Being a daddyblogger at a conference full of mommybloggers makes you an automatic rockstar.  In my case, Sting. As a feminist, I'm fervently opposed to being fawned over by mommybloggers.  It's degrading to everyone involved.  How hollow it is to be given undue attention simply because you are among a group of maybe twenty men perceived as a sensitive, artistic, and yet roguish at a gathering of 3500 women.  Women amped up by a rare weekend away from their kids, a fleshly realization of their online camaraderie, and piles of shiny swag.  For a fella, the attention can be daunting.  The constant dinner invitations, "where you at?" tweets, photo ops, and unsolicited hugs.  Objectification goes both ways, ladies.  
3. It's really difficult to stay completely sober for any length of time in New Orleans. It's almost as if they want you to drink a lot.  You can enjoy adult beverages as you walk down the street, and there are no rules about when bars or liquor stores should shut down.   Some sub-headings I would include if I were better at formatting: 1) I thought I had stopped liking bourbon a long time ago; but it turns out that I was just drinking bad bourbon. 2) The much maligned and widely banned sports drink/hobo wine called Four Loko is in fact the very nectar of the gods, gushed forth from the fountain of youth, and replete with rejuvenating electrolytes.  3) You will never be alone in a bar at dawn in New Orleans.
4. Meeting your imaginary friends In Real Life is way better than just meeting regular people.  What are the chances that you would meet some schmo off the street and have days worth of conversations and ideas to share?  Slim, right?  But as geeky as it sounds, all the folks I met that I "knew" from our blog/facebook/twitter interactions exceeded my expectations of how they would be in real life.  With one exception: I never would have guessed that Whit Honea would be the kind of sadist that would torture a sentimental drunk who is separated from his family for the first time, and known to be sappy about dogs, by showing him pictures of his own recently deceased dog being hugged by his adorable children and causing said drunk to weep openly in a bar/laundromat at 7:00 a.m.  So not cool.
5. The stars are aligned for the ascendancy of the daddyblogger!  This time for real.  The folks that brought us Mom 2.0, in collaboration with fast-talking New York schmoozer Doug French (Laid Off Dad), are cooking up a for-real daddyblogging conference that will go down in the spring of 2012, called the Dad 2.O Summit.  This will finally put us on the map!  Our relevance in the marketplace of ideas will be acknowledged!  Our influence on the purchasing habits of American families will be recognized!  Our voice in the conversation about the future of the family structure will be heard!  At the very least, we'll get to hang out together in a cool city and get lots of free AXE products and boner pills.  And Four Loko.

 

This is how they serve it at the Ritz

 

I didn't really take many pictures at the conference, so I just added this random shot of Sting and a fan

 

 

 
 

     

 

 

 

 

Mom 2.0 Summit, Now With Dads

 

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?
And miss it each night and day?

My liver does. I draw your attention to the photo above, tentatively entitled "Zombies at Happy Hour, Circa 5 a.m." -- identities protected for obvious reasons. I'm the one in the middle.

The thing about New Orleans is that it tends to lend itself to late nights (see above). That's a given. Turns out that NOLA is also the perfect setting to hold a wonderful conference. Who knew? The Mom 2.0 Summit people. They're smart.

Fellow DadCentrician Andy, aka Beta Dad, and I were invited to the popular conference to speak on a death panel concerning our (read, dads) role in the ever changing world of blogging. It was Jason's idea, but he couldn't make it. Chicken. Andy and I were joined on stage by the southern hospitality that is John Cave Osborne, and we made the whole thing legit and authentic by having Catherine Connors assume the role of moderator. It was Tanis Miller's idea, but she couldn't make it. Also, chicken.

With all due respect to one Muskrat, who was kind enough to blog the session for the official conference website, I'd like to recap the event for those of you that were unable to attend, namely all of the people that promised me that they would, in fact, attend, but then skipped out. Don't think I didn't notice.  For the record, we played to a full house. Eat that, John Stamos.

Here's what happened: Catherine said a lot of smart stuff and asked a lot of intelligent questions. John talked about weed. More from Catherine, still smart and intelligent. Andy said something deep and when he smiled HE LOOKED JUST LIKE STING. John added something charming and the audience loved us. You could see it on their faces. Then I started cursing. Then I cried. Then I threw a chair. I may have cursed again. And talking about this? Crickets. Fortunately, Catherine recovered nicely. Andy and John touched upon a number of nuggets, made some solid closing points and then we went drinking.

Feels like you were there, doesn't it?

Maybe you were. The crowd was full of writers, dignitaries and incredible conversation. It would be remiss to mention names as I would undoubtedly forget someone in the process and that would not be nice. That's how feelings get hurt, people. Just know that the room was packed with awesome. And us. But mostly awesome.

This is where I would go into great detail about the topics we discussed if I could actually remember them. To be honest, it is something of a blur. In fact, I spent most of the session starring at my focal point (Ron Mattocks' hair) and remembering to breathe. Every now and then I'd realize that I was still speaking and quickly hand the microphone back to Catherine. Regardless, I'm pretty sure that the people (you know who you are) enjoyed themselves, and I'd like to think we made a difference in, if not their lives, then at least their hour. Give or take thirty minutes.

The point is, no matter how you define the world of parent blogging, or what you hope to give to or take from it, it is evolving, and a lot of good people are investing their time and talent to make sure we don't disappoint Darwin. Any jackass can be a monkey. We're taking this movement upright.

In a nutshell, we nailed it. #winning

The same could be said for the brilliant people behind Mom 2.0. The conference was full of great advice and free food. The sponsors were friendly and informative. The nightlife was memorable (except for big chunks of it). We spent the entire weekend meeting fantastic people, pouring Four Loko into whatever they were drinking and having our pictures taken by Dooce (the photo above was not taken by Dooce, who was probably in bed, but rather our bartender, who may or may not have known thought we were idiots).

The dads, while an admittedly small group, represented well (don't see above), and our presence was acknowledged with some big, breaking news during the big, breaking news portion of the closing keynote. Here it is: In 2012, just before the world ends, there will be a Dad 2.0 Summit. And it will be fantastic. Save the date.

You read it here firstish.

And if anyone says that 2012 is the year of the dad blog, we'll cut you.

 

Special thanks to Andy and John for allowing me to sit between them, and to Catherine for agreeing to herd us at the last minute. Also, thanks to Jason for sparking the discussion and Tanis for helping shape it, sorry that you were both unable to join us. We really appreciate Muskrat's blogging of the event, the questions and attention from those that attended, and the trust placed in us by Mr. Doug French. Thanks for having us, Mom 2.0 Summit!

Neither chickens nor Ron Mattocks' hair were harmed in the making of this post.

Home Is Wherever I'm With You

You may have seen this, but it's getting near quitting time for a lot of us dads out there, and what gets us through the day is knowing that we all have such wonders to come home to. Sing us out, Jorge and Alexa.

 

(Video via Man of The House - our pal Craig Heimbuch sat down with Jorge and talked with him about his daughter and their newfound fame; read all about them here.)

30 Days of Dads: Dorky Dad, "Father's Day in Haiku"

In spite of his name (and his Dick Yorkish looks), Dorky Dad is the coolest dad blogger I know. Literally. The man lives in Minnesota. It breaks 45 degrees there only three weeks a year. He's been blogging for a lot longer than he'd like to admit and, with the birth of his second son last year, has recently celebrated the death of his free time. He mostly blogs about his family life, which has sapped him of hope and testosterone. This sometimes makes for inspired PowerPoint flow charts or, in this case, poetry about his one special day of the year.

* * *

This month we celebrated Father's Day, the day we acknowledge the lives of those men lucky enough to have had sex at just the right moment. I like to celebrate such days the only way I know how, by writing a bunch of nonsensical poems in the Haiku style, otherwise known as the blogger's, go-to poetry verse. I, unfortunately, am no exception.

Here goes:

I like Father's Day
It's the day we celebrate
Our sperm production

But it takes much more
To be a good dad than that
It takes much money

And time, I suppose
I'll admit, these kids are fun
Then they turn 13

Over the past year
I fixed toys, played ball, made food
For this I get ties

Fathers should like ties
But all they do is choke me
And look obnoxious

If I am lucky
I'll get to sleep in Sunday
Yeah, that won't happen

I will get some steak
Because that's what I demand
But wife can't touch grill

My dad had dentures
He liked to chatter his teeth
It was real creepy

But unlike my dad
I have brushed and flossed and rinsed
So I have my teeth

I've deprived my kids
Of a dad with creepy teeth
I'm creepy elsewhere

Excited, Boy was
At his father's day present
He worked hard to make

I got it today
You'll never guess what it was
An air freshener

An air freshener
He trying to say something?
Like, “Your van stinks, dad.”

I did get a tie
It was made out of cardboard
And said, “Your the best.”

Worst Dads of 2009

In the past 12 months, who has proven himself to be among the Suckiest of the Sucky Fathers in the Entire Universe? ("Entire Universe" is defined as "cursory searches I performed on Bing.")

We had plenty to chose from in 2009.

Jackson family patriarch Wacky Ol' Joe is always good for a nomination. Then he was kinda right about Michael being murdered. No room for that here, people.

Balloon Boy dad Richard Heene? A delusional publicity whore, yes, but he didn't actually put his son in the balloon before launching it into the stratosphere. Though he did name the boy "Falcon" so maybe ...

Tiger Woods? Many didn't realize he had kids before Elin took a divot out of his face, so he gets a bye this round.

Without further ado, DadCentric presents The Worst Dads of 2009:

TV's Best Dads: Don Draper

"Kids today, they have no one to look up to. 'Cause they're looking up to us." - Don Draper

He's never without an Old Fashioned in his hand, he smokes like a chimney, he sleeps with 97% of the women he makes eye contact with (we crunched the numbers: Peggy Olson and Joan Holloway are the only two exceptions, and Joan's still a question mark) - hell, he isn't really even Don Draper! The creative director of Sterling Cooper is a functional alcoholic and a cad and a fraud who in the words of his boss looks like he mostly does nothing at work (other than the smoking, drinking, and having sex with various women). Yet for all of his faults, it turns out that Don has one redeeming quality: he's a pretty good dad.

Special Guest Dad Week! Just In Time To Stave Off My Impending Psychotic Break!

Summer is rapidly drawing to a close. This time next Monday, Lucas will be two hours in to his first day of kindergarten. We have prepared him as best we can: be nice to your classmates, listen to your teacher, the paste  is not a mid-morning snack, etc. It would be great if the only thing we had to worry about this week was making a run to Target to pick up no. 2 pencils, blunt scissors, notebooks, and all of his other gear. But no - today he has to go to the dentist for a pre-K checkup, I have to go to his doctor's office to get a copy of his shot records, and we still need to get him some new clothes so that he doesn't go to class looking like that Snopes kid. Also, I have a meeting with an accountant to get some advice on setting up our little business, I have meetings with realtors - part of a process which will determine our future in our current home - I have a radio show to prepare for, and I have at least four other blog posts to write, posts that I've put off over the past two weeks. And I have a toddler girl that I need to keep an eye on - I learned the hard way that putting the dog in a maid outfit and leaving Zoe in his care sounds like a good idea on paper, but in real life doesn't really work. 

Fortunately for me AND you, Dear Reader, I've lined up some help in the form of a bunch of excellent dadbloggers. They'll be guest-posting this week, and I'm sure that you'll love their offerings. On deck: Matt, aka DC Urban Dad; Brian from The Cheek of God; Greg from The Chest Pains; CIII from The Goat and Tater; and (if we can figure out the whole England/U.S. Time Difference thing), Dan from All That Comes With It. Now if you'll excuse me, the dog is trying to bury Zoe.