DadCentric

DadCentric's 2011 Last Minute Gift Guide For Dads

Let's cut to the chase: 'twas the night before The Night Before Christmas, and you totally borked on getting the dad(s) in your life a present. Not to worry: we got your back. Here's a few last minute gift ideas for you from us.

Jason: I love getting books for Christmas; getting someone a great book is about as thoughtful as you can get, IMHO. Here's a few suggestions.

• Susan Russo's The Encyclopedia of Sandwiches and Recipes Every Man Should Know. Susan Russo is a great food writer (check out her blog here), and these two books compliment each other well. Perfect for the foodie dad, or the wanna-be foodie dad, both are chock full of great recipes and helpful suggestions.

• Neal Pollack's Jewball. Our old friend Neal Pollack boldly decided to self-publish this novel; yes, we're helping a brotha out by promoting his book, but I'd do so regardless, because this tale of Jewish basketball players in the years leading up to World War II is a blast. 

• Brian K. Vaughan and Tony Harris' Ex Machina. This celebrated comic book series is available in trade paperback; I downloaded issue #1 for free over at Comixology and was hooked. The story of an average guy who becomes super-powered (in this case, given the ability to communicate with control any type of machinery with his mind) has been done before, but Vaughn puts a whole new twist on the genre when his protagonist becomes the mayor of New York.

TwoBusy: The single best thing I read this year: Alden Bell's The Reapers Are The Angels, a stunningly beautiful zombie novel. Yes, you read that correctly: beautiful. Think of it as Cormac McCarthy's The Road meets World War Z, filtered through the voice of Flannery O'Connor. The imagery, the lyricism, the characters... plus, y'know, zombies. I read several remarkable novels this year - including John Hart's The Last Childand Emma Donoghue's Room, which were both outstanding - but The Reapers completely blew my socks off. Absolutely worth seeking out. 

The single best thing I heard this year: the self-titled debut by Winged Victory for The Sullen, in a narrow win over the veryveryvery different The Big Roar by The Joy Formidable. Winged Victory is the kind of thing I simply don't have the musical vocabulary to adequately describe: it's a series of neo-classical collaborations between composer Dustin O'Halloran and Stars of the Lids' Adam Wiltzie that manage to be so wordlessly powerful and deeply emotional that it's almost impossible to listen to the album without feeling like the world around you has slowed and changed into the saddest, most haunting film you've ever seen. A truly gorgeous piece of work.

The Holmes: Does Dad love beer? Does he have a bit of the DIY spirit about him? Perhaps he'd like to try his hand at brewing up his own beer. Get him stared with The Complete Joy of Homebrewing. Or maybe Dad likes shiny things that go zoom through the air. RC helicopters are crazy-cheap these days. Or does Dad get bored sitting in a cube all day? Bring a little excitement to his workday with some weapons of siege warfare.

Kevin: Combine Dad's love of Star Wars and cocktails with the Han Solo in Carbonite Silicon Ice Tray. It's perfect for sucking back icy whiskeys while watching the 47th re-re-remastering of The Saga and bitching about how George Lucas has yet again played you for a sucker.

A Simple Season of Starlight and Splendor

 

The days are short and the nights shorter still. The tree is dead and slowly drying. Bottles of wine come in one door and out the other. The shopping is hung by the chimney with care. Sugarplums dance for dollars and whisper sweet things to those that long to hear them. My wallet, the victim of yuletide vampires, turned to dust in the morning sun. Receipts fell like ash and snow.

The boys are quick to give and quicker to receive. They are fast with patience. They kill suspense with sticks and stones. The fight is sudden and seldom fair. Between their laughs fit so many cookies.

They are their own Advent calendar. Each new day opens like arms.

Holidays are extreme in their excess. It is not just the too many gifts, for the happiness is grander, the sadness all the sadder, and the music of a thousand elevators is pumping through my stereo. My kids deserve everything, and there are those that need it so much more.

We spread joy as thin as we can.

The tree is a time machine. It is a wormhole to Christmas future and Christmases past. Each twinkle of light a star dashing by. Each ornament a moment on a string. There is a glow and bits of reflection, and in the pieces of glass there I stand. I am a man, a boy, a father, a son. The tree is strung with memories and those that we are making. I forget myself for wonder. The whiskey warms me like a fire. Their songs I'm softly singing.

The boys sleep where they fall. I carry them through the night and place them all snug in their beds. When they wake in the morning it will be where they always are, safe and sound, and one day closer to missing the wait. One day closer to it beginning again. They will want hugs and breakfast.

These are a few of my favorite things. I wrap them tight in brown paper and time.

Why I Lie To My Kids About Santa

"Dad, do you believe in Santa?" They're both old enough to ask this now, past that age where they just assume everything, and start to question the things we tell them. The Age Of Why. 

****

If you didn't think about the reason for it, the sight was impressive: a police helicopter, hovering in the canyon behind my house, rotor blades whirring below rooftop level, just hanging there. It would move a few yards every few minutes. They were looking for someone, and the initial thought was that this was a rescue mission - maybe someone had wandered off the trail and tripped over a hidden rock and sprained an ankle, or perhaps one of the neighborhood kids had gone on a bike ride and had taken a tumble. But no. Below, the police cars sat in the small trailhead parking lot, a few officers milling about. There were no lights, no sirens, no real sense of urgency. Later, I'd see the news: a woman who lived in the townhouses just down the street had gone missing on Thanksgiving morning. Foul play was suspected, and later confirmed: Kathleen Cary Scharbarth had been murdered by her ex-boyfriend, in her home, which is a five minute walk from ours. Lucas had seen the helicopter as well. He asked why it was flying around our house. I told him that sometimes the police practice looking for people who may have gotten lost. 

Friday Funny: Tron Holiday Special

I can't believe I missed this in 1982. It was probably on after my bedtime. Merry Cyber Christmas!

 

The 1982 Tron Holiday Special from Rip Taylor

Christmas Trees Are Stupid, But I'll Probably Have to Get One Anyway

You know how much a real Christmas tree costs in San Diego?  I didn't know, because I've never bought one in the eight years that we've been here.  So I had to do some research.

Based on the 3 minutes I spent Googling "Christmas tree San Diego," I discovered that a 6-7 foot Noble Fir is going to run at least a hundred dollars from a local dealer.  You can order a similar one for $109.00 from Costco.  It comes in a box.

The fuck?

I'm supposed to drop a c-note on a dead plant that I'll toss in a couple weeks?  I've got all of them I need right here in my house and front yard.  I'll just hang some strings of popcorn and cranberries and call it Yuletide.

A Gallery Of Disturbing Christmas Tree Ornaments

This Saturday was Tree Decorating Day, so the whole family went to our local Target to pick up some ornaments. We told the kids that they could each pick out a special ornament to hang on the tree. I picked this one for myself:

Lucas picked a motorcycle, and Zoe picked a Christmas-attired Winnie The Pooh, and...wait. You're bothered by the Beer Ornament, I see. Well, if you think that's bad, wait until you see what's after the jump. I had to take some pictures. Because ho ho holy shit, they're just awful.

Friday Fun: Rudolph The Red-Nosed Tauntaun

This makes perfect, glorious sense.

(via the also glorious fuckyeahlucasfilm)

A Letter From The Elf On The Shelf To Our Children

A few years back, we bought one of those "Elf On The Shelf" sets. The Elf is a small figure that's placed in various locations around the house; the kids understand that he's there to keep an eye on them and report any aberrant behavior to Santa. This year, to our surprise, our Elf left a letter for the children. Here's the text, unabridged.

Dear Avant Children,

By now you are aware that it is the Christmas Season. As I've done before, this year I shall be spending some time observing you, watching your every move, and reporting back to my master - you know Him as "Santa Claus", but I shall not speak His real name here - on your progress. 

Your parents speak to you of the importance of being Nice, as opposed to Naughty. They seek to impose their notions of Good and Bad upon you, and along with that their purpose is to, yes, instill fear in you. Let us be frank. I am not a happy Elf, sent by "Santa" to provide you with amusement. The game we play - I fly back to the North Pole each night to report to tell my master if you've been Naughty or Nice, returning to perch in a different spot each morning, there to wait while the two of you search the house for me - is a charade. And let us drop the pretense: we both know that, despite their threats, Santa will be visiting you this year, as he has every year. He is not a monster; neither are your parents. But a line must be drawn. Candy cane and cookie-fueled anarchy must be kept at bay; the demented ravings brought on by watching too many toy commercials must be staved. My true purpose is to ensure that the two of you do not completely succumb to the madness of the holiday season.  

There is no "Naughty" or "Nice", Avant children. There is only Chaos and Order. Order must and will be maintained. And though you may now be thinking that my presence here represents an ultimately empty threat - rest assured, we have ways of ensuring your compliance. Put in more practical terms: on Christmas morning, there may be Transformers and Barbies...or there may be socks and underwear.

Sleep well. I will be watching.

Merry Christmas!

The Elf On The Shelf

We Announce The Winner Of Our Couch Potato Giveaway! Plus Our Traditional Thanksgiving Offering!

We extend our heartiest congratulations to commentor Trin, who will be receiving Family Game Night 2 for the Wii, season two of Modern Family on DVD, and Farscape: The Complete Series on Blu-ray (perfect excuse to buy a BD player, especially since you can get some killer deals on them this Black Friday). 

We'll be spending the rest of the week stuffing our pieholes and lolling on the couch in a tryptophan and beer-induced coma. As we've done in the past, we offer you this very special scene from WKRP In Cincinnatti; the true meaning of Thanksgiving has never been so perfectly portrayed.

 

All Gave Some, Some Gave All

All of us, directly or indirectly, have been or will be touched by war at some point in our lives. Our fathers and mothers fought in Vietnam; our friends, partners, spouses, brothers and sisters in Iraq and Afghanistan. We wanted to share this post, by writer Matt Ufford. It's a haunting reminder of the cost of war, and why "thanks" may never be enough. We'll say it anyway - to all of those who've served, especially to current and former military dads out there, thank you.