DadCentric

Werewolf Bar Mitzvah - Spooky! Scary!

My MacBook is still in the shop and I haven't put together a Halloween costume. So here's one of our favorite holiday classics to tide you over. And don't forget to check your kids' candy for razor blades, hallucinogens, steroids, alien microtransmitters, and/or hidden Prayer Cards. Trick or treat!

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.

Lego And Star Wars Are To Blame

I know we haven't even gotten to Halloween yet, but I'm already thinking about December. And here's why:

Last year's Lego Advent Calendar was a blast, complete with kegs of hearty ale and cleavage. I've got this one hidden up on a shelf, out of sight and mind of the weefolk what live around here. I can't wait to bust it open. 

Yes, These Kids' Parents Dressed Them As The Jersey Shore Gang For Halloween

This has been going on for weeks: "Dad, can I go as Killer Croc?" "No." "Why?" "Because no one knows who Killer Croc is." "Oh. Then can I go as Cad Bane?" "No." "Why?" "Because no one knows who Cad Bane is." "Oh. How about Nick Fury?" "Do you want to shave your head?" "No, I mean THE ORIGINAL Nick Fury." 

Sigh. At least he's considering costumes that a few of his second grade classmates might get. And regardless of what he ends up wearing, we draw the line at letting him dress up like The Situation. Unlike these kids' parents.

(Photo via this Flavorwire post: "Kids' Halloween Costumes That They're Too Young To Understand". Bob Ross? Really?)

My Very Vagrant Father's Day

I realize there are places of business that actually sell cardboard boxes for people who need to move, but paying for boxes is, I've always thought, a sucker's bet.  Or, stated more closely to my customary vernacular, it's for pussies.   Why pay money that can better be invested in fine bourbons on freely available rubbish? 

So, while the rest of you normal fathers watch golf and eat large breakfasts in bed on Father's Day, I climb in and out of metal dumpsters in 90+ degree weather while the Mrs. keeps the minivan's engine running and her eyes peeled. 

 

Don't you mean, "Carboard and Muskrats Only"?

But what makes the afternoon truly worthy of great Father's Day lore?  It's when the Universe smiles upon me and sends a 20-something employee outside for a smoke break.  I crouch in silence as he pulls an extended drag from his Camel, leans against the green beast whose belly I occupy, and begins a quiet daydream as he stares toward the few clouds that cannopy the serene parking lot. 

Recognizing opportunity, I step-up-sidekick the inside of the dumpster.

Him:  "FUCK!" 

The cigarette hits the parking lot.  He jostles 3 steps away from the dumpster. 

Me:  "Sorry.  Thought I saw a rat in here." 

I climb out with the last of the boxes and toss it into the back of the minvan as he stands agape.   My work here is done.

Louis C.K. For Father's Day

This is the time of year when the dadbloggers push out their obligatory posts about What Father's Day Means To Them. I will freely admit to not giving much of a shit about Father's Day. Perhaps I'm numbed by the avalanche of PR pitches in the DadCentric Inbox (really, Robert Verdi? Scented candles?) and the sheer number of Father's Day Giveaways taking place around the Internets. But this is a dadblog, and so I feel like I need to post something about Father's Day, even though I feel like the holiday itself has become an excuse for the kind of self-congratulatory wanking that most of us who live in the real world despise. Luckily, I came across a great interview with comedian Louis C.K.; in it, he pretty much sums up what I feel about fatherhood in general and Father's Day in particular:

Slate: In an episode from the first season of Louie, a single mom your character meets at a PTA meeting tells you, "Just by showing up, you're father of the year." Do you think you have more freedom to talk about being a dad because there are fewer expectations placed on fathers in general?

Louis C.K.: It's funny—in life, those roles have all changed. There's a lot of fathers who take care of their kids, there's a lot of mothers who have careers. But in culture, those roles are still the same. When I take my kids out for dinner or lunch, people smile at us. A waitress said to my kids the other day, "Isn't that nice that you're getting to have a little lunch with your daddy?" And I was insulted by it, because I'm like, I'm fucking taking them to lunch, and then I'm taking them home, and then I'm feeding them and doing their homework with them and putting them to bed. She's like, Oh, this is special time with daddy. Well, no, this is boring time with daddy, the same as everything.

If I do something for my kids, I get a medal, because most fathers don't. If a mother makes a tremendous effort for her kids and does incredible things, no one gives a shit, because she's a mom, and that's what she's supposed to do. It's like giving a bus driver a medal for driving straight ahead. Nobody's interested. And that's really not fair, but it is the way it is.

For me, that's it in a nutshell. At this point in my life, fatherhood's that old pair of running shoes; I love wearing 'em, they're a bit banged up but comfy as hell, and unlike a new pair of shoes I don't really feel the need to show everyone how great they are. Am I a good dad? Most of the time, I suppose; you should ask my kids, when they're in their mid-30's and have some sense of how the world really works. Do I need a holiday, or societal recognition? It's nice, I guess, but you know what would be great? If the kids would just pick up the damn wet Cheerios when they drop them on the tile floor, because when the milk dries it's like frigging Super Glue and I need to chisel that shit off with a hammer and a butterknife.

 

 

 

Zane is Over Valentine's Day

This is Zane. His favorite movies are Mary Poppins and Indiana Jones.  He likes bell peppers, but doesn't care for pickles. He has many layers, like an onion, but a bit stinkier. His favorite band is Queen. He'll be turning 5 in the morning.

He has no desire to work for Hallmark, and no time for any girlie business.

 

Love Means Always Having To Say You're Sorry

A Valentine's Day message from Jason's kids, who remind us that protective headgear is the V-Day gift that keeps on giving.

(Our favorite group of SoCal moms,The San Diego Momfia, has more Valentine's Day kidcentric cuteness.)

I don't heart Valentine's Day

On the long list of holidays I don't give a rat's ass about, Valentine's Day is up near the top. 

It's hard to imagine anything more preposterous than designating one particular day on which we're all supposed to get smoochy and romantical with our current life-partners.  I mean, does anyone really feel special when they're treated to chocolates and erotic foot massages just because the calendar told their hapless boyfriend/girlfriend that today was the day they had to join the rest of the Western World in spontaneous gestures of romantic love?

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not against romance in general, or even celebrating it based on what day it is.  That's what anniversaries are for: your special day with your main squeeze.  It just seems to me that the day when a dozen roses and a nice dinner mean the least is the day when societal pressure dictates the purchase/preparation/presentation of those items by anyone who is in a relationship.

Best. Present. Ever.

Warning: This post may make even the most heartless bastard well up.

A letter.

I got a letter from my 7-year-old son. It was part of some classroom assignment. He told me I was going to get one from him. It had no last name on it when it arrived.

While I often talk about my shitting habits and the trials & tribulations of raising two boys in a modern age, I still try to keep much of my personal life personal.

There has been little, if any, mention of the D-word by me on the blogosphere. And for the most part I intend to keep it that way, but it is important to bring up to give this letter some context for you.

This is what it reads:

"Dear Dad,

I can't wait to go on the subway in Maryland with you.I know it will be fun. You will like your present I got you. You are a really fun dad. I like going to your apartment. I hope you like the ornaments I gave you. You are the best dad ever. I can't wait to see you.

From: Cole"