DadCentric

All Quiet on the Western Front

Seriously.  Where the hell is everyone? 

I don't remember it being this quiet around here since we all got back from that awkward trip to Vegas, and by awkward I mean awesome. I swear, some of these guys have balls the size of my balls.  It was crazy.

We're not hungover now.  None of us are in hiding or the doghouse- as far as I know.  We're just busy, like you are, but that doesn't mean that our respective battles are going to keep us detached from here, "i.e., society."  We're living the life dad, and as you know that makes for great fodder.

Not as good as the Vegas stuff, but legal, and that's a good place to start.

I'm sure someone will post something worthwhile any minute now.  In the meantime enjoy some music:

You're welcome.

Why I Love Wired So Much

It's not often that I come across pure genius outside my own daily delusions of grandeur, especially with regard to viral videos.  Let's face it...YouTube is chock full of large, steaming piles of donkey poo.  So when they chose to remove the "Shreds" videos by user St. Sanders, I was pissed.  I had been subscribed to his stream for months, ever since discovering the "Eddie [Van Halen] Shreds" video that had me literally laughing so hard I cried and peed my pants.  Apparently, a couple of guitar gods that had been spoofed got their egos taken out at the knee and claimed copyright infringement.  YouTube, the spineless douchebags that they are, caved in and removed them. 

However, Wired pulled through and is now hosting them on their site.  The "Shreds" live - at least for now.  Thank you,Wired, the tech Bible that you are.  So, if you missed these hilarious spoofs, take a gander and see what all the hubbub was about.  Or, if you're lazy, I've set you up with an Yngwie Malmsteen sample below:

What To Buy Dad For Christmas

Brass tacks, moms, partners, and kids (wait - you let your kids look at this site? What the hell's wrong with you?): there's 8 shopping days left until Christmas and you need some ideas. Here you go:

DVD's: Really, only two merit consideration this holiday season. The Ultimate Blade Runner (with 5, yes 5 versions of the film) and Superbad: Special Edition.

Books: Three dad books of note. Dadditude, by Philip Lerman, humorously chronicles the joys and heartaches of 50-year-old Lerman's experience as a new dad. Punk Rock Dad, by Pennywise frontman Jim Lindberg, humorously chronicles the joys and heartaches of Lindberg's experience as a new dad. Against The Day, by Thomas Pynchon, humorously chronicles the joys and heartaches of Pynchon's experience as a new dad.

Video game: Nintendo Wii. If you can find one.

Music: Led Zeppelin, Mothership. Actually, buy two copies, one for dad, one for dad to use to chuck, ninja throwing star-style, at the head of anyone who insists on playing the latest release from Iron and Wine.

Of course, if TV teaches us anything, it's that the best gift of all is found in the driveway, with a big red bow on the hood.  Something sensible, of course.

So those are some ideas. I'll open the floor for discussion - dads, what do you want for Christmas? Moms/partners, what are you planning on getting the dads in your lives?

A DadCentric Review: The Groomsmen

To be fair, I liked the movie, "The Groomsmen" before I even saw it.  It's an Ed Burns movie, what's not to like?  The fact that he got the actors to each work for a measly 11k and he edited the whole film and soundtrack on his Mac.  Hey, I love that.  It's easily his best work since "Brothers McMullen."

What I didn't know was that I would like it as much as I did.  It resonated with me in a way that a lot of movies can't.  Sure, there is funnier, sexier and more action-packed fare available, but that's just fluff. 

"The Groomsmen" picks up where "Beautiful Girls" left off.  It's a tale of friends and family, history and future. In fact, the only thing the movie was missing was a Neil Diamond sing-along.  They did manage to humor me with a Billy Squire cover, so I'll let it slide. Plus, they drank a lot of Harp, which I agree with.

My wife didn't watch it.  Her loss.  She had baked all day and was subsequently stuffed on meringue cookies and a generous glass of port.  She disappeared down the hall with a thick book before the opening credits even finished.  Me? I had a few beers, some popcorn, and watched a movie about guys that get it, and I pitied those that don't.

Rent it.

Some Things I've Lost Forever

I'm not complaining.  I was never that attached.  I'm talking about kid songs, the standards.  I'm not much for the classics.

Aside from Old MacDonald and Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, I'm pretty much clueless to how kid songs go.  Sure, I was a kid, and the songs remain the same, but I've forgotten the words.  Yes, I worked in childcare for almost a decade, but I always went for coffee during sing-along time.  I've managed to get this far, with a four-year-old and one at 17 months, and the only kid's albums they've ever been fans of were made by the likes of They Might Be Giants and various jazz greats.  As you may have guessed, I'm okay with it.

My boys LOVE music, but they are fans of our music.  My oldest recognizes the Beatles and Foo Fighters, and is adamant that rock and roll should be played loud.  My youngest is a dancing machine and literally bogarts my wife's iPod shuffle with her workout mix of techno and angst-ridden Pink songs, dancing around the house in his diaper for all the world to see.  The boys like good music (and the crap my wife is apparently listening to).

We are always singing.  Thing 1 makes up songs with the best of them.  Last night he decided that the toilet was like a fountain, a pee fountain.  He created a melody describing  the wonders it holds, how nobody can sit beside it, but sometimes you sit upon it, and that you don't throw coins in it because wishes don't like living with poop.  Who needs Wheels on the Bus when you've got that?

There are instances when I do feel like I should have taken the time to learn a tune or two.  Often the boys will crawl up on my lap, and after Thing 1 sings his sillies and Thing 2 bobs his head in approval, I am put on the spot, and my mind races for any song that I know more than the chorus to, and whether or not they are age appropriate.

"No! We don't want to hear Old MacDonald again!" is usually how my first notes are greeted.

So I've been improvising.  All you need is a catchy beat of innocence and anything can be a kid song.  Last night I sang my son to bed with a little ditty by The Beastie Boys.

"Here's a little story," I sang. "That I've got to tell, about two bad brothers you know so well..." I applied it to our situation and ran with it.  Hey, it worked.

I'm working on a G.Love mix for this evening.

Rockin' Out With The Sippy Cups

I'll admit that part of me hoped that first concert experience with the kid would be front row center at the inevitable Phish reunion show; barring that, I would have settled for obstructed view seats at the Blue Oyster Cult dinner show at the Barona Casino buffet. But reality set in; I realized that the most likely scenario would involve a long-haired guy with wire-rimmed spectacles and an acoustic guitar singing a goofy-ass song about a happy bear or some such.

So when I got a note from the Sippy Cups' PR guy saying that the band would be doing a show at the House of Blues, I was actually excited. We have a copy of the band's latest, Electric Storyland (get it?), and it's actually a hell of a lot of fun - comparisons to anything by The Flaming Lips are not unwarranted. Beth and I were pretty excited to take Lucas to the show, but he seemed to need a bit of convincing; the concept of live music was still a bit foreign to him.

As it turned out, we all had a great time. The band tore through much of Electric Storyland - my personal favorite was "I Am A Robot", which brought me back to the days of hotboxing in the Balboa Park Planetarium parking lot, there to see the Pink Floyd laser show (seems like only yesterday - my, how quickly those three months have gone by). The kids were issued plastic tambourines and maracas, and balloon artists were on hand to pass out balloon hats and animals. Between songs, band member Sippy Doug assumed the role of various characters (Major Minor, Hair Professor); the show was fast-paced, fun, and kept the kids enthralled (Lucas had a rapt expression on his face for the entire 45 minute set, wearing the same look that Richard Dreyfuss wore when he was led up the ramp of the mothership at the end of Close Encounters). The band also exuberantly covered the Velvet Underground's "Rock and Roll", the Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated" (sanitized a bit; the Sippys wanna be "elated") and for the encore, the Stones' "She's A Rainbow". (The lack of BOC covers was a bit of a disappointment; I think the kids would have really dug "Veteran of The Psychic Wars", or perhaps "The Siege and Investiture of Baron von Frankenstein's Castle at Weisseria".)

So the Sippy Cups can add us to their growing fan base. Let's face it - most kids' music is just that, but the Sippy Cups put on a show that's as fun for the grown-ups as it is for the little ones. Definitely check them out if they come to your town.

(ETA: Amy, aka The Lovely Mrs. Davis, sent along a nice link highlighting some additional "kids" music; check it out here. Remember - friends don't let friends listen to Raffi.)

DadCentric Official Seal of Approval

I had about 6 different posts in my head, but the week got away from me. And after tonight's visit to the Accountant, where we learned how much we're going to be sending to Uncle Sam on  - I should say, starting on, as it's really quite a lot - April 15, I feel a bit like a male model in a Robert Mapplethorpe photo. So to offset that, here's some shouts-out to some cool stuff you should be aware of.

The Dangerous Book for Boys, by Conn and Hal Iggulden. The Igguldens have assembled everything a boy ought to know - how to build a periscope, the secrets of Navajo code-talking, how to hunt and cook a rabbit, the laws of rugby(!), the basics of English grammar, the history of artillery, the Seven Ancient (and Modern) Wonders of the World, how to play poker and chess, seven poems every boy should know (no Vogon offerings, unfortunately), and a chapter on girls ("Avoid being vulgar. Excitable bouts of windbreaking will not endear you to a girl."). The book's an absolute delight, a reminder that the world's still a big and exciting place.

Friday Night Lights, Wednesdays at 8:00, NBC. Simply, the best show on, well, TV that you don't have to pay for. Calling it a show about football is like calling Moby-Dick a book about a pissed off whale. Tremendous writing, even when things veer into Clicheland, and truly three-dimensional characters who never fail to surprise and move you. Tonight's season finale may be the series finale - although there are some positive indicators that it will be picked up. Do yourselves a favor and watch the reruns and put the DVD's in your Netflix cue - hell, BUY the set, and if you don't like I'll refund your money. If you don't believe me, believe Scott Tobias. Oh, and the band that does the theme music...

Explosions In The Sky; their latest, All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone, is fantastic. If you haven't heard these guys, check them out at their website.

Also, a PSA: if you're a blogger, and are planning on being in L.A. on May 19, LA Daddy's throwin' a kegger. If you go, make sure you raise a glass for Kurt.

Gonna Be Some Sweet Sounds Coming Down

I pulled the night shift last night.  To be honest, I pull it more often than my wife.  Mainly because she's a bad parent.  Just kidding.  She swears that's not the real reason.  She also swears that I better not write that.  No, I pull the night shift because she works late and, many times, thanks to Dante making her schedule, she works early the next morning.

I hardly work.  I'm basically a SAHD that moonlights at a paying job.  "Paying" being a relative term.  Needless to say, our home revolves on an axis of shiftwork. 

Quality time with my wife consists mainly of sleeping next to each other, although we often don't know if the other is even there.  Still, it's a nice thought.

We have two sick kids right now.  One is teething and one is coughing.  Both are requiring extra attention, which makes the shifts that much harder on the, well, everything. Less sleep, more snot.  That's my mantra.  In fact, in the few minutes that I've been writing this post I've had to stop to unclog some apple from the mouth of Thing 2, the teether, and consult on the consistency of a bowl movement for Thing 1, the cougher.  His exact words being, "DADDY! I THINK MY BOTTOM JUST THREW UP!"  It had.

The shifts are going into overtime.  My nights are spent on the couch with crying boys and Chet Baker.  My days are spent with a laundry basket full of shirts turned handkerchiefs and a headache that makes a brainfreeze sound nice.

So my wife and I pass in the night like two ships sailing out to different seas.  Thankfully, Dingy 1 and Dingy 2 know how to keep our hearts in the harbor and our eyes on the shore, covered in sand and snot as it is. 

The Frog and The Damage Done

It's Friday. Take us out, Kermit. (That tremor you feel? Jim Henson spinning in his grave.)

Two Peas in an iPod

Sometimes I sit here on the stump of some giving tree and look down upon all I've sewn and think that it is good.  At other times, I stand and walk the sandy beaches of my own Kitty Hawk, searching for lost keys and shakers of salt, and I think such things as sometimes two rights can make a wrong, and I fight the desire to fly.

You see, my two boys, wonderful as they are, tend to drive me crazy when thrown together.  They grab, poke, pull and whine.  It's enough to drive me to wine.  Is 8:30 in the morning on a Thursday too early to start drinking?

What compounds my frustration is how well-behaved they each are on their own.  They are sweet and good.  I'm happy to be with them and miss them when we're apart.

Yet, like some evil spin on the Wonder Twins, the slightest touch between them creates the form of a raging bull and a bucket of tears. I won't even get into Gleek.

As I write this they are playing together by my feet.  Well.  They are being cute and loving and making me regret the inevitable submission of this post.  Damn ratings week.

What it usually boils down to is that the youngest, Thing 2, wants to be around Thing 1.  Always.  Thing 1, like Francis in Stripes, doesn't want anyone touching his stuff.  He doesn't want any meathooks on it.  He also doesn't want anyone calling him Francis. 

Thing 1 has limits.  He does not like them pushed.  Thing 2 is a pusher.  He is Ice-T, he don't ask, he just bogards, which I understand is slang for bogarts.  Which of course is also slang.  New slang when you notice the stripes.  I don't know what that means, but I thought it was nice of The Shins to tie everything together for me.

To be honest, Thing 2 gets in my stuff too.  He has rearranged my CD collection many times a day, every day, for months now (he is really into David Gray right now).  The only difference is, that unlike Thing 1, I don't knock him the head for it.

I just pan him off on his brother.

Then I sit on my stump and watch the apples that have fallen from my tree.  It is good.