Dad’s House

My kids and I are definitely plugged in – between our landline, cell phones, and laptops with internet browsing, emailing, and instant messaging, we can talk to who we want, whenever we want, without each other knowing.

And that makes life interesting for a parent of teens.

Today, I muse about MySpace, Facebook, Yahoo IM and personal communication devices over at the Silicon Valley Moms Blog. It’s still me, and I’m not a mom, just a token male voice. It’s like a sleepover in the SV Moms house. Head on over and visit, and feel free to comment.

My post on SV Moms: MySpace, Facebook, Yahoo IM - How Do Parents Eavesdrop Anymore?

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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Last month on a Friday night my brother and his wife set up chairs and a card table on their front lawn and fixed themselves cocktails. Curious neighbors coming home from work stopped by and asked, “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s Friday,” my brother said. “Want a martini?”

And so started a neighborhood tradition. Families now take turns on Friday nights hosting drinks in the front yard, everyone trying to out-do the previous week’s host in quality or uniqueness.

Wouldn’t you know, it’s Friday. Maybe I’ll try that tonight in my neighborhood. Anyone for a Gimlet?

Gimlet recipe:

5 parts Plymouth Gin
2 parts Rose’s lime
Pour into a glass with ice. Stir. Garnish with a slice of lime.

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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Two weeks ago I checked the online homework message board for my son’s sixth grade class and saw a curious thing – plans for a field trip the next day to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. This was news to me.

Granted, my son lives in two homes and sometimes Friday Folder messages end up at the other house and get lost in a mass of paperwork. (Sort of like the Nordstrom bags stuffed full of unopened mail in Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections. Too much information to sift through can be overwhelming.)

But a field trip the next day that I knew nothing about was a problem. My son was with me that night and I was responsible for getting him onto the field trip bus at the right time, with the proper mix of sweatshirts, snacks, notebooks, spending money, lunch.

I emailed the teacher for information.

Didn’t you read my emails? she wrote back. I’ve sent several these past few weeks.

I hadn’t seen a thing. She poked around her account and suddenly realized I wasn’t on her email list. Worse, I hadn’t been on it all year!

Apparently, she’d been sending weekly updates to “all” the class parents keeping them abreast of study topics, test dates, homework projects, etc. My ex-wife got all the emails, but since the email list wasn’t public, she had no idea that I wasn’t receiving them. (She might have checked with me early on in the year to make sure I was receiving emails, but why would she think it’s a problem?)

The teacher apologized saying it was a mistake on her part. She knew we lived in two houses, but she didn’t think to add two emails to her list. After all, communication with pretty much every other family went to the mom. (The local doctor’s office does the same thing. Wouldn’t both parents be concerned about their children’s health? Then again, Dad Gone Mad and his readers would probably be thrilled to not have to deal.)

Sigh.

For the record, my son comes to my house most weekdays after school to do his homework, regardless of whether he’ll be at my house or his mom’s that night. I work from home, so this is a good deal for all parties. His mom can focus on her job and know our son is safe. My son gets homework help from me when he needs it. And I get to see my kid a lot.

To find out now that the school has kept me out of the loop all year is frustrating. It’s also not surprising. It’s been a constant battle for the ten years we’ve been part of this school district. Test scores and important notices are usually sent to only one house, usually the mom’s. I’ve talked to teachers, principals, and district administrators including the assistant superintendent to get the problem fixed. I even offered to give one teacher a pile of stamped envelopes addressed to me so she could send me any notes she sent home. (She said that would be more work for her, and refused to do it.)

We aren’t the first two-home family the school has ever dealt with, but apparently I’m the first dad to complain. It sucks to try to be deeply involved with your kids, only to be discriminated against for being a man.

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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SingleWorkingMommy recently had this to say about my writing in the comment section of my How To Grill Asparagus post:

You’re a great writer (and I’m an editor, so take that for what you will)–I could picture the restaurant, the setting, the mood. I could almost feel your gin-induced fog. Great piece.

Except I get this “cree.pee” vibe from you. Is that weird? Am I just a prude? Please don’t be offended. I could very well be a prude. And maybe it’s because the only other post I’ve ever read was the one where you tried to take your online girlfriend to the woods during a hike and have your way with her. J/k. Except for the cree.pee part. I do get that. K. bai.

To which I’m responding here, because I would love to hear other reader reactions. (The Hiking post she refers to is What’s More Natural Than Nature? – Confessions of a Serial Online Dater, part 3.)

Chime in! Give me the good and bad.

First off, SingleWorkingMommy: thanks for the writing props. With respect to the vibe - as a longtime writing teacher often advised me, if a writer can elicit a strong reaction from a reader, even a reaction that is creepy or makes them cringe, then that writer has connected with that reader on an emotional level. i.e. it’s a good thing. It’s what writers strive for. I’m glad I made you react emotionally.

I assume the part that made you cringe was me ogling the bachelorettes and even projecting onto them the need for a man. I have a wry smile as I write that, because approaching a table full of bachelorettes in front of my kids, or pretending to know what those women are thinking, is the last thing I’d ever do. I know they weren’t all needing a man to join them. They certainly didn’t want a single dad with two kids in tow interrupting their evening. They were reveling in sisterhood, and I was fantasizing my male role in their lives.

But was I that far off the mark? In a brilliant piece titled Rockabye Baby…I Want to Kill the Barnes & Noble Lady, MsSingleMama desperately wants the cute man behind the counter to be the one who rings her up, and I don’t think it was for reasons of commerce. For a woman to admit she needs a man reveals vulnerability. Perhaps I played on that a bit. But what if instead I’d written that I need a woman? That I desperately wanted one of the bachelorettes to get up from the table and come talk to me, or even acknowledge my existence with the merest glance? You might question my masculinity. Turning that longing into a projection was a device to protect my aura of manliness (i.e. my ego).

Why on earth would I blog like that? I know the majority of my audience is female, and a lot of women love to read men who write in a metrosexual style, like a woman talking to her best female friend. It worked wonders for the main writer of Sex and the City (a man). It seems to work for bloggers like Manslations. But not all men are like that!

Look at Lance from Honey and Lance, or the author of What Men Think. They sometimes make women cringe in a “cree.pee” way. They are men giving honest glimpses into the male mind.

Want a more literary take? Joyce Carol Oates wrote a novel that was a Pulitzer Prize-finalist: What I Lived For (which I referenced in one of my most-popular posts: Boys are the New Girls, Women are the New Men.) Ms. Oates gets inside the male protagonist’s head, expressing thoughts like “Women are kleenex”, you use them and discard them. Egads! That makes me cringe. But like Oates, I refuse to pander to readership tastes. A strong reader reaction is a good thing.

In short – thank you for your honest feedback! I know some women get the creeps from my stories, and I’m okay with that. I’m happy and grateful to have anyone reading me at all. More than that, I’m thrilled to learn I elicited an emotional reaction.

And on that note, readers wanting to comment on my writing can fire away…

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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I thought my skateboarding son and his friends were crazy. Check out Kobe Bryant jumping a pool of snakes with the Jackass crew. Too funny. And incredible.

The snakes were a followup to this video of him jumping over an Aston Martin:

Maybe the fact my son and his friends broke my video camera doing skateboard tricks isn’t such a bad thing. No cam, no crazy youtube stunts. At least none I know about…

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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Firing up the grill with family and friends this long weekend? Don’t forget the veggies. Grilled asparagus tastes great and takes only minutes to cook. It’s one of my kids’ favorite vegetables (second only to Italian style carrots). Here’s our recipe:

Rinse a bunch of asparagus in water
Snap the stalks and discard the bottom (Tip: by snapping with your hands rather than cutting with a knife, you’ll naturally locate the very spot that separates the good part from the bad)
Marinade the asparagus in olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper

Let these sit while you grill your main course – tri-tip, chicken skewers, whatever…

Seven minutes before you’re ready to eat –
Grill the asparagus for about 3 minutes, then flip and cook 3 minutes more
Drizzle shaved parmesan cheese on the asparagus and melt

That’s it!

A funny anecdote – a few summers ago my kids and I toured the east coast, hitting Boston, Providence, Manhattan, Philly, and parts of Virginia. While in Newport, Rhode Island, we dined one night at the Red Parrot, a three-story tall restaurant that was packed (so we knew it was good).

They seated us on the third floor along with a bachelorette party, and Bob Marley reggae setting a festive mood. Just me, my kids, and twenty women – I was in heaven. I sipped a classic Gin Martini and basked in the view. (My back was to the water and I was facing the bachelorettes, and I must say the view was quite spectacular.)

Meanwhile, my son was wearing Heelys, those shoes with wheels in the heels. Our server was busy, and my son was bored, so he heelied around an empty part of the floor. He was a hit with the hottie bachelorettes (and it wasn’t his Axe body spray.) Note to self: no need to save up for a red Ferrari; red Heelys will do just fine. I was buzzed from my martini and in a great mood from all the sexy feminine energy in the room. Plus, I was on vacation with my kids – what’s not to like?

When the waitress took our order I asked what vegetable they were serving.
“Asparagus,” she said.
“Oh, is it grilled asparagus?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “But I can ask the chef if he can grill it.”
“Okay, but it’s got to have shaved parmesan cheese melted on top,” I said.
The waitress gave me one of those O-kaaaay looks, then headed to the kitchen.

I sipped my martini, my daughter watched the sunset, my son heelied around the room, the bachelorettes chatted, frequently laughing with heads thrown back, necks exposed, body language screaming they needed a man. (At least that’s my male gin-induced interpretation of their good time.) The whole of my existence felt sublime.

The waitress came back.

“The chef said he can grill the asparagus, no problem,” she said. “But the parmesan cheese is grated, not shaved.”
Say what?! That threw me for a loop. My brain was foggy from gin, my mind drunk from bachelorettes, and I scowled as I struggled to reconcile her words. Would grated cheese work okay?
My daughter saw I was stumped and came to the rescue, saying, “Grated would be fine.”

Thank God for girls.

If you liked this post, you might also enjoy:

• Classic Gin Martini Recipe
  
• Pasta With Peas Recipe
• Bruschetta Recipe
  
• How to Cook the Best Grilled Salmon
• How To Pick-Up a Woman in Front of Your Son

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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I have a rule with my kids regarding the car radio. If we’re scanning stations for something good, and we happen to land on a song by Bob Marley (or any other reggae artist), we immediately stop searching. We listen until the reggae stops.

It drives my kids nuts.

The “ba-dee-dee-dee-dee-dum-dum-do” of the bass. The “um-chuck” of the guitar. The “Ja loves you” crooning of the natty dreadlocks singer.

I figure hearing Bob Marley or any reggae group is a reminder that:

Somewhere, someone is enjoying the island life

And what’s not to like about that?

Photo by livenature, some rights reserved.

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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While Craigslist sues Ebay over unfair business practices, all parties should realize there’s more at stake than just online classifieds. Where else but Craigslist can you find specially-tailored experiences like those offered by practitioners of tantric sex?

(I use tantra as an example partly because the Silicon Valley Moms Blog had a topic day on sex, and my contribution is about tantric sex. Don’t worry, despite my eagerness to skip over un-natural coffee dates and get straight to the fun, I know tantra is not for first dates. But it’s quite the rage. Just ask celebrity tantra practitioners Sting or Scarlett Johansson.)

A quick search on Craigslist San Francisco Bay brought up dozens of tantra practitioners (some a bit sketchy, I admit), tantric partner yoga classes, tantric dakini training, lessons in tantric kissing, and various tantra ceremonies and events.

A similar search on eBay brought up scores of guides, books, and DVDs. Where’s the human element?

Craigslist needs to remain independent from its part-owner eBay. For tantra’s sake, if nothing else. (Read my SV Moms Blog post on tantric sex.)

Grappa bottle photo by malingering, some rights reserved.

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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Want to go on a hike?

The question seemed innocuous enough, or so I thought when I emailed it to Nature Girl, a woman I met on Yahoo personals. We had passed the initial stages of online romance with flying colors:

• We liked each other’s photos – and we trusted they were recent and accurate (i.e. not a picture of a sibling or friend. Though how you ascertain that, I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s an instinct honed through gazillions of profile views and countless first dates)

• We liked each other’s physical stats – she fell in my ideal woman’s height range (5’2-5’6), and possessed a body type (slim, slender, athletic), hair color (brunette or black), and ethnicity (exotic) that turned my head.

• We passed each other’s search filters – college educated, single or divorced, living within 50-miles of our designated City or Zip/Postal Code.

Most important, we had enough in common – 80% of our checkboxes were similarly marked! – that we wanted to meet.

I’d prefer coffee, she wrote back.

Sigh. I’d grown tired of coffee dates, those fact-finding information exchanges that modern singles embrace as necessities like college-bound kids taking the SAT. What happened to good old fashioned flirting?

Aren’t you sick of coffee dates? I wrote.
We could do drinks in a nice restaurant, she wrote. Maybe grab a bite.

Oh, boy. I’d gone that route before when CityGirl turned a coffee date into a gourmet meal at an upscale Silicon Valley restaurant. I wouldn’t be sucker-punched twice. Besides, I liked dating women who were fit and active. Hiking, cycling, running, skiing, boogie boarding – all things I enjoy doing with a girlfriend.

Hiking would be fun, I wrote. Your profile says you love nature.
I do, she wrote. But let’s save a hike for our third date.

I’d heard of third-date sex, but third-date hiking? This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like I was pushing sexy flirty dirty text messages on her. I was suggesting a hike in nature, and what’s more natural than that?

Can I ask why the resistance? I wrote. A hike would be a refreshing change for a first date.

I don’t know you, she wrote. You might drag me off the trail and do something bad. A girl can’t be too careful.

Was she serious?

A guy could do something bad in a restaurant parking lot, I wrote. We’ll hike Crystal Springs. It’s totally safe. (Crystal Springs had a well-traveled paved trail, which meant there would be parents with baby strollers and kids on bikes. An extremely family-friendly environment.)

I love Crystal Springs, she wrote. But sorry, I have my dating limits. Let’s meet for drinks. We can flirt and see what happens.

This is where I lost it. Here’s a woman implying that something might happen beyond drinks, once she’d met in a safe, public, indoor place and sized me up. Hookup or booty call? Possibly. Yet, she didn’t trust the online dating scene enough to go on a friggin’ hike!

We didn’t meet.

The funny thing about all this, we might just run into each other someday when we’re both out enjoying nature (you never know, the dating pool is rather small). Would we have the courage to flirt without an online introduction? I certainly hope so. It seems like the natural thing to do.

If you liked this post, you might also enjoy:

• Internet dating – sadly, I’m a bit of an expert
• How To Pick-Up a Woman in Front of Your Son
• An Online Dating Success Story
• How to Date Four Women at Once
  

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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I woke up this morning tired, headachy, lacking any spark. Like having a bad hangover, except I didn’t drink. How did this weekend kick my ass so completely? I just sat around (in shorts, mind you, not Dockers). My kids did all the work.

Friday night was a talent show at my son’s elementary school. Cloggers, violinists, singers, a jazz band – there were some talented kids! (Also some not-so-talented. Parents – please have the courage, courtesy, and common sense to tell your child when their “dance” act might best be done in pajamas with friends at a sleepover behind closed doors.) The show went late, but no matter, there was plenty of pizza and cupcakes.

Saturday was a lacrosse game in 95 degree heat. Talk about hot! The boys were dieing, running around in pads and helmets. I watched from a beach chair. (The sideline highlight of the game was a gravelly-voiced parent from the other team who constantly shouted, let’s go red! - through a megaphone! I cracked up every time. I want a megaphone, too!) Thank goodness for the Good Humor man in his ice cream truck. Bomb pops are to die for.

We raced from lacrosse to my daughter’s track meet an hour away. No time for food. I grabbed a coffee (in 95 degree heat!) and a snack bag of munchies. Doritos, sun chips, cheetos, pretzels – all in one bag. Talk about genius! I was in snack heaven. The track meet ended late, and I might have cooked pasta and peas, but I was tired. So I got take-out Chinese.

I snuck in a bike ride Sunday before my son’s team party at a local pizza/burger joint. Okay, so I had a beer, a 22 oz. Stella Artois. I deserved that after a kid-focused weekend like this. Especially when you factor in that I didn’t have custody. My kids were with their mom. I was just showing up to events, lending my support.

And I have the hungover-feeling to prove it.

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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