A Book In The Works

My editor recently suggested that I start working on a book.  For the past few days, I've been brainstorming--trying to come up with a few good ideas.  Here's what I have so far:

Option 1:  What the Faulkner?

A story written in stream-of-consciousness format.  The story will be science-fiction and at the end you realize that all the characters were actually possessed by the same evil spirit.  So, while you thought you were reading each person's thoughts, it was really the demon all along.  James Franco will get the movie rights.

Option 2:  M. To The Night

A suspense/thriller novel written as an ode to M. Night Shyamalan.  Misdirection and mystery will keep you wondering who is really alive, what's living in the water, and who is safe from plants.  The twist-ending is that there is no twist-ending and what you thought was happening from the beginning was, in fact, what was happening.  M. Night Shyamalan will not get the movie rights.

Option 3:  The China Palindrome

The book will be one giant palindrome that can be read backwards as well as forwards.  The "front cover" will be on the back.  It's the story of a dying Kung-Fu Master told through the eyes of his last surviving student.  So far, all I have is:  "Egad!  Lo, old age!"

Option 4:  The Parenting Dad Presents:  Reasons To Have Children

I had to scratch this project, there just wasn't enough material.  It makes for a nice pamphlet though that could be handed out in airports or left in bathrooms near the condom machine.

Option 5:  Dad and Bloated

An alternate-history story on what would have happened had the Stone Temple Pilots not achieved the level of success they did.  After playing a show in a local bar to less than ten people, struggling singer Scott Weiland bumps into the barkeep (I like the word barkeep) drenching them both with alcohol and cigarette ash.  Long story short, they fall in love and he becomes a Dad to two beautiful children.  He still does a lot of heroin though.

Less Rocking Out and More Tucking In #IGTOFTS

Last night was the first show our band has played in a long time.  It's taken time to find a new singer and bassist and with the number of kids between the five of us it's hard to find time to practice, let alone play shows.  On the plus side, we'll have an amazing boy band ready to go once the kids get older.  Ain't no livin' like vicarious livin'.

It was after we played our set and I was watching the next band that I realized it may be time for me to hang up my drumsticks.  I was sitting down (at a metal show--this is a big no-no--also, it's not metal to say no-no) and was having my usual introverted conversation with myself.  Welcome to the inner workings of my psyche:

ME:  "We played a fast and tight set tonight.  I feel good though.  That's the most exercise I've had in a long time.  I really need to work out more often.  I'm not 21 anymore."

MY INNER VOICE (a.k.a. That A-Hole That's Usually Right But Has To Be A Dick About It):  "You know who is 21, every other member of every other band you've played with tonight.  Remember when you were 18 and used to go to shows and laugh at the old guys that were playing music.  Yeah, well, you're that old guy now."

ME:  "At least I'm not wearing leather pants like those old guys from Ramzeus were."

MY INNER VOICE:  "Like you'd fit into them anyway."  Seriously, dude, what are you doing here?  You have three kids and a wife at home.  Shouldn't you be there brushing teeth and tucking in instead of rocking out?"

At this point, I'm saved from my inner voice's belittling by the singer on stage.  He's getting the crowd pumped up with the usual, "This is a metal show, get the *%&^ up." and "I want to see every one of you %#&@ers moving on this next song."  He may have also said some very unkind things about someone's mother.  That's when the voice started back in.

MY INNER VOICE:  "Dude, are you listening to this douchebag?"

ME:  "He's just doing his job, trying to get the crowd pumped up."

MY INNER VOICE:  "Well, he's failing because you're still sitting down."

ME:  "I'm not going to get up.  I've been standing all night, watching these other bands tearing it up.  My back hurts.  The doctor said there are signs of arthritis in my lower back."

MY INNER VOICE:  "First off, you're too old to say "tearing it up" or any other phrase unless you follow it up with, 'Do kids still say that?'  Also....Arthritis?  Really?  Hey kids, we're here to melt your faces with our brand of arthritic thrash metal."

ME:  "How come you get to say cool stuff like 'melt your faces' and I don't?"

MY INNER VOICE:  "That's not important, what is important is that you check out that girl over there.  You see what she's wearing?  Nice right?

ME:  "Good God, she should cover up.  It's 29 degrees outside.  I'd never want my daughter to go out of the house dressed like that."

MY INNER VOICE:  "Thank you for making my point.  I remember what you used to think about girls dressed like that.  I'm not going to get in to it, because we'll probably write a blog post about this later and I know that your Mom reads it."

ME:  "Good idea."

MY INNER VOICE:  "I'm full of them.  You should listen to me more often."

ME:  "I will.  Let's go up to the stage and rock out."

MY INNER VOICE:  "Never say 'rock out' again."

And with that, my inner voice spread his arms, dropped the mic and walked off stage while I walked up to it...arthritis be damned.  But my eventful night wasn't over yet.  It's never over until you get the police involved.

At least, Libby still likes to rock out.

Scumbag Brain

After an amazing set at last night's metal show, I was exhausted and ready to go home.  It was late and I had a long drive ahead of me.  I've found that driving over the speed limit can reduce your total drive time; often by an impressive amount.   (Try it, it's true!!!)

However, if you leave a bar around midnight, it's never a good idea to drive fast.  Not only are the cops out and watching for people speeding away from bars, but other drivers (who had business at the bar not related to playing thrash metal) are also leaving the pub.  If there was ever a time for driving the speed limit in a defensive manner, this is it.

  Sometimes the best defense is a good offense.

So I obey the rules of the road.  For a solid forty minutes, I drive 60 on the interstate and 30 in town.  I even drop down to 20 in the school zone.  I know there aren't any kids present, but I'm not taking any chances.  I've had a negative view of police ever since high school.

I grew up in a town with a graduating class of fifty some students.  There was nothing for us to do in our small town which meant there was usually plenty for the cops to do.  Everybody knew everybody--cops included.  They would find any excuse to pull you over.  I was pulled over at 2 in the morning once for driving too close to the white line.  I'm not sure that's even a thing, I mean, c'mon man, like I should drive closer to the yellow line so I'm closer to oncoming traffic.  You basically told me I was driving too safe.  Nothing new though, most people driving at 2 in the morning on a weekend probably should be pulled over.

My problem with this is that the guy knew I just got off of work.  He came through the drive-thru earlier that night and I gave him his Gordita Supreme and free Cherry Pepsi.  He still insisted on asking if I had been drinking or smoking and he wanted to search my car.  Tool.

This kind of stuff happened all the time.  And, while I don't have the same negative view of police anymore, I still get nervous and shaky when they pull me over.  Thankfully, I was driving the speed limit all the way home.  I'm tired, ready for bed, and I'm 200 yards from home.  So sleepy.  That's when I see the license plate in the other lane.

Anybody that's ever driven a car knows that as soon as that plate drives by you in the other lane, you check your rear-view.  Nothing to worry about I think.  I've been driving the speed limit, I'm almost home.  It's all good.

Then he turns around and I go Captain Picard.

Picard's reaction edited for family blog.

 Seriously, why would you turn around, I'm driving the speed limit, I'm not swerving like a drunk.  I figure he's just close to the end of the county line so he's turning around and heading back to town.  Wrong.  I pull in to my driveway and open the garage door.  That's when I see him flip on his lights and pull in right behind me.  And then, my brain goes in to scumbag mode.

It starts playing out all the possible scenarios and telling me how he's going to make them happen.  "Remember that beer you had at 8 o'clock?  I know it's 12:30 now, but I've been refusing to return your BAC to an acceptable level.  You're going to get a DUI in your driveway son.  Oh, you're nervous and need to play it cool?  How about I make your hands shake like you're trying to hide something.  I'll throw in a little voice-cracking too just to make sure it seems like you're lying.  My but this is fun.  How about I make you avoid eye contact too?  Perfect.  Should I just go ahead and start moving your arms behind your back to prepare for the cuffs?"

The officer hands my license and insurance back and says that he pulled me over for a burnt out license plate bulb.  He gives me a warning since I'm home safely and he leaves.  I walk inside, my exhaustion gone thanks to the last 5 minutes of my 60-minute drive.  I tell my brain to suck it while I slip into bed:

Thanks a ton Scumbag Brain.  It wasn't enough to belittle me in conversation earlier, now you're going to keep me awake too.

Sleddin' Hill

We haven't even celebrated Halloween yet, but I am already getting the family into the Christmas spirit this morning.  I always complain about how early the stores put out Christmas trees and decorations;  I saw a few companies setting out snow globes and ornaments during their Labor Day sales.  But, this year is different and it's all because of August Burns Red's Christmas Album "Sleddin' Hill".

I like to start my Monday mornings off right by waking up and then logging on.  Am I right Tom?

There usually isn't a lot happening on Monday mornings.  I browse through a News Feed full of people complaining about going to work and doing laundry, when...

     "what to my wandering eyes should appear,

     but an e-mail from Best Buy, announcing my cd is here"

Like any good father would do, I left my children strapped into their high chairs, eating their Honey Nut Scooters, as I trekked out to get the mail.  The slim cardboard package confirmed my hopes and I floated on a cloud of heavy metal happiness back to the house.

Inside, a large task waited for me.  Two days had passed since I last did any housework; even Stay At Home Dads need a break.  There were dirty clothes everywhere (check your news feed Facebook friends), trash, dishes, and remnants of some experiments with Halloween Cupcakes.  I figured it would be a long day of cleaning.

So I popped in Sleddin' Hill and began cleaning.   Thirty minutes later the house is clean.  Witness the power of heavy metal.

Mayhem Festival Concert Tips

I don't get out nearly as much as I'd like to (or need to), but I can almost always count on our yearly trip to the Rockstar Mayhem Festival.  I backed out last year thanks to 100 degree temperatures and this year looked like it was going to be the same way.  We had just set record high temps and the thought of standing outside all day on a concrete parking lot didn't seem very appealing.

When I'm at a heavy metal concert I want my face melted, not my rubber soles.  Lucky for us, it was overcast all day.  We hadn't received a drop of precipitation in almost three weeks and it looked like Satan was about to rain hell all over the amphitheater.   Thankfully, there was only the threat of rain, which was enough to keep us cool through the breakdowns and blast beats.

Festival Tips

The Parenting Dad isn't just about mildly helpful parenting advice, it's about bestowing knowledge upon all, so use these concert-going tips the next time you head out to a show.

Make it easy for your friends to find you.  With the amount of people attending these outdoor concerts, it's easy to get separated from your pack.  If you're a short fella, you may want to make yourself easily identifiable in the crowd.  Gel the gravity right out of your mid-back-length hair and gain a full heads-length above the competition.  Spiking your hair might not be enough; mo-hawks are not lacking at metal concerts.  You may want to consider painting a symbol on your "do" as our fine metal friend demonstrates in the picture above.

Wear your cargo shorts.  This will be the only time you use all twelve pockets.  Every band, label, and promotion company has their own tent.  Usually you can get free stuff like cd samplers, stickers, buttons, and more.  You don't want to have to carry your plunder around all day.  Stash it and move on to the next tent.  I came home with four Cd's, two stickers, an energy drink, and a 2XL t-shirt all tucked safely into my shorts.  When you're planning your concert-going attire, it's "Cargo or No-Go".

Wear a white t-shirt.   When it comes to metal t-shirts, black is usually the way to go, but you don't want to be in the sun all day wearing black.  White will reflect rather than absorb, keeping you cooler than your metal-tee wearing friends.  Also, sharpies don't show up well on black, as in, not at all.  Most bands do signings and while your black-shirted crew is buying up posters for the band to sign, you can just bust out your white tee with pride.  On a side note, posters don't fit well into cargo pants.

Bring your binoculars.  Unless you spring for seats, which we didn't do this year, your view of the main stage will probably be something like this.  You're not going to see much of anything other than what is displayed on the jumbo-tron.  Thanks be to the Sumerian Records Side Stage which is changing the festival experience.

Bring your camera.  You're going to want pictures to prove how awesomely close you were to the drummer (the most important member of any metal band), plus you can get some sweet videos of crowd surfing and moshing.  But most importantly, when you get to be a middle-aged parent of three, it's the only way you'll remember being there.

Sumerian Side Stage

Outdoor music festivals are a great place to get your money's worth out of a ticket.  At this year's Rockstar Mayhem Festival, I saw 15 bands for 30 dollars; that's two bucks a band.   You're not going to find a deal like that at smaller indoor venues. However, what you make up for in quantity, you often lose in quality.  The Sumerian Records side stage is working hard to change that.

Here's my view from the second stage:

The blurry-ness captures my actual view.

Pretty crap-tastic right?  I'd love to tell you who that is on stage.  I want to say it's Whitechapel, but from two miles away, I'm not entirely sure.  Most of the bands I cared about seeing played this stage, unfortunately, seeing them was the problem.  

I'm not one of those "get in the pit and try to love someone" concert-goers.  I'm one of those "stand back and let my face get melted" kind of guys that might nod his head a bit in approval of odd-time signatures and abrupt time changes.  I like to watch the band interact with each other and the fans; I'm a heavy metal voyeur and it's hard to voy from this far away.  Here's my view of the main stage:

This picture looks fairly close compared to where I was actually standing.  It's amazing how well the zoom works on my camera.  To give you a clue about how far away I actually was, take notice of the giant t.v. screen on the right side of the photo.  That's what those of us on the lawn were expected to watch the show through.  To put it another way, if I was playing golf and Tim Lambesis was the hole, this would be a 5 par round.  Not a great view for the voyeur.

As you can see, the quality of this concert so far is pretty lame.  I can barely make out the guitarists, I can't tell if anybody is even sitting behind the drums, and the bass players...well bassists don't really count.  Now here's the Sumerian Records Side Stage:

Now that's close.  If it wasn't for the huge security guard in front of me, I could have been on stage.  This is how metal shows should be seen.  It's easier to have your face melted when you can see the carnage up close and personal.  This can be accomplished at the other stages, but it's far harder.  You have to show up early, stand in the crowd all day, and slowly weasel your way to the front as others leave for drinks, bathroom breaks, and medical attention.  Even if you do make it to the front of one of the larger stages, the band is three to five feet above your head and you're still not going to see this:

I, The Breather

This is what metal shows are all about - holding the vocalist above your head while he screams unintelligibly into the microphone.

Upon A Burning Body

Metal shows are about one thing, i.e., interaction.  Personally, I flushed all the moshing, yelling, and crowd participation out of my system in my younger days, back when I could afford to go to five or six shows a year.  Now I'm lucky to get out of the house once a year for a concert, but when I do, I love watching the other metal-heads tearing it up in the pit.  It's not a concert until somebody is bleeding and the only blood I saw was at the Sumerian Records side-stage.

Heavy Metal - Kid Tested. Father Approved.

Let it be known that I hate toddler music.  That goes for music marketed at tweens and adolescents as well.  Enemy number one used to be Barney and all his mind-numbing songs.  No my good purple dinosaur, my ears do not hang low, nor do they wobble to and fro and I'm sure as hell not going to tie them in a knot or bow.  He has since lost his position to Kidz Bop.    Have you seen the commercials for these abominations?  The videos are even worse.  Check it out:


Lady Gaga is scary enough, I don't need to see tweens bouncing around and singing her songs to scare me even more.   I felt dirty the entire 45 seconds I managed to power through watching that video.  It's like watching the Toddlers and Tiaras rejects' slow demise into a world of backup dancers, alcoholism and porn movies.   Whatever messages these songs and videos send to our kids, they can't be good.  That's why I prefer to let my kids listen to metal.

Before you start warning me about the dangers of backwards masking, lead singers choking to death on their own vomit, and spandex, let me explain metal music to you.  There are two very simple categories that all metal music can be boxed in to.  Box 1 contains metal music with lyrics you can understand.  Box 2 contains those metal songs with growling, grunts, and unintelligible screams.  It is this second box of music that my kids have come to know and love.

The stuff my kids listen to may have a very horrible message, but let's face it, you can't really understand what the guy's saying anyway, so who cares?  I'd rather my kids listen to I Declare War or Cattle Decapitation than to any rap, pop, 70's tunes, or ninety percent of mainstream country that audibly glorifies, sex, drugs or rock and roll.  I don't want them "on the floor" shaking booty to J. Lo.  And line dancing, while harmless, makes you look like an idiot.  Chance are, if it's a dance that white folk invented, it's not worth dancing.

Metal music is great for road trips.  I keep at least one death metal cd in each vehicle.  When the kids start whining, I crank it up to 11 and they either fall asleep or start banging their head.  Either way, it overpowers the whining.  If you need help choosing a metal toddler music, here is a simple rule of thumb.  If you can't read the band's name then you most likely can't understand a word they're saying.

WARNING:Easy To Read!  DO NOT LET KIDS LISTEN!!!

I couldn't tell you what band this is, but if you see it in the store PICK IT UP!!!

Wouldn't it be nice to have a third box of metal music though?  A box full of both pounding double bass, ridiculous sweep picking guitar riffs, and wholesome lyrics that kids can sing along to?  I think Jim Breuer is on to something here:




So how about it I Declare War? You already did some Christmas Songs, I think an album of toddler music is the next logical step.