The Zombie Plan: A Hot Dad's Guide

Do you have a plan for when the zombies attack?

Please, people...don’t tell me that Halloween is the only time of the year that you think about zombies and the undead. C’mon now...surely you must realize that zombies that bring havoc to the land of the living at any time of the year. What will you do when it happens? Where will you go if you’re being chased by flesh-eating beings? How will you survive the impending apocalypse?

Well...I’ve got a plan. It’s not perfect, it’s not absolute, but it’s a plan. In fact, my girlfriend was a bit taken aback at knowing that I actually had a plan in place. Well...she’s gonna be in a world of hurt if she doesn’t at least have an escape route in the back of her mind.

So because you never know if somebody who will eventually be a zombie on my trail will read this (and use it to catch me later....duh!!), I’m not going to provide my detailed plan here. No, instead I’m going to help all of you by providing some very important tips on how to stay alive during a zombie apocalypse:

• Find water. I don’t know about you, but I have yet to see a movie where zombies could do ANYTHING involving water. So find a boat...a life raft, even...and seriously consider going to the nearest island to wait out the storm (so to speak). Of course, if this island has only trees and bugs then you might be in a bit of a jam when it comes to staying alive, so you might need more than just a boat in order to stay alive. Of course, if you don’t live anywhere close to water then you’re probably screwed if this plan is followed.
• Find weapons. Lots of ‘em. Guns...explosives...machetes...anything that can blow something up or cut something off. You’ll need it. Just remember there are only two places you can focus your attack on: the head and the knees. Everybody knows that zombies eat brains. The flip side of that is the fact that zombies will actually “die” if you destroy their brain. So always try to aim for the head each and every time. Of course, if the head isn’t an option then go for the knees. Why? You can out-run a zombie with only one leg. Trust me.
• Find a mall. Not only are there a LOT of resources there that are available for you in order to survive (food...water...those shoes you saw on Sex & the City), but there are normally a LOT of places to hide from the undead hordes that might be coming after you. Obviously, there may be some drawbacks like the distinct possibility that more and more zombies might surround the mall because it’s where they used to congregate when they were alive...but for the most part you’re probably in a pretty safe spot. BONUS: Pick a mall with a Wal-Mart or some outdoor specialty store for easier access to zombie-destroying weapons.
• Find old people. This may sound crass and horrific, but let’s face it: you don’t want to die, AMIRITE?? Do you really think a zombie cares if they’re chewing on flesh from somebody who’s 20 or 80? Nah. If you’re being chased by some flesh-eaters, your best bet is planning an escape route that runs past a senior citizen’s home. You may frown now, but you’ll thank me later.
• Find a remote area. Listen...most of the zombie hordes will spend weeks (possibly months) eating on the yummy flesh within the urban areas and cities. So if you live on a farm or in a suburban area, you’re probably in better shape than you think. Is it free of zombies? Well of course not...but it’s still better than being in a city where the undead will breed faster than Octomom in a sperm-donor clinic.
• Find a way to stay alive for 5 years. The suggestion is that bacteria will have eaten away at the zombies to the point that they cannot actually “survive” after 4-6 years. So if there has been a “zombie war” and you have found a way to self-sustain, then you’ve got a great chance at long-term survival.

Hey...I’m no expert. I’m sure there are ‘official’ websites and books out there that can tell you, in detail, what you need to know in order to completely survive the zombie apocalypse.

But don’t let the Halloween talk make you think this is the only time of the year that you need to think of a plan. Any good dad has a good zombie plan.

It’s just a given, isn’t it?

Guest Post - Sci-Fi Dad

Sometimes (originally, I was going to open with the word "often", but after perusing my archives in an attempt to quantify this fact I concluded that "sometimes" was more accurate) when I write about the time I spend with my daughter (such as our daddy-daughter dates or just playing with her toys), I get an email or a comment with a similar sentiment: that my actions now are establishing her expectations for other men in her life, or that I am teaching her what to look for in a man.

I fear that you give me far too much credit, dear reader, if you believe that. In all honesty, nothing could be further from the truth. I have no intention of defining what she should expect from men when she is older; I cannot even fathom her being older, let alone having any expectations of men. I appreciate the compliments - please don't misunderstand me and think otherwise - but you are praising me for something I had no intentions of doing.

The truth is that the motivation for that aspect of my parenting is far more basic. By the time I was eight or nine, both my father worked and my mother worked. When they weren't working, they were often out drinking (Dad) or sleeping (Mom). As a kid, I have many memories of wanting some of my parent's time but never actually getting it (or feeling like I didn't get enough). Combine that with what was, at best, a tenuous relationship with my father, and it is pretty clear where this explanation is headed.

I have long maintained that one's parenting style is based on how they were parented themselves. This is yet another example to prove my theory. I don't want my daughter to grow up feeling like she didn't get enough of my time. I want her to remember that I took the time for just the two of us to go out, that we played with toys she wanted to play with, that she felt like she and her happiness were important to me. I don't want her growing up knowing I love her; I want her to grow up feeling that I love her.

It will be the same with my son. I will take him out (admittedly I will not call them "dates") and I will play with whatever toys he wants to play with too (hopefully it's trucks and Lego; playing with dolls will be OK too, but I'd like a little break from the pink and the girly that his sister favours sometimes). I will not do it because I want to establish expectations for his future, I will do it for the same reasons I do it for my daughter: because they are my kids, and I love them.

I Am Indeed A Violin

"She'll pull you out on the river - she's gussied up like sin,
You got jack all squat - you're a violin
And you're gonna get played until the money's all gone
Dearly beloved, the fix is on..."

- "The Fix Is On" by Peter Mulvey, from the album The Knuckleball Suite

Yes, it's true, no matter how much I try to deny it.

I am a violin.

How do I know this? My daughter is a master violinist, and doesn't really know it yet. She plays me like nobody can, I'm powerless to stop it. It's like I'm Superman (don't laugh, please) and she is like this three and a half foot tall, almost five-year old block of kryptonite that has legs and can wheedle better than God.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm almost ten times older than her, I'm bigger/stronger/faster than her. I am adult with a job and rent and I can vote and drink beer anytime I want and drive* anywhere anytime...yet, somehow I can't resist the force of nature that is my Wee Lass.

I could say its because I just can't stand to hear whining, in any way shape or form. Especially that dentist-drill-in-the-form-of-a-kids-voice that so many of the kiddies are able to inflict on the world**. I could say its because the little kids are cute-cuddly-the-future-of-the-humna-race-blah-blah-blah...I could even say its because I am just a weenie who cannot muster the cojones to say no, just because I am the dad and I said so. And these are significant reasons why I am a violin.

But...the real reason is...I look at my daughter and she looks back at me with those impossibly beautiful eyes of hers and she smiles or does the "Happy Dance" and I say something that makes her laugh, and ohmygawd that laugh, that laugh can launch ships and cure the sick and it makes me want fall to my knees and kiss her feet because, because, because...

...she's my big pretty girl and I am dumbstruck***, in awe, totally flummoxed and grateful that I can be in her presence and know that I had something to do with bringing her into the world.

And that makes me a truly lucky man.

Happy Father's Day, to all the dads out there. Let us bow our heads and give thanks!

*But not when I've been drinking. That would be balls up stupid. Don't do it.

**Of course, that's why we have earphones. And beer.

***Some would just say "dumb" and leave it at that. Sigh.

For further proof that my name should probably be "Stradivarius", please check out more Wee Lass chronicles here and here. You'll see what I mean!

The Unsung Dad

Every other Friday, I write a column for my local newspaper. As luck would have it, my turn came up today -- two days before Father's Day. Here's what I wrote.

* * *

As a father for 11 years (that includes two years of raising a Labrador retriever puppy, which should be made a prerequisite for parenthood), I've found that society tends to view me and my fellow dads as second-class parents.

When fathers are absent from a family -- physically or emotionally -- everyone rages about how awful it is, especially for the children, and socioeconomic studies justify this. However, when we're there day in, day out "-- does anyone really notice? I mean besides at my daughter's dance school, where I'm usually the only male beyond the age of Huggies hanging around the waiting room.

I admit, this expectation to just be there is a bed that past fathers have made and that present and future fathers must lie in -- unless you revel in it, like Michael Lewis, the acclaimed author of "Moneyball." He writes all about his lack of interest and participation in being a third-time dad in the new book "Home Game: An Accidental Guide to Fatherhood." From what I've read in it, I'm not sure whether I feel sorrier for his kids or his wife.

I don't advocate the extreme of fathers walking around with fake pregnancy bellies and bemoaning their inability to breastfeed any more than I do them fulfilling the "Cat's in the Cradle" prophecy. There is a middle ground and I know several fathers today who stand firmly on it, through calm and earthquake alike. We help with the income, the housework, the schoolwork and our children's big questions in life such as "How can I get my Jigglypuff to evolve?" However, this role we generally perform under the radar, without a special "soccer mom"-like demographic label that marketers and politicians lust to capture, or the fanfare of an Oprah special edition on how we cope with having it all.

Dads -- pfft -- we can't even organize and promote ourselves. Am I right, ladies?

I admit that I occasionally feel slighted by the lack of general acknowledgment, but more and more I've come to accept my humble lot. This is because I've realized that the people who matter -- my wife and my children -- already know that dads are parents, too.

However, with Father's Day approaching, I'd like to offer some small appreciation to the other unsung fathers who quietly do their thing "-- in particular, my own.

Dad, thanks for all the years of providing me with shelter, food and a good life by working like a dog. Speaking of dogs, I know you tried many times to convince Mom to let me have one. It was a futile exercise, I know, but I appreciate you repeatedly going to bat for me.

On the subject of bats, thanks for all the catches and extra hitting practice over the years. I'm sure it all contributed to your need for rotator cuff surgery a few years back. Sorry. Thanks also for attending nearly all my games, especially junior year in high school when I spent the entire season warming up the pitchers in the bullpen.

Thanks for Sunday mornings. They started as post-church breakfasts at Friendly's, then became donuts from Beldotti Bakery, baseball cards and the New York Daily News. All influences on my life; not necessarily good ones, but special ones.

Thanks for The Talk before college and knowing that "don't be stupid" was all you needed to say.

Finally, thanks for not practicing birth control that one time, or else I couldn't thank you for anything at all.

* * *

Most of my columns (like my blog posts) garner little feedback. But late this morning, I found this e-mail in my inbox:

Beaver:

Thank you for the Shop-Vac and the cards. Right on!!
I read your editorial this morning and it made me cry!! But happy Son.
Look forward to tomorrow's game.

Your Dad

Yes, my dad does actually call me Beaver once in a while (as do some of my close friends).

Yes, I got my dad a new wet/dry vacuum for Father's Day (his was about 25 years old and still using the original filter).

And yes, I apparently choked the old man up.

Saturday, he'll come watch me coach my daughter's soccer team.

I think I'll be in for a hug.

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there -- hot and otherwise.

Instruction Guys

There are two types of guys in the world: those who read instructions and those who don’t.

I’m the former. If something comes with an instruction book, be it a new camera or a new car, I’m compelled to read the thing cover to cover. I want to know what my stuff does and how to make it do it. I like to squirrel myself away into a quiet corner of the house, crack open the book and read and tinker until I’ve hit the back cover. Every once in a while I usually call out to WonderWife™, “Do you know that [gadget] does [incredibly cool thing]?” And she calls back, “I don’t care!”

There are a lot of guys on the other side of the fence. Guys who don’t bother with instructions—either because they like to figure things out for themselves or they just don’t care enough about the bells and whistles to spend the time.

Kids don’t come with instructions, but there is a plethora of parenting books. Since I am an instruction guy, I have read my share. A few of my friends also went the book route. But there are some, not instruction guys, who went into this parenting thing blind. My experience with dads is that we don’t sit around swapping parenting tips. We will boast about our offspring and share battle stories, but advice between dads seems to be few and far between.

It’s easy to be an instruction guy. But how do non-instruction guys learn about this stuff?

--DGB

Do adults with children have friends?

I don’t know if I just have this whole adult/parent thing all jumbled up in my head…or if what this post is gong to (hopefully) be about is legitimate.

I’ve had conversations with Mariah before about this but it seems that I never really have my thoughts straight. I am talking about having friends. Do adults with children have friends? Are said parents just friends with whoever their kids’ friends’ parents are?

I don’t know if parents are supposed to have friends, in the same manner that they did before having kids. If they are, do they go out for a drink or to catch a movie with said friends? Or do they just sit and socialize while their respective kids are having ‘play dates?’

I know that as an adult and as a parent, that the mundane things like working, feeding, clothing and caring for your children top the priority list, but I still can’t help feeling friendless. There are a few guys (yes…they are parents of some of our kids’ friends) that I like and love to ‘hang’ with. But with all of our personal and kids’ schedules all it ever seems to be is 15 minutes of shooting the shit while picking up or dropping off a kid. Is that they way it is supposed to be? Am I diluted to think that more is to be expected?

I suppose that it is not that big of a deal right now due to the fact that I do not have the time in the evening…or the money to go grab a few beers and catch a movie with my dad friends…but if I did…is that what people do?

A few months ago I tried to set up a guys’ poker night at my house. I wanted to start with a few guys once a month. After emailing 7 neighborhood dads…I got one that said he could do it…not the makings of a good poker night. I guess I just need to admit defeat and disregard my thoughts of having friends outside of our kids’ world.

No matter how many times I tell the kids, “It is not all about you!” I am the one that is full of shit. It IS all about the kids. I guess I am answering my own original question here and now am starting to understand that whole mid-life-crisis thing. Suck it up, do the kid thing and then once the kids are out of the house and off in the world making their marks…that is when we (parents) begin to reclaim our lives and try to pick up where we left off (before kids.)

Don’t get me wrong…I love the kids and love doing everything that I can to make them happy and loved. This has just been one of those nagging things bouncing around in the back of my skull for a while. …I guess I have rambled enough about this and if it made no sense to you…..whatever…I feel better just getting it out.

You know me….just peeing in the wind!!!!

A Hot Dad Alone

Here is a list of things a Hot Dad does when his family is out of town and he’s left home alone for an extended period of time:

1. Go directly from the airport to the supermarket.
2. Buy a big steak and a case of Guinness.
3. Go home and fire up the TV. Do not turn it off.
4. Crank the volume on the sound system.
5. Start drinking.
6. Use the bathroom with the door open.
7. Smoke a cigar on the back porch (shower afterward optional).
8. Play music really loud through the house, especially any songs with “explicit” lyrics that normally can’t be played in front of the young ‘uns.
9. Grill every meal.
10. Memorize number for food places that deliver.
11. Sleep in late.
12. Strut around nude.
13. Don’t shave (weekend only).
14. Movie marathon / Sports all of the time (depending on your preference).
15. Showers optional (weekend only).
16. Watch porn wherever you damn well please.
17. Do laundry only when necessary.
18. Food shop only when necessary.
19. Leave dishes in the sink (because you can).
20. Hook video game system up to the good TV. Play whenever the urge strikes.
21. Cold Chinese food for breakfast.
22. Cold pizza for breakfast.
23. Don’t make the bed.
24. Poker night.
25. Miss his wife and kids.

How about you? What do you do when given the gift of solitude?

-DGB