feis dad

feis dad stepping down

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 23:48:00 +0000

As many of you have already guessed by my lack of posting in the last year, I have hung up my feis dad shoes for good. Yep, this feis dad is done! Finished. Completed. Finale. Over. Ended. Kaput. Okay, that’s all Word gave me in the Thesaurus.

But the end to this segment in my life is not all jumps and cries of joy. Okay, mostly it is, but some aspects of leaving this behind saddens me.

Both of my daughters really enjoyed it. The dancing was good for them and feis people are good people. I know my wife surely misses it. All the talk about dresses, hair, wigs, shoes … come on, this is like having a living Barbie Doll that you can dress up and take to the dance!

My daughters are pursuing other interests now, and I encourage that. There is absolutely no accordion music allowed during a tennis match! Woohoo!

I would like to say thanks to all the feis dad fans out there. Your support was fantastic. I had a lot of fun. You have a great sense of humor (at least most of you :-), are able to take a joke and laugh at yourself.

To all the current and future feis dads, you have my sympathy and my respect. Keep supporting your daughters (and your sons) though all the accordion music, dance lessons, solo dresses, wigs, heavy shoes and dancing injuries as best you can. You make a big difference in your children’s life. Enjoy it while you can. I will leave this blog up for the foreseeable future to try and help any future feis dads that may need some of my advice.

As for me, I’m on to other things too. I’ve started an outdoor adventure website at www.experience-az.com. If you like Arizona and the outdoors, you’ll want to stop by for a look.

Okay, enough of the serious stuff. I’m off to find another place to explore. Oh, and if there’s anyone playing accordion music there. They better watch out, I’m carrying a baseball bat that’s just itchin’ to create some accordion kindling …

feis dad

Feis dads throughout history

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 00:27:00 +0000

Just in time to celebrate the 4th of July, I’d like to continue our nation’s policy of incorrectly teaching history to the our children. I’m going to do my part with a new series called Feis Dads Throughout History. Or for those who know me better, A bunch of Crap I Made up in my Spare Time. Either way you look at it, why don’t you join me as I take a stroll down history lane in honor of some of our nation’s most famous feis dads? If you’re actually reading this blog, it’s not like you’ve got anything more important to do, right?

Okay, let’s get strolling. I thought I’d might as well start off big. With the Number One Feis Dad of our country: President George “Wigman” Washington. What? You didn’t know ol’ Georgie was a feis dad? You bet. One of the best. History seems to have forgotten this important aspect of our first President.

George "Wigman" Washington

Back George’s day, Irish dancing and going to feisana was all the rage (sort of like going to the mosh pit when we were young). And George’s little girls did their part too. It was Irish dance this, Irish dance that, Irish dance till George wanted to puke. But George was a good feis dad and supported their addiction. He paid for lessons, helped powder their wigs and spent his weekends at local fesiana (video games wouldn’t be generated for another fifty years so he had nothing better to do).

Not only was he a great feis dad, but what most people don’t know was that it was his affinity toward Irish dance that sparked America’s declaration of independence. And you thought it was about tea and taxation without representation? Not hardly. No one really cares about tea. Not back then, not now (except for the British, but their opinion doesn’t count ever since they made Mr. Bean movies). In reality, the colonists didn’t have a Boston Tea Party, but a Boston Wig Party.

Here’s what really happened. A ship carrying a fresh load of the new “Martha” Irish dance wigs anchored in Boston harbor. But the British evil bad guys, wanted to tax the wigs. Well, being the upstarts we were back then, we flatly refused. The British, not used to having one of their colonies talk back to them, had a little bit of a temper tantrum. They dressed up as Native American's and tossed every last one of those wigs overboard. It was horrible. Over two hundred innocent and curly wigs were thrown into the sea that dark night. All drowned.

The Boston Wig Party

As you might imagine, the colonial dancing daughters and feis moms were furious. They were so mad they demanded our founding fathers do something right then. Our founding fathers, being our founding fathers, decided to take swift and decisive action. They went to the local pub and drank a few pints of dark beer in unrivaled joy that they need not spend another Saturday at a feis listening to accordion music that not even their goat intestine ear plugs could drown out.

Then Mr. Party Pooper (that’s what the founding fathers called ‘ol Georgie before he became famous) told them they had to declare their independence from the evil British or his wife was going to nag him to death. The founding fathers drank a toast to George and silently wished he’d mind his own darn business. But he didn’t and they reluctantly declared their independence and brought up arms against the British.

Initially, those dang Redcoats won battle after battle and our fight for independence looked grim. But once again, Old Georgie came to the rescue. The British didn’t expect him to cross the Delaware River and kick their butts in a little town called Trenton or his army to survive the winder at Valley Forge. But he did. And his secret to success? You guessed it, Irish dance wigs. Our founding father’s dancing daughters saw the nation was in trouble and they donated their old Irish dance wigs to the cause (their old “Elizabeth” wigs were so last century). Washington found that not only did they make an excellent insulating material which kept his army from freezing to death at Valley Forge, but they could be turned into the world’s first WMDs (Wigs of Mass Destruction). His use of wigs during the war gained him the nickname, Wigman Washington. So, it was Washington and his infamous Wigs of Destruction that won the Revolutionary War and for whom we owe our independence. Your teachers didn’t teach you that in school, did they?

Kudos to them.

Washington and his troops keep warm with wigs at Valley Forge

Washington letting his wig fly in the wind as he crosses the Deleware

Cannon firing a WMD

The terrible results of using WMD's against the British

Well, we’ve now reached the end of this history lesson and I’m sure you’ve learned more than you ever wanted to know about our first President and why I shouldn’t drink shots NyQuil while writing a blog.

For our next dive into history, we’ll study the life and times of Confucius (China’s most famous feis dad) and see if the little twerp had any insight into one's daily life.

--feis dad

More cluelessness

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Tue, 11 May 2010 03:04:00 +0000

You can take the feis dad out of Irish dance, but you can’t take the cluelessness out of feis dad. Truer words have never been written, particularly considering what happened yesterday.

Here’s a true story. My wife and dancing daughters went to see a movie and do some shoe shopping for Mother’s Day, giving me the afternoon off at home. After the movie, they called and asked me to call the Olive Garden restaurant for call-ahead reservations at 5:00 pm. Being the efficient father and husband I am, I did just that.

At precisely 4:45, I left home and drove toward my place in history as a true bonehead. Ten minutes later, I turned into the large shopping center containing Wal-mart, DSW, Best Buy, a movie theater, Olive Garden and Red Lobster.

At this point, my daughter called me and asked where I was. I told her I was just coming up on Olive Garden and would be there in less than a minute. She told me they were just leaving DSW and would be there shortly after me.

Not concentrating on where I was going, I pulled into the first restaurant looking building. I parked, strode confidently into the building and announced my name to the hostess and told her that I had called ahead for a table for four. She gave me a strange look and told me that had a bunch of tables open.

I told her I would wait for the rest of my party in the waiting area instead of going to the table (which happened to be the only smart thing I did the entire afternoon). As I waited in near the hostess table, I walked over to the lobster tank and looked at the poor lobsters.

Hmmm, I thought, when did Olive Garden get a lobster tank? I wondered if they were having a lobster special. Seemed like a strange thing for Olive Garden to do, but what do I know about the restaurant business?

After a few minutes of waiting and watching the lobster, an older couple left the restaurant and I heard (or thought I heard) the hostess say, “Thank you for coming to Red Lobster.”

At this point (actually WAY before this point) something should have clicked in my brain, but nothing did. I just though I’d misheard her.

I went back to watching the lobster. Poor things. I was glad I didn’t like lobster. I didn’t want to think about me sending them to a pot of boiling water. I looked at my watch. 5:05. Where was my family? It shouldn’t have taken them this long to come over from DSW. Had they gone back inside to do some more shoe shopping? I was going to have to give them a hard time about being late.

Then a family walked by me on their way out the door.

“Thank you for coming to Red Lobster,” the hostess said again. This time I was SURE that’s what she’d said. What in the heck was going on? Did she forget that she was in Olive Garden? Did she have two jobs? One at Red Lobster, the other at Olive Garden. Or maybe she was just playing a joke on these poor people leaving Olive Garden.

I shook my head. Boy, people can be REALLY stupid sometimes.

The hostess walked by me. She didn’t look all that stupid. Why would she be saying, “Thank you for coming to Red Lobster.”

Then it all hit me. The lobster tank. The maritime pictures. The fried fish smell. The Red Lobster name tags.

Yep, sometimes people can be REALLY stupid. And it just so happens that this was MY time! I thought that at this point Bill Engvall would come up to me and hand me MY sign.

As red-faced as the lobster in the tank, I made a quick exit, looked up at the sign over the door, just for confirmation. Yep, Red Lobster.

I had been in there for almost 15 minutes! I got on my cell phone. My family was sitting in Olive Garden, wondering where I was. Wow. I know where I was physically, but mentally, I’m not so sure.

I can’t even blame this one on Irish dance. This one was all me.

Feis dad

Feis dad Irish dance suggestions

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 02:58:00 +0000

As all of you should know by now, I haven’t a clue. I’m a typical feis dad. It’s not that we don’t care, we do. It’s just that our brains can’t grasp all the finer details of Irish dance. Okay, truth be told, most of us even have problems with the big picture items.

Recently, I was talking with my family about which dances my daughter should be dancing at the next feis (well, they were talking, I was trying to listen and understand) and it amazed even me how much I didn’t know about something my daughters have been involved in for three years. Or has it been five? Maybe it’s only been a few months. Heck, I don’t know…

What do I know? I know there are two groups of dances. One is done with a soft shoe; the other is done with a shoe that makes all that darn racket. I believe these shoes are called the steel lined, concrete filled, noisy, loud, obnoxious shoes, or in short, the noisy, loud, obnoxious shoes. But that’s just a guess on my part.

Other than that, the names and distinctions between different kinds of dances somehow eludes me. The only dances I know the names of are St. Patty’s Day, a jig and a slip reel. Or are they called a reel and slip jig? Or was it a slip pig? Maybe a reelly slippery pig. Ha! Now that would be a fun dance to watch!

Oh, who knows. Clearly not me.

But as bad as that is, even if I knew the NAMES of the dances, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. When I watch my daughters dance, no matter how hard I try, I still can’t tell the difference between a reel and a jig. But that shouldn’t surprise anyone. Men just aren’t that observant when it comes to those kinds of things.

For example, most men don’t notice when their wife gets her hair done. Not even if she gets 6 inches chopped off, a perm and is now blonde. My wife gets upset when she has to tell me these things. And to tell you the truth, I don’t really know if she’s pulling my leg or not. Did she really get a haircut? I can’t remember what her hair looked like twenty minutes ago, never mind yesterday. When she tells me it used to be long, straight and black, I just have to shrug and believe her.

It took a friend of mine FOUR DAYS to notice that his wife and kids had taken a vacation without him. And that’s only because my wife called me from Disneyland and I was still at home. I’d wondered why I’d been able to watch sports on TV without anyone complaining lately.

This same guy, however, spotted a typo in the second significant digit to a baseball player’s ERA within two seconds of it being displayed on ESPN’s Sports Center. Go figure.

What’s my point in all this you ask? Good question as I’ve already forgotten.

Ten minutes later and after asking wife for point of blog post...

Oh yeah, it’s about making the dances interesting to feis dads so we can remember them. If you want a feis dad to pay attention, the dances must be something he can relate to. Here are a few suggestions:

THE JACKIE CHAN JIG: This dance would be full of awesome karate, tae kwon do, jujitsu, ninja (and any other cool Japanese word) moves that really kick butt. Also, the dancers would have to perform while speaking cheesy dialogue which no one understands.

THE CLEAN YOUR ROOM SET: This dance mimics all the moves that are made when one cleans their room (which of course none of our daughters know). With time and lots of practice, they will learn moves like the Pick Up Your Dirty Clothes Kick, Take Out the Smelly Trash Cut, the Sweep the Messy Floor Jump and the Throw Out The Old Pizza Box Twirl. Although this dance is a parental favorite, teenagers loath it and you’ll be lucky to see them perform it once a year.

THE FISHING REEL: This dance involves sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair for hours on end while waiting for freakin’ anything to bite. Dancers will have to master the following positions: slouched in chair, sleeping in chair, scratching butt in chair, drinking beer in chair and finally folding up chair and going home empty handed. But it’s not all static poses. One lucky dancer will actually get to perform the “reel”. This is done by furiously acting like she’s reeling in the BIG ONE. After ten minutes of this she realizes it was just an old boot, spends ten minutes furiously swearing, ten minutes furiously packing everything back up in the truck and, finally, ten minutes furiously lying to all the guys down at the pub about the BIG ONE that got away.

Lastly, this is for adult Irish dancers only: THE POLE DANCE is anything that involves a pole, loud music and enough cigarette smoke to choke the state of New Jersey.

Yep, if a typical feis had these dances, we might just remember more about them. But, then again, maybe not, I can’t even seem to remember where I put my keys when I’m getting ready for work, or if I put my pants on. Either of which makes showing up to work a dicey situation.

Another painful admission

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 00:35:00 +0000

Everyone who knows me should've seen this coming. It was only a matter of time.

So I'm just going to come out and say it. Yes, Jesse James DID hit on me when he came to Tucson for a promo tour for Monster Garage while Sandra was filming The Blind Side. And, no, it wasn't pretty.

I was out in my garage, working on my hog. It was hot and I wasn't wearing my shirt and I was sweaty and my tattoos were gleaming in the desert heat. Too much for ol' Jesse to resist.

What? You didn't know I had a few tats? Come on, I spent over ten years in the military. They're required. So, during basic training I got one or two. No big deal. As you can plainly see, it's only when I don't have my shirt on that you can tell I've got a few tattoos.

But Jesse saw them and went a little crazy. I told him no, no, no, no. That's when poor Jesse settled for second best: Ms. Bombshell.

I feel bad for Sandra. I really do. Maybe if she would have gotten a few tattoos like Jesse had wanted. No, your right, he's a jerk. It wouldn't have helped.

-- feis dad

feis dad of the opera

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 18:44:00 +0000

I guess someone associated with the San Diego Opera read my last post. And, unbelievably, instead of being really, really angry, they were just plain angry. They emailed me, I emailed them back. They called me. I listened to their voicemail. Then, a few days ago, we actually got to communicate with each other the old-fashioned way. By that I mean, we texted each other.

Anyway, long story, short: we came to an agreement. My dissatisfaction for the opera not only comes from my lack of sophistication, intelligence and upbringing, but my lack of knowledge. If I knew the inner workings of what made up an opera (and maybe could speak French), I might learn to appreciate it more.

They suggested the best way to learn more about operas was to actually participate in one. This came as quite a shock to me, until I realized that there must not be a huge pull in today's society to be an opera star.

Dad: "Son, what would you like to do when you get older?"

Son: "I don't know, dad. I'm only twelve."

Dad: "You've got to start planning now. Maybe you could be a fireman or policeman?"

Son: "Don't make enough money, pops."

Dad: "How about an engineer?"

Son: "I'd rather be a trash collector or an accordion player."

Dad: "Yeah, you're right. Whatever you do, don't be an engineer."

Son: "How about a football or basketball star? Maybe play baseball? They make the big bucks and get all the hot chicks."

Dad: "Even better, you could sing in the opera."

Son: "You're an idiot."

Dad: "Yeah, I'm an engineer."

Irregardless, they wanted me to take a shot at it. I guess they're thinking maybe we could bring in the Irish dancing crowd? Drive up attendance by 75% or more. So, I've signed up to do a one night gig next fall in one of the biggest operas around. Here's the promotional posters they created.

I'm thinking I'm a shoe in for an Oscar. No, that's movies. Maybe a Grammy. No, that's for real music. Well, maybe they'll give me a hot Krispy Kreme donut or two.

Yum.

feis dad

Feis dad goes to the opera

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 03:11:00 +0000

Last weekend I traded in my dancing shoes for a pair of Z-Coils and spent three days in San Diego as a chaperone with my oldest daughter’s band and choir class. Yep, feis dad became band dad for a weekend.

At first, I thought I was trading up. No accordion music. No curly wigs. No obscenely bright dresses.

Then came the night at the opera.

You haven’t experienced pain, real pain, until you’ve gone to an opera with over 120 extremely tired middle-schoolers. Actually, the kids were probably the best part of the experience. They were well behaved and most took it in stride. This was accomplished by a stern lecture on opera etiquette by their band director … and the fact that they slept through most of the show. As did the adult chaperones.

We had all gotten up early that day for music camp and an afternoon at the San Diego zoo, so everyone was exhausted by the time we got to the opera. But you can’t blame it all on the zoo (not even with all those darn hills).

Some amount of responsibility must fall on anyone who has ever been involved in producing an opera. Come on, singing a story? Really? And to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet?? In French??? And did I mention it was three-and-a-half hours long? It took the actor/singers thirty long minutes to die in the final act. I could hear the nearby kids mumbling, “Just die already!”

An opera on Shakespeare? Get real. Shakespeare is bad enough when you have to read it. But singing it? And in French. Why French? If I recall my history correctly, Shakespeare was English and opera is an Italian thing. Maybe the producers thought it would give it an “artsy” feel?

Sorry, just because you sing the story in a different language doesn’t make it any better. Watching Knight Rider reruns dubbed in German doesn’t really add anything to an already bad show. Maybe a few hundred years ago this would have been fun, but now we’ve got Xbox and Youtube.

All this said, I tried to watch it with an open mind. Maybe I was wrong? It’s happened before. Maybe I would be pleasantly surprised …

Nope.

I would say it held my interest for about … say ten seconds. Now, I know what a lot of you are saying, that I lack sophistication, class and proper hygiene. All of which is true. But in my defense, just because something used to be popular centuries ago doesn’t mean it’s still worthwhile and we should continue to support it.

Let me give you a few examples:

The practice of sacrificing virgins to appease an angry god. Yeah, the guy who thought this one up was a real Einstein. It’s like burning your best crops before you get to eat them. Aren’t you glad we don’t do this anymore? Instead of a night at the opera, we could have gone to a “Night Sacrificing Virgins into the Volcano of Death,” which would have been a real bummer for those who were selected for this honor (though the bus ride home would have been less crowded).

The practice of Castrato. Not too many years ago, the Europeans castrated young boys before their voice changed in order to preserve their ability to hit those really high notes. Yeow. It hurts even writing about it. And these kids didn’t really have a choice in the matter. This was decided by their parents who had been brain washed to think it was an honor or they wanted to get rich off their kids possible fame. Where did this fame come from? You guessed it. The opera. And I thought it was painful just watching it. And the worst thing about all this? These boys weren’t able to pass down their incredible voices to future generations. Yesh. Talk about a no-win situation.

The practice of watching The Lawrence Welk Show every Sunday night. I personally remember this ritual. We’d finish dinner early, just so we wouldn’t miss anything. My grandmother would take her spot on her chair, gently place her full set of dentures down on the TV tray and watch the show in complete rapture for an hour as Lawrence, the Champagne Lady and the polka accordionist strutted their stuff. I’d have to watch in silence, all the while thinking that when I grow up, I was never going torture my kids in the same way. The good news: I’ve been able to keep my promise. The bad news: I’m still the one being tortured. Unfortunately, The Lawrence Welk Show has been replaced by American Idol, which my kids love and is far worse than anything Mr. Welk could dish out.

As you can plainly see, some of the old ways are best kept in the past. Just as there is no reason for virgin sacrifice in today’s world, the same can be said for the opera. And at $50 for the nose bleed seats, this isn’t the cheapest way to get a good nap (this distinction is held by any episode of The Bachelor or Bachelorette).

Now, I’m not saying these people aren’t talented. I’m sure the lead woman performer could break glass with her voice. Which she seemed to try to do repeatedly. But, again, is this something we want to encourage? I can make extremely disgusting sounds with my hand and armpit, but you don’t see me doing it up on a stage for a bunch of people in Tuxedoes do you? And listening to her hit those high pitches was like having a root canal. Without Novocain. On the wrong tooth.

To be fair, there are a few positive aspects of going to the opera.

- Twenty-minute intermissions between acts

- They sell beer. Drinking alcohol would probably make the whole thing a lot more fun (though, being a chaperone, I wasn’t allowed to indulge this time)

- The sets were fairly cool (what I could see from four freakin’ stories up)

- And, finally, no accordion music

Hmmmm… I guess it wasn’t that bad after all …

Here’s a clue: I don't have a clue

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 03:53:00 +0000

Last weekend I drove my two dancing daughters to Albuquerque for a feis all by myself. Let me say that again for those who didn’t grasp the significance of the last sentence. ALL BY MYSELF. No feis mom along. Nada. Zip. Zero.

I believe this was a huge accomplishment in my life. Sort of like my first time wearing big boy pants and leaving the comfort of my diapers behind (which, truth be told, wasn’t that long ago). Yep, I did it all by myself.

That being said, I’m surprised nobody died.

Nevertheless, what amazed me most was that people were coming to me, asking questions about the feis. Me. Yeah, right. I haven’t a clue.

This is how I usually ride out a feis.

As you can see, even without feis mom here, I had a chance to “rest my eyes” for a few minutes while another feis mom helped my DD’s with their hair. I think it worked out for the best. For some reason, they weren’t keen on my idea of using duct tape to secure their slinky wigs of doom. Go figure.

Anyway, after I helped get them ready (by not helping) for the feis, we moved down to the ballroom and I immediately took up the following position:

Now, any sane person would look at me intently playing ATV Race on his daughter’s iPod Touch (I can’t afford my own since I just bought two new solo dresses) and think, “This guy doesn’t have a clue,” right? Then why in the heck would people bother to ask me questions?

One guy, possibly even more clueless than me, started asking me about taking pictures during the feis. If he’s reading this, I have to apologize. Up to this point in my life, I hadn’t won a single game in ATV Race and I was hot on the tail of the leader. So, I tried to answer his questions and still race at the same time, with about 95% of my concentration going toward the race. The conversation lasted about two minutes, with me mumbling some sort of answer while twisting convulsively to trying to speed around the ATV in front of me. The whole encounter didn’t turn out well and he went away unfulfilled. Again, sorry, but you should know better. I haven’t a clue.

But he wasn’t the only one. Other people (who evidently thought I had a clue) were asking me for directions, opinions on the judges and whether or not so-and-so danced better than another so-and-so. FYI. I can’t tell the difference between a slip jig, hornpipe and the macarena and to me a “good” dance is anytime someone doesn’t fall down. That’s about the limit of my expertise on the subject. Again, I haven’t a clue.

If this wasn’t crazy enough, a feis mom who I know well (and who should have known better) asked me, “How long do you think the awards will take?” I gave her an incredulous that said, “You’re asking me?” She quickly recovered from her significant lapse of judgment and decided she might do better by asking someone (or something) with more of a clue … like the pool boy or a chair.

Other than those pesky questions, I think the weekend went fairly well. My daughters made it to all their dances and they even placed in a few. Although I’m convinced their success was mainly due to my attention to detail, my dancing advice and my over abundance of energy, the next time I’ll let my wife do the honors. I might take the weekend and do something a little less stressing … like running a marathon or donating a kidney.

Proof of Jessica

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Fri, 11 Dec 2009 14:26:00 +0000

I've received a stack of email higher than Lyndsay Lohan after a night out partying asking for proof regarding Jessica Simpson. Feis dad readers found it difficult to believe that 1) she can sing, 2) she was once a brilliant physics student and 3) she lost that brilliance. Curiously, no one had trouble believing I had once been her backup dancer.

I'll address each question individually, starting with the hardest first.

1) Can she sing? Well, that's a matter of opinion. Unfortunately for Jessica, the majority of the opinion says "no." Those offering a different view tend to be adolescent boys, unmarried men and feis dads. This being said, I can not offer any substantial proof that she can actually sing. I have seen her perform and she looks good doing it, but I haven't a clue as to whether the words escaping her mouth isn't anything more than an awful screeching.

2) Was Jessica once a brilliant physics student? Yes. When I met her in college, she was on top of her class. She was acing all her tests and all her professors loved her (she was a favorite among the TA's). Here's one of the many examples of how she could easily solve a physics problem.

Jessica nails the test: A+

3) Did Jessica lose her brilliance? Most definitely. Once she began "singing" and dating Nick, her brain power dropped faster than the stock market did two years ago. Here are some of her test results (which are now infamous on the internet) showing just how low she had become.

As you can see, Jessica no longer had the brain power to solve complex mathematical problems, or talk without sounding like a complete idiot. For some reason, she also kept signing her name as "Peter" which no one could ever figure out why.

What does all of this mean? I haven't a clue. I can't seem to put two comprehensive sentences together at a time (though I blame my loss of cognition on over exposure to accordion music and curly wigs).

-- feis dad

feis dad confession # 2

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 06:26:00 +0000

Due to the overwhelming number of questions emailed to me regarding the last post, I thought it might be prudent to provide the answers:

1. Yes, it is true. Although I’m ashamed to admit it, I did “experiment” while I was in college. And on more than one occasion.

As many of you know, I attended an engineering school in which 98% of the students were male and 1% were female. The other 1% could never be determined. Anyway, I was a nerd who felt awkward around women. So … naturally, I “experimented.” Usually, this was done during class with other students and a TA.

My first taste of experimenting was during Chemistry 101 lab when I conducted numerous experiments on fluids, gases and solids. I also took a materials class where I experimented with concrete, steel and wood.

Being more of a theoretical student I wasn’t good at all this experimenting and my lab reports really stunk.

Mad Scientist feis dad

And that’s about all the “experimenting” I’ve done. I’m glad to finally get that off my chest.

What? Come, on. Were you expecting something else?

2. Yes, I admit that a long time ago, Jessica Simpson and I were more than just friends.

We met while I was in college after a long day experimenting (see above) in my Chemistry lab. I bumped into her at the engineering library. She was studying quantum physics and we hit it right off.

I enjoyed the depth of her understanding of the origins of the universe while she liked the way I looked in my T-shirt and my graceful way of moving.

As you can imagine, one thing led to another and yep … you guessed it. I became her backup dancer when she decided to drop advanced physics for a “singing” career. We had a great time dancing together until NICK came along. And we all know how well that worked out.

Jessica and feis dad -- perfect dance partners

We’re still friends, and sometimes she calls me to discuss higher order equations, but that’s about it.

Anyway, there you have it. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it (at least until I dream up something better).

--feis dad

Feis Dad Confession # 1

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 02:17:00 +0000

Okay, Okay, I can't keep this to myself anymore. Now, with the fourth possible woman coming clean on having an affair with Tiger Woods, it's time for my shameful admission. Sometimes you just have to admit to something so you can be free from the guilt.

I've known Tiger Woods for about five years. Jessica Simpson, another close friend of mine, introduced us and we've been best buds ever since.

Jessica Simpson, Tiger Woods and Feis Dad having a great time together

And it's been a good five years. You know, when he comes to play golf, he calls me up and we hit the bars for a good time. He talks about golf, I talk about curly wigs. All of which makes it even harder to admit that, I, feis dad, have NOT had an affair with Tiger Woods. From the past few days headlines, I guess I'm one of the few.

--fes dad

'Twas the Night Before Oireachtas

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 02:47:00 +0000

'Twas the night before Oireachtas, and all through the room,
Not a dancer was stirring in the pre-party gloom;

The poodle socks were placed in the dance bags with care,
Right next to curly wigs made from 20 lbs of fake hair;

The ceili dancers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of recalls danced in their heads;

And feis mom in her school polo, and I with my school cap,
Had just settled down for a much needed nap;

When out on the dance floor there arose such a clatter,
That I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter;

Away through the lobby I flew like a flash,
Stubbed my big toe which left a large gash;

The Oireachtas dance floor was cast in a glow,
Bright lights illuminating as t’were part of a show;

Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a man dressed in black, holding a pint of Guinness beer;

With feet of flames moving so fast-ly,
I knew in a moment it must be Michael Flatley;

In with our team of ceili dancers he came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Tuleagh! Now, Jennifer! Now, Lexi! Now, Delaney and Kayley!
On, Natalia! on Lauren! on, Dani and Sydney!

To the stage! To the stage! To the podium, please stand!
Now first place! First place! I want you to land!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
The dancers went to work, their jumps meeting the sky;

Each dancer was so graceful and neat,
As they did cuts and kicked their seat;

And then, in a rush, I heard on the floor,
The banging and pounding of two shoes doing more;

As I drew in my breath, and was turning around,
Out on the floor St. Mick(ael) came with a bound;

He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his feet,
And his pants were so tight, my wife was in for a treat;

With a beautiful adult dancer held in each arm,
Who couldn’t resist his smooth Irish charm;

His eyes – how they sparkled – his ego so grand,
He believed himself the best dancer in the land!

His mouth was drawn up in such a wide grin,
That I knew in my heart our team would win;

He performed a solo from Lord of the Dance,
While feis moms from all over watched his pants;

His shirt split open revealing a large round belly,
That shook and rolled like a bowlful of jelly;

He was becoming chubby and plump, a right fat old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, ‘spite the weight I’d gained myself;

A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Told the team they had nothing to dread;

For their dancing and team spirit, he sure was proud,
And to make sure they listened for the cheers from the crowd;

During his finale, one last big jump,
He fell to the floor with a horrific thump;

Then he sprang to his feet and gave the team a wave,
For all the practice, hard work and energy they gave;

With a grand flourish he danced to the door,
Got stuck from all the pints he drank like a bore;

Then I heard him exclaim, ere he got unstuck,
"Happy Oireachtas to all, and to all good luck!"

Close up view of True Feis Dad

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 02:48:00 +0000

Okay, last time we saw how to recognize a true feis dad at a feis or performance. Now, let's take a closer look. All feis dads carry emergency equipment to get them through. Using my special X-ray and close up cameras, I'm able to highlight some of this equipment for you. Here's our typical feis dad all decked out in his feis survival gear, so let's start with number 1 and go all the way to number 9 (if you dare).

Number 1: The iPod. This is basic feis dad survival equipment. Feis dads can download all their favorite tuneage (AC/DC, Kiss, The Partridge Family’s Greatest hits, and Air Supply) to their iPod and tune out all of that accordion music. I think this feis dad’s playing some awesome Tiffany tunes!

Number 2: Earplugs. A true feis dad expects the best, but plans for the worst. He's horrified by the possibility that his iPod’s batteries might die or feis his dancing daughter would snag it from him while she’s waiting to dance her special. If anything happens to his iPod, he reaches into his pocket and stuffs his trusty earplugs into his ears for some peaceful silence. Sometimes, he might put his earplugs in before the iPod, because you can only take so much Air Supply before you blow chunks.

Number 3: Favorite Magazine. Two things at a feis that a real feis dad wouldn’t be caught dead without: his favorite magazine and his favorite underwear. Fortunately, we won’t go into the second thing. You’ll spot feis dads carrying magazines about cars, trucks, motorcycles, mountain bikes, football, baseball, the SI swimsuit edition, and the lyrics to Air Supply’s greatest hits. He might even read them if he gets really bored.

Number 4: See-thru-curly-straw. As we saw in the last post, some feis dads like to partake in a barley pop or similar drink to help pass the time. And we all know, feis dads LOVE to have fun. What could be more fun than a see-thru-curly-straw? Nothing. The more twists, turns and curls the better. Feis dads can watch these things for hours! Who would have thought 95 cents could bring so much pure amusement?

Number 5: Bellybutton lint. Eeeww. That’s just gross. Using my special X-ray camera, we can see what’s under feis dad’s shirt. Now, this nice piece of shirt lint may not be something feis dad intends to bring to the feis with him, but it’s going to be there, and there's nothing you can do about it. You can pick the fuzz-fruit in the morning and by noon, it’s grown baaaaackk. But please, for everyone else's sake, don’t pick it at the feis, that’s bad feis etiquette (pick it during dinner instead).

Number 6: Free drink tickets. Every feis dad worth his salt carries a couple of these bad boys with him all the time (he carries double the normal amount to a feis). They’re good for whatever drink you want, as long as it’s one of the two kinds they carry at the feis: beer and box wine.

Number 7: Official Star Trek Collector’s Key Chain. Okay, let’s just admit it right now. Most feis dads are closet Star Trek geeks. We all know at least ten Klingon phrases including how to say, “hello,” “Where’s the bathroom,” “Do you want fries with that?,” and “When’s the feis going to be over?” This key chain also has lots of cool stuff like flashing lights and shiny buttons. Finally, it has neat sounds effects like the “swish-swish” of a starship door opening and twelve different fart noises (even in Klingon). Woohoo! The only thing this puppy won’t do is impress women and beam you up before the feis is done--"beam me up, Scotty!"

Number 8: Nintendo DS. This isn’t actually the feis dad’s own DS. He borrowed it from his son, by slipping it into his sock before leaving for the feis. This gadget comes in real handy during those loooongg boring stretches during a feis (mainly the entire time your children aren’t dancing). The only problem with the DS is that the batteries only last 8 hours (four hours shorter than a normal feis).

Number 9: Pocket Etch-a-Sketch. This is your DS backup for when the batteries die. Try drawing a box, then a circle, then a circle in a box. It’s tons of fun!

So, now you know what a typical feis dad brings to a feis. But all feis dads are different. Anyone else have any other things they like to bring to a feis? Just let me know, and I'll post them here.

--feis dad

A true feis dad

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 17:11:00 +0000

We all go to the performances and fesiana. We watch our sons and daughters dance the slip jig and reel. We listen to the fiddle, flute or accordion play the same Irish music over and over and over.

How do we cope? Each of us has our own way. Feis moms talk about the dancing, the music, the dresses, the wigs, the makeup, the socks, the shoes, the shoelaces, the type of leather making up the shoes, typical wear patterns of shoes, and well, you get the picture. For many feis moms, these are truly social events. And by social event, I mean talking. A lot of talking.

What about feis dads? We don’t have the same defense mechanisms as our better halves. We don’t do much talking. Some of us do a lot of sitting, staring straight ahead with a deer in the headlights look. Others bring a book. Or borrow our children’s Nintendo DS. Still others look for a different means of escape.

Here’s an untouched picture from a typical performance.

See the beautiful dancers in their performance dresses? Notice anything else about the picture? Look way off to the left. Still don’t see it?

I’ll give you a hint: see the red circle.

Now, what’s so special about this guy? Nothing. He’s just a typical feis dad. Enjoying his daughter’s performance. A feis dad poster boy.

But let’s not dismiss him so quickly. We need to take a closer look at this feis dad champion.

- He’s dressed for the occasion in shorts, plaid shirt, white socks and work boots. Not only is this high-fashion, but comfort is paramount for feis dads
- The flash of the camera seems to have caught him by surprise as he tries to go unnoticed, sort of like the famous picture of Bigfoot in the woods. As you can also see, I think our feis dad is beginning to look a lot like Bigfoot!

- Also, notice this wild feis dad has a smile on his face.

I bet you were thinking all feis dads wear frowns at feisana. Nothing could be farther from the truth. We smile a lot. When our children dance. When they actually place in one of those dances. When it’s time for lunch. During the first feis dances. When we beat our son’s high score on Grand Theft Auto on his PSP. When it’s time to leave for the day. And when the bar opens.

Which brings me to the last interesting item in this picture. If you haven’t seen it already, you’ll notice something else interesting about our heroic feis dad. Hint: see the other red circle. Come on, get your glasses out already!

By that sly grin on his face, I don’t believe that’s lemonade in his glass. So here’s to you, feis dad superstar, defender of our jaded ideals, I take my hat off and raise my own barley pop in salute. You are a true feis dad!

The Grateful Feis Dad

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 16:44:00 +0000

During the last feis I attended (no, it wasn’t last year!), a feis dad approached me with an idea. We’re all dads, right? And we’re grateful too! Grateful our sons and daughters dance so beautifully. You thought I was going to say something bad about Irish dance, didn’t you? Come on, I’m not always cold and mean.

Anyway, he had a great idea … something about grateful dads and music. Well, here it is …

I think it sums up a dad's feis experience in one picture, don’t you? Okay, so I’m a little cold and mean.

Most of the older dad’s like me will get this, the younger ones … well, you missed some fairly crazy decades.

Thanks for the great idea!

--feis dad

Only THREE days left

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 18:01:00 +0000

I can’t believe I almost missed it. A celebration so big, it probably pales in comparison to Christmas, New Years Eve and Feis Dad Day all put together!

Did you know that June is Accordion awareness month? If you don’t believe me, go to www.letspolka.com and see for yourself. Wow, I didn’t know that the accordion was popular enough to have an entire month dedicated to its sweet sound. And Tucson has its own accordion fan club: the Accordion Club of Tucson (or ACT). Go to their website at www.accordionstucson.com and check out their awesome accordions!

After reading about accordion awareness month, I wanted to kick myself. To think I’ve wasted almost the entire month of June when I could have been appreciating the accordion for the last twenty-seven days! So, I guess I’ll just have to cram all that fun into the remaining few days!

I feel the first order of business for Accordion awareness month is to acknowledge the top accordion players of past, present and future.

10. Frankie Yankovic. This suave musical stud muffin was touted as America’s Polka King sometime in the 50’s or 60’s. I guess there’s a “real” story about Frankie and his music, but I’d rather make up one: Frankie was a real loser until one day in high school he picked up an accordion for the first time. It was like magic. With absolutely no lessons, Frankie was cranking out the tunage and the girls were swooning. Frankie blasted his way to stardom, his fame and fortune lasting about a week. But don’t fret, we’ll meet Frankie again.

9. Wilbur Warner. Unlike Frankie, Wilbur didn’t start playing the accordion until late in his life (when he turned 105), but he made up for lost time. Wilbur quickly turned into a retirement home sensation in the early 70’s, playing for the deaf, drugged and wheel-chair bound. He made a whirlwind tour of the old folk’s homes before retiring in 2002 when some old lady beat him silly with her cane so she “wouldn’t have to hear that awful music anymore.” Wilber, at the young age of 130, still dreams of reuniting with his groupies and touring again.

8. Johan “Fast Fingers” Fluberguston. Johan is Germany’s top accordion player. His fingers have been clocked at terrific speed of twenty-two miles an hour while he plays his black and white steed, which he calls Mr. Ed. You can still find Johan playing at all the best Oktoberfests in Europe, jamming on his accordion and drinking free beer until he pukes.

7. Rocking Jimmy Henderson. His real name is Marion Blunderkip, but he fashioned himself after the 60’s rocker Jimi Hendrix. Too bad he chose an accordion instead of electric guitar. He never made it as big as Hendrix and most historians believe it was due to his choice of pants, not his hairstyle, but we’ll never know.

6. Leila Horner. Not ALL great accordion players are men and Leila Horner has shown she’s got what it takes to be one of the best. This picture, early in her career, shows her playing in front of an Osco Drug store for change. When she made it big, she moved up to Walgreen’s.

Here’s a picture of her after two years on the drug store accordion circuit.

5. Weird Al Yankovic. This mega-music star has taken accordion music from the beer halls of Germany to mainstream USA. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive him.

4. Manny, Moe and Jack. This creative trio who called themselves The Polkaholics, hit the Polka music industry by storm with their debut album, Polka Can’t Die in the late 1964. Unfortunately, they were wrong and someone put Polka out of its misery in early 1965. These three were resilient though and decided to put their musical talent to use in a different way … buying cheap car parts stores. You can still get free accordion lessons when buying a set of four radials at any Pep Boys store.

3. Frankie Yankovic resurrected. Frankie tried a comeback in 2007, ten years AFTER his death. Although initial sales for Frankie were solid, they dropped of considerable when fans found out he was actually dead and Milli Vanilli was lip syncing and moving his hands with wires.

2. Tommy “Two Hands” Thompson. Tommy is a musical prodigy. At the tender age of five, he can play accordion like a season veteran. Too bad he’ll be classified as a nerd whose mother dresses him funny for the rest of his life. I guess fame and fortune as one of the world’s top accordion players has its price.

1. The Unknown Accordion Player. No one knows this guys real name. He only plays at night, when he thinks no one is listening. By day, he ridicules accordion music and makes fun of the talented people who keep the music alive. Keep a sharp eye out for him, one day he might come out of the closet and take the accordion stage by storm!

--feis dad

Ten Top Worst Places To Be

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Mon, 25 May 2009 01:02:00 +0000

I was at a feis the other weekend, just sitting all by myself, and I started thinking ... there could be worse places to be, right? So I've taken the opportunity to list them ...

10. Sky diving...

Into a lagoon full of hungry gators. Come on, who the heck jumps out of a perfectly good plane, anyway?

9. On the beach ...

Because you can get sunburned, and the water is cold and the waves can get REALLY big!

8. Visiting Pamplona, Spain ...

During the running of the bulls.

7. Shopping with your wife ...

During an 18-hour sale at Dress Barn.

6. Partying with Lindsay Lohan ...

When the bartender says she's had enough (wow, if looks could kill).

5. Next to Kim Jong II ("President" of North Korea) ...

When he's relaxing after a tough day executing anyone making fun of his hair (which, I for one, am not, or never have).

4. At an Irish bar ...

When it runs out of beer.

3. Scuba diving ...

At the Great Barrier reef.

2. In front of the Celtic Crusader ...

When she unleashes her Curls of Fury.

And the number 1 worst place to be ... drum roll ...

At a feis .... In between two feis moms.

Click on the Youtube video below. You will probably need to click on the second button from the right (the one that looks like a small TV with a picture-in-a-picture) to be able to read the voice callouts.

-- feis dad

Cat-astrophe

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Sun, 03 May 2009 12:14:00 +0000

Okay, enough is enough. This is the last straw ...

As most of you know, I got two daughters who love Irish dance and feis mom is a card carrying member of the IDMM. But never in my wildest nightmares did I ever think this would happen.

I came home from yesterday after surviving my first EVER feis that I attended from start to finish and found my kids collection of Irish dance DVDs strewn about the living room.

Horrified that someone had broken in to our house, I quickly checked for signs of forced entry and anything valuable missing. Nope. Only the Irish dance DVDs seem to be out of place (which horrified me even more to think that someone had broken in just to watch Michael Flately). That left the animals. We have a dog and four cats in the house. The horse is rarely allowed inside.

I interviewed each one: the dog just wagged her tail and wanted to go for a walk. The cats just ignored me ... except for one. When I turned my back on her, the DVD player came on, Riverdance started playing and the cat ... well ... you can see for yourself....

moar funny pictures

After more than two years of being a feis dad, I have come to accept the fact that my wife and daughters have gone to the dark side, but my cats??!!! What's next? The dog doing bicycle kicks and cuts as she fetches her ball? Or something even worse ....

Noooooo......

--feis dad

Feis dad takes a road trip -- part II

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 23:54:00 +0000

Okay, in Part I, we had safely driven the 12,000,000,000 miles to Albuquerque, arriving relaxed, in good humor and ready for the feis. In other words, ready to kill each other.

The first thing we did when we arrived at the hotel was to register. Well, okay, the family did have to lure me out of the car.

4:47 pm: My family gently convincing me to leave the safety of the car

5:25 pm: Checked in to the hotel. A nice room ...

5:26 pm: One minute later, this is what our room looks like ...

6:02 pm: Going out for dinner. No problem. Lot's of choices. All we have to do is decide on one ... the same one.

7:20 pm: Still trying to decide on ONE restaurant. After over an hour we have reduced the options to four:

Option one (feis mom's choice):

Option two (Dancing daughter one's choice):

Option three (Dancing daughter two's choice):

Option four (the BEST option--see all the yummy food?):

8:45 pm: Where we eventually ended up:

10:45 pm: Finally get back to our room. Exhausted, we fall asleep.

2:30 am: I hear a strange noise. Like there's something alive in our room. Something NOT human. I click on the light and see ...

THE WIGS!!!! How did they get on top of the TV? They were in their cases before we went to bed, weren't they? I watch them. They don't move. I know they are waiting for me to close my eyes. Waiting for me to go to sleep, then they can .... ZZZZZ ...

Tune in to feis dad takes a road trip part III to see if I survive the Night of the Attacking Wigs!

--feis dad

Feis dad takes a road trip -- part I

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 15:14:00 +0000

Feis mom and dancing daughters decided to take a road trip to Albequek ... Albequarq ... Alb ... that town south of Sante Fe in New Mexico for a feis. I couldn't think of an excuse fast enough, so I got talked into going along.
Here's a photo-essay of our trip:

8:45 am: Dancing Daughter Two packing for the trip

8:46 am: Feis mom and dancing daughters packing the car

8:50 am: Feis dad packing all he needs for a weekend of feis-ing

9:00 am: On our way!

9:02 am: Returning home to retrieve Dancing Daughter Two's forgotten iPod

9:22 am: Finally leaving AGAIN after Dancing Daughter Two finds her iPod, Dancing Daughter One remembers that she's forgotten her solo dress, feis mom waters the plants and feis dad takes a quick nap.

9:16 am: Feis mom requires a pit stop at Starbucks to survive the long drive.

9:57 am: Finally on our way again. Dancing Daughter One having fun.

9:37 am: Dancing Daughter Two having fun. This is going to be a GREAT

9:38 am: Dancing daughters fighting. This is going to be a LONG trip.

11:23 am: Visiting one of Arizona's finest rest area facilities

12:02 pm: Endless Arizona beautiful scenery. ARE WE THERE YET?

12:56 pm: Hurray! New Mexico state line. Only 300 hours till we get there.

1:12 pm: Hatch, New Mexico and the World's Largest Piggy Bank. Do I know how to show my family a good time or what?

4:35 pm: Finally arrive at hotel!!!

Whew, the trip was easier than expected. Now, there's only the feis to worry about. Right. Join me for Part II next time. See if I survive.

--feis dad

Missing Irish Dancer's DNA found?

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 16:24:00 +0000

As all of you who subscribe to Irish Dance Magazine probably already know, there is some missing Irish Dancer DNA in the latest Feis Dad column. IDM forgot to include my DNA graphic (which I spent many long and arduous seconds drawing with my crayons) in the article and the "as shown below" doesn't really mean anything because there is nothing below. No biggie. Here's what the article should have looked like ...

Last month we discussed how your wife, daughter, the local dance studio and a gaggle of high level CIA agents coerced you into allowing your daughter to take Irish dance lessons. This month, let’s discuss how to get out of it.

You can’t.

End of article. End of life as you know it.

Don’t believe me? Talk to some of the veteran feis dads that have been around for years. You know the ones. They all have hollowed eyes, empty wallets and wear noise canceling earphones. And each one will tell you the same thing. Once the Irish dance bug has bitten, there’s no going back.

Upon performing her first treble, your daughter’s DNA was irrevocably changed. Thankfully, due to tremendous advances in medical technology in recent years, researchers have been able to map the DNA sequence of Irish dancers. All of which have curious … uh, abnormalities … within their DNA, as shown below.

Given all this irrefutable medical evidence, many of you may just want to give up. Surrender to a higher power.

“But wait,” I ask. “Are you a man, a feis dad or a mouse?”

Squeak. Squeak.

“Come on! We can’t just give up?” I say, pounding my fist on my computer desk. “Tidfgser wwwwwweee casms ppeeessreve …”

Sorry, I’m now typing with a bandaged hand due to my forceful desk pounding. What I meant to say is, “Together we can persevere. We can overcome. We can …”

No … actually, I don’t think we can.

Other than hoping for terminal accordion failure, about all we can do to make our situation bearable is consume liberal amounts of alcohol.

Which, now that I think about it, can be a lot more fun than all of that persevering and overcoming.

--feis dad

New Celtic Crusader Episode!

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 23:35:00 +0000

Join The Celtic Crusader in her latest EXCITING adventure ... The Blue-Eyed Rascal Takes the Stage on her website at http://www.celticcrusader.com/. Pay close attention to some of the pages, the action is so furious, things might start flying around. Also, check out her "About me" page, its packed full of new info and images.

--feis dad

Kid's Best Christmas Present

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 03:06:00 +0000

Okay, Christmas is done. Finished. Over. Now, the only question is ... what was your kid's favorite present? Me, being a feis dad and all, thought I'd get my kids the HOTTEST toy of the year.

Was it a Tickle Me Flatley doll?

No.

Was it a Cabbage Patch Dumpster Kid?

Nope.

Was it the LATEST, HOTTEST video game for the Wii?

Yep.

But it wasn’t Guitar Hero or Rock Band … it was Dean Crouch’s Accordion Hero!

THE game for Irish dancers! Battle the computer while listening to your favorite Irish dance music.

My kids LOVE it. Now they don’t want to do anything else but play Accordion Hero.

What was your kids favorite Christmas present?

--feis dad

Happy New Year from feis dad!

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 22:47:00 +0000

It’s 2009 and I know everyone is excited for the New Year and all the fun, adventure and surprises it may hold. We all know that it’s the time of year to make all those resolutions that we’ll never keep. So, in that spirit, why not make some New Year’s resolutions regarding Irish dance? Here are a few of mine.

I resolve to go to at least THREE feisana this year … at two of which I will NOT wear ear plugs.

I resolve to learn how to spell orocktis … oreaktas … that big regional dance feis thing

I resolve to fully support my daughter’s need for a new solo dress … by increasing my monthly (now weekly) plasma donations

Please add your own resolution (via comment to this blog) and I will post. I’ll even help you get started.

I resolve to ___________________ (insert resolution here).

--feis dad

Where's feis dad?????

noreply@blogger.com (feis dad) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 15:28:00 +0000

Ready for another rousing round of Where’s feis dad? Try and find feis dad among the crowd. This one may be harder than the last, but I’ll give you a hint: while at the last feis, feis dad heard a rumor that there is ONE nation in the world that doesn’t allow Irish dancing: China! Hmmm … maybe communism isn’t SO bad :-). Anyway, I think this feis dad’s trying to find his way there, the fastest way possible.

Good luck.