Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Spring Rain...

Spring Rain - By Matsuo Basho

Spring rain
leaking through the roof
dripping from the wasps' nest.

First of all, that doesn't even seem like a poem worthy of publishing.

What the fuck?

And don't tell me it's filled with metaphors and beautiful imagery.

I call bullshit.

I think this dude was probably super smart but maybe he was really strong or had crazy eyes or he was awesome with a Samurai sword and people were just intimidated.

"Hey check out my awesome poem."

"Uh, that doesn't really make much sense Matsuo."

"You motherfucker. I'm gonna chop your fucking head off!!!"

"Ahhhh! No No Matsuo! It's awesome. The metaphors. The beautiful imagery. You're the man!

"Thank you my son."

I mean, the poem is really clear and succinct but it doesn't go anywhere. I don't even understand the connection between the second and third line. If the spring rain is leaking through the roof and dripping from the wasps' nest, does this mean the wasps' nest is inside the house? What the hell? This sounds really dangerous to me. Also, why the hell is this dude contemplating the leaky roof? Doesn't he have a wife?

My roof was leaking like a giant piss last week and my wife was screaming at me to do something. I practically had a God damn panic attack. Now I gotta bring up a shit load of towels from the basement. I gotta find a fucking bucket. I'm worried that the water is gonna start a friggin' electrical fire in my damn ceiling.

But wait.

Screw this shit. Let me write a little poem first. It will be beautiful and thought provoking. My wife will think it's sexy and deep. Maybe I'll even get laid.

Here, how about this...

Spring Rain - By Jason Mayo

Spring rain
Like a giant fucking piss.
Fucking up my new bedroom.
If insurance doesn't cover this I'm fucked.
I hate my life.

I hate the rain. It makes me depressed. It screws up everything. Today I walked from my car to the train in the pouring rain. It took me two minutes. Now I'm sitting on the train like a wet dog. I'm freezing my ass off. I might as well be sitting in a puddle of my own pee. I'm probably going to get a rash on my nuts from the dampness. As a matter of fact, I have to pee right now from this damn energy drink I'm throwing back. I should just piss my pants. Who's gonna know? Everyone is soaking wet like me. Maybe everyone else on the train is pissing their pants too.

This sucks.

I hate the rain...

Friday, March 26, 2010

Daughtry... DON'T MESS THIS UP!

Dear Mr. Daughtry,

I'm writing to you in this eleventh hour out of desperation. I would like to call a matter of great importance to your attention. My name is Jason and I am a fan of your music. Furthermore, I am a huge Heavy Metal fan. Although technically, I wouldn't consider your works to be of that genre, I am borrowing, if not counting on your Hard Rock prowess for a particular reason.

Let me explain.

I have two daughters. The eldest being seven years of age. She loves music. Albeit shitty, bubble gum, pop music, it is music nonetheless. This brings me to my point and in turn your mission.

I need her to like Heavy Metal. It's not that I want her to like it. I literally need her to like it. It is such an intricate part of my DNA that it would be virtually impossible for me to live with her if she doesn't find a substantial appreciation for it. Her Mother (My Wife) pretty much hates it, which makes it difficult for me to partake. Because there are four of us in the house, it is basically a numbers game. I need to tip the scale in my favor so to speak.

This is where you come in. I am using you and your melodic rock stylings as a musical conduit between my eldest spawn and Heavy Metal. I understand this is a tremendous bit of responsibility to heap onto you so late in the game but my plan must work. It has to work.

I've respected you since American Idol. Your rendition of Lionel Richie's "Hello" was awe inspiring. Oh shit. Wait. Was that David Cook? Dammit. I have made a terrible mistake. This is not good. Fuck. Did you lose to Taylor Hicks that year? God Dammit. OK. I still need you to hook me up.

I'm coming to you in my darkest hour. I ask that you please try and muster your most worthy performance. In other words, please don't suck it tonight. If you fail, may Jonas Brothers CD's rain down upon you for all eternity.

Thank you for your immediate attention in this urgent matter.



P.S. Don't play that "Home" song. She hates it. It will fuck up everything.

Post Show...

Well done my friend. I think we got her...

Monday, March 22, 2010

Perspective From The Big Top...

I don't have a ton of accessible memories of when I was a young child. One of the fondest memories I can recall, is of me, my little brother and my mom, taking a trip to see the Ringling Brothers Circus at Nassau Coliseum on Long Island. My Mother was a single parent and we didn't have a lot of money but I can assure you that the money was well spent; her return on investment cashed out in smiles. In those days, I would imagine that smiles were worth a lot more to her, than the price of admission.

"Animals in Circuses don't perform because they want to; they perform because they're afraid not to."

When I became a parent, I promised myself that I would do whatever it takes to make my kids feel loved. I tell them every single day how I feel about them. There is also a part of me that wants them to experience some of the same things that I did. I want us to have that connection. Or maybe I just want to experience it all over again. It helps me remember...

"Video footage shows Ringling employees aggressively hooking elephants with a sharp, steel tipped bullhook. The use of bullhooks results in pain, suffering, trauma and injuries, including lacerations, bloody puncture wounds, swelling and abscesses."

I took my oldest daughter to the Circus when she was four years old. I think I cried when the lights went down at the start of the show. I never would have thought, that watching my kid devour a cloud of cotton candy, would have such a profound effect on my soul. It did. I still hold onto the taste of her tiny, sugar coated kisses. I've locked them away forever...

"A young lion named Clyde died of apparent heatstroke in a sweltering boxcar on a Ringling train as it crossed the Mojave Desert in temperatures exceeding 100 degrees F."

My youngest daughter is now three and a half. She goes to Pre-School. The other day, she came running over to my wife. She could hardly contain her excitement. Her class was going to the Circus! My wife and I don't love sending her on class field trips. We think she's too little. We worry too much. When we told her that she couldn't go, she cried. My heart sank. I hadn't realized the Circus was in town. I've been so busy. My bad...

"Elephants in Circuses spend most of their time chained by two legs, which only gives them enough space to move 3 feet forward or backward."

That night I went online and grabbed four tickets to the Sunday afternoon show. The Circus was in town and I wanted her to go. It would be her first time. I needed to go too. When I told her that she was going to go after all, she gave me a big hug. Sunday couldn't come fast enough. For both of us...

"Former Ringling employees describe violent beatings and daily abuse of elephants, tigers, horses, camels, zebras and other animals."

The show was amazing. Ringling Brothers never disappoints. It's the Greatest Show On Earth. She didn't say a single word. Her eyes were transfixed on the spectacle. I can't imagine what it must be like for a three year old to see an elephant up close. I watched her the entire time, eating clouds of cotton candy. Patiently, I waited for my tiny, sugar coated kisses. Like my Mom before me, my return on investment was cashed out in smiles...

I also had this waiting for me on my car windshield...

I'm not taking sides.

I'm just offering my perspective from the Big Top...

Friday, March 19, 2010

Do They Eat Chili In Chile?

Fact: I Love My Kids.

Fact: I don't know what the fuck they are talking about.

In the car on the way to school...

7 Year Old - It's so sunny out. Why do I have to wear my jacket?

Out-Numbered - Because I said so.

7 Year Old - That's not a real reason.

Out-Numbered - To me it is.

7 Year Old - Seriously Dad. Why do I have to wear my jacket?

3 Year Old - Yeah. Seriously.

Out-Numbered - You. Zip it.

3 Year Old - Sorry.

Out-Numbered - You have to wear your jackets because it's chilly out today.

7 Year Old - Did you know they had an earthquake in Chile?

Out-Numbered - What?

7 Year Old - They had an earthquake in Chile.

Out-Numbered - What does that have to do with your jacket?

7 Year Old - Do they eat Chili in Chile?

Out-Numbered - What are you talking about?

7 Year Old - Chile is too spicy for me.

3 Year Old - I don't like spicy.

Out-Numbered - What are you guys talking about?

3 Year Old - Daddy?

Out-Numbered - Yes.

3 Year Old - What are you drinking?

Out-Numbered - An energy drink.

3 Year Old - What's it called?

Out-Numbered - It's called Monster.

3 Year Old - Is it a good Monster or a bad Monster?

7 Year Old - It's not that kind of monster.

Out-Numbered - It's just a silly name, baby.

3 Year Old - But is it a good monster?

7 Year Old - She's an idiot.

Out-Numbered - Stop that. She's not an idiot.

3 Year Old - I'm not an idiot.

7 Year Old - Yes you are.

Out-Numbered - ENOUGH! It's not a monster, baby. It's just a drink.

3 Year Old - But what if it's a bad monster?


Out-Numbered - I SAID ENOUGH!

3 Year Old - What would you do if it's a bad monster?

Out-Numbered - I would beat it up.

7 Year Old - Dad, you said it's not a real monster.

Out-Numbered - It's not. I'm just saying it hypothetically.

7 Year Old - What's hypothetically?

Out-Numbered - Google it.

7 Year Old - Dad.

3 Year Old - What's Google?

Out-Numbered - Let's listen to music...

Tuesday, March 16, 2010


Anyone who has read this blog can surely sympathize by now; Raising two daughters isn't always easy. There's a lot of, "I hate you!" and "I wish you were never born!" These types of words are thrown around quite frequently and with reckless abandon.

My wife grew up as an only child, as did her Mother before her. The fighting affects her. She doesn't understand how or why sisters could talk to each other in such a way.

I have a younger brother and a younger sister. It's easy for me to relate to the dynamic of my two daughters. I've been there. It's certainly a love / hate thing. The pendulum swings fast and hard in both directions. Sometimes that pendulum is more like a wrecking ball. If you're not careful, it will take your head off.

But then there are times when the love takes your breath away. It's a love that can't be taught. It's in their DNA.


Tuesday Morning 7am. I step into the shower...

7 year old - Daddy? I'm all dressed!

Out-Numbered - Awesome. Now go wake up your sister.

7 year old - She never wakes up. She's lazy.

Out-Numbered - Tell her if she lets you get her dressed, we'll go to McDonald's for dinner.

7 year old - Tonight?

Out-Numbered - Yes.

7 year old - Cool!

She runs out of the bathroom to wake her little sister...

7 year old - DADDY!!!

She barrels back into the bathroom. I'm still in the shower.

Out-Numbered - What?

7 year old - She's gone.

Out-Numbered - What do you mean she's gone?

7 year old - She's not in her bed.

Out-Numbered - OK. Did you look under the bed?

She darts out of the bathroom to check...

7 year old - She's not there.

Out-Numbered - Did you check in the den?

She scrambles out once more.

I hear her screaming her sister's name throughout the house.

She comes back into the bathroom out of breath and visibly upset.

7 year old - She's not in the den. I don't know where she is.

Out-Numbered - Sweetie, take it easy. She's got to be in the house.

7 year old - THEN WHERE IS SHE?

Out-Numbered - Did you check all of her hiding places? Behind the chair? The closet?

She runs out. I hear her screaming again. The screaming turns into crying.

7 year old - DADDY! SHE'S GONE! SHE'S NOT HERE!!!

I'm nervous. I turn off the shower and grab my towel.

Out-Numbered - She has to be here.

7 year old - Did you hear the alarm go off last night?

Out-Numbered - NO!

7 year old - Then where is she?

We both shuffle through the house. Looking in every room. Every closet. Under every piece of furniture.

My daughter is hysterical. She's genuinely frightened.

Out-Numbered - Calm down baby.

We both call for her in every room. Our calls grow louder with each room that we search.


The kitchen.

My 3 year old is sitting on the floor. She has a candy bar in her hand. She knows she's in trouble.

Out-Numbered - Didn't you hear us calling you?

My 7 year old is sobbing uncontrollably.

7 year old - I didn't see her there.

Out-Numbered - It's OK baby.

7 year old - I'm mad at her.

Out-Numbered - Didn't you hear your sister calling you?

3 year old - Yes.

Out-Numbered - Then why didn't you answer her?

3 year old - I was hungry.

Out-Numbered - Go hug your sister. NOW!

Later that morning in the car with my 3 year old...

Out-Numbered - You really upset your sister today.

3 year old - Why?

Out-Numbered - Because she thought someone took you.

3 year old - So?

Out-Numbered - So, wouldn't you be upset if someone took your sister?

3 year old - No. We can just get another sister.

Out-Numbered - Well OK then...

Friday, March 12, 2010

Old Man Look At My Life...

So it's Friday evening and as usual, I'm trying to unwind on the train home.

I get worked up during the day.

Sometimes the stress feels so heavy on my brain, I can't even think straight.

I keep the tension inside. I always have. My insides are older than my outsides.

I need the train ride home to unwind. I need the solitude. Fifty three minutes to clear out the cobwebs doesn't sound like much but it's just enough.

I need to change my face before I get home. I want to give my family the best that I've got.

I build my cocoon quickly.

Each thread, spun from different sounds on the train, like an orchestra. It's this symphony that puts me at ease.

It's the collective energy of the people.

People just like me.

We all want the same thing.

To be whole again. To rejuvenate.

I absorb the sounds that the air has to offer, like human Gatorade. Soul quenching.

But I'm tired. I'm always so tired...

I notice an old man sitting to my right. He's humming a tune to himself. I can't quite grasp the melody.

There are people close by that seem annoyed. He's breaking their concentration.

Not me. His humming is comforting. It draws me inward, like the sound of 1000 bumble bees or the warm purrs of a fat cat.

My mind wanders.

I can't help but think, that he is me, forty years from now. So many years on this train.

I wonder if he still has a beautiful wife waiting to greet him at his door.

I wonder if he's thinking about his children. I wonder if they still call him. My heart starts to ache for him.

He won't get the hugs that I'm about to get. The kind with the running start. The kind that end with a thud on the floor.

I'd share them with him.

He's been kind enough to share his song with me...

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Babies, Horse Power And Quotation Marks...

My baby girl is growing up.

I can't believe it.

It seems like it was only yesterday that she was shitting in the bath tub, eating chalk and falling down the stairs. It all happens so fast, I tell ya.

Some Dads get a bit timid when it comes to dealing with their daughter's progression. I personally don't see the problem. Every time my little princess says something that indicates she's advancing on to the next level, it makes me smile. It's like watching someone break the high score on Ms Pac-Man. Did you know there are 256 levels on Ms Pac-Man?

There are way more levels in life.

Anyway, instead of getting sentimental and teary eyed when my baby shows signs of growing up, it gets me charged. For instance, the other day I picked my family up from the airport. We were all in the car and she asked me...

"Dad, how was your *quotation marks* man weekend O fun?"

Aside from her making my weekend sound like a gay porn retreat, the question itself isn't much of an indication of level advancement. But she actually utilized the finger "quotation marks" in the correct context.

That's a huge leap right there.

Then the next morning when I was getting her ready for school, she turned to me while she was brushing her teeth and had this to tell me...

"When I was getting on the plane, I asked the Pilot how much horse power the plane has. He said it has about 50,000 horse power. That means you can fit 50,000 horses on the plane and it will still fly."

OK so she doesn't quite get the concept of horse power. But who the fuck does? I couldn't explain it. I didn't even try. The point is, she was curious enough to ask an airplane pilot an intelligent question on her own. That is really impressive to me.

I'm definitely torn.

I love my little angel as this intuitive, smart ass, little munchkin. Part of me wants to freeze her, like the head of Ted Williams and keep her safe in my basement. But the other part of me wants her to be 21 tomorrow, so we can go out for sushi, guzzle jugs of Sake and talk about the mysteries of life, until we can't see straight anymore.

All in due time I suppose.

I'll have to wait. I need to let her tackle all 256 levels on her own. Even if it means seeing her get eaten by some pink ghosts along the way.

It's the right thing to do.

I know this because I couldn't answer this question, from the car the other night...

"Daddy, how do you make a baby exactly?"

My gut instinct was to tell her the truth. That you need Vodka, Lenny Kravitz albums and Binaca. But I couldn't... I didn't want her to know the truth.

Not yet.

So I did the right thing.

I told her to ask her Mom.

Then her Mom did the right thing.

She told her that when two people cuddle and they love each other, they can make a baby.

And then my daughter said...

"Me and Daddy cuddle?"

Then we offered her Ice Cream and one of those new piece of crap, Zhu Zhu pet hamster things.

I think freezing her head is the right thing to do...

Sunday, March 7, 2010

The Oscars Through Interpretive Dance...

It's Oscar Night and you can feel the magic in the air.

Tonight I want to celebrate the art of film, the only way I know how...

Through the Art of Interpretive Dance.

Please to enjoy.






And the winner is...


P.S. If you're in the mood to party tonight, come on over to MamaPop and join in on the Oscar night fun with a live open thread. I will be there. There will be dancing.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

My Wife Left Me...

I'm alone.

She's gone.

She told me she was leaving me and that she was taking my kids away from me too.

At first I was stunned.

Why would she leave?

Did she not want to be with me?

And the kids. How could she take care of them, all by herself.

This is the first time I've been alone since the day we met.

The house feels empty.


I would always yell at them to turn the lights off when they leave the room.

"You're wasting electricity! Doesn't anyone in the house care?"

Now I walk around the house, turning all the lights on. Room after room. Light after light.


I don't know what to do with myself. The sound of the television reminds me of them.

I watch Blues Clues. It makes me cry.

I didn't get in until 5am this morning.

I'm tired.

Maybe I'll just try and sleep all day.

Shut down. Recharge the battery.

I made some plans with they guys. OutBack Steakhouse and Shutter Island.

That should keep me busy for awhile but they'll ask how I'm doing and I'll probably lie to them.

They'll make some jokes about me finally having my space. They'll say that they wish their wives would leave them too.

I'll tell them it's not all it's cracked up to be.

"Who's gonna do my laundry?"

Everyone will laugh.

I guess I will too.

After all...

It's only a quick trip to see her parents. She'll be back on Monday. Kids and all.

I'll enjoy it while I can.

No detail is too small...

Now if you'll excuse me. I have a Zombie movie with a side of Beef Jerky, waiting for me in the den. I think I'll watch it in my underwear. Thank you very much.

No one is Out-Numbered in this house, this weekend...

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

This Is My Family...

We are not Italian Plumbers.

Nor are we porn stars.

We don't have our own Reality TV Show.

Half of us did not choose to be here.

Half of the time, the other half of us, wishes we were somewhere else.

We fight.

We cry.

We laugh.

We hug.

We kiss.

We forget.

We remember.

We all love pancakes and bacon.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like if my family wasn't here.

It scares me to death.

I wear a shell, like a turtle or a snail. My shell is invisible but it's there. It's made of love and it protects me, just the same.

There's nothing more important than my family.

If aliens landed on Earth and they wanted to know the true meaning of family...

I would show them that picture and say,

"The mustaches and hair are fake. We were just messing around. You should watch Different Strokes. That's the real deal."

Then we would Out-Number those green, little, pricks and annoy the shit out of them until they went home.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Another Reason To Hate Sidney Crosby...

Not that I needed any more reasons to hate Ms. Crosby...

Either way, if you're interested in seeing what happens to a person that can't keep his stupid mouth shut, click on the link below and witness the horror.

I lost a bet to my Canadian friend Tanis.

The Redneck Mommy

There's always the Summer Olympics. Double or nothing?

Out-Numbered by Canucks I tell ya.