Dear Mr. Diner Owner...

Dear Mr. Diner Owner,

I am writing to you today in the hopes that I will be able to offer some humble, constructive criticism. The suggestions I am offering are merely observations and not meant in any way to be disrespectful. I have always been a loyal patron of your establishment and plan on continuing as such, for many years to come (God willing).

Aside from the one time that I contrived salmonella, as a direct result of eating your roasted chicken (Which at the time was delicious. The meat was so juicy and fell off the bone), I have very little negative sentiment, toward your cuisine. Of course, I have my favorites (The Challah French Toast, with Bacon and Sausage.) but in general, the portions are quite generous and the quality is certainly above average.



















What I am writing to you about today, has to do with the overall decor of your establishment and its general lack of contemporary features. If it is of any consolation, I will admit, that on the odd occasion I happen to frequent another Diner (Only if it is more convenient for my Mother or my Grandmother.), I do find the same issues at these said establishments.

I have been coming to your Diner for some three odd decades. When I was young, I remember being impressed with your cutting edge audio equipment. You were always a trend setter. As a matter of fact, I remember when you renovated the exterior of your Diner to look like a huge, mirrored, spaceship. But that was long ago. Today I must hold your feet to the fryer. Please excuse the pun.

Exhibit A



















Sir, as you must already know, this is a wall mounted, CD Jukebox. While obviously very impressive back in the early 80's, it is for the most part, now completely obsolete. My daughter has, on more than one occasion struggled with the site of this. She repeatedly tries to understand what it does and what its purpose is.

She always asks, "Daddy, who is Sha Na Na?" and "Daddy, who is Elvis?." Please Sir, I implore you to take it down. If not for me, do it for the children. If you must keep it, at least consider populating the catalog with contemporary music choices. No one wants to eat Roasted Chicken on the bone, while listening to Billy Joel's "We didn't start the fire."

And three plays for a dollar? Are you really making money from these things? You should be ashamed of yourself. Don't insult the good, American people. These are trying times.

Exhibit B
























As an owner of a restaurant, you must certainly be familiar with The New York State Board of Health and the various levels of sanitary inspection procedures that they enforce. You must also be keenly aware that a metal teaspoon does not sufficiently guard these chalky, minty, little treats from the filthy, germ infested, old lady hands, that hoard them, as if they were the last remaining morsels of food on earth.

My good friend, there are some fantastic, yet affordable options available to you, in the way of mints. Some of them are even individually wrapped in a plastic coating, to promote safe hygienic practices. I am also sick and tired of being called a mean Daddy by my children, because I refuse to let them partake in your petri dish of plenty. Please don't force me to report you. The Board does not take this sort of thing lightly.

Exhibit C
























Dude. You have a combo Ms. Pac Man / Galaga Machine?

That's fucking awesome.

Just fire me up some Challah French Toast and we're cool.

I'm about to Out-Number me some blue ghosts...

The Three D's Of Being A Dad...

Sometimes being a Dad is dangerous. Sometimes it's delightful. Other times, it's delicious.

Dangerous

On Saturday night, I got slugged in the face by a bedazzled purse filled with Chucky Cheese Tokens. Yep that's right. My 7 year old filled her purse with about 50 gold tokens and tossed it, in all of it's glittery glory, right at my mug. She was standing about a foot away. It was like a prison beating. She might has well have packed a pillow case full of soda cans and pummeled me in my sleep. The worst part. No remorse. She claimed it was an accident. She said the purse slipped out of her hand. Like a cold hearted, blood thirsty, psychopath. When I regained consciousness, I sent her to her room for a time out.

Of course, I blame Chucky Cheese. Rat bastard.

Delightful

Over the weekend, I filled in for my wife and drove the Sunday School carpool. There are two other children in addition to my 7 year old daughter. A boy and two girls. Together they form the Kid Axis of Evil.

I love them.

This is our 6 minute ride...

My daughter and her little lady friend are yacking it up in the backseat. They are talking about Chris Daughtry and the earthquake in Haiti. We stop to pick up the boy.

Out-Numbered - "Hey little man. What's up?"

Boy - "Nothing."

Out-Numbered - "You seem upset. What gives?"

Boy - "I'm very angry."

Out-Numbered - "Angry? About what?"

Boy - "I'm upset with my brother. He's teasing me and I don't like the way it makes me feel."

Out-Numbered - "That's not cool. What is he teasing you about?"

Boy - "He teasing me because he gets to spend more time with our dog."

Out-Numbered - "Oh, that's not fair. Why don't you tell him to stop teasing you?"

Boy - "I TRIED THAT ALREADY!!!"

Out-Numbered - "Whoa! Settle down pal. I'm not the enemy here."

This is pretty much where I become useless. So I throw it out to the ladies.

Out-Numbered - "Ladies! We have a question for you."

Daughter - "What?"

Out-Numbered - "What should you do if someone is teasing you and they won't stop?"

Daughter - "We should know! We learned this in Brownies.

Girl- "That's easy. You just ignore them and walk away."

Out-Numbered - "That's a fantastic suggestion."

Boy - "I TRIED THAT!!! IT DOESN'T WORK!!! UGH!"

Out-Numbered - "OK hang on a minute. Let's say that doesn't work. What else can you try?"

Both little ladies are raising their hands furiously.

Out-Numbered - "You in the back."

Daughter - "Daddy you know who I am."

Out-Numbered - "Proceed."

Daughter - "You should try and talk to them and tell them how it makes you feel."

Out-Numbered - "Good idea."

Boy - "I TOLD YOU IT DOESN'T WORK!!!"

Out-Numbered - "How does it make you feel?"

Boy - "ANGRY!!!"

Out-Numbered - "Obviously. Have you tried punching him in the fuschnaykies?"

The girls erupt in laughter.

Boy - "I can't do that. I'll get in trouble."

Out-Numbered - "You're right. Bad idea."

Daughter - "We know a boy at school who can burp the alphabet. Can you burp the alphabet?

Out-Numbered - "Sure can."

Kids - chanting "DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!"

Out-Numbered - "AAAAEEEE", "BEEEEEAAAA", "CEEEEEYA", "DEEEEEYA", "AYYYCHA", "IIIIIEEEEYYYA"

Laughter

Out-Numbered - "I think I might throw up."

Daughter - "OK. That's enough! Can you put on Radio Disney?"

Out-Numbered - "Nope. But I can sing."

Kids - "NOOOOOOOO!"

Out-Numbered - "YODELAYHEHOOOO!"

Kids - "STOP IT!!!"

Out-Numbered - "LADA DEEE, LADA DUMM, LADA DEEE!"

Daughter - "You know what?"

Girl - "What"

Daughter - "My Dad's bestest friend in the whole world, has cancer."

Girl - "Well my Dad went to a place called UConn and it's blue and white and he had a friend that had cancer there and...

Daughter - "Yeah but my Dad knows Adam Graves and he used to play on the Rangers but now he just works for them and my Dad got him to go to the hospital with him to see his friend that has cancer and my teacher says that was really nice to do and...

Out-Numbered - "Baby, he didn't come to the hospital. He met us at the Rangers game."

Daughter - "Whatever."

Out-Numbered - "OK troops. We're here. Everybody out."

Daughter - "Dad, can we adopt a child from Haiti?"

Out-Numbered - "No."

Daughter - "DAAAAADDDD."

Out-Numbered - "OUT!"

Daughter - "You're so mean."

Out-Numbered - "Have fun!"

Delicious


















That's what I'm talking about. My cure for being Out-Numbered...

Nuts and Popcorn On The 7:41...

OK. I'm going to be honest here.

I had something I wanted to write about but I'm having a hard time concentrating.

A few months ago, I started doing most, if not all of my writing on the train. It's the only time, aside from late at night, that I have to myself. For the most part, it's been a pretty decent escape. Sometimes I write in the morning on the way to work. Sometimes I write in the evening on the way home. I usually sit with my tiny computer on my lap and stare at the screen the entire commute.

Typing.

I'm pretty sure I look like a douchebag and for the record, I don't agree with my spellchecker. Douchebag is one word.

I also get really self conscious of my fingers.

All the metaphors that have been used to describe the typical NYC morning commute, are pretty accurate.

"We're packed like sardines in here."

"It's like a herd of cattle."

You get the picture.

So at any given moment of any given train ride, I'm sitting approximately a pubic hair away from some, fat, smelly, stranger.

I'm pretty positive that most of the time, the person next to me can see exactly what I'm writing about. Today, my traveling companions happen to be particularly distracting.

I am sitting in one of those, 3 people face the other 3 people, seats. Except there are only 4 of us.

Why?

For starters, the woman across from me and to my left, is so big, that she is taking up two seats. That doesn't bother me at all. She is who she is and she seems pleasant enough. She's wearing a fine argyle sweater and brown corduroy slacks. She seems quite content but she's a nodder. A nodder is a person who drifts in and out of sleep throughout the commute and repeatedly wakes herself because of the sudden jerking motion of her nodding head. It's a frustrating feeling to experience but even more frustrating to watch. It's been going on for almost half an hour and I can't take my eyes off of her. It's putting me in a trance. I want to put her in a neck brace and staple her eyelids open. It's like seeing a car accident about to happen. I can't look away.

To her left and directly across from me is a young-ish guy. He's probably around 30 years old. Button down, Khakis and loafers. He looks like a poor man's James Spader. This guy is the reason I hate the train. He's sitting with his legs spread wide open and stuffing his face with an obscene amount of popcorn. At this very moment, there is a piece of popcorn stuck to his nuts. I'm not sure whether I should punch it or eat it. He's driving me insane. I can hear every bite, as if he were attached to my torso, in a giant Baby Bjorn and chewing in my ear. I am mad at him. I hate his big, fat, nuts that are practically in my face and I hate that he's a fucking pig. Damn you James Spader. Why must you torment me?

Lastly there's the guy directly to my left. He's an older gentleman and he smells like bagels and spit. He's got a white beard and he's fallen asleep, face first onto his briefcase. I don't want him to be dead. I would imagine that these things happen all the time. Please don't be dead. Just think of all the Sudoku puzzles you have yet to solve. Think of all the pumpernickel bagels that await you. Your white beard beckons them, like a spider's web beckons the unknowing fly. Oh, he just snorted. Thank God.

Women train conductors are hot.

Out-Numbered by big, fat, nuts and popcorn...

Shit. This is my stop. Gotta go.

The Boy And The Billy Goat...

"Everyone in the world has one special thing that makes them different.

Sometimes you can see it and sometimes you can’t.
But it’s there."

There once was a young Billy Goat that had no gruff.

He felt embarrassed by this.

His friends would tease him because he was different. They told him he was weird.

His Mother always told him that this was his one special thing.

The Billy Goat tried everything to fit in.

But nothing worked.

So he wrote his Mother a note and he left in the middle of the night.

He had no where to go and he was frightened.

He walked until the sun came up.

He came to a village that was filled with people. He had never seen so many different kinds of people.

“Surely there must be someone that looks like me.” He thought to himself.

In the distance, he saw a group of children playing, except for one little Boy.

The Boy sat alone by a rock with his head in his hands. He looked sad.

The Billy Goat walked over to the Boy and asked him what was wrong.

Not looking up, the boy replied, “If you are here to tease me, please go away.”

“Why would I want to do such a thing?” The Billy Goat said.

The Boy looked up at the Billy Goat.

The Billy Goat could not believe his eyes.

The Boy had a long black and white gruff attached to his chin.

The Boy was different, just like him.

At that moment, the boy realized the same thing.

They became the best of friends.

It felt good to know they were not alone.

They talked for hours about how nice it would be if everyone were different like them.

They imagined playing with the other children and billy goats, without being teased.

Then one day the Boy had an idea.

“I could give you my Gruff and you would look like all of the other Billy Goats.”

“That’s a terrific idea!” wailed the Billy Goat.

“And without your gruff, you would look like all of the other Boys!” the Billy Goat continued.

Excited by their revelation, the Boy and the Billy Goat ran back to the Boy’s house and got a pair of scissors and some glue from his Mother’s drawer.

The Boy and The Billy Goat hid behind the Rock where they had met and went to work.

Cut Cut. Snip Snip. Paste Paste. Pat Pat.

When they were finished, they came out from behind the rock.

“How do I look?” asked the Billy Goat

“Very distinguished.” said the Boy, with a chuckle.

“What about me?” the boy asked, sticking his chin up in the air.

“Extremely handsome, of course.” The Billy Goat replied.

They both laughed and played until the sun went down.

The Billy Goat realized how long he had been gone.

“I guess I should go home now. My Mother will be worried.”

Touching his new, silky, smooth chin.

"Yes. I should probably do the same." answered the Boy.

“And tomorrow I can play with all of the other children and no one will notice anything different about me.” Said the Boy

“And I will return to the Hill and show off my fancy new Gruff.”

They smiled at each other. Proud of what they had accomplished and they went their separate ways.

The next morning the Boy woke up bright and early. He could hardly contain his excitement.

He ran to the mirror to sneak another glimpse of his newly, perfect, bare chin.

When he saw his reflection, he couldn’t believe his eyes. His heart sunk to the bottom of his tummy.

The hair on his chin had grown back overnight. He was different again. There would be no playing with the other children today, perhaps not ever.

He put on his clothes and walked to the Rock where he had met the Billy Goat. He put his head in his hands and he began to cry.

Meanwhile, on the the hill, the Billy Goat played with his new friends. He was having the time of his life.

He pranced around with his new gruff, more confident than ever before. All of the other Billy Goats accepted him.

“Let’s go swimming in the lake at the bottom of the hill!” Shouted one of the billy goats.

They all agreed and sped off down the hill toward the lake.

The Billy Goat was very happy. No one had ever invited him to go swimming in the lake before. It always seemed like it would be so much fun.

He followed the rest of the billy goats, trying to catch up.

The billy goats jumped into the lake, one by one. There was kicking and splashing. Everyone was having a fantastic time.

The Billy Goat took a step back, held his breath and charged feet first into the water.

“How was that everybody?” He shouted after he came up for air.

The other billy goats all stood silent for a moment and stared at the Billy Goat. Then in an instant, they all erupted in laughter.

At first, the Billy Goat was confused and thought that perhaps his jump into the lake did not look as perfect, as he had intended. But the laughter only grew louder and they all began to point and tease him.

He looked down into the water and saw his reflection.

His brand new gruff was gone. It must have washed away when he plunged into the lake. They weren’t laughing at his jump. They were laughing at him.

The Billy Goat quickly made his way out from the lake and ran away as fast as his legs could take him. He didn’t think about where he was going. He only wanted to run as far away from the Hill as possible.

It wasn’t until he couldn’t hear anymore laughter, that he realized how far he had run. He had made it half way to the Village where the Boy lived. He thought of the Boy and imagined how happy he must be with his new friends. He wanted to go see him. Surely the Boy would understand how he felt. Maybe the Boy would even introduce him to his new friends.

The Billy Goat continued on toward the Village.

When he arrived at the village, he noticed the Boy sitting beside the Rock where they had met.

His head was in his hands and he was crying.

The Billy Goat walked over to him and asked, “What is wrong? Why aren’t you playing with the other children?”

The Boy lifted up his head for the Billy Goat to see.

“Your gruff? It grew back. What happened?” Gasped the Billy Goat.

“I will always be different from the others. It was a silly idea in the first place.” Sobbed the Boy.

“My gruff didn’t last very long either. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.” Said the Billy Goat.

“We will just have to get your Mother’s scissors and her glue and try again!” The Billy said with confidence.

“NO! It will always grow back and I will always be different. Please go away.”

The Boy lowered his head back into his hands and continued to sob.

The Billy Goat felt sad for the Boy. He wished there was something he could do to help.

The Billy Goat turned and began to walk away from the Boy, and then he remembered what his Mother had always told him.

He stopped and walked back over to the Boy and sat down next to him.

“Maybe this is our one special thing?”

The Boy looked up at The Billy Goat.

“Our special thing?” asked the Boy.

“Yes. My Mother always told me that everyone in the world has one special thing that makes them different. Sometimes you can see it and sometimes you can’t but it’s there.”

The Billy Goat continued…

“Your gruff is your special thing and not having one is mine.”

He looked at the Boy and smiled.

The Billy Goat raised his bare chin in the air and began to strut.

“This is my special thing and I like being different.” Bragged the Billy Goat.

The Boy wiped the last remaining tear from his eye and managed a smile.

The boy stood up and shouted,

“One best friend is better than a hundred new ones.”

“You’re right!” The Billy Goat agreed and continued...

“And besides, they are all the same anyway.”

They both laughed uncontrollably and ran off to be different. For the first time, The Boy and The Billy Goat felt special.

THE END.

It's Eating Her Brain. I'm Eating Potato Chips...

I am a bad parent.

I have been lying on the couch, watching football all afternoon. My wife is out with my youngest daughter. I am home alone with my 7 year old.

I haven't fed her lunch or even checked on her in quite some time. She knows where we hide the 100 calorie packs. This should suffice.

I'm not overly worried but I am becoming a tad concerned.

She's playing with her Nintendo DS.

Playing is probably not the most accurate description.

She's melded with it.

I hear her grunting, like an old man digging a ditch.

What's even more disconcerting is what follows. There is a pattern developing. Every so often, she shrieks and yells.

"FUCK!"

and then there is quiet.

and then a whisper.

"Sorry".

Who is she apologizing to? Is she sorry for using inappropriate language? Is she apologizing to her Nintendo DS? Is she apologizing to me?

I'd like to think it is the latter. She knows I don't allow that type of language in the house.

But I am a floor below her.

On a couch.

Wrapped in a fleece blanket.

Watching football.

With Sour Cream and Cheddar Potato Chips on my face and Ranch Dip in my hair.

I think about getting up and taking the Nintendo DS from her.

"You should read a book. Enough of the game and watch your language."

But that would ruin everything for me.

So I stay on the couch and pretend it isn't happening. The Nintendo DS is my ally.

From upstairs

"UGH. FUCK!"

She'll be OK.

My wife will be home soon.

And I'll be Out-Numbered once again...

Now for an extra treat, mosey on over to MamaPop and have a look at my latest offering. Just click on the way over sized text below:

Why American Idol Needs Howard Stern

Everyone Loves The Dollar Store...

My daughter has been bugging me for weeks to take her to the $1 store. For some reason she views this place as some type of shopping mecca. I'm not sure what she expects but whatever it is she's imagining, the bar is set pretty high.

7 Year Old - "Daddy, can we please go to the $1 store today? Please. Please. Please.

Out-Numbered - "I suppose. What is it that you want there anyway?"

7 Year Old - "My friends got beautiful rings there and everything is $1. Can we go?"

Out-Numbered - "OK. We can go."

7 Year Old - "YES!"

Out-Numbered - "But you're using your money. Go get your piggy bank."

7 Year Old - "OK Daddy. I love you!"

Out-Numbered - "Yeah. Sure. Today you love me..."

7 Year Old - "What?"

Out-Numbered - "Nothing. Get your money and your coat."

$1 store my ass. That place sucks. How could it not. Everything is a dollar. The shelves are probably lined with crap. What the fuck is a dollar these days anyway? Yarn? Balloons? A key chain? I'm not buying it for one second. If there's one God damn thing in that store that's more than a dollar, I'm gonna bust some ass. No one's gonna break my daughter's dreams.

Walking into the $1 store...

7 Year Old - "Wow. Look at all the stuff."

There's basically a shitload of cheesy Valentines tshatshkes everywhere you look. That and gloves.

Out-Numbered - "Uh, yeah. Cool."

7 Year Old - "What can I get?"

Out-Numbered - "How much money do you have?"

7 Year Old - "Um. Five dollars."

Out-Numbered - "Then you can probably get four things."

7 Year Old - "WHAT? WHY ONLY FOUR THINGS? I HAVE FIVE DOLLARS."

Out-Numbered - "Shhhhhhhhhhh. Calm down."

7 Year Old - "But if everything is a dollar then why can I only get four things?"

Out-Numbered - "Because you have to pay tax?"

7 Year Old - "What?"

Out-Numbered - "Forget it. You can get five things. I'll lend you money if you need it."

We basically spent the next 45 minutes walking around in circles. Aisle after aisle, lined with the most useless shit you've ever seen and my daughter wanted to buy every last bit of it. She even tried to convince me that the "Dog Toys" aisle was for kids. There's a fine line between determination and insanity.

But alas.

Not all was a complete waste of time.

We found this...























A MOOD RING.

In all of it's glory. There was an entire box of them. I haven't seen a mood ring since I was a kid.

Guess how much it was?

That's right bitch.

$1

We'll take four of them.

Not only are mood rings totally badass but now they are completely practical.

I live with three ladies. All I need to do is put a mood ring on each of them and VOILA! Instant mood barometer. It's genius.

Fool proof.

It's all right here:























I haven't tested it out on them just yet but I did give it a test run today myself. This is what I learned.

1) I am most RELAXED when watching High School Musical 3.

2) I am most UNSETTLED when I am on Twitter.

3) I am most ACTIVE when I am taking a piss.

Lord only knows what colors it will turn when I am feeling Out-Numbered...

This Is Real...

I have a really good relationship with my 7 year old daughter.

We have a lot in common. We both love music, we like to be in the spotlight and we are both extremely stubborn. I love being with her. Even when she is being "difficult", I have a tendency to give her the benefit of the doubt. We make each other laugh.

I see myself in her. She's an old soul in a tiny little body.

She's also my first born. There's something to be said about your first born child. There's a special bond. One of my favorite things in the world is tucking her in at night. I lay in bed with her and we talk. We talk about anything and everything from The Jonas Brothers to my 5 O'clock Shadow. The words aren't what's important. It's the energy between us.

Sometimes when she's sleeping, I look at her and think about how little she used to be. I look at her hands, her feet and how she's turning into a young lady. I'm so proud of her. I made that. I had something to do with that. It still amazes me. I'll never be able to fully comprehend the magnitude of that. Sometimes I smile so wide that it hurts my jaw.

My best friend came to visit last weekend for the holiday. We've known each other for 32 years. We met when we were 7. I remember the day we first met. He and his Mother, rang our doorbell. It was a "cold call" so to speak. The neighborly thing to do. I was sick that day, so I couldn't play with him but my younger brother was happy to stand in. We've been friends ever since.

My friend and I were talking in the kitchen and I turned to my daughter and said:

Out-Numbered - "Guess how old we were when we became friends?"

7 Year Old - "I don't know."

Out-Numbered - "Guess"

7 Year Old - "30?"

Out-Numbered - "Nope"

7 Year Old - "40?"

Out-Numbered - "Dude, c'mon, I'm being serious."

7 Year Old - "I don't know. How old?"

Out-Numbered - "We were 7 years old."

She looks at my buddy as if I'm bullshitting her.

Buddy - "He's telling the truth."

7 Year Old - "Whoa! That's my age."

Out-Numbered - "Yep. Pretty cool right?"

That's when it hit me for the first time.

This is all real. It's not just bottles and poop diapers anymore. It's more than Barney and time outs. This shit is real. She's gonna remember all of this. This matters.

Sometimes it's easy to visualize the future. We plan out almost everything. We dream of our kids becoming Doctors and Lawyers (Maybe not so much Lawyers) or even perhaps the next great Vampire Hunter. But whatever it was that first inspired you to start a family, will eventually change.

You see, it turns out that the best part of being a Dad is not about realizing all the things your kids have achieved. It's about actually seeing it happen. It's about watching it unfold in real time. It's about not knowing.

Sitting there with my best friend and watching our kids play was indescribable. It was surreal. And all I could think about was that first night we met, some 32 years ago.

Who will her best friend be?

The best part is, I have no idea and neither does she...



















Now, for a pop culture fix, run along over to Mamapop and check out my latest post. You will like... Just click on the link below:

Two Dicks Are Not Better Than One...

My Staycation: Five Haikus...

I Hate You...

May I have candy?

You must first eat your supper.

You're mean. I hate you.




Movies...

Black Princess, kiss frog.

Blue tits in 3D. Popcorn!

The Chipmunks must die.


Home Gym...

Fifteen pound sand weights.

HDTV on the wall.

Can't do one pull-up.


Carpet Shopping...

Bedroom needs carpet.

So many patterns to choose.

Are you hungry? Soup.


Fat Ass...

I can't stop eating.

Crescent rolls with meat surprise.

BAM! Diarrhea.


Kids yelling at me.
Getting fatter by the day.
I was Out-Numbered...