Sweet and spicy, just like grandma...

I know a thing or two about grandmas. You might say I'm a grandma expert.

Hello, my name is David, and I'm a Male Grandma. I feel better already.

My special abilities are thoughtful gifts and soup. I am beloved of animals and babies. I know my way around a garage sale. I strongly believe that food solves most problems. I require hugs to maintain my magic. Grandma Magic.

What does any of this have to do with the McDonald's commercials other than repeated and deliberate use of the word "grandma"? I won't answer that or any of your other questions, Becky.

I've often been described as motherly. At first, I was insulted by this. My latent masculinity programming would automatically go on the offense. Motherly? Excuse you? The Masculinity Protocol doesn't allow for comparisons to any female characteristic, least of all that of a mother. As I grew and matured, I came to realize that being compared to a mother wasn't an insult. The people that were saying it were people close to me, so their intent was not to ridicule or emasculate me. I'm caring and empathetic like a mother. A compliment. Never been good at taking those. Where was I going with this?

I notice when people get haircuts. This startles some people, especially men. To the straight male mind, when I say "Hey! You got a haircut. Looks good." that translates to "Yo, lemme get that dick".

I dadsplain more than I mansplain. The difference is intent. Dadspaining comes from a place of love and concern. Perhaps you don't know the proper way to remove an engorged tick. Allow me to dadsplain that process to you, as well as the dangers of Lyme Disease. There is an easier way to complete the task you are doing, allow me to give you an unsolicited tutorial on my superior method because I love you. It's not as bad.

I'm working through a lot right now, mentally and emotionally. My Dad passed away on August 10th. I haven't talked much about it. I don't know that I'm going to. I don't know that anything makes any sense. And that's the one thing I know for sure.

Things get weird for me. I'm sure it gets weird for everyone, but I only know from my own perception how weird it gets. Life feels like a movie I'm watching. I feel like a spectator.

Some days, I don't feel anything. I wonder sometimes if my feelings are only the feelings of the people around me and that when I'm by myself I don't really feel anything.

I'm at the beginning of a two week break. I'm not sure what I want to get out of it other than doing some laundry and throwing away a lot of shit. The head-space I'm in right now is uncharted territory for me. Where do I go from here?

I'm trying to keep it sweet and spicy, like grandma. Maybe a little bit more spice than sugar. I want to be a more authentic me, but I'm not sure what that looks like. I don't recognize myself sometimes.

Control is really just the illusion of control. Keep the plates spinning. Figure it out. Don't stop moving.


Day 1. Rest.

Spectral Garage

"I don't remember that rotten garage being there before," said David, peering at a dilapidated old stone-and-mortar garage that sat on a hill in the distance.

"It's the Mandela Effect," said Dane without looking up. He was otherwise engaged with repairing his harpoon gun.

"No, I mean it wasn't there a few minutes ago and now it's there. I don't know if that qualifies as the Mandela Effect. And for the record, Nelson Mandela died in 2013, not the 80's."

Dane locked a harpoon into the muzzle of his cannon and fired it into the trunk of a maple tree behind David.

"That's what they want you to think." he said.

David rolled his eyes. "How long has Dylan been gone?" he asked.

"Coupla hours."

David snapped his fingers, summoning his grimoire. The eldritch tome appeared suddenly, floating in front of him. It opened and the pages started to turn themselves rapidly before stopping on an entry entitled Spectral Garages. He read aloud:

"Spectral garages and other menacingly out-of-place buildings are a rare occurrence in the Shift. Though most spectral garages are perfectly benign, one should always proceed with caution as they are occasionally portals to pocket dimensions or storage facilities for unsavory characters. Usually, if you wait long enough they disappear."

Dane sucked his teeth. "You love that book."

The book closed and vanished instantly.

The bushes rustled and Dylan emerged, covered in purple slime. Dane, who a millisecond earlier had been pointing his two sidearms at those same bushes lowered his weapons and laughed uncontrollably.

Dylan's eyes narrowed. He always did this when he felt some kind of way. This earned him the nickname Squintin Tarantino.

"What happened? What is that?" asked David.

Dane continued to laugh.

"Stepped on a caco-fairy nest on my way back. Apparently they explode when electrocuted." Dylan said, squinting at Dane who was now on the ground cackling.

"Looks like Barney bukakke to me," said Dane, grinning madly as he got to his feet, dusting himself off.

David raised his hand, his eyes clouding over, "Purifico!" A small flash, and the slime was gone.

"Thanks, bro." said Dylan.

"Did you find it?" asked David.

Dylan reached into his pack and pulled out something wrapped in rags and handed it to him.

"Wasn't cheap. She wanted twice what we were offering."

David carefully unwrapped the item while Dane and Dylan looked on. Inside the tattered rags was a small wooden sphere. It was a rich mahogany color and covered in etched arcane symbols. This was what they had been looking for.

"How did you get it? I sent you with everything we had."

Dylan seemed distracted by something in the distance. "Uh, guys?"

David and Dane turned around. The spectral garage was gone. In it's place was an inexplicable creature the size of a school bus. It appeared to be composed almost completely of tentacles and a massive solitary eye. It let out a shrill shriek that reverberated through the forest, shaking the leaves above them. Though it had no mouth to speak of, it almost certainly meant to devour them.

(To be continued...)

More Wire Hangers

It was my mother's birthday this week, so I thought it would be nice to commemorate that occasion with a little mommy blog...

The first time I saw "Mommie Dearest", I was hooked. It was inevitable. I immediately changed my mother's contact information in my phone from "the Dark One" to "Mommie Dearest", which it remains to this day.

Being an angsty teen, I naturally tried to draw parallels between my life and Christina Crawford, but failed for a number of reasons:

1. I didn't live in the most beautiful house in Brentwood, I lived in one the crappiest houses in Midland Park.
2. My Mommie wasn't a movie star, she was a waitress (which is still an acting gig as far as I'm concerned).
3. I did not have an endless parade of "uncles" and subsequently didn't have to fix drinks for them.
4. I wasn't forced to clean anything, except for the occasional dish and even then I would always leave one or two in the sink as a form of passive aggression.
5. We were encouraged to use wire hangers because they were free. The only hangers forbidden were the hangers that my Nanny had crocheted fancy sleeves around. They were reserved for Mommie Dearest alone and it was considered a capital offense to misappropriate one of them.

Christina and I did have a few things in common:

1. Both of our mothers made the scariest faces they could muster.
2. Both of our mothers liked to drink.
3. We both knew where to find the boys and the booze.

My favorite scene, and probably the most iconic one, is the wire hanger scene. Joan comes into the children's room looking a fright and discovers a wire hanger in Christina's closet. This naturally sends her into a savage rage, kicking off my favorite monologue of all time. For your enjoyment, this is what that scene would have looked like at my house:

[Mary enters the boys' room, Newport Light 100 in one hand, remnants of a bologna sandwich in the other. She finishes the sandwich and climbs over one of David's piles to the closet. She lovingly looks through their clothes. Heineken t-shirt. Budweiser t-shirt. She stops and glares, briskly sliding the clothes off to one side to reveal a Guinness St. Patrick's Day shirt on a crocheted hanger. She snatches it from the closet rod.]

"More...wire...HANGERS! What's fancy Nanny hangers doing in this closet when I told you no fancy nanny hangers EVER?! I work and work until I'm half dead and I hear people saying 'she's getting old'. And what do I get? A SON! Who cares as much about the Coors Light t-shirts I give him...as he cares about me! What's fancy Nanny Hangers doing in this closer? Answer me! I bring you beautiful beer t-shirts from the bar and you treat them like they were some dishrag. You threw a three dollar t-shirt on a fanny Nanny hanger! We'll see how many you got hidden in here, we'll see! All of this is coming out! Out! Out! Out! Out! We're gonna see how many fancy nanny hangers you've got in your closet!"

Now that I'm older, my mother and I are less like Joan and Christina Crawford and more like Big and Little Edie Beale. I imagine one day we'll be living in a dilapidated mansion infested with raccoons and cats. I'm already bald, so all I need now is a head scarf and revolutionary outfit of the day. Picture me standing next to a eight-foot pile of tin cans talking about the craftsmanship of the banister while my mother lays in bed in a sunhat, warbling to warped records as a cat urinates behind her portrait and the corn boils on the hotplate. A girl can dream.

Happy birthday, Mommie Dearest.

Toys "R" Bust

Beloved toy retailer, Toys "R" Us, is soon to be but a memory.

My brother Dane notified us in a group text message:

*Peenaponatuna is the name I selected for my brother, Dane, when my parents asked me what I wanted to name him. I was 2 and change at the time. The spelling is still disputed to this day.

We ended up going to the Wayne Hills Mall location that Sunday. I had a lot of grand ideas about the items I would purchase while we drove there, passing the brushed silver sign for Toys "R" Us headquarters in Wayne, NJ. I imagined board games and the family game nights that would follow. I imagined rolling around on my bed nude covered in Lego minifigures, like I was Demi Moore in Indecent Proposal (Indecent Legosal, if you will). My mind raced with visions of Mario Brothers plushies and Pop Vinyls. Ninja Turtles and Nerf guns.

The parking lot wasn't as packed as I thought it would be. Not surprising really since the Wayne Hills Mall is all but abandoned, a relic of a time before super stores and online shopping.

Wayne Hills Mall entrance. (Photo credit: goodrob13 on flickr)

Mom taking a picture of the storefront.

My dreams of board games and Legos were immediately dashed upon entering the building. People were rummaging through the aisles which were stocked haphazardly. Obviously, the plan was to get every item out on the shelves as quickly as possible. We approached the board game area which was desolate. But there were plenty of these:

Fig. 1.1 the dreaded Silly Sausage

Fig. 1.2 #pokeme

I can only assume that the Silly Sausage's predecessor was the Bop It. I'm not sure exactly why they made it into a sausage. In fact, I find the transformation rather perverse. See for yourself...

Truly edifying. And horrifying.

We hurried around the corner to the Lego section and the wind was knocked out of me.

Not a single item remained. They must have been among the first things to go. Suddenly we were filled with dread. We all came to the same panicked thought next. Nerf guns!

We dashed through the store and were lucky enough to find Star Wars themed Nerf dart blasters and several packs of 100 darts. These blasters also made the signature Star Wars blaster sound when you pulled the trigger. We had lucked out. This was not good news for my mother, however, as she bore the brunt of most of our Nerf gun attacks.

Moving through each remaining aisle, dodging our fellow vultures picking the bones clean from this once great toy behemoth, I couldn't help but feel sad. It was sad.

We didn't have a lot of money growing up, so when we got to go to Toys "R" Us, it was usually for our birthdays or as a special treat. There was a sense of awe walking through the aisles, seeing all the games and toys, making a Christmas list in your head. Our family made an art out of window shopping. Sometimes we would go to stores just to look at things. People think that's sad when I tell them that, but really it was fun for us. The fantasy of having everything you wanted was better than not having it.

As an adult the feeling was very different, especially given the circumstances.

I am, by nature, overly sentimental - I'll save a scrap of ribbon or a ticket stub if it reminds me of something lovely. In that sense, I'm glad we took our last trip to Toys "R" Us together, and I'm sad to see it go not because of the company itself but because of the wonder that it will take with it. Maybe kids now and in the future will get the same feeling wandering the limited toy aisles of Target and Walmart. Maybe it's being a kid that brings magic to places and not the other way around. Dane was right, it was a funeral, but not for our generation's toy store - it was a funeral for our childhood.

What now?

Armed with their Nerf blasters, the three brothers stared off into the sunset not sure of where to head next. What adventures awaited them in adulthood?

"Are we ready?" David said, plucking the solitary white hair from his beard.

Dane stuck the shovel into the ground having just buried Geoffrey.

They looked at him, slightly younger but already feeling the sharp pain of growing up. They smiled.

"Locked and loaded, bro." said Dylan.

"Cowabunga." said Dane.

Food for thought, mostly poison

Voodoo Cake

It is said that when a cake is cut, sugarcane fields can be heard crying in the warm Barbados breeze.

* * *

Define “Testicle”

More than a quiz, but a little less than a test.

* * *

After Canada conquered the US in the early 21st century, the Maple Doctrine was adopted. This document overwrote the American Constitution and many of the US's unwritten rules.

Perhaps the most memorable revision was Article 7, clause 32; the 5-second rule does not apply to shag carpeting.

* * *

"I can't believe that boat is named Wet Dream," I said to Nanny.

She turned to Poppa to clarify.

"It's the name of the boat in Margaret's yard," she said to him in a hushed tone.

"Did Margaret name it?" I asked.

"Probably. She's a drunk," she said matter-of-factly.

* * *

Georgina on Hitler:

"Anyone who uses their oven for anything other than storage is a complete wanker."

* * *

A Postcard from Aunt Mary:

Dear David,

         Since you are our family's Hemingway, I thought it most appropriate to send you this postcard from Key West where Hemingway lived and did a lot of his writing. I visited his home today and thought of you - the next Ernest Hemingway!

          I love you <3 <3 <3

          Aunt Mary

PS - Hemingway had four wives and sixty-two cats!

* * *

Getting Laid at the MET

I tried that once. It didn't really work out.

* * *

Mary Meets God

               Human life, and all life for that matter, concluded in a single rainy afternoon at the Porchlight Grill in Midland Park, New Jersey.  Mary was sitting at the bar on her break after waiting tables for six hours.  She was about to ravage a nice juicy hamburger, when from the corner of her eye she spotted something moving on the floor.  She hopped off her bar-stool and put her glasses on.

               Before her, on the tiled floor, was a large cockroach.  As not to cause a stir, she crushed the enormous bug under her black tennis shoe.

               And so, the very fabric of the Universe unraveled.

♫ Pointy boots for your birthday ♫

Typical visits with my father consist mostly of youtube videos, him singing small songs that he just made up, and bickering about one conspiracy or another.

"Did you hear that Michelle Obama is a man?" he will inevitably say. I will roll my eyes, he will show me the youtube video, and then I will at least have doubts about Michelle Obama's gender.

My friend from England was visiting me and he came over Dad's for dinner one night. Before the dinner, I warned him that my father would most likely talk to him about Queen Elizabeth drinking babies' blood in the basement of Buckingham Palace. That is precisely what happened.

The earth is flat. And hollow. The planet is ruled by an elite class of lizard people. Hilary Clinton is a clone. Pretty standard fare at Charlie's house.

This visit, we watched some fail videos with Dane and Bobbi Jo. After they left to go have dinner, he put on this video:

You should watch the whole thing, or at least until they start dancing. Somewhere during this nine minute exploration of Mexican pointy boots, it begins...

"What size you take?" he asks while peering into his phone.
"What are you doing?" I ask, fully knowing that he is online shopping for Mexican pointy boots.

Then the song begins:

♫ Pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots ♫
[key change]
♫ Pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots ♫

And so on.

Then he shows me this picture:

Fig. 1.1 Cobra head pointy boots

♫ Cobra head pointy boots for your birthday ♫

"Oh, there's a sale on now!" he says, exuberantly.

Fig. 1.2 Mexican Pointy Boots, chillin

"Come on, I'll buy a pair for Nelson, too." As if offering to buy a pair of Mexican pointy boots for my boyfriend will somehow convince me to accept a pair for myself.

♫ Fabuloso pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots ♫

As we watch them do a strange pointy boot shuffle dance, he gives me the hard sell.

"Look at them dance. Takes a lot of skill. I want to get you a pair of pointy boots because I think you'd really excel at this."

Fig 1.3 Ultimate Challenge: Mexican Pointy Boot Cycling

♫ Pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots

Cobra head pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots

Fabuloso pointy boots for your birthday, pointy boots ♫

My birthday is only a few months away, plenty of time to have some custom Mexican pointy boots ordered and shipped. You may be thinking, he won't actually order them. You'd be wrong.

"Fluff and Chow"

For the dozen or so of you reading this blog, my apologies for no entries the past few days; I was busy and didn't much feel like it. I also knew I had a family engagement to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday coming up, so I figured I would hold off as that was sure to yield some gems.

For one reason or another, they have an unhealthy fixation with Chinese buffets, so we tried one we hadn't been to before. The previous buffet was visibly higher quality, but my brother was leery to return there due to a confrontation between my aunt and a man she felt was hogging all the raw oysters.

The attendees were as follows:

Mom: Road-rage legend. No filter.
Dad: Conspiracy theorist. Chinese chicken-wing aficionado.
Gail: Dads's girlfriend. Talented artist. Dog enthusiast.
Dane:  Middle brother. Wild Card.
Bobbi Jo: AKA Slubbybubbercans. Sister-in-Law. Birthday girl.
Dylan: Baby brother. Favorite past time - shooting mom in the face with nerf darts.
Justine: Dylan's girlfriend. Strong silent type. Ate pizza at a Chinese buffet.
Me: Epicurean in a lilac polo shirt.

We wasted no time taking our coats off and bee-lining for the expansive selection of food. I was fairly put off by a majority of the offerings at the Flaming Grill & Supreme Buffet ("The Flaming Asshole Grill" - Mom) on Route 23. There were a number of unidentifiable and/or unappetizing dishes, most notably a whole grey-skinned fish that had taken on a glossy gelatinous sheen. Oh, and calamari which my mother looked at and said "That's pig rectum" matter-of-factly.

After fixing a conservative plate of green beans, fried shrimp, and chicken variations, I sat down with my family. The green beans were delicious. The chicken was rubbery, if it was in fact chicken.

* * *

"I thought this was shrimp!" my mother said, referring to an amorphous fried nugget.
"It's sweet and sour chicken, mommy," I said.
"But I didn't get any sauce!"

* * *

I quit smoking cigarettes about a month ago:

Mom: I'm going out for a cigarette, you're coming with me.
Me: No I'm not. I quit and it's cold outside.
Mom: David! Come with me. What if I get robbed or raped?
Me: [Shrug]
Mom: It's ok - I wore my rape pants.

* * *

[Upon her return]
Me: How was the raping?

* * *

After discussing the pros and cons of DNA ancestry tests (particularly the possibility of getting cloned), government spooks, and chem-trails, Dane looked around to the now vacant area of the restaurant we occupied and said, "We cleared that out pretty fast."

Gail told us about a tutorial she'd seen using old Tic Tac containers for spice storage when camping. Dane insisted that you could just bring your spices with you rather than go to all the trouble of filling Tic Tac containers with spices that you probably wouldn't need anyway since you were camping. Gail clarified that they would be glamping, which I understand is a portmanteau of glamor and camping, two words that should never be used together or combined to form a new word.

Fig. 1.1 Tic Tac Spice Storage

While it's a cute idea, I have a number of issues:

1. Why would you need nutmeg or garam masala on a camping trip, glamorous or otherwise?
2. Other than salt and pepper, please name one other spice of any use for food you'd be preparing on a camping trip.
3. Why would you take the time to do this when this exists:

Fig 1.2 "Multi Spice" Jar

According to my sources, she already has a number of these Tic Tac containers saved and ready to go. I predict that despite our well-meant criticisms of this project, she will continue unhindered.

Back to the buffet.

Dylan sustained a small oral injury from the sharp edge of a fried wonton. I mocked him all evening like a good big brother.

Upon returning to Bobbi Jo's (Slubbybubbercans if you're nasty) and Dane's place, my mother had some gifts for us. Lego mini-figures and shell magnets for all. Then I was shown what she made Bobbi Jo for her birthday:

This is a hot-glue project made from driftwood, sharks teeth, and seashells. It is also a magnet. After requesting one for myself, I suggested she sell these on the side of the road during the Summer. Dane suggested that it was actually a prehistoric bread knife.

We also each received a small ziplock of fresh basil, two large cans of crushed tomatoes, and a large bag of rice, pictured below:

Fluff and chow

Apparently, concerned the world was going to end via North Korea, she purchased a 20lb bag of rice; like ya do. She then sat on her bed and divided the bag up between her three children and in permanent marker wrote the instructions for how to prepare the rice. She insisted that it was "the good stuff", to which I countered "Nothing good comes in a twenty pound bag." I also let her know that I would never be eating this rice as I now considered it a family heirloom.

"Fluff and chow. Love, Mommy"

FIN