This blog is now sugar FREE, fat FREE, gluten FREE, all ORGANIC and all NATURAL!!

Thursday, January 14, 2021




Mrs. C is a woman of few words.  She will not communicate if something should be apparent. 

“Why should I waste my words.”

For instance, tonight after dinner I remarked about some Girl Scout cookies we had, “Lemonade” that we both really like.  I need a snack with my evening coffee, and these cookies were high on my list.

“There are only three Lemonades left, I’m having two, but I’m waring you, if you don’t take the last one, it will be toast later on tonight!”


Later tonight it was time to go downstairs and turn out the front light.  The front light is left on every night until 11:00 when it is my job to go downstairs and turn it off.  “Why” you ask, don’t we just turn the light off when we first go upstairs? (which we do early to watch TV)”

Don’t ask!

Anyway, as I was going downstairs, I said,

“Last chance on the Lemonade cookie, if you don’t want it, it is mine.”


I turned out the light and went for the cookie.  It had already been consumed.

When I returned upstairs, I lied to Mrs. C,

“I decided not to eat the last cookie, it’s yours if you want it tomorrow.”


“You’ve got nothing to say?”


“I know you ate it, it was gone!”


“So why didn’t you tell me when I asked if you wanted it?”

“I knew you would figure it out, why should I waste the words.”

“You do know, you are not charged by the word.  It’s not as if when you are born you are only allowed a certain number of words and then you die.  There is no reason to save your words!”


“I hate you!”

“You’re a jerk!”

“You just wasted three words; I know I’m a jerk!”


Monday, January 11, 2021

Do You Remember?


Do You Remember?

For  no particular reason and in no particular order, stuff that most people under 50 will not have a clue…maybe the last one. 

What would you add to the list?

“I’ll get it!”

“Wait till you father gets home”

Putting out empty bottles.

“Children in China are starving!”

“Here’s Johnny!”


“The following show is brought to you in living color.”

“Let’s go, this is where we came in.”

Slide rulers.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold your horses!”

“If you don’t stop, you’ll go blind.”

“In or out, in or out!”

Snow days.

“If you don’t like it, then fire the cook!”*

“If Danny jumped off the Empire State Building, would you jump too?”

Fountain pens.

“Change…wait, go back…never mind, change.”

Heavy petting.

“Wow, what a play…you missed it!”

“If it was a snake it would have bit ya!”*

Penny Loafers.

“You have to wait an hour, you just ate.”

“Sit back, you’ll ruin your eyes.”

Sock Hop.

“Because I said so!”



*Ok, that might have just been my mom.

Friday, January 8, 2021

Cranky or Just Petty


Cranky or Just Petty

 Mrs. C says I am cranky, maybe… it is just that stupid little things piss me off.

I have almost learned to accept young people who have to say, “No problem” instead of “You’re welcome.” 

To me, “No problem” means “It’s OK, I don’t mind doing something for you that I am paid to do.”

When I say “Thank you” to a wait person and they say “No problem,” I bite my tongue to not reply,

“I did not think it was a problem to bring my order since that is pretty much your job description.”

Fortunately Mrs. C has convinced me that “No problem” is the new “You’re welcome” and I let it slide.

The current aluminum foil on my tooth fillings is the asshats that work at our Recycle Center.

We can recycle our plastics, glass and cardboard every Monday and Friday at our center aptly named “Fort Grumpy.” 

I appreciate that the workers at the center are mostly “Refuse Specialists” (we used to call them Garbagemen) and working the recycle center is not their favorite task. 

They used to be pleasant enough, even helpful, but not since the pandemic.

Since the pandemic they now have to verify upon entry that you are in fact a town resident, and then assure you wear your mask.  They now also have become refuse Nazi’s, following you around as you toss your trash making sure there is not an illegal co-mingling of materials.

Give someone a little power to police and they become asshats.

The other day I was dumping paper from a plastic bag into the paper bin.  The plastic bag does not go in the paper bin, it is tossed elsewhere.

I know this. 

As I was removing the paper from the plastic bag a refuse policeman started yelling from a nearby truck. 

“You cumn’t mumber the bugger wim them pambents!”


“You cumn’t mumber the bugger wim them pambents!”

“Excuse me?”

“You cumn’t mumber the bugger wim them pambents!”

“Ok, I won’t mumber the bugger wim them pambents! problem!”


A week ago I drove into the center. 

They used to have a dude out front checking your ID.  This day the guy was in a different place and he did not appear to be waiting to check anything.  I drove slowly and he did not make a move, so I continued to drive assuming that checking ID was not an issue like it was not an issue before the pandemic.  (Apparently due to the pandemic there is a fear of people from other townships using our recycle center.)

He gave no indication that he was concerned until he ran after me screaming,

“Stop,  where do you think you are going?”

I stopped and flashed my license proving I was not a criminal while he lectured me about not obeying his non-existent instructions. (There is a sign so…)

Today I drove into the center and the same asshat was waiting.  I stopped, showed him my license and he went over it with a fine tooth comb assuring I was not a miscreant trying to drop Old Bridge refuse in the Sayreville refuse center. 

Of course with a face mask there is no way he could verify it was my picture, but he went through the process anyway before grunting,

“Straight ahead” while pointing straight ahead.

I felt he could have just said, “Thank you.”

I wanted to reply back.

“Really, straight ahead?  Not turn around and go home as that would be the only other option?”

Instead I just told him,

“No problem.”

He is a young guy.  Probably does not know that “No problem” is not today's “Thank you” or “You’re welcome,” but is in reality, Old Peoples',

“Go fuck yourself!”

Made me feel better.






Friday, January 1, 2021

The Great Westfield High Nose Whistler of 1961

I often mention old friend Frog,  From College, fly-fishing and guitar picking this story marks the beginning of a 60 year friendship.  It was brought up the other night at a New Years Eve Zoom party so I thought I would repeat it on my blog.  A re-run from 2012.

 The Great Westfield High Nose Whistler of 1961


“Pssst Frog, check this out.”  
Frog and I shared a table in 7th period study hall sophomore year in high school.  I barely knew him then, though he would become my best friend through college and right up to today.

“What?…I’m studying.”  
Frog was a bit of a nerd; well I thought he was at the time.  First he was smart, second he was the football team equipment manager.  I would become captain of the team our senior year.  So Frog was a nerd, I was a stud; except the nerd was getting laid…me not so much.

Anyway…in this study hall Frog was all I had; I had something to show and I had to show someone.

“Frog, check this out.” 
I closed one nostril of my nose and exhaled slowly out the other.  A high pitched loud whistle pierced the air. 

“No friggin way!  Do that again.” Frog whispered.

So I did it again and we both melted into silent sniggering.

“What is that?”  Mr. Barnes the study monitor barked.  
Mr. Barnes was the meanest, nastiest, detention-handingoutiest study hall monitor in the history of study hall monitors.

I let out another stealth whistle. 

Mr. Barnes was irate.  Detention pad in hand he scoured the room for the offender.  No one in the room except Frog and I, knew where the whistle came from.  We sniggered, whistled and tormented Mr. Barnes the rest of the period.

The next day Frog told everyone about my peculiar ability to whistle through my nose.  
I rehearsed all day long.  When 7th period came, half of the room knew about my stealth whistle talent.  They were all anxiously awaiting the whistling torture I was going to give Mr. Barnes, the meanest study monitor in all of Westfield High history.

When the bell rang, the pre-study hall hubbub ended.  An eerie hush hung over the cafeteria, as by now the entire room knew of my whistling ability and awaited the Mr. Barnes torment. 

“Now!” Frog whispered, and I collapsed one nostril and let blow out the other.
“Woosh”…Woosh? I blew again, and again nothing.  Frog held up his hands in that “I don’t know kind-a way,” for the entire hall to see.

That’s it, shows over, nothing to see (or hear) here. 

The room went back to its normal study semi-buzz. 

“What happened?” Frog asked.

“Booger shifted” I answered with a shrug. 

And that was the end of “The Great Westfield High Nose Whistler of 1961.”  
It was a legend that only Frog and myself experienced; a fleeting moment of greatness that somehow forged a lifelong friendship.