Sunday, May 29


This story takes place when I was about 15-16 years old. My mother and I were driving back from the golf range where she would happily take me whenever I needed some practice. I was a pretty good golfer in the day and tried to get to the range as much as possible. Looking back on those days I realize how my mother would just sit there and read a book for an hour or two while I smacked 275 yard drives (no shit I'm serious). Pretty nice of her.

One day coming back from the range we were driving along Candlewood Lake Road in New Milford, CT. The thin stretch of road before reaching my childhood home is quite beautiful on a summer day, with the sun dancing off the water's top.

We were driving along in her Brown 85 Toyota Camry as we came upon a jogger who was on his daily run. As I mentioned in the previous paragraph, the road is a bit narrow. It was a beautiful day too. You remembered I said that, right?

So anyway we hit the jogger with her car because there was another car coming in the other lane and there was not enough room or time to swerve or slam on the brakes. In my mom's defense it happened so quickly that there was nothing else she could have done other than clip the car which would probably have been a much huger accident still involving the jogger. The road being narrow as I mention for the third time now, allows enough room for two cars but doesn't really offer a shoulder for say a jogger or hot dog cart.

The man tumbled down the hill. But just a little bit.

Now if I was fabricating this tale I would have ended it with me and my mother burying the man down in the sand by the lake. We then would gone to San Remo, our local pizza joint for a slice of pepperoni and a Pepsi, not mentioning what had just happened and never speaking of it again.

But this is a true story.

And as I eluded to in the title this is a funny story, so here comes that part.

The jogger got to his feet and came up to the road. I didn't know if he was going to flip out and try to kill us so I had my trusty 9 iron in my hand just in case. I didn't know if I was going to have to finish off what my mother had started. No I'm kidding, I used it to help him get up off the hill. We had only clipped him on the back of the thigh. He was in pain but not about to die and not bleeding, well maybe a wee little.

I used to sleep with my putter in bed thinking it would make me a better golfer. It didn't. I think it just made me have weird unhealthy fantasies about putters. I swear nothing happened between me and that putter. We just slept together. I would also talk to it sometimes. It never spoke back to me. Well ok one time it said, "Can you please let me sleep with the rest of the clubs because they make fun of me every time we're on the course, making smoochie noises at me if you get a birdy or sink a long par putt."

Wow it's late let's get back to the story.

So this jogger was a little woosy which is understandable, I mean he just got smacked by the power of the 85 Camry. Thank god it wasn't the 2004 Camry she has now because this story might not be as funny. He would be dead. Ok so still it would have been a little bit funny but I probably wouldn't be sharing it with you. That's the kind of story just for family when you're sitting around Thanksgiving dinner, eating and laughing when the uncle in the toupee goes, "Hey Daniel remember when your mom killed that guy with her car. Shit that must have been something." That's why that uncle is only allowed over once a year.

Oh ok the funny part. And again this is a truey.

So my mother and I are standing there looking at this sweaty and now filthy man (rolled down the hill remember) stumbling around with twigs, leaves, and soil pasted all over his body. Of course we began apologizing profusely. We weren't sure what to do so obviously we offered him a ride to the hospital. He didn't think he needed any medical attention, just wanted to be dropped at his car.

We obliged. BUT, before he got in the car my mom said, "Wait one second I need to get something." She went into her trunk and retrieved a sheet, lined the back seat with it, and told him he could now sit down. Because he was so dirty, she didn't want to ruin the interior of her 85 Camry. I'm not so sure I understood at the time that someone should be that concerned with a little sweat and soil on their seats after almost killing a man. But then again I didn't have a car and figured I might want to also keep mine in nice condition when I did.

Looking back now, many years later, I still don't think I understand that. But it was really nice of her taking me to the driving range all those years to hit golf balls. I love you mom!

- Editors Note:

After all the blah blah blah about this being a true story listen to this. Mi Madre came into the city for Memorial day and we went out to lunch and then hung out on the pier a little (pic of Brooklyn bridge I took while there). So while we were at lunch I said, "Mom remember that day you hit that jogger on the road," and then told her about the little story I had written for my website. She was like, "Dipshit I didn't hit that jogger, a young girl driving in front of us did." I was like, "no way dude, seriously?"

She reminded my french fried brain that a young woman who had just gotten her license was the actual one who hit him. This Linda Leadfoot was too hysterical to do anything so we all told her just to go home. Then we offered the guy a ride but my mom DID described him as being filthy and sweaty. Also the part about her not wanting him in our 85 Camry was right on the money. She also reminded me that she was mad at the fact this guy was even jogging on the road in the first place, which does not offer a shoulder for a jogger or say an old time bicycle with the big front wheel. I had mentioned that earlier as well.

- Editors second note: My mom didn't actually call me a "dipshit" but by the tone of her voice I could tell she was thinking it.

Thursday, May 26


I had a good idea a few years ago that would make for a good tv clip. I wanted to set up a situation where I hired someone dressed in a huge Barney costume to come to a party I would be at. Barney would be walking into the party and I would mutter something about not liking clowns and get this real psychotic look in my eye. I would then run over and start attacking the guy dressed up by Barney.

The guy would be in on it. I would plan the entire thing out beforehand. We would go over the routine a wrestler does. He would be fighting back and getting in some good punches.

I guess the only glitch would be if someone tried to intervene and break us up. But I would insist we go onto the front yard to finish it, and of course the guy would say something like, "Yeah man I'm going to finish what you started."

Try to visualize it and remember that he would be keeping the head of the costume on the entire time.

We would go onto the front yard and start beating the crap out of each other. A real fight.

Oh and I forgot to mention I would be on a first date with some girl who thought I was totally normal up to this point.

Did I say I had a good idea a few years ago. Maybe this wasn't it.

You know you're up too late when you hear the words, "The following is a paid advertisement by blah blah blah."


Sunday, May 22


heavyweight president

I found this picture online, not quite sure what the caption should be but I was trying to think of something. As I was thinking about it I noticed the picture of George Washington in the background. That "George" was a great president. I wonder what he would think of our current George? I honestly don't think he would be too impressed. I realize we won't always have amazing presidents but come on. George W. Bush is obviously no George Washington, but when you think about it he's barely a George Jefferson.

If you didn't take a good look at the picture look again.

Saturday, May 14


Yeah so I happened to wander into a 6th grade spelling bee last week. I still beat the living crap out of those little shits. After each round I ran up and gave one of the kids a wedgie. Magnificent...



spelling bee

Ok I have to say those kids put up quite a fight. I kept coughing and blurting out wrong letters loudly every time it was their turn. They would look over to me as if to say, "Please giant man stop interrupting my turn," I would then point to them and make a fist with a punching motion. I think that helped seal my victory.

*editors note: I actually realized I spelled magnificent wrong after running spell check on this truly embarrassing.

Friday, May 13


I woke up today.

Got out of bed.


Took a shower.

Spoke to Mingus about him not waking me up right when I'm falling asleep.

Checked weather on the one's.

Ran out the door.

Caught the F train almost immediately.

Caught my transfer J, M, or Z train almost seamlessly.

Got out at Chambers street.

Lit a smoke as I was running out of the station.

Got to my building on Worth Street.

Ran out of the elevator on my floor.

Slammed my time card into the machine.

All within 47 minutes.


Monday, May 9


I have been working on my surprised face when I realize what time it is. I am not usually shocked by the time or have anywhere important to go to but I realize most people do, so I'm trying to learn.

"My god look at the time!" Imagine the shocked look on my face as my eyes bulge and I bring my wrist up and down, shaking my head in disbelief.

Problem is, when you do this you really have to follow it up by quickly leaving the room . I learned that if you just sit back down in your chair and check your email and start whistling the theme to Bonanza, people will think you're nuts. Also it helps to have a watch on the wrist you're bulging your eyes to.

I usually get hit with allergies a few times a year. Today it was soooo bad I had to run out to buy the big box of puffs plus and used at least half of it. Eventually I had to buy some Claritan D as well. At one point there was basically water running out of my nose, I couldn't stop it. It wasn't so disgusting though because it was clear and not the consistency of snot. Literally looked like water even when a drop hit the floor. I let that happen for fun.

It was like my nose was crying. What made you cry nose? a sad smell perhaps?

Sunday, May 8


Just something I started writing on one of those "Can't sleep nights":

He worked at the local deli on the corner of 4th Place and Court Street in Carrol Gardens, Brooklyn. Situated between a greasy pizza spot and a new yuppie Thai restaurant, Spunnani Deli was the oldest commercial building on the block. Walking through the front door, the faint smell of home made soppresetta and mozzarella sank into your mouth and gently stung your nostrils. Great orbs of cheese hung motionless in the air among the movements and vibrations of customers zooming in and out. Occasionally the older customers would linger, proudly announcing the accomplishments of family members while noting their personal ailments and failing health. 30 year old Italian women with bad hair and worse wardrobes stood with sarcastic impatience waiting for their orders, one or two children dangling from their legs, arms. Faux Hipsters with high paying jobs would patiently wait on line for what was described as "The best fresh and smoked mozzarella in New York City."

Thurber liked the food there but didn't distinguish much flavor difference from Spunnai's mozzarella and any other he had tasted in his 23 years of life. He would go home each evening around 8pm after closing the store, reeking of cured meat and cigarette smoke. The arrangement with the owner allowed him several breaks during the day in lieu of a single lunch break like the rest of the staff. One of these 10-15 minute breaks would usually include a Marlboro red, sucked down to the filter not allowing a morsel of tobacco to go wasted. Other times he would sit on a milk crate in front of the store with a hunk of fresh baked semolina and an old Ceramic dish partially filled with fine extra virgin olive oil, salt, pepper, and some coarsely chopped fresh garlic. He ate quickly but with grace, effortlessly tearing the bread with his thin long pencil like fingers and timing the last piece to clean the bowl perfectly.

Wednesday, May 4


Its spring but the temperature was barely 60 degrees today. People are still walking around with winter coats.

The ice cream man came by today on my block and man I have to say I never realized how annoying that music is. Its so repetitive that it becomes nauseating to hear. How does that guy deal with it? I guess you just tune it out and after awhile you don't hear it anymore.

I bet his wife screws with him and blasts it early in the morning to wake him up.

Wait a minute. I doubt 45 year old bald ice cream truck drivers are married. Or are they? Women do like ice cream.