The Modern Curmudgeon

Let's celebrate, it's the new year! 2009's finally here! And it's not a bit shockin' That Dick Clark's still rockin' (Only now it's in a rockin' chair).

I guess that you know you're old when You find it a moment of zen Not commemorating New Year's Eve celebrating But by watching it on CNN.

A playdate, My mother, Aunt G... Sister, Nephew, remove xmas tree... Meet gate fix-it guy... Guess it's no wonder I Am exhausted.  It's 7:03.

Once again it's that time of year to Take a moment, reflect, and review. And having reviewed I've come to conclude That 2008 gets an F.U.

Tonight I'm in a foul mood Feeling like I just might come unglued Over job prospects (few) And what I may have to do If I don't get work soon... man, I'm screwed. But at least I haven't been laid off Or lost money to that Bernie Madoff I'm just unemployed And kind of annoyed Which I guess isn't too bad a tradeoff.

This evening my Mom hits the floor I think, "Oh God, she's dying for sure." And then in runs my son Screams, "I called 911!" Which turns out to be premature. As my Mother, it seems, is just fine And just needs a moment of time. And fortunately We never did teach Our son to first check for a line. So the lesson here?  Make sure that you Teach your four year-old that you have to 1. Pick up the phone. 2. Get a dial tone. Or 911's pretty much moot.

A guy asked me, "Jon, why the limerick?" (For our purposes, let's just call him 'Rick'). And I said, "Honestly, Rick, between you and me, Sometimes a guy just needs a gimmick."

Enough of you, Christmas Day! With your chocolates, your cheeses, filet, Your cocktails, your pie, And your wine... Jesus Christ. I have no idea what I weigh.

'Tis the season when I make a big fuss (A sore spot twixt me and the missus 'Cause she likes a tree And not so much, me). Ah, to hell with it: Good Erev Christmas.

When will I learn, I ask, when That my teams made of fake football men Bring no fantasy glory Just the same old sad story. And yet next year I'll do it again.

I don't know what goes on in that brain It's like he's on speed or cocaine The meltdowns, the growling The babbling, the scowling Is he four...  or is he insane?

The first night of Hanukkah's fun. A gift shows you care for someone. Unless you forgot In which case you ought To get to the jewelry store, son.

The morning was perfectly clear And the stroller was loaded with gear To the park, boys, let's go! Let's meet folks we don't know! But we were the only ones there.

My name's Jon. So I think if you Have known me since '92 You'll know why it's hard To like the Christmas card That you mailed to "Maggie & Lou."

Maybe I've lost more weight than I thought 'Cause today when I sat on the pot It was one of those johns That'll flush once you're gone  But I was there  and it just wouldn't stop.

All this ink that's increasingly red Is starting to mess with my head. And I fear for my wife And my kids. And our life If I don't start winning more bread.

I seriously think we may freeze. The rain's cold and the wind whips the trees As though some cosmic joke On we poor L.A. folk. Like, I swear, it's like fifty degrees.

You would have been screaming, too. Ninety minutes in line just so you Could get a quick pic Of your kids with St. Nick And the irony is I'm a Jew.

The 5am wake-up's fantastic! I spring from my bed like elastic! Up for some fun Hours before the sun! Note: I am being sarcastic.

My eldest son's  still  got bronchitis His lungs filled with a phlegmy detritus So now we're to fill him With Amoxicillin 'Cause the Zithromax helped just the slightest.

Today my nephew turned three And there was a most lovely party The food was fantastic And he received lots of plastic Crap -- and some was from me.

Amuse bouche , petits four s, Cabernet... I could get used to eating this way. Still, all this ingestion Leaves me with a question: Is one a gourmand or gourmet?

Runnning through Rutherford's vines Cold moon faces the warming sunrise Footfalls pound as I forge Cross a dry river gorge Snapping half-pickled bones back to life. Sent from my iPhone

To many a restaurant I've wandered Dined finely, drunk deeply and pondered: "How good was that meal?" But right now I feel Nothing beats having been Frenchly Laundered. Sent from my iPhone

The French Laundry doesn't clean clothes But it judges them -- for heaven knows A man wearing jeans Isn't fit to be seen And so off to Brooks Brothers we go. Sent from my iPhone

An amazing thing happened today! Not to me.  But sometimes that's the way One's life goes: it's just life. Oh, I had lunch with my wife And I shopped.  And... that's all I've to say.

This is a "project" I've been contemplating for a while now. I'm going to attempt to document the next year of my life -- my 40 th -- in verse.  One a day.   Currently, the plan is for limericks.  But I make no promises.  There may be haiku.   So here it is, the night of my 40 th birthday.  Installment #1: Once you're 40 they say you're in "Act Two." In Scene 1 of mine I found out that you Should not celebrate With a toddler (irate) At a restaurant you want to go back to.

This is actually probably #3 -- but #2 was so campus specific I don't want to bore you with it just yet.  Yes, I said "just yet" -- because don't get me wrong, I totally want to bore you with it, just not right now.

I moved recently, and in doing so came across a lot of junk I threw away. And a lot of junk I didn't -- some of it from way back when I was a columnist.   So here, for your reading... well, I don't want to say "pleasure" because that would be presumptuous.  So I'll just say here for your reading is the first column I wrote for the Stanford Daily.  Perhaps this will be a series -- because hey, why write when you can have written? If you click on the image below, you'll be able to read a decent-sized, legible copy. And I promise, not all of them are campus-specific.

The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo .

Genius.  Genius.  Genius. I've never been one of the Joss Whedon "fans" -- but I've always respected the guy. But that's mostly, I have to confess, because of "Toy Story" -- which, when you reflect on the guy's body of work is a little sad.  For me, of course, not him.  Because I bet when he reflects on his body of work he's got to be pretty happy.  Especially if he's reflecting on it in a comfy chair in a big house that's someplace nice, maybe it's even a second home -- a vacation house, and he has a nice glass of wine and... sorry.  I digress. In any case, I guess I always just thought of him as a horror/sci-fi guy and never tuned in much because I'm not much of either. But now, because of Dr. Horrible, I'm here to say: I'm a Joss Whedon fan.  I'm going to check out Dollhouse .  And he's officially on -- maybe even at the top of -- my list of people I want to work with. Click on the banner below.  You won't r

But this is Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s new candy bar:

"Reader K's call to Dell tech support for his laptop resulted in the tech helping him break a different computer, then sending him a replacement laptop full of  human pubic hair . After diagnosing a faulty power adapter with K's laptop, the Dell technician asked him to plug the malfunctioning adapter into his other, out-of-warranty Dell to confirm the problem. K was reluctant, but complied, and fried his old laptop in the process. To their credit, Dell offered a replacement; unfortunately, it had a full bush." Other theories I have include the laptop reaching puberty and the laptop being used sort of appropriately (on someone's lap) and sort of not (they were naked at the time). Full story here .

Damen und Herren, we give you... The Cheeseburger In A Can! This, apparently, is for hikers -- hikers whose goal is apparently to counteract whatever health benefits hiking actually gives them. If you're desperate, you can buy it here .  Or, in English, here .

According to a recent survey in Gourmet magazine, more than 80% of the time  râpe â fromage is committed by someone the cheese knows.

Okay, I warned you that not all posts here come straight from the "profound" pile (okay, actually maybe none of them has, now that I think about it)... but here's the thing, and I'm going to give you the short version: Malt vinegar is really good on french fries.   The British have known this for ages (as have I, as my Mother is British).  So, if you knew this (or if you're British), you may stop reading now.  Thanks for letting me waste your time. I only publish this because my wife -- who has been alive for over three decades -- only just learned this the other day.   How did I not tell her this?  It's been ten years since we first met.  I'm fairly certain that's thousands  of french fry opportunities I -- and therefore she -- squandered.  I feel so negligent. So, I'm taking it upon myself (you can thank me later) to spread the word.   You know, just in case.

Today on the radio the program was being sponsored in part by the National Association of Professional Organizers.  Which, I was told, could be found online at www-dot-N-A-P-O-dot... And in my head I went "org" -- because when your association is professional organizers, then .org is just obvious, right? Nope. It's www.napo.net Okay, so who organized that? At www.napo.com, incidentally, you can find the National Association of Pizzeria Operators.  Which makes me wonder how many people start out thinking, "I really need to get organized" then go type www.napo.com -- and end up going, "screw organizing -- I'm gonna order a pizza."

Daniel Day Lewis is truly an amazing actor. From the moment you see the poster for "There Will Be Blood", you'll swear he is Tom Selleck.