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.