Daddy Daughter Fun Time has been dormant for over a year.   Here’s one:


You know how penguin parents can always recognize their offspring from hundreds of yards away even though the babies are identical…?

I am at a the regional gymnastics competition with my lovely, talented daughter Isabella, they call her Ozzy.

It’s a huge arena, parents are kept in the viewing stands, 50 yards away.

One of the most remarkable things about living in Southern California is the complete mixing of ethnicities and heritages and backgrounds. I’m not getting political here, if you have never met someone from Zimbabwe, here’s your chance.

My daughter, with her dark brown hair, skinny physique, and olive-ish skin tone, looks like. Well… Honestly, they kind of all look alike. (I know that is politically incorrect, but it true.) From 50 yards away.

Yes, yes. I know that is a terrible thing to say. But…

Here’s my story.

I am in the bleachers, next to a sister of Ozzy’s teammate. Her name is Jen.

I point and ask, “Is that Ozzy?”

Jen: No, that girl is Armenian.

Me (pointing): Oh. Ok, how about her? That’s Ozzy, right?

Jen: She’s Mexican.

Me: And her?

Jen: She’s Thai. And she’s Korean. And she’s Chinese.

Me: What about…

Jen: She’s a blond.

Me: Oh, so she is. How about her..

Jen: Mr. Ozzy’s Dad. That’s not even her team!

Me: What?!

Jen: She’s over there (pointing), and she just stuck her landing!

Me: WhooHoo! I knew you (or anyone at your skill level, physique, and general physical appearance) could do it!

Please do not send me to Antarctica. I would make a terrible penguin.

But, my penguin has a gold medal.

Halloween Cupcakes

Isabella (she’s 10); There were 6 cupcakes, now there’s only one.
Me: I had two.
Julianna (she’s 13): I only had one. I don’t want any more.
Iz: And, I had two. There’s still one left.
(hint, hint)
Me: Isabella, you should have the last one.
Passive Aggressiveness defined:
Iz (playing coy): But, I don’t like Halloween Orange frosting. But I guess I can.
Me: Honey, please.
Iz: Ok. I think I’ll eat it.
Me: Yeah, Big surprise there.

When You’re a Shark

So, I haven’t mentioned the catastrophe of Hurricane Maria that flattened my father’s family island of Puerto Rico.  (My other family home of Alabama has also been hit pretty badly by Harvey and Irma.)

Puerto Rico is really, really bad. I don’t want to get into the politics of it all (because, it looks really bad for Washington D.C.)  The island of 3.5 million American citizens (!) cannot get basic necessities like food and water.  Electricity, which powers the water, communication, and distribution system is largely shut down.  The roads are chocked with debris.

After a month.

If, the President of the United States won’t dedicate our nation to supporting the full recovery of this far-flung island of Americans in the middle of the “very big ocean,” how can you count on him for anything?

Please, Mr. President.  Help.


I don’t want to leave you with the impression that the ONLY reason I bought these cupcakes was that they were on the clearance rack at the supermarket (originally $8, I got them for $2! What a deal.)

Pink and Purple!

Pink and Purple!

But, you know, sometimes, a fella just needs the comforting sweetness that only a purple frosted chocolate Princess cupcake can provide. And, if I should happen to get a cheap plastic Princess crown ring in the process, well, that’s a bonus in my book. To hell with society’s gender norms.

Have you seen The Crown?  Well, yes you have.

Have you seen The Crown? Well, yes you have.


That’s how I always labelled them.

Politics aside (right wing),  their chicken is awesome.  Though their wings are, mostly, from the right side.

My 10-year-old is desperate for a Chick-Fil-A sandwich.  So she encourages me.  Beckons me.  Nags me the F…. to drive to Pasadena.  To get her a chicken sandwich.

I order 8 of them.  And, I will tell you:  That is some fine eating.  Man, those are good.

Gray hair

So, I’m taking my daughter to gymnastics practice yesterday.  And we hit a red light.  My right arm is on the arm rest,  That is what they are designed for.  And, suddenly, I feel plucking.  On my arm.

Isabella (she’s 10):  You have white hairs on your arms.

Me: Yes. probably.  But I am driving.  I am old.

We’re rolling.

Iz:  You also have them in your nose. White ones.

Me: You know I am driving an actual car.,  Yes?

Iz:  Also, your ears.  Long ones.  Daddy,   Can’t I pluck them?

Me:  Good God, No.  We are driving.  And, when did you become an English waif?

[Re-read that wif an English girl’s voice.]

Diabetes? Dia Beat Us!

I’ve lost almost 20 pounds over the last 12 weeks. And, I did it with two simple words.

Hang on.

<clickbait> <clickbait> <clickbait>.

Oh yeah:

Stop eating.

Also, when your doctor says words like: Diabetes. Heart Failure. Erectile Dysfunction. These are words that catch your attention.

(I’m still funny, right? Yes? No? The lady in the back is clapping….)

“They” (children, wife) made me buy a dozen donuts the other day from Yum-Yum Donuts. A dozen in Yum-Yum land is 14. Because, math. Hard.

I’m not saying that losing weight is easy. Because, crap, my life is over when I lose my keys. I mean, “Lite” beer is not beer.

A New Religion

I’ve thought about forming a new religion. Nothing concrete, yet. But, I’m bouncing balls against the wall.  I’m sketching things in…

Things we should all believe in:

– Gravity, until someone falls on their face.

– Facts, until my argument is disproved.

– Gender Equality, until she earns more.

– Time, until I am late.

– Boobs.

– Peanuts, until someone has an allergy.

– Bacon.

– Temperature, not the Heat Index. Bullshit.

– Brazilians, not the wax, but the people. Also: yeah. Ok, the waxing.

– There is no ‘Up’ in space. Except for the DVD on the Space Station.

– I mentioned Boobs, right? And, Bacon. Yeah… Bacon. Also, boobs.

– Snuggling.

– Puppies. (Still considering kittens.)

– Earth is slightly more than 6,000 years old. By a few billion years.

– I am a dashing young man.

– Avoid the 405. (LA friends know what I mean.)

– Don’t trust atoms. They make up everything.

– Trickle down economics doesn’t work in space. See above. Or on earth.

– Jumping Jack Flash… It’s not a Gas. No, not a Gas Gas. Hang on, no: It’s a Gas Gas… Gas.

Radio Nation

Dropping my daughters off at their special “summer intensive” (don’t call it summer school) school this morning, I finally had control of the radio (because both of them are sulking, and hate the world and boys and blah blah blah.)

“Won’t Get Fooled Again.”  I turn it up a bit.

Julianna (she’s days away from turning 13):  Daaad!  Please turn it down!

Me:  Honey.  You need to know this song.  Meet the new boss.  Same as the old boss.  Whatever they teach you in school today, this is the most important thing you’ll hear all day.

J:  Yeah, but can you turn it down when we open the doors?

Old man music stink.

Me:  Yes, Sweetie.

Kids are discharged.  Someone else’s problem until 3:00.  And, then, after Roger Daltrey does his last Yeah!  Springsteen.  Born to Run.

My poor Prius.  The volume goes up to 10.  We are at maximum capacity.

And, then, Boom-Boom-Chick.  Boom-Boom-Chick  Crap.  Because it is not just one song, but two:  We are the champions.  Who tapped into my brain.  Russians?

Let me find the longest way to get home.

Announcer guy:  We’re commercial free for 90 minutes.  Fuck.

Let me park somewhere.  In the Target parking lot.

And, then, Bowie’s “Suffragette City.”  Wham Bam, thank you sir.

I manage to find an 11.

Security starts circling.  Was there an Amber Alert on this Prius?

And, then…  How could I move?

“Hey Jude….”

Crap.  I have to tell the guy. I’m just leaving.

Sometimes, radio doesn’t suck.


So, I’m down 19 pounds in 6 weeks this morning (Doctor’s orders.) And, then my daughter couldn’t finish her waffles, smothered in butter and syrup. On the kitchen island. On a plate, all alone. Encouraging me. No one would know. Seducing me. Enticing me. Wanting me.

I get enough of that from women on a daily basis.

I had a carrot.