Red Velvet Cake

I’ve been sitting on this post for over a year. If you are shy, don’t read this post. It’s not horrible, but you are forewarned. Including you, Mom.

Non-shy friends, feel free to comment. True slice of life.

Julianna (she’s about to turn eight) is thinking about her upcoming birthday…

J: Daddy, what was the cake that we had at the birthday party a couple of weeks ago? It was Dee-licious.

Me: I don’t remember. Which one?

J: The Red Vulva Cake.

Me: The Red what?

J: The red chocolate one. You know. That’s what I want. A Red Vulva Cake! I want a Red Vulva Cake!

Me: Oh,…. you mean red VELVET cake. That’s what you want. Different word. Because, the other one is a totally different type of cake.


Mommy is getting ready for another big Hollywood wing-ding awards show.

Isabella (she’s 6) is recounting her story to big sister Julianna (8), whispering: Mommy made Daddy zip up her dress… And, I saw her boob!

They titter (no pun intended): Teeheeeheeeheee.

(The pun, by the way, was totally intentional. I know what I’m doing.)

Isabella continues, trying to whisper: You know what they call a lady’s underwear beneath her shirt?

Julianna: No, what?

Iz: A Booby Trap!

Unbridled laughter: Hahahahahahaha!

The night is young. Help me, please.

The Barn

We are headed to a restaurant called “The Barn.”

Julianna (she’s 8): Oh… I hope they have real horses.

Me: No, Honey. It’s just called The Barn. There are no real animals.

J: Well, but, they probably have a couple horses.

Me: No.

J: And, maybe they serve dinner on the horse.

Me: Again. No.

J: Because, I always wanted to eat a burger on the back of a horse.

Me: No.

Apostrophe’s Matter, Apostophies Matter

Like most men, I don’t like constantly being trotted out like a show horse. What with the catcalls and the leers. I’m not just window dressing, here. I’m a real, live person. Especially, when I am taking part in some sort of store-front display. Seriously, this is my work, my craft.

Finally, one store manager has taken a brave step:

Do some people actually try on a Display's men?  How depraved.

Do, some people actually try on a Display’s men? Size? Fit? Comfort? Resilience?… Longevity? How depraved! Decorum, ladies, decorum.

So, please people. Respect the apostrophe. So that everyone will know what you mean to say. Instead of what you actually say.

(Hint: Plural is different than Possessive…. Also, I’m not a store-front model. Full disclosure. And, my resilience is dubious at best.)

Hell’s Kitchen

If you are joining us “in progress” on my New York City posts, you might want to scroll down first and catch up. Briefly… We are in New York for Mommy’s fantastic Carnegie Hall debut. Yes… THAT Carnegie Hall. Scurry, scroll down, quick quick quick, then back to here…

So, since Lynn (a.k.a. Mommy) is off to rehearsal, I find myself with two little girls. By myself. In New York. We grab breakfast at a diner a block away, then stumble upon a playground. Really? A playground? In New York? City?

Yes. But not just any playground:


Because, when you think of Hell and the Kitchen, you immediately think of Swings!

Even the demons need to relax.

Even the demons need to relax.

The Girls: la la la la la. We’re in Hell!

Seriously, a former “bad” neighborhood has become tres chic.

9/11 Memorial

While Mommy is rehearsing for her big Carnegie Hall debut, the girls and I are flipping through some New York City travelogue on the computer. There’s the Empire State Building, Chrysler Building, Central Park, and… two gaping holes in the ground where the World Trade Center used to be. I really was not prepared.

Isabella (remember, she’s 6): Daddy, why is there water in your eyes?

Me: Um. Can’t talk.

Iz: Seriously, why is there water in your eyes.

I struggle, but finally explain in terms a six-year-old can explain.

Iz: Oh, so he accidentally hit the building.

Me: No.

Iz: Did the other pilot accidentally hit the other building.

Me: No.

Iz: Did people die?

Me (huge pause): Yes… That’s why my eyes are watery.

When Mommy joins us, we make the slow, solemn trek to the 9/11 Memorial. No jokes here. Just lots of sadness.

Site of the North Tower

Site of the North Tower



Aunt Grace, 30 Rock, and Louis CK

Lynn’s very dear friend (and totally unrelated Big Sister) is married to Jimmy. Jimmy has an aunt who live in a swanky 6th Ave. apartment, just like Eva Gabor in Green Acres. (Not Zsa Zsa, mind you. It was Eva).

Aunt Grace is delighted to host a mini-soiree at her place for members of Lynn’s (aka Mommy’s) big Carnegie Hall performance. (Have I promoted that enough, yet?)

Oh. And, here’s the view. Only so-so.

Dahlin' I love you, but give me Park Avenue.  Da-dut Da-DUT-dut.  Dut!  Dut!

Dahlin’ I love you, but give me Park Avenue. Da-dut Da-DUT-dut. Dut! Dut!

We head over to Rockefeller Center. And here are a couple photos that prove we all went:

Daddy's mother used to work there on the 46th floor in the '60s.  And, she's scared of heights.

Daddy’s mother used to work there on the 46th floor in the ’60s. And, she’s scared of heights.

Dapper Daddy and Julianna

Dapper Daddy and Julianna

Snapped by a homeless man.  Or, the choir's Regina.  Can't remember whch.

Snapped by a homeless man. Or, the choir’s Regina. Can’t remember whch.

But… And here’s the secret, REAL reason we went to New York. Screw Carnegie Hall.


So, we head up to Greenwich Village, and make a bee line for Ben’s Pizzeria (As featured in Louis CK’s show “Louie.”) Most Famous Pizza in the World. Also, pretty damn good.

Ask for the Louis special.  It's Hilarious.  No, seriously, it's called "Hilarious."  You can catch it on HBO.

Ask for the Louis special. It’s Hilarious. No, seriously, it’s called “Hilarious.” You can catch it on HBO.

Oh, and visit Gretchen’s blog, Second Blooming:


The girls and I head uptown. We meet Lynn (Mommy) after her big Carnegie Hall Dress Rehearsal, quick lunch, then we wander through Central Park. We end our day at the Museum of Natural Science.

Me (in awe): Look at the dinosaur!

Julianna: I want to go home.

Me: But, it’s like a billion years old.

J: I’m bored. And hungry.

Me (in anger): You WILL look at the damn dinosaur. I didn’t spend forty dollars so we go back to the apartment and watch The Flintstones. Here are ACTUAL dinosaurs!