Today At Lunch ...

Yesterday, I went into work early so I could take a two-hour lunch. Phil ... an old neighbor of mine who bailed me out of some serious scrapes once or twice ... is in my neck of the woods visiting relatives. He's travelling with his two year old son, Gaston. Phil wants to eat at a local chain restaurant ... not my fave by a long shot ... because his son "prefers" the place's kid's menu. Does a two-year-old even understand the concept of a menu? Or of a preference?

Anyway, we meet at the eatery and get seated pretty quick ... it's only just past 11 so we beat the lunch crowd. I'm sitting with my diet soda ... Phil has an iced tea ... and Gaston has already created a small reenactment from Hamburger Hill with saltines and drippings from his sippy cup.

The waitress returns to take our orders. Phil surprises by choosing a salad ... he had always been a poster child for carnivores ... so I take the reins and order a 1/3 pound California burger with avocado and onions. Phil asks our waitress if she can give them a few more minutes while he and Gaston look over their options. Seriously, Gaston is not considering his options ... he has three small toys on his hi-chair tray and is just looking around as servers and patrons pass by.

When our server ... Cyndi with an "I" in the wrong place ... returns, Phil asks for the kid's chicken fingers basket. "But they're not really fingers, are they Gassy," Phil says to his son in that sing-songy voice that parents develop. "No they're not."

No, they are not, indeed, the fingers from a chicken, but that did get me to thinking about how confusing some food selections must sound to children with average to above-average cognitive skills and overall brainpower.

I hope preschool curricula cover these things, but chicken "nuggets" are not made of gold ... but, again, chicken. Fish "sticks" are not comprised of twigs and storm debris. When children run away, they are sometimes recovered but also sometimes endure some tragic events. They are not, however, harvested and turned into tater "tots."

Then there's the whole "hot dog" controversy to explain. How many parents have explained that hot dogs aren't made from canines and that people don't eat dogs? Lots ... but part of their sugary explanation isn't true.

Although frowned upon by many, several cultures still embrace the consumption of dog meat. It all started with ancient Chineses and Aztec civilizations, where certain breeds of canines were raised for meat. Many Aztec artifacts ... especially pottery ... depict dogs being consumed, while Mandarin culture describes dog meat as "mutton of the Earth."

If you're a world traveler, you might have the opportunity to sample rica-rica (a hot roasted dog dish) while attending a wedding in Indonesia, or slurp down a bowl of bosintang (a fragrant soup made from dog) from a vendor stall in Korea. While touring some rural areas of Switzerland, you may be able to resupply your stash of canine sausage and doggie jerky. And in a hotspot like Hanoi, you can probably find a group of men bonding over platters of cho zao sa ot, fried dog cooked with lemon grass and chilis ... it's supposed to have a special kick similar to Viagra.

The list of countries and delicacies goes on and on. Makes explaining "kidney" beans seem like a walk in the park!

POINT OF RANT: Haggis ... actually good. Dog jerky ... not for all the money in my savings account.

Today In A Restaurant ...

I have a small family ... two siblings, some in-laws, a niece and a nephew. And we all have busy lives. So when we can coordinate work and sports and dish installation and such, dining out together can be a magical experience. It can also be a trip through the zebra dung, thanks to little unsupervised children.

Before your colons burn and you transfer the discomfort to your typing fingers, I love kids. They're cute, inspirational, genuine, and see the world in a way most of us have forgot. But when I choose to eat in public, I expect others who have made the choice to NOT bring their brood along and then opt to pretend to not know them.

Case in point, the salad bar. I'm restocking my plate with bland-at-best macaroni salad and a tasty little square of less-than-homemade cheesecake when I hear a small "splat" and realize that my left shoe is now decorated with a sturdy glob of mashed potatoes. Hovering there, looking not in the least bit sorry or responsible, is a probably seven-year-old girl. She's alternately eyeing me while dragging a younger boy through a spill of cookies and soft-serve ice cream dripping from a bowl in his guilty little hands. After a stern second or two, they look at each other and just walk on past, spying something else edible to destroy.

I casually deposit the spud lump under the edge of the salad bar. I know what you're thinking ... I should have picked up the mess or alerted a restaurant employee, but I was literally frothing to return to my family's table (there's seven of us) to recount my misshap. Now I get seated, take a breath to begin my tale, when a "mom and dad" or "couple without a condom" seated beside us start giving a boy of about four his marching orders to "go get your own food, and bring back some more napkins."

I'm shocked, stunned even, until I look around and notice a fair amount of young people roaming about on their own, getting plates of desserts, dropping utensils on the floor or into serving trays, and just plain getting in other people's way.

When I was young, which wasn't all that long ago, my parents did this crazy thing called "hiring a babysitter" when they wanted to go out to dinner and spend some quality time together. They also did it to spare us kids from places and events that were too adult or too boring, and, honestly, to just get away from us from time to time. And when we did go out as a family, if one of us "acted up" ... WHISK! ... we were sitting in the car with Mom or Dad relearning the basics of manners and etiquette.

Occasionally, during the current with my family, I heard a parent or two make the same threat about "one more time and we're leaving" or "do you wanna go to the car?" But apparently, one more time never came or the kid in question didn't want to visit the family sedan or minivan at this time. More likely, it was to much bother to be an effective parent.

POINT OF RANT: You don't have to leave your kids at home all the time. But as parents and supposed adults, you should know your children, their behavioral norms, and their attention spans. Don't make them any more uncomfortable than you are the rest of us! Think before you dine out.

Today At My Office Keyboard ...

Each morning, after my requisite "Central Perk" sized coffee, I check my e-mail. Many a times e-mail has saved me from missing a meeting or overlooking a deadline. And frequently, to my about-to-blow cranium, it has alerted me to the things my co-workers' kids are selling.

In my top left desk drawer is my company's "Guide to Electronic Media Usage." It's about 60 pages of rules and regulations ... really, it's mostly about the phone system and instructions on how to forward your phone and change the message on your answering machine function. But on a few pages, there are words and phrases about what "to do" and what "not to do" with the company e-mail.

I know, for example, it states that I'm supposed to avoid personal use of the system ... it's an e-mail for business use. Consequently, I've had to inform my friends not to send me the off-color jokes and extremely-steamy-to-downright-smutty videos that make their rounds from time to time (okay, a few get through but we're all only human, right?). It also says not to accept large attachments that may affect the overall system. It also reminds me to guard my password. Nowhere in my manual does it say, however, that the company e-mail system is too be used as an open marketplace for every fundraiser in every elementary school/middle school/high school in a six-county area.

There's fruit for sale ... there's cheese ... there's discount sports passes to help both my budget and the local athletic boosters ... there's pizza kits to help pay for new band uniforms ... there's magazine subscriptions to help fund prom ... there's pails of cookie dough to help upgrade playground equipment ... there's gift wrap and holiday cards to offset a trip to Space Camp ... there's a never-ending roster of moms and dads, sometimes with and sometimes without their cute little kids with pleading eyes, pimping all sorts of cards and tickets and raffles for all sorts of causes. It's madness, I say ... MADNESS!!

Now, when I was seven, I remember our babysitter, Renee, stopped by in October with her "Christmas Kit." It was a big fundraiser in the high school to generate money for a number or projects. We all loved Renee, so Mom and two of us kids sat in our den and watched Renee open this magic case that must somehow bend the laws of physics, because there was literally a ton of gadgets and gizmos inside. Swiss army knives (or a clever facsimile), vegetable peelers, candles, hair barrettes, fancy calligraphy pen sets, travel games and puzzles, change sorters, jewelry, books and CDs, picture frames, kites, corncob holders that looked like alligators, diaries and journals, magic kits, cologne, mag lights, sea monkeys, light-up yo-yos, lip gloss, collapsible frisbees ... everything one needed to live the good life. Renee was like Viggo Mortensen in "A Walk On The Moon" (good movie ... rent it) where the guy comes to a Jewish summer camp once a week with a wagon that just has everything you can imagine. Renee had freckles and buck-teeth (unlike Viggo), which is odd because her father was a dentist.

When I was seven, finishing your Christmas shopping in October in your den for $25 was cool. Being cyber-stalked in my office like three times a week now isn't cool.

There's a lady named Jocelyn that works in payroll and she has a great philosophy. When her kids bring home information about a fundraiser, she first considers the worthiness of the project. If it's a "sale" to offset the cost of one of her three children doing something with their class or attending something special, she sends a note to the teacher saying that A) my kid's not interested so "pass" on the fundraiser or B) my kid's excited and we think it's an educational thing so we'll pay the cost and "pass" on the fundraiser. If it's something unique, Jocelyn will call the teacher and ask for a "typical" amount raised by hawking whatever item is in season and send an appropriate check. And she's always leery when a teacher can't come up with a figure ... they've perpetrated this type of marketing for years. I like Jocelyn.

There are other parents I know that really think carefully about the issue and only approach friends, family, neighbors, and co-workers who might be interested in their children's wares.

But still the e-mails come. And I read them. And I am angered.

POINT OF RANT: Do I, as I claim, actually like children?

Today In A Neighbor's Yard ...

I was driving back from dropping off some library books when ... about eight blocks from my house ... I saw this lady really tearing into two little kids. I assumed it was there mother, and she was really angry. I wasn't really concerned ... more nosey ... so I circled around their block and pulled up the street from the commotion and parked my car. I got out a map to appear like I might be lost ... great cover, I know ... and rolled down my window. I could here everything and it was a good one.

Little Billy and Janey ... not their names, unless I made a really good guess ... aren't old enough to be in school like their two older sisters, so Mom sent them outside to play. They decided to build a snowman, so they went inside to ask Mommy Dearest ... not her name, but I'm guessing her occupation ... for a hat, a scarf, and a carrot ... your standard snowman requirements.

Well, it seems Mom was busy talking on the phone and she told the kids to look in the "front closet" and leave her be. Being mindful, the kids did just that. They found some items that they thought would work and went back outside to finish creating their own Frosty.

Mom checked on them sometime later and wasn't happy with what she saw. Apparently, Mommy Dearest is also Mommy Drags Her Feet ... she had never found time to put away the family's new Christmas gift so she just shoved them in the closet until she could get them sorted and moved into the appropriate bedrooms.

Now that I had the basics of the brouhaha, I looked more closely at Frosty in my rear view mirror. He wasn't very tall ... neither were the two kids ... but he had some interesting accessories. Playing cards were sticking out of the thing's head like crazy hair extensions ... a nice silk tie went loosely around his neck ... very expensive ski goggles sat where his eyes should be ... a Sonicare electric toothbrush was mounted for a nose ... a frilly purple sweater was draped over his shoulders ... a plaid skirt wrapped around his waste ... a Coach purse dangling from a tree branch arm ... two men's loafers were shoved into the bottom of his off-white snowy body ... and what appeared to be a new whisk was shoved into his gravel-outlined mouth like a New Year's Eve noisemaker. No carrot was in evidence.

As the Mom continued to berate her kids to cover her own guilt, I started up my car and casually left the scene because I though, if I stayed to listen to any more backpedaling or if I looked at that nappy snowman again, I might piss my pants.

POINT OF RANT: Watch your kids.