I'm Looking for Mr. Buffet. Mr. Breakfast Buffet.

"Can I help you?" asked the hotel employee at check-in.

"Yes. I would like to purchase a person," I replied.

"A person?" she asked.

"Yes. Just one. Do you have anymore?"

"I don't understand."

"That's a separate issue."

"I'm sorry, but-"

I interrupted. "Your sign. It says $59 per person. I only have $100 with me. I can only afford one unless you will give me the second one at a discount. The sign also says that they each come with their own breakfast."

"Excuse me, but I'm going to get my manager."

"If his name is Wade, he's in the pool."

Hair of the Tyler AND Foot-in-the-Mouth Disorder

My hair was getting long (~1/8th inch in length) along my head's equator, so I went to the barber during lunch. Actually I went to a SuperCuts, where even with a head like mine you can feel special. Don't think for a second that I didn't ask when they would open their AverageCuts store for those of us on which the Super is normally wasted. While in the chair, the hair stylist (again, any variation of the word 'style' is wasted on me) pointed out that I have a cowlick. I told her that for all of these years I have blamed genetics, when in fact it may have been a grazing cow that cleared the top of my head. This also explains the origins of the popular bovine phrase "Hair of the Tyler" moo'ed on farms across America and commonly used the morning after a cowlick binge.

When the pediatrician told me that my daughter had foot-and-mouth disease, I told him that he didn't know the half of it and started to explain how inappropriate she can be in public places. When he reminded me that she is only two years old, I realized that there is a difference between foot-and-mouth disease and foot-in-the-mouth disorder. I apparently have the latter.

There's a Genetic Reason I Haven't Sold You a Tyler-o-Pedic

My writing has recently taken a more technical angle. I'm writing grant proposals to conduct an important genetic study. This is a study whose results will provide conclusive data to support a well-known hypothesis never tested as of today.

I have been collecting my very preliminary data, most of which was jotted down on the back of a Dora the Explorer singing birthday card after a few hours of beer pong. I would have collected more data, but Dora's singing drove me to drown the card in the toilet. My data collection is therefore somewhat incomplete.

My genetic study will confirm that members of families that own and run furniture stores inherit one of two genes from their successful parents. The majority of their offspring will inherit a gene that prevents the family member from recognizing the embarrassment of their own relatives. The remainder, a very small percentage, inherit a gene that compels them to star in every single one of their own commercials despite their pitiful performance and the feedback of their marketing department, employees, and anyone else unrelated to them.

The combination of these genes clearly results in a successful business. But, I suspect that it's their business acumen and strategic development that has allowed them the opportunity to get in front of a camera and not a care for a moment about little things like humility or the reputation of their teenage kids.

A few mutations of these genes have also been documented in the literature. One particular mutation causes furniture store owners to lose control of their bowels every time the director yells "Action!" Another mutation results in the frequent outbursts of laughter at the simple mention of a "love seat" followed by hours of pointing at the film crew's bums and yelling "I'll sell you a better one!"

Once my grant proposals are accepted, my research will enter the next phase. This involves collecting genetic material from my subjects. I plan to show up to the commercial filmings, which must happen twice a day given the frequency of new ads, and collect biological samples. This should be easy to collect, given the stain-proofing substances on all of their furniture. I'll simply wait until they break and swipe a hair off the love seat. And in this case, I do mean the furniture.

Sending Mixed Signals About Hitting

In my house, we reward a toddler's "no hitting" behavior with a big high five. As in, "Good job not hitting your sister back. Now, slap hit my hand as hard as you possibly can before I hug you."

Dispensable Feedback

I am getting settled in the new job and plan to start writing more often. Is that ok with you?

I appreciate feedback. While in the men's room at work today, the motion-activated paper towel dispenser activated in a moment when I was far from it (please don't ask me where). It was proactive in giving it's feedback. Unfortunately, I don't know what it's intentions were. Perhaps it wanted to be there for me when I most needed it. Or rather was it a cute motorized way of saying "hurry up"?

Rt. 90 East / Greenland

Driving along Rt 495 west of Boston, there are signs for Rt. 90 (aka the Mass Pike). They indicate that Rt.90 WEST will take me to Albany NY. I know that thse signs for the Mass Pike are also displayed in Boston, as far away from Albany as you can get in the state of Massacusetts. This is very helpful, because if I were ever to go to another state a couple hundred miles away, I definitely wouldn't plan ahead so as to know in which direction to go. Instead, I would rely completely on the signs alone.