Relatively Speaking

Some Ancient Italian or Other

You know that show on PBS where the host has different celebrities do a DNA testing, then sometimes tells them they are related to some famous person from the past, such as Abraham Lincoln or Richard the Lion-Hearted?

I decided to do one of those DNA tests, and I’m sorry that I did.  I’m not related to anybody famous, but apparently I am related to some infamous characters.   My family tree has more bad apples than a corner grocery store after a 7-day blackout.

Apparently, the Minicozzis and the McNeelys are responsible for most of the evil in the world.

The Minicozzis missed being related to Julius Caesar by a hair.  Good old Julius was supposed to have a wild week on Capri with our distant ancestor Caecilia Pectoris, the busiest call girl in Pompeii, but he missed it because he got himself killed before he could get out of Rome.  Caecilia filled his time slot with a local chariot race bookie to whom she owed money, and got knocked up by him instead of by the leader of the whole Roman world.  Caecilia never got over it.

Caligula comes up in the Minicozzi family tree, because we are related to his nephew, Nero.  Nero liked to lead gang raids at night.  He was a singer-songwriter who was always quick to kill any criticism, along with the critic.  He enjoyed setting fires, making Christians take the rap and using them as lion food.  He killed his mother and one of his wives.  Aside from that, he was a fun guy.  He could throw a great orgy.

Before we leave the Minicozzis, I have to mention that we are also kin to the Borgias, of quick acting poison fame. The Borgia family kitchen and wine cellar were legendary, and the secret ingredients were to die for.

If this guy asked you out, you'd best bring an antidote.

Of course, none of today’s Minicozzis would ever do any of those things.  We have become tame to the point of being boring, just like the McNeelys on my mother’s side, who were better known for herding cattle in the Old West than for doing away with people, with one exception.

Jedediah McNeely, better known as “Black Jed” was the leader of a band of outlaws that robbed trains in Nevada back in the 1870s.  They were caught after Jedediah’s wife Lizzie found him skinny dipping in Lake Placid with a local saloon girl named Good Time Gladys.  Jedediah’s wife clobbered him to death with a carpet beater, and turned the rest of the gang in to the authorities.  There was a price on old Jed’s head, and Lizzie was given the reward money just before she was hanged for murdering him.

Maybe if I have this whole DNA thing done over again, they’ll find out that I am related to Michelangelo and George Washington.  That would be worth telling people.

PS:  If anyone in my family is reading this, I made it all up because I thought it would be funny.  Please don’t hurt me.

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For more of my funny writing, go HumorOutcasts.com

Neanderthal Me

Would you go out with her?

According to the latest scientific findings, almost everyone outside of Sub-Saharan Africa has some Neanderthal in their DNA.

I sent my DNA to The National Geographic’s Genographic Project, and my results tell me I am 1.8 percent Neanderthal.  For this reason, I am gratified to know that science has also determined the following:

1.      Contrary to popular belief, Neanderthals were as smart as anyone else living in Stone Age Europe.  They weren’t stupid.  This is good news and bad news.  The good news is I can still turn out to be smart.  The bad news is I can’t blame any of my dumb decisions on Neanderthal ancestry, since they weren’t as dumb as everyone used to think they were.

2.      Neanderthals didn’t go extinct because the modern humans who were invading their territory were superior.  They went extinct because they interbred with modern humans and there were a lot more modern humans than there were Neanderthals.  The Neanderthals got absorbed into the new general population and the result is everyone on earth who doesn’t come from Sub-Saharan Africa, including me.

The second latest scientific finding has started me thinking.  Were there romances between Neanderthals and modern humans?  What about dating, courtship etiquette, etc.?  Perhaps it went something like this:

A young modern human woman – let’s call her Maude – met a young Neanderthal guy – let’s call him Ned – and a few sparks flew around.  Maude’s family probably reacted like this:

MAUDE’S FATHER:  I want you to stay away from that Neanderthal kid – Nate, or whatever they call him!

MAUDE:  Ned.  His name is Ned.

MAUDE’S FATHER:  Ned, Nate, whatever!  You stay away from him!

MAUDE’S MOTHER:  He’s such a nice young man.  Maybe if we talk to his family …

MAUDE’S FATHER:  He’s short and ugly!  He has no forehead!  He has a big nose!  He can’t speak Modern Human worth a damn!  You want our grandkids to look like him?  He’s a freakin’ Neanderthal, for Pete’s sake!

In the meantime, Ned’s family probably reacted like this:

NED’S FATHER:  I want you to stay away from that modern human girl – Maddie or whatever they call her!

NED:  Maude.  Her name is Maude.

NED’S FATHER:  Maude, Maddie, whatever!  You stay away from her!

NED’S MOTHER:  I think we shouldn’t be so hasty, dear.  That family is pretty high up on the social register.  They live in the best cave in the neighborhood and they know all the best people.  They could help you in your rock carving business.

NED’S FATHER:  Is that all you care about?  She’s not one of us!  And she’s butt ugly.  You want our grandkids to look like her?

There must have been other questions, too:

MAUDE’S FATHER:  Have you been doing anything that your mother and I should know about?

NED’S FATHER:  Did you knock that girl up?

I will leave the story here.  I don’t even want to think about what the wedding must have been like, if there was one.

For more of my humor, go here.

Thoughts of the Day

1.  Never order spaghetti and meatballs in a Chinese restaurant.  You don't know how far it had to travel to get there.

This went halfway around the world.

2.  We reproduce ourselves by having sex.  Dirty dishes multiply like rabbits in the sink if they are not taken care of.  Therefore, dirty dishes have sex when nobody is looking.

His mother was a salad plate.

Ghostbuster Kitties

Cats can see ghosts.  Everyone knows this who has ever watched a cat stare at what appears to be a blank wall.  Yesterday morning, I went to an AMC Loews theater and saw the new Ghostbusters in IMAX 3-D.  It struck me that, in case of a ghost apocalypse, New York City would not need a team of humans armed with proton packs in order to annihilate the spectral assailants.  All you would need would be cats.  Lots of them.  New York City has cats.  Lots of them.

In spite of what everyone has heard, cats can be trained.  Aspiring cat trainers are recognizable by the scars on their arms, legs and faces and the little holes in their clothing.  It would be a simple process to take these scratched and bitten humans and train them to be cat whisperers.  Once this initial goal is achieved, the next step would be for the cat whisperers to gather all the stray cats in the city, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.  If music proves to be an effective feline attractor, I recommend The Lion Sleeps Tonight by Solomon Linda.  That song has an easy hypnotic effect.

Once a cat finds a ghost, it is imperative to get the cat to chase the offending spirit away.  Cats are notoriously averse to obeying humans.  It will have to be in the cat’s interest to attack a ghost.  I recommend using laser pointers.  The minute a cat spots an invisible entity and begins to stare at it, its cat whisperer can take the laser pointer and point the little red dot in the direction in which the cat is staring.  The cat will attack the red dot and, in the process, scare the invisible pants off the ghost, who will fly off into wherever startled spirits go.

I think I should present this plan to the office of the Mayor of New York City, once I have it perfected.  I wonder how a letter of commendation would look on my wall.

You Know It's Summer in New York City When ...

This piece, and more of my humor, can be found at www.humoroutcasts.com.

New York's Favorite Noise Polluter

Griping about the weather is one of the great New York City pastimes.  It’s right up there with jaywalking, making fun of tourists and trying to walk faster than anyone else who is using the same sidewalk.  It’s not that we’re wimps … well, okay, we are wimps.  This is because most of us don’t drive cars, which means that we can’t just hop from the kitchen to the garage and into an automobile.  We have to be out in whatever Earth’s atmosphere is throwing at us, unless we want to stay holed up at home.

New York City’s summers are legendary.  Because the temperature rarely gets above the mid-90s, those of you who live in places where summer means 100 degrees in the shade are probably asking, “What’s the big deal?”  I can answer this in one word:

Humidity.

New Yorkers spend a typical summer day awash in water:  once or twice in the shower at home and every time they step outside.  Humidity also has the ability to make 90 degrees feel like 100, at the same time it is pulling every drop of moisture from your body and soaking your clothes in sweat.

That said, here is how you know it’s summer here:

1.  You can feel the heat from the pavement through your shoes.  New Yorkers know better than to wear flip-flops on the street in July.  Those things could melt and take your feet with them.

2.  Underground subway stops become makeshift Turkish baths, especially the Times Square stop on the west side IRT line.  The only difference between it and a real Turkish bath is that the people on the subway platform have their clothes on.

3.  You avoid getting on an almost empty subway car with plenty of available seats because you know the reason it is almost empty is that the air-conditioning isn’t working in there.

4.  Your hair, which looked perfect when you left your apartment, becomes limp and droopy after five minutes outside.

5.  The Mr. Softee Ice Cream Truck Song, a/k/a The World’s Most Maddening Earworm, gets more play on the street than your favorite song gets on your iPod.

6.  It doesn’t really cool off at night, unless there’s a thunderstorm or something, and even then it doesn’t cool off very much.  You know you shouldn’t be running your air conditioning in a thunderstorm, but you are willing to risk death to be comfortable.

I love summer, but, as a true New Yorker, I have to complain about it.  It wouldn’t be right to go against tradition.

I'm on YouTube!

It has happened, to me, of all people!  I'm on YouTube!  I have arrived!

Actually, I put myself on YouTube, after I gave a reading and a book signing today.  I had my friend Joan, who was attending, hold my iPhone and take a video of me.  When I got home, I sent it to YouTube.

It's still a big deal.  At least I think so, and I'm the one in the video, so I get to say if it is a big deal or not.  Those are the rules.

Here it is:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdqTdLa_z6A