Cookie and Mojo went up to White Plains for a birthday party this morning, which gave me a chance to poke around the house and try to find things to throw away. I found an old VHS tape with miscellaneous clips from sometime around 1992 -- Telegiornale shows from RAI, Liquid Television segments from MTV, a wide assortment of non-descript video... garbage, and, huzzah, a string of Ren and Stimpy episodes I taped off Nickelodeon so many years ago.
I was watching them when the boys returned home. They were immediately drawn in -- they sat transfixed as Ren painted himself and Stimpy like dalmations so they could become fire dogs. And they laughed insanely when Ren sneaked into the house and cut a mouse-hole in the wall using a pull-start beaver.
"Mighty incisors."
Anyway, I know I'm going to pay for having introduced them to this particular cartoon. Still, I suppose it's an important rite of passage.
Friday, July 30, 2004
I always felt bad for the people assigned to U.N. peace-keeping details. Those poor bastards are forced to operate under orders to not shoot until they are fired upon. Which explains why U.N. peace-keeping is only effective for peace that already exists: any belligerent bent on waging an attack will do so, nothwithstanding the blue-helmet speed-bump.
Kerry's speech offers the U.N. posture as worthy prescription for this country's security stance -- an astounding suggestion in this day and age.
Iran is pretty close to finishing their nuke. You think Kerry would support our doing something about that now? Or will he wait for the nuke to be deployed against us? And when it is deployed, after the smoke clears he will most certainly blame the current administration for inaction (unless it happens during his administration -- in which case he'll still find a way to blame Bush).
Looks like Israel will have to do the heavy lifting in Iran... Again. The political climate in this country has been so poisoned that it's inconceivable that the U.S. would find the fortitude to take necessary action.
Kerry's speech offers the U.N. posture as worthy prescription for this country's security stance -- an astounding suggestion in this day and age.
Iran is pretty close to finishing their nuke. You think Kerry would support our doing something about that now? Or will he wait for the nuke to be deployed against us? And when it is deployed, after the smoke clears he will most certainly blame the current administration for inaction (unless it happens during his administration -- in which case he'll still find a way to blame Bush).
Looks like Israel will have to do the heavy lifting in Iran... Again. The political climate in this country has been so poisoned that it's inconceivable that the U.S. would find the fortitude to take necessary action.
Was wondering if Vito saw Kim among all those Mexicans (which would conveniently explain why the pool smelled like hot dogs), but I'm sure he would have mentioned it if she'd been there.
Just got back form the doctor. His diagnosis: all these political discussions are having a negative effect on my blood pressure. I now have a prescription for Cozaar, the name of which reminds me a lot of the liquour Cynar, but sounds like it could also be the name of a Bulgarian folk dance.
I popped one before leaving for work, but Kerry's brazen lying still bothers me. Maybe I'll take a few more when I get home... Dash off a few letters to my Congresswoman (that good-for-nothing leftist).
Gotta love Cynar: it's made from artichokes. Predictably, it tastes horrible. Hadn't known it was under the same corporate umbrella as Campari, a liquour I rather like. BazzukaJoe hates the stuff. At my wedding he had a sip of my Campari-on-ice and commented that it "tastes like hot garbage."
I guess he'd rather have the artichoke.
Just got back form the doctor. His diagnosis: all these political discussions are having a negative effect on my blood pressure. I now have a prescription for Cozaar, the name of which reminds me a lot of the liquour Cynar, but sounds like it could also be the name of a Bulgarian folk dance.
I popped one before leaving for work, but Kerry's brazen lying still bothers me. Maybe I'll take a few more when I get home... Dash off a few letters to my Congresswoman (that good-for-nothing leftist).
Gotta love Cynar: it's made from artichokes. Predictably, it tastes horrible. Hadn't known it was under the same corporate umbrella as Campari, a liquour I rather like. BazzukaJoe hates the stuff. At my wedding he had a sip of my Campari-on-ice and commented that it "tastes like hot garbage."
I guess he'd rather have the artichoke.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
So Al Sharpton tells us the black vote isn't for sale. Well of course the DNC isn't selling -- there's still a crop to bring in!
Still, as brazen as Sharpton's comment is (Question: Do blacks want their vote taken for granted? Answer: Yes!), it is utterly predictable. It has been the party line for all of recent memory, and is emblematic of all machine-party politics. So when I hear people describe the country as being unusually divided (and we hear it all the time), I just shake my head. It's horseshit. More divided than 2000? More divided than during the Clinton impeachment? More divided than the 1994 takeover of Congress? More divided than any other presidential election?
Please. I can understand losing one's perspective in relation to world history. But forgetting recent history?
Unless they're just saying it to hype their blather and boost ratings/circulation. It would still be a load of horseshit, but at least it would make sense in context.
Still, as brazen as Sharpton's comment is (Question: Do blacks want their vote taken for granted? Answer: Yes!), it is utterly predictable. It has been the party line for all of recent memory, and is emblematic of all machine-party politics. So when I hear people describe the country as being unusually divided (and we hear it all the time), I just shake my head. It's horseshit. More divided than 2000? More divided than during the Clinton impeachment? More divided than the 1994 takeover of Congress? More divided than any other presidential election?
Please. I can understand losing one's perspective in relation to world history. But forgetting recent history?
Unless they're just saying it to hype their blather and boost ratings/circulation. It would still be a load of horseshit, but at least it would make sense in context.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Apropos my smack-down of Hillary earlier this week, I came across an article in last week's Economist that contains yet another take on the accounting of offshoring.
It's a great argument against adding yet more regulation to our economy, as some pols would try. We really don't want to emulate Germany in any way (though some pols, oddly, would like us to be more like France).
According to a new study from the McKinsey Global Institute, every dollar of corporate spending shifted offshore by an American firm--mostly, now, to India--generates $1.13 in new wealth for America's economy.Counterintuitive? You bet. But quite believable, considering how extensively our economy is tied to other countries' economies. In fact, because we're so intertwined our offshoring produces net gains while the offshoring of less-global nations (Germany was the comparison) produces net losses.
...America's economy is more likely to benefit from all those Indian body-shops buying American products, ranging from Dell computers to the Coca-Cola that fuels programmers' late nights. German products are less enticing. And American shareholders are more likely than German investors to have a stake in an Indian offshoring company, further increasing America's gains.The biggest kicker, the thing that keeps the U.S. competitive even in the face of offshoring displacement, according to the study, is the fluidity of our job market. As hard as it is to be displaced, people do find new jobs. I see it reflected in my own experience: the current job, my previous job, and the job I had before that did not exist as positions until my being hired. And as for the two previous positions, since I left them they have since changed drastically (if indeed they exist at all anymore).
It's a great argument against adding yet more regulation to our economy, as some pols would try. We really don't want to emulate Germany in any way (though some pols, oddly, would like us to be more like France).
No fewer than three people have urged me this month to go see the propaganda film Fahrenheit 9/11, hoping (I assume) that the movie will convince me to HATE BUSH.
I've read quite a few dissections of the film, positive and negative, and feel no particular need to break my nearly 10-year hiatus from movie-going. As a student of leftist thought, I do want to know what people really mean when they recommend the film. So I ask.
"I won't see the movie. But tell me: what does it say? Does it bring out any specific charges that haven't been discussed publicly?"
Of course, when I say "discussed publicly" what I really mean is "refuted," but what I'm trying to do is draw out a thought pattern. The response I get is interesting.
"You just have to see it," has consistently been the gist of their reply. So I try to take it further.
"Well, what facts presented in the movie did you find particularly convincing?"
"I can't describe it. You have to see it."
My first instinct is to lament the triumph of style over substance. But then I remind myself that the people pushing the movie are the same people who HATED BUSH all along. The movie is just new ammunition -- and for that purpose, innuendo works just as well as fact. It's hard to know whether the film is actually convincing anyone of anything. Certainly, if an undecided voter uses the film's rhetoric to conclude that Bush somehow conspired with the Saudis to perpetrate the attacks of September 11, then that would indeed be a shame -- but not unique in the annals of a country full of UFO-spotters, horoscope-readers, and Oprah-watchers.
Right now, the dominant media is in a full-court press to prop up Kerry, and even that is not without precedent. I remember listening to the news in the 1980s, wondering how Reagan could ever have won an election with all that theY were saying about him. I have to remind myself of the love-fests the media held for Dukakis and later for Gore -- not enough to turn those elections and I hope not enough to turn this one.
The media bias is no secret, and should be an occasion to give Bush some credit: the networks and the powedered noses never gave him a fair shake in 2000 and he still won the election -- then survived an unprecedented attempt to steal the race through creative rule-changing. All in all, an awesome uphill climb. Time to do it again.
I've read quite a few dissections of the film, positive and negative, and feel no particular need to break my nearly 10-year hiatus from movie-going. As a student of leftist thought, I do want to know what people really mean when they recommend the film. So I ask.
"I won't see the movie. But tell me: what does it say? Does it bring out any specific charges that haven't been discussed publicly?"
Of course, when I say "discussed publicly" what I really mean is "refuted," but what I'm trying to do is draw out a thought pattern. The response I get is interesting.
"You just have to see it," has consistently been the gist of their reply. So I try to take it further.
"Well, what facts presented in the movie did you find particularly convincing?"
"I can't describe it. You have to see it."
My first instinct is to lament the triumph of style over substance. But then I remind myself that the people pushing the movie are the same people who HATED BUSH all along. The movie is just new ammunition -- and for that purpose, innuendo works just as well as fact. It's hard to know whether the film is actually convincing anyone of anything. Certainly, if an undecided voter uses the film's rhetoric to conclude that Bush somehow conspired with the Saudis to perpetrate the attacks of September 11, then that would indeed be a shame -- but not unique in the annals of a country full of UFO-spotters, horoscope-readers, and Oprah-watchers.
Right now, the dominant media is in a full-court press to prop up Kerry, and even that is not without precedent. I remember listening to the news in the 1980s, wondering how Reagan could ever have won an election with all that theY were saying about him. I have to remind myself of the love-fests the media held for Dukakis and later for Gore -- not enough to turn those elections and I hope not enough to turn this one.
The media bias is no secret, and should be an occasion to give Bush some credit: the networks and the powedered noses never gave him a fair shake in 2000 and he still won the election -- then survived an unprecedented attempt to steal the race through creative rule-changing. All in all, an awesome uphill climb. Time to do it again.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Current polling shows that Uncle Lenny plans to vote for Rowdy Roddy Piper in November. Piper's running mate, Junkyard Dog, was quoted as being "Very pleased, grunt, to have his vote."
I've read elsewhere that Ralph Nader is researching whether he can legally list two names in the vice-president column. Afa and Sika, the Wild Samoans, were soundly defeated in the Independence Party primaries, but are reportedly ecstatic to be under consideration for inclusion on the Nader ticket.
"Send us in," they said.
I've read elsewhere that Ralph Nader is researching whether he can legally list two names in the vice-president column. Afa and Sika, the Wild Samoans, were soundly defeated in the Independence Party primaries, but are reportedly ecstatic to be under consideration for inclusion on the Nader ticket.
"Send us in," they said.
Monday, July 26, 2004
A few thoughts... These are some clips from Clinton's speech that got cut at the last minute. It was the part of the speech that was supposed to be a chant into the minute, narrow minds.
"When they said 'That mans' hair is too long, and he need a shave by Tommy' Kerry said 'send me in.'"
"When Oprah Winfrey's pants were not closing and she needed a pair of pliers, Kerry said 'send me in.'"
"He wasn't around for baby Jessica, but if he was he would say 'send me in.'"
When the "men" were faced with the horror of FLASHDANCE, Kerry said "send Clinton in."
That is all.
"When they said 'That mans' hair is too long, and he need a shave by Tommy' Kerry said 'send me in.'"
"When Oprah Winfrey's pants were not closing and she needed a pair of pliers, Kerry said 'send me in.'"
"He wasn't around for baby Jessica, but if he was he would say 'send me in.'"
When the "men" were faced with the horror of FLASHDANCE, Kerry said "send Clinton in."
That is all.
Tirade alert. I won't be watching much of the Boston convention tonight. I saw enough Hillary Clinton already today, coming to me from the op-ed page of the Wall Street Journal.
Her topic was outsourcing -- a beautiful piece of vine-ripened fruit for a politican (because economic displacement means change, and the prospect of change instills fear, and politicians prey upon people's fears).
Anyway, her discussion of outsourcing started reasonably. She essentially pointed out that companies don't realize as much cost savings as they assume when they move operations offshore. Fair enough -- I suspect that's true in many instances.
But being a leftist politician, Hillary would never be satisfied to let the operation of the market sort these things out. No, according to her, the government needs to spend money. Invest in technology. Build broadband Internet into rural areas. Forge government partnerships with business.
Hold the phone: the federal government is going to identify promising technologies and business enterprises and skillfully invest my money (and yours) in them?
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I'm conservative, so I get riled up when I read this stuff. But what's so conservative about my reaction? Think about how ass-backward the dominant naming convention is. Exactly how does a person like me get the label "conservative"? I'm for liberalized trade, open markets, consumer choice, and government accountability. What part of the old guard am I trying to conserve?
Likewise, how do modern-day Democrats get to be called "liberal"? They staunchly defend all government programs -- even those that have demonstrably failed. They want government to control markets and restrict consumer choice. They fear change and don't trust people to figure out how to manage change in their own lives.
Even in the culture wars the so-called conservatives have the liberal high ground -- the modern left most often makes its advances through unelected, unaccountable, unrepentant judges. It's one thing to change the marriage statutes via normal legislative process; it's quite another to ram it through by court order. Or take abortion, the Mother of All Political Battles: the most ardent anti-abortion "conservative" jurists do not generally argue that the Constitution prohibits abortion (which would be the converse of the prevailing leftist argument that the Constitution guarantees its legality). Yeah, I heard Hadley Arkes make that case in a lecture to the Federalist Society, but I'm not sure even he took it seriously.
Anyway, even if the government could wave a magic wand and re-make the economy to be as it was some 30 or 40 years ago, would that be a good idea? No such magic wand exists, so the attempt itself would create tremendous harm -- even more important than the law of unintended consequences, there is the Single Iron Rule: government can't do anything efficiently. For cryin' out loud, the government can't even cleanly execute the tasks which are properly in its own domain! Disaffected voters who want the feds to protect them from the ravages of a changing world economy would do well to remember that the feds couldn't even protect its own Pentagon from wackos with box-cutters.
And those who teeter on the edge of true liberalism would do well to recall that one of the four hijacked planes was indeed taken down, not by government agencies (see Single Iron Rule above), but by everyday Americans who are smart, connected, resourceful, and ready to act boldly even in the face of an unprecedented challenge.
Rely on government to sort it out? Fine: for running the military and for coining currency and other Article I responsibilities (c'mon Souter, c'mon Stevens: read the friggin' document), leave those things in the federal domain. But for everyting else, let's rely on our wits. We'll save a bundle and the outcome will be better.
Now get off the stage Hillary -- you've taken enough out of my paycheck already.
Her topic was outsourcing -- a beautiful piece of vine-ripened fruit for a politican (because economic displacement means change, and the prospect of change instills fear, and politicians prey upon people's fears).
Anyway, her discussion of outsourcing started reasonably. She essentially pointed out that companies don't realize as much cost savings as they assume when they move operations offshore. Fair enough -- I suspect that's true in many instances.
But being a leftist politician, Hillary would never be satisfied to let the operation of the market sort these things out. No, according to her, the government needs to spend money. Invest in technology. Build broadband Internet into rural areas. Forge government partnerships with business.
Hold the phone: the federal government is going to identify promising technologies and business enterprises and skillfully invest my money (and yours) in them?
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
I'm conservative, so I get riled up when I read this stuff. But what's so conservative about my reaction? Think about how ass-backward the dominant naming convention is. Exactly how does a person like me get the label "conservative"? I'm for liberalized trade, open markets, consumer choice, and government accountability. What part of the old guard am I trying to conserve?
Likewise, how do modern-day Democrats get to be called "liberal"? They staunchly defend all government programs -- even those that have demonstrably failed. They want government to control markets and restrict consumer choice. They fear change and don't trust people to figure out how to manage change in their own lives.
Even in the culture wars the so-called conservatives have the liberal high ground -- the modern left most often makes its advances through unelected, unaccountable, unrepentant judges. It's one thing to change the marriage statutes via normal legislative process; it's quite another to ram it through by court order. Or take abortion, the Mother of All Political Battles: the most ardent anti-abortion "conservative" jurists do not generally argue that the Constitution prohibits abortion (which would be the converse of the prevailing leftist argument that the Constitution guarantees its legality). Yeah, I heard Hadley Arkes make that case in a lecture to the Federalist Society, but I'm not sure even he took it seriously.
Anyway, even if the government could wave a magic wand and re-make the economy to be as it was some 30 or 40 years ago, would that be a good idea? No such magic wand exists, so the attempt itself would create tremendous harm -- even more important than the law of unintended consequences, there is the Single Iron Rule: government can't do anything efficiently. For cryin' out loud, the government can't even cleanly execute the tasks which are properly in its own domain! Disaffected voters who want the feds to protect them from the ravages of a changing world economy would do well to remember that the feds couldn't even protect its own Pentagon from wackos with box-cutters.
And those who teeter on the edge of true liberalism would do well to recall that one of the four hijacked planes was indeed taken down, not by government agencies (see Single Iron Rule above), but by everyday Americans who are smart, connected, resourceful, and ready to act boldly even in the face of an unprecedented challenge.
Rely on government to sort it out? Fine: for running the military and for coining currency and other Article I responsibilities (c'mon Souter, c'mon Stevens: read the friggin' document), leave those things in the federal domain. But for everyting else, let's rely on our wits. We'll save a bundle and the outcome will be better.
Now get off the stage Hillary -- you've taken enough out of my paycheck already.
I believe the conversation with Angela was about her dog's eyes having a peculiar scent. I believe she refered to the shi tzu as la gagalia and they had eyes that smell like pee-kyok.
There were many names just made up at the "quarters." The station that held the lunch room and lockers for NYCTA guys. Then there was the 38th street yard. I recall a few that were not mentioned.
Now I'm not sure but i do think there were quite a few new names made when we lived on marisa circle. I also believe that we made up numerous name at the woodruff drive home of Uncle Joe "watch her tie that in a knot" Fatone.
I had a question for John or Joe Nebraska Does anyone recall Uncle Andy ever spinning a tale? I'm sure someone besides my brother was present for something good. I was just wondering if my experience was isolated?
There were many names just made up at the "quarters." The station that held the lunch room and lockers for NYCTA guys. Then there was the 38th street yard. I recall a few that were not mentioned.
- Philly Stink Armpits
- Colossal Head
- Half a Head
- Blob-Verne
- The Swirl
Now I'm not sure but i do think there were quite a few new names made when we lived on marisa circle. I also believe that we made up numerous name at the woodruff drive home of Uncle Joe "watch her tie that in a knot" Fatone.
I had a question for John or Joe Nebraska Does anyone recall Uncle Andy ever spinning a tale? I'm sure someone besides my brother was present for something good. I was just wondering if my experience was isolated?
Sunday, July 25, 2004
Hey, I just wanted to add a footnote to the Gagalia story. He wasn't the only NYCTA coworker with an absurd nickname. Heres a brief list of the guys my Dad worked with each day:
1. Distorto
2. Nicky Japanese Teeth
3. Mootzy
4. Rugby
5. The Animal
6. Indian Ink
For the finale, a little known fact Vin also had a NYCTA nickname... STOTCH. No clue on how it was selected, I believe something to do with pistachios. To all a good night!
1. Distorto
2. Nicky Japanese Teeth
3. Mootzy
4. Rugby
5. The Animal
6. Indian Ink
For the finale, a little known fact Vin also had a NYCTA nickname... STOTCH. No clue on how it was selected, I believe something to do with pistachios. To all a good night!
Saturday, July 24, 2004
The word "Ohio" is derived, I believe, from the old Cuyahoga Indian word which meant "vicious allergen."
I'm sneezing my onions off.
I am at this moment camped roadside on a cemetary path waiting for Alane to find her way back from the headstone of a departed friend. Her brothers are reposed right here, a few feet from me. Joe would probably appreciate the gadgetry of my e-mail blogging. Brian would most likely scoff at my obsessive geekery. I have shared with them today the results of last night's ballgame: the Indians won in their last at bat.
Cookie and Mojo are back at the house, no doubt destroying the place. We shall return shortly to survey the wreckage.
Sent from my GoodLink Wireless Handheld (www.good.com)
I'm sneezing my onions off.
I am at this moment camped roadside on a cemetary path waiting for Alane to find her way back from the headstone of a departed friend. Her brothers are reposed right here, a few feet from me. Joe would probably appreciate the gadgetry of my e-mail blogging. Brian would most likely scoff at my obsessive geekery. I have shared with them today the results of last night's ballgame: the Indians won in their last at bat.
Cookie and Mojo are back at the house, no doubt destroying the place. We shall return shortly to survey the wreckage.
Sent from my GoodLink Wireless Handheld (www.good.com)
We all know that nicknames seem to feature very prominent in Mastandrea culture. Today in Florida, we await the arrival of one of Big Vin's most famous nicknamed friends;
JOE GAGALIA (born Joseph Vadala). Now, indeed the nickname sounds unusual, but I think the origins of it are downright fascinating. The word, "gagalia", dates back to an early 1990s christmas party my mother once had with her friends from Victory Memorial Hospital. At the party, a husky-voiced female coworker named Angela sits down beside Big Vin and begins a converstaion. She opens by saying "I am Maltese, and the Maltese language is very close to Italian". Assuming that Vin can understand her , she begins speaking in her native tongue. I actually called Vin to get this conversation correct. According to the Big Kahuna, the exchange went something like this:
Angela: "Le gagalie"
Vin: "Gagalie?"
Angela "Si, le gagalia!"
Vin: "Oh.....gagalia. "
Later, on the family questions him about the conversation, to which he replies: "I don't know what the hell she was talking about, all that lady knows how to say is GAGALIA."
The following morning, as he drives to work, just keeps repeating to himself "gagalia...gagalia."
Like a Hari Chrishna chant, he is captured within its sound. He arrives at work, greets his coworker Joe Vadala.
Vin: "Hey Joe. Gagalia."
Joe: "Hey, Vinny"
Cary Gallo: "Did he just you call you Joe Gagalia?"
Joe: "Yeah, he did"
Cary Gallo: "Oh. Joe Gagalia"
The name was official.
In years to come, most people assumed Gagalia was actually his last name, but the truth is its Maltese for something. Bonus points if someone would take this history lesson and expand into a research project. Find a bilingual Maltan, and then find out what the hell a gagalia is. To the winner goes a nice flaky sfogliatelle.
JOE GAGALIA (born Joseph Vadala). Now, indeed the nickname sounds unusual, but I think the origins of it are downright fascinating. The word, "gagalia", dates back to an early 1990s christmas party my mother once had with her friends from Victory Memorial Hospital. At the party, a husky-voiced female coworker named Angela sits down beside Big Vin and begins a converstaion. She opens by saying "I am Maltese, and the Maltese language is very close to Italian". Assuming that Vin can understand her , she begins speaking in her native tongue. I actually called Vin to get this conversation correct. According to the Big Kahuna, the exchange went something like this:
Angela: "Le gagalie"
Vin: "Gagalie?"
Angela "Si, le gagalia!"
Vin: "Oh.....gagalia. "
Later, on the family questions him about the conversation, to which he replies: "I don't know what the hell she was talking about, all that lady knows how to say is GAGALIA."
The following morning, as he drives to work, just keeps repeating to himself "gagalia...gagalia."
Like a Hari Chrishna chant, he is captured within its sound. He arrives at work, greets his coworker Joe Vadala.
Vin: "Hey Joe. Gagalia."
Joe: "Hey, Vinny"
Cary Gallo: "Did he just you call you Joe Gagalia?"
Joe: "Yeah, he did"
Cary Gallo: "Oh. Joe Gagalia"
The name was official.
In years to come, most people assumed Gagalia was actually his last name, but the truth is its Maltese for something. Bonus points if someone would take this history lesson and expand into a research project. Find a bilingual Maltan, and then find out what the hell a gagalia is. To the winner goes a nice flaky sfogliatelle.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Lo, I post overdue updates from Ohio. We just returned from the Strongsville homecoming parade. For a small town, these people really know how to make it last. Two friggin' hours of dancers, emergency vehicles, flag-bearers, and cheerful do-gooders hurling Tootsie Rolls at the boys' heads.
I'm surprised they didn't heff with all the candy they caught and devoured.
They had a lot of fun, tho. If I had been able to get the beads off Mojo's neck in time, I surely would have offered them to Mrs. Ohio as she went by in her convertible. Good thing Mojo doesn't share very well -- I'm in enough trouble with Mrs. Tuckahoe.
Finally checked the Daily News this afternoon and saw that Bill Gallo did indeed write up his barbershop Matsui conversation, sans the WWII reference. Good thing no one asked for a shave, it may have triggered an impromptu bayonet drill right there in the middle of Bronxville.
I'm surprised they didn't heff with all the candy they caught and devoured.
They had a lot of fun, tho. If I had been able to get the beads off Mojo's neck in time, I surely would have offered them to Mrs. Ohio as she went by in her convertible. Good thing Mojo doesn't share very well -- I'm in enough trouble with Mrs. Tuckahoe.
Finally checked the Daily News this afternoon and saw that Bill Gallo did indeed write up his barbershop Matsui conversation, sans the WWII reference. Good thing no one asked for a shave, it may have triggered an impromptu bayonet drill right there in the middle of Bronxville.
Sunday, July 18, 2004
The contents of this blog and the contents of one's stomach are very often indistinguishable. So don't apologize, Kim -- you're on the right track.
And lemme tell you something about blogging via handheld -- this kicks ass. Right now I'm in the backyard with the boys (who are hopping thru the sprinkler) tapping this message into my Treo. Gadgets rule!
So far no neighbors have stopped by and threatened to puke on us. And that, I suppose, is for the best.
And lemme tell you something about blogging via handheld -- this kicks ass. Right now I'm in the backyard with the boys (who are hopping thru the sprinkler) tapping this message into my Treo. Gadgets rule!
So far no neighbors have stopped by and threatened to puke on us. And that, I suppose, is for the best.
John Kerry is definitely a strange dream subject. Although not as strange as cheese and cows. I won't go there again. Once is disturbing enough. I must address a subject that has touched us all at one time or another. It's not pretty, it's uncomfortable. DRUNK PEOPLE. Sometimes amusing, sometimes creepy. One man encompasses all the facets of a drunk person experience. Vinny and Marie's next store neighbor. I'm not sure if everyone participating in the blog has had the scary privilege to have met him but I am going to try to describe tonight's events. OUR VISIT WITH..................... I won't name him but if you know him YOU KNOW. There was a knock on the door just as we were about to have a fantastic late meal of red stew and noodles. The neighbor in all his ruddy glory wants to visit with Vinny. With it being a late hour everyone knows that Neighbor has most likely been intoxicated for a good 9 hours. There is a thick mixture of pity, disgust, uneasiness and amusement in the air surrounding the table. Oh I was the lucky one tonight as I was seated next to him. Not on purpose of course, just because Stephen didn't sit down fast enough. And neighbor stayed through the meal. Us with our stew he with his mainstay of Busch. Nothing like going to someone's house with your own bar in hand. The exchange was quite interesting. Like when Neighbor asked Vin, "So howed dya lose lthe weight? You been working out or something? Now you know Vin. The face says it all. As if to say..................I don't have to tell you what the face meant. The best moment was when we all decided to weigh ourselves. Once again not the smartest thing after a meal of noodles and red stew. But I digress. Steve weighs in first then Neighbor goes to get on the scale. He proceeds to empty his pockets and out comes the usual contents: cigarettes, check, liter, check, keys, check, wallet check,beer cozy, check. Wait a minute, oh yes a beer cozy in his back pocket. His idea of a don't leave home without it item. He gets on the scale with a tentative step and steadies himself with help of the wall. ThenNeighbor says to me "You weigh more than me, I'll bet yoooooooou a hunred dollars you weigh more than me." Oh boy, of course he renegged but it was a hoot and holler. A six foot one man with a grossly enlarged liver was telling my 5 foot one frame I weighed more than him. I'm sure Marlena and Stefanie had the most scale fun with Neighbor finding it funny to try and "add" weight to them by pressing on their shoulders. Like I said not all comedy, many moments of uneasiness. I must confess I did something pretty douchey. Neighbor began coughing at one point while still sitting at the table. His face turned red and you could see stomach contents rising in his throat. Although he was directly facing Vin Stefanie and I ran for the hills. Nothing came of this quick fit but if it did poor Big Vin would have been in the direct line of fire. I should have moved to save him. I wussed out and tried to save myself from the could have been Busch backlash. And so concludes my view on the stale humor that is the Drunk Neighbor. All at once sad and amusing. I hope I didn't bring down the Blogs laugh content. I'm new to this and not sure of story telling skills. Still testing the waters I suppose. Happier content ahead I promise.
Saturday, July 17, 2004
Kerry is a piker. Alane and I had real-life nightmare classes together in law school -- taught by true-believing liberal professors (not the mealy-mouth politician types).
As many classes as we took together, I could never get her to study with me. Something about my unorthodox approach... she used the word "annoying" a lot as she brushed me off, taking her books to another room...
Yup, 11 years I been married to... this...
Blogging right now from Interstate 80, not too far from the Ohio line. Damn you, Pennsylvania!
Sent from my GoodLink Wireless Handheld (www.good.com)
As many classes as we took together, I could never get her to study with me. Something about my unorthodox approach... she used the word "annoying" a lot as she brushed me off, taking her books to another room...
Yup, 11 years I been married to... this...
Blogging right now from Interstate 80, not too far from the Ohio line. Damn you, Pennsylvania!
Sent from my GoodLink Wireless Handheld (www.good.com)
Was anyone else a little disturbed about the President's visit with the Amish? I have no truck with the President, however it may have been for the best that story wasn't reported else where. Now, conversation with the Amish probably is a little hard to make (unless you are John) but come on that hat comment was lame. Why were the men wearing straw hats instead of black wool hats in the middle of summer? I am no rocket scientist but even I would have been able to figure that one out. It was simply a dopey question.
Anyway, I had a nightmare the other night. John and I were in a class together (no that's not the nightmare part). The teacher of the class was John Kerry and he insisted on sitting on my desk.
Anyway, I had a nightmare the other night. John and I were in a class together (no that's not the nightmare part). The teacher of the class was John Kerry and he insisted on sitting on my desk.
Friday, July 16, 2004
Did I mention that I got to meet the President last week? A fine man. Can really put away the apple streusel. Arrived in a buggy with NASCAR decals.
Motorcycle update: the bike has been sold. Should be able to transfer goods tomorrow. Proceeds of the sale earmarked for a new shuttle-loom for Alane.
Motorcycle update: the bike has been sold. Should be able to transfer goods tomorrow. Proceeds of the sale earmarked for a new shuttle-loom for Alane.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Popular culture is blowjinski.
Many of you know what that word means; the rest of you aren't real Mastandreas.
And yeah, I know the Little Prince. Saw that film when I was a kid. Class trip to Radio City Music Hall. Mystery man playing the Wurlitzer to warm up the crowd. Silly movie.
Who was Boo Boo Bagels, anyway?
Many of you know what that word means; the rest of you aren't real Mastandreas.
And yeah, I know the Little Prince. Saw that film when I was a kid. Class trip to Radio City Music Hall. Mystery man playing the Wurlitzer to warm up the crowd. Silly movie.
Who was Boo Boo Bagels, anyway?
Ah yes, and when I am sporting my babushka and galoshes -- John is in his fake beard, black pants and shirt, suspenders and Amish hat and I'm calling him Emmett. For as some of you may know -- John is as close as you can get to Amish without being in Lancaster County. Although he is king of the gadgets, he shuns popular culture. Indeed, when I first moved here I explained to one of my friends back in Cleveland John's disdain for movies, TV and most music. Which led to my friend sending John a postcard with an Amish guy on front asking him to stop the masquerade and return to the Amish fold before New York "rejected him like a bad skin graft."
Speaking of popular culture and ethnic cultures, I saw Prince the other night. The crowd was very ethnically diverse. Indeed my friend Melissa I went with is Mexican, I mean Puerto Rican. Anyway, the guy in front of us was Asian not sure if he was Japanese or Korean. The back of his shirt read "Cracker, A**, Cracker." I looked at Mel and asked her if I should be racially offended. Cuz if it said something else, I'm quite certain others in our vicinity would have had something unpleasant to say to him. But in the true Christian fashion and respecting Prince's new found religiosity, I turned the other cheek. The show by the way was great.
Speaking of popular culture and ethnic cultures, I saw Prince the other night. The crowd was very ethnically diverse. Indeed my friend Melissa I went with is Mexican, I mean Puerto Rican. Anyway, the guy in front of us was Asian not sure if he was Japanese or Korean. The back of his shirt read "Cracker, A**, Cracker." I looked at Mel and asked her if I should be racially offended. Cuz if it said something else, I'm quite certain others in our vicinity would have had something unpleasant to say to him. But in the true Christian fashion and respecting Prince's new found religiosity, I turned the other cheek. The show by the way was great.
Excellent work, Kim, you've brought us back to one of the original objectives of this blog: to uncover each others' sick and twisted fetishes.
So how long has Steve been dressing you like a Mexican? Does he ask you to wear a sombrero and poncho while you two are... you know? Does he use the nickname "My Little Chicken and Cheese Taco" to refer to you (in whole or in part)? On weekends, does he send you out back to pick strawberries?
Look, I've been married a long time (11 years on Saturday -- Alane reminded me); as usual, I have advice. Just go with it. As Alane can tell you, resistance is futile. She should know: she's only half Polish but I still like to dress her in a babushka and workboots, then pose her with a snowshovel and a sack of potatoes.
Now that's serious foreplay. Chips and salsa... Steve, you're still an amateur!
So how long has Steve been dressing you like a Mexican? Does he ask you to wear a sombrero and poncho while you two are... you know? Does he use the nickname "My Little Chicken and Cheese Taco" to refer to you (in whole or in part)? On weekends, does he send you out back to pick strawberries?
Look, I've been married a long time (11 years on Saturday -- Alane reminded me); as usual, I have advice. Just go with it. As Alane can tell you, resistance is futile. She should know: she's only half Polish but I still like to dress her in a babushka and workboots, then pose her with a snowshovel and a sack of potatoes.
Now that's serious foreplay. Chips and salsa... Steve, you're still an amateur!
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
OK I'm HERE. Not that there is much to say. I work in a bank, I try to write songs and on occasion deplete my already small bank account. Now that we have that out of the way I need to address something that at first seemed somewhat normal but now it is... a bit too strange. Follow me here. Stephen, the one I live with and love unconditionally, has been known to, on occasion, call me a mexican.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that."
My point of this story is that I've come to the conclusion that Stephen only invites people over for one reason. A typical "should we invite people over conversation" goes like this. ME: "So what is so-and-so doing tonight?" STEVE: "I don't know. Why do you want them to come over? I CAN GET CHIPS AND SALSA!" At first I payed no mind as he is, as we all know, a strange character, lovable, but strange nonetheless. OH SIDE BAR. I ask kindly of the well educated readers don't make fun of me. I know I can't spell and my punctuation is sub-par but you catch my drift and we'll leave it at that! So as I was saying, CHIPS AND SALSA has become a sort of obsession of his. If we're going over someone's house, "Maybe I should pick up some CHIPS AND SALSA" "I'm hungry. Do you want chips and salsa?" Coming home from work "Do we need anything from the store? How about some CHIPS AND SALSA" Do you see how strange this is? You have a choice of anything in the super market but NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO it's all about the CHIPS AND SALSA. Just remember this next time you call ME a mexican. And no Steve did not become one through osmosis.
"Not that there's anything wrong with that."
My point of this story is that I've come to the conclusion that Stephen only invites people over for one reason. A typical "should we invite people over conversation" goes like this. ME: "So what is so-and-so doing tonight?" STEVE: "I don't know. Why do you want them to come over? I CAN GET CHIPS AND SALSA!" At first I payed no mind as he is, as we all know, a strange character, lovable, but strange nonetheless. OH SIDE BAR. I ask kindly of the well educated readers don't make fun of me. I know I can't spell and my punctuation is sub-par but you catch my drift and we'll leave it at that! So as I was saying, CHIPS AND SALSA has become a sort of obsession of his. If we're going over someone's house, "Maybe I should pick up some CHIPS AND SALSA" "I'm hungry. Do you want chips and salsa?" Coming home from work "Do we need anything from the store? How about some CHIPS AND SALSA" Do you see how strange this is? You have a choice of anything in the super market but NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO it's all about the CHIPS AND SALSA. Just remember this next time you call ME a mexican. And no Steve did not become one through osmosis.
Let's be fair. When Tommy was done shaving Steve's faccia, his five o'clock shadow was most certainly not intact.
I'm not trying to say it was gone.
It was still there. But it was... addled. Uneven. Patchy... Like a blighted lawn.
And Steve wasn't exaggerating when he described being filled with terror. I remember remarking (out loud, to once again be annoying):
"Thank you for this Tommy, this is the first stretch of five minutes I've had all weekend that I haven't had to listen to him talking."
That's right -- Steve was too scared to speak.
And yes, it was the best money I spent that weekend -- not counting what I spent at Stew Leonard's to stock the food tables of baptismal feast. Think "broccolini." And Turkish coffee.
Oh, and yes, the proper way to pronounce the name Stew Leonard is indeed su cazzo. And the proper inflection of that goes something like the refrain in Rammstein's "Du Hast."
There is a style to all this. Please be sure to follow along.
I'm not trying to say it was gone.
It was still there. But it was... addled. Uneven. Patchy... Like a blighted lawn.
And Steve wasn't exaggerating when he described being filled with terror. I remember remarking (out loud, to once again be annoying):
"Thank you for this Tommy, this is the first stretch of five minutes I've had all weekend that I haven't had to listen to him talking."
That's right -- Steve was too scared to speak.
And yes, it was the best money I spent that weekend -- not counting what I spent at Stew Leonard's to stock the food tables of baptismal feast. Think "broccolini." And Turkish coffee.
Oh, and yes, the proper way to pronounce the name Stew Leonard is indeed su cazzo. And the proper inflection of that goes something like the refrain in Rammstein's "Du Hast."
There is a style to all this. Please be sure to follow along.
I am convinced that John only brings up Tommy the Barber to send me into a convulsive flashback. So allow me to recreate my encounter with the infamous Tommy the Barber of Bronxville back in the summer of 2000.
In the pursuit of looking neat for John Paul's baptism, I accompany John as he pays a visit to his favorite local hair cuttery: the aforementioned Tommy the Barber. Let me begin by describing this guy for you: he's about 70, thin and wiry, dyed black hair, big European teeth, I'm pretty sure he's deaf by the way he yells every word, and most importantly he has very, very shaky hands. So of course, John and I are wildly amused watching this guy give the masses uneven haircuts all the while shouting these long-winded stories of his childhood in a very thick Italian accent. How could you not love it?
Well, I have the answer to that question: when John asks Tommy the Barber to give me one of his world famous shaves. As one might expect, he unveils an old pearl-handled straight razor with his quaking, arthritic hands and begins to do a little prep work on my face. I am officially petrified, (ironically, my hands as well begin to shake) and John is beaming at the look of sheer horror upon my face. He says "this looks like the scene from the Godfather, all its missing is Cicci at the door". Tommy snaps at John "NO JOKES! Theesa is notta haircut...theesa is SERIOUS!!" As John tries to lower his voice, he begins a small conversation with a NYC school teacher seated next to him regarding the incredible performance of certain city school, which managed to raise its city-wide test pass rate from 9% to 14%! I giggle at John's series of wry replies as this guy drones about the ethnic bias these tests have and how amazing an improvement reaching 14% really is. John then turns back to Tommy and suggests "you might want to take a little off his nose" Tommy becomes furious, he screams at John "You talk so much you give the aspirin a headache!" No one acknowledges his joke so he screams it even louder "YOU GIVE THE ASPIRIN A HEADACHE!" So everything quiets down and everyone focuses on my pale, scared, perspiring face as he starts to shave me. Hes quite slow and methodical, and seems to be doing a decent job. Therefore I'm quite pleased when he finishes without shedding any blood...however after putting my glasses back on I realize he also shedded absolutely NO HAIR. My five o'clock shadow was exactly as it was when I walked in. Tommy smiles proudly at his work, and I thank him, feeling happy that he at least didn't slit me. He informs me that its now time for the big finish: he smacks me in my still bearded face with some blue mystery liquid which makes it feel as if I just put my face through a glass windshield. As I wince in pain and John laughs, he asks some strange female customer to do one as well, so she anxiously jumps right up and smacks me hard, trip #2 through the windshield. The torture was officially over, and it cost John 30 bucks, and although I think he got ripped off, he'll probably disagree.
In the pursuit of looking neat for John Paul's baptism, I accompany John as he pays a visit to his favorite local hair cuttery: the aforementioned Tommy the Barber. Let me begin by describing this guy for you: he's about 70, thin and wiry, dyed black hair, big European teeth, I'm pretty sure he's deaf by the way he yells every word, and most importantly he has very, very shaky hands. So of course, John and I are wildly amused watching this guy give the masses uneven haircuts all the while shouting these long-winded stories of his childhood in a very thick Italian accent. How could you not love it?
Well, I have the answer to that question: when John asks Tommy the Barber to give me one of his world famous shaves. As one might expect, he unveils an old pearl-handled straight razor with his quaking, arthritic hands and begins to do a little prep work on my face. I am officially petrified, (ironically, my hands as well begin to shake) and John is beaming at the look of sheer horror upon my face. He says "this looks like the scene from the Godfather, all its missing is Cicci at the door". Tommy snaps at John "NO JOKES! Theesa is notta haircut...theesa is SERIOUS!!" As John tries to lower his voice, he begins a small conversation with a NYC school teacher seated next to him regarding the incredible performance of certain city school, which managed to raise its city-wide test pass rate from 9% to 14%! I giggle at John's series of wry replies as this guy drones about the ethnic bias these tests have and how amazing an improvement reaching 14% really is. John then turns back to Tommy and suggests "you might want to take a little off his nose" Tommy becomes furious, he screams at John "You talk so much you give the aspirin a headache!" No one acknowledges his joke so he screams it even louder "YOU GIVE THE ASPIRIN A HEADACHE!" So everything quiets down and everyone focuses on my pale, scared, perspiring face as he starts to shave me. Hes quite slow and methodical, and seems to be doing a decent job. Therefore I'm quite pleased when he finishes without shedding any blood...however after putting my glasses back on I realize he also shedded absolutely NO HAIR. My five o'clock shadow was exactly as it was when I walked in. Tommy smiles proudly at his work, and I thank him, feeling happy that he at least didn't slit me. He informs me that its now time for the big finish: he smacks me in my still bearded face with some blue mystery liquid which makes it feel as if I just put my face through a glass windshield. As I wince in pain and John laughs, he asks some strange female customer to do one as well, so she anxiously jumps right up and smacks me hard, trip #2 through the windshield. The torture was officially over, and it cost John 30 bucks, and although I think he got ripped off, he'll probably disagree.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Attempting to post from the commuter train. [Update: attempt failed, miserably.] En route to the office, away from the neverending chaos of potty training. Not mine, Mojo's. He is one lazy boy.
Between Mojo's accidents and Cookie's remarkably poor toilet-bowl aim our place is starting to smell a lot like a subway stairwell.
Still, he's making progress. He came in to pee this morning while I showered. I stuck my head out to congratulate him.
"Good work, Mojo. Gimme five!"
He took his little hand off his little ochinchi -- leaving it to shoot randomly over the edge of the potty and all over the floor.
Getting to work won't be so bad. I won't have to mop the floor. I hope.
Between Mojo's accidents and Cookie's remarkably poor toilet-bowl aim our place is starting to smell a lot like a subway stairwell.
Still, he's making progress. He came in to pee this morning while I showered. I stuck my head out to congratulate him.
"Good work, Mojo. Gimme five!"
He took his little hand off his little ochinchi -- leaving it to shoot randomly over the edge of the potty and all over the floor.
Getting to work won't be so bad. I won't have to mop the floor. I hope.
Monday, July 12, 2004
Lemme tell ya something about WMDs, now that Big Joe has raised the issue... I feel compelled to remind people that Saddam Hussein (was that his WWF wrestling name?) absolutely wanted the world to believe he had WMDs. This is true regardless of whether he really had them (and you'd have to scour the inside pages of newspapers to find stories confirming uranium transactions in Niger).
Being in the Northeast, I regularly get to hear otherwise reasonable people voice "sincere" doubt that the totalitarian regime in Iraq was in any way a threat to the west.
How much of their thinking is wrought by modern liberalism's fetish for "peace at any cost"? And how much more of it is attributable to hatred of Bush and a desire to install a Democrat administration. So be it: that's how politics works?
Even after you adjust for the political bias, the critique leveled against Bush is just plain moronic. Iraq wanted neighboring countries (not to mention some internal populations) to believe he had weapons of mass destruction. It's no different than walking into a bar with your hand in your coat and noisily exploiting the "careful, he's got a gun" fear effect -- it only works until someone either calls your bluff (dangerous for the bluff-caller) or pulls out a bigger gun and uses it first (which is what the U.S. did -- and should be ready to do again).
Now it's Iran rattling the nerves of nearby nations as it gins up its nuke factories. Keep in mind, Iran was one of the countries Iraq most wanted to terrorize with its phantom (or not-so-phantom) WMD projects. What's the likelihood that Iranian radicals will be the first to get a nuke into terroristic operation?
I don't know the answer to that, but I hope they know at the CIA and FBI (yeah, I know: no reason to rely on those federal bureaucracies any more than we can currently rely on the Post Office... or the Social Security Administration... or any of the others).
Anyway, here are my predictions (so I can do the "I-told-you-so" thing at some later date):
If Bush assesses the threat properly and decides to move pre-emptively against Iran he will be loudly and indignantly reviled in the same way he is today -- more so because he'll be painted as a repeat offender.
If Bush does nothing and the U.S. is attacked, he will be condemned for not protecting us... From the WMDs... That he should have known existed...
Maybe the New York Times is right -- we should hand it all off to Kofi Annan. Then Bush can just blame the U.N. when all this goes wrong. Because it will go wrong -- there are just too many factions trying to sabotage any effort to get it right.
In any event, I bet UNSCOM can help Uncle Joe find his Groucho doll... Or can they?
Being in the Northeast, I regularly get to hear otherwise reasonable people voice "sincere" doubt that the totalitarian regime in Iraq was in any way a threat to the west.
How much of their thinking is wrought by modern liberalism's fetish for "peace at any cost"? And how much more of it is attributable to hatred of Bush and a desire to install a Democrat administration. So be it: that's how politics works?
Even after you adjust for the political bias, the critique leveled against Bush is just plain moronic. Iraq wanted neighboring countries (not to mention some internal populations) to believe he had weapons of mass destruction. It's no different than walking into a bar with your hand in your coat and noisily exploiting the "careful, he's got a gun" fear effect -- it only works until someone either calls your bluff (dangerous for the bluff-caller) or pulls out a bigger gun and uses it first (which is what the U.S. did -- and should be ready to do again).
Now it's Iran rattling the nerves of nearby nations as it gins up its nuke factories. Keep in mind, Iran was one of the countries Iraq most wanted to terrorize with its phantom (or not-so-phantom) WMD projects. What's the likelihood that Iranian radicals will be the first to get a nuke into terroristic operation?
I don't know the answer to that, but I hope they know at the CIA and FBI (yeah, I know: no reason to rely on those federal bureaucracies any more than we can currently rely on the Post Office... or the Social Security Administration... or any of the others).
Anyway, here are my predictions (so I can do the "I-told-you-so" thing at some later date):
If Bush assesses the threat properly and decides to move pre-emptively against Iran he will be loudly and indignantly reviled in the same way he is today -- more so because he'll be painted as a repeat offender.
If Bush does nothing and the U.S. is attacked, he will be condemned for not protecting us... From the WMDs... That he should have known existed...
Maybe the New York Times is right -- we should hand it all off to Kofi Annan. Then Bush can just blame the U.N. when all this goes wrong. Because it will go wrong -- there are just too many factions trying to sabotage any effort to get it right.
In any event, I bet UNSCOM can help Uncle Joe find his Groucho doll... Or can they?
Sunday, July 11, 2004
"Everything is like a hat." I remember that. Meaning, I remember Joey saying it, and I remember finding the comment perfectly reasonable. Incisive. Appropriate.
I don't remember much else. I remember the camera-man asking us to make congratulatory remarks addressed to BazzukaJoe and Jessica. Joey and I took our positions and started mouthing off. I can't vouch for anything I might have said. I believe we were speaking foreign langauges most of the night. Joey was speaking Scotch; my comments were delivered in a dialect peculiar to the continent's Champagne region.
Those who have already seen the footage have inquired gently into the hidden meaning of my words.
"What the hell were you talking about?" is the general drift.
Well, I won't know until I see the footage myself (and even then, there's a good chance I won't be able to explain myself -- ask anyone who's heard me make a public presentation).
Anyway, it's getting close to a full year since that wedding and there are still regular reminders of the great time we had. They come from seemingly nowhere -- like the tourist ads that run on the radio for Philadelphia (of all places). They want you to take the family there to see the sites. And they want you to spend a few nights. The slogan:
Philly's More Fun When You Sleep Over
It's a great line. Of course, it makes me think of my godfather; everytime I hear the tagline on the commercial, I think to myself "Yeah, Uncle Philly's a lot of fun when you see him for just five minutes; sleeping over must be a total blast."
Probably not what the Chamber of Commerce had in mind when they scripted the commercials. Screw them. It's like a hat. A big hat.
I don't remember much else. I remember the camera-man asking us to make congratulatory remarks addressed to BazzukaJoe and Jessica. Joey and I took our positions and started mouthing off. I can't vouch for anything I might have said. I believe we were speaking foreign langauges most of the night. Joey was speaking Scotch; my comments were delivered in a dialect peculiar to the continent's Champagne region.
Those who have already seen the footage have inquired gently into the hidden meaning of my words.
"What the hell were you talking about?" is the general drift.
Well, I won't know until I see the footage myself (and even then, there's a good chance I won't be able to explain myself -- ask anyone who's heard me make a public presentation).
Anyway, it's getting close to a full year since that wedding and there are still regular reminders of the great time we had. They come from seemingly nowhere -- like the tourist ads that run on the radio for Philadelphia (of all places). They want you to take the family there to see the sites. And they want you to spend a few nights. The slogan:
Philly's More Fun When You Sleep Over
It's a great line. Of course, it makes me think of my godfather; everytime I hear the tagline on the commercial, I think to myself "Yeah, Uncle Philly's a lot of fun when you see him for just five minutes; sleeping over must be a total blast."
Probably not what the Chamber of Commerce had in mind when they scripted the commercials. Screw them. It's like a hat. A big hat.
Saturday, July 10, 2004
Got my haircut this morning at Towers Barber Shop in Bronxville. When I walked in Tommy the irascible and irresistible proprietor was clipping the hair of a young-ish Japanese man; Tommy's son James was cutting the hair of an older gentleman who turned out to be Bill Gallo, sportswriter for the Daily News.
Of course, they were talking baseball -- Japanese baseball in general, Yankee outfielder Hideki Matsui in particular. Tommy came over and flipped quickly through the Daily News, looking for something he had seen earlier, wanting to add it to their conversation. Thinking he was looking for a story on Matsui, I quickly paged into the sports section of the Post and held up a picture of the Mets' shortstop.
"Here's your Matsui," I said, knowing full well that Kaz was the wrong one.
Anyway, the Asian man was done; he paid and left. But not before Gallo shook his hand and got his name -- he said he'd write about their conversation in his column.
And all was jolly.
When Gallo's haircut was done, he was still talking about his new friend and what he'd just learned about Japanese baseball. He paid up and put on his USMC hat.
"Sixty years ago, he and I would have been shooting at each other," he said.
I wondered if that comment would make it into his column. Odds are even.
And of course I slapped my forehead wishing I had thought to mention the ingenious theory I'd heard my dad posit last week during a discussion of Jason Giambi's intestinal parasites. Something to do with the Yankee's season opener in Japan and the "raw fish crap" that they eat over there.
That would've been cool: for Vito to see himself quoted in the sports section.
But let's be real: that man needs a column of his own.
UPDATE: the story ran.
Of course, they were talking baseball -- Japanese baseball in general, Yankee outfielder Hideki Matsui in particular. Tommy came over and flipped quickly through the Daily News, looking for something he had seen earlier, wanting to add it to their conversation. Thinking he was looking for a story on Matsui, I quickly paged into the sports section of the Post and held up a picture of the Mets' shortstop.
"Here's your Matsui," I said, knowing full well that Kaz was the wrong one.
Anyway, the Asian man was done; he paid and left. But not before Gallo shook his hand and got his name -- he said he'd write about their conversation in his column.
And all was jolly.
When Gallo's haircut was done, he was still talking about his new friend and what he'd just learned about Japanese baseball. He paid up and put on his USMC hat.
"Sixty years ago, he and I would have been shooting at each other," he said.
I wondered if that comment would make it into his column. Odds are even.
And of course I slapped my forehead wishing I had thought to mention the ingenious theory I'd heard my dad posit last week during a discussion of Jason Giambi's intestinal parasites. Something to do with the Yankee's season opener in Japan and the "raw fish crap" that they eat over there.
That would've been cool: for Vito to see himself quoted in the sports section.
But let's be real: that man needs a column of his own.
UPDATE: the story ran.
Friday, July 09, 2004
Joey has a point. Mastandreas can communicate with their faces -- just look at the photo of Giuseppe as he talks to us through the ages. The face could mean many things, depending upon locale:
In the kitchen:
"The soup tasted good but it was a little thin."
Curbside:
"Can you believe this guy makes a living mixing cement that way?"
By the garden:
"You walk through my tomato plants again and I'll break your knees."
It's all so context-specific -- it's no surprise that outsiders can't read it correctly.
John Paul and Joseph have taken it to a new level. They lean together and touch their foreheads and hum a little and make some joke about what they saw inside each others' minds (okay, it's a gag I sort of started when John Paul would put his head against mine when he was a baby).
The best comment I've heard yet:
John Paul, after leaning his head against Joseph's:
"I saw roller-coasters and flying monkeys in there."
Knowing Joseph as well as we do, we began to fear the John Paul had somehow perfected a technique that began as just a harmless gag.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
It recently occurred to me that there is a Mastandrea trait that has not yet been brought to light. The ability to converse without words. A system of gestures and facial expressions followed by eye contact and a nod is enough to implant the thought into other Mastandreas. Either by infrared or SMS. I have yet to study whether nextels interfere with these transmissions. My problem with this talent is that it is often muddled up and misinterpreted by those not experienced in the art. Many a time I have sat through a conference and been singled out with an inquiring glance. "Do you have a question? Did I say that correctly? Do you need a break?" I was suddenly aware of the many forms of facial motions I partake in on an hourly basis. Consumption of coffee apparently increases the instance exponentially. I am now acutely aware of the power of THE FACE. I had always ignored my mothers references to THE VIN face. That's daddies you know if you touch it
hes gonna have a face or a funge face that was a big one. The face was punishment enough. I wonder if Grandpa Mastandrea was well versed in the face. I have witnessed all 3 brothers utilize this technique. Its an odd trait. It would be an interesting study..
There is another interesting trait whose origin I have yet to discover. You see it would be very hard to know if our grandparents loved to make up their own words or change the words to songs ( I never do that) because they spoke no english. Did they hone this talent in their native tongue? I know that Betty husband Steve on the Fatone side of our lineage had a knack four making up his own terminology or simply stressing the wrong letters in a word to make a point. I have also heard my father call me by more names I've never heard anyone have and make up his own terminology as well to make a point. He once advised not to by the used car we were checking out because it was
"ALL BEN TURPIN" And I actually said "your right" Or he once described a man with a facial expression. Bizarre. If I think I'm sure I can come up with a few I've heard that I can interpret but as to where they were created or by whom I cannot say.
- rode hard and put away wet
-that looks like 4 kids having a cantaloupe fight under a tent
-those are gandolpho mittens worn when handling a hot object
-thats like peter allen
-half cringed cloven oval
-blojinkski
-the aftermath of an elephant grudge match
-im gonna go in there and make prappa
-its like shitting your pants and changing your shirt
Maybe im just tired and my perception is askew. Does anyone else see these most bizarre powers we possess? It must be housed within the massive cranium. I dont know.
Im going to go lay my head on my pillow. Its a king size.
hes gonna have a face or a funge face that was a big one. The face was punishment enough. I wonder if Grandpa Mastandrea was well versed in the face. I have witnessed all 3 brothers utilize this technique. Its an odd trait. It would be an interesting study..
There is another interesting trait whose origin I have yet to discover. You see it would be very hard to know if our grandparents loved to make up their own words or change the words to songs ( I never do that) because they spoke no english. Did they hone this talent in their native tongue? I know that Betty husband Steve on the Fatone side of our lineage had a knack four making up his own terminology or simply stressing the wrong letters in a word to make a point. I have also heard my father call me by more names I've never heard anyone have and make up his own terminology as well to make a point. He once advised not to by the used car we were checking out because it was
"ALL BEN TURPIN" And I actually said "your right" Or he once described a man with a facial expression. Bizarre. If I think I'm sure I can come up with a few I've heard that I can interpret but as to where they were created or by whom I cannot say.
- rode hard and put away wet
-that looks like 4 kids having a cantaloupe fight under a tent
-those are gandolpho mittens worn when handling a hot object
-thats like peter allen
-half cringed cloven oval
-blojinkski
-the aftermath of an elephant grudge match
-im gonna go in there and make prappa
-its like shitting your pants and changing your shirt
Maybe im just tired and my perception is askew. Does anyone else see these most bizarre powers we possess? It must be housed within the massive cranium. I dont know.
Im going to go lay my head on my pillow. Its a king size.
Whatever happened to Fishbone? I still like to listen to their old albums -- the music was fun, the style was funky, and the members of the group were absolutely crazed.
Their early stuff rocked -- lots of ska, lots of energy. Even then, their live performances were raucous. Or so I'm told -- I never made it to one myself (my live music in those days consisted of the Toasters, NY Citizens, and Bop Harvey). But Guido's sister described being at one and finding the environment... scary. Even Daman Wayans included concert commentary in one of his comedy routines back then: describing how the singer dived off the stage and had himself carried to the back of the room, over people's heads, with audience members "passing him like a joint."
Yeah, that stuff was fun. Guido made me a tape right after we got out of school: "In Your Face" on one side, "Truth and Soul" on the other. I played it incessantly on the tape deck in my 1973 VW Beetle (on the cheap Clarion tape deck I had installed in the glove compartment -- I didn't have the heart or the nerve to yank the Sapphire XVI AM radio from the dash).
Later, around the time I was applying to law school, they came out with "Reality of My Surroundings," and their style took a turn. But I still liked the output. I bought it and listened to it repeatedly.
Then came "Give the Monkey a Brain." It was hard to listen to. By the time they came out with "Chim Chim's Bad-Ass Revenge" their material was completely... without merit.
And it's all a shame, because I'd love to add some new tunes to my Metro-North playlist.
I was reminded of Fishbone when I passed a billboard in Times Square today. Joey is, of course, headlining Little Shop of Horrors so they've plastered his adorable face on posters everywhere. Seeing it, I thought back to a Fishbone concert that was on HBO well over 10 years ago. I had asked Steve to tape it for me. He did. And he watched it while the tape ran.
"John," he said afterward, a tone of concern in his voice, "Those guys are nuts."
I nodded my head. I already knew.
"There's one guy playing a little trumpet, another guy jumping into the crowd, and an interview where the lead singer describes what they do before a show -- he said they take Tiger Balm and smear it behind their nutsacks!"
And so, as my cab passed under Joey's giant face, a mere hours before he was scheduled to take the stage to start his nightly performance, I thought of calling him up with a bit of advice.
"Hey Joey. Wanna put on a helluva show tonight? I've heard of this great technique..."
Their early stuff rocked -- lots of ska, lots of energy. Even then, their live performances were raucous. Or so I'm told -- I never made it to one myself (my live music in those days consisted of the Toasters, NY Citizens, and Bop Harvey). But Guido's sister described being at one and finding the environment... scary. Even Daman Wayans included concert commentary in one of his comedy routines back then: describing how the singer dived off the stage and had himself carried to the back of the room, over people's heads, with audience members "passing him like a joint."
Yeah, that stuff was fun. Guido made me a tape right after we got out of school: "In Your Face" on one side, "Truth and Soul" on the other. I played it incessantly on the tape deck in my 1973 VW Beetle (on the cheap Clarion tape deck I had installed in the glove compartment -- I didn't have the heart or the nerve to yank the Sapphire XVI AM radio from the dash).
Later, around the time I was applying to law school, they came out with "Reality of My Surroundings," and their style took a turn. But I still liked the output. I bought it and listened to it repeatedly.
Then came "Give the Monkey a Brain." It was hard to listen to. By the time they came out with "Chim Chim's Bad-Ass Revenge" their material was completely... without merit.
And it's all a shame, because I'd love to add some new tunes to my Metro-North playlist.
I was reminded of Fishbone when I passed a billboard in Times Square today. Joey is, of course, headlining Little Shop of Horrors so they've plastered his adorable face on posters everywhere. Seeing it, I thought back to a Fishbone concert that was on HBO well over 10 years ago. I had asked Steve to tape it for me. He did. And he watched it while the tape ran.
"John," he said afterward, a tone of concern in his voice, "Those guys are nuts."
I nodded my head. I already knew.
"There's one guy playing a little trumpet, another guy jumping into the crowd, and an interview where the lead singer describes what they do before a show -- he said they take Tiger Balm and smear it behind their nutsacks!"
And so, as my cab passed under Joey's giant face, a mere hours before he was scheduled to take the stage to start his nightly performance, I thought of calling him up with a bit of advice.
"Hey Joey. Wanna put on a helluva show tonight? I've heard of this great technique..."
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Hey, there's good cause for Vito's advanced state of Independence Day nationalism -- he had to endure (as did the rest of us) the crowning of a another foreign born champion hot dog eater.
Yes, Takeru Kobayashi of Japan won the coveted Mustard Yellow Belt at the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest on Sunday.
We watched it on television right after the ballgame (did we mention that the Mets won that game, completing a sweep over their cross-town rival Yankees?).
I've heard Curtis Sliwa on the radio lamenting this American sports scandal ever since Hirofumi Nakajima defeated 380-pound Ed "The Maspeth Monster" Krachie several years back.
Sliwa, who is half Barese, used to compete in these contests himself. And according to his talk-radio colleagues, he'd spend the next few days feeling sick as a dog, hanging off his office chair with a towel over his head, groaning and feeling awful.
Hold the hot dogs; bring on the Italian sausage.
Yes, Takeru Kobayashi of Japan won the coveted Mustard Yellow Belt at the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest on Sunday.
We watched it on television right after the ballgame (did we mention that the Mets won that game, completing a sweep over their cross-town rival Yankees?).
I've heard Curtis Sliwa on the radio lamenting this American sports scandal ever since Hirofumi Nakajima defeated 380-pound Ed "The Maspeth Monster" Krachie several years back.
Sliwa, who is half Barese, used to compete in these contests himself. And according to his talk-radio colleagues, he'd spend the next few days feeling sick as a dog, hanging off his office chair with a towel over his head, groaning and feeling awful.
Hold the hot dogs; bring on the Italian sausage.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
I was thinking of mission gone by and the 4th of July
Several years ago steve and I went to the a large warehouse off 45th street. We were acompanied there by the Brothers Fatone. We traveled in a rented van to mecca. We arrived at PHANTOM Fireworks with an empty van and left unable to to fit 1 more firecracker in the vehicle. We set out for Spumoni South and began the prep work for the following evenings extravaganza. We unloaded and went back once more followed by a pit stop at Home Depot. We needed raw materials. We picked up an aluminum tub to get that vintage 38th street park sound and we picked up a 4 inch round pvc pipe. We capped the bottom and buried it 2 feet under ground. We filled it with layers of gun powder and mortars and gunpowder and rockets and got it all the way to the top. When we ignited it, it turned blue. A thick blue flame followed by a blast and all the mortars flew up in the sky, random explosions and color blasts followed for 3-4 minutes. It melted the pipe. We lit smoke bombs the size of coke cans and lit 2 16000 shot bandoliers. They were going for 30 minutes. When the smoke cleared we pulled out the big guns. the pipes. We prepped the area. pulled out the the hose just in case and then proceded to fire volley after volley of rocket salvos. We timed them perfectly and put vivid colors and designs into the sky. Each volley was followed by a mad rush to clear the firing line and quick check of digits followed by another salvo. At 1 point we each lit 3 pipes each. Firing a finale of 12 mortars followed by a 9 pipe premade display. The show was incredible. Jupiter Farms residents still talk about it.
It spawned a new olympic event -- the "ITS LIT!" 50 yard dash.
Yes, it was a sweep to remember. I sat next to Vito the entire game and he was in rare form. Usually he has a few comments about the players, but I guess due to the Yankees performance, no one was safe from his incisive analysis. On Ty Wiggington of the Mets--"He's a pig" and on Mike Piazza--"Why are you going to pitch to that animal." A-Rod was the target of much of his disdain. The classic comment when they showed a shot of Joe Torre in the dugout--"Have another beer". Because the Mets and Yankees have Asian players, I was treated to an extremely interesting anthropological study of their culture by Vito--suffice to say Rush Limbaugh's comment on the Eagles quarterback was nothing compared to the Vito insights on Asian culture. I believe that it would be most excellent to have him do analysis of Yankees' games for TV. I imagine quite a cult following would spring up around his words of wisdom. However, like Limbaugh, certain comments would have him canned and it would be much quicker for him--probably the first inning of the first game.
Such is the price of genius.
Such is the price of genius.
Monday, July 05, 2004
Now this is a fireworks display. Independence Day was done right -- only able to blog about now that we've arrived back in Tuckahoe. RoseAnne and Joe hosted it: boys in the pool, Vito at the television, and meat on the grill.
And take a look at the advanced state of yesterday's grill... Focaccia on top, warming with the burgers... Ribs center rack, going on their fourth or fifth hour of slow, slow cooking... And of course, the sausage on the main heat.
Yeah, yeah, there are some hot dogs there too for the women and children.
Also on the menu were sunglasses. Lots of them. Did Odd Job have a sale? Or did a dump-truck full of sunglasses overturn in Vito's general vicinity? Whatever the origin, he arrived loaded with dozens of the friggin' things.
Distributing them gave him something to do between innings of the final game of the Mets' sweep over the Yankees (sunglasses were useful in this regard -- to protect one's eyes from the glare of Vito's white-hot cuss-words). We all left with several pairs of shades -- there were so many styles to choose from!
Anyway, I don't want to keep us stuck on the dream thread -- but I do suspect I'll be dreaming about those ribs for the next few weeks. Because they were the answer. Joe put those baby-backs on at low heat at around noon. They were in foil at first. Then we peeled that back. Later, the foil came off entirely. And for the last bit of cooking, the sauce went on. I gotta remember that technique. It worked out quite well.
Evening Update: I'm sitting here watching VH1 Classic, enjoying the 80s hair, and on comes the video for Cory Hart's "Sunglasses at Night." Very un-nerving. And of course, it reminded me of Vito. Who wears his sunglasses at night. In the morning. And in the P.O.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
John may not be far off in his 'timber dream' interpretation, according to http://www.sleeps.com/analysis.html at least. Or it could mean nothing at all http://mentalhelp.net/psyhelp/chap15/chap15t.htm unless he has that dream (or a variation of it) again.
Another plausible explanation is that Stephen remembers his bonfire experience so fondly that he wants to prepare another one from his waste (perhaps a metaphor for 'wasted time'). He might even enjoy another bonfire without the neon vomit.
Either way, this scatalogical excursion is neither unexpected nor unwelcome. I can't count the number of times I was told that I was full of $#it during my formative years. I also know that I'm not the only one who heard that!
Maybe Mastandreas do camp, or at least enjoy burning quantities of wood (which, in the light of Stephen's dream, might give new meaning to 'shooting the $#it')
Another plausible explanation is that Stephen remembers his bonfire experience so fondly that he wants to prepare another one from his waste (perhaps a metaphor for 'wasted time'). He might even enjoy another bonfire without the neon vomit.
Either way, this scatalogical excursion is neither unexpected nor unwelcome. I can't count the number of times I was told that I was full of $#it during my formative years. I also know that I'm not the only one who heard that!
Maybe Mastandreas do camp, or at least enjoy burning quantities of wood (which, in the light of Stephen's dream, might give new meaning to 'shooting the $#it')
Saturday, July 03, 2004
Timber! I asked Guido, who is here in the driveway waxing his car, and he believes that Steve has deep-seated frontiersman aspirations. Steve secretly wishes to build a log cabin. He may even have a Una-bomber predisposition, seeking to live in a small hut in Montana, planning the destruction of blog-hosting computers everyhwhere. Had they been four-by-six, it would undoubtedy mean he wished to live in a tree- house, reading dirty magazines and smoking cheap cigars.
I, however, think the the dream is more rooted in the past. I believe that Steve is re-living his Brooklyn upbringing. The two-by-fours were undoutedly supplied by Kings Material -- the contruction supply company that threw off innumerable scraps of plasterboard strips -- useful if you were trying to keep score of your stickball game and didn't have chalk handy (also useful for drawing a makeshift scully board on the blacktop of 38th Street).
I type this while sitting by my back door -- drinking red vermouth, watching Guido work while the boys squirt each other with water guns. I wonder if they recently dreamed of moving their bowels? And would they tell us if they did?
I, however, think the the dream is more rooted in the past. I believe that Steve is re-living his Brooklyn upbringing. The two-by-fours were undoutedly supplied by Kings Material -- the contruction supply company that threw off innumerable scraps of plasterboard strips -- useful if you were trying to keep score of your stickball game and didn't have chalk handy (also useful for drawing a makeshift scully board on the blacktop of 38th Street).
I type this while sitting by my back door -- drinking red vermouth, watching Guido work while the boys squirt each other with water guns. I wonder if they recently dreamed of moving their bowels? And would they tell us if they did?
Ever have a really bizarre dream experience? A few months back I had a dream I was sleeping in bed (which I was doing in reality)when I awaken to an overwhelming...well more like an unstoppable urge... to make number two. So I jump up out of bed and race over to the bathroom, pulling down my pajamas and boxer shorts while Im running...and make it on the bowl an instant before the avalanche begins. So Im sitting on the throne with a smile, shitting my brains out, relieved of the stomach pains which accompany holding back such an enormous bowel movement, but even more importantly I was relieved that I didn't make a mess in my clothes or bed. So of course, upon finishing I look down into the bowl to view this behemoth, I discover its a pile of wooden two by fours! Then I wake up!(in reality). So I look over at Kim, and panic because the physical sensation of making on the bowl was incredibly real. Therefore I must formulate a gameplan, I cannot make a sound while removing the covers....just in case theres a surprise (similar to the one the movie producer received in the Godfather). I hoped to myself it was contained to my pajamas, after all removing the fitted sheets without waking Kim was indeed going to be impossible. So I carefully and silently pulled myself out of bed, only to discover the pooping sensation was indeed merely a manifestation of my dream. And then I thought to myself thats such a good feeling, why can't have dreams like that more often?
So I guess my question is in Freudian Psychoanalysis what does shitting a pile of lumber represent?
So I guess my question is in Freudian Psychoanalysis what does shitting a pile of lumber represent?
Friday, July 02, 2004
The betting opens at 10. I'm taking wagers on how many of these my boys will own by the end of this year (assuming the product shows up on the shelves of the local Odd Job).
Was that a muledeer that frightened you back underwater? I never drove close to a muledeer. I'm rther certain I've never seen a muledeer. And when I first read that post from Omaha-Joe, I was pretty sure I've never heard of a muledeer.
Alane mocked me for that. So I appealed to Guido. And he mocked me, because he too was familiar with the ubiquitous muledeer. And then Steve joined the pile-on. So it wouldn't surprise me at all if Vito dreamt about a muledeer -- those friggin' things seem to be showing up all over the place (for everyone but me).
Gimme a break -- I spend most of my outdoor time walking to/from my midtown office building. I do get to see some wildlife... but it's the mid-western tourist sort... camped out and Rockefeller Center, waiting to catch a glimpse of that insufferable fat bastard Al Roker.
If I swam to the surface of a medieval river and saw Al Roker drinking at the banks, I would immediately return to the bottom.
Alane mocked me for that. So I appealed to Guido. And he mocked me, because he too was familiar with the ubiquitous muledeer. And then Steve joined the pile-on. So it wouldn't surprise me at all if Vito dreamt about a muledeer -- those friggin' things seem to be showing up all over the place (for everyone but me).
Gimme a break -- I spend most of my outdoor time walking to/from my midtown office building. I do get to see some wildlife... but it's the mid-western tourist sort... camped out and Rockefeller Center, waiting to catch a glimpse of that insufferable fat bastard Al Roker.
If I swam to the surface of a medieval river and saw Al Roker drinking at the banks, I would immediately return to the bottom.
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