Got a call from BazzukaJoe while on the train this evening. He gave me the run-down on the latest hurricane experience, the damage report, and the unwelcome news that he is down to his last pair of mutandes.

Yes, Stefanuch alerted us to the stench; I could almost smell it through the telephone.

I'm looking forward to the presidential debate tonight. I may even watch it! In any event, I expect to see on this blog a full analysis of tonight's event -- and I expect it to be submitted by this blog's newest member, the esteemed John Simms.

That's right, I'm handing out assignments now!

Just in case you're not reading the comments section, here is a welcome update contained therein, submitted by Stefanuch:

well, i heard from Spumoni South and they are all peachy as of yesterday. no power, and a few screens on the porch appear to be eaten, and they are surrounded by aligators. other than that everyone is fine, and well, and covered in sweat-humid-stench. its ok though, we still love them through their smell.

This blog is the Bible, man!

I can't believe he calls himself "the Mike Wallace of meterology." The guy makes me sick.

We watched Jim Cantore a lot in the televised run-up to Charley, and then again as Frances came through. He looked too damned happy to be standing in a category 4 storm. Oh, and what ecstasies he enjoyed as a fourth (!) hurricane came through to kiss his stern and rain-drenched cheeks.

What a pervert. We're not sure if he's married, but if he is we suspect his latest bedroom game involves role-playing:

"Okay, you be Jeanne and I'll be Ivan."

"Be gentle against my eywall."

"When I say go, start blowing."

No word yet from Spumoni South. I suspect the phone and electric will be out for some time. Hope they made enough sandwiches to get them through.

They're going to the mattresses again in Florida, waiting for Jeanne to come hose things down. Uncle Vinny is considering painting Halloween scenes on the plywood boards that will be used to board up Spumoni South -- can Nativity themes be next?

Perhaps if I went down there and smoked enough cigars with Jenia, we could sufficiently pollute the atmosphere so as to alter the prevailing weather patterns.

That's it, I'm on my way!

I have a magic toenail. I keep it on my foot. It's always there to rescue me when something goes ow, ow, ouch!

Okay, we're starting to receive documentation of last week's storming of New York's Flatus-hotel. At first we weren't sure just how many people/bagels/doughnuts would actually fit in a regular hotel room. But we learn quickly!

I talked to Joe Nebraska yesterday, but I'll give him a belated birthday shout-out on the blog -- and once again tell him he's a bum for not posting anything for so long.

And the rest of you are bums too!

Election season is always fun. I remember spending the waning days of the 2000 recount right there at ground zero -- watching the chad-counts on the local West Palm television stations, even as the dreaded roto-virus silently took hold of our intestines.

And this year, in a campaign already weighed down by gratuitous images of the Vietnam conflict, we have the spectacle of Dan Rather immolating himself in the public square -- hoping beyond hope to convince everyone to please, please come to their senses and properly HATE BUSH as much as he does.

As for me, I'm loving every minute of it. It's not that I ever trusted Dan Rather to report real news -- the networks are entertainment shops. But for so many years Dan Rather convinced himself that he was the gatekeeper -- the man behind the curtain who could control what people knew, control the terms of the debate.

And now it's all over for the old man. I almost want to think it's sad but it's not. It's friggin' beautiful. And I love watching it unfold.

Blogs are good for a lot of things -- not the least of which is for publicizing long-standing grudges! I was reminded this week of my legal education alma mater, Fordham Law School, and why it is I'll never have a kind word to say about that institution.

Back in 1993, Alane and I started school there -- I was in the day program (a three-year program) and Alane was in the night program (a four-year program). With all the personal tragedies, the career shuffling and hard work we had to endure over those years, completing our studies was no small matter. I finished in 1996; Alane finished in 1997. In the run-up to Alane's graduation, we discovered that Fordham had a policy of allowing alumni family members to confer a graduate's juris doctor degree at the actual ceremony. Normally, this tradition played out with long-ago graduates handing off sheepskins to their children or grandchildren. It's unlikely they ever had spouses requesting to participate in this tradition -- but considered all we'd experienced over the years (and the obscene sum of money we'd forked over to attend) we signed up for it.

It would be cool: I'd be on the dais as a 1996 graduate, and would hand Alane her degree at the 1997 ceremony.

To make a long story short, Fordham Law told us we didn't qualify. They never did quite explain themselves. Clearly, they don't consider marriage to be a sufficient family connection (itself deplorable). Or it could be that they were afraid that by honoring a traditional marriage they would next be challenged to honor a non-traditional arrangement (and being modern liberals they would incapable of distringuishing the two).

Whatever their reasoning, Alane and I decided Fordham Law is run by complete assholes -- and once we paid off our monumental law school debt, they'd never see another dime of our money.

And so it shall be. And now, thanks to this blog, everyone can know it too.

(I particularly enjoy receiving the "please send donations" mail -- tossing it in the shit-can feels sooo good.

Looks like Ivan won't be knocking on the door of Spumoni South. Now, if they'd just get the power back up -- maybe this blog would awake from its slumber.

Summer's not quite over, but I've been sensing that inevitability. Went out this morning to ride the bike (the jogging I do every other day is starting to wreck my knee) and had to wear a sweatshirt.

Still lots of standing water in the grass. That was some crazy rain we had last week.

Today is Tuckahoe Day! The mayor will be out by the train station giving pony rides. Or something like that. We'll take the boys over in a little bit. I don't think Smashmouth will be performing at this particular event. But I wish they would.

John Paul remains fixated on a short trip we made to an animal refuge in Jupiter last month. It was fun -- there were lots of cool animals. But that's not what John Paul remembers.

It was on the eve of Hurricane Charley's blowing past, and it was already rainy, but we went anyway. We parked the car and piled out -- myself, the boys, BazzukaJoe and Stephanie. For whatever reason, we thought the way to reach the animals was to cut through a path that led through the woods.

Wrong. We walked several hundred feet into the woods and not only did the path not lead to anything, it sort of disappeared. So we turned around. We found the animal displays behind some administrative buildings.

Not a very memorable part of the trip -- I had forgotten all about it. Until Alane asked me about it.

"When we were in Florida, did you wander lost in the woods because you missed a sign and then have to go back to see the animals?"

Apparently, John Paul decided to share the tale at great length while they drove somewhere last week. The other night, I decided to ask John Paul about it directly. I was amazed to learn just how extensive his version of the story had become.

According to John Paul, BazzukaJoe and I walked us all past a clearly marked sign that said "zoo" and had an arrow. We went in the other direction, taking us all into the woods and getting us lost.

This was a bit much -- not only did I doubt that there was a "zoo" sign, I found it highly unlikely that he saw it while we didn't. Besides, the kid's four and a half years old: he can't read.

"John Paul, if you did read a sign that said 'zoo' then you'd know how to spell that word."

I watched the gears in his head turn.

"It's spelled oh oh zee."

Okay, so he knows the letter in "zoo." And he would presumably recognize a sign that said "zoo." That place didn't call itself a zoo. And there were no signs. And we weren't lost.

And besides, he spelled "zoo" wrong!

Got a voicemail from BazzukaJoe yesterday evening letting us know that everyone is OK down in Jupiter. They must've driven around to find a live Nextel cell. Last I made contact was Saturday -- everyone was holed up behind plywood windows eating meatball sandwiches from a jerry-rigged steam table.

They should-a rolled in a hot dog wagon!

Anyway, we look forward to the pictures. Hope the damage report comes in small. And the phone line is brought up soon (though I remember driving up I-95 after Charley hit a few weeks ago -- dozens of convoys of power-line repair crews coming in from all points north... it might be a while before power and phone come back).

I tried and tried to explain it to the Mrs. that she's so much better off doing things my way. Whay can I say -- I'm a horse-oriented kind of guy. But Alane remains unconvinced.

Feh, she should go churn some butter.

So the RNC convention is winding down, and so is the work-week. Got out of the office at about 5:45 and walked past a few dozen cops on my way to the train station when I recognized... a Mastandrea face...

Yup, they sent Vito in from Brooklyn to keep the peace at the Sheraton (not the Sheraton across the street from my office, but the Sheraton one block down on Seventh Avenue -- yeah, two Sheratons right next to each other).

And without even seeing BazzukaJoe's post yet, Vito and I talked about... the friggin' hurricane that's heading for Florida!

Anyway, we're getting Vito onto this blog. We need more input for the Encyclopedia Mastandrea.

Today was a stressful day at Spumoni South. It began with the lines at Home Douch-po. This is price gouging at its best. They cannot just sell they must profit from a category 5 frenzy. The wait was 2 1/2 hours. Then you have to wait to pay. So my mom has some mannish women ranch hand come pick us up with a duelie pickup truck to transport wood. She leaves me to right with this pro wrestler and here her rants and hatred for the big stores like home depot and publix. I partially agree during times like these. Anyway We get to Spumoni Gardens South and proceed to board up all the big front and back windows and put anything that can get air in a safe spot. El Duce surveyed the situation. There was some debate on whether to board up the front doors but good sense prevailed. Our neighbor Bill has informed us that he has enough Busch to get him till monday and he will be driving west to a "SAFE SPOT". Where I have no idea. He said he is not moving the boat or jet skis or anything else so whatever lands on our property we plan on keeping. I wish that they would hsve nsmed it better. Like hurricane Fangool, Follicullitis, Farquar no i gott it. From now on it shall be named HURRICANE FORMAGGIO!! And so we wait. When will it arrive and where. We will all be at Spumoni South. Power or not. Flood or not. So if anyone cannot reach us if you have a nextel and want to reach us use direct connect. Otherwise us the nextel website and send a text message to my phone. 561-262-7873.

With hurricane Frances heading straight for Spumoni Gardens South, we all know that this is the right time to make a big roast. Then cover it with foil, to make sandwiches later.

If we can only figure out a way to boil macaroni in the pool.

NYC is pretty quiet these days -- RNC convention nothwithstanding. Lots of cops at every streetcorner. As I gaze blankly from my office window I don't see a whole lot of traffic on Seventh Avenue.

Not bad.