I'm picturing BazzukaJoe communing with gentle sea creatures. I'm picturing Joe-maha communing with a ponderous muledeer. I'm picturing Mojo Jojo communing with Julio's giant dog Octo.

It's much too Dr. Doolittle for me.

I remember riding the subway one night in the mid-80's. I think it was 168th Street, and I think it was pretty late. Saw the biggest rat I've ever seen scurrying across the platform toward the tracks.

So I spent 4 days on the island of Sanibel. Very quiet and sedate. No phones. Very relaxing. The house was just steps away from the beach. By day 3 i was bouncing off the walls. We went snorkling the first day and in 10 feet of water i could still see the ocean floor. It was beautiful. Off in the distance you could see dolphin fins in the water and most people were fishing or looking for shells. It is the shell capital of the world. All shapes colors and sizes. I snorkled for quite some time and was consumed by the diverse fish and things that were visible. several times i went don to the bottom to retrieve an odd something. There were many large sand doillars but i wanted a conch shell as big as my head. it eluded me.
Anyway...while out in the water i heard Jessica calling me to turn around. I turn my head and a very large grey blob was moving toward me. I duck my mask into the water and it was a Manatee. It was about 6' long and qiuite round. I swam to it and touched its back with my hand and it stopped in the water. It felt like a wet footbal with 5 o'clock shadow. It submerged all the way to the bottom beneath me and I swam down toward it. I put both my hands on its back and swam back up with it to the surface. We were in about 10 - 12 feet of water. When i came up for air Jessica had swam out to me and as it came up for air she ran her hand down its back. It stayed with us for about 15 minutes and other beachgoers started swimming out to it with thier kids and stuff and it went back out to sea. I had not brought my snorkel camera so i missed it but it was quite an experience. They are very personable animals and like human interaction. There are more stories but here is time for that.
It was a very relaxing trip with no sharks.

Forget what I said yesterday about DIY: today, I feel like a mechanical frikkin' genius.

Still stewing over the fact that only six of the eight trailer-hitch bolts were properly in place, I resolved today to take another crack at it. Driving home from Target this hot-steamy afternoon, I had a ridiculous idea: I'd put some bolts in the freezer to shrink them. Then I'd take them out to the sun-baked metal of the car and see if I could make things fit.

Success seemed highly unlikely -- yesterday, the threads wouldn't catch at all. Still, if I ever had any plan to tow anything, I'd have to get those remaining bolts in place. So I gave it a shot.

And it worked. It worked so well, I almost couldn't believe it was my idea. Now all eight bolts are in at 75 foot-lbs., and we are ready to haul ass.

Flipping through the channels last night I stumbled upon a playing of that 1987 sci-fi, tough-guy classic Predator. Naturally I left it on for a while. And I realized: of all the lame-ass actors in that movie, no less than two went on to become duly-elected governors of rather large states.

I thought to myself, "Does this mean Carl Weathers is next?" But a web-search revealed that SNL got there already.

The trailer-hitch is now attached. Well, mostly. I don't have the hands for this stuff any more. Or the back. Or the patience. I had actually been looking forward to this little project. Now I wish I'd left it to a pro. Let's consider this the last do-it-yourself project. Ever.

Actually, it didn't go all that badly. Cookie came scurrying into my bedroom early to get us started (I told him last night that we'd be doing this in the morning -- I think he slept with his little plastic screwdriver).

I made coffee. Then we hauled out all the tools and hardware. Once under way, I immediately hit an unexpected snag -- the one friggin' bolt I needed to remove to get the tailpipe hanger out of the way was totally frozen. Even after I broke the first turn, every subsequent turn required a full body press against the breaker-bar. Couldn't use a ratchet; couldn't get any decent leverage; couldn't stop using profanity.

Cookie looked on and could sense my frustration.

"A mechanic would be able to turn that bolt," he said.

Yes, I am my boy's hero.

Eventually, the bolt was out. But a related challenge remained: the pre-threaded holes in the frame are corroded and crappy (which explains why the first bolt was such a bitch to budge).

Anyway, I worked through most of the issues -- I still have two of eight bolts that will not thread. I'll have to address that before I ever tow anything substantial. In the meantime, I can mount a bike rack that Alane's been wanting.

And we also know this: when it's time to buy a home, it best be a condo. "I shall fix no more, forever."

Judicial outrage du jour... What self-respecting blog can resist the topic of today's Supreme Court travesty? My take on federal law is pretty straightforward: the U.S. Constitution is so last-century. It's over. Forget it. There is no law today -- only turf-battles among politicans, judges and bureaucrats.

Still, I can't help but think that today's decision is different. More people than ever own homes... And suddenly the Fifth Amendment no longer provides any meaningful check on a corrupt councilman's ability to take that property and hand it to "The Man."

Can this be the one that triggers the backlash?

Let me be the first to predict: people are going to sit up and notice. They will want to know what the decision means to them and their neighbors. They will demand federal legislation to protect them (surely eminent domain can be regulated as interstate commerce -- everything else can). They might even take a new and unexpected interest in the politics that motivate the judicial filibuster (Chuck Schumer, call your office).

But will the people demand a return to the Ratified Constition? Well, let's not get our hopes up too high.

The Corporate Challange wasn't so bad, at least the road part. We were jogging, not running, so my breathing was fine throughout (though I'd like to know what's gotten into my left ankle these days). The real problem? Too many friggin' people: morons who want to stroll four-across with their office pals, "speed-walkers" swinging their idiot arms, and other frustrated runners trying to bob and weave through the bumper-to-bumper traffic. By about the halfway point the pack thinned out -- but the overall experience was blowjhinski. I need a new exercise regimen... My legs are getting old and uncooperative.

I'm going into the other room to ask Alane if she ever wanted to try Greco-Roman wrestling. I think if we pushed the coffee table out of the way we'd have enough room right here.

Petri...very scientific name. Ale guzzling, soccer playing chain-smokers, damn Europeans they're all alike.
I was just thinking about Jojo, first movie theater presentation he ever saw was blood curdling horror. It was in 3D, and involved elves, trains, hobos, and many a Tom Hanks character. Now the circus. Poor kid's never gonna leave the house.

I would have given anything to see Joe do a bad impression of COPS. Destruction of an entire door is very impressive.

I actually went to college with two guys from Finland, Reima and Petri. They both played on the soccer team and drank large quantities of alcohol. Petri was also a chain smoker--kinda strange since he was a soccer player. I do not believe they are representative of the Finnish population.

I took Mojo and Cookie to the Big Apple Circus. It is a one ring circus and plays under an actual big top. I was not looking forward to it as I have an aversion to circuses. Along with the wee folk, clowns creep me out in a big way. However, it actually was pretty entertaining. Part of it could have been there was only one clown in face paint and another guy that did clown stuff but was not face painted.

Cookie was enthralled with the acrobats. Indeed when we saw the commercial on TV, he declared that he was going to be an acrobat when he grew up. He was even more sure of his career vocation after watching the teeter board team. They actually did that thing where two people jumped from a high height onto a board, propelling another guy on the other end of the board high into the air to flip and do other things. This fascinated me also but for quite another reason--any one of this team could have passed for a member of Jenia's family.

Now, watching Mojo at the circus was quite a treat. He sat through most of it with his cheeks sucked in like a fish, and he really seemed to hate the clown. The only part where I saw a normal little kid reaction out of him was the animal acts. This circus does not use any animal that is not domesticated by man. Therefore, the animals involved were dogs, cats, pigeons and horses. I was impressed with the cat tricks. I could never imagine Killer doing any of the stunts that these cats did.

Havarti,
Joe-I have one question: you wearing fitted boxers outside and knocking on the neighbor's door is funny as hell, but did you have a shirt on over the boxers? Because for some reason that image is funnier to me than you in just plain boxers-briefs. (Which is hilarious)
Talked to my mother-in-law Galina today, she's taking me to Helsinki, Finland. Anybody know anything about the Finnish, other than 1. it's cold, 2. vodka, 3. cheese? I'm totally psyched though!!
Today, while Jenia was at work, I hung out with Steve after he got out of work and he made me a fabulous dinner. It was a culinary breakfast bonanza, we ate off of small plates with animals on them, and little animal ear partisians. It was a blast. After that, we headed over to Joey's house, where Darrell was patching up the door. Joey and Jessica were watching a nauseating show about unlucky tourists who contract rare worm diseases that infultrate every oriface in their body. Jenia met us there after he went to Publix where he bought a pound of turkey and swiss with a loaf of bread and jug of grape juice. He offered the body and blood to everyone, but we all declined. So with that, he ate 3 sandwiches all by himself.

Jessica's dad came by the house today to help me fix something.....again. Well i didnt reall do anything but watch. So he came by the house to fix the door. You see iwas cleaning clothes and had the patio slider open and i opened the front door to dump the litter box out in a big garbage bag when a nice breeze blew through and slammed the front door on me. Now that is not all that bad but i had no phone and no key and i am standing in my entry foyer in my fitted boxers and a tee shirt. I reluctantly knock on the neighbors door. No answer. I knock on the other neighbors door that is aliitlr further down. no answer. So i think that maybe i can break the knob and get in an ill replace it tonight when i get home from work. I twist as hard as i can and slam myright shoulder into the door with a rage i think only very few can summon a mastandrea rage. I hear a a loud crack and the door opens slowly. I step in and the cat is staring at me in awe or was it disgust i am not sure. Or maybe it was " hey...wheres the shitter?" The door frame has completele broken off and is sitting on the livoing room floor in 2 pieces. The inside frame with the metal closer plate is torn out of the center of the fram and is attached to the door still. I am not quite sure how that is fixed so i rig to lock. Jessica's dad can fix anything. he should blog he has some great stories.

Have I mentioned how much I hate jogging? It's been at least two months that I've been back on my old exercise drill -- out every other day to run one to two miles. It's boring as hell. And while my right knee was improving for a while, the pain is back. And for some reason my left ankle is also sore these days. And the base of my spine still hurts since I landed on it at paintball. And then there's that blown gasket in the thoracic region.

I'm in perfect condition to run the Corporate Challenge tomorrow!

What made me sign up for this? I don't think I've run three and a half miles in the last 20 years... Yeah, maybe in college, training for a boxing match that I was destined to lose... badly. But run that far now? Maybe if I was chasing a lasagna truck.

I shall blog about the experience when I am done. If I can still type.

Okay, we did it again. Gene's Fathers Day tent city expanded this year: a whopping 12 tents were pitched in and around his backyard, and a seeming horde of maniac children scurried about while we all ate, drank, and poked marshmallow sticks into the embers of a huge bonfire.

Smashing.

In the photo below, note well the smiling faces: the pic was snapped this morning after the blueberry pancakes. I cropped the photo to include the tent off to the right -- I was going to make some wisecrack that we all slept in the red tent, but it's just not a funny joke.

Less funny was the wisecrack I made to Tommy as we got ready for breakfast.

"Let's raise the stakes next time," I said. "We'll do this on a weeknight, when we all have to go to work the next day."

"I have to go to work today," was Tommy's informative way of telling me that my sense of humor is no more appropriate now than it was when we were living in the dorms at Purchase.

This year I packed an inflatable sleeping-bag mattress -- it made a huge difference for me as I lay on the cold hard ground, staring at the stars through the mesh top of our borrowed tent, contemplating spine-disc surgery.

And the whole event was a ton of fun, as usual.

But here's where it gets strange -- as a Mastandrea, I would normally take this time to re-tell the entire story of last year's event (only this time it would be longer, with new insightful detours and other inventive commentary). But blogging allows me to simply refer to last year's account without the need to embroider any new description.

Suddenly this blogging thing doesn't seem so much fun anymore.

BTW, no one saw a muledeer.

Steve and I regularly check the traffic to the blog and we continue to be entertained by the search queries that result on Macaroni Dish hits. What's actually surprising in all this is the lack of genealogy hits. Over the years I've gotten unsolicited e-mail from stranger-Mastandreas living in all manner of exotic locales -- everywhere from New Jersey to Argentina -- and they're all looking to trace their particular branch of the Mastandrea family tree.

Once they read the demented ravings that appear on this blog they must assume (or just hope): "No way I'm related to these wackos."

Still haven't had any hits from Giovinazzo. Slackers.

This is a pisser. And I mean literally. Don't think any of us will particularly need this for the purpose of passing a drug test. But for practical jokes... well, that's a much more interesting proposition.

Anyone hit any flaming golfballs recently?

Another satisfied customer! This poor guy searched the web for "where to buy texas shaped macaroni." Instead, he got Pesce Vino.

Would Vinny eat macaroni shaped liked Texas? Or is that too much like wagon-wheels?

I'll need some help with this (mainly because I haven't seen a bottle of the suff in years), but I think the modern market is ready for a Pescevino revival.

How depressing! One of our favorite theme blogs has gone off the air: The Pasta-Log Project has been an object of admiration since we found it long ago. And how could we not -- this guy takes a snapshot of every dish of macaroni he eats, then posts the photo in a giant archive. What's more, he seems to eat pasta just about every day. My hero!

But alas, he didn't pay his ISP bill. I visited his site eariler today and got the following sad message:

hello everybody. pastalog is not dead yet. i just had some technical troubles with the server, they deleted my mysql database, i forgot to pay... i have all the pictures and i'm keeping taking them. now i have to buy a new database and make about 590 insert queries. i cannot do this manually so i'm creating a script. i just need some days, maybe weeks.

The horror. I had the idea of buying a dirty-water hot dog every day I'm in Manhattan, photographing it, and starting a competing website. But I can't kick a guy when he's down... Poor bastard.

"Wacko Jacko Gets Off" would be a good joke if it wasn't so obvious. Much better is what I overheard at the office not two minutes after the verdict was rendered. Said a coworker:

"They should have given him at least some jail time for coming to court dressed like Cap'n Crunch."

I hadn't thought of it quite that way, but I tend to agree.

Maybe it's because they're a couple of chimps, but Cookie and Mojo really like the Gorillaz -- especially their videos: "Feel Good Inc." with the flying windmill and "Clint Eastwood" with the zombie gorillas ("their butts are red!"). Still not going to let them watch MTV.

Paintball. I love paintball. I went up to a 300 acre paintball place in Pennsylvania with a bunch of goofballs in our 3rd year of higher education. There was only about 12 guys. not enough of us to get our own field. They pair us up with some red neck crew of guys that have been huntin duck since they were 5. I never even held a gun before. So needless to say we got beat down pretty bad but we went down cursing and degrading these guys. If i am getting hit by 12 paintballs from 6 directiuons i am making sure these people know how i really feel. I actually went with Joe Shtrimps. He never spent more than 20 second in the game. He got hit as soon as they blew the start whistle. I never ran that hard before. It was better not knowing the opponent. We were told we must wear masks to protect the face but no one told us about the testicles. When your laying in the wet grass stalking the confederate douche that just fired 18 paintballs and knocked 1 guy off a bridge into the ravine and a paintball hits you in the taint. Thats a hurt. I ran acrossa log connecting 2 sides of a ravine and busted my ass. Your right, the welts appear soon on the car ride home. The real pain rears its ugly face when the alarm goes off the next morning. You don't feel it till you try to open your eyes. Even your eyebrows hurt. And for john that may be a big hurt, theres a lot of eyebrow going on there. Its still a blast. I would do it again any day.

You want to talk pain. Let Big Steve drag your ass around the lake in a floatable chariot with a jetski. He is insane. Me and Little Joe were on the back and the idea is to get up enough speed for the chariot to stand like a real one and allow the riders to stand up. This is no easy task. We tried about 15 times. One spin left Joe floating in the lake and me hanging on to the end of the chariot while my body bounced up and down in the water. My shorts flew off and my twinkie was banging into the water at top speed. I crossed my feet so i didnt lose them while steve tried to drag me over to Joe. That was a beaten. We did get it to work a few times. it was a cool feeling. I love jetski's. I dont think ree does though.

One day the story of Angie's boat pulling us on a 3 man towable will be discussed. That was fun.

So, a friend of mine who works with me at the office is getting married in a few weeks and his buds got together and planned a marathon bachelor party event. It started with paintball this morning, moved on to lunch at Hooters, and will be followed up with the normal bar-crawl and tittie-bar debauchery.

As an indication of my advancing age and general dereliction, I eagerly signed on for the paintball but bowed out of the boob-hunt (I grow old... I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled).

So we assembled at about 10 this morning at the paintabll field and set about our friendly competition. What a workout: we moved onto different fields, split into teams, and then fired crazily at each other until we'd all been hit. Skill and tactics? We had none. And them little paintballs hurt like hell when they hit you in the small of the back. Or on the unprotected part of your head. In a few hours we were soaked with sweat, paint, and mud. I gotta do that again sometime (though maybe I'll pick a day when the temperature is in the 60s instead of the upper 80s).

The bruises and welts I felt right away; the aches and pains will show in force tomorrow.

Anyway, I got home just now and put in the A/C with the help of Guido and Julio. Alane has apparently fled -- fearing that the A/C would never be installed. So for now, there is quiet. Just the hum of Con Ed, juicing up this month's bill.

I need a shower -- my hair is still caked with paint.

Got up early this morning, made coffee and parked myself in the patio chair out the back door. Friggin' newspaper is late, so there's not much to do but sit here and listen to the beeping of some neighborhood ass-hat's alarm clock.

I guess someone never made it home last night.

Gosh, I haven't read that "Lord of the Flies" in a very long time. In fact, I think it's one of those books that I only pretended to read in school (pirating just enough info to write my term paper and get my gentleman's B).

I do, however, remember watching a bad film adaption (not the recent one in the theaters), and in it the Piggy character repeatedly used a puffer to relieve his asthma.

This is relevant, because in today's real-life adaption of my, er, real life, the Alane character uses a puffer to relieve her sleep apnea.

Coincidence? I think not.

As for the other traits shared by the box's contents... I surrender. Some of it is crap from Odd Job; the rest of it is crap that should be sold at Odd Job.

Hmmm. Maybe that's the unifying theory. What am I missing?

I received an interesting package from Tuckahoe today. These were its actual contents:

1. An official WWVS? coffee mug (which, by the way, is the greatest mug ever created)
2. A George W Bush poseable action figure.
3. A Beck's Dark Beer T-shirt.
4. Diecast metal model of a 2002 Mercedes M Class sedan.
5. Diecast metal model of a 2002 Plymouth Prowler.
6. CD-R inscribed "mo' macaron'".
7. CD-R titled "Go-Thumb City".

Here is the challenge: review the above list and identify the common theme shared by all seven items.

EXTRA CREDIT: Create a comparative analysis between the package and its importance to my survival in Palm Beach Gardens and the importance of Piggy's spectacles on the children's survival in William Golding's Lord of the Flies. Good luck.

I just came in from out back where I had lingered to put away a few things and apply some more bug spray on the hungry-hungry carpenter bees that are eating the garage. I had just sent the boys inside, telling them we'd all watch some baseball before going to sleep.

Upon entering the living room with my little glass of Fortissimo I noticed that the ballgame was already on: Mets vs. Houston at Shea. John Paul gave me an enthusiastic status report:

"It's one and nothing!" he said. "The Mets are winning! They're playing against the Nostrils!"

It only took me a few seconds to figure out what he thought he was saying: yes, the Houston Nostrils are indeed down one run in the fourth. What an exciting baseball season!

Recently, we were listing words we enjoy hearing and I wanted to make an important addition: fonnoichia. I just can't say enough good things about the word fonnoichia.

Alane was foolishly trying to explain to Mojo why it's still not safe for him to sleep in anything other than an absorbant "pull-up" diaper.

"You're still a little guy -- your bladder is too small for you to sleep the night without having to pee."

This just triggered a wave of mental mischief: these guys have no idea what a bladder is. Cookie thought it sounded familiar:

"Is that the airbag, underneath?" he asked, pointing to his set.

Uh, no. The bladder is on the inside, we explained. The airbag... that's for something else.

Cookie had inquired some time back about this appendage: standing in the bathroom, wanting to know. Alane declined to hear the case, choosing instead to certify the question to my tribunal. They both came into the kitchen, Cookie with his pants still down. I was a bit startled by the question -- unprepared at least -- but Cookie stood there, pointing, waiting for enlightenment.

"That's, er, your nutsack, kid."

Alane didn't think that was a good answer -- but what the hell else are we gonna call it?

These chimps watch lots of bad television (yeah, that's our fault), but right now there positively mesmerized by "Robot Wars." I never watched it much; it's definitely fun. I'm sort of glad to see they think it's fun too. Makes me want to haul out those erector sets and start designing some our own machines of destruction.

Does this mean that Marie thinks Vin's shoe closet looks like a Hummer dealer lot?

Even though this is the Mastandrea's Macaroni Dish, I was reluctant to speak of my maternal side. Then I realized, most of the people on here would more than likely tell me to post it onto here regardless. So I am. On this Sunday morning when I should be making sauce.

I am quite impressed of not only the influx of contribution to the Ecyclopedia Mastandrea, but I am even more enthralled by the volume of time and effort going into the WWVS? project. I applaud all of you.

I just want to point your attention to my mother. She has more than just ISM's to her, she has ones that are brand new and never before heard. What I like most about them, is that most are used on impulse and the humor usually depends on the extent of her fluster.

A few weeks ago, the Southern Division of Spumoni Gardens took a trip to Boca Raton to see the always gentlemanly Uncle Vinny D'Elia. (Let me just point out that his was not only a chance for my brother Steve to see my Uncle Vinny again, but to hopefully reunite with a long haired, chain smoking lounge singer that goes by the name of Erminio ... but that's another story.) We had a fantastic time, we ate at a place called Maggiano's in Boca Raton, and then afterward we went to an Italian bakery by the beach in Margate.

What I recall the most of that night were the things my mother said.

While we ate napopleons, tiramisus and cannolis, we got to talking about how my mother and father met. We all know that they met in the late 60's at a bar called"The Picturebox" which was at one point owned by the Big Kahuna. Even though I had heard this story before, many times, I had never heard the version my mother was about to tell me. She described her second encounter with my dad.

She said when she went to see my dad she was wearing a frosted blonde Conectylon wig. I stopped her in disbelief. She went onto say that because of the wig that night, my dad didn't give her the attention she had been looking for. I was in awe ... beyond awe...

As we made out way back home, my mother was driving with my dad in the passenger side, and I in the backseat when she stopped at a light stopping right next to a 2005 H2. Now for those of you who don't follow, most of you call it a Hummer. She goes on to say how she don't like the car simply for the fact that it was too big and top heavy. As she went on, I can't help but think that this is the longest light in history. As she furthers in her rant, she exclaims : "I've never liked the hummer, it's too cumbersome ... it reminds me of a huge pair of sneakers."

I am speechless.

If anyone remembers anything else from that night, feel free to share.
Have a great weekend!

Now Steve has me looking at the fascinating search queries that bring hapless visitors to the Macaroni Dish: this luckless web-surfer searched Yahoo for "Russian female model/Jenia" and was brought here. What he got was not what he bargained for.

Unless Jenia has something he needs to tell us? Something about the authenticity of his gypsy sausage?

Steve pointed out that the poor bastard from the USDA who stumbled onto the blog got here via a web search on how to build a batting cage. Imagine that: all he wanted was a place to hit a few baseballs and instead he got a faceful of spinach pizza.

Come to think of it... that's exactly what happened to me back in 1999.

My beloved New York Post has let me down -- adding a "free registration" requirement before you can read articles online. So I won't link to it, but I'll relate here an article in today's paper that is particularly relevant to my recent blog posts. A Queens art museum (!) is having some trouble with its latest installation "Celebrity Hot Tub for Kofi Annan" -- an exhibit "which features a rotting sausage stewing in a tub of noxious water."

Yup, we've been outdone again:

The sculpture is a full-sized jacuzzi fashioned from cardboard, loaded with capocollo, and left to ferment.

I pointed this out to Vito and he immediately decided that he too needs to be an artist too. He envisioned a series of photographs -- people doing everyday things wearing watermelons as hats. Business meetings. Movie lines. Church services. Everone wearing watermelon hats.

But is it stinky enough to be art?

Okay, how about fish pie? Certainly that will cancel an international flight.

Well, this news made me sad. At an otherwise offensive annual meeting back in April, I at least got to sit next to the retired judge whose small-talk consisted of charming tales that stretched back to the Ford Administration... meetings with Kissinger... some young assistant who went on to become Acting Secretary of State but couldn't quite recall his name... Great stuff, though we were soon enough silenced when the meeting came to order and any subsequent conversation was necessarily restricted to snide comments to colleagues via cellphone SMS.

Hey! I thought we were the loudest people at any given restaurant! Did one of us recently go out on a date with Mr. Sun? He's blogging poetic about a recent incident that... involves food... and loud conversation.

No mention of gypsy salami though. (Ree had an intereseting take on the gypsy salami, telling me in an IM last night that she finds the word "gyspy" to be hysterically funny; likewise the word "salami"; she would therefore like to congratulate the genius who brought these two words into such magical union.)

The Department of Agriculture is currently investigating the suspiciously high demand for broccoli rabe in the Tuckahoe region, particularly in and around Stew Leonards, so it was just a matter of time before they started monitoring this site for info.

Speaking of strange dorm experiences,one time I was walking the hall and smelled a stench so foul I could feel puke rising from my knees. Sitting on the floor in front of Rocco Nocera's closed dorm room door was a paper plate holding a huge, tar-black, steaming turd...with a pink bow! I stared in disbelief trying to decode the message it was trying to convey. The paper plate implied "eat shit", but that would not explain the dainty pink bow. Was the paper plate merely a thoughtful way of ensuring a quick and easy clean up for the victim? Was the pink bow a comment on the victim's masculinity? And what the hell infection did this guy have to produce such an un-natural stink? Years have passed, I still do not know.

P.S. I was reflecting on the hilarious state of the EU and I was thinking of that song "The United States of...Whatever"

Not many people read this blog -- I know that because I regularly review the usage statistics. That usage information sometimes offers interesting surprises. Like the fact that the blog had a visit today from a west coast office of the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

If this is part of a government investigation into food safety, I got two words: gypsy salami.

Isn't there a family legend that involved a bag of stinky snacks taken into a Nashville hotel room? If I'm not mistaken, it too been transported via commercial airline.

Maybe a sandwich for lunch? I wonder if any of the midtown delis have gypsy salami.