Airport Guy has indeed visited Spumoni South, and it was very good. Unfortunately, he has since returned to Omaha for what will be a very busy month. Spumoni South was an excellent recharge for my lagging batteries.

It is ironic and strangely appropriate that the same work schedule that has kept me from visiting Bratislava and Spumoni South sent me so close that I could visit both this year. This has been a great week for me in that my co-instructor and I taught two great classes, had some wonderful dinners and enjoyed some amazing scenery this year. The second class went so quickly that I had the time to drive to Spumoni South and catch up with La Famiglia. And laugh. And enjoy garlic, calimari and mozzerella. And calling John in NY to put him on speaker phone.

I have only two regrets. One, that I visited while Joe and Marlena were not there. And two, that Ellie wasn't along with me for the visit. Both prompt me to plan a more leisurely and complete visit down the road. Aunt Marie and Uncle Vinny are right, "Life is for the living." This is why we work so hard.

Well, maybe three regrets. I regret not visiting sooner.

Shteef, I expect you to report about the soup mix here in the blog. And perhaps post the pictures from the City Place. I haven't seen such vibrance and fun in the streets at night since NYC. David Letterman, however, would observe that City Place is unlike NY in its lack of phlegm on the streets.

Thanks again for a wonderful evening!

Today's meatballs, BTW, include my clever (I think it's clever) twist of shredded spinach leaves. And the sauce contains shredded basil from the garden right outside the back door.

Got no wine. Damn. Saw this just now and it makes me a little thirsty -- even in advance of dinner-time... The sauce is scheduled to simmer another few hours. Time enough to slip out and hunt down that selection?

Worked on some of that Cinzano last night while they held a fireworks display down the street. I was sitting out back with Mojo, who didn't want to be at the park -- it's too loud for him. So he held his ears, pushed his face into my shoulder, and occasionally peeped out to see the flares as they edged out from behind the big tree that blocked most of the view.

Earlier that evening as we awaited the fireworks we heard a flock of geese go honking across the sky. Cookie was concerned:

"Will they get exploded by the fireworks?"

Nah. That's what air traffic control is for.

BTW, you gotta respect a blog that's Mainly About Food. We never seem to sustain that kind of focus around here!

And so it comes to pass that Airport Guy has landed at Spumoni South -- not doubt spinning countless yarns from the Battle of Bratislava.

The blogosphere eagerly awaits a full transcript.

In the meantime, I'll be using Google Earth to help me visualize the travels of the itinerant Airport Guy. And to visit Hester Street. And all the other old haunts.

Right now, I have just a few minutes ago combined the meatballs, the sausage, the seared veal strips, and the crushed tomatoes in a big pot. The lid is on, and now we wait.. In eight hours, we eat.

Today the boys went to an Ohio rite of passage--Cedar Point. They were very good considering we started out at the park at about 11:00 am and as we exited it was nearly 9:00 pm. Cookie was incensed because although Cedar Point is the roller coaster capital (I counted 8), they only had 2 coasters for those of Cookie's height and one of them I had to ride with him. Cookie has decided that he will write Cedar Point about this grave injustice. Mojo wants to add his name in case they send back something interesting in response. (Mind you Mojo is terrified of coasters and wouldnt go on one).

The hi-light of the day was the extreme diving show. The boys were enthralled. The grand finale had a guy diving into 10 feet of water backwards from 60 feet and another guy diving in from 80 feet. Afterwards Cookie got to meet the divers and was thrilled.

Cedar Point is kinda fascinating because they bring in kids from all of this country and other countries to work. There were may kids from the Czech Republic, Poland and Russia. It is amazingly clean for such a huge place.

Not many other interesting activities to report from here. We went to the Strongsville Homecoming parade which the boys call the candy parade because almost every one in it tosses candy. Its kinda like trick or treating except the candy comes to you.

We also went to a Renaissance Fair. It was pirate weekend and some pirates approached Mojo and Cookie and said they were going to come to the house at midnight to get them to be the pirates' cooks on their ship. This had Mojo and Cookie worried for quite some time. They kept asking me if they would really show. Then Mojo decided that they were not real pirates because the pirates had nice teeth and everyone knows pirates have nasty rotted teeth.

All and all it has been a fun visit to Camp Grandma and Grandpa in Ohio. We leave in a few days to return to the lovely state of New York.

Had an interesting e-mail exchange today with an old colleague who seemed to need some legal advice. Normally I beg off -- unless it's an area I know a lot about, I don't ever want to cause a person additional legal trouble by giving half-baked advice.

"Get a lawyer," is my usual less-than-helpful response.

But it soon became clear that this friend was less interested in protecting his legal position and more interested in making himself into an absurd nuisance, damn the consequences.

For this, I can help.

He shared with me a cease and desist letter, sent to his London home from a very serious-sounding NYC law firm that very much wanted him to stop using an Internet domain name that vaguely resembled a trademark of the law firm's very serious-sounding corporate client. He showed me his proposed response and I laughed heartily until I realized that he truly meant to send it -- then I laughed even harder.

I gave him some pointers -- not legal advice, mind you... more like non-legal advice... certainly not illegal advice. But to anyone whose aim is to throw caution to the wind and stick it to da' man in a futile fizzle of adolescent defiance -- I am at your service!

The language was settled and he's off to his own devices now, assuredly hoping that they give him access to e-mail in WTO prison because there ain't no way I'm going to visit his ass during his sentence.

You really need to throw stuff away. I hope you realize that your last entry gives me disturbing memories of the closets at 1526. They seemed to always be brimming with oddities. Release yourself from the wretched hold this address has on you. If you have not used something in 12 months throw it away. Its a rule. I recall Aunt Helen reaching under the couch and pulling out things that i swear could not fit down there. The rules of physics wre altered in that house.

So marlena leaves for Russia tomorrow. We checked the flight path for her flight and i would not want to be sitting for 10 hours on that plane. Nothing but ocean. WOW!
Vin liked the earthgoogle satellite shots. We checked everything we could think of.

Where is the Cadbury Bunnies picture?

Couldn't quite get this posted last night, but part of having Alane and the chimps away is getting projects done around the house. So I've been taking lots of stuff out, sorting, discarding, cleaning. That raises a lot of dust -- and I'm allergic to dust.

So last night I was taking up the carpet runners in the hallways. The rubber backing had deteriorated and adhered to the floor, so ripping them up was a hassle -- and the dust it raised was huge. When I was done, I couldn't stop sneezing, my eyes were tearing, and I was a mess. Even an hour later, my left eye was itching like mad -- I checked it in the mirror and what I saw was very disturbing.

Yes, it was red. And there was a lot of tear-duct activity. But in the corner of my eye I noticed that the white part was very puffy. In fact, when I turned my eye in, I saw that the surface would bag up and bulge.

Was that a blister on the surface of my eyeball?

The thought repulsed me. I turned on the A/C and went to sleep on the couch -- hoping it would clear up by morning. Got up at 5:00 a.m. and saw that it was not much better. Found some Claritin in the medicine chest and went back to sleep.

It's better now but has been itchy all day. I dare not rub it. I cleaned up the remaining dust with a wet mop this evening. Now I'm lounging at the computer with a bottle of port wine in front of me and a hard-working A/C behind me. You can call me "Blinky" if you want, but hopefully you won't need to by tomorrow.

It's Sunday. The reports I'm getting from Ohio are still vague, but this much is clear: meatballs have not been made.

I fully trust that my boys will rise up in mutiny. That is, if they are real Mastandreas.

So I'm sitting here watching Saturday Night Fever. And that's strange enough. Tony Manero is doing his moves on the dance floor and I'm thinking "yeah, I could probably do that." And that's really strange.

I spent most of the day sorting through the tons of crap we've accumulated over the years, trying to find better ways to store things, tossing stuff we don't really need anymore, cleaning stuff.

Did make a trip to Bronxville this morning -- swung through at the end of my jogging run (have I mentioned how much I hate jogging), got a few things at Food Emporium, then picked up a bottle of vermouth.

And that helps.

July is almost gone, it is sad to note. In going through all my stuff this week (with the boys away, I can pull out all my pack-rat accretions and do some massive spring cleaning!) I came across a notation I made to myself regarding an incident in July 1989. Alane had come to visit -- she wanted to see NYC, and to do it she was willing to actually spend some time iwth me! So we left my place in Valhalla and got Guido, then drove into Queens, woke up Mike Yee (after remarking upon the Sunbeam he had on blocks in the driveway) and we all went into Manhattan. We had just gone in and out of the Chrysler building lobby hoping to find an observation deck:

To spite old man Chrysler and all his appalling lack of planning, we went to the observation deck of the Empire State Building. On the way we passed a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk who read the front of my torn Xavier gym shirt.
“Hey, Xavier—“ the man yelled.
Oh, great. Another joker, I thought.
“—You’re out of uniform!”
That was actually funny.
“One of your class-mates?” Mike asked.

That was also the day we stopped to eat at the Automat.

I did not carry a backpack into the city today, and it's good I didn't -- the gendarmes conducting random bag searches would have gotten en eyeful of all the strange crap I tend to haul around for no particular reason.

Might there still be a spinning lollipop kicking around at the bottom of one of those zippered pouches? Today's WSJ had an article that mentioned the inventors of that clever candy-gadget (speaking of wedding anniversaries).

In a couple of hours I will board the commuter train. And when the doors open at Grand Central there be a pack of eager passengers who huddled there so they could be the first out. And they will walk very slowly. And it will make me angry.

I need to bring a boat horn!

I do hope HR was amused. I apologize for the rectal disturbance.

There is only mental disability in florida. I am astounded by the drivers that reside in our state. They see a merge arrow and they go faster. I was wondering if anyone knew roughly how many miniature brown landscapers you can fit in the back of an F150. I have counted as high as 12. That is at 75mph on the highway. I wonder if they all have to be wearing seatbelts? Well at least they all have on cowboy boots. I ,however, can get a ticket for driving in the High Occupaancy Lane. I fail to understand how this works. How many people do i need. Does my cat count as an occupant?

I was next to a pickup last week that had so many bricks piled in the back that the tires were deformed. Its amazing and amusing. I just make sure i dont stay behind these pin heads.

i decided that i will carry a boat horn wherever i go from now on. There is never a time when the horn will not be appreciated. on the road...in publix.....at work.....dentist office.....
It will be my new personal policy and accessory

It's bachelor week here in Tuckahoe. Alane has the boys out in Ohio, leaving me here to my own devices. Coffee for one? My turkish coffee pot is just the right size. Laundry piling up? Air-dry soiled garments in the humid air and try not to sit too close to anyone at office meetings. Provisions running low now that I'm half-a-week without a car? Eat upstairs with Guido's mom.

I got this all figured out.

But one thing is very troubling: it is unnaturally quiet around here. I'm sitting here in the living room, lounging in my boxer shorts, window open to catch the breeze, TV and radio off... and it's so quiet. Makes it hard to think -- which I wouldn't have suspected during any of the normal chaos which also makes it hard to think.

I await blog reports of Cacophony in Cuyahoga, Flakiness in Florida, and Nepotism in Nebraska (what the hell, he is my brother).

Correction! BazzukaJoe's gut was indeed accurate (what does that tell you?). Alane and I have been living together for 15 years. We've been married for 12 years.

During those years we never owned a boat. So now I have to ask the inevitable question: should e get one?

15 years? Are you sure? That long road to ohio seemed like just yesterday. WOW! I am speachless. ........ That was a cool trip.
Happy Anniversiary! I make a nice carpachio for you.....

So Jessica's dad bought a boat. Its nicce and very fast. He says its for fishing but is think not. It has a bench seat for 3. i somehow cannot picture myself between Pat and Darrell skipping across the water at 70 mph. Its a disturbing though.

You are correct to worry. Those men will build something very large and complex very soon. Wait till they learn to use a cordless drill then your in trouble. Or maybe they could just build you something... Harness that power.

So today's the day that Alane and I wake up, look at each other, and reflexively respond to the categorical interrogative WWVS?

"Fifteen years I been married to this..."

And so we celebrate, not with meatballs this Sunday, but at an actual restaurant, a casual place with an American menu. One that is moderately priced. And can handle monkey-boys. TBD.

Right now the chimpz are in their room -- their "workshop"; according to Cookie they are "building something." That means taking various unrelated toys and stacking them, intertwining them, affixing them to the corners and crevices of furniture -- anything to use them in ways never envisioned by their designers.

These creations are little more than random heaps of inanimate plastic. But I fear the development of their skills. Someday, a robot will walk out of their room and open some whup' ass on me.

That's still a few years away. I nonetheless feel a need to prepare.

Riding home on the train today, trying to plow through the early pages of Faulkner's "Sound and the Fury" (don't know why I decided to re-read that), I noticed a lot of noise: chatty women sitting across from me, a conversation somewhere behind me, and a middle-aged moron a seat away from me plugged into his music headphones, singing along with his eyes closed -- even playing some air guitar.

Then his cellphone rang and I had to hear his conversation. It started like this:

"And why did you drink lakewater?"

Took the boys out back after we ate tonight. They packed plastic shovels and other toy-junk into their dump trucks and declared that they were going to Wyoming to dig for treasure. They rolled their trucks to the end of the driveway, unloaded them, and started scraping through the shallow dirt at the edges of the asphalt.

The diarrhea tsunami has receded, allowing us to turn our attention to more routine activities -- such as reviewing the portraits they shoot at school of the boys. Those photographic services are grossly overpriced... but they have somehow managed to capture the essence of each little chimp. So I guess it's worth it.

Does Mojo look like he just broke something? It's a safe bet that he did. Alane said she just about fell over when she saw that snapshot -- that kid's bad news all around. Now we have photographic evidence to support that statement.
I meant to blog yesterday because I was doing some serious meatball musing: it takes so many hours to prepare the damned things, but only a few minutes to demolish them. That hurts. I fought back yesterday by making many meatballs. Big ones. Got back from Mass and opened a bottle of cheap Chilean red and speared a few from the pot. An excellent lunch. Later, while the boys had a water-balloon fight out back, I poached another. And of course later on we made linguini and sat down to eat. And finish the wine. And eat yet more meatballs. Took the leftovers to work today for lunch! Could've used another bottle of wine...

Like so many of the good things in life, the difficult part is making it last.

An upperdecker need not be large to be successful.

We are watching celebrity fit club this evening and i am impressed to see Buddy Lembeck from charles in charge have a complete meltdown on TV.

Check it out.

Now that I've got that trailer hitch installed, our car can supprt all sorts of hitch-mounted accessories. I look forward to acquiring all of them.

Bazzukajoe seems to have lost his voice. Or he's at least in need of remedial blog training. Whatever his sudden blog-disability, he was able to e-mail me a photo of an upper-decking yesterday. And it was lovely (though puny in comparison to the Diarrhea Tsunami that devastated Cookie's bed yesterday morning -- international relief efforts were needed, but alas, the U.N. has other scandals to tend to).

BTW, we took the boys to their first professional ballgame last night. No, not a major league game -- we went to see the Hudson Valley Renegades up in Fishkill. It was a ton of fun. More on that later. With pictures.

Today was one of those banner mornings in parenting. It was 6:00 in the morning and Cookie comes into the living room where I was sleeping and says, "Mommy, I peed my pants in the night." I said, No, problem just change them. Next I hear an unholy shriek--alas not before misfortune befell me. Cookie is shrieking that he has poop coming off him--and now I'm shrieking because apparently this poop has managed to find its way all over the floor in his room and I have stepped in it. I immediately get poop covered boy into the shower. When showering him I become concerned because I note that some of the poop seems to be crusty, as though, it has been there for quite some time.

This leads me back to the scene of the crime where I am amazed to see Cookie pooped the bed. It was incredibly nasty. John had put this memory foam thing on the bed and the poop/diarrhea had actually gone through it on to the futon below. Later I would find out the collateral damage was even greater as the beloved Thomas comforter was poop coated.

The room was stink and toxic clean up began immediately. I set about wiping up all the poop drippings off the floor (gagging and nearly vomiting in the process) and John began bed clean up--we should have been entitled to super site funding for this. Unfortunately, the memory foam and Thomas comforter were beyond help and had to be tossed. The futon is undergoing extensive clean up efforts. Mind you, this is all before 7:00 am.

One question that looms in my mind is, How can you sleep through that? I could see by the crusty poop and seepage problem that this was not a recent occurence.

Just swapped IM with Oakley in London -- yep, he was late to the office today, as the bombings affected his train line. Just heard Blair announce that he'll be heading back to survey the damage -- and will return to the G8 conference this evening.

So what are the odds that this wasn't the work of "anti-globalization" forces?

BTW, that group doesn't just include Starbucks-bashing, grunge-bedecked, trust-fund children; it also includes the Islamo-fascists who absolutely dread the idea that their nations might someday join the international trade community.

As Oakley himself has said (normally in less dire situations): "The bastards."

The early 1990s turned out some pretty rotten music -- nothing particularly memorable or playable today. But I did come across this little gem, a rap song not widely released, but I had a tape of it that I played in my Yugo as I chugged around Westchester in those carefree pre-law-school days.

More Shoes
by Young Vin-E

Now from planet to planet, and from star to star
It doesn't really matter, baby, just who you are
And from Earth to solar system, and to galaxy
It's real hard to get a ticket to hear Young Vin-E
Because I rock like a professional, this ain't no lark
You either hear me at a party, or you see me in the park
I rocked the many places far away from my home
I guess that must be the reason why I'm so well known
I rocked from Iowa to Idaho, Canada to Mexico
I came into the place, you party people, just to let you know
My name is the Young Vin-E, ladies want to come to me
And when they're in my arms, the ladies never ever front on me
Thinkin that you know the deal, boy, why don't you be for real
I love to rock the mic, and sometimes even rock the wheels of steel
Rock the place without a doubt, now I'm gonna turn it out
So listen very close, so I can tell you that it's all about shoes

More shoes
Party people, I'm the Young Vin-E, and I got shoes
Let me tell you something
Young Vin-E got more shoes

This weekend was smashing. Jenia's birthday was on Saturday, where we enjoyed the fruit and pirate theme. Jenia and Steve took a liking to the imported Lemoncello vodka and laughed at invisible jokes. We saw War of the Worlds, Vinman sat in a movie theater seat, It was a most splendid time. The following day Jenia and I headed up to Orlando to spend the 3rd & 4th with the Fatone clan. We stayed at Janine and Philip's new home, it's so cute. On Sunday night, Janine and Philip decided to take Jenia, myself and Nikoles to Oldtown, where we could go on rides, play in the arcade, grab some snacks,etc. Oldtown is in the heart of Kissimmee, where Nikoles lives with his mother and 3 siblings. He was all excited, we didn't know what we were in for. As we park the car, Jenia looks around and says to me in a Russianized Puerto Rican accent, "There's a lot of mommy's and papi's here". Nikoles being of sound mind and Mexican heart punched Jenia in the ribs and said "Never say that again, I mean it, it's not funny." We nearly pissed ourselves.
Speaking of relieving ourselves, in the arcade Nikoles grabbed his ass and screamed "I have to crap!" We all ran out hysterically looking for a bathroom amidst the small shops and pubs. He ran like big bird with a diaper on into the women's bathroom with Janine. Once again, we nearly pissed ourselves.
Finally, we head back to the arcade to cash in the tokens and tickets we had won for Nikoles, to find that instead of the small plastic baseball hat or 18 midget tootsie rolls, he wants a mood ring. Jenia warned him that "mood rings are for sissies, " and Nik patted Jenia on the shoulder and said, "Come on John, no one's gonna notice". Once more, nearly pissed ourselves.

This year, my mother was not given the 4th of July off so I decided to make an early trip to Spumoni Gardens South to see if the Big Kahuna felt like getting out of the house. As we all know this is a rhetorical quesion for him. Unbeknownst to me, he had already memorized the Sunday and Monday newspapers from cover to cover and was eager to check out the advertised items at JC Penney. What might those items be?

"You know JC Penney is selling Riddell sneakers. Ridell is what they use in the NFL, I think I need those."

Indeed the Kahuna purchased a pair of grey and orange Riddells and a pair of grey and blue New Balance sneakers. Apparently he's going to be kicking a few field goals sometime soon. I believe that moves the official sneaker count to 23 pairs.

Also yesterday poor Jessica got a bit of food poisoning and spent her day in the ER. She's home and recovering well today. However, yesterday her skin color was the same as Telly from Sesame Street and the texture was similar to a Delmonico steak. Feel better, Jess.

Well, he won it again. Takeru Kobayashi won the hot dog eating contest, but failed to break his own record. WWVS?

I'm all set, camped out in front of the television, waiting for the big compeitition. Will there be a repeat of last year's record performance? Or will the Americans beat back the Japanese? We considered driving down to Coney Island to join the eager crowds... but we immediately snapped out of it.

Speaking of eating, tomorrow is the annual Nathan's hot dog eating contest and the Post has the starting line-up (but since they added that intrusive registration requirement, I'm not linking to them).

Last year's winner, Takeru Kobayashi, will naturally be there to defend the coveted mustard yellow belt. Hungry Charles Hardy, who tipped the scales at 325 lbs., will also be there, as will Eric Badlands Booker, at 400 lbs.

It's no mystery who will win. The real question is this: will Don Vito tune in? And What Would he Say?

Under the blaring chords of Rammstein, I just dropped the meatballs into the gravy... In eight hours, we eat.

Du... Du hast... Du hast micht.

Or, perhaps more appropriately:

Ficht nicht mit der Raketmensch.

The boys ran in a neighborhood foot-race today -- part of a holiday "block party" of sorts, organized by a couple of families around the corner. It was a pretty simple race -- once around the block, and all the contestants were around the same age. Cookie had pretty good form; Mojo was funny as anything. From that we migrated over to the dead-end sidestreet for the cookout and kids' games. The chimps ran around for pretty much the entire afternoon -- and still wanted to mess around and not go to sleep at bedtime just now.

I even read them a book. And sang "Barbecue."

I remember holing up in someone's Manhattan apartment 20 years ago to watch Live Aid (no cable TV into Brooklyn in those days). As a kid, it was great fun -- but even then I was a little skeptical about the humanitarian aspect: how much money would be left after expenses for actual charitable work, and then the question of whether anyone would know how to spend those funds to actually have a lasting impact.

My cynicism was vague back then; today, it is much crisper. I am tempted to criticize Live 8 as just another festival of celebrity self-love, but that would mean denouncing the vast bulk of populat culture (okay, I've done that). But there's a greater beef: we hear a lot about the need for more aid money and more debt relief for African nations. But I've not heard anything about lowering protectionist trade restrictions, or the need to depose any of the corrupt and brutal regimes that keep so many Africans in poverty and despair.

Yeah, we all love music. Boogie woogie, hey hey. Boogie woogie, hey hey. But in the simplistic rhetoric spewed between songs, who do you think will receive the most moral condenmation? George Bush or Robert Mugabe? Hey, maybe Bono will suprise me.

UPDATE: There does appear to be a nod toward something called "Trade Jutice" in the promo literature. The fine print reads more like a prescription for a command economy; the anti-globalization folks are more anti-reality than anything else.

ANOTHER UPDATE: More support for my position at Samizdata. And from Powerline.

Good riddance. Now that the unprincipled and unreliable (redundant, eh?) Sandra Day O'Connor is stepping aside, I'm sitting by the phone, awaiting that call from the White House. Yeah, I could be a Supreme Court Justice. You think Scalia writes overly snide opinions in defense of classical liberalism? I can be infinitely more snide.

To quote the ridiculous Senator John F. Kerry, I say loudly: "Put me in!"