The Vyskrebentsevs made their triumphant return to the United States this weekend, and to celebrate it correctly the Vin-man sent me out early Saturday morning with a very specific task.

Vin: "Hey Steve, while you're out see if you can find one of those big mylar smiley-face balloons"
Steve: "Seriously? I wasn't aware that was a customary ritual in our family. What about some 'welcome home' balloons?"
Vin: "Well yeah, if you can get those too. But definitely the big smiley face balloons"

The man is an enigma wrapped in a riddle. To his credit the giant smiley face balloon was indeed a big hit with my sister. The Homecoming Party dumped the typical pep rally and pageant, in exchange for sausauge and peppers, roast beef, breaded chicken and a spectacular pot of Orange Soup. Now that's Progressive Reform at its best. (Take that Howard Dean.)

Now a few things worthy of mention. Jenia and Marlena returned overflowing with gifts, every one amazing perfect in its own right. I receieved an apron, a shirt, a CD of Euro-Russian pop, and drum roll please... SALAMI FLAVORED CHIPS. Yes, a small bag of crouton like chips that beared a giant picture of a salami on the front. The taste was not altogether bad. Not great, but not quite foul enough for my cousin John to truly enjoy.

I'm going to politely disagree with BazzukaJoe that albeit overpriced for an Elvis impersonator, that show was pretty damn good. Anytime you have a bass guitarist in a wheelchair and a drummer who can only play one 2 minute song each one-hour set, youre seeing a worthwhile show. (Certainly one that won't be playing much longer.) That night was a wonderland for the senses: the stench of old farts, the off-key notes, and the Oakridge Boy bouffant pompoudar grown to the waist in the back. Amazing. Disturbing how many women rushed the stage desperate to get a handkerchief wiped with this guys chest sweat. I imagine the handkerchief can be rung out over a pot to produce a salty elvis consomme.

Anyway, I will finish by expressing my happiness and excitement that I was not the only family memeber who tried to win the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile contest. My idea was for a dance contest/hot dog eating contest called : "Sun, Fun and a Whole Lotta Bun." I thought my entry was original, organized and well-thought out. Apparently the Hot Dog Gods disagreed.

Finally, I too heard a Viagra story from an un-named family member this past weekend. And although I understand any disappointment, I must wholeheartedly agree with the decision to exclude it from our very public Macaroni Dish. Some stories are just better when told sipping Cinzano under the backyard umbrella.