The answer to your question is "yes."

I was betting on talcum powder when I posted it. But it could be Zeppola Dust (powdered sugar.)

Was Ellie intentionally adding fuel to the fire when she posted a photo that clearly portrays a shockingly large stain on that old couch? Take a look -- it could be anything: the puke of a disgruntled child; talcum powder escaped from some dismal diaper; a smear of mascarpone fallen from an ill-fated dessert plate.

I propose that this blog catalog all the possible sources of that smudge.

Eventually, we can even ask Don Vito if he has any recollection of the staining event. Chances are he doesn't -- I too have suppressed all memories of wearing crushed velvet and bowties. Was it Halloween? Was I supposed to be a jockey? What was that?

Is it just me? Or does reading this make you think of something Bazzukajoe might do to rid himself of a bee swarm?

This too. Joey's everywhere!

Here you see a relatively un-retouched photo of the sectional sofa with a slipcover over it. I only lightened the photo rather than the full restoration I did on the first one (cropping, straightening, scratch and artifact removal, and lots of color corrections before I even got to Airport Guy.)

Enjoy the stroll down memory lane.

Steve and I agree that it's a good photo -- but as we IMed each other to discuss it our attention quickly wandered from that gift-wrapped horror to the intensely-1960s-style couch that props up the tragically-naked toddler.

Look at that thing! And that crazy drift-wood style lamp positioned behind it (making the young Airport Guy appear to be wearing some sort of tiki-crown fit for island royalty, a vengeful proto-god of waterfalls and lava-flows).

As usual, Steve's attention ultimately turned to thoughts of indigestion. Specifically, we marvelled at what must be contained in those couch cushions -- the spittle of infant big-heads... the crumb-crusts of long-forgotten feasts... the combined flatulence of our forebears.

To think: that couch was in service for nearly all of the 60s and 70s, soaking up the detritus of family life, obediently accepting all manner of stink and ass, slumbering quietly like a foot in a black Banlon sock.

Our minds boggled at these and other completely pointless observations. Yes, Steve and I kept that IM session going long beyond that point at which it stopped making sense. We were supposed to be working.

Keeping with the "Junk in a Box" theme, Ellie has scanned one of my baby pictures and placed my "junk in a box." Thanks to Photoshop you can't even believe your eyes anymore.

Ever so slowly I emerge from "some assembly required" hell.

Actually, this has been a fine Christmas. Joe-hio got paroled from the hospital yesterday and was able to join us last night for some shrimp-in-spaghetti, some pan-seared salmon, and some broiled scrod and crab. (Though he demurred when I offered to administer Frylock's prescription for lung-restoration: smearing the hot spaghetti upon his bare chest to allow the garlic vapors to work their magic -- suit yourself, Joe.)

Da Chimpz opened a few gifts last night. The slot car racetrack is a big hit. There were about two million pieces in the box. Maybe three million. It's probably the coolest slot car set-up I've ever seen. Aunt Kay and Uncle Guido rock. The boys opened the balance of their swag this morning as Alane and I narrated who sent what. Then we dressed for the early Mass where Cookie belted out a sprited rendition of the recessional hymn "Joy to the World" -- loud enough that a woman who had been sitting in the back came up to us afterward to thank him for the performance (he learned it in school and was happy to see it on the docket). Then we came back to Berea-Rose for more coffee, some panettone, a few shots of vermouth, and R/C truck assembly (thank you, Grandpa Vito). Every once in a while I grab the 1001 Horrible Facts book and read the boys a little sumthin gross -- they dig on the disgusting stuff.

Oh, by the way: plastic clamshell packaging comes from the Devil. But I suspect you already knew that.

In a few minutes we'll pack the boys up and take them to their grandparents' place for more Christmas merriment. I understand she has a pork roast in the oven that weighs about as much as Mojo -- so we got a lot of eating to do today.

We better get cracking.

Merry Christmas to all! Those of us far from ancestral 38th Street may find comfort in the 21st Century equivalent of a formative tradition. You, too, can download some of the WPIX Yule Log, suitable for playing on your computer (with Quick Time) or your iPod.

Next up: a way to virtually set off a New Year's popper in someone's ear. My apologies to anyone who lost a mouthful of their favorite beverage through their nose due to that last description.

Speaking of music with a seasonal feel, and seeing the links to YouTube, I though that I'd share the following clip that's generated some buzz since it was posted less than a week ago. This is the unedited version of a bit from last week's Saturday Night Live featuring Justin Timberlake and Adam Samberg


It might be a gift idea. Or not.

Driving this mornng with Da Chimpz I blasted some Bootsy Collins Christmas music -- great stuff, seriously. Halfway through one of Bootsy's smooth intonations of funkiness, Mojo asked me this from the backseat:

"Is some of this in a different language?"

I had to think about that for a moment.. "Yo-de-ho-ho, yeaaah, baby!"

This one took a whole lot longer. . .hope you like it. If you don't I can change the background. If you have another shot where Santa's left hand isn't blurred I can clone it in. Anything else you would like, let me know and I can attempt it.

What's wrong with people who live in Ohio? Apparently, the Grinch and the Holy Family are in great danger of being attacked by local idiots.

Eh, whaddya expect from a corner of the state that's so close to Kentucky?

Now wait just a minute: I never said I was going to eat the Brit-food! Of course the food at Spumoni is better -- it's not the food I'm after when I watch Nigella rooting through the shelves of her pantry. But you do mention pudding...

As for the photo retouch -- Ellie has uncovered two chimpanzees otherwise camouflaged by the fireplace's exaggerated glow. And she seems to have cleaned up my living room as well (no small accomplishment these days). I had some other no-flash photos where the lighting worked out better but the boys were making truly ridiculous faces. It's always a trade-off around here.

This morning, following a rain-soaked night, I found that the Grinch was having a problem re-inflating. I left everything switched off for the first part of the day and went out a short while ago to finally investigate. For some reason the Grinch would not stand up straight... He kept drooping to the side, nodding toward the driveway...

After some fumbling around with the guide-lines I found the source of the Grinch's malady: he's got rainwater built up in a fabric-fold the runs around the edge of his hat. I tried squeezing it, tilting it, attempting to pour it down the center but no luck. The weight of the water pulls his head off to the side. I think I'll just have to let it evaporate (and hopefully Alane won't drove the car into the Grinch's face as it leans mockingly over the edge of the driveway).

Saw Ellexa on a webcam call earlier today. She waved to me, said a few word fragments, and crapped on Bazzukajoe's desk. It was cool.

Hope you don't mind the photo editing.

Yesterday was my father's birthday party, we had an excellent time. Not only was everyone happy, gifts were exchanged, and the food was better than any half-rate, large-gummed, British, blood pudding activist line cook on the food network could ever concoct. (But who am I to judge?) For the first time Ellexa and Deklan were interacting with each other. Ellexa kept giving him kisses. It was the cutest start to our first Christmas holiday with Ellexa. I can't wait!
PS-John, I never thanked you for our Christmas goodies. We whipped out all of the Rabbi trading cards at once, while Jenia lost his hand in the tukis of a Boxing rabbi for hours (it's sitting on our counter). And finally...we danced the Hora. We even picked up an empty chair and lifted it up to the heavens for good measure.

Hey Ellexa: good news! The law firm of Cookie, Mojo & Associates has agreed to take your case. Santa Claus will rue the day he ever began this dispute!

Litigating this one promises to be tricky. Aside from serious questions of personal jurisdiction, choice-of-law, and arctic venue there remains that critical logistic challenge: serving process on a guy who zips around on a magic sleigh pulled by flying reindeer. It's hard to write a guy like that a speeding ticket much less put a summons in his fat mitt. Nonetheless, the boys are very excited to be taking a case this far in advance of their sitting for the bar... Mojo already has his opening and closing arguments written -- lots of references to "tattoos on his arms and knees" and how he "wanted candy!"

The eight-foot inflatable Grinch now stands sentry alongside our front door. Pine garland crawls up our (still unlit) lawn light. No more decorating: we're done. I will try to get a photo as it gets dark today -- which may be tough since there's rain in the forecast.

In true mastandrea fashion Ellexa is arguing with Santa. Must have gotten the wrong request. It was a real standoff and santa actuall got up and walked. Of course....

I should check my e-mail more often -- if I did I'd have more regular reminders that Little Vito is completely insane.

I hadn't seen her since her move to Food Network, but last night I caught a bit of Nigella's Christmas Bites. She's a babe. I went to bed shortly thereafter and tried to convince Alane to talk about food with a sultry Brit affectation. The most I could get out of her was a snide comment about sepherd's pie, no accent. Wasn't working for me at all.

This morning is too rainy and windy to puff up the giant nativity scene on our lawn. Maybe this weekend I bring out the giant Grinch and set him up on the other side of the lawn.

Wonderful to see the picture, Bazooka Joe! It's a beautiful tree. My compliments to you and Jessica . We hope to add a little ornament for Ellexa every year.

Well we all know that post office emplyees are a little difficult at times. Our mailman will send back mail if we haven't picked it up in a week. He also has written remarks in marker on packages when the handwriting isn't perfect. The first christmas ornament was perfect. Can you see it on our tree? Yes we went with a small tree this year so ellexa wouldn't take it down. Mine is nothing like the one at Spumoni South. It rotates and can be switched from white to multicolor with its remote control. It also has the king size remote controled Canyon railway train going around it. It makes you wonder..ehere does he get those wonderful toys?...and how did he get that all to look so good in 1 day from his command and his cool his x-men wheel chair. no matter It all was no match for Ellexa She hit that train like godzilla tore up japan.

I apologize for the prolonged absence...work, school and cartoon-work has been kicking my ass...but I'm back. By the way everyone, I think I've officially given up my battle with my mailbox, all my bills now come to the store...Ive decided I'm getting a PO Box and charging it to my douche-bag housing association....but back to the important stuff:
SIXTY YEARS AGO TODAY ROSE AND GIUSEPPE HAD A BIG KAHUNA!! Yup, I called Big Vin to wish him a Happy, Happy this morning and he told me he's so old he remembers when the Bible first came out. The Southern Contingent of Spumoni South will be convening tonight for some early festivities, and then the full assembly will be meeting this weekend...so keep an eye on CNN for any explosions in Jupiter Farms. So I also want to publicly extend the sophisticated discussion that began last night between Dr. Sfingi, BazzukaJoe, Ree and I. Is it healthier for a turd to float or sink to the bottom of the toilet? I personally believe that a sinking shit-log implies heavy, undigested content and therefore consider myself a "Pro-Float". I also imagine if a log is too heavy one runs the risk of a water displacement overflow...and that is never good.

Once again Steve's Christmas card was returned to sender as undeliverable. In addition on the front of the envelope there was WTF hand written on the front in addition to the post-office returned label. I couldn't agree more.

So Merry Christmas, Steve.

We're decorating the tree tonight -- got frasier fir at a nearby farm-stand, the boxes are down from the attic and the Armenian brandy is flowing (thanks again, Andre). We got a few things done last night too, setting up with the ladder and the hanging-icicle-lights on the snowy front step. No dice. Still can't reach high enough. And besides, the foot of the ladder kept sinking into the not-quite-frozen lawn. I don't need additional back injury. So we re-focused our effort on the dogwood-type tree outside the living room window. We coated the thing in lights -- I won't be suprised if the next-door-neighbors ring our bell to complain they can't sleep.

Anyway, the boys are putting ornaments on the tree right now. I better get back down there. Got chicken wings in the oven, smothered in Jamaican jerk spice. Can't wait.

We took Da Chimpz to the town Christmas parade -- pretty cool. Cool, as in, bitter cold. It snowed most of the day so the setting is very "Charlie Brown Christmas," except without the depressing music (I still don't find the singing depressing in that holiday classic -- you people is crazy).

Anyway, the boys like the parade because they got candy. I, on the other hand, was distracted by thoughts of groceries.

I left the festivities a bit early: felt a need to warm my frozen hands, whistle a tune in the basement, call Spumoni South, and upload these videos. Besides, the parade just wasn't as good as Brooklyn's Diwali Parade we saw on local cable access a few years ago. (It's tough to live up to standards like that.)

The snow is piling up around Berea-Rose this morning. I just drove Da Chimpz to school. One of the first things they do in the morning these days is open the doors on their advent calendars. Mojo got the calendar Aunt RoseAnne gave him and opened today's door: the window atop a house in a classic winter setting. Mojo peeled back the flap to find a dove.

"Look, it's just like our house," he said. "A bird in the attic."

Yep.

Yesterday's return flight to Cleveland was torture: tiny seat, packed plane, an hour on the ground after pushing back from the gate. Continental Airlines: I hate you (I hate the air you breathe).

Over the last few days I got to catch up with friends and accomplish a few things at the office. So overall it was a very good trip. But I don't like to be away for more than a couple of nights -- it's good to be back at Berea-Rose.

As usual, the most fulfilling accomplishment in life is to teach the children. So I'm proud to hear that Alexa (just like Da Chimpz) now knows just want happens in the offices and boardrooms of Corporate America:

People talk, talk, talk, talk... (put your fingers in the shape of a duck-head and open and close in a squawk motion to emphasize the monotony -- there, now you have it too).

Every regular reader of the Macaroni Dish knows by now that the Christmas season cannot truly commence until Guido and I have drunk vermouth, eaten pork, and hung the lights.

Tonight, we did all those things. And not for the first time.

As usual, we made some major strategic errors -- the main one stemming from the fact that red vermouth is a harsh thing to drink in large quantities. This year, we cast about for an alternative cocktail. We knew that vermouth was too tied in with tradition to abandon outright: some ceremonial sip of vermouth, however small, would be mandatory. And if vermouth could be incorporated throughout, so much the better.

We considered drinking Manhattans.

This we rejected, deciding that vermouth mixed with whiskey would be much too strong.

So we scanned aisles of the Stew Leonard's wine shop looking for new ideas. We spotted the bottle of dry vermouth on a shelf nearby the gin.

We could have martinis.

This option we cheerfully embraced.

(Now, if the field of everyday life had been staffed with Logic Umpires, it would have been at this point that a whistle would be blown and a red flag thrown to the field: "Logic Failure, deciding to drink gin as if it were beer, 15 yard-penalty, no sale.")

We stacked the old grill with pork and foil-shrouded beets and we set about hanging the lights. It was the crowning effort of an extraordinary weekend: the suprise party yesterday for Andre's upcoming 40th birthday, the totally awesome Skype call Guido set up for his mom to the family in Italy this afternoon, the totally unreasonable amount of alcohol we consumed this evening.

(None of those prissy cocktail olives for us -- we used little gerkins... which was a little strange... and gave our beverages a pronounced "pickle-juice" overtone... we killed the whole bottle of gin... bad ideas all around.)

The lights are lit and that is what matters this season. That and re-hydration: waking up for work tomorrow morning is going to be killer.

What does breakfast look like on the morning after Thanksgiving? It looks a lot like a burger. And Ree is a good sport.

Turns out other people have posted video of themselves sampling marshmallow cheeseburgers. Those guys look like they should be wearing condiments when they do that. Here's one in the microwave.

Wow! What a great Thanksgiving. Thanks to everyone that came and shared the day with us--it was much fun and definitely good eats. To everyone else--sure wish you could have been here. We are now gearing up for Christmas and the Grinch may soon be heading to the front yard instead of our living room. John has started to put up the lights and currently it looks very stately--I'm sure that will change when we add the rest of the lights and all the other items to our yard. I can't wait.

John heads to New York this weekend so it will be me and the chimps against the world. We will probably do one of the five hundred Christmas activities I want to do.

Marlena, it drove me insane trying to remember the name of the Capri Sun that is all fruit juice--but when I was packing Joseph's lunch it was in his lunchable--it is called Fruit Waves. By the way my mother got the angel and it is beautiful. It was so kind of you to think of her and my dad.

What, no more Astrotower? We never went to Astroland much, if at all -- our trips to Coney Island were often early-morning visits, traipsing over the pedestrian bridge in the serenity of sunrise, the boardwalk ahead, Astroland to our right. If we hit the amusement parks at all it was after beach-time, usually as things were starting to get crowded on the sidestreets between the boardwalk and Surf Ave. We never stayed very long; maybe we'd hit the bumper cars and shooting gallery. Then we'd head back to the F train to head home -- but not before a stop for taffy and candy-crusted popcorn (seems Don Vito always had a weakness for candy counters).

Of course, Coney Island was a shit-hole even back then (think of those scenes from the movie "The Warriors" -- put aside he ridiculous plot and remind yourself that the scary cityscape was pretty accurate). Now I'm trying to picture a modern water-park in that area. Could be interesting.

On my flight to New York earlier this month my plane crossed the Atlantic coastline just south of Coney Island, then veered around to cross over Brooklyn and Queens to circle for LGA. I got a great view of everything. The parachute jump is still there -- now that's the thing they should re-commission -- clanking up the side of all that salt-eaten steel would be scarier than the Cyclone.

It was a little eerie (a Lake of Eerie, if you will) that as soon as we all grouped up on Wednesday evening, the cooking started -- and not just any cooking, but coordinated, methodical gang-attacks that reduced plain foods into dishes worthy of the holiday table.

It was as if we had rehearsed or something, the way Marlo and Ree clicked right into high gear. That kitchen was humming! (Oh, and so was the grill outside -- at one point its grate was stacked with the dutch oven of potatoes, the full roasting pan of dressing, and the large tray of lasagna.)

We ate. We told ridiculous stories. It was a fanstastic holiday.

And yes, there's still a ton of leftover turkey. Can I interest anyone in a sammich?

The new camera for Christmas takes some spiffy video. Still getting the hang of it -- most clips are too large for YouTube. Here are da boyz reporting on da menu.

Three of the dishes to take with me tomorrow are done. I made au gratin potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes and zebra brownies (chocolate and vanilla cheesecake with an Oreo crust.)

The fourth, a pecan pie, died in the oven. Our oven is a disaster zone anyway because it was not installed right and the door doesn't shut. After several hours of cooperating it decided to burn the top of the pecan pie to an unrecognizable char while leaving the filling soupy. What a waste of expensive ingredients. It was probably my prettiest crust ever with cutout leaves all around the rim. As soon as it cools it goes up the hill to the compost heap. Maybe some mouse or squirrel will find the pecans a delicious Thanksgiving treat!

I have two more pies to make crust and bake. Both will be pumpkin and both baked later this evening when the oven has a chance to cool off and perhaps, Lord willin' , work right. I am not going to try the pecan pie again because I have made five trips to the grocery store to buy ingredients as the menu changed and quite frankly, I am broke.

My friend, Michael, is driving his Mercedes tomorrow so I will just lean back and relax on the 45 minute drive to the cabin (also so that we can escape as soon as possible together with one of us pleading a migraine. Me probably. And probably the truth.) He was a last minute invite and our hostess gave him a list of things to bring as well so we were just commiserating on the phone about how we wished we had just had T-day dinner with each other and called it a day~

Just another reason I am looking forward to a change of scenery. I cannot begin to count the reasons, but they mount up daily. The first and foremost is family!

As Pizza Joe pointed out, we were two Joes short of a complete reunion. Joey Head was missing as was Berea Joe. It was a blast visiting Peppe's. I recommend the lasagna and the Italian hoagie. It was also a blast delivering a pizza to Rosina and Lenny on Sunday and two pies to Ohio yesterday. One pie remains for Don Vito, Merle and Ree to sample later today. Perhaps they will blog their reviews. Pizza Joe welcomes all to visit. I don't have a camera so there are no pictures. However, that is a built-in excuse to visit again.

I showed Pizza Joe several recent photos and videos from this blog and e-mailed the links to his brother Vito. I couldn't help but show Pizza Joe the infamous meatpipe post so it is now a legend in another state.

On Saturday night I called Spumoni to say, "Hi," then passed the phone to Pizza Joe to stun Marie. On Monday night Pizza Joe called the Kahuna to settle a question posed by yet another former resident of 1522. It turns out that this other former resident of 1522 vivdly remembers grandpa playing the accordian and - get this - also relocated to northeast PA to open his own pizza place. In short, it was the Kahuna's turn to be stunned by phone.

Yesterday I did help a little with the oven and counter, serving three slices to a guy named Leon who stated that he was from the Bronx. Did I miss an unwriten rule? Was I supposed to move to PA?

Joey is right about the rotary dial phone at the castle. Pizza Joe has everything you could want to hear on the juke box at Peppe's Pizza: rock, pop, country, Neil Diamond, Sinatra and Dean Martin. And Pepino, that crazy mouse. Someone will have to show the brothers how to load their ipods. Then, watch out!

Once they are filling their own ipods, can SKYPE and blogging be far behind?

Thanks, Spumoni Joey! I haven''t had a pain pill all day (although I will have to cave in soon and take one.)

I hope to encourage all of you to get SKYPE and a microphone & speakers or a headset microphone . . .I think it has potential for conference calling although we haven't checked it out yet. . .it would be chaotic for all of us to chat at once. . .but fun, too. We might be able to get Vinny, Marie and Vito to use the computer if all they have to do is click a button and then chat for free. . .

I have been chatting with JoeMaha on SKYPE and he sounds like the trip is enjoyable for the most part so far.

I also got to chat briefly with Aunt Rosina and Uncle Lenny on his cell phone. What a blast! I dearly love this whole family but they hold a special place in my heart. We shared gardening stories this past summer and I have some cherished seeds stored from their garden: baseball bat squash and broccoli rabe.

I will probably call Berea Rose and Spumoni South on Thanksgiving. I am regretting my agreement to cook for the family reunion as they have changed the menu three times plus keep adding dishes they want me to prepare. I think I know why chefs have a higher suicide rate.

Good thing I am doing this once and only once.

Wow Ellie. That is an amazing occurence. I am happy for your new found facial freedom. In our family not being able to smile and laugh is a disability. And Joe wasn't there to appreciate it. He was out with Pizza Joe saucing the town. I haven't seen Pizza Joe in a while. Now there is a funny guy, i wonder if he let Joe Maha work the counter or the ovens? Now there had better be pictures of all this. Joe and Joe probably should not be allowed to work in the same kitchen. Wish I was there. I'd be the missing Joe.

So my dad has talked the Uncle V into buying an ipod. I do not know how to respond to this. I do not recall there being a touchtone phone at castle 1526 and we know how the direct deposit thing went over. Is there not some fundamental law of physics that prevents you from jumping across evolutionary milestones. What i find most interesting is the fact that neither brother owns or uses a personal computer. I am fascinated. Its a great thing. I am greatly moved by the amount of ambition and emotion my uncle V expresses regularly at Spumoni and I am sure it has everything to do with Big Vin. It is an ideal relationship when 1 brother is mild and impressionable and the other is eccentric and relentless. It is not always so ideal for the mother but hey she has new job so she can get away once in a while.

Test your knowledge about the big T-day bird.

I'm under the impression that there's a big football game about to happen around here. One way I know this: when I took Da Chimpz to the barber shop just now to get their heads shorn they offered to add red Ohio State coloring free of charge. Go for it, I said. Now they're walking around looking like a couple of lit cigars.

After the haircut we went to the Giant Beagle supermarket next door. I got some things for this week's festivities. In the bread aisle I spotted something I haven't seen in years: Hostess Sno-Balls. I got a package of two. Once I got home and put everything away I decided to try one. It was perfectly awful. As I broke it apart the white, coconut-dusted marshmallow coating stretched implausible. "Like chicken skin," Alane commented. That rubberized coating, the dirt-brown cake it concealed, and the white paste of filling inside that -- each was bad in its own right, contributing to an even worse whole. Blech-o.

Maybe one of Da Chimpz will eat the one that I left on the table. Or maybe they'll take it into their room and make a robot out of it.

This morning's snack went much better: I made a big cup of coffee for myself and opened up a tiny box of pannetone -- a 3oz jobbie that looked more like wooden cupcake than anything else. I peeled away the ornate brown wrapper and got myself into holiday gear. How can dry bread-like cake make a person so happy? Some mysteries are better left unresolved.

You people in Florida are way ahead. Yeah, when most people have parties they bring in caterers, clowns, or hot dog wagons. But a real live fire truck? That's almost bachelor party material!

I never make a long story short, so call me "Tolstoy." However I want to provide some backstory and then tell you about how life can change in a moment when least expected. (IRONY)

Backstory: In 1992 I was injured in a mishap. It was life-changing and I will finally admit that I had no clue who Joe and Jennifer (my youngest) were when I woke up from the head injury. It's been a long road back complete with a quack for a doctor that prevented me from getting the real help I needed. Lessons learned and all that.

Several surgeries and lots of PT later I was told that what I had back was all I was getting back physically. I usually say that I am numb from the cheek bones to my toes, but that isn't accurate. I am leaden from my cheekbones to my toes except for neuropathy pain and all that fun stuff.

After the last surgery I was left with a grimace on my face that makes me look angry and hateful enough to bite nails and unable to smile as I once did. The timbre of my voice changed, too, and peanuts and carrots became deadly foods (swallowing disorder.) You all know about the light-cycling fun where even strong sunlight can sometimes cause a migraine and cookie-tossing. What I missed most, even when I was thrilled to be learning to walk again, was the ability to smile.

I had a smile that would cause people to come up to me and ask if I really was that happy all the time. (The answer was 'yes.')

Enough backstory. (and NO pity please.)

Yesterday I was sick. Really sick. I wanted toast but I couldn't go to the store to buy bread. I baked bread. I bent over at an odd angle to get a loaf pan out of the bottom cabinet and it was like an electrical storm from the base of my skull to my toes. (If I were closer-kin to you all I might tell you why I bent over at an odd angle but that involves bodily functions you all enjoy chatting about far more than I do. Suffice it to say I didn't want to change clothes yet again.)

The result of the electrical storm is that I have feeling back in my face and feel like my body has been released from a vice. I feel a hundred pounds lighter. I can smile with my whole face again. So many mornings I have woken up with my mouth full of enamel crumbs where my clenched jaws scraped the enamel off my teeth. Feeling my face is weird, but it's a weird that I can enjoy. YIPPEE! Whether this lasts or not, I have cause to celebrate. I hope this makes you all smile, too!

PS If this doesn't last and you all see me looking mad as the Queen of Hearts, don't assume I am angry, please. It's out of my control and distresses me a bit, too.

From the relative discomfort of our elliptical trainer I watched The Simpsons tonight. In the opening credits Bart was seen through the schoolhouse window writing something like:

We're not all naked under our clothes.

It's not just that the statement is incorrect -- I thought I was the first to posit that we indeed are naked under our clothes.

It happened at college graduation, 1988, and I made the comment as a quick defensive move. Even at the time I suspected it wasn't a completely original thought -- still I thought it was pretty clever.

The context was a very hot day in May. I decided to forego the suit and tie and attend the commencement ceremony au naturel beneath my cap and gown. It wasn't really a stunt -- I didn' tell anyone. People would see the mortaboard cap up top, motorcycle boots down below, and a dark gown in the middle. Who would know?

Well, we lined up and waited. Regina, being next in alphabetical order, stood alongside me and we chatted. At some point she put her arm around my waist and, well, noticed a lack of waistband. She lauged uproariously, even as I urged her to keep it quiet -- I knew the school was still on edge from the previous year's graduation prank featuring Ed Merhige (yeah, that Ed Merhige) tearing off his gown and rushing the stage while wearing a giant strap-on phallus. Sure enough, as word spread about my, er, choice of foundations, a concerned-looking student life director came over to interrogate me:

"Uh, are you wearing anything under that gown?" he asked.

And that's when it just sort of fell out of my mouth:

"Are you wearing anything uder your clothes?"

Original insight or not, it defused the situation. I got my degree, put on clothes, and was treated to a lovely sushi dinner in Hawthorne.

Pointless story? You bet. But I gotta have something to think about as I'm working out on the elliptical. After about 30 minutes of that (I don't have an attention span to go longer) I sat down with the boys to watch the last minutes of The Simpsons. That's when Mojo's loose tooth finally came out. His first! (A little late, if you ask me -- not only had Cookie lost several by this time last year, but Mojo's permanent teeth are already filling in... behind the baby teeth... in a second row... kind-a like a shark).

No meatballs today: roast pork instead. It came out very nice. I made some broccoli rabe on the side, along with sauted mushrooms and polenta slices (the fancy-schmancy supermarket had a big tube of polenta, so I bought it).

It was nasty rainy today, so we stayed in most of the day: Mass at 7:30, breakfast with Joe and Jean afterward, and then a trip to Home Depot for odds and ends. After that we did some Erector Set construction before Alane got the pig-slab into the oven.

Da Chimpz are still digging the night-in-shining-armor stuff -- they covered it yesterday at Cookie's Cub Scout meeting, and I took the opportunity to get Excalibur from the library. That's a great movie (though I couldn't get the boys to sit through the whole thing -- wouldn't want them to anyway). Tonight I read them the (abbreviated) story of Saint George. I recall those terrible commercials from WLIR:

"Does the dragon have fire in his lungs and does he breathe it?"

Yeah baby! I used to drive around in my Beetle with a cassette tape playing in the glovebox-mounted deck: Golden Shower of Hits recorded on one side and We're the Meatmen and You Suck recorded on the other.

Those were the days of real music... I only recently found the Butthole Surfers' Rembrandt Pussyhorse on mp3 (what am I gonna do with vinyl these days?).

Marlo, you bringin' back the memories...

I love my Human Sexuality class, not because of its contents, but because my teacher, Dr. Skinner, is so lively. He's the guy that hooked me up with the Sea World Killer Whale Watch. Where I got to deeply exploit orca behavior around the clock. Documenting bowel movements, arousal, you name it. So this morning we discussed sexuality in children, or shall we say experimentation in children. Then he put on a video of young boys sitting around playing with their jiblets, and said "Sometimes children will engage in circle jerks." I nearly exploded, all I could think of was John and Guido discussing a band they liked back in the '80s named the Circle Jerks. I'm glad I had this class because I would still be convinced it was a punk band with a funny name, not a name of such substance. Rock on.

These gorillas wake up entirely too early -- cutting into my pre-dawn coffee-drinking and newspaper-reading time. I went to BJ's Wholesale last night and picked up, among many other things, a bag of ciabatta rolls. On the way back I stopped at Heinen's, the local version of a Food Emporium (or what that used to be), and got a dish of prepared broccolini. I got home, heated a roll, nuked the greens, annointed it all with olive oil, and had myself a killer sammich. Washed it down with some Merlot -- Little Penguin, cheap but pretty good. Hear that Leni? We're going to do wine-tasting when you get here -- you're not leaving until you can tell the difference between a chianti and a pinot noir with cheese-blocks taped over your eyeballs. (I'm not sure I can do that myself; maybe I need to do a dry run tonight!)

Vote early and vote often, they say. So that's what I did this morning after leaving Da Chimpz at school. I got to my polling place and after a short wait stood at a Diebold terminal to enter my selections... only to have the machine malfunction before my vote could be cast. I called over some worried-looking poll-workers who voided my completed but not-yet-cast electronic ballot, opened the fritzy-printer mechanism, and directed me to a different terminal that appeared to operate normally.

I never thought I'd be nostalgic for those ridiculously-outdated painted steel behemoths of New York with the little levers and the big red curtain handle.

Cookie wrote in his journal tonight about how he is an election assistant. The spelling made the words almost unrecognizable, but I'm a little surprised that he took it on himself to write something up in his notebook. He's doing very well with reading. Last night we all went to the library (where we did not happen to see Carl Monday with his pants at his ankles) and got them some bedtime books. Last night I read them the story of Perseus slaying Medusa. Tomorrow I'll read about Hercules' to-do list.

A few years back, Al Pacino starred in a movie called "Any Given Sunday". To my sincere disappointment, it turned out to be just another film about football...this is what it should have looked like. We had a blast this weekend with Merle and Jenia, who journeyed to Spumoni South for our local Italian Festival which provided us all with plenty of limoncello and fried ravioli, as well as an endless supply of hysterical people to look at. (We do in fact have pictures to prove the latter, but the public nature of the blog prohibits me from posting). It was also fantastic speaking with Guido on Friday (who we all love and miss), and I hope our Scott Baio story helped break the ice with his ex-celebrity-kindred coworker. Anyway, its just about time for a cup of "cawf" and some pastry that the Vin-man bought at the Feast. Indeed my life is good.

American Airlines? They're slipping. Two days ago I was scheduled to depart from Baton Rouge on American at 3:25 PM. That particular piece of hardware didn't leave Houston until 4 PM! Payback, of course, for TSA not strip searching me. How long did that gushy KY feeling last, anyway?

I suspect that many of us can identify with the bored flight attendant droning on with their well-rehearsed safety briefing. Necessary? You bet. Fun? Rarely.

Two nights ago I flew on that rare, fun flight.

It started innocently enough, with the early announcement that cell phone would have to be turned off when the jet bridge door closed.

Once the cabin door closed things changed for the better. The head flight attendant said, "Those of you still on your cell phones, repeat after me. Honey, I love you, I'll call you when I get to Omaha. Goodbye."

He then said that we'd be flying the 584 miles to Omaha at "33,000 feet and 7 inches" and that "the temperature in Omaha was minue three degrees...," and, after a long pause, "Celsius. That's 28 degrees Farenheit."

He started the seat belt portion of the safety briefing saying, "This is for those of you who haven't ridden in a car for the last 40 years..."

Normally you hear that a sudden loss of cabin pressure causes masks to drop. Rarely do they specifically tell you to, "Stop screaming, put on and tighten your mask, then pull on the tubing to start the flow of oxygen. And if you're travelling with a child, or someone who is acting like one, put your mask on before helping them with theirs."

A newly required announcement, he indicated, was that "The forward lavatory is for the use of First Class passengers only. The rest of us will have to use the two porta-potties at the rear of the plane."

We got the normal warning that they'd turn off the lights inside the cabin before takeoff, but I never knew it was "to enhance the looks of the flight crew."

We landed a little early and he said that we should consider it a payback on previous delays. Of course that didn't make up for the earlier flight that day, so they still owe me. But it caused me to make the later flight, which was more entertaining than most.

The porta potty comment made me wonder if he was one of us.

Just got in after spending a few days in the big, big city. The experience was typical: I tried to time the limo to leave me a safe cushion but we hardly made it a block down Seventh Avenue before were stuck in a snarled Times Square traffic and some nasty cross-town congestion. I began to fear that I'd left too little time. But once we got through the tunnel and into Queens it was smooth sailing to LGA. Got through the TSA disrobe/dress insanity, made it to my gate at around 7:00, and the monitor showed my 7:45 flight as "On Time."

Yeah, right.

The hardware didn't even arrive until 8:00 and we didn't get loaded, belted, and off the ground until about an hour after that. Screw you, American Airlines.

Anyway, I stayed at Guido and Kay's the last couple of nights and it was much fun. We even consult with Frylock last night so we could send Guido to work today with interesting stories to tell co-worker. After talking to Frylock, Guido and I had a very exciting time: we sat up drinking port wine and watching Nova. Black holes: pockets of infinite mass dimpling space-time. I wanted to send the bastard into a black hole this morning when he busted into the bathroom to pour a bucket of ice on me in the shower. Puckered my nebulae like I really didn't need. "You dick!" I screamed and caught sight of Kay in the other room, fixing her hair, shaking her head, perhaps wondering if we were all back in college. Kay and I rode the train together this morning, searching the New York Post for outrageous headlines.

I miss the Post.

Next week, I get back to a more reasonable commute -- journeying each morning from the bed in the next room to the desk in this room. The way it ought to be.

Wow. I feel so humbled and satisfied. We are so fortunate to have all of you behined us during this move. I know there will be razzle dazzle in this one as well. As a matter of fact, I'm almost sure there will be more. Exrazzle Dazzle. I love you all so very much. Thank you again for all of your love and support. Many Kisses.

Well--even if it's a bad song, I would guess that would be better than the no song which is my category. And my guess is that there will be no Alane song. Now if someone did an Alane song, I'm not sure what genre I would like--half of me says that Alejandro Escovedo and Patty Griffin could do some serious lyrical magic and it would be this moody folky piece that leaves you feeling just a little sad after hearing it. The other half says it should be some sort of total nonsensical song like Mony, Mony.

Yesterday was all Saints day. The school the boys attend let the first graders come in dressed as a saint for the mass. So once again, not really thinking things through to well, I opted to dress Cookie as St. Jude Thaddeus. First I did not realize that it would be nay near impossible to find a white sheath like thing to use as the main garment. I did go on line and found a Jesus costume for kids but I just wasnt willing to pay out for it. So therefore on sunday i was madly dashing to target to see if I could find the elusive vestment. Luckily they had a clearance cleopatra costume that I was able to turn into a serviceable white dress thing. I then needed a walking stick--which seemed like it should be easy to find and once again proved daunting. I found a long bamboo stick at a craft store that was suppose to have a flower on the end but it had fallen off. I took it up to the cash register to purchase this prize and the lady just gave it to me. St. Jude is always pictured with this medallion that is suppose to be this piece of fabric Christ wiped his face on and gave to Jude to give to a king to cure himself. So I was in need of a shroud of turin type thing. So at about 10:00 at night I'm cutting up this picture of the shroud of turin john printed for me and attempting to glue it to a paper plate. Which all seemed so wrong--it was just a bit creepy cutting a reproduction shroud and gluing it. I was then frantically coloring the edges of the plate gold to complete this thing. I finally finished about 11:00 and vowed that Joseph would be a much easier saint next year. At least I have the sheath ready to go...
The amazing thing about this whole thing was almost the whole class was dressed as saints, and some of these folks had way more elaborate get ups then cookie. I will have John post St. Jude and his brethren as I am not technically savy enough to do it.

Steve, Adam Sandler's song is about a guy who just doesn't give a rats. I think it's great, that's all you need. Ooh, John gave me a cd with a song called Marlena on the Wall, by Suzanne Vega. Good stuff, I like it, thank you! Unfortunately sometimes Name-song association isn't always a fun time. When I have children, I want to name one of my daughters Lola. I love the name, it makes me happy, shows free spirit, and shall I dare to say...it's feminine. Anytime the conversation comes up someone sings Lola by the Kinks, about a trannie. Makes me queasy. Billy Joel sings a song about Viktor, a Ukranian veteran who gives balloons to kids, it's nice but a little creepy. I'd rather hear about Victor, the Ukranian veteran who carries refrigerators on his back, and eats display fish at buffets, but that could just be me.

I'm working at my desk and in the last hour I've heard "Mandy" by Barry Manilow and "Brandy" by Looking Glass, and I started thinking how first names are viewed by different songwriters. The Mandys and Brandys of the world have an inherent positive association with their name. My sisters are both lucky...there is "Three Marlenas" by the Wallflowers, as well as "Marlena" by the Four Seasons (which by the way has an excellent doo-doo doody-doo refrain), each song depicting the singer pining for a chance to be near her. There are too many pop hits named "Maria", but I'll mention the Ricky Martin and West Side Story versions(although my favorite unquestionably remains the TKA dance classic in where the singer is jealous of the drug dealer shes dating) but once again both songs are a celebration of the title character's beauty and virtue. There is "Oh Marie" by Louie Prima, and even "Vincent" by Don McLean, (albeit a sad ode to Van Gogh ), there is "Johnny Be Good" by Chuck Berry or "John the Revelator" by Depeche Mode, there is "Good Golly Miss Molly" by Little Richard and my personal favorite " Joey" by Concrete Blonde. Everyone in my family has a nice song....except for Frylock. Can anyone think of a single song that paints a nice picture of Steve? There is only two songs that I can think of that even mention my name, and well you decide.....

1. "Lets Talk About AIDS" by Salt n Pepa, in which the lyric goes "Uh oh...Steve forgot the condoms"

2. "Steve Polychronopolous" by Adam Sandler. Heres a verse from that:
"I'll leave your gate open
So your dog runs away I
'll make fun of your pimple
Then I'll grab your sister's ass
'Cause my name's Steve Motherfucking Polychronopolous

Anyway, time for me to return to work. State Buon.

It's around this time each year that we dress Da Chimpz like little boys wearing Holloween costumes and parade them around the neighborhood collecting sweets. This year our little ninjas met up with their pals from around the block and quadruple-teamed several unsuspecting area homes.

Alane led them about; I stayed behind to distribute the candy. There sure are a lot of kids in this area! We ran out of swag about an hour and a half into the festivities -- I quickly turned off the porch light, closed the front door and drew the curtains. If we get egged, I don't want to know about it until morning.

Right now Cookie is downstairs doing his homework. In a few minutes we will chase ghosts in the attic. Well, not really ghosts, but a bird I heard flapping around this afternoon. Better get the little bastard before he craps on everything. Not sure how to be rid of the little beast once I find him... I'll make it up as I go along. And I'll bring Da Chimpz. Maybe I'll read some Poe to them before we venture up there -- give them some real Halloween excitement.

Nevermore, indeed.

UPDATE: Too late to free the trapped sparrow -- we opened the attic door and it lay there dead at the bottom of the stairs. Breathed its last. An ex-sparrow. Not even nailed to its perch. Who knows how long it has been trapped up there. Got a shovel from the garage and did the disposal thing.

The greatest thing about moving is taking a piece of you and giving it back to the commnity. I'm totally psyched for you guys to move to Groveland. (Let's take notice that I have been pronouncing it like it's a theme park, and will continue to, it's just more fitting.) I'd be psyched if you guys up and went to Oregon. No matter where you go, love, laughter, the sausage and peppers, pizziola, all of that remains the same. I think we should all come up with a location and move there together in 2015. It's been since 1985 (at least) since we all lived nearby. I'm ready for a revolution, the Ravioli Revolution. All of us, I'm not talking about living on the same block (although that does make me weak in the knees)but the same state, if not the same region. Someone mentioned Georgia, I'm game! The Connecticutians and I talk rather frequently (Kris & Stef), and we all agree that no matter how hairy the future may seem or become that we will try our best despite periods of inactivity in between to settle down together. They approached me about it, and I took very kindly to it, now I'm sharing it with you because I love you. Holla back.

Ree speaks much wisdom: Groverland is a way cool place and I can't wait for the new homestead(s) to be built. But don't disparage Spumoni South! I have some truly stupendous memories of feasts indulged in its hallowed halls. And how many times I'd make that left turn on Mellen-head Lane (Slow for Horses!), with car seats full of Publix bags and eyeglass lenses full of sweat. To think: in Goverland when it is time to hit golfballs you will have access to an actual fairway! No more need to launch them surreptitiously from the front lawn as we once did... into the parking lot of the church across the road... soaked in lighter fluid... alight... brimstone from a providential heaven.

I can't quite visualize the new world order once Spumoni Gardens South relocates it headquarters to Groveland, Florida...maybe its because the decade of memories in Jupiter Farms sparkle so vividly in my mind or because its still a year away...but what I know for certain is that legends will continue to be made. That said, I couldn't be happier that General Vin and Admiral Marie have Undersecretary Ree helping oversee the new operations.
So I just wanted to tell her how proud I am of her. Ree, you are a beautiful, mature and intelligent young adult....and as you're well aware, my deeply treasured friend. So I too, get a little teary when I think of next year's move because 1. I'm exhilarated that you will finally received what you've been wishing for. and 2. I'm terrified of being so far away from you. Amazing things lie ahead for you...you're a shooting star and I think you belong in a place where the skies are clearer, and more people are looking up. But enough of my sniffling (by the way I'm still not as emo as Broadway Joe, who bawled through his wedding vows).

So on a amore amusing note, I recently treated myself to a new XM receiver which I bring with me to work, right now Billy Ocean's "Get Outta My Dreams and Into My Car" is playing...it was preceded by Journey's "Separate Ways". Work may be long but it certainly could be a lot lot worse.

Today I celebrate life and all that it has to offer. I realized recently that no matter how much you can harp and complain about how life is treating you, the future is much brighter in the end. Today my mother, father, and I went for a morning walk. It was really awesome. I've always been one who enjoys walking places, so the idea was delightful to me. We decided to walk up Mellen Lane instead of Indiantown Road to be closer to home. There we got to see all the new houses that were built and renovated. Immediately the conversation veered toward my new house-to-be in Groveland. My mother pointed out the colors, the roof tops, the porches, the landscape, the driveways, and the garages. It made my anticipation grow higher than ever before. That's when I realized how truly excited I am for this move. Ever since we moved away from Marisa Circle, I've longed for the feeling of being a part of something big, something that showed who I am and what I stand for. For me, Jupiter Farms never was a place where I could go outside and hang out with my friends, for I was just too different. I was family oriented and my life didn't revolve around the next time I was getting high or crapping in the woods behind my house. With that said, Jupiter Farms has made me grow into a nonconformist, a happy outsider if you will. A girl who's heart only grows larger and larger creating more and more space for more people to love. I guess you can say that I have Jupiter Farms to thank for helping me understand that the "big" thing that I was a part of was this family. As my mother talked about her plans for our new home, a million things ran through my mind showing me how blessed I was to have such luck and such a loving union of people. I literally burst into tears.Pretty soon I'll be part of a community again and one that will welcome my chosen profession. My dad will be making friends left and right, getting kisses from all the "nice girls" and my mother and I will be taking care everybody. Life will good. This is one of the best things that we can do. This move is about the future and all that it has to offer. I'm so excited.

Da Chimpz can now recite whole scenes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

My work here is done.

Salsa lessons? Sounds like fun! I instructed in Baltimore two weeks ago. I hadn't been there since 2001 and their Little Italy is being squeezed like Little Italy in NYC. If you're near the Inner Harbor I recomend the calamari and linguine at Delasio's

Since Ellie and I are the only bloggers to get this from Terry and Andy in Little Italy in NYC I thought I'd share it. Males will need to reverse a gender reference in number 36


40 common things in the life of an Italian Child:
01.You have at least one relative who wore a black dress every day for an entire year after a funeral.
02.You spent your entire childhood thinking what you ate for lunch was pronounced "sangwich."
03.Your family dog understood Italian.
04. Every Sunday afternoon of your childhood was spent visiting yourgrandparents and extended family.
05. You've experienced the phenomena of 150 people fitting into 50 squarefeet of yard during a family cookout.
06.You were surprised to discover the FDA recommends you eat three meals aday, not seven.
07.You thought killing the pig each year and having salami, capacollo,pancetta and prosciutto hanging out to dry from your shed ceiling was absolutely normal.
08.You ate pasta for dinner at least three times a week, and every Sunday.
09.You grew up thinking no fruit or vegetable had a fixed price and thatthe price of everything was negotiable through haggling.
10.You were as tall as your grandmother by the age of seven.
11.You thought everyone's last name ended in a vowel.
12.You thought nylons were supposed to be worn rolled to the ankles.
13.Your mom's main hobby is cleaning.
14.You were surprised to find out that wine was actually sold in stores.
15.You thought that everyone made their own tomato sauce.
16.You've never had anything less than a 7 course meal on Christmas, and Easter for that matter.
17.You ate your salad with main course.
18.You thought Catholic was the only religion in the world.
19. Your were beaten at least once with a wooden spoonor and a broom.
20.You thought every meal had to be eaten with a hunk of bread in your left hand.
21.You can understand Italian but you can't speak it.
22.You have at least one relative who came over on the boat.
23.All of your uncles fought in a World War.
24.You have at least six male relatives named Mike, Joe, Tony,or Angelo
25.You have relatives who aren't really your relatives..
26.You have relatives you don't speak to.
27.You drank wine before you were a teenager.
28.You relate on some level, admit it, to the Godfather and the Sopranos.
29.You grew up in a house with a yard that didn't have one patch of dirtthat didn't have a flower or a vegetable growing out of it.
30.Your grandparent's furniture was as comfortable as sitting on plastic.Wait!!!! You were sitting on plastic.
31.You thought that talking loud was normal.
32.You thought sugared almonds and the Tarantella were common at allweddings.
33.You thought everyone got pinched on the cheeks and money stuffed in their pockets by their relatives.
34.Your mother is overly protective of the males in the family no matterwhat their age.
35.There was a crucifix in every room of the house
36.You couldn't date a boy without getting approval from your father. (oh,and he has to be Italian)
37.You called pasta "macaroni".
38.You dreaded taking out your lunch at school
39. Going out for a cup of coffee usually meant going out for a cup ofcoffee over Zia's house.
40.Every condition, ailment, misfortune, memory loss and accident wasattributed to the fact that you didn't eat something.

We need to add "Steve to number 24. We still abide by number 31. And number 9? I hear you might not want to suit shop with a couple of guys we know.

Salsa classes? Sounds like more fun than I've been having. Two weeks ago I instructed in Baltimore. I hadn't been to Baltimore since 2001 and noticed I that their Little Italy is being squeezed by it's neighbors just like Litte Italy in NYC. I recommend the Calamari and Linguine at Dalesio's if you're near the Inner Harbor. I also spent this week preparing for a huge three-county drill that we participated in yesterday.

I noticed that only Ellie and I were the only bloggers here that got this list from Terry and Andy in Little Italy, NYC. It's a little lengthy but you're all bound to find it a stroll down amnesia lane. Note to males: reverse the gender-specific reference in number 36.

40 common things in the life of an Italian Child:
01.You have at least one relative who wore a black dress every day for an entire year after a funeral.
02.You spent your entire childhood thinking what you ate for lunch waspronounced "sangwich."
03.Your family dog understood Italian.
04. Every Sunday afternoon of your childhood was spent visiting yourgrandparents and extended family.
05. You've experienced the phenomena of 150 people fitting into 50 squarefeet of yard during a family cookout.
06.You were surprised to discover the FDA recommends you eat three meals aday, not seven.
07.You thought killing the pig each year and having salami, capacollo,pancetta and prosciutto hanging out to dry from your shed ceiling wasabsolutely normal.
08.You ate pasta for dinner at least three times a week, and every Sunday.
09.You grew up thinking no fruit or vegetable had a fixed price and that the price of everything was negotiable through haggling.
10.You were as tall as your grandmother by the age of seven.
11.You thought everyone's last name ended in a vowel.
12.You thought nylons were supposed to be worn rolled to the ankles.
13.Your mom's main hobby is cleaning.
14.You were surprised to find out that wine was actually sold in stores.
15.You thought that everyone made their own tomato sauce.
16.You've never had anything less than a 7 course meal on Christmas, and Easter for that matter.
17.You ate your salad with main course.
18.You thought Catholic was the only religion in the world.
19. Your were beaten at least once with a wooden spoon and / or a broom.
20.You thought every meal had to be eaten with a hunk of bread in your left hand.
21.You can understand Italian but you can't speak it.
22.You have at least one relative who came over on the boat.
23.All of your uncles fought in a World War.
24.You have at least six male relatives named Mike, Joe, Tony,or Angelo
25.You have relatives who aren't really your relatives.
26.You have relatives you don't speak to.
27.You drank wine before you were a teenager.
28.You relate on some level, admit it, to the Godfather and the Sopranos.
29.You grew up in a house with a yard that didn't have one patch of dirt that didn't have a flower or a vegetable growing out of it.
30.Your grandparent's furniture was as comfortable as sitting on plastic. Wait!!!! We were sitting on plastic.
31.You thought that talking loud was normal.
32.You thought sugared almonds and the Tarantella were common at all weddings.
33.You thought everyone got pinched on the cheeks and money stuffed intheir pockets by their relatives.
34.Your mother is overly protective of the males in the family no matterwhat their age.
35.There was a crucifix in every room of the house,
36.You couldn't date a boy without getting approval from your father. (oh,and he has to be Italian)
37.You called pasta "macaroni".
38.You dreaded taking out your lunch at school
39. Going out for a cup of coffee usually meant going out for a cup ofcoffee over Zia's house.
40. Every condition, ailment, misfortune, memory loss and accident was attributed to the fact that you didn't eat something.

We might want to add "Steve" to number 24. We also need to modify number 29 to include herbs like basil. And number 9? I hear that you might not want to suit shop with a couple of guys I know.

Let's hear it for Mustache Rivera! If anyone caught Geraldo's impressive piece on McDonald's vs. Autism, thank you for tuning in. I know my emails were contradictory, "it's on monday, no it's Friday." Teresa was told both, so she wasn't sure. I was working unfortunately, but heard that it was outstanding, for a short clip, and no participation from McDonalds' camp. Anyway, Annie's doing good, so that's brahvah.

MariaRose, you're a genius! I abhor the J.Lo wannabe, she loves herself. If nothing else she: 1. wears shorts cuffed at crotch level, 2. still advocates the 80's scrunchy socks at mid calf, and 3. Has enormous gums. There, I've said it, I feel so much better. Oh, and Damian, he's Italian-American, yeah he's delish!!
PS-thanks John, for doing my leg work on the survey thingy, Shitshine.

As Morrissey so trenchantly observed: "Hand in glove, the SurveyShine's out of our behinds."

In response to Marlena's last post regarding the salsa class, I would like to say that I have never read anything more accurate in my entire life. Honestly. I vividly remember seeing one of those dancers having a jubilant time while failing to notice that the only sweaty part of is body were his balls. I immediately knew that the only shelter he knew of was his cubicle. Marlena forgot the mention the chick that I feel should be kicked in the face. This girl stalks the instructor. How do I know this? Well, she dressed to kill when she arrives to class. Her every move, smile, hip shake, swivle, mambo, and turn is for the instructor, Damian (who, by which, we shall talk more about in a moment). She's been going to that rhythm fitness class ever since it started. The sadness of it all. The only way I can describer her physically is a forty six year old Jennifer Lopez. I was partner dancing with Molly once and Iturned and got too close to her and her partner (two people who were taking the danicng VERY seriously) and accidentally stepped on her foot. After I apologized, she screamed "that's not fair!" Which, to me, doesn't seem like the logical reflex. That class is definitely full of misfits. There's this one guy who looks like a four foot Kip Dynamite. I've noticed that he always stands next to Jenny from the Block. The guy can never seem to get what's going on. I'm pretty sure he has no clue that music exists.
Now ... for my favorite part of this blog, Damian, the instructor. To this day, I can not figure out what nationality he belongs to, but when I do find out, I'll be sure that I find a fitting suitor that shares the same as he. He's very funny in that class, he's always making fun of the people who can figure out what's going on. In a lady's voice he screams absurdities like "Where am I going? or "What did he just say? or "Mucho Sexy!" I remember a time he noticed that Kip was dancing really close to his ass and laughed. He turned around and said "oh hello!" Marlena will agree that he is quite dreamy. He's seven feet tall. He asked me to dance once and I nearly turtleheaded. He whispered in my ear and said, "I need you to dance like you're six feet tall.." and me with my diva wannabe personality replied with " I always do!" Blush much, Ree? Life was good that night. Hey, Damian, was it good for you?

An interesting evening at Spumoni. I watched JackAss 2 with uncle V and my dad. We only got through 15 minutes and they were astounded. All i heard was do you believe this guy and get outta here. And then i was instructed to put the game on. Well maybe another day. It was a terrible copy, i could see people getttin up to use the bathroom.

Since I'm reading to the boys the King Arthur story I feel compelled to dig out my Monty Python and the Holy Grail video... which I cannot seem to locate. So I went to YouTube to find this. Instead, I found this. As they say, I am ROTFLMAO.

The Three Stooges rock. But I wasn't expecting a sort of Spanish Inquisition.

Once a week I attend a salsa class. I love it, sometimes MariaRose and Molly will come along and we'll tear it up (sorry, that was the urban in me comming out). Before class yesterday, I went into the locker room and was greeted by a little old adorable Spanish lady in a revealing one piece. She told me in broken...more like shattered English that she hurt her back and would be swimming instead of dancing. I wished her well, and proceeded to go pee-pee, when she asked me if I could tell her husband, Reuben, that she was downstairs in the pool. Not knowing Reuben, or what he looked like, I agreed to relay the message as soon as I got up there. Our dance class usually consists of 20 girls and 7 guys. One guy is the token oversexed Oriental with a do-rag, and loose-fitting garb for fast and 'luscious' moves. Another is a short bald computer analyst who belongs to all of the Salsa clubs in the state, & he runs a newsletter. He looks for EVERY opportunity to dance with anything with jazz shoes. Our third male is an older gent who wears biker shorts so tight his yutza does a better 2 step than he. Our remaining 4 are average Spanish looking men, all around the same age. I learned quickly that it's hard to figure out the age of a Spanish man, they all look alike too. Luckily on the second try I found Reuben, unfortunately it was during a Bachata, and he was all the way in the back of the class. I totally felt like a hooker out on the prowl shimmying and whispering to this sought after fella, staking out this lone and rhythmic Reuben. Buenos Noches, mi corazon.

Ahhh. I love the pink panther. Could this be in our genetic code? I must look into this. I know Vin has it but does uncle V? Does Airport love Cloiseu? That would be the trifecta. Now I know the 3 stooges are also something we always watched on sunday mornings and laughed insanely. You know ,I always wanted a man like Kato hiding in my home. Imagine how insane it would be to come home each day to an unkown assailant. The damage this man could do cause was awesome. I wonder what it would take to have this guy do it. I beleive we all need to check out Omeletto. I seriously feel that he could be a long lost mastandrea. I like this guy. Hes got a cool sidekick too.Heres a scuffle situation i could see the old uncle vito getting in.

Why is Madonna on tv so much? She is quite a disappointment. I think she should give up her american citizenship and take one for the team. With so many american children that need homes, she goes to Namibia. I did not even know it existed till the other two fanoikya's when there to have the baby. WHY? Have you forgotten where 100% of your movie revenues come from? In the immortal worda of Vito Caravella.....WOW!

So i was in Buffalino for about 10 days. We missed that major snow storm dumping
2 feet of snow by about 45 miles. It was frigid cold i won't lie but a pleasant change from the consistant humidy and sweat of Palm Beach. I was blessed by the presence of John and Alane making the 3 hour drive from Ohio. A spectacular time was had by all especially Ellexa. The Amish will never be the same. With all the black hats and beards i
almost thought i was in borough park. Thank you for making the trip. i have never ingested so many fall leaves.

Just wrapped up another two chapters from the story of King Arthur. As I closed the book Mojo joyously announced from the top bunk that he'd picked a giant toenail from his foot. Disgusted, I instructed him to take it to the waste-paper pail. "Oh, dang!" he said, and started climbing down the ladder. I watched from where I had been reading on the floor. Once he got to the bottom he stopped. Then he began patting the sheets of Cookie's bed on the lower bunk. "I dropped it," he said and I knew it was hopeless.

"Your brother will wake up tonight with a toenail stuck in his skin," I said. "Now get into bed." And I sang a Brak tune and turned out the light.

Ah yes, I recall the anguish of my daily railway commute -- the crowds, the delays, the always-rising fare. There were certainly more than a few times I considered revenge. And us Mastandreas have a very peculiar sense of revenge... and so does this wacky Brit. Didn't we used to see this guy in the park on 38th Street, sitting on the see-saws drinking tall-boys?

Memories of zeppole? That's easy to recreate: wear dark pants or a dark jacket or both. Take powdered sugar and sprinkle down the front of your clothes. Walk around like that in public, preferrably with a full stomach.

Wish to conjure up other childhood memories? Watch "The Pink Panther" movie with Peter Sellers and David Niven. It was on last night. All I could think was how the Inspector Clouseau movies were a favorite of cousin Joe and how we'd wait for them to come on television. We laughed out heads off. Although after watchng it in its entirety last night I am certain that my pre-teen self never understood more than half of the plot. The chase scene near the end was still a hoot, with the two gorillas in convertibles and the police sargeants giving chase in a zebra suit ("Another move like that and I'll have your stripes!").

Alas, the boys fell asleep on the couch/floor before the movie really got going... and Alane bugged out even before that. Oh well...

Joe ran across the the recipe for Zeppolas that Helen sent us nineteen years ago.. The recipe is posted to the Table. The previously posted recipe is one she sent from a church recipe book.

Joe proposes we make both and see which one resembles childhood memories the most.

So I stayed up late last night to watch the baseball season come to a close. What a shame... It was good run though. It appears that football is a bigger sport around here anyway, so I have a lot of learning to do -- I can't even follow the plays the coaches call forDa Chimpz' flag football games. I'm not too worried: neither does Mojo.

As we slog through the media-frenzy of election run-up, Alane reports that she performed her civic duty this week: responding to a telephone survey on voter opinion. Well, "responding" may be too generous a word, as she hit touch-tone buttons for maximum creativity. An accurate reflection of her positions? Not quite. I'm surprised she even answered that phone -- it's the old copper wire line on the local loop of the old phone company and we just about never use it (we need it to support our security/monitoring system). It does ring occasionally -- typically when I'm in the middle of something. I let it ring. When I do answer it is almost always a wrong number or a telemarketer -- when it's the latter I try to put one of the boys on the line to chat. They need phone time too! Pretty much all our voice communication goes out over the cable line, and the service there has been pretty good. I've got Skype running too and it has pretty good voice quality and the bonus of video... So I feel kind-a bad for the old phone company... because someday I'm going to upgrade my security system and not even need that nuisance line anymore. And I suspect many others have already gotten themselves to that point.

Cookie's Cub Scout pack held its Raingutter Regatta yesterday after the 9 o'clock Mass. Alane picked up the boat kit at the Boy Scout Store (her description made it sound like the Masonic Shop at the Flatiron Building -- spooky) on Saturday on her way back from downtown Cleveland. With less than hour to go before Mass started I opened the little box and was unpleasantly surprised to learn that the kit instructions required sanding, gluing, painting, and decorating.

Cookie and I built a boat in a hurry. By the time Mass was over the paint was still tacky and the decals still needed to be affixed -- but otherwise we were in ship shape. It was pretty cold outside, and Cookie lost two out of three heats, but a fine time was had by all.

We got back, got the meatballs cooking, and got the fireplace stoked. For the rest of the afternoon and evening I lazed on the living room floor, catching the radiant heat, drinking the wine leftover from the previous day's get-together. I've become quite the lightweight, though, when it comes to bedtime -- try as I might I still couldn't stay awake much past 11. I did want to see the last few innings of the Mets-Cardinals game; more importantly I wanted to close the chimney flue after the last of the embers burned themselves out. Eh, so I closed it when I awoke at 5:15. Having a fireplace kicks ass.

It's crazy weekend around here: just got back from Da Chimpz' football game; Alane stayed back to shop and prep for guests to arrive a little later -- all of which followed the cancer fund-raiser she went to this morning. Oh, and the trip back from Steamburg last night. Ellexa is so funny -- she tried so hard to figure out her monkey-like cousins, reaching out to rip at their cheeks, chasing them across the floor in crawl-overdrive.

Yeah, we kept her up way past her bedtime on Thursday night. Hopefully, Joe and Jess are not still paying for it!

Yesterday, we drove into Steamburg, NY, so that Da Chimpx could finally, finally, meet their cousin Ellexa. They got along swimmingly! And Bazzukajoe couldn't help but notice: "These boys are always laughing." True, but I didn't have the heart to tell him they were laughing at him. And why not? They guy is always talking about butts and stinkies -- hilarious stuff to a five and six year old... And to the rest of us...

Now to make the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame really exciting, they should've had an exhibit devoted to these guys. Maybe Kou would've stayed in Cleveland an extra day to come out and pay homage! Or at least translate. Still, I suppose it was enough for us to have seen... Elvis Presley's Coat. They had it... In a glass case.

At another Hall of Fame exhibit I momentarily wondered why there were so many photos of Kim Jong Il on display -- and then I realized I was in the Roy Orbison room! Frylock commented this morning that Otto's bag of fireworks packed more punch than Kim's nuke, and I must say that Otto's blast is certainly the far greater legend.

Good news: I think we might get Brandi to actually start posting to the blog! She works in an ER now and supposedly has great stories involving sharp objects and not-so-sharp people.

Cats are smart, in fact cats are really smart. I'm not sure if I ever described on the blog my last cat-sitting experience. Back in June, BazzukaJoe and Jess vacationed in Sanibel Island, and I volunteered to watch over their beloved housecat, Gracie. Overall, shes an excellent pet and sitting for her was a pleasurable and effortless task...until the final day when I left a apple scented candle burning on my dresser and well ....I accidentally set her on fire. Well, I would argue the case, that she set herself on fire, (after all I didn't hold her over the flame, she chose to step over it) but it did occur under my care, so I am forced to take responsibility for the unfortunate mishap. Now there were no actual burns to her skin, just a singed tuft of hair on her underbelly, and she seemed perfectly fine afterwards... not holding any grudges against me....or so I believed.

Well, this Monday I once again volunteered to be Gracie's catsitter while BazzukaJoe and Jess sojourned to Buffalo. On Monday night, she vanished under my bed and didn't resurface...worrying me on Tuesday morning when I couldn't find her. So without a choice I had to leave for work with her whereabouts still unknown. I returned at 6 pm. and called her name, searched the house and found nothing....except a large turd in the center of my living room rug. I have never known this cat to not use her litterbox...it was almost like a taunt... I shit on your carpet and theres nothing you can do about it. The turd actually eased my concerns that she had somehow escaped my house...but I still couldn't find her. So I went to bed about midnight, when lo and behold the cat emerges.....only now that shes slept for 20 hours, shes wailing at top volume and determined for me to play with her. The longer I deliberately ignore her, the louder and more persistent she becomes until like a lunatic I begin speaking to the cat as if shes human, trying to reason with her. "Listen, Gracie...if I play with you, you have to promise me, you'll go back to sleep." To which she replied "Reeeerow!" So I pet her and said "You are a such good girl", so I played with her five minutes, shut the lights and returned to bed. The bitch lied. She ran around the house, bumping into every piece of furniture I own, and meowing at jet-plane decibels for seven straight hours...therefore I never did get to sleep last night, and I am seriously dragging ass at work today. In sum, we should all sincerely hope last night completes her revenge for the candle incident....because if I find another turd when I return home tonite...tomorows blog will describe in great detail how I applied the figure four leg lock on a cat.