Frylock lives and is pissed at the blogger for losing his last entry into cyberspace once again. I'm at Bazzuka Joe's house usinh his laptop and so I didnt write it in Wordpad like I should, but oh well Im gonna try and regurge what I just wrote and curse the name of Blogger...so here goes:

I'm going to weigh in on stinky water and crap in one broad stroke. Anyone who has ever stayed for a period of time in Spumoni Gardens knows that the reason you'll see a plethora of water coolers around the house is because the well water in Jupiter Farms smells like a limberger omelette dipped in garbage juice. The standing water in the toilets can actually get so bad that when you take a major brunz...you're actually doing it a favor. It seems only appropriate that Big Vin would own a home where he not only encourages, but in fact hopes you'll make a major deposit in his restroom.

Next up: I have new neighbors at the shop who have an English Bulldog...my all-time favorite dog who has taken to spending each entire day in my office. I have been in my absolute glory chilling with Lola, and as each day passes I become increasingly convinced that the Mastandreas have evolved from the English Bulldog. I examine a photograph of my grandfather and note his large rotund head, his barrel chest, underbite, absent neck and short muscular arms and legs...then I turn to Lola and can't help feeling as if I'm related in some way....I know I'm no anthropologists but does anyone believe my argument holds any water?

Emergency bulletin: can someone from the Spumoni contingent please check in on Steve? I'm worried that something may have happened to him: earlier this week this blog initiated, conducted, and completed a discussion thread focused on bags/piles of crap. And Steve his still not weighed in.

I'm concerned. Perhaps he has fallen. And can't get up.

So you fell out of the hammock... And no one video taped this? I cannot wait for john paul's first indy film. It should very interesting. I wonder if it will be about his family....Pee wee has taken a liking to the keyboard of my computer. She bangs on it anytime i am on it. She also knows her name when you call her. She has an affinity for the electric wheelchair and will quietly ride with BigVin any chance she gets. She has also started going in the pool, she likes outdoors. I apologize for my hiatus. I recently recieved a very cool toy from my parents. They gave me an ipod video. I have packed it with bizarre music and pictures. I have not perfected the movie thing yet but i do have a number of ren and stimpy classics. I have included the excellent tracks sent to me by joMaha. Anything else you wanna send me would be great, good stuff. I also added fish heads and shaving cream.
Any suggestions? Anything anyone wants to send me would be cool.
Ellie or John...is there a good dvd ripper or ipod converter software you can recommend.

Last night I got to lounge ever so briefly in the hammock (without having it collapse). Cookie joined me and in the course of discussing what we each did during our day, Cookie gave me his opinions on what I might do to create more effective e-commerce web pages for my company.

"I know, you can have on the page 'Please buy our books...'"

I will try it. We then discussed what else we might put on the page to attract people to the site. I was somewhat astonished to hear him put together a plan to produce a news show -- and stage a train wreck to make it interesting. He and I would do the show. We'd get cameras. And we'd use toy trains, but on the camera they'd look big so people would think it was real.

The kid should be working at a major network.

Anyway, I urged Cookie, and then his brother Mojo, to set their sights a little lower and work on real events -- like riding their bikes.

Went downstairs this afternoon to make some turkish coffee. I ran some water out of the tap and into my little coffee pot; in the glare from the kitchen window I noticed a vile-looking film on the surface of the water. I rinsed out the pot and tried again, thinking it was perhaps the messiness of my own kitchen affecting the water.

Nope: it was the messiness of Berea's nasty water supply.

Not long after that I stepped outside to get the mail (the moping mailman must be on disability; we have a different letter carrier now who actually delivers the mail during daylight hours). In today's junk was a special message from Mayor Biddlecombe and the water department -- a brochure, actually -- packed with lots of little facts and figures carefully assembled to assure everyone in the town of Berea that everything is A-OK with their water supply. No matter how it tastes. Or what it looks like. Or the stains it leaves on surfaces after it (eventually) evaporates.

Alane knew for a long time how bad Berea water is, but she didn't tell me before we moved in. It took me a few weeks to pinpoint the taste: it's not chemical and it's not vegetable. It's almost a saltiness. It tastes like sweat.

Tonight we ate leftover meatballs and gravy from Sunday. I opened a bottle of Matthew Fox merlot. Bought it at the local Marc's for about $3.29. What a bargain! Alane watched my face as I took the first sip. It wasn't bad. It also wasn't good -- but the price! So I drank it down while I ate my spaghetti, and that's when I noticed the peculiar "finish." Blech-o.

I don't suppose I'll be buying more of that. Oh well, it's still better than the tap water (no matter how hard the mayor tries to convince me otherwise).

A dollar a cart for manure? How can anyone afford to live in CT? Or is the grass greener here becuase we can get fundamentally the same manure for free?

It's been an eye-opening week. Ellie decided to folow the exact pizza dough recipie in the book that came with the mixer despite its lack of sugar for the yeast and bland all-purpose flour base. Despite her herculaen effort it was her blandest crust ever. She did spice the outside of the crust in violation of the recipie but at least that gave the crust some flavor. While chewing on a bit of unimproved crust I realized that I had tasted such a plain, flavorless crust at one period in my life. It tasted the same as the pizza crust generated by the dorm cafeterias in college. The slop was served by employees in starched white clothes embroidered SAGA, theoretically an acronym for their employer - Stuart Anderson Gourmet Association. We weren't fooled. We knew that SAGA actually stood for "Suck A Greasy Asshole."

My other eye-opener this week was in reaction to a pleasant SMS message I received from MariRose. She messaged me during a meeting and I was not able to reply. At this point I should also mention that said message was the first SMS message that I had ever received. Today I was evaluating an interoperable communications solution that also SMSed me and left a menu of reply options. After several failed attempts at replying we surmised that SMS sending capability is not activated on my cell phone. How could this happen? I've been building computers for a decade. I almost completed my microcomputer programming degree when I was cut down in my prime by bilateral carpal tunnel surgeries. I knew I wasn't in the fast lane in terms of technology any longer, but how did I become road kill?

Thanks for the link to contemporary X-Squad video. I'm kind of disheartened that a 4 X 4 team became a 2 X 4 team. But many of the old moves are still there and are also still fun to watch.

Entertainment alert to you lucky Berea-ites (Berea-ans? Berea-oneans?). Friday night, August 11 at the Cuyahoga County Fair you'll want to catch the hilarious Pat Dailey. I've wanted to catch his live show for years and he's never been closer to us than his native Ohio (he's from Cleveland). Most of the summer he plays on Lake Erie and his winter shows are in Key West. Do the right thing and catch him! Joe Head and I will be eternally jealous.

That was an interesting read. The ruling on garbage is that, once taken to the curb, the property is considered abandoned and the property owner has given up his rights to it. This ruling was made originally in reference to whether a police officer needs a warrant to go through a person's garbage and recently used to uphold the rights of can collectors who take the aluminum cans and plastic bottles to recycle for cash rather than leave them in the bins for the city to recycle. For a while it was a big deal in Omaha but I haven't heard anything about it in recent months.

I am going to respect my neighbor's wishes and leave his manure on the curb plus I am not going to turn him in for illegally raising rabbits within the city limits. (The city claims to have jurisdiction for two miles outside the city limits--raised from 600 feet last year. That seems to me a bit of a jurisdictional stretch.)

I suspect it won't be long before the trash hauling company goes after him since he is bagging waste material that could contain disease organisms . . .Thus necessitating 'red bagging' and 'special handling'. . .composting, of course, heats up the waste so that it kills off the hazards little critters --why my letting it cook actually rendered it safer and pretty much odor free. And he is putting it out with the trash rather than with the yard waste which is a violation of the waste removal ordinances here.

So I go shovel horse manure. Horses are legal and the manure freely given. I will remember the case you pointed out and not leave it in piles along side the road.

This town outlawed the ice cream truck bell and gave me a ticket for a crooked license plate (the State Patrol told me that it was a bogus citation that no statute said it had to be level.) It's just a little slice of paradise here.

Ellie's tale of strange neighbors conjures up distant memories -- of law school, of all things. The first few days of regular classes, in fact, when we discussed the case of Haslem v. Lockwood, 37 Conn. 500 (1871), in which the parties fought over, you guessed it, a pile of shit.

It was as if a Mastandrea had written the syllabus!

(It's a pretty old case so it's hard to find a link, but if you scroll down on this page you'll see the actual court opinion -- a scintillating read!)

Oh, my latest find on YouTube? Old Crazy Eddie commercials. There are a few on this clip; the last two are the best ones.

On a brighter note Kitchen Aid sent us a new mixer. Last year's Limited Edition. But it is the next size up so I guess we are better off with last year's model that works than last year's model that doesn't work.
At least it mixed up bread pudding today. I will try it out with bread flour tomorrow. Apparently they are only rated for soft, all-purpose flour. Amazing that they can still advertise that they are the choice of serious chefs. And that their guarantee is hassle free.
BTW, we tried out the AP flour pizza crust recipe in the booklet that came with the mixer last Sunday. Joe said, "Even the dog was disappointed" by the tasteless cardboard crust it produced even after I tossed in every trick in the book to make the crust better when I finished it off by hand. Yikes!

Our neighborhood just gets weirder and weirder. Today, while I was watering my flowers a guy drives by in an old battered blue green pickup and tells me to stop picking up the neighbor's bags of straw and rabbit manure that he leaves on the curb for the garbage truck. I wanted to ask him who the dickens he was in the first place and why Craig didn't have the good manners to face me himself but I restrained myself.

I told him that once something is put out on the curb the law says that anyone can take it. He argued that someone was going to complain and get Craig in trouble. I was polite. I explained that my composting the product was good for the garden and the enviroment. And that composted manure does not smell. (Yeah I moved the compost pile away from Vicki's fence. It didn't smell bad enough to be of any real annoyance so it was easier to keep it closer to the south side of the garden where I could just toss it off the back of the pickup.) (So I really am nicer than I want to be. It is just not in my nature to be mean for no reason. So sue me.)

I hinted strongly that I was on the right side of the law while my neighbor was not but I stopped short of saying that I would report him. Ironically, I had just had lunch with a neighbor who asked me if raising rabbits was legal and I said, "no" but I wasn't about to report Craig. I even said that I just wanted to live in peace with my neighbors.

Not leaving well enough alone, he yelled at me some more about me somehow getting the neighbor in trouble by spreading the straw on my garden. Huh? My neighbor is breaking the law by raising rabbits. I am removing 'evidence' of his scoff-law behavior from the curb and he sends some bozo to yell at me? Like anyone can smell a few rabbit pellets with three horses in a confined space a hundred feet away. All we can smell is horse sh!t when we go outside.

I guess I will have to go dig and spread horse manure from now on. Christi has offered it to me for the taking. It is probably no more work than driving around the block and tossing heavy bags up in to the truck.

*rolling eyes* Now I just have to decide whether to turn the rabbit raising creep in to the planning and zoning people and let the manure go to waste in plastic bags in the landfill. Doesn't anyone cooperate with anyone else any more?

They're still taking trees down on our street -- the neighborhood looks so bare. Today they chopped down the giant one right out front, on the far side of the driveway. Without that hulking landmark I'll be certain to drive right past my house on absent-minded drives home.

The food products around here are strange. If I sold short lengths of meat-products in shrinkwrap packages I'd be reluctant to name my company Johnsonville.

Or maybe I'd be enthusiastic. I'm not sure.

Shrinkwrap!

Cookie and Mojo have a new game this week: Godzilla and all his pals from Monster Island are on a Gamecube disc they rented from Blockbuster. Yesterday, Mojo was Godzilla and I was Megalon. We busted up buildings all over Tokyo. Very cool.

As July nears so too does the Nathan's hot dog eating contest. Ah, an event that brings back so many memories... not so much of the event iteself. But commentary about the event coming from such Brooklyn-based luminaries as Curtis Sliwa and Don Vito.

It does seem that we have all become cartoon characters; I appreciate the reminder. My hammock injury includes a giant contusion that runs almost the full length of my shin-bone (where the steel pole from the hammock frame smashed into it).

When we first took possession of Berea-Rose during the winter mon ths we looked forward to spring -- we knew the ginat trees that lined the street would look beautiful in their full foliage.

We still think that's true. However, it ain't gonna happen, because most of the trees are very old and half-dead by now. In fact, they sent a crew in this week to chop down three of them; I wouldn't be surprised if they came for more next week.

Kind-a sad. The neighbors say the street used to be completely shaded in the summer, as if with giant arches of tree cover. They also said the sidewalks were slabs of sandstone that had an old-world character. They were recenty replaced too.

And with June winding down already the daylight will start to get shorter... At least those little berries are gone fromt he guano tree out back. Maybe now I can keep the driveway clear of bird crap.

Hammock Injuries are cartoonish, not pathetic. I bet Alane (and the rest of us) have visions of Disney's Goofy flailing about trying to hang a hammock. Or the Skipper and Gilligan. You have entered the cartoon world; laughable perhaps, but not pathetic.

Believe it or not, hammock injuries are not uncommon. I suspect alcohol might be involved in many of the injuries but tea is much more compatible with the cartoon image. You have become a classic.

Injuries were dependent on the type of hammock, the maintenance of the hammock (state of wear) and the stability of the product (the way it connects at a single point on each end) and supervision by parents with young children. The industry reports that I read after seeing your post suggest that the dangers include, cuts, lacerations, head injuries, strangulation, broken arms and even deaths. There are at least twelve recorded deaths of strangulation of children who got tangled in string hammocks. But I suspect the legendary Mastandrea large head would help prevent such an injury, wouldn't you?

A mixer that can't make pizza dough -- that's worse than an Italian festival without zeppole. Kitchen Aid is off our list.

Found this clip online and it has really gone a long way to help us feel good about our decision to settle in lovely Berea. It's seven-minutes of a news show, and it's worth watching to the end -- our town is so family-oriented!

Alane doesn't think Berea is such a bad place and she says if I keep mocking it she'll post to the blog a full description of the nearly-catastrophic hammock accident I had on Sunday...

...because football injuries are manly; hammock injuries are pathetic.

A Poor Kitchen Aid Experience
I have a serious rant about Kitchen Aid and I am putting the word out in the best way I know how: the Internet through E-mail and blogging. A poor product is one thing: anything man made can have flaws . . .but poor customer service is a CHOICE.

I received a new stand mixer for Christmas made by Kitchen Aid and sold at Sam's. Joe saved up for a very long time to get it for me in appreciation of my making pizza for him for 18 years.

It's performance was pathetic from day one but we managed to limp along for six months before it quit altogether. It's elliptical orbit was supposed to make better contact with the food it was mixing, but instead it made contact with the bowl, scratching it and completely throwing the bowl off it's pins. You could not begin to hold the bowl on to the machine even with both hands! It would heat up, give off the 'hot electrical' smell and quit.

When we called Kitchen Aid, their first response was that it was 'operator error.' Sorry folks, but after being a professional cook, I am smart enough to snap a bowl in place over two pins and a button spring snap at the back. It was insulting on top of having to cope with a mixer that did not live up to even the least of my expectations.

Joe, my hero, called them and they sent a replacement. It worked one time,then the next Sunday night while making pizza dough, got hot and quit in the middle of mixing 5 cups of bread flour. And the same little snippy customer dis-service agent argued that a 5-quart mixer should not have to handle that load. For thirty minutes she tried to tell him that it was customer error.

She then had the audacity to suggest we make half a pizza, wait half an hour and make the other half of the pizza. What planet does she live on? A $300 machine can't make a single crust pizza? Does that mean I make a half of a loaf of bread at a time, too? That machine should make half a dozen loaves of bread every day of the week for years for that kind of money.

Joe asked to speak to a supervisor and read the instructions right off of page eleven to her. The book said no more than '12 cups' of flour. So five cups of bread flour is too much when the instruction booklet says 12? Hummph! and hogwash! And that the machine should not run for more than six minutes at a time. . .Six minutes? SIX MINUTES?

What if I had been making a really stiff dough like pasta? Oh, yeah, that's right. . .it wouldn't make semolina pasta dough at all when I tried it. . .that's right -- 2 1/2 cups of semolina would not mix and knead smoothly enough on a $300 machine to run through the pasta extruding attachment we purchased separately and it was an electric attachment, not the old hand-cranked one I have used for years.

The Oster Kitchen Center we had previously mixed 8 cups of flour for 3 loaves of bread or two pizza crusts at a time at least 3 days a week for nearly 20 years with no complaints from it or me (plus using the blender, ice cream freezer, food processor, shredder and meat grinder attachments daily) until I finally wore it out. . .not the motor wearing out, mind you. . .the connector that held the attachments to the motor was so worn down that it was unusable, but the motor fired up just fine. And, yes, it routinely made double batches of semolina pasta dough that I ran through my hand cranked Atlas pasta machine. And ground sausage for half an hour at a time. That's a bit more than the six minutes I am being told I can run this machine at a time.

The result? I am E-mailing and blogging my dissatisfaction in hopes that this spares anyone else from purchasing a piece of junk. Yeah, they are sending us a new machine, but we don't think we should not have had to put up a fight to get it plus they do not guarantee that it will be any better than the two we have had already. . .. Period.

Will I be able to make sausage? Pasta? Bread? Pizza crust? on the new machine or will it just take up space on my counter top? I am so disappointed for both my sake as a cook and Joe's because it was a gift from him that he worked long hours at his second job to purchase for me.

Please pass this along to anyone and everyone you know that is a serious cook or knows a serious cook. Kitchen Aid does not equal quality in my opinion. Such a shame.

Here's a little sumthin' that Joe-maha might appreciate.

Last night's tee-ball game was called on account of rain (and some spectacular lightning). Sunday's game went well -- the kids seem to be learning how how the game is played and that's pretty much the entire objective (they don't record outs in an inning; each side goes through its lineup then the teams switch). Da Chimpz had fun.

There's a rabbit that we're pretty sure lives on the side of our house. We see him out back most mornings. Last night, with the game called off, we decided to shop for dining room chairs. From the driveway we saw the rabbit. Alane tried to get it's attention by calling out, "Hey, rabbit." That didn't work, so then she started to hop like a rabbit. That scared all of us: the rabit bolted and I considered doing the same.

We saw some nice chairs but didn't buy anything. Then we went to Dick's.

Your mother's Zepolli recipe is posted.

Nebraska Joe's online cavalcade of ginzo-fests did not include the Sixth Annual Italian American Summer Festival in Berea. After a day of swimming with Da Chimpz, we thought we'd check it out.

We arrived just a few minutes too late to see the "Tony Fortunato & the Emporers of Swing" -- they were breaking down their gear as we passed. On the other side of the fairgrounds Franco Corso was hitting his stride, belting out those greaseball standards with an exaggerated accent and a pronounced lack of embarrassment. (The event flyer described him as being "from the showrooms of Las Vegas" -- and we strongly suspect that means used car showrooms.)

Having not been to an outdoor Italian event in quite a while my first objective was, predictably, zeppole. I knew that a paper sack full of grease-weighted, sugar-powdered belly-bombers would put me right into the appropriate frame of mind for whatever lay ahead. We circled the place, skipping past the corn-dog huts, the spaghetti stands, and the other trying-really-hard-to-be-Eye-talian attractions.

I got all the way around and decided I must have missed it, so I went around again. I won't bother trying to create a suspenseful story here: there were no zeppoles. I was appalled. I was depressed. I was a little angry.

Alane got the boys snow-cones and brought them to a table (Cookie bopped to the happy crooning of Vegas showroom). I circled yet again to purchase some grub -- a mediocre sausage and pepper hero from one place, an adequate stromboli from another. I got corn dogs for the boys and a fresh-squeezed but disgraceful lemonade for Alane.

On another trip to the far end of the fairgrounds (to capture some poor but much-needed footage of the world-class entertainment, pissed that I wasn't able to document any of his biting rendition of "Quando Quando") I stopped at Porky-N-Beans for a half a rack of ribs -- food that was undoubtedly the best to be had at the entire affair.

I'm giving serious thought to getting myself a deep-fryer and opening a stand there next year: if Berea never tasted real zeppole before, I could show them what they've been missing. And print myself some money while I'm at it. I remembered the old days: was it Vito who had the small soda stand at one of the St. Anthony's feasts way back when? I remember sitting out at the curb with him and a giant trash can full of ice and soda-cans. Hundreds or thousands of people walked past. Somebody was playing a tape of then-contemporary music over loudspeakers -- I remember "Copa Cabana" was part of the loop; we heard it 10 or 20 times that night.

And then there was 1985 and that couple who had sold the gelato from street carts over the previous summer -- they got a space at San Gennaro selling charcoal-roasted corn on the cob. I'd worked for them off and on that August (concerts, mostly -- got to see Squeeze on the piers!); and now they hired me to work the grill. So there I was, working until the wee hours over open coals, turning unhusked corn, wearing a big insulated glove so I could peel them open and dip them into a bucket of drawn butter for customers. The booth next to hours was some rip-off game of chance. I traded the guy a corn-on-the-cob for a big pink bouncy ball -- one of the cheezy prizes his players would never win. I brought it back to the dorms with me when classes started up again the following week. Shortly thereafter, hurricane Gloria hit the New York area. We took the big pink ball out onto the campus mall and kicked it as hard as we could into the hurricane force winds, then leaned back to watch it sail away, up, and then back in the other direction, over our heads and away. We'd chase it and do it again.

Did Steve mention something about stream of consciousness?

Alane is out at Giant Beagle getting meat for tomorrow's meatballs; Da Chimpz are playing Gamecube. And Frylock's first-born will be named Mostaccioli. His second will be named after a pastry... we just don't know which one yet.

Florida demands another recount! John just informed me that its Grandpa Nick Kuczmiak, which subsequently brings the Joe count down to 8. My apologies on this discrepancy. No answer yet from John on the name of my firstborn...do we need a hint?

The table is finally completed -- a day ahead of schedule! I put the last coat of polyurethane on yesterday; by this morning everything was dry and ready to go so we carried it upstairs, bolted the base to the top, and flipped it over. I drank the rest of my coffee at a bitchin' new table that still stinks of oil-based sealer and it was delicious.

Now I have to clean the basement -- there are corners that still have inch-thick coatings of sawdust. There are also shelves that are cluttered with tools that must be cleared to make way for normal laundry operations.

Tomorrow's agenda: to eat meatballs off that newly-restored table.

I'd like to start off by congratulating Joe and Roseanne on adding the new member to the clan...Baby Stephen. So lets get a name tally here now: we now have 9 Joes if you include Grandpa Joe Hatala and Grandpa Joe Kuczmiak. We also have 4 Vitos and 1 Vita. We have now have 3 Steves and 3 Vinnies, 2 Johns, 2 Phyllisses, 2 Roseannes, 2 Lennys, 1 Rose Marie, 1 MariaRose, and 1 Rosina. It appears as if there may be a pattern. So heres the challenge question: Does John remember what I told him I would by naming my first born?

So other stuff to mention: A Very Very Happy Father Days to all Macaroni Dish Dads: new and old...you all proved to be naturals. So on that note, I have a Dad story from earlier in the week. Kahuna bought a brand new car for Ree earlier in the year and with it purchased a special prepaid service package that provides an oil change and tire rotation whenever he brings it in. So he brings it in on Wednesday, and for some reason suspects they may be pooching him on the tire rotation. So the Diabolical Vin has Ree remove one tire valve cap and stick it in her pocket. Sure enough, they return the car and missing valve cap is exactly where it was when they dropped it off. Of course, first they claimed the rotation was indeed done...falling right into his devious hands. He produced the evidence and then they changed their claim to they thought that the rotation was simply suggested on the invoice...not that he had asked for one. Of course, he reads his invoice which clearly includes the rota tion, and according to Ree thats when the Vin-Man put his chair on accelerate and drove into the service manager's office to do his own John Stossel interview with him. I'm sure that guy is still in emotional pain. Im so depressed I wasn't there.

With Father's Day approaching I feel the need to wish "Happy Father's Day" to all Mastandrea fathers - experienced and new. This annual celebration provides an opportunity to pause and reflect on our Fathers' contributions to our lives. Although, like Shteef, I lack the baseball watching gene, paternal memories presist to this day. I'll never forget my father's words of wisdom, "Don't wake me up again."

And those three little words. "You still here?"

And most recently, referring to Lemoncello. "You don't store that in the freezer!"

Yes, it's scary when Steve gets all Brooklyn on the lowly sea-creatures. But if he really wants to terrify his fishing buddies, he can go Barese: take the fish you just caught, beat its head a few times on the side of the boat, stick the fish in some sliced focaccia bread, and eat it on the spot.

Hey, that's the way it's done in Giovinazzo...

Yesterday, I was at Spumoni and observed the further organization of The Big Kahuna's ever expanding DVD collection. It had been color-coded by genre, but it simply wasn't easy enough to navigate so the Kahuna commissioned its complete alphabetization by title, in addition to the categorization by genre and a complete computerized list one can refer to...almost like at the Berea library. Its all quite impressive. He also gave me two pairs of sneakers, one was a beautiful pair of white Nikes, the other set were black and with electroluminescent orange trim. I wore them to work today to some very strange looks, it prompted one middle aged women to comment "those would be good for me kids to trick or treat in, whered you get them?" To which I answered quite sheepishly "My father got them for me". Tonight, I will be venturing out to the Intracoastal Waterway on my partner's boat to catch some fish. I'm pretty excited by this idea, I feel like Captain Ahab. Mark doesn't ever keep any fish he catches, instead he gently and politely tosses them back in...I informed him I intend to do things a bit differently tonight. I want to put a little fear and gratitude into these lucky sea vermin, so I'm bringing a knife to threaten them with before I throw them back....think about what a great story those fish will have to tell their family when they return home that night. "I coulda been killed! He wasn't satisfied with stabbing me in the mouth with a metal hook, the maniac pulled a knife on me!!" I'm helping these fish to value what a gift life truly is. How come I wasn't born with the Mastandrea gene that predetermines you to enjoy a baseball game? I like John's idea for the drink and the hammock...but the ballgame would just be a buzzkill for me. I once shared a hammock with John at Joe Fatone Sr.'s house, and we watched a man named "Hat" jumping on a trampoline as he deliberately tried to break his own neck. John motioned to JoeSr., pointed at the uncoordinated acrobat and said "that there would be a high potential for liabililty". My uncle agreed...moments later my cousin Steve somersaulted onto the trampoline from the roof. Well time for me to scoot.

So much for the MLB's efforts to blackout local games... I'm (inexplicably) watching the Indians get spanked by the Yankees over the Internet (instead of walking downstairs to turn on the television). I was poking around this evening's list of webcast games while the Mets-Phillies game remains delayed. Clicking on the Indians game did, as expected, take me to big text message saying I would not be able to view that game in this area. But in attempting to get back to the listing, I accidentally defeated the block. Don't tell Steinbrenner -- he'll go postal if he finds out his beloved YES feed can potentially be seen by people NYers who choose not to pay big $ to their local cable operators for the basic plan.

Bernie goes boom, indeed.

I did get myself a set of Dremel-brand bits and put about 10,000 highway miles on my electric drill using those. And even with all that sanding, it still wasn't enough -- when I put the stain on this morning I saw hundreds of little scratches left from the coarse grinding, not worn down by the finer stuff. Damn. Oh well, some of the fancier places add that stuff to their new furniture and call it "antiquing"; thus will I embrace my fuck-ups as... character. Sort of like how I deal with the rest of my life.

Spent much of my day fighting with the wireless network: now that I can watch any baseball game at any time, I feel this overwhelming urge, call it a need, to be out on my back lawn, swinging ever-so-slightly in the hammock, laptop computer open on my big gut, my arm over the side holding a glass of wine.

Now that's living.

I may need to move the Linksys router to the other side of the house.

Just returned from my first Sons of Italy in America meeting and I'm disappointed that they voted to skip the July and August meetings while everyone is on vacation. After the meeting we feasted on pepperoni Italian bread pizza, spaghetti and Ricotta Pie. It's probably not a big deal to many of our readers but I haven't seen any Ricotta Pie in over half a lifetime, much less a full 26 inch by 18 inch sheet pan of Ricotta Pie. Perhaps not so oddly enough the Ricotta Pie disappeared before the Italian bread pizza and the spaghetti.

While perusing the Sons web site I found their Italian Festival Directory. Did you know that there are 81 Italian festivals in NY, 21 in Ohio, 5 in Florida and 2 in Nebraska? They include the following: Our Lady of Lourdes in Daytona Beach in February, St. Anthony in Cleveland in June, Our Lady of Mt Carmel in Cleveland in July, Our Lady of Assumption in Cleveland in August, St Rocco in Cleveland in September and around here St. Lucy in June and the Festa Italiana in August? I expect zeppole sighting reports in the coming months.

I'm relieved that tropical Storm Alberto seems to have dropped only badly needed rain in Florida. I did call Spumoni South over the weekend for a potato chip update. Marlena reported 5 open bags and 8 unopened bags so seasonal stockpiling has officially begun!

Have you considered a Dremel power tool for the table sanding project? We use one to smooth the edges of pieces of plexiglass that we use as impaled objects when we provide moulage for local and regional exercises. It's much faster than sand paper.

In a much delayed reply to Joey Big Head's post about ridiculaous nicknames in their cell phone list, I submit the following entries from my cell phone: Joe Head, Shteef, Spumoni Line 2 and Spumoni South. Somehow Maria Rose is listed as MariaRose and Marlena is listed as Marlena. Is that cause for concern?

Don't look now, Molly. I hear Duane is looking for a new apartment now that Rob Lopicola is no longer his neighbor.

Right now I'm sitting here in the spacious front room of Berea-Rose watching the Mets play the Phillies. Yes, the Mets. I broke down today and shelled out 50 clams to get streaming media access to all regular season games.

Out of character? You bet: my normal stance is that major league baseball is overpaid and undeserving -- I'd usually refrain from giving them even a dime of my hard-earned money.

But the streaming media package... it's so subversive I just have to support it. First of all, to be able to watch any game from any market (except the local market -- natch), that's pretty cool. And so I switch to the Red Sox vs Twins right noe and see Boston take a one-run lead. Then back to the Mets. I like it.

Does geekiness trump curmudgeonliness? No way: as undeserving as I consider MLB, I consider cable companies doubly undeserving -- if I had to pay a king's ransom for a cable-tv sports package... I'd never buy a sports package. And never have. And never will. Putting content out over the Internet direct to the viewer is the promise of the future: kudos to the sport for seizing the technology.

On the flipside, the usability of MLB's interface sucks the bat-wang. And the media stream is a bandwidth hog. Yeah, that's what it costs to get high-res video that supports fast scene transitions, I know; but I had high hopes of lying in my hammock out back and watching the game. No dice -- not until I re-position my wireless access point.

Mets up 9 to 4 in the bottom of the eigth. Woo-hoo!

Yesterday evening Da Chimpz had their first tee-ball practice. Imagine a bunch of five and six year olds standing on an infield, kicking dirt, occasionally noticing the ground-balls hit to them, and when they did converging on them like a rugby scrum. It was chaos. But everyone had fun.

Mojo fielded a ball and threw it to first base! Too late for the put-out, of course, though that might have been different if he hadn't decided to throw the ball while it was still in his mitt.

Cookie slid safely into first base! Unnecessarily, of course, but you could tell he'd been waiting his whoel life to slide into a base and finally he was able to do it.

It was a good start. And after we were done, we came back to Berea-Rose where I retired to the basement to do more sanding. It's surprising there's any wood left on that table after all the sanding I've done!

As for me, I'm not much of a fighting man. At least not since my days as a reporter when my boss tried to kill me. In the office. By strangling me. For real.

Fought him off the best I could and lived to fight another day...

I'm outside right now on my back patio peering through the clouds at what looks to be a three-quarter moon. I've been in the basement most of the night, but I've not just been sanding -- I'm now at the point where I'm joining wood. (Got no pipe-clamps; had to cinch the planks together with ratcheting tie-down straps -- worked great!)

Yee-ha, the table is starting to come together: the newly-extended bare-wood tabletop is now all glued up and attached to its box-frame. It and the pedestal are almost ready to receive stain. We move now from 60 grit paper to 100, working eventually up to 200. Then stain. Then polyurethane. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

Who knows... by next Sunday we might be eating meatballs off a fully-restored and bitchin' dining room table. With freshly-shaved legs. And finely pedicured claw feet.

Maybe Jessica has some of those red claw covers leftover from Gracie?

I did not know I had lived such a sheltered life. My momma had a moonshine still behind the washing machine and my daddy was a mortician. It still doesn't compare to this family. This blog keeps Nebraska from being totally boring. Wow and wow again.

I have been in one fight in my life that wasn't a sibling thing. I was in a bar with a mixed group of friends after work one night and a woman came up to me and asked me why I was hanging out with them (substitute racial slurs here.) She was a huge woman and I flipped her on her back (I learned judo as a kid) and was about to put her lights out when the bouncer pulled me off her and showed our whole group to the door. And I had four quarters on the dart machine! How unfair was that?

My friends bought the beer after that (I am a one beer kind of gal. . .cheap date in that respect.) They were all pretty shocked. . .stunned actually. One of them gave me the nicest compliment I have ever had in my life. She said, "Everybody says they aren't prejudiced, but she really isn't."

I have to admit it was a real blur and over in a flash so I am betting it was an adrenalin thing that I could never repeat in my life. Bad Quaker girl. . .bad. . .bad. . .bad. . .ha ha ha


What's happening in Nebraska?
Drought.

Eight gallons of broccoli harvested. Two 30 gallon bags of collard greens harvested. Peas in the refrigerator and freezer (no room left!) so it's time to start ripping up the spring garden and plant flowers.

Back I go to spreading rabbit manure and straw on the garden. I have let it 'cook' for a couple of weeks. Yes, John, it smells exactly like you think it would. I am trying to offend my sociopathic neighbor. She doesn't like my garden? I can show her what's not to like.

What is this, some kind of wrinkle in the time-space-Mastandrea continuum that loops us back two years?

Sits and shifts, sits and shifts... I remember Uncle Floyd singing that song while playing the piano on Channel 68.

Yes, I remember the old days of wrestling across the floors of Marissa Circle. More often we were practicing amateur chiropractic. Hey Frylock, remember the time you stepped on my back and it sounded like a bag of walnuts being crushed in a vice?

Come to think of it, maybe that's why I have such a messed up disc at T8... Well, that and the rodeo... And of course sanding that table for six hours every night isn't all that helpful. Nor is leaning hunched over the computer, fighting with Blogger to post the next nonsensical message.

I'm going downstairs now. To give the boys their breakfast: a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios (also known as "Funny Butt Cheerios," which makes Mojo laugh hysterically). And to unlock the back sunroom (also known as Da Chimpz' playroom).

Oh my. Where do I begin? I know John. keep it lighthearted........that is so hard sometimes. My alter ego Captain Sarcastro bubbles to the surface and erupts.
ok.
I would have to say that Justinius would be beat down pretty hard in a square off. Let us discuss the real reason for this dialogue in the first place. Lets just Broadway Joe's parties are always the place to be. They are legendary. He knows how to have fun. So there lies a degree of jealousy somewhere in this and somewhere along the line the most primal of reactions has reared its ugly head. The square off.
For the record:
On one occassion I watched in awe as Broadway Joe gave a Full Suplex to Anthony Micheal. Anthony made a comment that he used kick us down when we were ball biters and he still could. It took a mere 30 seconds for the four of us to react and pounce on his 6'4" 350 pound redneck frame. We took him down. Steve and Broadway got his arms and me and keyser grabbed his legs dragging him out on Spumoni's front lawn. I spun around after he swung at me and Broadway grabbed him and flipped him over slamming him on the grass. The 3 of us just stared in amazement. It was awesome. I wish it were on film but it was too dark out. There is also a documented icident where a security guy hit broadway Joe's brother mistaking him for a crazy fan and Joe pushed off his body guard, leaped over an escalator in the airport and took the guy down on the opposite escalator
NOW. "The 4 fongools" have all taken beatens at one time or another from each other. We are quite ruthless and brutal to one another. It just has to happen sometimes. I would have to say that Justinius would be beat down pretty hard in a square off. Justin would go down........fast.

A history of beatens we will save for another day.

Bettyisms. I too think about Betty often. I think that Pee Wee makes faces the way she did. I believe Whoopi Goldberg was the inspiration for the name Molly. I know but i cannot say why . We shall never know why.

1. Sarah Sarah sitting in a chevrolet. All day long she sits and shifts. Shifts and sits.
2. Whats in the vent? Those are Mulligas. What? Mulligas. ok grandma ill vacuum them. Can anyone define mulliga? I googled it but no confirmed result.
3. i am going to the shiropodists office. the who?
   
4. Joey Hurry Hurry go to the next aisle. Why? Just go.
5. What time is it? Half past a ...............................
6. I keep gettin bit up.
   

I have a question. Does anyone else have ridiculous nicknames for all the entries in thier cell phone contact list? Is it mastandrea-ish to make up the more memorable name we last called that person or something we are personally reminded of? I have decided to put all the entries in such a code in big vin's cell. you know so he knows who is calling him?
any requests or recomendations?

This whole question of "who would whip whom in a fight" is so frustrating. I'm pretty sure it was a late-night bout of drinking that resulted in the cinematic abomination "Alien vs Predator." It was that kind of drinking that brought us Prohibition back in the 1920s.

As for me, I would never challenge Broadway Joe to any battles that involved skills related to kite-flying, mozzarella-eating, or general pyrotechnics. Likewise, I wouldn't challenge Joe-maha to anything related to chemistry, radio-communications, or tractor-pulling. As for Bazzukajoe, I would never tangle with him on sandwich-making, hat wearing, or exfoliation agents.

The list could go on endlessly, but I haven't had enough to drink. I discovered that Topps, the other local supermarket, carries Fortissimo in jugs. One of those holds me for a week. Or a long night of hypothetical standoffs.

"Molly Goldberg" is a rather funny nickname for a young girl. Even funnier, is neither Ree, Mardukis, BazzukaJoe or I can provide an explanation or an origin for the name. Such names and offbeat sayings were all part of Betty's charm...and its the Mastandrea instinct to accept, rather than question. We questioned the nickname no more than we question why Big Vin's christmas lights must be perfectly symmetrical. The fact that we never need an explanation is part of what makes this family great.
Some other Betty-isms:
1. "Listen, listen the cat's pissin'. Where where, under the chair..."
2. (holds up all five fingers) "Hey, Steve you know what this is?" (flips up her middle finger) "Its a week supply of these"
3. "I lie alot"
4. "What are you worrying about...my bills? Don't worry I paid them"
5. "You know what Thought did...Thought thought he farted but he shit his pants"
6. Hey Grandma, why you makin' that face? "Its the only one I got"

This is another list that truly go on forever, I just love talkin about Betty...I think about her all the time. So feel free to add on to this list as well. I also want to openly compliment Peech un'Molly on not only her impressive memory, but more importantly her Mastandrea-ish acceptance of Betty's name. John will always say it takes a special breed of outsider to flourish in this family...your stock is going up, Number 2.

I shall refrain from using any names...but I saw something last I needed to share. A good friend of Big Kahuna was admitted into the hospital yesterday for observation, and so I joined Big Vin, Aunt Marie, and Ree on a little visit to Jupiter Medical Center. The patient looks robust and healthy plus he's in great spirits, however there is clearly one problem....he is laying in a semi-upright position in the hospital bed, and somehow his hairpiece has separated itself from its normal resting place atop his head. It actually looked to me like a magic trick. It reminded me a guy I once saw on "Ripleys Believe It or Not" (Back when Jack Palance was host, not that hack Dean Cain) who could levitate dollar bills like an inch or two above a table...(it turns out he did it breathing in a certain way...and they outed him by forcing him to wear a microphone). But back to the levitating toupee. Everytime I spoke to him I stared him straight in the eye, refusing to surrender to my urge to stare and and point...and pull it off and put it on my own head. So of course, as our visit came to a close we boarded the elevator and no one spoke...just four very quiet goofy grins (I was just trying to choose my words carefully before I said them) when finally my mom broke the silence "I know, I know...the wig." And with that the floodgates broke open.

Also wanted mention how earlier yesterday, I had an absolutely absurd debate with the Justinian regarding his deluded belief that he could defeat Broadway Joe in a hypothetical bareknuckle fist-fight. His argument was very weak...aside from having more bottled-up anger and misery, he had no real basis for his argument. I'm going to restate some of the facts I presented:

1. Broadway Joe is at least 8 inches taller and 70 pounds heavier.

2.I hate to bring this up, but Bensonhurst is a bit tougher place to grow up than Valley Stream, LI.

3. You can play him on Playstation's Celebrity Deathmatch.

4. Broadway Joe can take pain, hes broken his collar, his shoulder, he even had a hydraulic spring fire a hole straight through his calf once.

5. I know Justin can point to his tattoos as proof he can take pain..but Broadway Joe has more tattoos...including one on his inside lip.

6. I can probably go on for an hour but I'm going to finish this very simply: a few months ago at a club in NYC, Broadway Joe had a small altercation that ended with him tossing Jason Iler (AJ Soprano) into a wall like a two pound rag-doll (Broadway Joe is an extremely passive and peaceful man but AJ made the mistake of making an offensive comment about his wife). In sum, the Sopranos know not to mess with him..Mr. Justinian you should too. Anyone care to weigh in here, maybe help support Justin's counter-argument?

Last night I used the router for the first time and successfully mangled some otherwise strong and valuable pieces of wood. I made much progress, some of it positive. I quit at about 11 and went outside to lounge in the hammock.

Damn, does it get quiet around here at night!

Until those friggin freight trains rattle by with their distant air-horns and mysterious destinations. The tracks are a good half-mile away -- so it's the quiet that allows the sound to reach Berea-Rose... Nowhere near as loud as the Metro-North that used to be right across the street, yet that I never noticed at all.

This morning I took my coffee-cup out onto the second floor patio and watched the birds bustle in and out of the tree we have out back. Weeks ago its flowers turned into little berry-like things that the birds apparently find tasty. Lots of robins, some doves, and faded yellow things with black around their eyes. I waved my arms at them as they crapped all over the driveway.

Does Molly drink coffee? Has Molly ever been to Ohio? Has she ever been hired as Starvin Marvin's personal assistant?

The sad part about the table is I feel as I have lost a husband to it. He has become obsessed with this table. It is almost like Moby Dick and Captain Ahab. (which it may not be like at all because I have never read Moby Dick).

I have once again managed to land a job where I learn fascinating facts about esoteric subjects. Now, I have learned somewhat about the process used to enrich uranium--which I guess may be helpful with the events in Iran. I have also learned that as safe as they claim nuclear power to be--you will never catch me within a hundred miles of one of those plants. I have also become quite familiar with cancers that no one should have let alone be aware of.

John i believe that wood working like that requires a helping hand from our cousin Dominic . Now he is quite a craftsmen. He once sanded down Uncle Lenny's front door while they were in Italy. He used a planer and did not remove any hinges or lock hardware. Needles to say when they finally go the door open after thier flight they had to buy a new door. It was too small but still sticking. For the record i recall thier front door sticking in the winter my entire life. They live in that house 50+ years.

Well sounds like duane maybe a craftsmen too. Molly, does that job come wth a jumpsuit? I always wanted a job where you get to wear an evil knievel type jumpsuit. There aren't many though. My uncle Vito once gave me a Postal jumpsuit. It was excellent. Who new they had cool uniforms. I asked if he had ever worn one and he just said " AAAHHHH. Get outta here" Maybe I can talk Sephora into adapting our polyester stink factory uniform into a black jumpsuit. i dunno. Ladies may not go for it. Maybe i can get Uncle Vito a job there Part Time after he retires.

Things I have broken......

• Steve Fatones motorcyle.
• Video camera from Steve's Video on 86th street(Dominic helped)
• Sal Lineas head with the brain fruit growing on the tree at the Sleepy Hollow Inn.
• The new curtains at grandma's house in ravenswood. Window slammed shut and tore them down the center . grandpa covered for me.
• Every toy Steve ever got till we were about 4 and 7 years old. Oh the broken one is yours.
  
• the crooked fence at uncle joe's old house during CHUDD Bowl 1,2,3
  
• Clinique glass case that was once in Macy's.
  
• Jessica's car the first night we went out.
  
• Ceiling Fan at the villa on Jupiter lakes Blvd. Oh wait....Everything in that villa.
  
• My rib wrestling steve fatone in the kitchen
• John's grandfather Jack's eardrum with a new years eve popper
• The very grill steve cooked out on memeorial day weekend. We actually smashed the cast iron gril while cleaning it with a 3500 psi pressure washer we rented. They actually told us to be careful with the precision tip. I gave steve and myself black and blues on our feet. POWER....
• Paul greco's knee cap. I once hit a line drive he pitched and man did he hit the mound.

What did Betty always call molly?

I was thinking about John and his one man war with that old table...and realized its not his fault. Heredity is dictating his actions. Occasionally, when I venture to Spumoni Gardens, the Big Kahuna has a few broken pinwheels in the front yard. He will not surrender to purchasing a few new ones, which only cost about 19 cents a piece, he'd much rather have me search the house for oversize toothpicks, hot glue guns, duct tape...and I swear to God on this one...last week he had my mother looking for chewing gum to use for his repairs. "Fixing" these things is kinda like making a splint for a broken bone...except the bones may one day actually work correctly. Inevitably, once a pinwheel is reassembled by one of us, it will neither stand on its own or spin correctly...the only two purposes a pinwheel serves. I point this out to Big Vin, he pauses and says "before you leave I need you to tape those to the entertainment center, the lamps and the bed posts inside the baby's room. And do it nice". So my point is no matter how crazy we think John is for his monumental waste of time and energy...in the end he will probably find a way to convince himself of the contrary...and if hes anything like my father, we might want to send him a pack of Bubblicious...you know for his toolbox.

A warning from someone who has been there. Alane, if Cookie and Mojo have 'Show and Tell' lock up your "night-wearables." When JayAaron was in first grade his first Show and Tell was a red net teddy with marabou feather trim. At least he didn't take the matching stockings and garters and high heel shoes. Or wear them. I got a call from the school. The teacher (a good friend) teased me for years. Never let your guard down. Never a dull moment with smart children.

First thing--I never told John to refinish the table himself. Indeed, I was going to take it to one of those places that dip it in left over waste from the Gaseous Diffusion Plants around here, and give you a stripped down table to work with. John volunteered for this duty and indeed the other night when I went down and he was in his bug mask sanding, I again said--you know we could take it and get it stripped. But he declined once again. So I personally have no pity for him.

I did indeed take Cookie with me to pick out the Kindergarten teachers gifts. I didnt really expect him to do much but he he was quite the avid little shopper. We walked in and were greeted by the sales girl asking if she could help us. I explained we were buying gifts for Cookies teachers. She then asked the price range to which Cookie replied, Probably between 10-15 dollars. She then pointed to a sales rack and said there might be something there. Cookie went over and began inspecting the various items. He decided on two address books. The motif was of shoes. He then informed me that that did not complete the gift and picked out a votive candle and little holder for it. He also selected a gift bag with butterflies on it. We go to check out and the sales girl is like, You are quite the little shopper. She then gives him free candy from the expensive candy case. She is then ringing up the candle and says to Cookie, O this is one of my favorite scents. To which Cookie replied, Yes, it does smell quite good. It was all ridiculous. When I wrote out the teachers' cards, I did make a point of saying that the gifts had been hand picked by Cookie. (I certainly didnt want to take credit for such awesome choices).

Frylock says: any piece of furniture that requires that much work belongs in the trash.

After several hours in the basement sanding and scraping, I am ready to agree.

Hey, Molly: you take that job and I'll take your hostile-work-environment lawsuit!

Speaking of hostile work, tonight I'll go back into the basement to continue work on that table. It's a very slow process -- but I think the outcome will be good, so I'll stay up late.

At times I feel like Bugs Buny in Rabbit of Seville, after he pries open Elmer Fudd's boot and takes a giant file to his toenails.

"You are next. You're so next."

Cookie is now back from his last day of kindergarten. Yes, it's summer vacation. Perhaps I can take this time to show him how to carve the table legs (of course, I'd need to learn how to do that myself before being able to show him). Likewise with the table saw.

It struck me as I chatted with Frylock earlier today: this is Cookie's last week of kindergarten -- and it is also Vito's last week at the USPS.

"The Wheel of Life," I remarked...

My brain immeidately started broadcasting a very warped version of the Wheel of Fortune gameshow. In which contestants Helen and Vito steadfastly refused to spin the wheel. And the role of Vanna White was played by Mrs. Sussman.

This week I noticed our own letter carrier. I haven't seen a man walk that slowly since I was waiting in the stroke ward at Lutheran Hospital. He shall henceforth be known as "The Moping Mailman." And we are certain that he hates Frylock.

Most people know in conversation, BazzukaJoe and I have a tendency to bounce from topic to topic in an almost random way (although we would both probably argue its randomness). Its a phenomena my mother refers to as "flight of ideas" and John refers to "stream of consciousness and word-association speaking" and then some like Ree, just believe it to be a rare form of ADD that confines itself to obscure movies and absurd songs. So that said: I was reading Molly's post and all I could think of was Jenia describing to me how he once spotted Rob Lopicola on the bench-press at Golds Gym on Palm Beach Lakes. I could actually see the event occurring right before my eyes...I am now emotionally scarred. But back to the job interview: Duane never gave a detailed job description of his "personal assistant"...so for Peech un'Molly's benefit I will do it for him. So here it is:
1. Gently dab the perspiration from Duane's lower back when he does his lunges.
2. Sit on Duane's shoulders when he does his squats.
3. Sing Michael Bolton songs to help relax Duane when hes attempting a bowel movement.
4. Meet Duane at his home before he goes clubbing downtown to sculpt his hair into a "faux hawk".
5. Make Duane a grill cheese sandwich each day following his Pilates.
6. Wash and wax Duane's Buick Skylark wearing only your sandals.
7. Regrout Duane's bathroom.
8. Regrout Duane's abdomen.
9. Make Duane homemade soup using his sweatpants to flavor the base.
10. Did I mention we just recently changed the title of this position from "Personal Shower Assistant"?

Today is Cookie's last day of kindergarten. On the one hand, it seems so long ago that we scurried out onto Railroad Avenue and went around the block to put him on the school bus for the very first time. Then he changed schools and rode a different bus. Then he changed his address again and can walk to school (though I prefer to drive him -- Mojo walks too slow).

They are amazing chimpz -- able to absorb all that change with barely a hiccup. But as much as we've been through in the last six months, I still feel the urge to scream: "School is over already!"

Last night he went to a birthday party then stopped to pick out gifts for his teachers. Maybe Alane will tell the story.

Cookie's growing up. Fast.