The roast beef and the turkey are out of the oven. That can only mean one thing: storm preparations are complete. The roasted meat, Steve reminds me, is in case the electricity goes out. He suspects it works like the old potato trick, where you stick the electrodes into a potato to run a small light bulb. The beef is the positive charge, the turkey negative. Makes sense to me.

Aside from that, I still find myself telling people about the grilling we did at Spumoni on my last evening there last week: the roast beef, the sausage, the peppers, the zucchini... the beets. And then, in the boxes I carted back to Berea-Rose from RoseAnne's place I found this priceless photo. Shot from the backyard of 1522, looking toward the backyard of 1526, I have to date this photo somewhere in the early 1970s. I remember having that striped shirt -- was I six? Seven? This pic may even predate Bazzukajoe!

And I remember that table with the canopy. Unfortunately, it's hard to make out the food on the table -- we probably scarfed it all by the time the camera was brought out. And how about that television? Wanna bet Don Vito watched the Yankees al fresco that afternoon?

We just visited the folks in Spumoni South via phone. They are battening down the hatches, cleaning up the yard and getting settled in with their supplies so that they can meet and greet Ernesto in style.

John, your post made us both laugh out loud. Thanks.

With tropical storm Ernesto bearing down on Spumoni South, I can only assume that Marie has already stocked up on batteries, Vin-man on salty snacks, Bazzukajoe on peanut butter. From the relative safety of Berea-Rose, I can only think of the wonderful potential for a silver lining (if a hurricane cloud can have a silver lining): there now exists a chance, infinitesimal though it may be, that one day this season we will actually see Jim Cantore interviewing Don Vito and we will finally get to hear someone say to Cantore on-air, "Aaaaagh, yer ass."

Talk about great moments in television!

Rob Lopicola will be kicking himself for retiring too early.

Now that was a lot of spine-unfriendly driving. Just got back from a day of heavy-rain highway-surfing -- my back is killing me. But since Thursday I got to spend time with many of the heaviest-hitting VIPs of our sphere:

• Stephen, who was issued on Saturday his official membership card for the universal Roman Catholic Church
• RoseAnne, who feared the typsetting on the cake was crooked (who'll notice?)
• NASCAR Joe, who grew the tomatoes that are now on the dining room table
• Gene, who drank wine with me off Union Square on Friday and a short drive later joined me in a visit to
• Mrs. Petronio, who wondered why we did not drink wine during our visit
• Julio, who offered to drink the wine in our place (not really: he was heading for the gym!)
• Guido, who grew the broccoli we ate Thursday night
• Kay, who cooked the broccoli we ate Thursday night
• my crew at the office, who kicked back with me on Friday afternoon
• and last but definitely not least, Pizza Joe, who got a surprise visit from me and put me back on the road with two pizzas, a stromboli, stuffed pepper, and instructions to tune in the Baccala Radio Network for tunes and fun (and, of course, he was correct: it was indeed fun).

Gosh, I hope I haven't forgotten anyone. I'm exhausted. And stuffed -- the soul-inspiring aroma of hot pizza tortured me as I drove until finally I rached behind me and slid a pizza box from the stack. By the time I crossed the Ohio border the box was empty.

Okay, and now it's Mojo's turn.

As we drove the very short distance to the school, we fondly recalled Cookie's first day last year -- and Mojo laughed his evil laugh over Cookie having forgotten his lunchbox on the schoolbus. We told him that wasn't nice.

Once in the classroom he immediately starting playing with his classmates and apparently forgot that Alane and I were even there. We slunk away.

Wow. Those are t-shirt photos. Thats impressive. I love when labels are mispelled. How did that get by? Then again there is the cock soup package Ree purchased. I am always fascinated by the cut rate imitations of the expensive cereals. The look the same but cannot have the same name. Krisp Rice-Matey o's-Extra raisin. was that 1 extra raisin? I always see the best ones in Wal-Fart of which they just built a massive supercenter a few miles away. 2 weeks ago we were all in Longboat Key. All of us. A family getaway that was long overdue. A nice weekend. We made breakfast, we burned spaghetti, we watched movies on the wall (love media projectors), and we flew a giant kite. I actually got air. Nikoles was chased by a flock of birds out
for his cookie. The water was perfect and we got to see a manatee. Broadway had a beach house opposite us and his parents had one one house over. It was about 60 feet to get to a pristine white sand beach with trees and benches. Even Big Vin took a dip in the salty ocean.

Don Vito has been known to purchase off-brand merchandise (understatement of the year?). Cleaning out the refrigerator last week I felt compelled to document for posterity the label of this particular jar of brine... And no, I don't normally proofread the pickles. But somehow this particular idiom of trade dress seemed to fit very nicely with the Castle decor. And the 30-year-old stinky balloons (another bag successfully unearthed!).

I was also intrigued by the sandwich place I saw in Terminal D of Hopkins Airport. "Sausage Kingdom" sounds way too much like the name of a film one might find in the lesser-visited corner of the adult video section (do those even exist anymore?). In any event, it appears to be a franchise chain -- one that I never heard of before (I should get out more often). I did not partake, as I was already sipping a tall Starbucks, cursing TSA.

It's time for all good gorillas to go to school... Can summer really be over already? The evenings and mornings have felt absolutely autumnal, with the cool air and the wet grass and the clear skies.

So Cookie got dressed this morning in his new uniform clothes -- not quite as oppressive as we had it back in Brooklyn, with the long pants and the tie. He looked like quite the little Pink Floyd "We Don't Need No Education" zombie as he marched down the driveway. I can picture Cookie at an old-style boarding school... Eh, scratch that. No I can't. Maybe Mojo. He's more the brooding type who you'd find serving hard time at Clongowes Wood. And ultimately at Wormwood Scrubs.

"Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo...."

In addition to being doomsday, tomorrow is also Cookie's first day of 1st grade. So we only had time for one story tonight. Bright and early I intend to walk into his room and throw him out of bed. Maybe I'll put batteries into that old alarm clock -- the one that plays reveille and screams "wake up, rise and shine!" in a really obnoxious voice.

Let's see, who did I last wake up in that manner...?

Uncle Joe thinks my dreams are bizarre. I can't argue with him on that. He should also meet my friend Andre -- he's had some pretty good dreams too. Little did he know his experience would have been a valid cause of action in China. The pro hac vice motions would've been a real pain in the ass, I'm sure.

While I appreciate the kind words, I'm afraid it hasn't shaken me of the conviction that my boys already know way too much... And we're not talking about useful knowledge. And for that I blame people like Guido. And Bazzukajoe. And the rest of you people...

(Actually, today has been a banner day for bad parenting -- I've achieved a new high... or low, actually. Maybe later I'll go downstairs and clean up the taco chips, spilled salsa, and bologna sandwich ends tossed aside from a long day of unchaperoned video games and cartoons.)

I should also point out that Frylock is a bum. And I will keep repeating that fact until he is sufficiently provoked into posting his long-overdue blog update. The bum.

Challenging is a good way to look at this year of change. Wasn't change the topic of the talk you gave in KC years ago? The Change Merchant, right?

I suspect that we all have survived the changes physically but are still catching up spiritually and mentally and for us at least, financially. But like we all repeated earnestly and with sincerity to Vito, "Tomorrow will be better than today and the day after, even better. You can do this. One step at a time. Take a few deep breaths and remember your strengths and challenge your weaknesses." We just have to tell ourselves the same things and work our way through the losses and challenges. One step at a time, one day at a time.

Parenting is a balancing act. What an easy thing to say, right? But what a difficult thing to do: strike a balance between providing physically for your family and physically being there for your family. I do not envy you the task.

As a parent I asked myself what I wanted to be the most different from my childhood and for me that was easy: a good education and the encouragement to achieve success. I think you and Alane are well on the way to providing that for your children.

If I were to envy you, Joe and Roseanne any one thing, I think that it would be the education you were provided. And I can see in yours and Alane's minds, it is a priority for your boys, too. You are to be congratulated on that. Not all parents think that way. A good solid education puts your sons in a position to achieve many things in life that otherwise would be closed off from them.

So while you both may wish that providing physically for your children requires less time apart from them, at least you can take satisfaction in knowing that part of the time apart is well spent.

I am glad I spent the time in Brooklyn getting to know your dad and making a new impression of the person he is, please don't interpret my grousing otherwise. And I know that all three of you did not make the choice to go back home without seriously regarding your father's well-being first.

I know, too, that all those people with whom we had red-tape-tangled interactions had jobs to do, but it didn't seem that very many of them grasped that they were dealing with individuals rather than herd animals with the exception of Sunita who really stuck her neck out professionally to help us. [I especially felt like I was in a livestock kill pen at the DMV -- could your dad truly be a threat to society with a non-driver ID granted on 5 points instead of six? :-) And the Social Security Office blamed your father for their mistake which was so beyond unacceptable that it bordered on disgraceful.]

Yes, 2006 has been very... challenging. I didn't like being 500 miles away from where I was needed, but even from Westchester it was hard enough to make much of an impact at the Castle. And even apart from the tragedies of 38th Street there's also the fact that since January I've spent so much time away from Da Chimpz, dealing with various issues, business and personal. Not that they care -- they've always had a very wide comfort zone so they do change well. But they still have lots of bedtime denial and Alane always gets the brunt of that.

Maybe she should get herself a pair of those inflatable boxing gloves... the boys still talk about those things.

I wonder if I have been cured of my "Fish Eye" reflex... Next time I pass through the wine section I may find myself muttering "piss-water" in my bitterest curmudgeonly tone.

2006 sucks.

It's official. Several months worth of drought were erased when the monsoons hit soon after my return from Brooklyn. Besides the devastation to the garden I spent six hours mowing this weekend. How ironic that farmers now want dry conditions to get crops out of the fields.

The conference was good last week but even it couldn't avoid more bad news. My instructing assignment next week has been cancelled due to lack of overtime to cover backfill while the students are in class. At this rate I'll be lucky to instruct three classes this year.

2006 started out with such promise. But it's turned into a really, really bad year.

Open house at Da Chimpz' school today -- met their teachers and stocked their cubbyholes with supplies. Then came back to Berea-Rose for spaghetti and meatballs. But not before a stop at Giant Beagle for some groceries. I passed wide of the wine section but still caught a glimpse of Fish Eye... Walked another 10 feet before I realized I had done it again... said it out loud, doing the mal'occhio thing with my face... Brain damage, I'm sure...

Sun is out now after a mostly cloudy day. Maybe I'll go outside and toss the football around with Cookie and Mojo.

Warning: rant ahead

At least you got to sit, I hope. I feel your pain, trust me. The world is upside down and backwards wound up in red tape.

We made two trips to the DVM to get the non-pictuce, non-driver temporary ID that wasn't sufficient ID for the 5th 3rd bank. I stood in line for more than 6 hours total to be told twice that your father couldn't amass the six points of ID to get an official ID. WTF?!?

Nearly in tears, I appealed to the supervisor and plead his case. We were in luck. They decided that Con-ed --was-- stupid enough to spell your father's name wrong and they would accept that as the last piece of ID to get the New York ID.

It cost your father $36 in car fare to get a $6.50 ID mailed to him (and not in time to take it to Florida, obviously.)

The last trip we rode the subway and I got a Nathan's Famous hot dog out of it and I bet you didn't get that. (But Wimmer's weiners are still better.)

I spent similar long hours with Medicare, Social Security, the hospital billing staff (I cannot say nor spell that name), the gerentology department, the visiting nurse's office, the phlebotomist/lab, and PT (when the bills were denied by Medicare) and the government personnel offices, the government personnel (retirement) office of insurance (life) and ditto but health and then tackled the annuity. I had to check the mirror to make sure I didn't have a receiver growing out of my head instead of an ear.

I answered at least six phone calls per day from bill collectors. Every day. Increasingly hostile. What part of "I can't help you." didn't they understand?

But then again, I could have sold the house to the vultures who thought the family still owned it and were feeling me out for a low-ball bid once they saw the 120-plus bags of trash, shredded papers and the 40-plus bags of clothing that went to St. Vincent dePaul.

I hope you found some comfort in wormwood. (And I thank you again for the best sauteed mushrooms ---ever--- made with the last 1/4 cup of vermouth in the bottle at the castle.) And for the magic pill that let me sleep the night before the plane trip home. (That's a day I want to forget but never will. . .it ranks as one of the worst in my life and that includes an awful lot.)

Believe me, Joe and I are cleaning house and putting our paperwork in order or I am putting a fricken match to the place come New Year's Eve.

I started cleaning off the garden today. The stench of rotted produce is perfuming the air so my mood is just peachy keen. Drought followed by monsoon. Would could have guessed? Thank goodness I have chocolate and espresso.

The following is another Cranky Mastandrea Consumer Alert: don't do business with Fifth Third Bank. First, you should never put your money in any organization that has a fraction as a name. More importantly, the place annoyed me this week. And you know how we get when we're annoyed.

It all started when Vito and I took a drive to open a Florida-based bank account. I wanted a place that also had Ohio branches, so the pickings were slim. I've seen 5/3 all over the Cleveland area and was somewhat surprised to see them in Florida, so off we went to PGA Blvd. We walked in and the place was completely empty -- which should have been our first clue. A soft-spoken and friendly gentleman led us to a desk to start the paperwork. Turns out he was an old friend of Frylock! Very cool -- he entered our info and got the process going.

Then the manager intervened. Seems Vito's ID credentials weren't quite up to 5/3's exacting standards. He'd need to show another piece of ID. But that was all we had. I asked to see said manager; when she emerged I reviewed with her the validity of his two pieces of government-issued ID. She was unmoved, firmly explaining that federal rules required a certain level of ID... I strongly suspected otherwise and told her so. I stated my surprise that a man whose actual identity was not in question was somehow not qualified to open a bank account (which may explain why the place was so empty). I thanked Frylock's buddy for his assistance and further declared (to the manager still standing her ground) my intention to go across the street and open an account with a larger, more significant bank. Which we did, quite easily.

Federal rules, my ass. That's what annoyed me most -- you wanna have house rules that make it hard to open an account? Fine, it's your bank. And yes, fed regs do make life miserable. But don't blame the regs when it's your own internal rules screwing things up. My advice to Frylock's buddy: fire your boss.

(That said, Vito has known at least since the Starvin Marvin incident of 1993 the importance of getting a real ID card -- so of course I had to bust his chops on that.)

I blog from the prairie. . .which looks like a jungle from all the rain that has fallen on the plains in the last two weeks! It is lush and green here for the first time in about four years. Unfortunately, the grass is thin and the weeds thick. Joe has been mowing for hours and isn't a quarter of the way through. Needless to say, I worry about him out there in the high humidity but he says he can handle it after a week in Louisiana.

The pumpkin vines, squash vines and cucumbers succombed to the drought before the deluge, but to make up for it, I have green (block) pepper plants almost my shoulder height. I have never seen them grow that tall! Thankfully I staked them before I went north to New York. However, the jalapenos have fallen over to the ground taking their cages with them.

Hot peppers thrive in drought, so they set on so heavily I will have hot peppers to give away by the peck. I can't get far enough in to the center of the garden to check on the serranos and scotch bonnets and habaneros but I suspect they are loaded as well.

I haven't even looked at the green beans because it is too soggy to get out and wade through it all to them. I have about caught up inside the house so tomorrow I start on the garden and yard if it doesn't rain tonight. I may have to lay down a layer of cardboard in order to be able to stand up in the center, but I really want to harvest some of the corn before it turns too hard to eat and gets turned in to squirrel corn.

It is certainly good to be back together with Joe last evening after a couple weeks. We had a lovely evening at our favorite Italian restaurant to celebrate my birthday that we spent apart. One thing about being gone, I have been able to keep celebrating my birthday long after the date has past.

Thursday night one group of gals and I partied and tonight I party with my best friend from college. I am cooking but she is bringing wine and chocolate! Tonight's meal is steak for Cathy and Joe and a salad for me since I am still trying to drop a couple of sizes and get back in to my wool slacks this winter. I can't afford a new wardrobe so dieting is my only alternative. It seems so weird to be thinking ahead to winter, but if it is time to start canning, then it's time to start cleaning up the house in anticipation of fall. This summer really flew.

Best to all. . .

And today, a farewell to Kings.

So many years after the Fall of the House of Lanyo, we depart forever the ruins of our ancestral home.

Vito did look back as the car pulled away from the curb, but only for a second.

And now we sit in an airport terminal, Gate 9, a regularly-scheduled flight to the rest of our lives. Vito is lurking the concessions now -- he already bought three sandwiches and he is convinced we will need several more.

From Joe-maha and I to John: Are you sure the roach wasn't the winner . . . .after all, it wasn't the first of it's ilk to be spotted in the last month. . . .
A safe flight to you and Vito and give our love to all at Spumoni South. . .and thanks again to all that made my stay in New York a pleasant one. . .
I am indebted to Vito for his hospitality as well as to Uncle Lenny and Aunt Rosina, Marie and Vinny, Mary, Terry, John, Joe, & Roseanne whose phone calls kept us in touch with reality.
Many blessings on this wonderful clan.

Short post from an exhausted gal. Home. Flight delays. Ran over a mile in less than 20 minutes to catch my flight out of Minneapolis after delays out of New York. Flight attendant offered to call a medic. I settled for a glass of water and a towel.
Was robbed at LaG and came home virtually penniless, but hey, happy to be on the ground in one piece. My advice: always be on the alert when two TSA agents are working in cahoots and one distracts you while the other one palms your money.
Joe wants me to report it to the FBI . . .all I want is my name to NOT ever surface on anyone's list . . .there is no chance of recovering the money anyway.
My luggage is circling the globe. Joe-maha needs it back to pack to leave for Louisiana tomorrow or he packs his skivvies in an Army duffle bag. . . .wow is all I am going to say. . .

Was just sitting in the living room of Brattislava, watching baseball, arguing with Vito over how many extra hours of travel time to leave before our flight tomorrow when in the darkness of the room I saw a wide shadow across the far wall. Curious, I turned on the light.

"Holy crap," I yelled, "That roach is as big as a farm animal."

The thing had horns on its back. And a spiked collar.

Vito picked up a flyswatter and with a move that was much too well-practiced slayed the full-size SUV that was scaling the flaking plaster.

I poured another glass of brandy for myself...

Vito wins. We'll leave this place as early as possible tomorrow morning.

Fire? That seems a little extreme. I don't have any photos of me with the smoker but I did post a link to its description. It takes a little longer but the flavor inhancement is unbeatable. Notice how all of the fast food joints are scambling to sell products with a chipotle sauce? A chipotle is a smoked jalapeno!

I spent today catching up after 12 straight days (and many nights) of work. I ran errands, mowed for a few hours and cleaned tody. Hopefully tomorrow I can finish the mowing and laundry before Ellie gets back. Over the past week we've had over four inches of rain, nearly erasing the six-inch deficit we've been running since January. It seems to have helped the tomoatoes, squash, pumpkins and melons but it's probably too late to help the corn.

Speaking of Ellie's return, I'll speak for all under the roof here that we can't wait. It has been written that she has taken one for the team, and rightfully so. But the critters here are also exhibiting signs of stress, and it will be great to have our pack back together again.

And Bon Voyage, Don Vito!

The quote of the week came from our humorless waitress this evening: "I bring pu-pu now."

I'll have to explain later.

Bested again! By Big Vin, a/k/a Prometheus, bringer of fire. Here's my little food playground, helpfully pointed out by my two little Rump Roasts. In just a few months, that thing has transformed so many hamburgers, sausages, chickens, zucchini, squash, peppers, mushrooms, potatoes, and now beets into extraordinary delights that the thing really needs an odometer.

Remember what Shakespear said: "It's not the size, it's what you do with it."

(I say this knowing full well that I'm setting myself up for a big fall here -- do I really have such hubris that I would challenge Vin's grill skills? Is that a wise move? Could I be so reckless in my personal affairs?)

one mans quest for fire........
Where does he get those wonderful toys?

So here's the little Hooverville I've been lounging in for the past few days. It's comfy. Last night I finished off the Smoking Loon as the sun went down; got back out there a little after Alane left at 5:30 this morning -- when it was still too dark to read the WSJ, even with both citronella candles blazing. It's quiet around here in the morning, just birds and insects.

Off to the side you can see a corner of the Chimp Tower. It still needs work. Cookie and Mojo were telling this morning of their plans to conduct a waterballoon fight from its upper deck. I wasn't sure if that meant they would both be on the platform heaving waterballoons at point-blank range, but I simply nodded... knowing they're more likely to have a snowball fight by the time I'm done putting the finishing touches on that monstrosity.

I even spent some time in my penthouse health spa this morning -- putting on the boxing gloves and smacking around the double-end-bag (which smacked me back a few times). It's a Spartan accommodation up there, but good enough for a morning workout -- and I do mean morning: try going up there when the sun is in the sky and you risk immediate heat-stroke. Even my work area at the bottom of the attic stairs, the room I've made into my office, doesn't seem to want to dip below 85 degrees in the daytime, even with the A/C on. That's a bit blowjhinsky if you ask me.

Well, almost time to wrap up my computer activities for the day -- return some phone calls, answer some message, arrange my papers... and retire to my tent for the evening.

The leftover beets from yesterday's grill? We pulled them out of the refrigerator this evening and sliced them into the salad. Yum.

It's my night to put the Gangsters to sleep. I'm searching online for stories about the sewers of ancient Rome, something to read to Da Chimpz as they drift off. How will that go over?

Berea-Rose sits on a street that runs true east-west. Out the front window is north, out the back window, south. That means the front lawn and the back lawn get sun all day. Sun, as in, no shade. No shade, as in, no use sitting outside.

All that is different now: today I purchased from my local Wal-Mart a 10'x12' screen canopy -- cheap at $99. The parts barely fit together and the instructions were not really in English, but with the help of some of my own hardware (including a roll of duct tape) this thing is standing. I'm in it now!

We also started re-construction of the playhouse that we bought when we first got out here. We picked it up used from a family moving out of their place in Strongsville. Taking it apart was a bitch and a half -- re-assembling it promises to be worse (but we're already thinking about "simplifying" the design by jettisoning some of the features). It's on its side, in the grass, a few feet away from my little tent-condo.

Another first for today: roasted beets. Fresh beets (from Westside Market), washed up and covered with foild along with olive oil, sliced red onion, and some tarragon. Let them sit on the grill for a little over an hour. Beet that!

Our lawn is a wreck. Scorched spots, strange plants sprouting in places, patches of bare soil... And there's a corn stalk growing out of the flower patch by the lawn light. Alane has grown fond of it, otherwise I'd pull up the eyesore.

Should I work to repair it all? Or should I park my ass in a lawn chair for the rest of the day and think about what I'm going to drop onto the grill later this afternoon?

Some decisions make themselves.

Finally got out to jog this morning. Did I ever blog about how much I hate jogging? Temperatures are in the low 70s this morning -- a good time to be out. Alane is going to work late this morning so Da Chimpz are being tended to -- they're on their way to summer camp right now.

I'm going to get some work done now. Then I'll call the Castle 1526 and we can finalize all our scheming: Vito's plan to put the sunshine back in the sunshine state!

Oh, and let's not forget OKEECHOBEE BOULEVARD.

Indeed. In all the years I used to drive the Long Island Expressway I had no choice but to drive past the big sign for Shelter Rock Road and announce, loudly and happily, Shelter Rocky Road!. Because I was always a big fan of ice cream.

Oh, and the proper response to the "Draw Bridge" sign is: "Draw bridge? I can't draw!"

I also like driving north on the NYS Thruway. There's a big sign for Coxsackie. No need to say much of anything when we pass that one.

John i believe you are on to something. I do think it's genetic. We began wearing radio's at work and they are similar to those lame one the old navy people wear except ours are much smaller. More like cell phone buds. I cannot help but to respond in a different voice or character every single time. I don't know why. Half of my employees do not have a clue what i am taliking about but they still laugh. This week "silence of the Lambs" was on cable. They ruined it. BUT Do I need to say what line i spoke. i said it on the radio every time and i laughed in my own head each time. What am i insane? I cannot drive on northlake blvd without saying out loud NORTHCAKE. Thanks to steve fatone.

I think I have brain damage. Probably a genetic thing. I stopped just now at the Giant Beagle supermarket after dropping the boys at summer camp. I selected some wilted vegetables, some bleached-flour breads, and a strange-looking pomegranite iced tea. Of course, I had to visit the wine section -- I wanted to find Smoking Loon, a selection I tried at Guido's last week. They had the Syrah and the Pinot Noir. I took the latter, mainly because when I read the words "pinot noir" I think of my brother-in-law Cowboy Joe when he brought out a bottle of the stuff one night and declared it an especially good because "it's a hard grape." (We had already finished a jug of a cheap red wine that night -- so the "hard grape" comment seemed to make sense.)

I put the bottle in my shopping cart and said aloud the obligatory "it's a hard grape." But as I walked away I noticed that I also said something else. Not far from the Smoking Loon was a bottle of Fish Eye chardonnay, not a bad little white wine. I've had it before, twice in the last few months. As my gaze passed the bottle I found myself doing exactly what I had done every single time I poured a glass of the stuff: I'd say aloud slowly and tauntingly fish-eeeeyyyyeeee while closing one eye and leaning forward with the other, trying to open it wide enough to make it bug out of my head.

Yeah, I know: it's not particularly funny. But I don't suppose I do it for the benefit of anyone's entertainment... because today I was by myself in a supermarket... saying that out loud... to no one in particular... And I don't know why!

Is my brain really doing this? Or is it more of a reflex response processed somewhere along the brain stem? If my brain were removed completely from my skull would I still be able to steer my car safely along the FDR Drive, the part under the apartments? Would overly-loud motorcyclists earn the proper Zappa-esque admonition to "Blow it out your ass, motorcycle man!"? Would I respond appropriately to the signpost outside Co-op City -- the big one on the Hutchinson River Parkway that commands drivers to "Draw Bridge"?