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

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

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

Nevermore, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My work here is done.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

While I'm glad the Mets made it to the playoffs, I can't help but get annoyed at the ridiculous game schedule -- the painfully slow games, the jacked-up crowd audio, the hopelessly late start times. I put the Detroit game on last night, thinking I'd fall asleep on the couch way before the 7th inning stretch. At about 10 I started flipping channels and saw Fantastic 4 starting on HBO -- I left it on, got sucked in, decided to watch it all the way through. It ended a little after 11:30, way past my current bedtime. I decided to check back on the game. They were still playing!

I'll probably watch a few innings of the Mets tongiht, catch a few zzz's, and get the final score when I wake up. Baseball is so lame; and MLB.com is still blowjhinski.

Today was that oh-so-rare and oh-so-special kind of day -- where Alane and I had the day off... but the boys didn't. Now that is a holiday I can get excited about. We went to the gym and played racquetball; we ate some lunch; we (separately) went shopping for a bunch of stuff we really do not need. Does it get better than that?

Alane went to get Cookie and Mojo from school, and worked it out so the girls from around the block came over to play for a little while. So even the boys had a good time this afternoon, with indoor games that quickly spilled out onto the back lawn. This is one of the last really nice days: sunny, warm, just right; at least we all got to enjoy it. Almost a perfect day, except for that really-really-painful bee-sting I got on my arm as I stood, an over-flowing Target-bag in hand, chatting with the neighbor on his back lawn. Poetic justice, perhaps, as I was just that moment commenting to the elderly Bronx-native about the early demise of his beloved Yankees.

In true Bronx style, if I find that bee, I'm gonna put 16 bullets into its head.

I emailed my Japanese friend and she said she thought you might be calling yourself "Mr. Testicles." Whether or not that was what you were going for that's funny!

Here's a group shot of some of the couples who are not celebrating golden anniversaries this month. What a crowd! I learned a lot this weekend -- about Alane's cousins, about tango-dancing, and about Broadway Joe's wardrobe (we hit the Rock Hall of Fame).

Best of all, I have bestowed upon myself a new title. It is meant to be spoken in Japanese, so here's my best shot at displaying it phonetically:

KIHN ta-MAH sama

Brandi will double-check me on this -- and maybe even prevail upon Kou to get us the kanji representation for this. After some quick-and-dirty internet research, I'm ready to make a high-risk, recklessly-presumptuous stab at how this might look:



Once Brandi/Kou sets me straight on the characters and syntax of the above, I'm ordering myself some new business cards!

Went to Joe and Jean's 50th wedding anniversary celebration tonight. Great party. Pictures to follow. For now, just enjoy this photo. At least no one was rolling film when Kou tried to show me how to tango. It didn't go well -- but was hysterical.

UPDATE: I'm still trying to organize the photos -- need to get a bunch up onto the blog in time for people to get home from this gala (come to think of it, the South Carolina contingent should be rolling into their driveways right about now...)

Hydrogen-powered car of the future. . . the exhaust? water.
Cookie, Mojo and Elexa may be driving these when they get their licenses!

Now this is how to celebrate an Airport Guy birthday -- with rocket-ships and ferris wheels and Aunt Christina shielding the children from the dreaded heat-pipe.

This clip has a cast of thousands... look closely and you might see yourself.

This time of year my normal activity is canning. This year I am not putting up tomatoes, corn, carrots or beans although I plan to dig sweet potatoes Saturday.

My thoughts are already turning towards Halloween and a new costume. In the past I have transformed in to a witch and a wizard to treat the little ghouls, goblins, monsters that have knocked on the door. Think think think Any suggestions?

Is there some sort of a cause-and-effect relationship leading from the manicure and pedicure to what looks like fully enjoying a birthday party? Maybe the mani and pedi are not all bad. I haven't tried it, so I'll neither support nor knock it.

I've been busy helping to write a new course for the part-time job during recent nights and weekends. When I'm done with that I'll be preparing to instruct for the Red Cross next week and the part-time job the following week.

It was 95 degres here this afternoon. When it is that hot you think about Italian Ices, not cappicola.

Quick, follow the link before the IP police make the video go away.

It was one of the first songs Cookie learned to sing... especially the "sing like monsters" part.

cool site

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