The answer to your question is "yes."

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

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

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

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

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

This too. Joey's everywhere!

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

Enjoy the stroll down memory lane.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We better get cracking.

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

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

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


It might be a gift idea. Or not.

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

"Is some of this in a different language?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope you don't mind the photo editing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Merry Christmas, Steve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We considered drinking Manhattans.

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

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

We could have martinis.

This option we cheerfully embraced.

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

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

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

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