Now, if you run into one of these be sure to set it aside.

Packing and cleaning, cleaning and packing; that is our home life.

In doing so, Joe-maha unearthed this 1991 Staten Island photo montage from Marie:

Of late my church going experiences are of the variety that makes God wish I was considering becoming agnostic. On Ash Wednesday, I decided that I would attend the service during my lunch hour with co-workers from my office. We go to St. John's which is Cleveland's version of St. Patrick's in NYC. The first sign of trouble comes relatively late in the service when the ashes are being dispensed. We had of course sat as far back as possible in the cathedral, so we are all a bit astounded when the Bishop comes to the back of church to dispense ashes. This does not prevent my one co-worker from ashing and dashing and off she goes stating that it is not a holy day of obligation. I was surprised that the bishop didnt smite her. I return to my pew and due to the large number of participants, another priest has come to the back of the church to help. However, this priest is about 4 feet tall, and the people receiving ashes from him are all about 6 feet tall. So the priest has to basically jump to put ashes on these peoples foreheads and let me tell you, not one of them made any effort to make it easier for the guy. Then, I'm in line for communion and the bishop starts making this beckoning sign and I'm looking around hoping it isn't me he wants to come forward. Instead it's this lay guy who must be his lackey, and the bishop tells him to go get more hosts. And the guy starts bowing and saying, Yes Bishop which just made me think of Yes Master and Igor in all those horror flicks. To add to the very reverant atmosphere, the Bishop is asking another of his lackeys if the cameras on him...

The other Sunday we were in church and I had promised Cookie we could sit in the front row which has a cushion on it. John expressed concern that the seat we had picked was for the handicapped but I told him I didnt think so. Some guy then asks us to do the offertory and to move the table that the gifts are done when we are done. Mojo is ambivalent about participating so when the time comes I'm like stepping over him to get out and he decides he will do it. So we are crashing into each other like the three stooges. We of course then forget to move the table as instructed and the guys doing collection have to do it. The finale to that mass is the eucharist minister coming to our pew to give us communion because apparently we are in the handicapped pew...

It was also a week of random thoughts. While sitting at the Ash Wednesday service I am thinking to myself, why can't I imagine any of these people strapping explosives to themselves and walking into a crowded public place? Then I'm going home from work one day and some person has in their back window, Cigars and the Holy Bible.

Cookie had his cub scout banquet after church today which was a nice time. After mass, the priest made sure to inform us that he was quite chatty...

I need to broaden my musical horizons.

And my congratulations to the rapidly-growing-up-Ellexa on her walking skills! Jomaha has told everyone here how exciting it was to get to see her take off walking.

It's three thirty in the morning and Joe just got in from work. . .He couldn't leave the county without one more disaster under his belt. His day started at 4:00 AM and lasted 23 hours and thirty minutes give or take a few.

And as if ice jam flooding requiring local citizens to be rescued by boat from roof tops is not enough, we have blizzard warnings for the next two-three days ensuring that he will not have a weekend to rest or pack or recuperate.

As if Joe needed more job security. It was noted that he will be missed.

Did someone mention vacuums?

Our trip to Georgia was 22 hours of driving , I only spent one hour not behind the wheel.
This is what happened.........

Two clowns shot dead?

If this story is true, I think someone ought to check the mileage on Alane's car. She claims to have only driven to the office today...

How cold has it been at Berea-Rose?

Very.

Well, the cold snap finally broke yesterday. We're still up in the 40s -- feels like spring. The snow is melting fast. The very disturbing snowman we built out back yesterday already bit the dust. He was still standing this morning as the boys headed off to school -- but he was looking very gaunt and was leaning backwards most unnaturally.

Bazzukajoe, Ellexa's walking is fantastic. But if you ever thought about conducting potty training here in the Cleveland area, be sure to wait until spring.

You really want to make sure all the ice is gone first.

Okay so the video is in. She walks..................
A lot like Grandma Betty. She gets around quite well too.
Ask Uncle V. Every so often she looks over at him and gives
him a wave.

And there was something not right about everyone getting
vaccuum's for Valentine's day. What is the mother trying
to tell us?And Uncle V got a crock pot which strangely
enough made sense to me.

"Second in a series."

The temperature finally squeaked past the freezing mark today, making the piles of fluffy powder denser and wetter -- good for things like snowball fights and snowman-building. Today we did both.

Before going out there I had some lunch: broccoli-rabe and sausage were the leftovers from yesterday's dinner. I lightly toasted a ciabatta roll, sliced the sausage thin and heaped on the soggy greenery, then closed the sandwich and poured out a nice glass of Fortissimo wine.

Yummmmm. I believe it is that sammich that made me the invincible snowball-fight warrior that I was this afternoon. Pegged those chimpz real good... (and damn, am I gonna feel it in my throwing arm when I fall out of bed tomorrow).

Since no one else blogged it, Ellexa started walking on Sunday if I remember the report correctly. Note in the photographic evidence that she's very Mastandrea in her travels.

Another snow day -- no school for da chimpz and no need for me to even step outside the house. Or change my clothes. Or shave. Or shower.

Yeah, I'm stinkin' right about now. Got a fire going while Mojo watches TV; Alane has Cookie out at a birthday party.

Actually, I did step outside today, briefly. I needed to take out a bag of trash that was stinkin' worse than me. I took a walk around the house to make sure the 15 inches of snow hadn't caused any damage to the Berea-Rose infrastructure: everything looked OK.

(Last two nights, with the snow piled up outside, I turned on the lights that are still hanging on the tree on the front lawn. It looks cool against the white landscape. Once we get closer to spring I'll go out there and snip them off.)

For the record. . .In case anyone had any doubts, I hate snow, ice and wind chills that leave one's nose, toes and fingers not only numb, but ready to snap off at the least provocation.

There were numerous rescue calls for slips and falls on the ice. I wasn't one of them and don't plan to be. I stayed in and plan to stay wrapped up in two layers of clothes and the down comforter. Seven below tonight with the high tomorrow ten. Maybe. Wind chills 20-30 below zero.

I did not send this stuff on to Cleveland. . .but it is hitting them with the same vigor it hit
us yesterday and today. So my prayers are with you all in Berea Rose for safety.


Joe called me from the land of palm trees and beaches and 70 degree temps and said it was thundering. Hard to sympathize with that although I do not wish severe weather on any one. So all, be safe.

I told Alane I think I know how we can make our own weiner-mobile. She said no, it might wake up the boys.

(If that doesn't draw a comment from Frylock, I don't know what will).

It has been some time since I blogged and I was stumped by the change over needed to post. But eventually I figured it out.

Yesterday I was coming home after a particularly rotten day at the office. For the most part my job is pretty good--but some days, it seems like all lunatics have been set loose upon me. So I'm in my car, doing that after work wind down, half vegetating in semi- auto pilot, sitting in what passes for rush hour traffic in Cleveland and there on the horizon is something that immediately lifted me out of my funk. Yes, coming toward me in the sub-artic weather was the dream vehicle of the Mastandrea clan--The weiner mobile. I was mesmorized for I had never seen it in its true glory, and there it was driving down a busy city street. I was awed by the site of it yet perplexed by its appearance in the dead of winter. I wanted to follow it, but I was cutting it close as it was getting the boys, so I had to allow it to escape. Next time I will follow...

Today the weather finally reached about 20 and the boys could get outside. I took them to a sled hill by the house and they had a blast. Someone had built some moguls and the boys would hit them and catch some air screaming like maniacs. Besides us there was one other person on the hill. It was this guy that was between 40 and 50. He had a super long plastic sled--and he was by himself. He had put foam on the sled to make it more comfortable. I found this slightly odd--but no odder than the plastic kmart bag he had wrapped around his head. (That he later explained he put over his hat so the powder didnt build up on his hat) What I found truly insane was that he was like making a luge like path for his sled. He had a broken piece of plastic that he was taking and carving into the snow and building up areas then leveling it out and he was dead serious about it. He was a pleasant enough guy--but there was just something totally surreal about a 50 year old man taking sledding that serious. It was a good time though and the boys want to go back.

You people just don't understand... comparing her to a schoolteacher... You're wrong, Bazzukajoe, wrong! Yeah, Bootsy is good, but Patricia Kaas can beat his ass. And she speaks French. Does Bootsy talk French? (Well, I guess that depends on who you ask.)

John i do believe you need help. You are a bit entranced and dare i say enamored by that artist. When i listen to her it reminds me of miss knapps chorus class at P.S. 3 singing Zoom Golly Golly and me getting the stare because i had no idea what i was singing or why. St. Catherines never made us sing. P.S.3 was an interesting transition from st. catherines. Very interesting. I had some ruthless teachers and oddly enough it was the last time steve and i ever went to the same school.
AnyWay.........
I liked the bootsy collins xmas one better.You have become a standard to us and that was painful. work on it...
As a side note I have downloaded the theme to Aqua Teen Hunger Force and will be playing it several times a day at my store during business hours as part of thier gorilla marketing campaign.
I also changed my ringback from that xmas classic and for the record Verizon is not much better than Nextel as far as customer relations go. Sad. They will tell you anything in the store to get you to sign that 2 yr deal. Your first bill is like a 9 page novel, i was better off at the car dealership at least there i expect to get raked over the fire.
But at last.....Pee Wee is walking and smiling with her 2 top and 2 bottom teeth. She began pre school this week and goes to the same school the Wife works at so life will begin to resume a pattern for once.
I will post some pictures soon.

Today, a little background music. I still don't know what this woman is singing, but I'm still pretty sure she's singing it to me.

True to my word, last night's bedtime story was nothing short of Washington Irving's Legend of Sleepy Hollow. It was rough sledding -- the reading required almost as much on-the-fly translation as when I read them Dickens' Christmas Carroll. Yeah, that was full of special moments. But the idea of there being a ghostly horseman without a head kept da chimpz marginally interested, so I proceeded as far as I could. Until we got to the part describing Ichabod Crane's rival for the attention of the lovely (and pear-shaped) Katrina:

...the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed [snip] and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb he had received the nickname of BROM BONES, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock fights [!]; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength always acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom.

Having read to that exact point Cookie interrupted me to exclaim: "Hey, that sounds like me!" Oh crap, I thought, my boy has an ego problem worse than mine. "Kid, you're a wreck," is all I told him as I snapped the book shut and called it a night. He and Mojo laughed.

In any event, it's interesting to get an insight into a six-year-old's self-image. Perhaps as I get his breakfast this morning I will address him as Bram Bones. Tell him we'll be riding to school today on horseback. With the Tartars.

Hey Ellie, is it springtime for you too? We hit 15 degrees here. I wore shorts this afternoon. Momentarily.

After a couple of days of sub-zero temps and no school for da chimpz, I had to use a portable power pack to start the Jeep this morning. Total blowjhinski. But I got them off to school without a problem (that is, without having to walk the third-of-a-mile in single digit winds).

Right now they are watching Ed Edd and Eddie, a wildly objectionable cartoon that I would prevent them from seeing if I wasn't such a thoroughly neglectful parent. Over the last few years I think I've seen every episode, almost always in bits and piece. And in that time I don't think I've ever been able to follow a plotline to guide the main characters' slapstick antics. Even now, I'm looking across the top of the wreckage Cookie and Mojo have wrought of our living room, and I'm watching the last few minutes of this episode... Nope, no idea what's going on. But the boys do laugh out loud.

Bedtime soon. I'll be sure to return the favor by reading them something confusing.

St. Alphonso's pancake breakfast! Where I stole the margarine!

A note to Vin and uncle Vee
Carmine's misses you.......

I miss the snow.......
People are shivering and complaining and the coldest its been is 50.

Its strange how a song can remind you of something so ridiculous and so vivid, like it was yesterday. I heard that song on the ride up to O. I immediatly went back to Marisa Circle, walking home from the bus stop. Robert Teetsel was the dirtiest kid around,but also the happiest. He sang this song most days on the short walk home, very often crusty with dirt from the previous day and wearing running shorts with a dress shirt and cowboy boots to school. You know his mom didn't dress him. Merle very often wanted to wear galoshes to school when she was small but it was during the summer and she was always swayed by a call to mom at work.
here are a few :
take the legs from any old table- Amica
Short People-Massari Wedding/ the Vyskrebentsev wedding
that annoying sting song- Las Vegas
shaddupa you face- living room on 38th street & Janine
Beeflog- John Paul
i wanna dance with somebody - the long drive from Ft. lauderdale to Staten Island.
its my party - grandma betty
st. alphonso's pancake breakfast- darrell

Steve, you can't let yourself get all bent out of shape every time someone orders pineapple on their pizza. Learn to mellow -- remind yourself: they just don't understand, they just don't understand.

I should've stocked up on more firewood. Right now it's one degree outside, and it wasn't much higher all day. We went bowling (!), then did some shopping, then hunkered down at the fireplace (well, I've been hunkered; da chimpz don't seem to mind the chill, spending much of their time in the drafty/icy back-porch where we have all their toys).

They're happy -- schools already announced they're closed tomorrow, presumably due to the cold.

Hey Marlo, we finally ate at that funny-looking restaurant on Bagel-y Road last night Vhooda. It was pretty good, with some really wacky decor.

The temps have been below zero with wind chills at 20-30 below zero. . .I called Marie to report a heat wave when it got to 3 degrees last week. . .at least one of us is enjoying this winter. . .

Right now, as I sit at my desk listening to "Speak Softly Low" play on my Ipod I giggle to myself (wow that sounds almost like a Walt Whitman poem) because I'm transported to the time I stopped speaking to Kim for an entire day after she insulted Andy Williams. We were both in disbelief, her at my "oversensitivity" , and I for her sheer insolence. In the end, she relented and apologized for the comment. Mastandreas can be quite stubborn on the strangest issues, huh? I'm not even sure why I even cared, partially what makes it even funnier now. I am confident that somehow Dr. Sfingi can visualize this entire argument (including dialogue, facial expressions and hand gestures) without me divulging anymore details. You have a gift...I expect you to use it.

Anyway, theres lots to talk about to today: like how Cookie and Mojo could have identified a light-up Mooninite and the Boston Bomb Squad could not. Quite disturbing. I'm hoping that the Boston Police Detectives are somehow directed to the Macaroni Dish searching for Frylock...you know the same way Rob Lopicola fans are directed here searching for pictures of his derrier.

Lets see what else is going on? This week I contracted some off-spring species of the rotovirus, and although it assisted me in my weight loss goals...I'm pretty sure I threw up my pancreas and spleen. This week I also had the displeasure of having my business bank card stolen and run up by some Eastern European Gypsies...made purchases from California to Iceland and even western unioned my dough home to Romania. Bastards. Funny part is, I'm not even that upset...in fact I've spent the last two days in a strangely good mood. I guess Matthew Wilder said it best...aint nothin gonna break my stride. (And yes BazzukaJoe that song does make me think of Robert Teetsel.)