Here's a photo that the CIA wishes it had uncovered first: Kaleid Sheik Uncle Joe from back when he used to run the deli/mosque in Brooklyn, the one that specialized in halal mortadella and Tora Bora Tartuffo.

Life was simpler back then... The moustache, about the same.

But no more: got my hair cut this morning and all was going well until the woman aparently decided there wasn't enough hair atop my scalp to sustain her fulol effort, so she grabbed her buzzer and plunged its business-end right between my eyes. I almost didn't realize what she was doing until I heard the growl of the motor as it labored to chew its blades through the center of my uni-brow.

"Hey, back off lady! That's where I get my super-powers!"

It was an awkward moment.

I picked up a few things from the Giant Beagle and then got back to help clean the house andthen get Cookie off to his Cub Scout meeting. Now we're back from that and in about an hour we'll be heading off to his baseball practice. The fun never ends.

So I'm sitting here, watching the ridiculous local news, wondering if the tornado watch now in effect will mean cancellation of Cookie's baseball practice... and they announce the latest marketing scheme to prop up the hapless image of the Cleveland metropolitan area. The campaign is called "Cleveland Plus" which I immediately translated into "Cleveland Pus" (right on point with the bio-med research they most wish to attract). I suppose it has a nicer ring to it than "Mistake by the Lake" but I'm still not sure how it's going to convince anyone to set up shop in the region.

Oh well, I guess they have to find ways to spend the money they heisted from me this year via their confiscatory local income tax. Hey, maybe that's what the "Plus" is for in the new slogan!

I wish I'd known there was a slogan contest -- could've been blog fodder for weeks.

This year it's machine-pitch baseball for Cookie. Perhaps "machine" is too strong a word for the contraption that sits atop the mound where the coach cocks the arm, loads a ball, and releases the spring-loaded catapult to hurl the ball past the wild swings of our little heroes.

We had rainstorms already this afternoon, so the ballfield will likely be very muddy and mucky. Cleveland Pus.

Hey Joe, nice hat. I really like it.

Everything is like a hat.

I apologize for my extended leave from the blog as i have opened a new store and it has kept me busy. I am sorry i did not get to say my goodbyes to the family when you left. We had fun. So i opened my store with a Mardi Gras Party and i thought you'd like my attire. We are mid cheer as i cut the ribbon.

Nothing like digging a big hole in the front yard is there john. Spumoni South once looked like afghanistan when the meat pipe incident occured. They tore the place up. I myself recall digging a giant hole next to the house on Marisa Circle to examine the foundation. I recall needing a ladder to get out. Now thats a hole, Then it rained and we had to bury the ladder but thats a different story. Ahhhh Do It Yourselfers, the allure of self reliance the disappointment of being over your head to the joy of the people at Home Douche Pot. I hate those guys. Hey john......just remember to shut the power. I blew out the whole house once and actually the whole store one too. Good Luck......

And with the close of the weekend, a festive week of birthday celebrations reaches its conclusion. Almost. Since Cookie's birthday was on Saturday, he can still bring in treats for his little first-grade pals. So we'll be stopping at the Dunkin Do-nots on the way to school to pick up a couple dozen for this class. WTF, does he go to school with a bunch of civil servants? What ever happened to Betty Crocker cupcakes with the sloppy frosting and the infuriating paper that throws crumbs onto your lap as you peel it off the bottom?

The schools seem to frown on homemade stuff these days... Too many friggin' lawyers.

Yesterday I dug up the area around my lawn light, intending to find the faulty wire connection that has kept my lamp unlit since I moved in. I dug all the way to the bottom of the post, felt around in the rocky clay and could find no wire. Finally I decided to the just yank the thing out and remount it after fixing the wiring. But when I lifted the post from the ground it came out unemcumbered by any wire. Piece of crap -- I chiseled the post wire out of the concrete base of the lamp-post. Still haven't found the live wire that runs under the lawn to feed it.

I guess that'll be my project for this evening.

O'Hare Airport is O'Blowjhinski. I'm sitting here waiting to board the 7 p.m. flight back to Cleveland. I have gotten most of my clothes back on since disrobing for the TSA.

They're right about this place: lots of wind.

I hear Orlando has ben a bit chilly. If it gets any colder, Airport Guy might try to get Don Vito to re-create this street scene. Are their apartment complex neighbors ready for such a sight? If it happens, make sure Viro wears the hat. And Joe the red boots.

Today, and for the next few days, both Mojo and Cookie are six years old. They took a little bike ride around the block yesterday evening and returned with their little pals -- all then piled into the house to cut the cake Joe and Jean brought over.

It's all a warm-up -- the big, combined birthday party is on Saturday. I am fitting myself for body-armor.

Mojo is an adventurous little guy, eager to spend the eve of his birthday at the local emergency room getting his bashed head stitched up. I'm pretty sure I had just told them to stop messing up the sofa with their rough play. I went upstairs to make another stab at editing those video clips, Alane on the other computer looking up cookie recipes for Mojo's classroom birthday celebration... and we heard the howl. Alane investigated and called me out to gaze upon the bloody gash -- not large, but it looked deep and appeared to hang open, definitely not something I'd leave unexamined.

So I packed Mojo Mal'Occhio into the car and brought him the local House of Pain. He was a good sport about the whole thing and we got back in under three hours.

He didn't like the bandages I got to make him look like a tough-guy; before he left for school he made me change it for a Spongebob Band-Aid. Hey, he'll remember his birthday at least. Just like Airport Guy remembers his first birthday -- I bet he wishes he had those gift-outfits this week. I think they'd finally fit him.

Birthday Greetings to the boys! (and to "Auntie M", belatedly, although she doesn't read the blog).


Glad you made the trip to and from safely in spite of the road hazards out there.

It is still cool in Orlando. Our great friends left behind in Nebraska all sent their best wishes to us yesterday when it was warmer in Omaha than in Orlando. (Yes, that would be in the form of raspberries.) Guess it was fair since I wrote, "neener, neener, neener" when it dropped back in to the teens and snowed on them. . .while I was enjoying the pool every day and perfecting my spotted tan.

With over 2,500 miles of highway in the last week, we are quite ready to not be in a car again for a long while.

But no such luck -- today we tooled around to shop for groceries, return the rental car, and I even ran over to the mall to pick up an 8mm-DVD conversion I put in some time back. (Yeah, that mall: "I drive myself to Macy's, picking out shoes" -- and I did get myself a pair of shoes.)

Anyway, the road trip was as harrowing as you'd expect. Lots of backseat fighting, long stretches of lousy radio, and in another sign of our civilization's inexorable decay we saw the total collapse of the traditional "left lane is for passing" road etiquette. I've never experienced so many ass-hats driving below the speed limit in the left lane -- so forget cruise-control, every few miles we were jockeying to break free of a some absurdly-formed logjam of truckers and morons.

It was quite a journey, and so great to see everyone. I'd try to relay the details here but don't even know where to start. Maybe I'll get my bearings once I get some videos loaded. Like this one, featuring Ellexa and Spiderman dancing the Paso Doble:

I gotta say, the Chrysler 300 is a sweet ride. Handles well even in the April snow-squalls of Cleveland.

Had a lovely evening yesterday. After eating some leftovers I took da chimpz out onto the front lawn to play a little catch -- they're getting good with their gloves and are not (for now) afraid of the hardball, even when I put it into the air for them. The temperatures were in the low 70s; the buds on the trees ready to burst into full flower...

But that was yesterday.

Just now I went outside to gather up the just-emptied trash cans from the curb. The wind was blowing them around. As I carried them to the shelter of the garage a squall of snowflakes pelted my cheeks. Even with my coat on I shivered.

That's totally blowjhinksi.

Got lots of stuff done this weekend: fixed the garage door, bought a ladder, used the ladder to take down the broken vent, cleaned the gardening wreckage we'd piled beside the garage, built the climbing wall for the boys' playhouse, and generally put things where they needed to be.

I also made a huge pot of tomato sauce today. I shopped for the meat yesterday. While at BJ's I eyeballed a big veal steak, bone-in. Looked good, but when I read the label for the expiration date I noticed it said lamb. I didn't do any DNA testing, but if that meat came from a lamb, that creature must have had a severe case of anemia. I walked on and saw it: a large package, its clear plastic bulging with giant hunks of bone and sinew and clumps of fat gently couching small islands of ruby meat.

This one appeared to have its proper label: BEEF BONES. The price: a bargain at $3.59 for what seemed like a metric ton.

I scooped it up. This morning I threw them in the oven on a pan, wanting to render some fat and get them started. When the meatballs were ready to in I transferred the bones to the pot and the balls to the well-greased pan. Eventually all would simmer for many hours in that sea of red velvet.

Yep, that was some thick tomato sauce... so rich it steamrolled the flavor of the weakling ravioli I had boiled. That was good stuff. But next time, back to veal.