Frylock was just online, so I sent him an IM to describe a dream I had last night: Alane and I were with the boys in a hotel. It was a hotel was on 13th Avenue in Brooklyn. There were many long and cavernous hallways before we got to our room. It was afternoon and the boys were sleeping, so I had to wait for them to wake up before I could leave to go to Capital Meats across the street -- there were panettone boxes stacked in the front window, so I really wanted to go in and buy a few things. But I didn't get there until the store was about to close -- it had the metal gates already pulled halfway down. I went in anyway and that's when the dream ended.

I told all this to Frylock and all he wanted to know was, "How did it smell?"

Smell? It was Capital I walked into. Not Fortunato's.

Or maybe he meant 13th Avenue itself. Yeah, it stank. (Now that I think more about it, the hotel would have been right where Stan's used to be. Interesting, huh?)

In some civilizations, saying the term "corn flakes" out loud is the equivalent of putting the whammy on a person's entire ancestry. Not only did you ruin that woman's lunch-hour, you cursed her whole family.

You gotta be more multi-culti sensibilities than that!

Around here, the Wal-Mart employees would have rushed to your side and offered to help you find more moldy merchandise.

"May I interest you in some putrid processed cheese foods? They're on special. Perhaps an over-ripe item from Kraft with so many veins it has a pulse..."

As for your particular package of green bread, I can only assume you returned it before Jenia saw it.

Hello my wonderful family. I had a sensational yoga practice today, so perhaps my third eye chakra was more observant than usual. I went to Wal-mart, that evil jerk empire that it is,(serves me right)to bring back the most unhealthy package of English Muffins anyone has ever laid their eyes on. Lastnight I bought these muffins to make little pizzas with my cousin, who babysat with me. I opened the bag and each one had black hair growing, some contained a little green 'algae', it was disastrous. So we ended up eating Corn Flakes at Janine's house. (How satisfying)
Anyway, I get on the long return line, the guy behind me is talking about the ins and outs of some football game, and how the game would've gone more smoothly if another pass was executed, and so forth. It was boring as hell, and never ended. I thought about interjecting to tell him about that time I should have passed on my deep diaphragmatic belly breath 3/4 into my Soaring Eagle Pose, but in the end...mum's the word, I guess.
I was psyched out when a uniformed employee of indetermined cultural origin, named Farina, asked me to step down to another cash register. When I was called, I gently put the clear, moist bag of muffins on the table. Before I could explain anything, the woman whose fashionable hair was in the shape of a spider told me to not say a word, she was going to lunch in a few minutes. Because I couldn't understand her Jamlando vernacular, I opened the bag, and she made it clear to me she didn't want me to do that. Unpleased by her unprofessional manner of customer service, I took my change. Muttered the words "Corn Flakes," in a soft but comprehensive voice, and walked to my car.

I heard the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is lit with LED lights this year. Are we cutting edge, or what?

Glad I missed the lighting ceremony last night -- friggin' tourists, always standing in my way.

(Hmmm, since I only spend a few days a month in NYC these days, am I now considered a tourist myself? Oh crap!)

The boys said they wanted me to build them a treehouse. I said no. Now I'm having second thoughts.



The gift shop is between the teeth and the tonsils. That's the perfect location.

They want so bad to catch some air... But for now, they'll be satisfied popping the front wheel a few inches off the top of each ramp. It got more interesting when Cookie hit rode them with his butt up off the seat -- more height on the wheel, less control of direction. Too bad I didn't get footage of that.

You'd think they'd be exhausted after a few hours of all that yesterday, but we know better by now.

Progress has been slow, but so far we've hung the stockings with care -- along with a lighted garland for the staircase handrail and a strong of icicle lights to hang from the gutter of the front eave. And not just any lights: LED lights. Multicolored.

Much work remains. Including the hoisting of our inflatables. We'll save that for another night.

And there's something else on my mind too. It's that song Dedication by the Beastie Boys. I keep hearing it in my head. Except in my head it plays different. I keep hearing:

"This goes out to...

...Glastonbury!"

But I know that's not in the original lyrics.

Not sure if I ever posted this, but if anyone wants to see how Don Vito spent his Thanksgiving exactly 20 years ago, here it is. You can clearly recognize the characters sitting at the extreme right and left. But who's the long-haired freak sitting on Vito's left? And where did he get that shirt?

Oh, and Tommy: this isn't so much advice as it is restating the obvious... But if you want things to work out between you and this girl, don't let her read this blog.

I'm having the wackiest time this week loading OS combinations onto this neat-o little handheld. I think I finally got Vista and Ubuntu to play nice together, at least as dual boot (though the latter still can't make use of the touchscreen). But I really need to stop tweaking this thing, put all the disks and notes away and get those boxes out of the attic.

Maybe another cup of coffee first?

You're at a critical phase of the courtship ritual, Tommy. I implore you to thoroughly debrief your cousin Steve to find out exactly how he would approach this situation -- and whatever he advises, you make sure you do the opposite.

Not that I'm any better -- all I can come up with is suggestions for various foods you might take along to share at this event.

"Glad to be here with you, Nikki. Want some of my prosciutto and provolone sammich? It's got roasted red peppers!"

Would she see this offer as the transparent test it really is? And if you had such a sandwich with you, could you really bring yourself to offer to share it (a test within a test).

The sandwich approach (especially when it involves that particular sandwich) is for high-rollers only: the outcome is totally binary, with no possibility of a middle-ground response. She will either be completely disgusted by you forever (in which case good riddance) or she will immediately want to marry you (and you want to watch out for that too).

Here at Berea-Rose, Christmas is about to be kicked off. Got Bootsy Collins on the stereo right now, blasting his holiday tunes. Soon I will venture to the attic to take down the boxes with all the decorations. Also need to make my list and check it twice.

We woke up this morning to the tiniest of snowfalls -- a minuscule dusting of white that settled loosely on grass-blades and car hoods but could hardly cling to any pavement. Cookie and Mojo went berserk -- put on their snowsuits and are out there now. I watched Cookie from the back window as he walked stooped over with his mittens against the asphalt -- he had to scour the entire end of the driveway just to scoop up enough to make one meager snowball. But you should have seen the joy on his face once he had it.

Tommy, there's a lesson in there somewhere. My advice to you would be, is to pay attention to me.

Something interesting happened today.

On my way to get a haircut while in the passenger seat of Kristie's car, I received a text from Nikki, who is still a great friend of mine. It read, "Hey, get online later, I want to ask you something." I responded, "Okay! Going to get a haircut...talk later."

I got a haircut, which I can't say I'm all too pleased with (But hey, who cares? It'll grow back). I finally arrive home and I go upstairs onto the computer, and sign onto AIM. Nikki signs on soon after.

"Are you free December 9th?" She asks.
"Yeah, I don't think I have anything going on. What's up?"
"That's when [my school] is having it's semi-formal dance. I was wondering if you would come with me."

This is where I had a mind split. My fingers typed one thing, while my mind thought another.

Mind: "OH. MY. GOD. HAPPY. Wait...what if that's not really her? I better check her profile to see if she's on the same computer...Yeah...That's her...OH. MY. GOD. I refuse to schedule anything on December 9th. I don't care. I'm gonna make it to that dance."

Fingers: "Yeah, sure! That's sounds like a lot of fun! ^_^ Lemme check real quick to see if I've got anything going on...No, I'm free. Cool!"

Now, I ponder afterward. She didn't ask me to go with her as a friend. She simply asked me if I would go with her. She also called me 'babe' later on in the conversation which is something that she made sure to establish as only being used for someone she's into and/or someone she's in a relationship with.

You girls are so freaking COMPLICATED. Really. Like, I mean it. You really, really are.

I plan on wearing the same bad ass suit I wore back in August, with my amazing purple shirt and purple/black tie.

Life, my family, is good.

Oh, and the answer is yes: I've already found some new Christmas songs to make the holidays more festive. The online search continues.

We didn't go out tonight looking for this, but when we spotted it I had to yell to Alane to pull a u-turn -- I had to get a snapshot.

Who knew we lived so close to the epicenter of healthful juicing!

Is anyone the least bit surprised that the first person to come to mind was Little Vito? Alane said it too.

So, what does Jack LaLane have on us?

It would be a much easier sell if it made you smell like usher. I sell that fragrance and its not that great.
come on john you know who to call to give you a good stink.

I saw a Rod Stewart impersonator last night at the lady's night event i participated in. He was awful. But the ladies went insane. His name is hot rod. Wow. I was disappointed. Insane turnout for the show though. I was swamped at our booth. I hope to get some photos and post em.

Is it correct to give summer sausage as a gift for christmas because it is clearly winter.

Ooh, maybe if I'm a little less naughty and a little more nice Santa will leave me a couple of tasty dumplings under the tree. Mmmmm... dumplings.

Took the Subaru in for service this morning and that gave me a few hours to kill. The dealership dropped me at the close by mall, which gave me a chance to wander around, drink some coffee, meander into Macys singing "I drive myself to Macys" which wasn't quite true since it was a garage employee who drove me there.

Needless to say, the mall was decked out for Christmas and I'm cool with that -- I love Christmas. They even had a little stand-alone stall in the big center aisle for a Hickory Farms stand. The stack of beef-logs made me reminisce for the Christmas season of 1988, when Guido and I roamed the Galleria in White Plains, with Guido totally perplexed over what to buy as his office Secret Santa gift. Then we spotted the stick o' meat at the Hickory Farms stand. We knew right away we'd found the answer. He bought two: one for the office gift, the other for us. And a jar of honey mustard.

As we made our way back the parking garage we couldn't help ourselves -- I used the tiny United Nations pocketknife I'd been carrying around since 7th grade to peel open the industrial-gauge plastic wrap, we opened the mustard jar, dipped the giant meat log, and took big Viking bites out of it as we pushed through the crowd on our way back to the car.

I remember Lisa was with us and she tried real hard to blend into the crowd and make like she didn't know us. Her act wasn't fooling anyone.

But alas, this morning's reverie was cut short -- very short, in fact, as the sole Hickory Farms attendant who was actually in the middle of ringing up someone's purchase stopped what she was doing to come over and put the hard sell on me on, a rapid-fire description of the delights and discounts associated with the juicy cuts of smoked nitrates on display. I nodded my head and tried not to stare down her open shirt -- what the hell kind of bra was she wearing to push those tiny things up and in and out the top? It was distracting, but as fond as my beef stick memories might be I wasn't in the mood to buy any.

So I begged off. Only to be accosted later by someone who wanted to sell me aromotherapy.

"I don't do aromatherapy."

"Why not?" she asked, looking alarmed.

"Because I stink already."

And thus the pushy salesfolk continued to assail me. The woman in Macys wanted me to try Usher cologne. And she looked saddened when I kept walking. "You might like it!" she called after me. Someone help me out here -- does the retail industry have data to show that approach actually works? I feel bad for these people... having to talk to a Mastandrea-at-retail is not always the most pleasant experience.

(Did pick up a few nice things at World Market on my way back. I like that place.)

Sure got cold around here today. Got blasted with frozen rain after dropping da chimpz at school this morning. Now I have a fire going while we watch a Godzilla DVD.

I'm typing this on the split thumbpad of an ultraportable. Not easy.

When Bazzukajoe typed "pot pie" did he say it out loud in Ren's voice? Cheecken pot piiiiie. I know I did each time I wrote it.

I went to Beast Buy just now to pick up a few things. Everything I was looking for they didn't have. So once I was done not finding the stuff I needed, I looked around for the stuff I didn't need. And I think seven different employees approached me to ask me if I needed any help. The first guy was at least helpful -- he told me flat out, they didn't have a bluetooth mouse (any bluetooth mouse, forget the particular model I wanted).

So I paced around looking at other stuff.

"Can I help you find something, sir?"

"No, you don't got it."

That repeated several times. The last few times I wasn't very polite. I suppose they do that stuff thinking it'll be good for business. But whatever they do in the Cleveland area is, almost by definition, not good for business.

Berea-Rose has gotten some warm weather the last few days. That ends tonight. The cold is on its way. I stopped in World Market before Beast Buy and was pleased to see the Christmas stuff out. I was tempted to buy a few boxes of pannetone -- what the hell, it's not like they'll be bringing in any fresher inventory between now and the holiday.

I want pot pie.....

John i will never understand how the mind works. It just does its thing. I think that it knows when your full. Your gauge is on F and its time. The question is......has it risen as high as the brow line? Is this what causes the discussion to arise? Ill be damned if i do not have to go just a short while after something like this is discussed. Supporting this theory i can definitively say that not 5 minutes after the 7 pound discussion Don Vito arose and said" lets see if nature has done its thing i hear the call of the wild." and headed for the evac station. Is it truly what beckons us in some subtle way? John did you have to hit the porcelain after that discussion at work? The brow line is very important to the mastandrea blood line. It is part of how we communicate without talking. I challenge anyone to be able to decipher a good facial expression. My dad has said things in his head that nearly made my head explode. Perhaps this is the reason for all that extra cranial material we carry. If he cannot hold it back he will usually say something either completely of the subject or he will bring someone else into the conversation to prove that this conversation is a waste of time. I believe at times that the message does get garbled and this is what i believe gets my dad in trouble some times. He sends out a signal and on occasion a nut job will pick it up. It was okay in the younger days but now he is sometimes unable to get away. I wonder if this was also a problem don Vito had as he very often got into pointless altercations with other postal workers. I wonder............ Good thing my dad has wheels now, he just rolls away. How did i get to this point in this dialogue? I am tired. Nite.....

As Alane was making the chicken pot pie (glazed ham!) in the kitchen last night, she was playing music I never heard before. This morning I saw a newly-opened CD case -- something from Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. Seeing Robert Plant's leatherized mug in the cover photo made me think of one of my favorite tracks from his early solo career, a song called Big Log.

Which, of course, made me think of Don Vito.

Thus does the Mastandrea mind operate. Even at the office, as I talked shop with various members of my department, when the discussion turned to the turf battles that inevitably arise among the different pieces of any organization: some requested that I take a harder line when demanding certain outputs from other departments. Yes, we'll get what we need from them, I assured my group. But I will not take an overly-aggressive stand. "I don't push," I explained.

Were they assured by that? Or did they hear in their heads the piercing intonations of Robert Plant crooning "my love is the miles and the waiting."

Miles? Makes sense if you remember Cowboy Buddy's ad for the Swollen Tick Family Restaurant: "Shoot, you got five miles of intestines. That's plenty of room for all my inventory!"

Yes, this is how the mind works.

Steve has a point. I believe that badge gave him great access. He was a wealth of information yesterday. We truly missed john and the fam yesterday. We sat and listened to Spike Jones and his City Slickers. I can almost see mojo and cookie giggling and laughing everytime the guy gargled out a note. Uncle Vee was impressed by the guy and had historical recollection of when songs came out, in the 40's. It was a funny evening. He did impart some words of wisdom and they were both funny and factual. I do not push is something i will carry with me forever. As Burl was singing he started talking about him as playing a cowboy in a few westerns. If you have seen the guy you would have more chance convincing me he played the wizard in The Wizard of Oz. He argued that this guy was great in westerns. He even won an academy award for Big Country. Maybe uncle vito should be playing scene it with us. I argued that the guy appeared to be a bizare looking possibly man loving oddball. He said "well thats true but not in the westerns. in those he lived that part. " I was intrigued and now we must find this movie and watch it.

The actual quote from Uncle Vito in regards to his bowel movements: "I don't push." This is usually a wise and hemmorhoid-free course of action. He said it more than once, he really wanted to stress to everyone its importance. Also worth mentioning, the blueberry pie was indeed an "Upper Crust" brand delicacy...but its no longer offered by Kosters. Merle, Jenia and I actually picked it up at Nebraska Meats (located on Northcake)...I looked behind the counter to see if they had any pictures of famous Nebraskans hanging on the wall...but sadly there were none. I mentioned it to Uncle Vito, if perchance there was a TV show host because one came to my mind...to which he said "Yes! Johnny Carson." Not the one I was thinking of...but a much better answer. He also informed us that Burl Ives won an oscar for a Western named "Big Country"...we checked his claim to IMDB and Wikipedia to find he was once again right on the money. You know I starting to think maybe a USPS ID badge can get you past airport security.

Today was a long day for a Sunday. I was up at 6am and arrived at Publix by 7am. I had to buy some breakfast and party items for the annual holiday store meeting. A normally boring meeting i attempted to lighten up . At 8 am i prepped for the presentation and it began at 9am. It ended at 12:30 and i was home by 1 pm. We hit jersey mikes for a little lunch. We picked up a few things at publix, my second trip. And them medicine for the baby at CVS. Last Stop Spumoni South. Ellexa and pop pop tried to chase a rabbit across the lawn. And the drunken neighbor called me Steve.

So i got to see the Uncle Vito today and i must say the man looks amazing. He got a hug from ellexa and she got a Christmas teddy bear. We tried and tried to get her to say his name as she had earlier in the car but to no avail.
Uncle vee showed off his cool new scar and declared they had in fact glued him back together "after moving some stuff around in there". He very subtly referred to his open heart surgery as a little cut and they moved some stuff. I don't feel any pain or anything. Amazing. We discussed many things over some DeCaf Orens Vienna Roast and a Blueberry pie from Kosters. Of course all discussion between mastandrea's eventually must end with bodily function discussion. I learned something Uncle Vee should have received an award for. He said it with very little fan fare and spoke as if, you know it happens. He apparently had some trouble with regularity and he had not dropped a deuce in more than 3 days. This disturbed him and weighed him down as one would expect. Using only prunes as his weapon of choice he made a full recovery in the hospital and actually took a 7 pound shit. 7 pounds......I have done some extraordinary work but i have never even come close to that number. He was sure of its weight as he was weighed each day and after that monumental movement he was 7 pounds lighter. He also checked it out visually. We all felt that if it was not mud than it probably resembled a chivalad sausage with the toothpicks still in it. Much to our surprise it was neither. It was a normal consistency AND he did not need to push at all. It left on its own. I was amazed and left my dads house with a whole new image of uncle vee. He is truly a bathroom warrior. His philosophy is awesome. He will drop no log before its time. If the peristalsis of the lower intestines has not moved the next submersible to the on deck circle he will not force the issue. He will speed it up with a few prunes but thats it. I needed to share this as i thought about it all night.

We also watched some cookie and mojo videos. Very interesting.

I think uncle vito is growing a beard. I think that's perfect. He and my dad should stop shaving and see what develops. They should have some stashes in 3 or 4 days. I aspire to have the Rollie Fingers handlebar mustache some day. Someone has to bring it back, someone help me.

It's starting to come clear to me just how messed up a city Cleveland really is. First, if you're flying to Cleveland on Continental (a shit airline) make sure they're not planning to have you use Terminal D. It's about 15 nautical miles from the main entrance. You may as well use Akron airport for all the extra time you'll need to allot.

Second, make sure you're going to be in a plane larger than a 1970s hatchback. For me, the sice of the plane doesn't really matter much -- until you tell me I have to gate-check my carry-on bag (the carry-on bag I've already overstuffed in order to avoid having to check luggage period). So there I was, on another overbooked flight compressed into an undersize plane, cramped in a seat that squeaked and clicked whenever I moved (which was often, as the anti-ergonomics of its design was making my ass-bone scream) wondering how long it would take me to get my bag back once we landed.

Answer: a while.

Once I got it I made the epic journey back to the main terminal and out to the cab line. The cabbie was glad to see me -- until I told him where I was going. He went insane -- Berea is very close to the airport, so this poor bastard probably sat in a line hoping for a big payday and all he got was a short haul. And he was so annoyed I thought he was going to burst a blood vessel. Hey, if you got a rule against short haul trips, hang a sign on your cab announcing that. Or renounce the sweet-heart monopoly arrangement the city granted to certain cab companies for picking up fares at the airport.

That'll never happen.

Anyway, it's good to be home -- Da Chimpz are watching their Mario Brothers video, and I'm about to tinker with my wireless router and some new gadgets I got on the trip. I should call Guido -- see if he still feels woozy from that bottle of sake we killed last night.

I have been back from my trip to Philadelphia for some time now and have not shared my adventures. The conference I attended was by far the most uninteresting thing I could possbily have ever sat through. Chronic Beryllium Disease, no matter how you slice it--is not stimulating discussion. But I did meet lots of interesting people.

I did at the advice of John go to Tony Luke's to eat the philly cheese steak that beat Bobby Flay in the throw down (which by the way I just saw Mr. Flay, which reminds me of someone telling me that NPR annoucers were calling 50 Cent--Mr. Cent, but I digress, get beat in a meatball throwdown--I'm sure John could have done it too). Since I did not want to make the trip alone, I had to bribe the guy that came with me from Cleveland to go with me by buying him lunch. So we set off in the taxi to South Philly. We drove through a very lovely neighborhood with lots of "gentlemen's clubs". Once we got to what must have been the most industrial part of the neighborhood--we came to Tony Luke's. Now, Tony Luke's has two establishments right across the street from each other. One of them was a sit down restaurant sports club type place and the other was a walk up stand with picnic tables. We decided since it was a nice day we would do the "authentic" walk up stand. So we order the Italian philly which is what beat Bobby Flay. IT was a pretty tasty sandwich, and I am not a big fan of broccoli rabe.

What I found truly fascinating about the place was how people would stop to get their sandwiches from the stand. The road that Tony Luke's sits on is a four lane road with two lanes in each direction and then like a fifth yellow painted median lane in the middle. People would drive up to the median lane from either direction pull into it park there and run across two lanes of traffic to wait in line at Tony Luke's. I have seen many interesting parking ideas in NYC but I dont think I ever witnessed that there.

So we are waiting for a cab to take us back and watching the fascinating median strip parking, when a Chrysler 300 pull in and park in the median. I personally find the 300 to be a stereotypical mobster car and my belief was not shaken when I saw the man that emerged from the vehicle. He was a dead ringer for Pussy from the Sorpranos, if Pussy would have ever worn shorts with tube socks. I was totally fascinated by him until the moment he seemed to take notice of us. We watched in abject terror as he came walking up to us. He stopped in front of us and said to my friend--Are you Seymour? Now this is especially amusing because my friend would definitely be voted least likely to be named Seymour if a contest was held. I, at this point, am telepathically alerting my friend that he best not even go with the answer Yes or we will end up dead in the back of the 300. My telepathy worked and he said No. To which our new friend said, I'm suppose to meet Seymour to do some business with him and I dont know what he looks like. Obviously this was a very close business relatinship. He then ambled off in search of Seymour. Those giving me my highlight for my stay in Phialdelphia.

Too bad Cookie and Mojo couldnt have trick or treated with Ellexa--they were Darth Vader and Obi Wan Kenobi. It would have been like a little Star Wars reunion. I would post a picture--however I am technically challenged so when John returns from his weekend frolic in westchester, maybe he could do it.

The boys got their school pictures. Mojo was having his all time worst day ever and the photo is priceless. I showed people at work and they were in awe of the photo--well after they wiped away the tears from crying from laughing so hard.

Today the boys and I went to see Flat Stanley--a musical production in downtown Cleveland and they had a good time. It was a cute show.

Guido, Kay and I have a fire blazing while we sit on the couch and talk. Or snore, as Guido is slipping in and out on us. Good time to relax. And drink sake. More sake.

You people are playing with fire here -- Alane gonna come down on you with some righteous ass-kicking, and soon. On me too, for the "you gotta make friends with her fat friend first" advice I was all prepare to give Tommy until you people slipped the GYN's stirrups and smuggled the conversation into Michael-Jackson-removable-nose territory.

I"m a well-rounded kind of guy -- so after a fancy dinner on Thursday night I settled for a street-meat dinner last night, huddled in my hotel room, shoveling gyro-platter into my gob while saying goodnight to Da Chimpz over the cellphone.

This morning I get the rest of my crap out of my office. I'm sure I can find someone to adopt the talking Cartman plush toy. Flyswatter collection should be an easy hand-off too. Not as sure about the two mannequins -- they have no heads and they're a little creepy.

The gynocologists office is not the place to be ever. The only women there are ones that are pregnant or itchy in some way. Either way they are always incredibly angry as soon as they get thru the door. Its like some sort of gateway of sarcasm and pain. Never put the paper gown on while your waiting for the doctor. She will not find it amusing. The thing looked like some kinda superhero costume. Like a paper cape and vest or something i still do not get it.

ANYWAY.....listen to steve's first statement......do not take advice from him about women. It would be wrong to take advice from any man about women. It is fundamentally impossible to predict what, how, where or anything at all about them. You will be wrong, always. Till that one come along that gets you. She will not ask WHY. She may think it but she won't ask it. There will be no repercusions when you accidently break several glasses trying to prove you could stack every glass in the house in a pyramid and break a few leaving you with odd numbers of matching glasses. OR how you managed to flush and entire package of 350 q-tips down the toilet. ( i told you my toilets could flush) OR when you accidently leaned on her car and made a big dent the first night you went out. GO AHEAD. YOU WANT TO ASK. There is really no reason, just because. When you find that girl, you'll know. You wont realize it when your wiping up the carnage but you will when there is no arguing and its just accepted. I never said she would like it,just accept it. I dunno.

Don't get discouraged, Don Tommasino. Girls are fundamentally confused, just know that usually a guy ends up in the friend zone because hes worked hard to be an altogether decent human being...so let her poor judgement validate what you always say about yourself...you're awesome. Anyway, they say names predetermine your future job...Nikki is tied with Destiny and Ivy as the quintessential stripper name. Of course, I myself will refrain from dispensing any personal advice on choosing women...that would be like Michael Jackson saying "I can recommend you a really great plastic surgeon..." However, I've given it some thought and if parties are not working out for you, I think a good place to meet women is the gynocologist. Its just a thought.

Yeah. Sweet.

So much for the whole Nikki thing.

We were talking and she informed me that at this point, I'm nothing more than a friend and she doesn't see that changing any time soon.

That kinda sucks. A lot. But I'll get over it. Life goes on.

It seems the hardest part about finding someone I want to be with is having to meet new people. All of my female friends have put me securely in the friend zone, and I'm not exactly interested in any of them.

I guess I just need to find my way to more parties. I guess there'll be more girls. Hopefully more attractive, intelligent ones.

It looks to me like Vito Jr. has two different Blogger accounts -- one attached to Tutti Barese and the other to the Macaroni Dish. Maybe a nice Chantix-snooze will help the other userid come to you? As in a dream, perchance?

I'm hanging in NYC right now, milling around while my droogies do all the work. While they're breaking down equipment tonight maybe I'll save them a doggie bag from Piano Due -- supposed to be a nice joint but I honestly don't recall ever seeing it as I passed that way to/from work every day. Maybe it opened since I moved away. (Hey Steve, you think I should order Orange Soup and see how they respond?)

I'm cleaning out my office too -- something I should've done months ago. There's really no need to tie up a room that sits empty most of the year. So my managers will play musical offices to scoop up the new digs. One window looks north on Seventh Avenue a few blocks to Central Park, the other the Sheraton and eastward. Whenever Cookie visited he'd sit on the windowsills, lean his head on the glass, and count the taxicabs passing down below (something he remembers still from the NY days -- memories that are slowly fading as he gets older).

So maybe by Saturday morning I'll have most of this crap boxed up or discarded. I might even wipe things down before I hand over the key!

The weather is cold. Radio City is already dressing itself up for Christmas. I think I like the city better these days, being able to visit and just get my work done, catch up with friends and colleagues. That old commute of mine was tame by metro-area standards, but I dreaded it profoundly.

I recieved this in my email box this morning, and felt it my moral and civic duty to share it with the rest of the world. Vito Jr., you are a fascinating individual, and all I can say is WoooooooW.


hi.. i wrote this last night.. i tried to get it on the blog.. but my page says.. im only part of the tutti barese blog.. so i couldn't post in macaroni dish.. so i emailed it to u guys..

hello.. im sittin in my computer chair.. just got home from my girlfriends house a few minutes ago.. im watchin conan o'brien..i love this show.. jerry seinfeld is the main guy for the night.. he did some new material.. it was pretty good.. and promoted his new bee movie.. again.. then its time to goto commercial.. first commercial.. its for a prescription drug called CHANTIX.. a pill to help people quit smoking.. it somehow blocks the nicotine receptors in your brain.. and helps fight cravings.. making for a smoother transition into the life of a non-smoker.. the commercial is all about positive messages and a sense of hope.. and easily achievable success.. they demonstrate visually with a tortoise and rabbit racing to point out that slow and steady wins the race to quit smoking.. and all the while a male narrator.. sounds like he is in his thirties.. possibly a family man.. a smart man.. probably a non-smoker.. he knows all about this terrific discovery.. and he wants me to know.. so he speaks right to me (im the only one in the room).. in his confident know-it-all voice.. he thinks i should talk to my doctor about this CHANTIX.. so i know he's lookin out for me..and then he tells me about the side effects.. which he should have waited for the doctor to tell me that.. because most of them are pretty lousy.. but its only MOST.. not all.. the side effects are..


nausea
sleep disturbances.. (trouble sleeping, changes in dreaming)
constipation
gas
vomiting

i want to have changing in dreaming.. the nausea would not be fun to have.. neither would the vomiting.. and to be honest... im not a big fan of being constipated.. but after that we have gas.. hahaha.. now that is another pretty cool side effect to have.. i would be blasting farts here.. there.. everywhere.. and on the telephone for long distance farts.. it would be pretty great to have just the weird dreams.. and gas side effect.. however.. in the wrong hands.. that sort of side effect combination could make a man go insane with power.. but i digress.. the reason i am writing this.. is because.. i have tried to quit cigarettes a while back ago.. and used the assistance of a nicotine patch.. and that too effects your dreams.. but they used different phrasing.. on the patch box it said.. may experience vivid dreams.. and one night i had a such a side effected dream.. that i was in this random house somewhere in dreamland.. and i was pregnant.. and not the "its bluuuue!" pregnant.. i had a watermelon stomach pregnant.. hahaha.. then i remember being on a beach.. with my newly birthed offspring.. i dont remember if it was a boy or girl.. then somehow i lost the poor kid somewhere on the beach.. maybe in the waves.. im not sure..at one point i looked up into the sky.. and there were hoards of flying lobster tails.. just flying in one direction..and pretty much blocking most of the blue sky.. then i woke up.. it was still dark outside.. got outta bed.. went to pee.. scribbled the main parts of the dream on a piece of paper.. and went back to bed.. which was unfortunately dreamless.. but that dream was by far the wierdest dream i have ever had.. it would be great if we could control what we dream about.. but having each dream be a surprise is great too.. good ones or bad ones.. i wonder if they could make a pill where the desired effect is to have vivid weird dreams.. but then again it would probably also have its fair share of the crappy side effects.. it ain't right.. i am contemplating in using the CHANTIX.. because i would like to and should quit smoking.. and i would like to experience the weird dreams again.. plus there is the slight chance of receiving the priceless gift of gas.. so i am going to look into it.. http://www.chantix.com/ .. so hopefully one day soon after a nap or after a night in sleep mode.. i can blog about a story of me farting so loud that i wake myself up from some outrageous dream.. and hopefully i won't smell like cigarettes..

Ah, I hear Bazzukajoe had a glimpse of a barese sack. Very impressive.

BTW, is this what Jenia was talking about the other day? Maybe he really did receive a recommendation!

I know Tom wrote "bari sax" but for some reason I read "Barry K." That confusion quickly cleared, but for the rest of the story I pictured him playing a "barese saxophone," whatever that would look like (we know how it would sound -- garbled).

But I figure, the guy sporting a barese sax is always going to get the sweet girl at any party, so the rest of Tom's story makes perfect sense to me. May they have a splendid time together.

Mille figli maschii.

Tom, that was the greatest story ever told.
Give me a call and let me know how it unfolds. Today nikki, tomorrow the world. I believe a new name is in order to replace TRUMPET ACE moniker you currently go by. I had a great time in vegas despite the searing heat. My door is always open if you ever want to get away from the connecticut malaise. We recently moved into a larger place and there is always a spot for you and the connecticut division of the massari's. I will warn you that i do not watch c-span and i do not eat tofu. I hope this does not change your impression of me.

A few things to address today about my life that I'm pretty excited about.

My school has a jazz band. This isn't the same jazz band that had a celebrity endorsement from the infamous 'Mrs. Edmann.' Actually, this is a well put together jazz ensemble with highly skilled musicians from my school. This ensemble plays music that is difficult to master, but sounds absolutely fantastic. I have no idea how I
made it into the ensemble, other than the fact that I was the only bari sax that auditioned.

My conductor decided to pull out some songs that sort of feature the bari sax. I dunno what his motivation was for this. Is he trying to make me freak out? Is he trying to make me reach my full potential? Is he trying to make me screw up in front of a large audience to embarrass me? I think he will manage all of these things at the same time. The songs sounds really bad ass, though. One song in particular shines among the rest. It is aptly named Funkalicious. I think the title speaks for itself.

Moving on!

A couple weeks back, I went to a Halloween party which I was invited to by a friend of mine who wasn't actually throwing the party. Turns out my friend Christen has a friend named Kaela who was throwing this party, and they had a shortage on guys. For some reason, the first name that came to mind when thinking of guys that could come to this party to make it awesome was 'Tom.' I ended up going, thinking to myself, "Well, at least it'll give me something to do on a Friday night. Maybe we'll chill, maybe we'll dance...Whatever." Chilling is not what happened.

At this party, there were a bunch of people I didn't know. Actually, I knew only two people. One person I really knew, but the other was just a minor acquaintance of mine. I arrive at the party, only to be greeted and introduced to four girls that go to a Catholic school up by me. I notice one of them in particular who seemed to look a little more physically fit than the other three, and seemed to be a bit more confident. She was a little more outspoken, and dressed in some sort of skimpy, modern day vampiress outfit. A little bit of time past, and I started making conversation and hanging out with these four girls. I talked mostly to the aforementioned vampiress who I came to know as 'Nikki.'

This was a joint party between siblings - The highschool-age sister named Kaela and the smaller, eighth-grade brother named something-that-I-didn't-really-care-all-too-much-to-catch. Kaela had her group of friends, and all of us were highschoolers. We decided, however, to hang out together with her brother's wannabe-macho buddies. The twenty-or-so of us that were there decided it'd be bad ass to play hide and seek in the dark. So we did.

Nikki and I ended up hiding together the whole time, whether it was me and her in a boiler room or mashed into a seven inch space between a sauna and a wall. Because of this time we had together, we joked and laughed and got to know each other a little better. As hide and seek came to a close, us older kids noticed a rift in the eighth grade tribe. Some kids were staying completely away from others. We couldn't exactly tell why, but it was starting to dampen the mostly upbeat feeling of the party. Me and Nikki, without even knowing the other was doing the same thing, went to try and figure out what was wrong and help them cure their middle school drama.

The two of us started working together as a team of two awesome people to mediate and psychoanalyze the issue at hand, trying to stitch up the little breakage in the friendship that had occurred. We found out that there was way more middle school drama than either of us thought there could be. She impressed me with her quick wit and intellectual tongue, but at the same time, her ability to connect with these kids and her ability to figure out each little insecurity the kids had just as I went along trying to cure each one of these insecurities.

Smart AND good looking? WTF?

Sure enough, as time went on, we solved the problems of these eighth graders and got them to be a little more tolerant of each other, for at least the rest of the night. We went back to join our main group of people, only to find that they were trying to find some dance music to put on. Once they decided on a CD, we took each other's hand and sauntered off to the dance floor. We danced together for the rest of the night. Before she had to leave, I asked her for her number, which she gave to me gladly.

Funny fact? I found out after she left that earlier in the night, Nikki asked Kaela for my number. Means she's at least somewhat interested, right?

I was completely taken aback by what happened. I went to this party, expecting to chill out and listen to some music, but came out of it love-struck. This girl was amazing.

We continued our conversations online, delving into everything from religion to spirituality to how the menstrual cycle is a "bitch in a uterus-shaped can."

Nikki is attractive, intelligent, and able to uphold a conversation. She's funny, understanding, and willing to do something a little odd to make people laugh. She's honest, open, and amazingly friendly.

I hope we get to hang out soon.

Tramadol plus Prozac equals seizures and possible death--why they are never prescribed together. Good way to end an argument. The police report is filed. I didn't press charges but I still can. Next time make sure the pills are dissolved completely when you want to whack someone you disagree with.

Princess Lea.
She got much candy. Much too much.
Someone told me she looks like the baby from Full House michelle.
I do not think so. Uncle Jerry thought she was dressed like Fiona from Shrek. I thought the wig gave it away. Everyone else knew it. On the right is the pumpkin patch near our house. She is showing her teeth. And holding a strange gourd. I look forward to seeing the boys apparel for halloween.