Ah yes, Christmas morning at Berea-Rose. In addition to all the Legos, sweatshirts, and Nerf artillery there are the battling tanks. Thanks to Guido and Kay, Da Chimpz now have tanks that not only blast each other, but send an electrical jolt through the remote control of the tank that got blasted.

Here's Cookie not learning any of the lessons of Kursk:

Here we are, at the north pole. Which can't possibly be melting: I just checked the local weather and it's a frosty one degree at Berea-Rose. That's messed up.

The wind started whipping last night. I got up early this morning and saw that our giant inflatable nativity scene was having some, er, erectile dysfunction as the frost had collected on the uprights and the wind held the top-heavy structure down.

I went out and stood it up a few times, and by late morning went out to stake more guidewires.

The temperature has plummeted throughout the day. But that was okay: we were inside with Dan and Laura eating meatballs and drinking Big Ass Cab wine. Then we had some massive chocolate cake.

Yum.

Got a third controller for the Wii, specifically for the shoot 'em up games that we now (unwisely) let Da Chimpz play. We go head to head trying to gun each other down. Parent of the year? I'm disqualified.

Well, Steve and I learned a very valuable lesson as well in regards to christmas trees....Christmas trees and pets (particularly very playful, young pets) do not mix..

Steve bought a beautiful pre-lit tree (we do live in South Florida after all and both of us do not have the energy to tend to a real tree especially after a long work day and early mornings)..We decorated it with red and gold balls (some innuendo can be inserted there) and a sparkly red star....(Thank you Target!)...

I didnt want to spend that much money this year on the tree considering it is Bentley's first christmas, Bruno has mastered an amazing high jump, and I had to buy gifts for three birthdays, Hanukkah, and Christmas...I also figured our house was quite festive considering I had my own little tree for the counter, a menorah, two packs of white lights to string around the condo, and as we all know Steve has quite a few items as well...

Anyways, all things considered, I knew the pets were going to do some serious damage...I just didn't know to what extent...Steve and I were betting on which animal would be the first to knock down a ball or damage the tree .

(We bet more often than most couples I think---btw I need to have it stated in writing, that due to the results of the November 4th election, Steve still owes me a yoga retreat! If Obama would have lost, I would have had to cook a Thanksgiving dinner (and for those of you who don't know---I don't cook).)

Anyways, I was quite disappointed when the next morning, we caught Bentley with a red ornament in his mouth, like a pig with an apple..Bruno has been no angel either mind you...He has knocked down his fair share of ornaments...Steve and I reacted as most people would do..move all the ornaments up..so now our tree looks bare on the bottom..

Most animals would move on to damaging another item in the house--but not Bentley..He is determined to cause serious damage...Let's just say he has acquired a taste for christmas lights..Because naturally it is a skinny rope with little chew toys...And no matter how many times I scold him, put obstacles in his way..His mission remains the same: to attack and destroy the tree...

Needless to say, our tree now no longer lights up on the bottom.....quite sad looking actually....which has me thinking if this dog is out to get me, is trying to tell me that he is Jewish, or if he is just "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas"......

Tonight, Alane and Da Chimpz decorated the Christmas tree. And what a tree... The moral of the story: never select a tree when it's raining and all you want to do is get in from the cold.

I dragged the tree into the house last night and fetched the big steel tree stand we've been using for years. The trunk did not fit into it. So I got a wood-chisel and hammer and made wacky totem-pole carvings into the base until we could work it snugly into the upper steel ring of the stand.

Then we stood the tree upright.

Well, "upright" may be an overstatement.

The friggin' tree is bent. The trunk is bow-shaped and the branches don't do much to hide the deformity. With the trunk barely squeezing into the stand there wasn't much we could do to adjust the pitch or yaw of our hunchback tree... all we could do was tighten the bolts and rotate the slope-shouldered monster so it was "lunging" at you head-on, making the slouch somewhat less noticeable (until you look at it from the side, which at a quick glance might make you feel like you've stepped into one of the bad guys' hideouts on an old Batman episode).

Anyway, Cookie and I strung the lights onto the tree this afternoon, and now all the ornaments have been hung. It looks pretty good, our nodding, goosenecked Christmas tree. It'll be like celebrating the holidays in the fun-house.

Then again, pretty much every holiday is like that around here.

Only two words can describe our annual Pork & Vermouth Christmas Lighting last Friday: Epic Fail. So the festive scene pictured here is nothing like the meager light-work we accomplished in Tuckahoe on that cold dark night.

Just about everything went wrong. It started at Stew Leonards, where the icy wind nearly cut us in half as we eyeballed Christmas trees and light strings -- especially the light-strings, which needed to be strung end to end to reach around the hedge. We bought about ten boxes. And a couple racks of ribs (what, no grill? yeah, this was destined to flop).

So we got out the vermouth (Martini & Rossi? how could the wine shop not have Cinzano?). And we ate. Then we went back out into the cold to start.

And we hardly got started before we realized the lights were all wrong. Meaning, even though the box described lights that could be strung end-to-end, these did not. Furthermore, they were chaser lights. And even though they could be set for steady-on, unplugging them set them back to chasing.

So we changed gears and turned our attention to the giant wreath that gets hoisted above the front porch. We hoisted. Guido tied it into place and then we remembered we hadn't tested the wreath lights -- sure enough, half the lights were out. So we un-hoisted. Then fumbled in the basement with the old light strings to find one that could be salvaged. We re-wrapped the wreath with the frankenstein light string and re-hoisted. Guido tied it in place and we stepped back to look. Most of the lights were facing the wall, leaving much of it dark.

We declared Christmas ruined and went back to the house to drink wine (we were out of vermouth by then).

Okay, here's a bailout I think I can get behind. From today's WSJ:

SALSOMAGGIORE TERME, Italy -- The world is bailing out banks and car companies. Italy is coming to the rescue of parmigiano cheese.

In an effort to help producers of the cheese commonly grated over spaghetti, fettuccine and other pastas, the Italian government is buying 100,000 wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano and donating them to charity.

Better yet, that's a government cheese distribution worth waiting in line for.

I think I'll hit the market and buy a few bricks of the stuff -- talk about an industry that's too crucial to fail!

Even the name...Rod Blagojevich, the greatest fiction writer could not have made a name up that damn good. So, I bought the NY Post today to read in more detail about the Chicago Macy's One Day Senate Seat Sale and discovered on page 29, that according to astronomers, the north star which guided the original 3 Wise Men was actually only visible in early June, making Jesus a Gemini! See that...Bazzuka Joe, Dr. Sfingi, and I do have something in common with the big J.C....well aside from having a lotta Joes in the family.

No sooner does Frylock ask why a Chicago hack would pay such big money for a federal office than another Chicago hack answers the question with precision: federal office is apparently "a fucking valuable thing you don't just give away for nothing."

I don't know why the networks even bother to produce and air sit-coms anymore. Truth is so much more entertaining than fiction. And funny as hell.

Anyone unaware that the song reference, "you could get the finger...the middle!" was Kriss Kross circa 1991-1992 should be dipped in spoiled ricotta and then forced to grab the heat-pipe at Castle 1526 with both hands. I had a small size rock-band party on Friday night, there was definitely a man in a chicken mask playing drums to Tom Sawyer by Rush....sometimes I get the feeling my house is a strange and surreal place. Put up the Christmas tree on Sunday, and it took only a day for the pets to believe I installed them a personal jungle gym to swing and play on...I need to invest in a tazer. I been watching the news and I realized why a man would spend 750 million to win a job that only pays $400,000...because Holy Cow, you can spend trillions!!! Stop chanting U.S.A. and begin chanting A.T.M.....you now, I've overdrawn my bank account at the ATM many times, those overdraft fees can be real killers. I toast GM, Ford and Chrysler, they finally convinced someone to buy American....Nancy Pelosi. OK, enough of that I'm going to Orlando next weekend to see Janine and Joe Fatone Sr. star in a production of Annie...indeed I'm laughing already.

And then there's this: the Pogues with Kirsty MacColl. I've heard this track a few times over the last few holiday seasons and for some reason I wanted very much to dislike it. But each year I give it more personal airtime. And here I just found the video:

Ah, these YouTube bits sure bring back memories. Like this kick-ass video from the Minutemen. Yeah, I remember it well... in 1985, right about this very time of year I was hunkering down in my psycho-single there in basement of the E wing of the SUNY Purchase dorms. Somehow, that little POS b&w television of mine got reception for U68 and whenever I wasn't having a financial/academic/emotional crisis I'd pile into the UHF and pretend I was getting my MTV.

Here's one of my other favorites from that station... apparently it didn't take much to create a music video in those simpler times. Mega-cool track tho:

Went to the mall today. Talk about putting one's life at risk -- it wasn't due to crowds, it was the slick snow on the roads getting there and back. That Jeep does some serious fishtailing when it's not in 4x4.

Speaking of which, I'm sitting here drinking Pesce Vino. Already polished off half the bottle. In a little while I'll be sleeping with Luca Brazi. Got the curtains wide open so I can see the snow.

I'm making Christmas CDs. So watch out.

Admit it: when you read the news accounts of auto makers demanding a vig from your paycheck, you start hearing that ancient song lyric in your head...

You can get the finger -- the Gettel...

Bonus points to whoever chimes in with where that comes from.

Sez GM: "Warm it up Chris!"

Sez Dodd: "I'm about to!"

Alane is out with her mother this evening, leaving me here to control Da Chimpz for the evening. After getting them from the after-school we stopped at the Giant Beagle to buy some food. They're getting very picky, these gorillas. I went to the refrigerator section with the prepared entrees but there was nothing they wanted. So we sidled over to the hot food counter. Not a very elaborate selection there, either. In fact, all they really had in the steam trays were some fried chicken parts, macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes.

Eh, how bad could it be? Cookie and Mojo agreed: we'd get the meal offer, with the eight chicken parts, the two sides and the corn bread. She even put a cup of gravy on the side!

We got home and dished the stuff out. The chicken wasn't bad. But everything else was bad. Bad indeed. The mac-and-cheese was bland to the point of offensive. The potatoes had the consistency (and taste?) of sealing compound. And the gravy was outright yecho. Even the cornbread (individually packaged!) tasted strange.

As we sat at the table pushing the food back into its containers the three of us agreed: it had looked pretty good in the case.

Which reminded me of the episode of Unwrapped I saw on Food Network last night. It was all about mail order food. Cool, I thought, I do lots of purchases that way. So I watched. And they had the usual suspects: Harry & David, showing happy migrant workers picking plump native-born pears (oddly no mention of their truly horrendous shipping service); Omaha Steaks packing red meat into dry ice caskets; William Sonoma with all their groovy gourmet victuals; and some Vermont candy place that I'd never heard of...

Then they showed a photo shoot -- a team of marketing-types trying to get that perfect snapshot of a delicious food spread for a catalog cover.

Some would call it art; I call it disturbing.

They used plastic putty to hold the food in place, and to fake the look of morning dew on the glossy sides of fruit they dabbed the outside with glycerin water. Outside the frame of their camera lens (and without the soft focus) the scene looked like crap. They showed the finished cover. Yeah, nice.

But the damage was done.

I was crestfallen. Don't they know how many gourmet food catalogs I've sifted through, building in my mind some borderline erotic utopia of perfectly-arranged portions of culinary delight sliding from the copper-clad bosom of high-quality cookware? Those weren't faux kitchens in drab studios I was fantasizing about -- those were real Atlantic salmon, with authentic grill marks, stylishly garnished with freshly-picked sprigs of dill, sans the glycerin.

It was all, in my head... it wasn't hurting anyone.

And then they show me... that. It was like finding out how they airbrush the photos of the glamor models. Or when I learned the WWF matches were scripted. Or that Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin didn't really like each other.

"Disenchanted" doesn't even start to describe it.

They haven't just taken away my innocence. Those buzzkills at Food TV have taken away my food pr0n.

Yeah Joe, Slick Nick is indeed a classic. Last year I came into possession of these tracks, and am only now finding some background info. Kay Martin & Her Body Guards. Got a sound kind-a like if Rusty Warren did a holiday album (wonder if she did?), but not so over-the-top bawdy as some of the other tunes I've trafficked over the years.

The album is named "I Know What He Wants For Christmas... but I don't know how to wrap it!" Wonder if Big Vin ever heard of it.

Those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones...or walk around with their yodel hanging out, but regardless I am not the only member of the Mastandrea clan who either misses calls or has a crapp-ass cellphone. In fact, I would argue my welfare phone is the only one who's pricetag almost excuses its shitty service. Old Silent J has a hand held laptop she talks on that should be able to direct the shuttle for landing, and yet it takes me on average about 40 calls before I reach her, and Mr. Bazzuka is sniffing way too much nailpolish in the Sephora stock-room if he believes I am harder to reach than he. I had a customer with the last name Colonica today, I kind of think it sounds like a musical instrument you can play with your ass. I also wanted to mention this weekend not only did we play Balderdash, we did so in very, very bad sweaters. The best part of a bad sweater party is the size fitment, I believe mine was a childrens small and Ree's must have been an adult jumbo.
Important news: after two years of toying with me, I have signed a peace treaty with the USPS. They changed my mailbox, and delivery has been spot-on ever since. In acyuality it took Silent J's arrival into my abode for me to take more assertive action, it took some calls, visits and a little arm twisting, but no more Christmas cards returned to sender with WTF scribbled at the top. In celebration I'm going to send out Christmas cards myself this year...and at the top of each envelope I'm going to scribble WTF...so you all feel more comfortable.
So the best Christmas song to sing along to is the final refrain of Andy Williams "Its The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" (and I know your all going to accuse me of an un-natural fondness for Andy Williams), when he really tears it down "...its the most wonderful time OF THE YEAR!!! Damn, that songs good. And the final moments of Auld Lang Syne when Bobby Darren wishes everyone "Have a Merry Christmas everybody and Happy New Year". Anyway, I'm gonna get running here, I have a few phone cellphone calls coming in that Im going to ignore.

I prefer Slick Nick by Fish Bone. Its got some great lyrics. Lately we have been trying to make it through the entire Christmas play list but it has yet to happen. Yessica does not let it get past Bootsy. I must admit i have a hard time when it comes to the answering machine song. We must however listen to the dogs bark jingle bells at least 4 times before i allow it to change. This is law. Peewee has learned the ways of the ipod and can now change it on her own. as well as use the t.v. remote. The little man is very impressed with all of the animated christmas dolls we own and now copy's them. Thank You Uncle Vee.

Steves phone.......wow. He called me yesterday and wanted to know why i always know whats going on before it happens. I guess because i answer my phone. We have come to accept Steve's phone as somewhat of an alarm. It just lets him know we were looking for him at about 7:30pm on Saturday. Weather he chooses to use this information or not is than the question. It could be that he gets home from work after 6pm and must be in bed by 8pm . Maybe i am wrong.......Silent J should be able to verify. On several occasion's Steve's phone has randomly called me and i got to enjoy the music he was listening to in the car. There is hope john. So steve changed his ringer.......I think maybe he should buy like a fire truck siren ringtone or maybe something obnoxious. When we had nextel he always answered or i would begin discussing which hemorrhoid cream worked best or my last breakout....until he answered.

So we got our tree today. No room for the angel so we e=will have to figure something out. 8ft Douglas fir that must be barricaded so The little man does not pull it down. We will decorate it on sunday.

I just sent Mojo into the shower because he had popcorn feet.

I noticed it after I got off the phone with Elna -- we were discussing the lack of Amish-built wood-stoves in Siberia. I hung up the phone, came into the living room, and wrestled Mojo to the carpet. Then I noticed the stale popcorn stink.

Alane is at the mall. This gives me the opportunity to blast Christmas music. Real Christmas music. Got Fishbone's Iration on right now.

Ah yes, the macaroni dish once again overflows with another delicious serving a whup-ass.

This is a great day. I'm going to call Steve on his cellphone and tell him how happy I am!

Since Steve has joined the wonderful stalker-filled world of facebook (as himself and not as a cartoon character), it is only fair and right that I am no longer the silent shadow of Steve. No longer an enigma..but indeed a real person..I understand by departing from the shadows, I make myself open to all members of the family--and I think I am strong enough to cope..I did survive the first Thanksgiving after all..And to be honest, it was not as intimidating as telling my Jewish mother how Steve and I have decided to split up the holidays...The Jewish guilt is a much stronger force..BELIEVE ME..and yes I am allowed to make such statements as I am still a Jew by heritage..I think of it as a birthright..I paid my dues: I was batmitzvahed and confirmed in the Reform faith of Judaism (which is no easy task and not for the faint of hearts)... And although I no longer practice Judaism and have converted to the dark side of Catholicism (according to a few relatives), I cannot deny my heritage..

And to be honest, I think a part of Steve wishes I still was Jewish...although his reasoning is he just wants to break the glass by stomping on it or in his case stomp and punt like a football. This desire is quite peplexing to me considering his complete and utter distaste for anything remotely heterosexual in terms of sports..As we all know....The sad thing is---I don't have the heart to tell him this tradition only happens once in a lifetime...at a Jewish wedding ...

But I stray from the reason of this response to John's entry...I am happy to report, that after months of complaining, I have finally gotten Steve to change the ringer on his phone...A great accomplishment to say the least..I could compare such a sound to an infant crying for well over 24 hours or nails on a chalkboard...In comparison, these sounds would be pleasurable.I thought changing the ringer, Steve would be more likely to pick up.But alas, I was very wrong,he can no longer hear his phone...I should know, my phone calls are the ones he ignores most...Moral of the story, I wouldn't take Steve not picking up your calls personally...He chooses not to hear the phone....If the sound of tetris cannot prompt him to do so, I do not know what will....

Sometimes I dial Steve's cellphone and after the third or fourth ring I start having my conversation with him even though he hasn't answered. Over the last few weeks, I've talked to him for hours in this manner -- you should hear the insightful jokes and devastating witticisms! We have a jolly old time chatting this way.

Yeah, we all love Steve's cellphone.

(This post ought to trigger a spirited response from someone... Bazzukajoe. Silent Jen. Maybe even Frylock himself.)

BTW, we got the first string of Christmas lights hung today along the raingutter fronting Berea-Rose. When night falls we'll light 'em up. And blast the special holiday music (because, y'know, I got a lot of that stuff).

So here it is, fresh out of the photo-messaging fiasco of cellphone hell (hey all you Verizon ass-hats -- why not make photo access something less than a 20-step process):



That's some nice-looking holiday poultry.

Unfortunately, there is no photographic evidence of the bird that invaded Berea-Rose. I can report, happily, that it was slain and devoured.

Finally, someone posted the Fruit Islands cereal commercial:



In college we had a crayfish in a tank who loved to eat that cereal. If we had that crayfish now we'd make stuffing out of him for tomorrow's dinner.

And for after tomorrow's culinary festivities, there's always this: a vibrating toilet seat. If I had one, I'd install it in the basement. Make my little room into a theme park. I mean, more than it already is.

Mmmmm, I can smell Thanksgiving already.

Well, not really. But I did the last of the food shopping last night. And tonight the cookery should commence. Not even our nation's pathetic descent into Marxism will prevent me from giving thanks this year (though I did have another strange dream last night: Obama himself was sitting at my kitchen table so I could show him my new pen, shaped like a roasted turkey leg -- it wrote in three colors of ink... scary... good thing we don't have a kitchen table because I'd hate to have that dream come true... the pen would be cool).

Because I was out at the Giant Beagle last night I missed Bazzukajoe's phone call and then never got back to him. I shall ring him up tonight. And that Frylock -- who seems to think that he only needs to blog once a quarter.

Yesterday morning, Cookie and I were discussing Aristotelian measures of human nature and how they related to Thomistic teleologies developed centuries later. No shit -- Cookie said he wanted to have a serious conversation, so I dragged out the big guns. Not one to allow his life to go unexamined, Cookie enthusiastically stated that his own purpose is to grow up and conduct mad science experiments. I told him this was a good start. Then... was asked Mojo. He opined that his purpose in life was to blow giant stinkies.

And thus we amused ourselves before trundling off to school.

Yes, this is what passes for serious conversation among boys ages seven, eight, and 42. It's not particularly serious. Or amusing. But it'll make for great comedy tomorrow at dinner when I ask them to repeat what they think we were discussing!

There's nothing wrong with belting out Food Glorious Food at inopportune moments. But Aunt Marie has a point -- I've heard her use those words and she has never been incorrect.

Which reminds me: I was listening to Christmas music today. Bootsy Collins singing about Rudolph the Funky Soul Reindeer, who did not pilot Santa's sleigh in this version, but rather the Mother Ship. Timely, I suppose: starting January 20, I think the prophet Elijah Muhammed will be running the show for all of is. Hold onto your wallets.

I had the music playing as I was re-arranging my home office. It had been a while since I rewired the workspace, so I spent the day sliding around shelving units, stacking books, and capturing dust-bunnies. Among the ancient relics I uncovered: original IBM DOS boot discs, and the install floppy for Pipeline ISP software -- yes, the original Pipeline from about 15 years ago when the Internets was new and exciting.

No Family Guy tonight. The ass-hats at Fox are airing something else. All networks suck the bat-wang.

I was at the mall yesterday. Negative attenzu there for sure.

Ah, so it took me half a day to figure out my password, but indeed I have returned to place my grimy little fingerprint upon the Mastandrea Dish. Its been months, so there is a lot to talk about: a new President who prefers Putinomics to Reaganomics, Pineapple Festivals that star Morris Day and The Time, Vegetarian Iron Chef Shteef Kenichi, Frylock and Jenia's Search for Gabuzzelle....lets begin with a brief analysis of Sfingi's dream.

Biblically, the donkey is an ass: so what you actually observed was an ass-wang. A word that like attenzu is new to the English language, but which I believe should be immediatally added to the Encyclopedia Mastandrea. If I had to examine further into the psyche, I think we can all agree the brown mud represents fecal matter. Digestion, in particular bowel movements are an extremely common Mastandrea preoccupation, so its little surprise it clouds your subconscious mind. As for the Germanic suggestiveness of the word "attenzu", I would credit the buried ancestral Lanyo-ness that only returns during the deepest stages of REM...(you can go ahead and hum "Stand" or "Crush With Eyeliner" here, I just did.) Anyway, I had a long and elaborate dream this morning, that I will detail another day...but all day I keep remembering being in this stairwell where a huge crowd of people were gambling and playing a game where food was thrown at a type of dart board. Now what struck me was, loudly playing in the background was an awesome techno version of "Food, Glorious Food" (which I believe is from Oliver Twist) which prompted me to turn to my mother and say "Cousin John would love this song..." To which she replied: "because its stupid?" Even in dreams some things stay consistent. Oh by the way, Jennie The Mute believes your dream is a thinly veiled reaction to the Democratic takeover. The leaders and followers representing the flaccid and erect "members" of the Dem party/donkey. I think this interpretation can certainly be explored further, but I believe it best to allow her to do this herself.

OK, so brief thoughts the new President-elect. Nicely won campaign and best of luck in the White House. May I suggest vetting Kim Jong Il for Secretary of Treasury?

Recently, I went to Jensen Beach to check out the famous Pineapple Festival with Jenia, Merle and Silent Jenny. The entire ride we could not resist the temptation to impersonate Vito Caravella Sr., by repeatedly saying to one another "this guy's a real pineapple!" At the fair I realized that the only people who attend the Pineapple Festival were women who resembled Amy Winehouse and men who looked like roadies for ZZ Topp. But the best part is we indeed go to witness Morris Day and the Time perform "Jungle Love" live. Not the best live show I've ever seen, but certainly not the worst (that remains Hole). I have some superb live footage o not only Morriss rockin, but some nearby observers scorning me. Ah, how digital cameras have changed how we capture our memories.

Silent Jenny's vengeful digestive system has recently elected to protest absorbing meats, so in solidarity I have gladly opted to shift our daily dinners to a more veggie-centric menu. So now dinner each day is more of a Iron Chef challenge to find new and innovative ways to prepare produce. Its the opening sequence when the altar rises from thefloor and the announcer says "the secret ingredient is BROCCOLI RABE!!!" Your opponent today is Iron Chef Shteef Kenichi! Its actually been really fun...plus the roughage give you more time to read on the bowl.

Speaking of cooking, Jenia and I are in search of a gabuzzelle to begin a new Mastandrea holiday tradition...the Thanksgiving Gabuzzelle. We have found recipes online but we have yet to find place we can purchase one. We have decided barbecuing is better than boiling and would love to start this tradition this coming week. Any suggestions?

By the way, Joe I dont think the biker believed you were either costume hero or villain, he believed you were on your way to the ER to have the 100 pound colossalhead separated from the faded blue thing that was cutting off the circulation past your neck.

I was thinking about the term Happy Stink you have used in the past blog.

I once vacuumed up an entire container of Pecorino Romano grated cheese that fell all over the floor and then put the new dust buster on the charger. I recall thinking damn that worked out well. Several days went by and Steve was vacuuming crumbs on the couch and my dad was sitting on the floor watching something. That hot exhaust blowing out the side of the vacuum hit him in the face. He was not impressed, he said what the hell is that, get it outta here. He tossed it. I personally felt it was a happy stink.

John i do not know how i feel about that dream. There is not a single reference in Jessica's dream book to donkey shlong. I do like the new term we shall use. Atenzu.....We use to call it stand up comedian. This is much better.

Wednesday i spent the day at my moms house. Mutzzie was there. He and my father were attempting to cut down a cabbage palm that was really not offending anyone. They got halfway through the tree and the chain broke. So......wig and wheels trot across the street to borrow a chainsaw. The pull rope snaps at the first try to start it. no luck. The neighbor comes by. yes billy Busch and he surveys the situation. He decides to drive over the work truck from a large cable company with his cherry picker and says i bet i could take that out with my bumper. So big Vin says" GO FOR IT and give him a beer before he does it" He hit this tree 4 times and it went nowhere. The sound was awesome. i should have taped it. So the tree stays...... Maybe we can decorate it. we later began pulling all the life size nativity people from storage. Jenia and i drove home from our second trip there and i found an OLD batman mask in the storage that i forced onto my head. We get to the light and we are in a 2 lane left turn lane on a major road. This douche rides his bike through the crosswalk after the light turns green. The guy to the right stops hard and jenia hits his brakes. Bike douche yells whoa whoa......I stare out the window and say nothing as my head speaks for itself. As well as the truck filled to the roof with a back lit plastic nomadic tribe led by batman. out of the way we must forage and put up camp.

I am sorry to disappoint but my drive on I95 has been greatly shortened and therefore less eventful. I will never say uneventful.

Cool thing my mall has a blizzard every night at 7:30pm. Looks great and this week it was actually cold. well 45 degrees.

Had a bizarre dream last night. I was on a crazy boat ride. Crazy because much of the trip took us across muddy land surfaces. I think we were circumnavigating Manhattan; I cannot account for the muddy grass we were skidding across before we slid back into the river.

At the end of the journey was a boathouse, and a ramp the boat was somehow able to climb to get inside. Once we got in I noticed two donkeys copulating on the left side of the large room.

"Maybe we should've knocked before coming in," I muttered.

It did not seem all that odd that our mud-mobile boathouse also served as a horny-donkey cathouse. The sign on the right-side wall seemed to certify this dual-use: it had before-and-after illustrations of donkey-schlong. For educational purposes, I'm sure.

The first illustration showed the unaroused donkey member as a small thumb-like appendage, dangling lazily. Under it was the word "normal."

The other showed the same member elongated with cartoonish exaggeration, ready for action. Under that was the word "attenzu."

Attenzu!?!?

I looked it up. That's not a word!

Until now, that is...

This morning the snow is sticking to the roads and sidewalks. Da Chimpz are happy. I'm pissed. And it's cold.

I just put on a long-sleeved shirt that I last wore for the first half of Sunday. I now recall that I made a focaccia while wearing this shirt. It stinks of garlic.

And it's a happy stink.

Well, it looks like the Connecticut Malaise is going national -- and even our friends on the left side of the aisle are noticing. Oh, now they tell us.

Rainy day here at Berea-Rose. Temps started out mild but then fell throughout the day. We got out the slot car set and made a huge track across the living room floor. Even built in a loop-de-loop, just like in that Gorillaz video.

Mixed myself a pina colada tonight. Called Steve to tell him. Wanted to hear him sing reflexively. Had to leave a voicemail. Foiled again.

Got the mail yesterday and I continue to be relieved by the conspicuous absence of offensive campaign literature. It's the only good outcome of the election -- no longer having to receive daily piles of shrill idiocy. (Though I suppose it'll get bad soon enough -- when the tax bills start arriving.)

Yesterday's stack included a postcard from 5/3 Bank offering 53 reasons to bank there. Which was interesting, because I did not see 53 reasons on it. It was a friggin postcard.

And besides, all I could think of was the one reason that I would never bank at 5/3: they once pissed me off.

Heh. Put a TARP over that one.

Cookie and Mojo already know better than to try to mess with our stash of parsley. They know we need that each Sunday to make the meatballs.

You people in Florida are crazy. Which makes me wonder... What kind of madness has Bazzukajoe seen on I-95 lately?

A little snow was scattering through the air this morning as I took Da Chimpz to school. Yes, it's getting cold around here. After dropping them at the door I swung around to the Giant Beagle to get some coffee beans and a Post. Noticing a strange building boom in the area. In the crappy little strip mall on Bagel-y Road is an auto parts store that has been there for some time. In the last few weeks a box-store opened almost directly across the street selling, yes, car parts. And only a couple of blocks east they are clearing the remnants of a long-defunct gas station in order to build, according to the sign, yet another auto parts store.

Finally, someone around here is making sound investment decisions: no one's buying a new car anytime soon so they're going to need replacement parts to keep their jalopies on the road. Gonna be like Cuba soon, with aging old cars kept alive with spit and string.

But at least we'll all own shares in GM!

I was trying to sum up the strange sentiment that currently grips the nation. It's somewhere between "woe-is-me" and "Underdog, you've come to save us!" Pathetic in any event. I'm tempted to label it "The Audacity of Hobbes." But that's not going to make much sense to the people of northeast Ohio. Leviathan? Wasn't he a quarterback for the Bengals?

Well, they can take their Lucretian pessimism and shove it up their marxist Che-holes. I particularly enjoyed today's news story out of Jersey City -- the local councilman who unzipped from an upper window and pissed on the crowd below. Finally, a Democrat who tells it like it is!

Well, I'm heading downstairs to watch Alane play on the Wii. I think she rented the new Guitar Hero game. Wonder which songs they have on that (please, no more Foghat).

Went to World Market recently and saw that they were already stocked up with their holiday supply of panettone. I couldn't help myself: I bought one.

Yeah, I know I need to go easy on the bread intake these days -- I haven't been out jogging in months. And I'm cutting out all the unnecessary purchases, laying in for the long cold winter of marxism ahead (bring your own blanket).

So yesterday I opened the box and hacked off a big chunk. Sitting there with my cup of coffee and panettone I suddenly felt very civilized and secure. Yes, the holidays will be here soon. Perhaps I should already know that because all the stores have been decorate for weeks. Or maybe I can just look at the calendar.

No, eating the panettone is the best way to get in the holiday mode. That and watching more Food Network (though some of their new shows are a little fugazy).

Before I sign off I must take a moment to publicly humiliate Steve for not posting to the blog in what seems like forever:

Steve, you asshat, show the blog some love.

Okay, here they are: the groovy ghoulies.

Yeah, the spooky graveyard was fun, but we couldn't get the smoke machine to work until all the trick-or-treating was just about done.

A little while ago we ate the ravioli we bought frozen from from Gallucci's a couple of weeks ago. One dozen plain, one dozen with broccoli rabe filling.

Wow, that was good. So good I had to call Elna afterward to tell her about it. And to thank her for the orange hot chocolate she sent. Maybe we'll make some of that later tonight.

Right now, there's a lot of miniature golf happening on the Wii.

Just got back from NYC, the belly of the group-think beast. They are in full frenzy of election madness over there, with very few pockets of sympathetic voices. Good thing they don't read the blog there -- they might turn me away at the city gates!

Alane and Da Chimpz are out front sprucing up the spooky graveyard for the looming onslaught of trick-or-treaters. Should be interesting. Photos to come.

Guido and Kay took me to the old Seven Star Diner last night. Not sure what it's actually called now, but that's what it was called years ago when Guido and I would drive up and down Central Avenue, blasting Fishbone, looking for a place to sit down and spend our last few dollars on a cheeseburger deluxe.

No sign of the Weeping Waitress last night. Haven't seen her for years.

A not-so-anonymous commenter writes:

I liked the spooky dead look to the front yard, but maybe you can have it both ways and put Cuyahoga County on one of the Tombstones.

Well said! However, this being an entitlement-minded kind of area, I'll be surprised if anyone is voted out. Such a shame. I also understand that voters with mismatched addresses cannot be made to vote on provisional ballots on election day. Their votes go into the hopper just like those of qualified voters. Brunner and ACORN really covered all their bases on this one -- another reason I don't see the county heads having anything to worry about.

Eh, what can you do. This is already a country that would rather pay $4/gal than put holes in the ice, so it's not like anyone has their wits about them anymore. Hey McCain, how's all those years of bipartisanship working out for you these days?

Heh.

But enough of the dreary party politics of dreary northeast Ohio -- we want stories from the highways and by-ways of the Sunshine State. Like this gem:

"They busted through when I was undressed, getting ready to get in the shower. The wall came through," O'Konski said. "The workers were all right there. You could see a great deal of stuff."

I can't help but be reminded of those workers who sealed the outside of 1522, standing on scaffoldings in their sandals, spreading their mortar sealant, turning down Vin's offers of coffee, wanting only:

"Tea!"

Yes, we all love Florida. Where at any given moment you might see a great deal of stuff.

Yeow, it's getting cold out. Plenty of ice on the windshield this morning as I got in the Jeep to drive Da Chimpz to school. Yeah summer's over. I've been in denial over that since the baseball season ended, which seems like so long ago (with another pathetic collapse of the Mets). Haven't been out back very much at all. Even brought in the patio umbrella over the weekend. Yeah, it's over.

But we do have the spooky graveyard set up on the front lawn. We don't do political lawn signs. Many of the neighbors do. Considering how the Dems running this county are all under criminal investigation, a good portion of those signs could double as WANTED posters.

I need to make a call into Spumoni South to find out what's been happening. Also gotta check in with Bazzukajoe, see if he's accidentally diapered anyone lately.

Is this really what the French want?

And exactly why does she put all that stuff on her head? Because everything is like a hat.

That would be why.

Yes, Ohio is tired of having Florida steal its well-deserved title for corruption -- along with its throngs of tax-weary residents. But Florida is definitely formidable! And today the Ohio fraudsters got an assist from the Supreme Court, which said it would not look into potential violations. Crazy stuff, but I won't complain too loudly, lest they start looking up my trade licenses and tax liens.

So what did you have on the grill this week? And how much of it was purchased at Carmine's?

I haven't fired up my own grill in a few weeks now. I really should do something to reverse that trend. Yeah it's getting cold outside, but not that cold. I'm thinking: I do have some eggplant and zucchini in the refrigerator. Maybe some nice chicken parts... And an onion. Right on the grill, an onion... a little olive oil brushed on.

Yeah... this could work out.

Hello Ohio........
I never thought we would be competing with Ohio for most Rampant Voter Fraud Capital. I am assuring you that florida will never give up the crown. We are very proud to not be able to do something as fundamental as voting not without creating as much drama and doubt in the system as possible. We went from screwing up the archaic paper punch system to accidentally erasing some of the touch screen ones. We need to go back to the hand written stuff you stuck in a box. Just like in HS voting for prom queen, can we mess that up too?


Has ACORN been to Berea yet? have they tried to register John Paul yet?
Have the trees changed color? I miss that. Pile the fallen leaves high and dive in once for me.


So we had dinner at my mom's. Bar-b-que. It was great except that the pool is open to any one falling in so ellexa must be contained. She was very interested in what uncle vito was eating and takes pride in saying Unka Vido correctly and we all laugh everytime. I dont know why it is so funny. She speaks very well and very often says very unexpected things or uses the funniest terms. She loves uncle Jenia. she needs to know what hes doing and when hes coming over. Uncle steve too. And yes , she puts everything on her head. She is a mastandrea.

Someone rang the doorbell last night, interrupting our viewing of a Terry Gilliam animation DVD (funny stuff). A man introduced himself as being from the "Progressive Future" group, and wanted to ask me about the election. Progressive future? Sounds pretty expensive, I thought. I told him thanks for nothing, but we're all set planning for our own future. I don't feel a need to argue with zealots, but I did just now try to find some background on the group mentioned by this particular zealot. Here's one blog's take on them. Heh.

Of course, being here in Cuyahoga County there's no confidence that a non-zealot's vote will even be counted, thanks not only to the fraudsters trying to overwhelm the system, but the fraudsters who run the local government and, conveniently, count the ballots. With any luck, many of them will eventually be doing serious prison time. Unless the DOJ lawyers are fired en masse in January. Which of course they will.

The leaves are turning around Berea-Rose -- lots of nice color in the area, and it'll likely be peaking soon. Haven't made any apple pie yet this year... I think I need to get on that.

Yesterday was one of those rare days when Alane and I had the day off but Cookie and Mojo had school. So after they were safely dropped at the schoolhouse door, Alane and I drove across town to the upscale blight of Cleveland's east side to find ourselves some expensive groceries.

As for me, I rarely venture into Cleveland proper much less its outer neighborhoods -- too dismal. I could hardly make out the "Obama-Biden" lawn signs among all the "For Sale" postings. Cleveland's such a Detroit wannabe. But that was no matter: we were on our way to Whole Foods to get some broccoli rabe, Zagarra's to get some figs and mineola oranges, and Galucci's to get some prosciutto di parma and a hot eggplant parmesan to go.

Needless to say, all that made for quite the nifty lunch when we returned. Then we headed out to see American Carol, a movie that had about as many quality gags as Meet the Spartans, which I watched on DVD last week. They were both about as heavy-handed on theme.

This week we have to set up the front of the house for Halloween. We're starting to amass about as much scare-decoration as we have for Christmas... And I feel I can't let that happen.

The meatballs are made -- Cookie and I rolled them out a little while ago. They came out of the broiler and into the sauce just a few minutes ago. We each sampled one.

And they were declared worthy.

(Took a little twist this time, throwing a handful of dried porcini mushrooms into the food processor with the onion, garlic and fresh parsley; there was just a hint of it in my taste-test, so next time I might up the ante on the fungi -- yeah, I'm a fun guy.)

Now I need another cup of coffee while I sit here listening to 80s music. Right now it's Private Idaho. Earlier it was The Smiths. All these years later and I still enjoy it:

Punctured bicycle, on a hill - side deso - late...
Will nature make a man of me yet?

Ha -- great stuff. Yes, the pain was enough...

There's no denying it any longer: autumn is here. Temps at 39 degrees right now, and was a bit lower when we woke up yesterday morning. Still, I didn't want to admit that I needed to turn on the furnace. So we toughed it out yesterday, burning up some firewood, wearing layers. But last night I gave in: we slept with the heater on.

Another sure sign that summer vacation is over: the Cub Scouts are doing their popcorn sale fundraiser, which officially kicked off yesterday.

Was really cold when we got up this morning, so I made a fire. Cookie got into costume to narrate how it all went:

Express Yourself with Gizmoz Video Clips

Friggin' Mets. How do you get a lead-off triple and not score a run? Now it's extra innings. And the Cubs just took the lead. I think I'm going to sleep. Baseball starts again in April.

Gosh, I guess I haven't watched a baseball game very closely in quite a while. The pace is painfully slow. Last I saw it was tied. I'm flipping channels.

Hey, how about that: all my bitching and complaining about not having any baseball to watch on TV and waddya know? ESPN is carrying tonight's Mets game.

So tonight I get a game to watch. Mets are already behind.

Figures.

Good news, Steve: you now have something in common with arch-feminist Naomi Wolf. Apparently, her mailman hates her too! (But clearly not as much as Wolf hates some of us!)

Lots of political mail arriving at Berea-Rose lately, which is fun to survey. Just about all of it from the Ohio Dems. Fascinating stuff. They must have a mole working in their offices because every giant postcard they send makes me more solidly against them. And when the last one arrived, I quickly read its large-print scream about energy policy and actually thought it was delivering a pro-drilling message.

"Ah," thought. "Finally some GOP mail."

But then I read closer and it said it wanted to achieve energy independence by taxing U.S. oil companies and not drilling. Which seemed counterintuitive, to say the least. I checked the fine print. Yep, another Dem mailer.

I have also been tracking, from afar, the slow-motion implosion of my beloved N.Y. Mets. I haven't seen a game on TV since I was at Guido's a couple of weeks ago; it is now looking quite possible that I shan't see another Met game until next season. And hell, even if they do get into the playoffs, I will likely only be able to watch the first few innings of the games -- staying up past midnight just ain't working anymore.

Oh well, I suppose it's time to focus on football anyway. Around here, people are insane with the sport. Which I suppose makes sense since the Browns appear to be awful enough to drive any fan crazy. I haven't watched any games myself so far this season, which leaves me with very little to talk about when the locals gather to talk about what's on their minds.

Margo and Jenia steamed up to Jacksonville last night to entertain Alane, stuck as she is at work-related meetings. I understand everyone in Jacksonville is named "Jackson." I dared Elna to turn from the phone and call out "Hey, Jackson!" to people walking by to see how many turned to answer. She seemed to think I was joking.

Finally, some love for the Yugo. I used to drive that car into NYC and it bitch-slapped the cabbies jockeying for position heading up 1st Avenue and fit into damn-near any parking space.

Ahoy, mateys. Tis Talk Like A Pirate Day today. Aaaaarrrr!

Oh, and here's a shot of Da Chimpz hanging with their gal-pals from around the block. Yes, it had been raining that day, Saturday, but we were all out for the big clambake. A great time was had by all.

Next time, I'll try to pose them a little better. Yeah, good luck trying to get them to stand still.

Expand the shot to see the clamshell Mojo was carrying around half the night.

Weather is in the 40s this morning here at Berea-Rose -- yeah, the summer's over.

And we did get Iked on Sunday, with some serious winds blowing through the area, messing up the trees and bringing down some power lines. Our own power only flickered a bit, but the school has had only partial power all week. Meaning, Da Chimpz have been home with me for the last couple of days. But today they go back.

Last week I was in NYC. As I headed out for my trip, Cookie told me I should bring him photos of Times Square. Not sure what gave him the sudden interest in that particular streetcorner, but I brought my camera and got a nice shot of a woman picking her nose as she crossed 7th Ave.

An action shot!

Right after snapping that pic I ducked into the nearby Teriyaki Boy and got myself lunch: a nice spread of sushi. It was delicious. But afterwards I didn't feel so good.

No rike feesh.

But Guido and I did kill a small bottle of saki one night last week -- it's good to see the guy drinking saki again. For years the mere mention of the stuff would make his skin crawl.

BTW, I loved Bazzukajoe's pictures. I want him to post more.

mmmmmm pot pie. Now could that be a moose pot pie ....if alane were the moose hunting sort? We may never know. thanks john. I like pot pie. How can you not like a meat cake.

I have neglected you oh blog. For this i apologize. C.J. is now 24lbs and ellexa is 32lbs. He is like a meatball.They say he looks like me. You be the judge. He very funny but he is still too small to play. Ellexa is not. She is quite observant and has a big personality for such little person. She went on the potty yesterday. That was amazing. Our last try at that took me 2 hours to clean. She is also taking dance lessons in school and has no fear of animals. She lifted the baby pig out of the pen
as it squeeled up a storm at the petting zoo. The funny thing is that she knows what is funny and how to tease already. She does it to my dad all the time. And this sunday i went by spumoni to return ree's hotwheels and it was quite early, 7am. I was sneaking in and out and leaving when ellexa said can i go get a toy in my room. I thought....wow great, self entertaining. She was in the room 3 seconds and grabbed her recorder, she proceeds to blow into it like she was blowing out candles. The sound was piercing. I turned and ran towards her saying stop that as she blew harder and faster while hiding it under her arm. She woke everyone. And she smiled as she did it.










Here is a short video of Christian saying his first words.

Okay, so the Mets were rained out yesterday... That doesn't mean they were going to be on TV if they had played!

Alane made chicken pot pie last night. Yum.

Why is Major League Baseball run by a bunch of asshats? It's almost as if they want people like me to lose interest in baseball -- why such crummy games on Saturday afternoon. Oops, I mean game, not games. The geniuses trying to monetize the sport have decided that the best way to please the fans is to restrict their access to games on Saturday afternoon to a single game. Alane thought this week's game would be the Mets, so I got all excited -- finished up the yardwork, parked myself on the couch, and turned on... the Dodgers. Or the Tigers. I don't know what the hell their showing but it wasn't the Mets so right now I'm watching Bobby Flay do a biscuits and jam throwdown.

Well, at least I know the Mets will be on tomorrow night. Unless the Amazin's make the playoffs that'll be about the last baseball I'll be watching this season, aside from the few innings of hapless Indians play that I watch here and there. Da Chimpz don't watch it either -- which is a shame, because they like to play the game. They'd learn more about it if they watched more on TV.

I don't think I even know the Mets' starting lineup anymore. What little I see is in the Post, which still gives Mets coverage short shrift, even now with the Yankees pretty much out of the race.

Earlier today I took down the gazebo-tent that has shaded the backyard for much of the now-departed summer. It was the structure's last hurrah -- a cheap POS that I squeezed two full seasons from. The canopy fabric tore as I pulled it off the frame, sealing its trash-bag fate.

Now I need the grass to regrow in the spots that had no sun for the last three months.

I asked Alane tonight why she doesn't hunt moose. She said it was my fault -- that I'd been holding her back by making her live so many years in a major metropolitan area.

I reminded her that she passes an Elk Lodge on her way to work each morning. Must be some game available there.

A few hours later the boys asked for ice cream. Cookie wanted vanilla; Mojo wanted the cookie-dough flavor. But the cookie-dough was almost out, so I had to give him one scoop of that and a scoop of the vanilla. When I handed it to him he told me he doesn't like vanilla.

"No problem," I said, lifting the scoop out of his bowl with my two fingers and popping the whole thing in my mouth. He was still unsatisfied.

"There's not enough," he said, handing the bowl back to me. "I don't want it."

"Wait a minute," I said, trying to talk through a mouthful of ice cream. "You mean to tell me..."

I almost couldn't say it because I was getting the brain freeze, but yes, he did mean to tell me: he'd rather have no ice cream at all than have half a bowl of the stuff.

"Fine," I said and proceeded to eat that portion as well (after my upper palate thawed). I'll pay for that later.

Just got done watching the big speech. I want moose stew.

Frylock will appreciate the search term that landed this reader in the Macaroni Dish.

As I said during the last election cycle, Leopold Bloom's campaign platform is still attractive -- even a century after it first appeared:

I stand for the reform of municipal morals and the plain ten commandments. New worlds for old. Union of all, jew, moslem and gentile. Three acres and a cow for all children of nature. Saloon motor hearses. Compulsory manual labour for all. All parks open to the public day and night. Electric dishscrubbers. Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease. General amnesty, weekly carnival, with masked licence, bonuses for all, esperanto the universal brotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Free money, free love and a free lay church in a free lay state.

Sounds better than anything that's being spouted tonight. About as realistic. Oobama should deliver his speech in Esperanto. Isn't he appearing in the Birds Nest tonight? Or am I thinking of some other ancient Greek spectacle? (Toga! Toga! Toga!) Are the Olympics still under way? I didn't get a chance to watch much of that either. Not that I wanted to. All I want is to catch a Mets game on TV -- they're in the penant race, you know. You'd think a network would want to pick up one of their games. Hell, even when I'm staying in NYC I can't tune in -- it seems none of the mid-town hotels has SNY on their TV offerings. The asshats. I don't think I've seen the Mets play since early July. If they don't make the playoffs I won't catch a game until next season.

And this is a way to keep people as fans? And don't try to sell me the mostly-blacked-out cable or internet packages: they suck.

So no Mets on TV tonight. Watched a new show on Food Network instead. They blew up grapes and eggs in a microwave. Cookie and Mojo found it funny.

Also, I'm waiting for more information about Hurricane Gustav. It is such an excellent name. Not quite like the names Bazzukajoe proposed, but really good nonetheless. Really good.

Ah, the first day of school... Not that it feels very much like autumn yet, but it is a cool and sunny morning. And Da Chimpz are all scrubbed and shorn and attired in their new school uniforms. And even a break for me, as Alane hung around a while later this morning to deliver them to the schoolhouse door herself.

Which means I have peace and quiet to get to work. Or to blog, as the case may be.

I understand there is a storm named Gustav that may ultimately make its way to Spumoni South. Bazzukajoe must be delighted: a hurricane named Gustav. Wasn't he offering a few years ago to create the name list for the weather service? He wanted to name some of them after cheeses. Grate idea.

Nyuck nyuck nyuck.

I can't seem to keep it straight... are the Olympic ski-jumpers competing in Denver? Are the Democrat delegates assembling in Beijing? Perhaps I should watch more television. Then again, no thanks. I have enough fund with each day's newspaper. In fact, this weekend I shared with Cookie an article on how some food companies are cutting back on ingredients as a way to not have to pass along their increased supply costs. One such cut-back victim: the McDonald's double cheeseburger.

This month, McDonald's Corp. said it's testing less expensive ways to make its $1 double cheeseburger; already, some restaurants are selling the burger with one slice of cheese instead of two.

This hit a little too close to home for Cookie, a kid who always has to have a slice of cheese on his burger -- and, like his cousin Frylock, cannot tolerate the addition of any other condiments. He thought it through:

"Why don't they take out one of the meat-patties instead," he suggested. "After all, it's called a double-cheese burger."

Alane and I were impressed by the rookie-logic of our junior marketing director, though I told Cookie that if he were to implement such a plan that he would have to be the person assigned to handle customer complaints. Once he heard that, he backed off from his ingenious plan.

Mojo got a new Lego set on Saturday and it's amazing how focused he can be in following the assembly directions. If only we could get him to concentrate on schoolwork with that intensity. Which, of course, is a highly relevant notion now that school starts tomorrow for Da Chimpz. Yes, that's right, endless summer has come to an end. We went to the school yesterday, dropped supples into their desks, met the teachers and wished them luck (the teachers). We didn't stay long because I wanted to get back and eat our macaroni. Yesterday's brilliant macaroni-related brainstorm was to make the meatballs on the grill.

Hey, why not -- it was a warm day, so why put on the oven? Why clean up so many pans? And I heard NASCAR Joe pulled it off on his grill, so I felt the tinge of a challenge.

So there I was, just back from 7:30 Mass, out in my backyard trying to manipulate crumbling balls of meat as they stuck to the hot grate. It didn't go very well. They tasted fine, but I didn't the control I get from my broiler -- wasn't able to get the nice crispy brown shell I like to have before plopping them into the sauce.

Eh, as the cooler weather sets in I'll be glad to have the broiler on each Sunday morning.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, the Geneva area should not be known for wine alone -- at the beverage mart across the road from the lodge we stayed in I was able to procure Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. In a 40 oz. bottle! I got one to have with our lunch on Monday, the carry out order of okay wings, dismal ribs and really bad pizza. Wow, I hadn't even seen PBR in years.

We took a little bit of vacation in the last few days, getting ourselves a room in Geneva, not Switzerland, so we could look at the lake and enjoy the local style. We especially liked the ramshackle roadside bar with the following words painted in red on the side of the building:

Liquor, Dancing

The carnival strip was definitely the hooverville of seaside resorts, but fun to see for exactly that reason. We did hit a local winery, where I tasted the homegrown while Da Chimpz drank the grape juice. Notice the carefully dosed samples on my tray. The stuff wasn't bad, and I even bought myself a few bottle on my way out (suppressing my inner urge to boycott the pricks who successfully lobbied the Ohio legislature to restrict my ability to order wines through the mail -- so now I gotta load up on Big Ass Cab on my next road-trip to NYC, yes by car since the abominable TSA won't let you carry bottles onto a flight anymore).

Despite the spotty cellphone service in Geneva, not-Switzerland, I did hear that Don Vito was hunkering down with the Fatones as Tropical Storm Fay poured buckets of water over the region. I understand storm preparation included the ancient rite of sausage-grilling, done outdoors, natch. Hearing this made me put on the Weather Channel to track the storm's course, but I couldn't stand watching Jim Cantore pining for the storm upgrade. But the only other thing on television was the insufferable Chi-Com propaganda airing on NBC. The Little League World Series was far more enthralling. Too bad for Italy -- those kids have great names.

Anyway, now we're back at Berea-Rose. I patched up the soap dish in the shower this afternoon, meaning it's off-limits until the compound can set. So I took a shower in the basement. In the two and a half years we've lived here no one has yet used the downstairs shower. Until today.

Every day an adventure.

American Airlines is pathetic. Last night's inhuman treatment of passengers started, as usual, when I arrived. The monitors told us our 4:10 flight would be seven minutes late. That was ominous -- normally they don't post a flight's lateness until the departure time has already passed (making it useless to check a flight's status before leaving for the airport).

Anyway, as we sat there waiting, the lateness kept getting updated, pushing the flight's expected departure time further and further toward evening. Then they started switching the gate on us: I think it changed four times in a matter of 10 minutes -- finally settling on a gate that was boarding a Toronto flight (another sign that we'd be even more late than the insufferable American Airlines was letting on).

When we finally did board the plane sometime around 5:30 I hoped to not have to sit too long in the tiny seat (kills my back and neck). But we certainly would sit there for a long time, buckled in and fuming. Would it have helped if the pilot had come on and told us we were 20th or 30th for takeoff? I don't know, because it was only about an hour later that he finally got on to tell us the runway had just been closed, probably due to the thunderstorm that was now arriving -- how thoughtful of American Airlines to time their delays in order to catch further delays!

Hey American Airlines: kiss my garlic ass.

I've decided that my next trip to the city will be by car: I'm not going to spend six hours enduring the indignities of strip-searches and airline delays when for an extra two hours and I can experience the boring autonomy of getting to my destination under my own steam, listening to my own music, and stopping to stretch when I see fit.

Other than travel, the trip was not bad: a glimpse of the extremely loud Dominican parade on Sixth Avenue, a reception at Tavern on the Green, a take-out dish of scungilli (which I've long been jonesing for -- but alas, the mid-town I-talian places don't serve it so I decided to go Chinese), and an aerial view of yesterday's evacuation of the Seventh Avenue subway station (I never trusted those escalators).

It's good to be home, though. I sleep better at Berea-Rose.

Saturday is the one day of the week when I might actually sit around and watch some sports -- just lie on the couch and let the innings crawl by, maybe fall asleep, wake up as the game is ending.

That's summer living.

Except Saturday is also the day of the lamest selection of games. Yeah, there's the Indians, but that's not particularly. I'm looking for the Mets or one of their competitors in the National League East. Every once in a while ESPN will carry a Mets game, but on Saturday's the MLB makes sure no one gets to see anything good. Such crap.

So instead I watched a show about a couple of guys trying to capture a chupacabra. It was a lot like watching a Mets game, in that in the end there was no chupacabra. A couple of channels away some other biologists were hunting the South Pacific for the deadly iricongi jellyfish. That one damn-near put me to sleep.

But I'm up now, off the couch, ready to fire up the grill and make some burgers. Because it's August. And in August one must eat grilled burgers. A lot.

Well, Barack has come and gone -- sweeping into the throughly-corrupt environs of Berea, getting himself a complimentary tire gauge, then high-tailing it out before anyone could ask him if he knew the mayor's real address.

I didn't catch any of the coverage, though I heard he did link arms with the peculiar man who is governor of this peculiar state. Yes, they know what this region needs: a lot more of the same. That'll pull us out of our death throes!

I called Steve yesterday to ask him if he wished he were in Berea for the festivities. He told me he looks forward to the new administration: not only will the economy improve and the ocean levels stabilize, he's pretty sure his bowling score will go up as well.

And right now Steve is reading this, saying to himself, "You bastard, you used my line." Well yes, people who don't regularly post their material to the blog have their material expropriated.

This morning I explained to Cookie how someday he'd have to get a job and make himself useful to the economy. Then I told him about payroll tax withholding. We went out onto the front steps -- to sit on the stoop like a couple of mooks. It's August and the cicadas are singing quite loudly.

Still feels strange knowing that school will start in a few short weeks. Eh, it's turning out to be a fun summer. The other night we caught a glimpse of the fireworks they launched over the nearby Cuyahoga County Fair -- quite fitting in this period of watching the county government implode. Even the normally-execrable Plain Deal has discovered that maybe, just maybe, it can actually devote some resources to covering real news.

Still not quite as entertaining as the news headlines that emanate from the Sunshine State. Man Calls 911 After Casino's Slot Machine 'Steals Money'. Did I mention that Ohio's poor can now play Keno whenever they want?

So yes, I was listening to the O'Jays. While shopping in BJs. Thinking about TooJays (since I could always go for a nice chicken salad sammich).

Tomorrow is apparently when Berea gets to smell what Barack is cooking. We hear The One will be in town tomorrow and he will doubtlessly attract throngs of prObama Ohioans.

This particular nObama voter will be happy enough to just stay off the local roads and sit in front of the computer. Maybe do some tax planning. And read more news gossip about the local party-hacks who've been swindling the locals for years -- great stuff, and comical too because we all know that even if they were indicted the locals would still re-elect them.

Such is modern life in the Valley of Kuzinich. I just hope Secret Service doesn't come around tomorrow wanting to check my tire pressure.

BazzukaJoe called earlier and told me some terrible photos were taken over the weekend. Truly ghastly photos. Of badwater. I do not wish to see them.

He also told me I have an upcoming date. At Times Square. Atop a heap of portable toilets. This I can do.

Sometime after he hung up Ellexa must've gotten hold of his cellphone and found the redial function. She and I shared a somewhat extended telephone conversation that was simultaneously unintelligible and strangely amusing.

Yes, a lot like talking to her father.

Impulsive thought of the following week: I need a new food processor. I much bigger one. For making meatballs. And slicing bell peppers.

So yesterday morning I ventured out to purchase, inter alia, a spanking new pulverizing machine. A Cuisinart (or, as we used to say in XU's dining hall as we sculpted the nasty Saga fare: queasy-art).

First I went to Sears. I spotted the dust bags we needed for a vacuum and as I took them down from the hooks an over-motivated Sears worker came over to assure that I had selected the correct dust-bag type. This annoyed me.

"I wouldn't have taken it down if it was the wrong type," is approximately what I said, though probably not as nasty.

"Can I ring that up for you?" he asked, and I was so eager to not have to talk anymore that I said yes, ring it up.

So I left Sears after only quickly browsing their food processors.

After that I went into BJ's Wholesale. As I walked the aisles the store's sound system played the O'Jays' "I Love Music (Any Kind of Music)." Wow, I haven't heard that in about 30 years, I thought! (And the friggin' song has been in my head since.)

Anyway, BJ's had a nice looking food processor with quite an array of attachments and parts -- I took it. Got it home, unboxed it, ran the parts through the dishwasher, and popped in the instruction DVD that accompanied the documentation.

And lemme tell ya: the DVD was very entertaining. After a section warning me not to pick up the slicing disc by its blade (!) there was a section on how to use the unit to prepare certain dishes. This section was delightfully hosted by a chef -- a celebrity chef! One who I, alas, had never heard of. But he did have a French accent. And a California accent. At the same time. And that lent the video much of its entertainment value.

So I watched as he did some straightforward choppage: guacamole, salsa, stuff like that. Okay, I thought, I can see myself doing that.

Then he said he was going to make meatloaf using the food processor. I was still on board with this, knowing that most meatloaf is infused with various concoctions of minced goodies. And sure enough he minced the usual suspects. But then he upped the ante -- by throwing his meat right into the whirring blades. And he didn't just pulse the meat to grind it and mix it with the aromatics -- no, he went and liquefied this meat, then patted it like liverwurst into a breadpan.

I was not down with this.

Needless to say, this morning's meatballs (floating in the gravy that is still simmering atop the stove) were not mixed using the mechanical violence prescribed in the Cuisinart user manual. The manual has been set aside. In fact, I think I shall promptly return to my normal practice of not reading user manuals, even for new gadgets that turn sharpened steel at high RPMs.

There is great fun unfolding in the one-party kingdom of Ohio's Cuyahoga County. By "fun" I mean Eliot-Spitzer-caught-with-his-pants-down type of mirth. Apparently while I was sitting at the airport waiting for my plane to NYC the FBI and the IRS were serving search warrants at the homes and offices of various county honchos and construction magnates, taking possession of files and hard-drives in what appears to be a major corruption scandal.

Gotta love it. Ever since I moved here I've been repulsed by the grinning image of the county auditor who had the nerve (and the access to county money) to have a photo of himself placed on a sticker that attaches to every gas pump in the area. Every time I filled the tank I saw his ridiculous image and thought to myself, "We need term limits." Now I can think to myself, "We need more federal penitentiaries."

Now that I'm caught up with the various news accounts I am struck by another aspect of this scandal: just about everyone targeted in the investigation has stated publicly how surprised and shocked (shocked!) they are that the FBI came to seize their papers and records.

That can mean only one thing: they knew the raid was coming. Which makes sense: it borders on extraordinary for the FBI to have swooped in to take records this way rather than through grand jury subpoena. So they also must've realized the investigation targets were aware of the surveillance -- and were already destroying evidence.

My bet (pure speculation): all the evidence of dirty business was expunged prior to Monday's raids. Which, of course, is why they are all insisting that the raid came as a total surprise to them.

Eh, doesn't matter to the local voters anyway. They like things just the way they are.

And I'm starting to get used to it myself -- kind-a reminds me of New York in the 1970s. Except without the Wall Street revenues to keep the rent-seekers in high cotton. (Actually, today's New York is itself looking like New York in the 1970s without the Wall Street revenues... dumb bastards brought it on themselves.)

When I got to my gate at LaGuardia tonight I was encouraged to see an aircraft actually sitting on the field at the end of our jetway. That was better than the fiasco American Airlines put me through yesterday morning, with late-arriving plane reporting a "maintenance issue" and a resulting two hour delay to work into my travel/meeting plans.

Asshats.

But tonight would be different: we had ourselves a plane!

No crew, though. They were coming in from Raleigh Durham (I recall that happening to me in the past), and even when they landed it took them forever to get to our gate. And when we finally pushed back the pilot kindly announced that we were 20th in line for takeoff.

American Airlines sucks the bat-wang.

But somehow in the crush of tiny seating I managed to not crush the black and white cookies smuggled home for Da Chimpz.

Yes, I'll never forget my own emergency visit to the men's room at the Beverly Hilton...

But that's another story! This has been quite the mid-summer weekend -- with Mojo sleeping over at a friend's place on Friday night, our hosting some backyard grilling with a few families last night, and a pool party for Da Chimpz' basebal league... in a few minutes.

But we are indeed getting old. Tell-tale signs? Last nights backyard BBQ broke up before nine. I stayed out back to start putting things away. Got Cookie out to play a little catch with the Nerf fotball-with-the-fins thing. Then as it got dark we started looking for bats (as we'd done on Friday night, tossing the ball into the bat's path to watch it swerve toward the ball, thinking he'd happened upon the fattest gnat in Berea).

But no bats last night. So we went around the back and turned on the bug-zapper -- which was riveting entertainment. No really, we were glued to the thing -- was like small scale fireworks. Old Sparky for the insect menace.

Got bitten up anyway. Even the fogger doesn't keep them away. Bloodsuckers.