Mojo is wise to this whole Santa Claus thing. But that doesn't stop him from submitting fantastical Christmas wish-lists any chance he gets. Like in school this week where he was invited to write a letter to Santa:

Dear Santa,

I want a DSI a Teck Deck Big Ramp a Teck Deck 10 pack a Teck Deck Half Pipe a Lego set another Lego set and another Lego set a Army Men pack a Lego free build kit a IPod a Nerf gun pack and in my stocking I want cole gum a Teck Deck and I want World Peace + a cell phone + a penguin.

Got that Santa? I especially like the way he segmented the stocking-stuffer portion of his list. The coal gum is, I think, something we got him in year's past -- probably because we couldn't find lumps of real coal. Not sure where to get a penguin. Or where to send him to get a comma.

Okay, last year's project to hang lights in Tuckahoe turned into a total fiasco -- wrong lights, wrong placement, wrong attitude... even the wrong vermouth. This year we made up for it: stopped at Stews and got a crate of lights -- no blinkers, no chasers, no funny business. We'd gotten the pork and the vermouth the day before. We were set.

It went well. But it was freezy cold. And it's not quite the same without Da Chimpz following us around trying to help (those were the days). After a few hours of that my hands could not keep the blood circulating, so I went upstairs to sip my vermouth while the food cooked.

Went on Monday evening to get the Berea-Rose family Christmas tree. Bought a wholly adequate tree at the nearby luxe garden outlet. Even got 10 percent off! They told me pull the car around and someone would check my receipt and tie my tree. So that's what we did. But no one was there. We stood around for a while, staring at the one wrapped tree that was sitting there and had to be ours. We and even had the crazy idea that it would fit in the Jeep, even with the backseat up and the boys in the car. Yeah, fail on that. Had to look priceless though, like the Grinch trying to stuff the tree up the chimney. Finally we lashed it to the roof ourselves and drove off, fully expecting the thing to fall off. Now it's here, all decorate and hung with light strings that only partially work. Which is a whole other story.

Changed the oil in the Forester yesterday. Temps were in the 30s. Sucked.

It's not often you can walk away from the photo line with a kid who can say, "Santa slapped me" and really mean it. Oh, and deserve it -- throwing up the gang signs while the photographer got into position was total ambush and Santa had every reason knock some heads together. We laughed our asses off, especially when the boys teamed up with their friend from school and started dancing to the Christmas music being played at this morning's Kiwani pancake and sausage breakfast.

This week Mojo once again stated his desire to have a dog. And now he has a name for the dog: Economy. His logic, if you want to call it that, is that he can then walk around sternly shouting, "Bad Economy, baaaad Economy."

This from a kid to taped fins to a balloon to make it into a pirate zeppelin. It's not the jolly roger he penned on the side that concerns me: it's the knife-wielding rabbit he drew on the front. The kid has serious problems. He ought to go back to songwriting.

There are Christmas lights hanging now on Berea-Rose. Not many, for now, but enough to signal the fact that Thanksgiving is over. What a week. Don Vito sat by the fire, sipping a ghastly chablis and listening to WFAN... snoozing. Yep, it was exciting.

Of course, we ate a traditional meal (no turducken this year).

We also made some serious pumpkin pie -- the story of which is retold here as photo essay. Da Chimpz were on hand to, er, help. That little pumpkin never had a chance. And oh yeah: that's a gluten free pie crust I had to make. Because I have an auto-immune system that works like the Federal Reserve.

It snowed a bit on Friday morning (more excitement for Vito!) but that cleared up quickly. Alane hit the stores early and came back reporting weak crowds -- Northeast Ohio is about as economically backward as Michigan, so full-on commerce would be shocking anyway.

Steve, who blogs even less than I do these days, was apparently in Philadelphia for Thanksgiving but never got himself over to Tony Luke's for the cheese steak that defeated Bobby Flay. Alane had it, said it was good; Dan tried it, said it was mediocre. Steve could've broken the deadlock. Maybe next time.

Heh, it just hit seven o'clock. Which fills my dining room with a happy little Christmas jingle: Deck the Halls indeed. I love that clock.

Woke up at about 4 this morning and couldn't sleep. So I already had my coffee and read much of the WSJ when I saw the newst alert that finalized this country's return to September 10.

Yes, the mainstreaming of Kaleid Sheik Whatshisname. I think I can illustrate the absurdity of today's news headlines. Play along:

Imagine it's 1941 and the Pacific Fleet has just been destroyed at Pearl Harbor. Further, imagine that one of the Japanese bomber pilots has been shot down and captured in the raid. Does anyone doubt how that pilot would have been treated, either then or now under today's prevailing laws?

Right: the pilot would be a POW. Pearl Harbor was a military installation, not civilians in a workplace. As a POW the pilot would have no right to a criminal trial or a court review, but would instead be subject to captivity until the end of hostilities. Not a bad beef, given the body count.

Now suppose Pearl Harbor had been bombed not by uniformed pilots flying flagged aircraft. Imagine instead that the U.S. fleet had been destroyed by non-uniformed saboteurs. And further imagine that the attack specifically targeted civilians as well as military personnel. If some of those saboteurs had been captured would we grant those prisoner more or less procedural protection than the POWs mentioned above?

Think carefully before you answer. If you want to be a nice guy and grant more protection (habeas corpus, right to counsel, jury trial, etc.) would that not incentivize illegal war methods? And by encouraging such methods of attacks, do we not endanger the very non-combatants that the POW rules (and all laws of war) are designed to protect?

Which brings us to today's absurdity: had KSM obeyed the laws of war, worn a uniform, bore arms openly as a soldier, and not targeted civilians he would still be in a POW camp with no access to civilian court. Instead, he operated as a stealth combatant, waging war in a way that maximized civilian casualties... so he gets rewarded with a civilian trial and a defense lawyer. And extensive security protection. Paid for by me. And you.

World domination has been achieved. By idiots. I read about it today, before the sun even rose.

Turducken for the holidays? Or its evolutionary superior?

Whatever it is, I concur.

This Halloween thing is getting a little too close to reality. While I was out storming the doorsteps of Middletown with Stephen and Kayleigh, Cookie was out taking care of all family business here in Berea. He looked good -- reminded me of another well-dressed fellow.



Got back here Tuesday night after a weeklong stay at and around the office. A long time to be living out of a bag; a long time to be away from Da Chimpz.

I've been taking my Voltaren much more regularly in the last couple of months -- sort-of conceding defeat and accepting that without the stuff I'm going to be miserable. And maybe even with the stuff, as it seems to have a diminishing effect on the ragged edges of my sacroiliac.

Heh. I like to say sacroiliac.

I also like to say Voltaren. Makes me think of Voltron. Defender of the universe!

I'm standing at the kitchen counter just now, browning some beef shanks and sausage in order to get the gravy on and I'm noticing as I gaze out the window... it's still dark.

Crazy around here this time of year -- we don't get daylight until almost 7:30. Everyone else is still asleep, but I got the Sunday ritual under well. This sauce is going to simmer for eight hours. Even if we do have that Mass at 9 with the Cub Scout pack.

And what is a ritual anyway? Versus something that's just a good idea. On Monday we celebrated Columbus Day by driving to the Whole Foods on the east side of town. That's the second year in a row we did that -- using a day that Da Chimpz had school to indulge ourselves with pretentious food. It was fun. Got myself, among other things, a couple of small pumpkins.

We already hacked one to death. That was Friday night, where I cleaned it out, par-boiled the big shards, skinned it, then roasted it with nutmeg, butter, and some brown sugar. Nice.

Another ritual that's developing around here is group-viewing of YouTube videos. With the Apple TV the browsing and the video is all on the big screen. So we sit and watch videos (which explains why the boys walk around these days saying "This is Spartaaaa-aaagh!").

Yesterday we were watching clips about risotto. The dish made from short-grain rice (not the excellent album from Fluke). Cookie and I screened a few clips, and then we got to this guy.

First of all, I love the way this guy talks. Second, Cookie couldn't understand anything he said. Third, the first two things are very related.

So last night Cookie and I actually decided to make a risotto -- to go along with the pork chops and asparagus we would be having for dinner. Got everything lined up: the rice, the broth, the leftover pumpkin. It was quite the fire drill, if only because I was trying to get Cookie hands-on access to each step. Watching him chop the ends off the onion was nerve-wracking -- but all went well. By the end of what seemed an eternity we had a pumpkin risotto that neither Cookie nor Mojo liked very much. But I did -- had to cut myself off, because I would've eaten the stuff until I popped.

But that's what I do these days, now that I'm avoiding the gluten: latching onto anything that'll fill me up. (We bought a few of gluten-free products on Monday -- most of which were decidedly not delicious.)

I still like to walk around the house saying the word: ankylosing.

I'm glad Samizdata showed me this Mises quote the other day. I wonder if Frylock has anything to add?

At the bottom of the interventionist argument there is always the idea that the government or the state is an entity outside and above the social process of production, that it owns something which is not derived from taxing its subjects, and that it can spend this mythical something for definite purposes. This is the Santa Claus fable raised by Lord Keynes to the dignity of an economic doctrine and enthusiastically endorsed by all those who expect personal advantage from government spending. As against these popular fallacies there is need to emphasize the truism that a government can spend or invest only what it takes away from its citizens and that its additional spending and investment curtails the citizens’ spending and investment to the full extent of its quantity.

We've gotten ourselves in some serious trouble, and all we keep doing is piling on more of the same. It's not sustainable.

Heh: if you fail to honor Dear Leader the terrorists will win.

How is The Onion going to stay in business?

Remember when Ren and Stimpy became "the first cat and chihuaha to pass through the eye of a black hole"? They climbed a mountain of stinky socks and Ren imagined himself winning a million bucks and the Nobel Peace Prize.

Get it? All he had to do was find socks! He didn't have to liberate any dangerous nations or restore democracy to any previously-oppressed peoples. Just find lost sock and win! See, it's funny because it's true!

Eh, that's the problem with utopianism. It's all fun and games until people stop playing along. They got whole history books on what happens then. Gird your loins.

In other tales of Fabian ecstasy, I was in NYC earlier in the week. Now there's another collective that can't wait to go bankrupt. Wednesday was such a windy day that I knew my flight out would be delayed, so I kept checking the website. And the website kept telling me "on time." I knew enough to be wary, telling people in the office: "They usually wait until I get to the gate to announce that a flight is late."

But I got myself signed up for an e-mail alert anyway. Two hours before the departure time they sent a message saying "on time." I got to the airport itself and the monitor near ticketing said "on time." I went through security, got to my gate and that's when the e-mail hit my Blackberry telling me the flight would be late.

Asshats. I knew it all along. What kills me is this: so did they.

Saw a bumper sticker this morning that said "Tolerance." And I thought: "Yeah, we need more of that." In fact, we ought to round up all those intolerant types and make them pay. Really show them who's boss.

I'm still waiting to hear about Frylock's most recent dream sequence. I hear it is very bizarre. Can't be as strange as the one where the part of Don Vito was played by Morgan Freeman who was falling-down drunk at a wedding and unable to help me find the rightful owner of the shoe I had found on the sidewalk outside the church.

And the very next night I dreamt that Uncle Lenny was being interviewed on 60 Minutes, alongside a long-haired Tony Orlando-looking character named Bonio who had faked his own death and lived beneath Lenny's floorboards with his wretched wife, coming out only occasionally to smoke on the front porch of 1522. Lenny did his best to explain it all to the interviewer, but I even I was unconvinced.

Bazzukajoe is right: you can't reason people out of positions they haven't reasoned themselves into. Which is why the corporate media is destined for bankruptcy (the sooner the better). It makes no difference if they mean well: they're wrong, and they're doing harm.

Any "right to be fed" cannot be enforced without abrogating one’s "right to feed oneself." The logic has general applicability to any "positive right." Totally unworkable.

Okay, that makes me a hate-monger. But where would you rather live? In a neighborhood populated by tea-party protesters? Or G-20 protesters?

Maybe a better question is who would you rather work for? Because these days you're not allowed to work for yourself.

Kids grow up so fast these days. Bazzukajoe was already a teen-ager when he was seen coming out of the bathroom every five minutes holding a plunger. (And looking really exhausted, I might add.)

Steve was at a dinner party where Arepa's-Czars and NYT came up and he said nothing? Douche.... Well actually
I too decline to discuss those subjects as people get very heated. What is beyond understanding is how people will be so adamant and passionate about something (healthcare) that they really don't entirely comprehend. Nothing against those people because half our elected officials don't get it either and yet its still working its way through. Is it not fundamentaly wrong to pass something no one can clearly explain to the public?Wow.

So i went to sanibel island for a few days last week with the kids. They loved it. There was a great deal of freedom to roam the beach and the house we stayed in, freedom that they do not normally have at home. Our place was steps from the beach. It was really nice and rained only once. They got to make castles and collect shells and go swimming. We came home with a pile of seashells. We went with Pat and Heidi. They do not get to spend a lot of time with thier cousin angelina. Angelina is a petitie flower and does everything on her own time and is methodical about it. She is also used to being the only child. Christian is a giant monkey wrench . If you sit down on the floor anywhere near him you can bet he is going to go for the 3 count regardless of your size. He is a rather rough boy and his sister is accustomed to telling him stop. and he will listen if you but that is a full time job. Watching what hes doing and stopping him every five minutes so he does not stand on the glass coffee table or shut the TV every 10 seconds or pick up your coffee and walk across the house to find you or , oh is that your toy ---not today angelina, wow exhausting. Every 5 minutes he came out of the bathroom with the plunger. we laughed a lot. He never gave up on trudging those stubby legs thru the sand.
He is almost the same size as ellexa and they were the same size shoe. weird. hes a brute.

Yeah, I'm feeling the Gleichschaltung... It was thick-blue-line in mid-town yesterday. Happens a lot when the circus comes to town. For some reason, the hotel across the street is often selected to be the menagerie. Clinton visited most often, locking down the streets and snarling the traffic. Bush came at least once -- I remember the curbside holding pens filled with jeering protesters. They were some angry people: it was around the time Bush choked on a pretzel. So the protesters were holding up big pretzel signs. Get it? A little joke about hoping he'd die of asphyxiation. Funny. (Can't make jokes like that today or you might make Nancy Pelosi cry... or at least choke up.)

Anyway, I escaped the city with only subway delays on my way to Astoria to hang a few minutes with Andre and pick up the obligatory black and white cookies on my way to LGA. Got home after dark, but not so late that I couldn't help Cookie with his science homework. But I was hungry -- so I grabbed that stub-end of the cheese block and a few slices of genoa salami. I ate while leaning over his shoulder and checking his work. By the time we were done he was waving me off complaining that I was talking to him with cheese breath. Or maybe salami breath. Both, really.

And just a couple of quick questions about Cleveland airport. First, why does Terminal C smell like urine? Second, why is Terminal D in the next county?

I'm generally not an Apple computer fan-boy. Not that I have anything against them, it's just that I use my files and apps differently. But I have made much use of the iTouch. And today my Apple TV arrived. Had it out of the box and running in 15 minutes (would have been five if they'd made the MAC address easier to find so I could clear it with my router).

Anyway, we've been playing with it all night. We dropped the cable tv recently (saving money in tough times!), so the boys were happy to see that many of the shows they like are available for purchase. We might even buy a few. (Actually, I made sure the cable company knew that my preference was a la carte channel selection -- which no cable company provides... because not enough people have dropped their service... yet.)

Cookie and Mojo are getting to be big fans of Ren & Stimpy.

All those czars sharing offices with all those bolsheviks. He really is the faith healer they told us he was!

A lotta talk about the 35 czars in the new administration, and after all is said and done I only have one question: if Obama creates a special council for Quality of Water And Sewage, would that be (are you ready?) the QWA-CZAR? I know what your saying..."Frylock, you reached awfully hard for such a third rate pun"...but I just don't hear the word "quasar" enough anymore...or "perfunctory", thats another excellent word. I attended a wonderful dinner party last night, and some surprising political speak developed at the table...I respectfully declined my option to weigh in, as I recognized any contribution I could make would probably incite a riot. Anyway, the dinner conversation was truly enlightening, I learned how to prepare a delicious corn arepa...and that this year's ballooning federal budget deficit were in fact caused by the two Bush administrations. First I re-examined the constitution to see if a President could pass a spending bill, then I analyzed a historical timeline of our US national debt, unfortunately the evidence still seemed virtually invisible to me... but then I realized the reason: a low-brow shnook like myself just can't comprehend the advanced mechanics of government the way an avid New York Times reader can. Anyway, Aunt Marie has succesfully passed through that imaginary porthole of the Facebook Realm. Im really excited about this: not that I can communicate better, I can just drive the 7 miles to Spumoni for that...but because of the faces I'm hoping will show up on her Friends List: Mrs. Sussman, Mary Malloy, Sister Genevieve, Eddie the Ice Cream Man, and of course Rita Bueti and Joe Gagalia. Time for me to get back to work.

Interesting: in the past couple of weeks I've had several people volunteer their opinion about how dreadful those radio talk show hosts are.

As for people in actual positions of power implementing dreadful public policies... they had only support.

Which is fascinating: it's okay to denounce commentators they never listen to; but it's not okay to criticize policymakers whose work causes tangible harms to everyone. (What did that other joking fool commentator recently say? That people are angry because government is about to help the poor? If only. Government's plan is designed, intentionally or not, to manufacture more poor.)

I guess that's what statism looks like: you gotta support the regime. Sheesh. Too bad the constitution is dead: limited government was a really good idea. It ought to be re-instituted.

Unlike Frylock. Who ought to be institutionalized. (But not before I can get that cappicola sangweech and walk it out onto the pier.)

Well, Steve, the stimulus probably has been a rousing success -- for those whose intention it was to "spread the wealth around." Which inevitably means pumping money to one's friends. And destroying immeasurable assets and opportunities in the process.

It's change, see!

Was in NYC a few days last week. Had a nice meal at a Bosnian restaurant in Astoria. The place was right under the el, so every few minutes a train rattled by overhead, reminding me of the early years at and around the Castle 1526: the F train a block away, the Culver Shuttle until it shut down in 1975.

Around here there are freight lines about a half mile away. At night when the air is clear and the windows are open we can hear trains clacking along. It's not loud by any means, but I notice that I'm hearing it. Which is unlike when we lived in Tuckahoe, where the Metro-North went roaring by every ten minutes and it hardly registered in our consciousness.

I want Steve to run for office. I want to apply for the job of "senior crony." I would administer the redistribution of cappicola (ensuring myself a tasty skim operation).

Right now, Joe Biden is speaking live on TV and I'm not making this up...praising the amazing success of the stimulus bill. I'm speechless....on one hand its hysterically funny...but at the same time it is horribly frightening. If his speech is a joke, then the punchline is this week jobless claims rose another 225,000 and the unemployment reached a new high of 9.7%. Anyway, I don't want to devote much time to this mockery, the media no doubt will...applauding his guts, honesty and working class vernacular. I'm going to forgo making fun and simply ignore it.

So without counting my chickens before they hatch, Jennie and I are in the process of signing onto a witness relocation program, one that would put us just a mile from the beach and Juno Pier...well-suited for reputed sun-worshipper Sfingi. I've been noticing a trend in his comments about Ohio's chilly temperatures, while we down south now require flame retardant suits just to get the mail. The new place also has a fenced in courtyard perfect for barbecuing salziccia, zucchini and the occasional fresh beet.

In more serious news, kindly say a little prayer for my godmother, the incomparable Terry Martucci, as she recovers from a successful kidney transplant. Shes doing great and we hope that it continues that way. I've been told there's normally a long wait for a new organ, but luckily Uncle Andy was able to purchase one with his Marlboro miles.....just kidding, just kidding.

In a second serious medical note, we also request some prayers for Kelly Fatone, who was admitted to ICU in Orlando yesterday for observation of some blood clots. We wish her a speedy recovery, and safe return back home.

Anyway, just wanted to give a quick update on things. Oh yeah, Jenia and I are attempting to bring back the old school tough guy drinks, when we have to order at the bar. We have started with the The Manhattan and Tom Collins. I dont watch Mad Men or old James Cagney movies...anyone know any others they can recommend? I kinda remember the Grasshopper and the Gimlet...but not the ingredients in either....I seem to remember Creme de Menthe being integral. Anyway, lemme know.

By the way, I am typing this from my phone....this is coming from a guy who still doesnt know how to put a picture on Facebook.

Well, this sucks. My Wall Street Journal has not arrived this morning -- instead, they desecrated my driveway with today's edition of the New York Times. I used to read that paper regularly -- 20-something years ago. Today, it is merely another propaganda organ for the kulturkampf. No seriously, it's that bad.

I forced myself to read some of it. What the hell? It's here. It is awful. Vicious, really, given that the make-believe world they've constructed requires an enemy. Just about everything they write oozes the virtue of the heroic Red Army and laments the sordid evil of a White Army that is so backward it doesn't realize it has already been defeated.

It's crazy stuff -- because it's clear that the villains in their allegorical narratives are meant to be people like me. (Or, uh, people like Steve -- who ought to check to see if his mailman is a NYT subscriber, because that might explain things).

Anyway, I'm not interested in debating the Bolshevik revolution. Or reliving it. Or funding some dreamer's efforts to advance its fronts. The fake intellectuals at NYT clearly have other plans.

A common trope used by the statists is the accusation that one has "played politics" in supporting competing policies. (Sure enough, it was in today's NYT.) What it almost always means is "the state owns everything and any attempt to move power back to the people is just a dirty trick."

Kind of like the weather!

Yes, the NYT-types have completely hijacked the weather (a/k/a/ "climate") through its years of global warming alarmism. No need to rehearse here the many holes in their "science" but suffice it to say: it's September 1 and it's 49 friggin' degrees again! You fuckers promised me warmer weather, and here it's not even Labor Day and I'm thinking of turning on the friggin' furnace!

Eh, good thing I have a WSJ.com subscription. So I'll read a little news this morning, to balance out the fabian fantasies of the NYT. As for the statists they celebrate, they are easy enough to understand: they are looters. And if you have to ask who's being looted, chances are it's you.

It's still August (ok, barely) but the temperature this morning went into the 40s (ok, barely). That's blowjhinski.

Was putting away some odds and ends just now and came across the bullet ear-ring I made for myself back in the mid-80s. I used to wear that thing a lot, though it did weigh a bit more than a normal ear-ring (despite being a low caliber round). Too bad I don't wear metals anymore -- while the shock value of most things have faded over the years, this particular bit of ornamentation would offend more sensibilities today than ever before.

Anyway, I'm glad Guido found the thing after a lost it that night drinking all that Dead Newt beer that he brewed in his dorm room, then me passing out on that duffel bag full of wooden coat hangers, lying there comatose with my ear-ring falling out and my spine starting its steady decline.

When I talked to Frylock yesterday I mentioned that shopping at Wal-Mart isn't as much fun as it used to be. Sometime between corporate going all multi-culti and marketing going all suburban-trendy the place lost its tragic character.

But I went in there today anyway. And I was rewarded. By being annoyed.

It was in the new grocery section: recently redone to be stylish, kind-a like a blue Target. Anwyay, I was looking at the rolls of aluminum foil while a mother stared intently at the opposite shelves. Her children giggled and made merry, and as I walked up I had to step across a package of paper plates that that young girl had taken down and rolled on its side down the aisle.

This disgusted me: Cookie and Mojo have gotten smacked upside their coconut-heads for lesser breaches of the peace. But the mother was unperturbed: she just kept looking at the cut-rate merchandise. The girl rolled another package of plates and announced: "Mommy says we're very talented."

And the mother replied: "Of course you are."

As much as I tried not to do it, I turned to look. The mother was beaming sweetly at her reprobate children: the little girl happily hurling plates, her brother on the other side doing likewise and, I noted, sporting a faded orange stripe that had been dyed down the center of his crew cut.

And I thought to myself, this is where it starts... In a few short years that kid will be staggering around a stadium parking lot sloshing beer onto people's hibachi-grilled bratwursts while other fans remove their shirts and paint their man-boobs orange, whooping it up until gametime when things get really obnoxious.

Yeah, football season is pretty messed up around here. Frylock bemoans the sorry state of the culture -- and he's just talking about the aspects portrayed on television! With the news-biz being what it is these days, I regularly find the truth to be much stranger than non-fiction.

OK, people I am not a heartless bastard but the Kennedy funeral footage has become a little over-the-top. I haven't seen this kind of distraction from bigger issues and over-glorification of a flawed individual well since MJ...who I might add would get my election vote before Ted Kennedy anyday. Anyway, I'm not going to explore this any further, I don't need the CIA (whose agents are presently being reduced to junior high hall monitors) to report me to Janet Napolitano.
Lets see what else is going on? Last weekend Spumoni South witnessed the engagement of Stefani Massari and Steve Dombeck...an exciting announcement and great celebration. Last weekend, the A/C died in our apartment. Probably in Berea this doesnt seem like such a tragedy...but in South Florida its kinda like being wrapped in a wet down comforter and then stuffed into a dryer turned on high. I instantly converted into emergency mode getting an electric fan and opening all the windows. My kitchen window decided he didn't believe in staying open...he in fact believed in inflicting intense pain upon my fingers by slamming upon them. Safe to say after the loss of blood and throbbing pain...I kinda forgot about the heat. Landlord sent an AC the next morning. As he entered I noticed three things about:
1. He was Creole
2. He had no tools.
3. He was going to change am air handler and a compressor with no help.
I looked him right in the face and turned to give Jennie my best Big Kahuna impression...."Get attta here. Sent a guy with no tools....he's shot. Time to go."
Safe to say we left at 8am and he was still finishing at 9pm. Unbelievable. Anyway, I'm gonna be back to comment on Alane's crocodile dundee dream...I believe my analysis determined it has something to do with midgets ans Dennis Kucinich.

Sadly, we pause to mark the passing of ... summer vacation. Yep, Da Chimpz are off to school today: packed their lunches, put on their uniforms, and are now sitting in their little desks getting some education.

Or so we hope.

The weather never really got summer-like anyway -- just a few hot days in mid-August. I have a few tomato plants still growing in pots out back. Got a few green ones; nothing has ripened yet (though they did get a late start).

Lots of fascinating stuff in the news these days -- too much to comment on here (without offending someone). My favorite item today is the report of an IRS ruling that rejects the "Turbo-Tax defense" to non-payment of taxes. Like so much else, those techniques only work for the Select Few.

We watched "Holy Grail" on Friday night, at Cookie and Mojo's request. I think we need to watch it a few more times: I want them to be able to recite the "annoying peasant" scene by rote in time for college -- or maybe even high school.

Oh, and like I mentioned to Moolah: you only take someone to the Everglades if you're trying to dispose of a body.

Today I took the day off as it was the chimps last day of freedom before return to the academic setting. We went up to a little waterpark that also had go-karts and bumper boats. It was a beautiful day and we had a great time.

I did not dream of ghosts with towels--but I did dream that I was fishing for alligators with just fishing line, a bobber and regular hook. It strikes me when I am awake that this probably would not be the best way to catch alligators. On top of fishing with that awesome equipment--I had to fish through a chain linked fence so the alligators wouldnt be able to dash out of the water and eat me. Due to cookie's school report this year--I know alligators and crocodiles can sprint short distances very quickly. In the dream, I became very frustrated that the alligators werent biting and started walking away--which apparently broke some alligator fishing rule and the alligator jumped the fence and charged me--however, i woke up so i dont know my fate. dreaming of members of the crocodilian family is very disturbing.

Oh, and another thing about sleeping next to a dream-filled Steef. I think we were all bunking down in Marlo's living room, trying to get some sleep despite Steve's intermittent murmuring of the word Premio.

I remember it was cold that night. Sausage-cooler cold.

Because I'm old and still enamored of the old brand names that saw me through my extended adolescence, I sprung for the new Pet Shop Boys CD. It arrived yesterday and I played it.

Yikes. The first tune I heard was a song called "This Used to Be the Future"; as I listened to it I kept thinking the title should have been "These Guys Used to Be Talented."

The music itself wasn't so bad -- same old sound, not even much update.

The lyrics started at about 1:30 in, an angst-riddled lament that can be either hokey or hackneyed depending upon the listener's reservoir of actual angst:

I can remember planning for leisure
Living in peace and freedom from fear
Science had promised to make us a new world
Religion and prejudice disappear

Followed by typical post-modern moralizing and alarmism. So I was already cringing when at about the 2:30 mark the music got very earnest -- hysterically so. The stuff was so futuristic and forthright it made me think of Zlad's "Elektronic Supersonik."

Hey baby, wake up from your asleep
We have arrived onto the future
And the whole world has become
Electronik supersonik

Onto my love rocket climb
Inside tank of fuel is not fuel
But love
Above us there is nothing above
but the stars
Above

As social commentary, Zlad's work definitely provides more insight and packs more punch. All systems gone: prepare for downcount!

And speaking of social commentary, what the hell is Frylock eating before going to bed at night? He's lying in bed having such cramps and sweat that even spectral phantasms are offering to put towels on his head.

Dude, you are watching too much CNN. I went to the doctor yesterday and had to sit a whole friggin hour in the waiting room watching an endless loop of an insufferable CNN feed. Bad enough they do it to us when we're herded at airport gates; now they have to torment us when we're waiting for our meds?

Believe me, I got enough pain. And why CNN? Who's going to believe anything they hear from them?

After an hour of listening to the two blowhard hosts I wished a ghost would throw in the towel for me as well. Who needs Death Panels when you have stuff like that?

Steef---

After reading your 10 recent thoughts post, I think I completely understand why you had that dream a few nights ago....

The constant critiquing of cnn news and fox news has made you completely insane...infact arguably certifiably nuts.....we need to cut back....

John I think you will appreciate this dream (or my perspective atleast), your cousin can fill you in on the details..

A few nights ago, I woke up to my better half whining and choking on his words (I believe he was crying) ..."THE GHOOOOOOOOOSTTTT....NOOOOOOOOO....THE TOWEL...."

I had to violently shake him awake.. He thanked me and said "the ghost was putting a towel on my head" and then he just passed out..At this point, I didn't know what to do....check him into a mental hospital or pretend like it didn't happen out of respect...



Naturally, I just chuckled myself back to sleep and decided to share it with his family members...respectfully ofcourse....

I later found out that Steve dreamed he was one of those "ghost hunters" and one of the ghosts put a large towel on his head and was choking him....Why a towel? I don't know....

The only thing I can gather from all of this is:


Time to lay off the spices ...leave them to the "REAL MEN"...or women for that matter....

Yeah, this is definitely a disease. For the second day in a row I was drawn into a local discount store and mesmerized by the dizzying array of hideous kitsch. Yesterday I wandered into Tuesday Morning; today I wandered the aisles of Old Time Pottery.

It's like binge drinking: I lose track of time, following successive and unrelated flights of fancy, while only vaguely aware of a self-loathing that only spurs me to stare even longer at merchandise so massively horrendous. So exquisitely horrific.

I originally went out this morning to buy computer supplies. Instead I have a couple of ceramic baking dished. Got 'em real cheap. And unlike the tech equipment, I don't really need them.

Funny thing about a Mastandrea who gets annoyed -- even standing alone we can be an angry mob.

Like getting the mail just now -- the little postcard from the local Chrysler dealership (the one that didn't get closed after the tax-money hose-down). It seems they want me to continue my longstanding (and expensive) habit of having service performed at authorized dealers. To which I reply: no, I will not. You have annoyed me. Just like those asshats at Discover Card. Schnooks.

Some Things I Been Wondering:
1. How come nobody ever uses the words "palooka" or "shnook" anymore? I miss them, can't we start a petition to bring them back?
2. How come RuPaul hasn't made any records recently? Or what about Lime? Is it just too much to ask for a new album from Right Said Fred?
3. How come nobody ever puts fried calamari on pizza?
4. How come between the half hour that supposedly separated the end scene of Rocky 4 and the opening of Rocky 5, Balboa's son ages 10 years... actually I take that back. Why in the hell did Stallone make Rocky 5?
5. Is Sour Cream actually spoiled milk?
6. How the hell can any wine be "dry"? Wouldn't it have to be powdered?
7. Is there any poem or song that rhymes the words "ascot" and "mascot"? And if not, why not?

If you're that opposed to the big government solutions now being legislated, go to your congressman's town hall meeting. Wexler is your guy down in Florida -- he's having one on Aug 20.

The hard part: he's having it at his home. In Maryland.

I have no idea why Violent Femmes lyrics would remind you of Vegas debauchery. But I do remember your after-action reports. Also those of Vito whose later trip to the strip included an ill-advised run-in with Ron Jeremy.

Anyway, I think we need to revise the old saying "the future will be televised." I think it's more accurate now to conclude that the future will be rationed.

Although I proudly own a burned copy of the Violent Femmes Greatest hits album (courtesy of Dr. Sfingi), I cannot claim to recognize the lyrical reference. Instead, everytime I read them I am reminded of my very first trip to Las Vegas. I believe it was our second night there, our entire group of 21 (which included Broadway Joe, his bro Steve, Joe Fatone Sr., his wife Phyllis, BazzukaJoe and even Vito Jr.) took a trip to the Crazy Horse Gentlemens club to visit my Aunt Phyliss's cousin Vinny, who was general manager. Of course, as special guests of the boss and with a super wealthy celebrity in tow we were ushered through the backdoor into a room called "The Emperors Club". It is simply a dark back room of luxury couches with a one way mirror overlooking the club for big rollers willing to pay for privacy. Fine, we all find a seat and look through the glass at the stage and debauchery inside when a line of dancers flood into the room and each find a seat on a knee of a guy in our party. Spoken or unspoken, sitting on a man's knee is a PAY SERVICE. Luckily, I declined any offers made to me, but one particular member of our party was an NSYNC tour guitarist named Ruben, who anyone would agree is a genuinely loveable guy. Sitting on the couch with an exotic dancer perched upon him, he was engaged in an intense conversation...and what believed were very thoughtful and complimentary gyrations upon his knee. Minutes later, as their chat ended, she kindly requested her three hundred dollars plus tip. I can never erase the shocked look upon his face, as he rose from his seat and walked in shame to the ATM machine. As we left the club for our cab, he turned to me and Vito Caravella, and revealed to us how he was fooled : "You know, when a woman tells me I have a beautiful body...I believe her." Vito was in utter disbelief, but he still thoughtfully and sympathetically nodded to him. Later that day, Ruben also revealed his envy that our entire party (with the exception of bodyguards) were of Italian descent, and he was the sole Hispanic. He once again confided in Vito, BazzukaJoe and myself his wish for a more Italian-sounding name: "What do you think of calling me Rubino?" We unanimously agreed it was a terrific idea...and left out it was also the last name of the OB/GYN which delivered, me, BazzukaJoe and Merle. So anyway, I now have no clue how that Violent Femmes lyric managed to conjure up that memory.

Looking back, that Vegas trip was insane. Thanks to Broadway Joe, we managed to:
1. Sit in the front row and meet George Carlin.
2. Visit the Grand Opening of the Aladdin hotel, in which we walked out of an awful Enrique Iglesias concert.
3. Watch a dealer try to rip off Broadway Joe...oly to be called out on it by Steve Fatone. We received a complimentary dinner for 21 at the Brown Derby as an apology.
4. Watched Rita Rudner eat some cheese from a case which was methane gassed just minutes before by my cousin Steve.
5. We drank chivas regal and ate baked ziti as we traveled on a private jet.
6. Did I mention we had two penthouse suites?
7. Wow, I'm probably forgetting a ton, I'll have to ask Bazzuka where all that photo album is.

Anyway, now that I'm done daydreaming lets get down to business. I had a friend produce some pretty compelling evidence that Paul McCartney died in 1966 and an imposter has been living in his place for the last 43 years. He had comparative pictures and forensic evidence, whereas I would point to the songs "Comin Up" and "Silly Love Songs" , but most of all the decison to dye his 65 year old hair red as hope that hes an imposter.

Lets see, what else is goin on today? I heard CNN announce the US recession is over...thats great news. They also informed me that rising rates of unemployment and foreclosure combined with falling production and consumer spending is the strong irrefutable evidence the economy has rebounded...this is also great news. I am proud to be apart of a society that embraces such progressive ideas and outside the box thinking. I also have a similar theory that the best treatment for emphysema is smoking cigarettes...my proof is of course, the shrinking lung capacity.
CNN (surprisingly) reported that the Obamacare promotional team is taking to Craigslist to hire supporters for health care. Isn't the same site people were hiring hookers? Indeed Craig's become the place to meet pimps, crooks, and citizens looking to get screwed. I think I should apply for a job on their ad team. I can help them create some catchy slogans like:
"The price tag will make you sick...but we should be able to get you a doctor in a few months"
"Just eat some chicken soup...until your appointment in March."
"Your temperature is 101...thats a little high, your tax rate is 95%...thats a little low"

"

When the White House tells me "I hope you know this will go down on your permanent record," I can't help but reply, out loud "oh yeah? Well don't get so distressed; did I happen to mention that I'm impressed?"

Thank you, Violent Femmes for planting that in my brain some 25-or-so years ago. I hope they let us play some of those albums in the gulag (probably have NPR over loudspeakers 24/7 instead).

And here is the "after" shot. Notice that Cookie and Mojo can both lounge about as they romp through Nintendo DS landscapes and refuse to change their socks from yesterday.

Yes, it is finally summer around here: official temperature right now is 89. Got up early, opened the windows in my sunroom, and generally had some serious quality time as we had our breakfast and got geared up for the noon Mass.

It is such a great summer day that Alane has threatened to flee -- off to visit people who think 89 degrees requires closing oneself up in air conditioning. As for me, I don't mind getting my sweat on every once in a while -- for old time's sake, if nothing else. I suppose I should be more accommodating, being that Alane went out and busted her finger yesterday at volleyball practice. Someone ought to ask her about that.

Last night we sat outside with the neighbors and had a nice little campfire at the bottom of the next door driveway: roasted some marshmallows, ate some chocolate, polished off about half a bottle of port. Good clean living.

Steve, your opposition to these policies has been declared "reprehensible" by the ruling party. Better watch your ass, lest SEIU enforcers decide to "act stupidly" on you.

Here, by the way, is a "before" picture of what Aunt Marie has dubbed the new "Florida Room" here at Berea-Rose.

Mojo was lounging earlier this week, thinking life was sweet.

Oooooh, Sfingi...they are gonna get you for that. Is it just me, or has it gotten to the point where ordering the red snapper can get you accused of right wing extremism? Ironically, no one considers it extremism to usurp the banking, insurance, auto, and now the healthcare industries from private enterprise. Anyway, back to the cash for clunkers: I think it seems to fit the administration's business model: use public money to buy 100 dollar clunkers for 4500 each, then try to recoup the loss by throwing them away. Dont wanna risk anything less than a total loss. I think the new slogan should be "Save More at The Tank...Pay More to the IRS".

Anyway, I made some manicotti last weekend, and although I was quite pleased with my performance, I decided next time I will be departing from convention. As I mixed the ricotta and mozzarella for the filling, I thought about making my favorite calzones...they always have an extra element to the cheese. I like throwing in fried peppers or crushed meatballs or sausage or onions and ham. So how come no one ever stuffs manicotti this way? I not only believe it can be done, I believe it should be done. O' Sullivan believed in manifest destiny....well I believe in Manicott' Destiny.

So last nite Jennie is jonesing for a pizza. So we place our order: one half: sausage, onions and mushroom and the other half: onions, pineapple and jalapenos.
So clearly she has broken a holy commandment: though shalt not ever put fruit on pizza. What is the proper punishment for such a violation and how do we expunge such a deplorable habit?

By the way, Vin went to the mall yesterday. He disappeared and then reemerged with Shrek and Superman Returns on DVD. There is just no predicting that man.

Margaret Thatcher was ahead of her time when she predicted that "the problem with Cash for Clunkers is eventually it runs out of other people's money."

How true. And while I don't want to harsh on anyone's hate-fest, I really have to ask: if health insurers really have such outsized profits, why haven't competitors sprung up to snag a share of those windfalls? I mean, it's not like there are many other investment opportunities available today -- if running a health insurance company really spun off such fat returns, I'd expect start-up companies to be flooding the zone, taking a whack at the big guys, happily settling for half their exalted margins.

I asked the same question last year when everyone had their hate on about the oil companies. Much was made of the flush quarterly results they reported about this time last year. But was it enough to attract new investments and new entrants into the field? No. And that tells me the profits weren't quite what the critics made them out to be. Yeah, they are both heavily regulated (and heavily taxed) industries -- I suspect that has something to do with it. But targeting them because they made money? Nature already has a mechanism for addressing real, versus perceived, shortages. If you believed what you were saying you'd be a mensch and start a company that delivers better value at a better price. Put your money where your mouth is; stop feeding the pimp-eyed politicians.

Steve, even you are too well-dressed for us to consider your objections authentic. I'm reporting all the fishy things you have said. Do e-mails have size limitations?

Another wintry summer morning here in the Soviet Socialist Republic of Ohio. No matter how Steve baits me I will not be criticizing any pending legislative efforts, no matter how disastrous -- I know the Stasi has eyes. And hey, we're all in it together!

Just brought Da Chimpz to their day camp. Out the window I see my lawn is just about completely brown. Mid-summer norm, but I always thought it was the heat that does it. It'll pick up again next month -- just as the weather gets even cooler and we have even less desire to be outside. That's when the grass will be lush. Figures.

The weather stations haven't reported any atmospheric disturances on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. But have they measured for psychic disturbances? Someone, please report...

So after months of continuous verbal and literary assault by Sfingi, I've decided today to make my triumphant return to The Macaroni Dish. I was watching the news today and heard it was our President's birthday, and then they show him hanging out with Kim Jong Il...now thats what I call a shitty surprise party. I was priviliged to observe the rapid fire efficiency and execution of government operations today as I waited an hour at the courthouse to discover that the counterperson could not reprint me a title because Chrysler Financial needed to mail them a letterhead saying its okay. It made me wonder if 2 trillion dollars burnt in a California brush fire and nobody heard it...would it make a sound? Not on MSNBC. So, Sfingi baits me today by sending me this picture to see how I interpret the artists message. Is it a political joke about raising taxes? Is it suggesting the President is a diabolical supercriminal? I'm not really sure, what I am sure of is whenever the Joker robbed innocent people, at least he admitted to it. So I was intrigued by Johns last entry that he left the window open and got a cool draft...if I leave a window open here, I'm pretty sure all my furniture would melt and Jennie and I would explode into flame. Lets see what else, don't know if there was any mention of a new BazzukaJoe-Mobile. He gotta nifty little Dodge Caliber in a bright metallic lava color...haha subtle as always. Lets see whats else has been goin on here...Ree turned 22 in style...with a lot of Singstar karaoke that included but was not limited to Ian and I singing Aha's Take On Me and Rio by Duran Duran. Ree's Facebook should have some pics. Well, anyway Ms. Tylka just walked in and I should put some grub on.

Okay, the new sofa should be arriving later this week. That means I better figure out how to get my wireless network to reach that back room -- otherwise I'm going to be offline for vast stretches of time. Which may not be so bad, if the couch is comfy. And the wine doesn't run out. Yeah, I could live without internets back there... ("supine with drink and splendidly comatose" as Faulkner once wrote).

And speaking of the back room, I left one of the windows open last night and when I went in there this morning I thought I'd stepped into October. Yeah, the sunshine was puring in, but it was friggin' cold -- this ain't no way to do August.

In another teachable moment of another momentous age, Grandfather Lenin famously told us that liberty is so precious it must be carefully rationed.

Yes we can, comrade!

And as Vin and Vito hurtled today toward their beachside dacha, they felt themselves filled with the milk of human kindness and eager to transcend the sordid history of recent times. In fact, they've invited Dennis Kucinich to come have a beer with them. First a beer, then an lower-east-side style beatin.'

Eh, I'd rather see Bazzukajoe have a beer with Joe Biden. Can you imagine the amazing stuff that Cuz Joe could get Doltin'Joe to say? Make it pay per view and the deficit could be cut in half. It would be high entertainment.

Here at Berea-Rose, I have spent the last week or so reclaiming the back room from Da Chimpz. For three years the room has looked like a Gaza Strip back-alley. Last week I moved all seven metric tons of Legos to the basement and ran the carpet cleaner -- all day, with about eight refills of the detergent tank. The wastewater I poured out of that thing didn't just look like sewage, it smelled like sewage too -- years of fruit juice spills, compressed Pop-Tart crumbs, and skid-mark overflow from overly intense Nintendo-playing... all ground into the weave of a world-weary broadloom.

But the room looks great now: wide open, just some folding chairs and some music speakers. And windows that open but have screens. Take that, you blood-thirsty insects of dusk.

Yeah, I think I have to go back down there and enjoy the last few scraps of daylight as they retreat to the western sky... Yeah baby.

Butterfly time. Gus busted a move today. Broke loose. Flew the coop.

We noticed this morning that Gus's chrysalis had become translucent -- we could see the outlines of the wing patterns. I took some snapshots this morning after dropping Da Chimpz at camp. I had no idea how close we were.

Late this afternoon I decided to open the garage and check on them, and that's when I saw that Gus had freed himself.

When Cookie and Mojo got home I showed them and they were excited. After dinner we went to the neighbor's backyard (where they grow some flowers, unlike my backyard) and we had a brief release ceremony. Very brief -- Gus apparently had an urgent appointment across town. He gave me enough time to snap a couple of pictures but not enough time to get the video camera rolling.

Oh well -- Ted should be liberating himself in a few days. I'll be sure to have the video-cam on standby.

Last weekend I took a detour from my normal regional shopping route to get us a new hammock. I've had the old one set up in the garage (all cars are banished) and decided it was time to upgrade. This one is a fabric weave -- a bit more comfy than the rope kind I've been swinging in for 10 years. Opened it up, chained it up to the frame, and noticed all the tags.

There were no less than 11 tags sewn to the thing: warnings in English, warnings to foreigners, warnings to launderers, and the obligatory "it is unlawful to remove this tag" tag.

My favorite tag assured us that the hammock complied with the various guidelines, rules and regulations duly imposed and promulgated by the California Bureau of Home Furnishings.

Bureau of home furnishings? No wonder the state is bankrupt.

But such is the state of the world. Even Alane was appalled by today's news headlines, saying "who would want to kill Mexican midget wrestlers?" Vicious prostitutes. Not as strange as the headlines coming out of D.C. these days, naturally, where the vicious prostitutes actually control government.

I have a big rack of ribs on the grill. That makes me happy.

Here's a look at what has kept us busy for the past week: those green things suspended from sticks inside the big paint bucket? Those are going to be butterflies. If all goes well, at least. Last Sunday morning I was out in the back yard taking care of what little greenery hasn't turned brown. As I watered my parsley I noticed I big yellowish caterpillar with stripes and yellow dots. I plucked the parsley sprig and called the boys out to look.

"Check out who's been eating my parsley," I told them. And they gawked at the goofy little bug. Then I got to thinking. "Hey guys, I hope no one else is eating my parsley."

I went to check -- and sure enough, found an even fatter caterpillar. This one wasn't yellowish but was more lime green with otherwise identical markings.

"C'mon, let's look up what kind of moth or butterfly this is supposed to become."

Well, turns out it'll be a black swallowtail butterfly -- no pesky moth here. A beautiful specimen. A keeper, in other words. The downside? The fuckers eat only parsley. And I only have one pot of the stuff growing this year.

I bounced around a few websites to read up on their lifecycle, set them up in a plastic tub and fed them parsley throughout the week. Half my pot is gone by now.

In the meantime, the boys gave the critters names: Gus and Ted.

By Wednesday, Gus had emptied his guts and attached himself to one of the sticks I had arranged. Then he dropped his outer stripes. On Friday, Ted barfed and did likewise (apparently part of the process -- leaves a big splotch of bright green after which they stop eating and then find a place to go all Kafka).

Anyway, we've got them safely housed in a big bucket now, covered with mesh to keep away hungry-ass birds. When they emerge and unfold their wings I'll post an update. Should probably start to see something right after next weekend.

Just wanted to mention last night I had a bizarre dream, in which my brother Joe and I were working on a crew of housepainters inside a mansion being renovated. It reminded me a bit of the movie "Money Pit". Anyway, we were working in separate sections of the house, and my work partner was Henry Winkler. Not the young Fonzie Winkler, but the older, gentler Arrested Development era Henry Winkler. Anyway we are painting the walls when he starts to feel a little light headed, so I tell him "Henry, sit down a take a breather, you're looking really pale". So I climb down the ladder and walk him over to nearby chair. He sits for a moment, and then suddenly leaps up...his eyes bulging in horror. So I nervously ask "Henry! Henry, whats the matter?", when I look down and I comprehend what has happened. Henry has accidentally shit himself clear through his painters pants, not to mention covering the bottom of my pants and shoes. So I try not to make him feel bad and walk him over to the closest bathroom. But as soon as the door shuts, I unload an endless stream of expletives, loud enough that Bazzuka Joe hears me and runs over, only to stop short and collapse into a fit of hysterical laughter. Hes able to spit out "Winkler took a shit on you?". I answer: "Yeah, hes sick, dude. Now, what the fuck am I gonna do?" So Winkler comes out of the bathroom wearing only a tshirt, and his head in his hands. Joey gets even more hysterical now. Unamused, I walk over to a garbage can I go to take off my shit covered shoes.....and I wake up. Any analysis, anyone?

Okay, that early start I described in my last post was our early flight to the Left Coast to visit that sprawling shrine to interlocking plastic building blocks: Legoland. We left the house at 6:30 a.m. and spent most of last Saturday in airplanes and airports -- notably Salt Lake City, where everything about our connection went smoothly and efficiently. Until we were all boarded and buckled in... then they discovered that the plane was broken.

So we got thrown off. We filed haplessly to the terminal to find ways to kill four hours. Screw you, Delta.

Eventually they found us another plane and off we went to San Diego. I'd never been there before. I've heard others say it's a beautiful area and now I see what they mean.

The hotel, naturally, stiffed us out of the second bed we had reserved for our room -- so they wheeled in roll-away beds to clutter the floor and make it hard to reach our gear. Screw you, Hilton.

The next morning we hit the theme park. Da Chimpz were very excited. Even though the place had many rides, they were mainly interested in the Lego displays. And gosh did they have many of them. Everything from giraffes to automobiles to Grand Central Terminal -- all built of Lego blocks. There were busts of Lincoln and Churchill, Pavarotti and Elvis. Mount Rushmore and Thomas the tank engine. A horse's ass and Barak Obama (photo nearby; see if you can tell which).

On it went until the park closed.

We ate pretty well that night, hitting the Armenian Cafe in Carlsbad. Great stuff. We ate soujuk, lahmajun, lamb kebab, and potlejan. I explained to the guy that it was hard to get any of this stuff in Cleveland. In fact, I can't even find anyone around here who knows what lahmajun is, let alone where to find the stuff.

Even the boys tried the food and found things they liked. I sent a text message to Andre to tell him we'd found a good place and he replied that he'd been busy all day and only had a bag of pretzels for his drive home. Which of course prompted me to send additional messages describing my meal in even greater detail. Followed by e-mails with photo attachments. Just to make it really hurt.

The next day I skipped the park and took my aching spine to the hotel's hot tub. For about ten minutes there my back felt pretty good. (But when I got back to my room, dripping wet, I discovered my key-card no longer worked -- so I schlepped all the way back to the front desk where a glum attendant fixed my card and annoyed me... screw you again, Hilton.)

Tuesday we had left wide open so we hit the beach for a while and then back to the pool (where I met Vito, a local restaurateur, originally from 79th St and 18th Ave in Brooklyn!). We flew back on Wednesday and I've spent the last few days trying to catch up on household stuff -- yard work, basement clean-up. I even changed the oil in my Jeep on Friday, something I used to do regularly but for the last ten years or more have done at service stations. (Been using the local quick-change place on Bagel-ey, until Alane came back from them with a $90 bill for a bunch of useless flushes and treatments... meaning, that's the last time we use that place: screw you, Lube Stop!)

Today the plan is to just relax. So far, that's going well. My eyes opened at 5:59 this morning, which was as good a time as any to get the meatballs rolling. They've been simmering for a couple hours now. Just had some pancakes. Joe and Jean will be over later. We'll eat, then head out for Mojo's baseball game. The sun is out. It'll be a good Father's Day.

(And speaking of Andre, who knew we'd run into his likeness at Legoland!)

ESPN Classic just replayed game 5 of the 1999 NLCS. Braves at Mets. I noticed it as I was flipping through channels and naturally I couldn't turn it off. Even though it took until midnight (and we have an early start in the morning!) I had to watch it until the rain-soaked end: Robin Ventura's bottom-of-extra-innings grand-slam single.

I remember going totally berserk in my living room as I watched it live. That was the most exciting season I ever followed, played by my favorite line-up of Mets players. Even the following year when they actually made it into the World Series was not the gritty and fun baseball that made 1999 stand out. And even though we didn't have cable TV at the time, there were still enough games on regular broadcast for us to follow the team pretty closely. What a ball-club.

Pro ball has seemed kind of boring since that season -- and the girly-men who now dominate the sport don't seem nearly as spirited as the Agbayanis, Cedenos, Alfonzos and Ordonezs (the Reys, not those other ones) of back then.

Hey Mets, bring back Bobby Valentine. And get some players with heart -- like that John Franco. Or even Todd Pratt! Then if your games were ever on TV I'd watch. In the meantime, I'm going to sleep.

Saw something interesting last week when I was in NYC. After checking in at the hotel Thursday night I went over to the elevator bank. There was a large crowd of people with luggage standing there waiting for elevators.

"Great, I'll be here forever," I thought as I pushed through to the screen to enter my floor. Yes, a screen. Not too long ago this hotel did away with the age-old choice of "up" and "down." That binary array of buttons was replaced with a screen that asks you to select your floor. This allows a supercomputer housed in the hotel's sub-basement to process all the pending requests for floors, run them through an algorithm that determines the most efficient elevator car assignment, and then direct the passenger to a specific elevator (I think there were four or five elevators altogether).

I entered 24th floor; a moment later the screen directed me to use the elevator to my immediate right -- which, surprisingly enough was just arriving. Someone got out and I got in. And so did another woman. But no one else. They'd all been assigned to different elevators.

As the doors closed on that teeming mass of humanity I did feel a bit awkward. Not so much about the fact that The Screen had selected me and one other to jump the line. It was more about how none in the crowd tried to pile inI mean, you can still get in an elevator and select a floor, regardless of any directive issued by The Screen.

But not one of those non-NYers did.

I turned to the only other passenger in our elevator car and said, "Wow, people sure do take directions well."

As our elevator rocketed its way to the 24th floor, she half-turned her head to acknowledge my comment, giving me that grunt of non-committal agreement that only ever signifies, "I don't speak English and the fact that you're talking to me has filled me with fear."

On Memorial Day you really can't do better than Ray Charles at his absolute best. Here's his outstanding arrangement of America the Beautiful :

O beautiful, for heroes proved

In liberating strife,

Who more than self their country loved

And mercy more than life!

America! America! May God thy gold refine,

Till all success be nobleness, and ev'ry gain divine!

We have nice weather here at Berea-Rose for this long weekend. Lots of baseball last week -- right up until Saturday's mid-day game out on the hot sun at Groza field. Alane got a sunburn but Cookie's team picked up a win. He even got a hit! Mojo had a practice session over at the other field, and we could have gotten him there following Cookie's game but everyone was over-heated from having been in the sun that long -- especially Mojo himself (who had been at the playground most of the time).

I gotta get some baseball pictures posted here...

What's this? I take a hiatus from the blog and Frylock has nothing to say? What a bum. Not much going on around here, though Da Chimpz now have their baseball season under way. Cookie has a game tonight. He did pretty well on the field on Saturday, picking up some grounballs and getting the ball over to first. It was rainy and got cold; hopefully tonight's weather will be nicer.

Week before last I spent some time in bed with some crazy flu-like malady -- which gave me time to watch that classic film Fatso on DVD. Yeah, we're going to miss that great comedian. Steve is correct when he says "everything about that movie is fantastic." Quite true.

Alane used the Alston Brown recipe for carrot cake this weekend to make me a birthday cake. Came out pretty good. Guido professed surprise to hear that I liked carrot cake, and it made me wonder how I ever started eating the stuff (sounds like something I would avoid even trying). I'm pretty sure it goes back to high school when Andre and I would find ourselves at the cashier at Death Valley deli on the corner of 6th and 16th. On the cluttered counter, near the stack of black and white cookies, there would be small individually wrapped blocks of Nemo's cakes. For some reason we'd buy the carrot cake and it turns out I liked the stuff.

And the rest is history. That deli is still there (is really called Blue Valley, though).

Happy Cuatro de Cinco (tha'ts how you say it in Austrian). I think I'm recovered from watching that movie last night.

This eyedrop regime is getting tiresome. Next week I go back to find out if the mal-occhio has subsided. I sure hope so.

I don't watch a lot of movies, and now that I'm sitting here watching The Happening I'm remembering why. This movie is really really bad. I mean, yeah, considering the socio-political direction northeastern states have followed in recent decades it's hardly implausible to imagine the population being gripped by urges to self-destruction.

In fact, the longer I watch this movie the less my own will to live. How did this even make it to theaters?

Anyway, Cookie had a baseball practice tonight -- a practice game against another team. Went okay. Got chilly as the game progressed.

Had to look through some records today to find some paperwork. Came across my college degree, the official certificate. It had a lot of stains on it from spending a few years on my refrigerator -- had it there with magnets like a school award. Then I found my J.D. -- and if the friggin thing wasn't so big I'd put it on my refrigerator now. I mean, it's not like I'm going to spend money to frame it or anything.

Wow, this movie is bad. "We've become a threat to this planet," was the dopey line just uttered.

No: this movie is a threat to the planet.

Oh, and in case it wasn't clear from the previous post, Andre and I were the only two to attend wearing jeans. What the hell -- we'd spent the afternoon chasing hot-rod Barbie-car girls and pushing around huge piles of compost (well, Andre shoveled compost while I stood alongside and pretended to be finding a way to make myself useful).

And a bit more on Beer Vampire, the Black Death CD that Hagevik made and passed to us on Saturday... Here's a comment I found this in the Phoenix New Times a few years ago

Anyway, Black Death's new CD is called Beer Vampire, and, I gotta admit, I really like this group of cretins. At times I don't think they are the sharpest knives in the deck, but that makes them all the more charming and fun.

In other words, great stuff. Not sure I'd use the word "charming" but as I apparently commented as the MC of Hagevik's very first on-stage drum performance back in the Xavier High School gym in 1984 "thank you for that rousing rendition of feedback and distortion."

I don't actually recall saying that as they ran down the curtain on that particular spectacle fo mayhem, but Hagevik assured me he still has an audio tape proving it. So, yes, we laughed our asses off on Saturday night.

And now I'm back in Ohio, no longer laughing my ass off. Well, maybe I should be:

So the first words we hear from the guy we haven't seen in 25 years was "Fuck you two, I knew I should've dressed down and not worn a suit!"

It was like picking up right where we left off -- we even went up to the Commons and parked our asses in the same spot we used to sit each morning, smoking and drinking coffee while complaining about the homework and studying we should have been doing.

Yeah, it was a great reunion. I stole the pic from Mike's facebook account; Kelly was the photog and she was fantastic -- totally one of us.

Oh, and the music. Not at the event (there wasn't any, Mike's protests notwithstanding). After the event Andre and I listened to Dan's most excellent punk CD as we drove back. Wow. It's all I can say. Wow.

And yes, we listened to the whole thing.

Got back to Berea-Rose this afternoon. Alane was wondering why the first thing I did when I got in was refill the ice trays.

So its been a few weeks...and after much peer pressure...I am caving...Here are some highlights from our first vacation together and the celebration of our one year "mark" and 8-9 months of living together...

The first picture is of Steve and his new friend Pierre, the karaoke professional from Canada

The second picture is of the chess conference at the Opryland hotel in in full effect...Three generations of people who will never get laid...

The third picture is of us at the Opryland Hotel

The fourth picture is of Frylock in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat..priceless...No family member of his (or anyone for that matter) should be deprived of seeing this.....

If I had to sum our trip up with a collection of words, they would be: chess tournament, playing with statues in the Opryland Hotel, a bunch of people never getting laid, vodka and diet cokes, karaoke, and ofcourse French Canadian Pierre, the professional karaoke artist himself...

You can find more of these pictures on Steve's facebook..I will be tagging him shortly!

Expect updates ....I am chairing and heading up a team for American Cancer Society's Relay for Life in Palm Beach Gardens..The team consists of a majority of the individuals of Spumoni Gardens..their significant others... and friends...So look out for some great pictures...and I promise them...no more nagging and harrassment from me..."The green monkey is no longer on my back"....