Holiday feast

The last deep fried pickle

This is my family. We are going to eat some stuffs. I am all beautiful.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas everybody. A perfect time to sit down and have a cannoli. Just don't have too many.:-D

Well, this is sad -- saw in the Post yesterday that the Stage Deli on 7th Ave has abruptly shut its doors. I used to enjoy sitting at the counter on weeknights to stuff my gut with pastrami, chat with the unusually talkative manager, and sometimes they'd have the Mets game on the TV mounted over the register.

I was in there earlier this month and I could tell they were struggling. The reuben platter was not as good, and when Frank gave me the tab it had CASH ONLY scrawled on it. He said they'd been doing it that way for a few weeks already. Good thing I had a couple of $20s on me -- those sammiches were pricey.

Cookie is not as saddened by this as me -- he still prefers Katz's pastrami to Stage's. I've been avoiding Carnegie for the last few years.

A few (final?) words about the election… Or pop culture. Same thing. It's a shout-out to my depressed conservative comrades still moping around, muttering, "the country is over." My response to you: yeah, it is.

I'm not trying to construct a clever political argument. I'm just looking at the day to day functions of the central government, the one founded with a charter to do some very specific things. We must now forget those things; government's two self-assigned functions today are welfare and industrial planning. That's it. Everything else is subservient to those power sources. National security, criminal justice, accountability to the people -- to say they take a backseat understates how they've been co-opted.

I'll leave it to others to wax philosophical about the enormity of the slow-motion coup. The practical upshot is enough to prove the case: our ingenious original framework is out, replaced with… red tape... and unlimited welfare.

Restoration is going to be a steep uphill climb. It won't be televised. Our every effort will be denounced angrily. That part will be televised. Middle ground is vanishingly small. Bitterness is baked into the cake now, so stop expecting otherwise.

Anyway, that's how things look from the vantage point of the sovereign republic of Berea Rose. Foreign relations are tense, but the state of this nation is strong.

I see Fordham is once again covering itself in glory. Hey, no one is entitled to a speaking gig. But you better know your facts before you condemn someone's viewpoint. And if you're going to talk smack you better base it one principles that can be applied consistently. But who are we kidding?

Eh, Fordham lost my respect a long time ago. Let 'em squirm.

Yeah, what better way to celebrate Thanksgiving with family than to gather round the old flat screen and watch a couple of slasher flicks. They were laugh out loud bad/funny. Had lots of the bare-breastedness typical of the genre, thus my having to keep my thumb on the FF button. But they also had... musical interludes? Also FF-worthy, but funny.

Last night we watched the very expensive movie that is thankskilling. You know a movie is good when a chicken rips some guys face off and wears it around as a disguise that fools children. It was probably the least funded movie ever. The acting could be done by two year olds. It was that good!

Last night on thanksgibling we watched the 2 worst thanksgibling movies.  The movies were: Thankskilling and PoultryGeist. These movies were extremely messed up and we ended up fast forwarding through most of them.  I have decided to comment on poultrygeist. The movie consists of a fast food place being built on sacred indian burial ground and some pulsating vein covered eggs.  Since the movie was so messed up we saw no zombie chickens.  The movie was so messed up that we only saw half of it.  What we did see was just the pulsating vein covered eggs and the aftermath of chicken attacks.

This turkey still has some thawing to do. And I'm kind-a stinky; gotta take a shower.

I asked Alane just now if she thought I could thaw the turkey faster by taking it into the shower with me.

She's not on board with that most excellent plan.

Funny that as we're having this completely ridiculous discussion about avoiding the appearance of old age, here comes a scientific study that finds chimpanzees experience what us humans know as a mid-life crisis.

This explains Mojo's sense of foreboding!

I do like Steve's ideas, though. I shall purchase an adult diaper and wear it at the dinner table for Thanksgiving. I will randomly intersperse the conversation with an accusatory, "What, do I look old to you?" and then launch something as if to make a greater point.

But back to the chimps article, gotta love the cutline that accompanies the photo: "Unlike men, middle-aged great apes are not known for pursuing disastrous lifestyle changes during their 'midlife crises.'"

Interesting. Mastandreas are, generally, very simian. But I'm not aware that many of us hit our 50s and feel a need to cruise the neighborhood in gaudy convertibles. Or should I finally get myself one of those?

Interesting idea, Mojo. I suggest a second effective way to avoid appearing your age is a return to wearing a diaper. Nothing else. If you walk in public in only a diaper...even better if its soiled, most people will assume your at least 5 years younger than you actually are. I haven't yet tested the theory, but I'm pretty sure its sound. As for the go-kart race, I will join you, only my car will have a flat screen TV playing Matlock reruns and prune juice bar...which will attract all the octogenarians in the crowd around my car...making me appear much much younger by comparison. Living in South Florida, I dont need to any such gimmicks...when Jennie and I go out for breakfast here the average age in the room is usually deceased.

Anyway, I was thinking about that trip in which I did lose my wallet en route to New York. It became the theme and the mantra..."Just forget about it.." That said its time for breakfast!

Looks like one of the more notorious 419 scammers has entered the "fiscal cliff" negotiations, taking his case directly to the American people. In yet another blast e-mail:

Greetings to you, anxious American. I am great leader of a once-evil nation, still trying to feed the appetites of oppressed peoples not offered pay and benefits from bankrupt industries fleeing our borders.

Sadly, my efforts to assist helpless women and minorities have been thwarted by malefactors of great wealth. Please to send help!

Immediately remit to me $60 billion of someone else's money and great wealth will be yours. Do not feel guilt about taking the $60b, their companies and investments will never notice it missing. No, really!

If you do not send money evil central planner will require to carry a pregnancy to term. If you do send other people money I will give you freedom and happiness. And a free cellphone.

I don't know, I feel like I've seen these offers before. But this one might work! Well, at least that's what everyone keeps telling me. Who am I to question conventional wisdom?

Whatever. As long as I get a federal subsidy to build Mojo's biscuit-mobile. As an engine-free go-cart it's got to qualify for at least one of the many "green" rackets now on offer... Are they funding anti-aging research? Mojo needs a scam -- it's how you make it in today's world!

My father and I one morning were discussing who knows what. This discussion brought up somehow how I would avoid being "old".  My amazing plan is to enter a go kart race when people start calling me old. In the race a would drive a kart that looked like a biscuit. Driving this biscuit mobile would allow people to still consider me young.  Hopefully people don't steal my idea.

Here's a question: when you were 11 years old, did you make plans for middle age? Specifically, did you formulate schemes that would prevent anyone from calling you "old"?

Mojo has a plan. That's really all I need to tell you at this point. If you're really lucky, he'll share it here.

Flew back from NYC this evening and had the wind at my back for a change. Somehow snagged a seat in first class. Seems such a waste: first class to Cleveland. That's like putting truffle buerre blanc on a shit-burger. Whatever -- sitting up front let me sweep right off the plant as soon as they opened the door. Gotta love that.

On the subway to the airport I saw the most batshit-crazy panhandling pitch: lady boards the train and I can see she has a beat up drum strapped over her shoulder. She positions herself in the center of the car, puts the drum on the floor, and takes out two... clubs are really what they were. She gets down on the floor and start beating the drum -- badly. She'd pause momentarily and announce she needed money. I think some of the pleas were rhymed. It was completely insane.

Everyone pretended not to notice. That part I was used to.

This video is just showing me that this guy either really loves this job or he is getting tons of money from it.

I find that this relates to my dad's recent post some how. That somehow is that in a man's home/castle he can watch all the stupid stuff he wants. 

Okay, I couldn't get Cookie or Mojo to chime in with their vocabulary words from school. So maybe I will taunt them (and Steve and the others) with something from one of their after-school activities. They do a writing workshop where they respond to a "prompt" and then write something up based on the prompt. I thought I'd do the same here:

A man's home is his castle.

Discuss.

As the sages wisely remarked, the republic would last only until the people realized they could vote themselves other people's money.

And so Steve called me this week, distraught over the disruptions and deprivations that most certainly lie ahead. He also lamented what we all fear the future will not hold: economic opportunity. That's what you get for being such a foolish optimist.

I reminded him that the tide had been going out on that for years -- pop culture is explicit in its preference for the state over the people. This made him even more depressed.

"Do you have any advice?" he pleaded. "How do I come to terms?"

Perhaps drawing too much on the loss-of-republic aphorism, I only had one piece of advice:

"Forget about it. Whatever you thought you had, forget it was there."

This reminded Steve of his infamous trip to New York several years ago -- a trip clouded by the fact that Steve lost his wallet as he got off the plane.

"That's the same thing you told me when I was at your house depressed because I lost all that mad money I had saved for partying in New York."

I didn't realize it at first, but that was exactly what my advice to Steve throughout that weekend: forget the wallet, forget the money, forget what we were going to do, let's do something else.

Which is our exact situation now. Scaled up to the national level. As then, it's the only advice I can offer. Forget it. Do something else. Still doesn't feel adequate. It's not adequate.

In the meantime, I'm asking Cookie to post a blog challenge. Please post your answers in complete sentences. Grammar and punctuation will be counted in your grade.

And so Leviathan plods forward, once again to thunderous applause. Four more of the same. Yikes.

I thought I would grace these pages as Steef and I anxiously await for some sort of miracle to happen......Alas, the only thing I can find comfort in as of right now are brownies and soda...a very awful combination....
We did come to one conclusion, however, we are moving to Kentucky. What could be bad? Florida is so backwards...As Steve just said, "Florida's judgement is garbage." Nelson beat Mack...ENOUGH SAID....

Steef is much more calm than I am...I am beside myself and my nails are entirely bitten off.....O no...he just got a look on his face...We are most likely mourning tomorrow....and  preparing for a move....

It's low-key here at Berea-Rose. We voted earlier today and are very eager for a happy result. But we're not watching any TV broadcasts on this night of nights -- the network news companies can kiss my garlic ass. Oh, and their advertisers too. I'll check in when all the counting is done. In the meantime, there's work to do. Broke the drain under the basement slop sink, so Mojo and I took a run over to the Home Depot just now. For some reason Mojo really wanted us to buy a plunger while we were there. And Tic-Tacs. We bought neither. I do have the plumbing piece I need and I may go downstairs and install it tonight. Or I may procrastinate further. Probably procrastinate. Cookie is here with me, insisting that a trip to Home Depot can only be boring. I am trying to convince him of the philosophy of life I shared long ago with Maria Rose: everything is funny. You just have to look at it from the proper angle.

This is my adventure with my family during... THE BLACKOUT!  It all started when  storms started hitting Ohio. The first day the power went out we thought it would last only a hour or so. It lasted a week. We thought we would be able to enjoy each other but that never worked out well. So we decided to waste the precious battery on our hand held devices to play video games.  We also went to our grandmama's house when she got power.  During this I had recently gotten a ballon and that became a source of enterainment and at one point we played board games.  During these tension filled days waiting for power we started bond and quickly change to doing our own things. With there being no power it was like our house had turned to ice.This exciting filled heartbreaker lasted until miday saturday. This is my summary of my stinky experience with the... THE BLACKOUT!  

Well, that sucked. Electricity went out Monday night and just came on mid-day today. Had to be around midnight when it finally went down. We'd been flickering all night with the howling winds. I had fallen asleep in the Ice Room but woke up around 1:30 a.m. to a house in full shut down. With the heat being off, I beat a tactical retreat from the barely-insulated Ice Room and spent the rest of the night listening to whipping winds and radio forecasts. We'd camp in the living room pretty much the rest of the week, stoking logs in the fireplace to gin up a little warmth. We ate well, considering how I hate to waste food. On Wednesday I ate a pound of bacon -- Alane was at work and the boys at school and what was I gonna do? Throw away bacon? So now it's clean-up time. Cookie and Mojo had the Xbox on within about 12 seconds of the power clicking back on. Our POS refrigerator is cleaned, inside and out -- we'll see if it works any better now that the heat-transfer coils on the bottom aren't wearing a wool blanket of dust fuzz.

Over the years we've covered the topic of strange dreams, as we did here. And here. And here. Here's one I had back in 1992. I was trying to explain it to Mojo the other night but couldn't remember the details. Fortunately, I wrote it down (!) because... well, I don't know why I wrote this down. I was in Mexico. The Chinese Red Army stood at the ready across the Rio Grande from where I stood. (Yeah, that would mean the Chi-coms had taken the continental U.S. -- this did not occur to me in the dream.) Anyway, they told me (from the across the river?) that I'd have to leave. They seemed strangely American and each was not dressed in a karate gee. I knew my rights, and demanded to be able to make my one phone call -- to my lawyer, Professor Xavier. Unfortunately I did not know the number. So I dialed 411 and hoped that wouldn't count as my one call. The operator came on and was about to give me the number when I panicked, realizing I had no pen or paper. Then I remembered that Clark Kent was in my entourage. I quickly handed the phone to him because somehow it made perfect sense to me that his superpowers included memorizing phone numbers (but not necessarily evading the Chinese Red Army). Well, there it is. Wacky, sure. But no one had to die to make cheese.

Yesterday my mother and I decided to purchase a chocolate  covered jalpeno pepper for my father to devour.  We purchased this delicous treat at a family owned store called campbell's.  After purchase the next day it seemed to my father like that it would be a great idea to eat this thing.  During the eating process his face turned from plain to red to contorted.  He decide it would be great to eat it throughout the day.

Happened again -- announcer audio fell out of the ballgame broadcast at the 5th inning. Alane and I sat and watched as the Giant scored a run. Then, in the bottom of the 7th, the video cut out and the screen went to black. It came back a moment later... with announcer audio. Not even modulated for chipmunk effect. Feh. Oh well. Inning is over and so are we. Going to bed.

Sitting here watching the game with Pops and Mojo. Best part of it is no announcers! Maybe I can actually enjoy this game now... Mojo also said they should sound like chipmunks. I don't know that could be just as annoying. It would be better if the crowd got paintball guns to shoot at the players.

Up a little late tonight to watch the baseball game. Normally I would've crapped out mid-game but this one was a real treat -- starting in the 5th inning the audio feed from the announcers cut out, leaving just the stadium noise. Up until that point I'd been web surfing with the game chatter mostly ignored in the background. Once the insufferable announcers were muted I found myself... watching the game. I definitely found it more enjoyable without all the hyped-up nonsense. Maybe they'll broadcast the rest of the series that way!

Getting cold these days -- had to unhook the garden hoses this week and close the valves from the basement. I think there was a frost last night. I do have another solar bag and would love to get it airborne before the weather goes completely arctic.

I remade the video of our first solar bag expedition, done about a year ago. Heh, we were still wearing shorts this time last year.

We're up a little late this Friday night. Back in the Ice Room we were just chillaxing, with Alane and Mojo reading, Cookie lounging, and me playing videos on my tablet. I couldn't help myself, I had to play King Missile's Detachable Penis. Mojo apparently never heard this before (good) and he found it hysterically funny.

Well, it is.

I also finally put together the video from last week's Zombie Hayride. Here it is:


I want to drive that rig through my neighborhood. It's party time, chumps!

Went last night to a neighboring town's pumpkin-fest. Along with the typical array of autumnal family fun, they had a good old fashioned haunted hayride through the woods... complete with zombies that come lumbering out from the trees to attack you... and you fend them off with the paintball guns mounted on the gunwales.

It's not often that find myself muttering "now that's a great friggin idea." This was one of those times.

It was chilly, and the line was long, but we shot many zombies and had many laughs. On our way out we stopped at the Italian bakery to get some cannoli for Cookie. Behind the counter I could see a giant metal bowl of cannoli cream through the glass door of the refrigerator. I wanted to put my face in it.

"Do you ever sell the cream alone? I can't eat the shell."

Yep. That was one of the more decadent things I've ever done, sitting on the sofa last night eating cannoli cream by the spoonful. And I'd do it again.

As I started saying this morning, the electioneering is quite depressing. What with all the avoidance of dread reality. So thank goodness for Joe Biden! I believe it was Nikita Kruschev who first predicted that socialism would bury us. All Biden forgot to do was bang his shoe like a gavel to complete the circle!

Kruschev wasn't the only one foreseeing a long winter of discontent.

It's that time of the year. Baseball season is over -- nothing to watch on ESPN3. Nights are stacked with homework and school plans. And the mailboxes are filled with wacky political ads. My favorite one so far speculates on how awful the world would be today if GM had been allowed to go bankrupt.

Uh, Earth to prez: GM did go bankrupt.

I think what central-planning really meant to say is "thanks for all the cash, taxpaying suckas!"

Let's see, there are also non-stop ads from Sherrod "Big Lie" Brown, Ohio's unreconstructed bolshevik museum-piece. And there are looped ads set to play at the start of every Minecraft video on Youtube -- something that makes me laugh all the time because I'm pretty sure I already know how Da Chimpz plan to vote. (I wish they had interest in math the way they have interest in Minecraft.)

Anyway, I eagerly await Steve's expressions of disgust over Glorious People's Revolution experiment our country is now eyeball-deep in. We've heard from Pravda -- they say everything is swell! Now we need to hear from Steve. Or from Bazzukajoe -- he almost certainly saw something ridiculous on I-95 recently.

An article in today's WSJ made me laugh. The company that issues Discover Card plastic now has to refund a boatload of money for bullshit services it sold to cardholders. Yeah, I remember Discover. It was my first credit card -- got it in 1987 while I was still in college (which already tells you a lot about the company). Canceled it a few years ago.

I loved the quote from the head of Discover today. Explaining the $200 million ding to cash-flow, he simply said: “We have worked hard to earn the loyalty of our cardmembers, and we are committed to marketing our products responsibly."

It's like he had his secretary run down to the basement to fetch him one of the scripts their telemarketers use!

Not as humorous is how government bureaucrats will get to bathe themselves in some of what Discover will now disgorge. They are blood-suckers just as much as Discover. What should have happened to Discover is this: they offer bullshit services to the customers and their customers respond by saying... go to hell.

It's not hard. I did it.

Now, I actually saw Alane processing our backlog of laundry this weekend so I knew there was no reason for me to be out of mutandes this morning. But there I was, ready to shave and shower, staring into the strangely empty dresser drawer.

"Say, er, what's the chance you gave Cookie all my underwear when you sorted laundry?"

Yep, the boys are growing. Maybe I should move back up to XL just to keep distinctions keen for another few years. Or choose patterns no one could mistake for their own.

Cue up some of that New York Citizens ska: play me some Boxer Shorts!

What I really wanted to post, but couldn't find on Youtube, was a clip from the movie Fatso where Dom takes Lydia to the feast. You don't get to actually smell the feast but in a way you do.

"Get the honey, junior."

I too enjoy the scent of Mulberry Street during a feast. Of course, to get to those events one had to pass the the fish buckets and rotten vegetables being hawked on Mott Street -- something I remember as a kid being dragged along through crowds. The stink. And when we got there we never seemed to partake in any of the mobbed-up games of chance. Instead we'd go upstairs and listen to the festivities from above Hester Street. As a kid you wanted to be down in the middle of it. Then they'd say, "C'mon, let's go say hello to Aunt Anna." To get to her apartment in the building around the block we'd take the stairs up, to the roof, cross the urban rooftops like a young Vito Corleone fleeing the Don Fanucci assassination, then walk down another tenement stairwell to her place. In other words, still going nowhere near the zepolle, the cotton candy, the little wax-paper packets of dried garbanzo they sold off carts that for some reason I liked.

Anyway, today's stink is neither eel-bucket nor sausage-and-pepper. Being Sunday, today's enchanting scent is meatball. Got a big cauldron bubbling on the stove as we await the return of Mojo Jojo who spent the weekend traveling with his friend's family. Cookie is downstairs playing Halo.

Is it too early to open the wine?

I got a a text from Ree yesterday informing me next week she would be flying into NY for a few days, and that one night she would be attending the San Gennaro Feast.  It made me reflect upon the the San Gennaro and St. Anthony's Feasts (the latter of which thanks to the DePalos I had the amazing opportunity to participate in back in the 80s) and automatically I remember the amazing aroma. Its a combination of zeppoles, sausage and peppers, pizza and pastries. I wish my house smelled like that...no actually I wish I smelled like that. I should really call Christian Dior and pitch the idea. A new cologne called "FEAST" for men.  I think men would love wearing it and women would really respond to it. In the commercial the man walks by and the model actress whispers to her friend "Id like to smother him in sauce and mozzarella."

This of course, reminds me of BazzukaJoe offering Johnny Cat edible body powder to which he responded "Tonight I'm gonna bread Alane like a veal cutlet". Maybe one of the top ten greatest quotes of all time...up there with Yogi Berra and Vito Mastandrea.

I'm trying to ignore the news on the TV...apparently the Carter years were so great, this country has decided to relive them. I'm glad I missed them the first time...

By the way, loved the commercials. No Fruity Island Cereal ads?

Back when Alane and I used to watch TV with a bit more regularity (wha, about 20 years ago?) this was one of our favorite commercials:

It's right up there with "but Dad, it's Smokey!" on the list of Lines We Repeat Needlessly, even in situations that barely relate. Kind-a like Steve, who has been know to utter "hey, watch where you point that thing" to no one in particular.

"It ain't gonna fit, Charlie." Cracks me up every time.

I also got Da Chimpz familiar with the line "Ba-gel for your Temp Tee?" Because that was another ad classic ... and something they've heard me mutter just about every time we pass the bagel bins at the Giant Beagle bakery.

And speaking of Brooklyn (no one recently spoke of Brooklyn) here's a video clip that never gathered the attention it deserved. I suppose I should have posted it to that surprisingly active Boro Park group over on Facebook. But Facebook is such a circus these days. Not even a very lively circus. It feels like a carnival teetering on bankruptcy. And whatever they did to "design" peoples pages? Total house of mirrors; I should change my icon to some Picasso-esque fragmented image of myself. Or someone else -- who'd know?

Anyway, here's some footage we found on the old film reels from up in Vito's closet. That's 38th Street, facing down toward Dahill, then across the playground to the el over 37th Street. And yes, that's an old Culver Shuttle train silently clattering along. (At least I'm pretty sure it had already been relegated to a "shuttle" by the early 1960s.)

Gotta be some rail-fans out there jonesing for some rare footage of this bygone Brooklyn classic. Now if I only had video of those old guys who stood under the el playing bocce over by 14th Ave.

When one eats a Marlenka cake does one wash it down with Kvas?

Or is bread soda not the right pairing for such a dish?

Just asking!

Gluing labels on these wine bottles really puts me in the mood for a plate full of... candied bacon. Alane is at the Giant Beagle right now to get breakfast warez -- though I believe today will be a breakfast sausage day.

Oh, and the wine is pretty good. So I'll be sure to bust open a couple of bottle this week to indulge. I first tried attaching my labels with Mojo's glue-stick from school. That didn't work so well. This morning I got some industrial stuff out of the basement and wow, was that stinky. And not particularly effective on glass. I'm sure by the end of the day I'll be mixing up a batch of JB Weld... which makes absolutely no sense but neither does it make sense to make soap from bacon drippings. Why would that stop us?

After a heavy thunderstorm yesterday afternoon I was quite sure the dropped humidity would stay dropped -- no such luck. So as the evening wound down we all piled into my bedroom and turned on the window A/C. While everyone else read, I fired up some Netflixes -- watching a bit of that 80s classic Beverly Hills Cop. Yikes. That's some thin soup right there! Mojo joined in the watching as soon as he heard the soundtrack -- a cut he's somehow familiar with.

Anyway, when the hitmen show up early in the film, I get a look at one of them and it makes me think of Breaking Bad. Is that the guy who played Mike? Alane and I laugh because we just saw an even earlier version of that actor, featured in an early 70s film about menstruation. No shit, menstruation.

Anyway, I didn't watch the whole movie. But dang, did it get cold in that room overnight. Everybody else seems to like it that way but I think it sucks. My shivering kidneys furiously filled my bladder to capacity. I awoke to scary dreams -- that I was taking a hugely relieving leak at some doctor's office. Those dreams are scary because you wake up and realize you're still in bed and then you have to check yourself. All clear. Whew.

Well, I've been up and at 'em for an hour and a half now. Drank a percolator full of coffee that's got my kidneys pumping even harder so I better stop typing and tend to business.

You know what would have made Steve's TV show better? If someone in the rank and file had painted his face blue and made a speech appealing to first principles.

Hah hah -- that only happens at block parties!

Goog golly, is it humid this week. Just put the trash at the curb and I think I need a sweat towel. I was standing in my two-car garage just now, thinking: "how much of this stacked-up crap can I put out for collection today?" Two-car garage my ass -- I'm lucky I can get one car in there at any given time. Maybe if I start putting out these Omaha Steak coolers... And the rolls of carpet I tore up, what, a year ago... And these worn-out and tattered patio umbrellas.

Y'know what I need? One of those Cinzano marketplace umbrellas. I'd sit outside all year under one of those. Yeah, I need that.

I rewatched the video of the reenactment....some really funny stuff. I recognized quotes from He-man, Jack Nicholson...and did I hear a reference to Sparta?

Speaking of funny, there is a very disturbing comedy on my TV right now...its starring Nancy Pelosi and Debbie Wasserman-Schultz. I think the plot has something to do with buying votes and unions, it takes place in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Newly-Wedded Bliss...

Newly –wedded bliss? Hmmm Not so sure I can elaborate on this…but I will try…

Things I have learned in the past three months:

1)      A toothache can be shared between two people…(Both steve and I have pain on the same side at the same time)….

2)      Farts are always funny- In fact, they can break up the tension.

3)      “Yes Dear”- is always the best answer…I am finding this out myself….

4)      Do not ask those stupid questions…revert back to statement #3

5)      I only can have the remote from 9 pm until I fall asleep....Fox News is the staple….

6)      Rubbing the belly has become a powerful negotiating tool….(I am hungry)….

Steve has also developed a superb knack for blocking me out..Sadly, this impresses me and everyone is aware of this new found talent...

Wow, it looks  like you guys had so much fun. I miss block parties. I think back to the 40th Street extravaganzas of the 80s and early 90s, where permits were never necessary to close off a busy Brooklyn street...you just asked a firefighter living on your block to have his buddies park an engine at each end. Same firefighters opend up the hydrants for the kids to play. My favorite was the ten foot high DJ stand, which was powered by stealing electricity  from the lamposts. On average, "Party Your Body" by Stevie B and "Electric Avenue" by Eddy Grant might be heard every hour. Those parties were great.

 Marisa Circle had quite a few memorable ones as well...I think of Barry Kaufman carrying over a plate of Schmucklabernstein sausages to a patio table in front of our house that already had eggplant parmigiana, lasagna, hot and cold antipasta, roast beef and turkey...all that precedes the monstrous spread of items Big Vin barbecued. Around that table sat a collection of professional eaters: The Mastandreas, the Vadalas, the Buetis, the Caravellas...and Joe Shtrimps. Eat, drink, laugh and repeat. Of course, each block party always ended with my brother Joe being ambushed by the young Dads of the block and thrown into a pool. Once again, Florida just doesn't have that kind of close family atmosphere...I think my kids will unfortunately miss out. Luckily, we still have some video footage hiding somewhere (one video in particular ends with Dom Caravella getting depantsed and then spilling his beer into the camera) for them to enjoy.

By the way, I loved the reenactment, I think next year you should consider the baptism scene from The Godfather Part One. I believe Cookie would make a superb Clemenza,, and Mojo a fine Moe Greene.

Also, when I read "jerk" chicken, I think of Wesley Willis's magnum opus "Cut The Mullet", where he shouts out "Get out the hair clippers, Jerk!" .

Anyway, its good to be back on the blog. I'm off today, enjoying a little peace, a little relaxation, and thanks the The Dish, a lot of nostalgia.                              

Summer is dwindling -- weather forecast shows another two days in the 80s followed by a Saturday that won't get out of the 60s. Yikes.

Went to the dentist this morning to get a cavity filled. She numbed the upper right of my mouth leaving my upper lip to blubber about as I chit-chatted my way out of her office. I maintained those mumbles well into my late-morning conference call to the office -- bonus.

Tonight I'm going to call Steve and urge him to share bloggy tales of newly-web bliss. Better yet, I want Jenny to get on here and tell us what it's really like.

Later this week we bottle some wine we got started earlier this summer at our local kit-wine place. Cool idea: they let you come in and use their equipment to start a batch of wine, from concentrate, then let it sit in their climate-controlled rooms. Come back to decant the filtered veritas from the big glass jug into bottles we get to label and take home. Sweet. As you can see, I've been hard at work designing appropriate labels. Heh.

I know, I know, you're asking yourself how it can be period-appropriate to be wielding a baguette as a weapon at the Battle of Stirling Bridge. Just remember, the Norman Invasion had occurred over 200 years prior. The first Eurozone was already being tried!

Oh, and coconut shells were commonly found in the forests of the British Isles. They were thought to be carried there by migratory birds. Cinematic records support this theory.

So we were planning this year's block party and they asked me to come up with activities for the kids. The egg-toss and three-legged race were tempting options. I took the road less traveled and had the kids re-enact the battle scene from Braveheart.



I'm pretty sure they won't ask me again to plan activities, not for anyone, anywhere.

Great block party, though. I made a giant pan of jerk chicken. Drumsticks -- a portable meal. Others brought out a vast array of goodies. The neighborhood kids ruled the barricaded street until about 10 p.m. And the rain held off the whole time. Sweet.

I'm reading a book about the Yugo, once the cutting edge of Serbo-Croatian automotive technology. And a car that would fit into just about any NYC parking spot -- bonus.

Some people think this is funny. Not me.

Well, pardon me. I was vigorously reminded today that the villain in Bubba Ho Tep was not an alien invader. Alane and Da Chimpz seemed surprised that I would have muddled the scintillating plot line in which the elderly and infirm Elvis (with the help of a paranoid JFK) battles an ancient mummy curse.

Of course it would be that...

Tonight I want to have a campfire. Drink some port. Watch the concrete cure. That's livin.'

Mojo got Bloomberged this week. I asked him earlier in the week if he was looking forward to the new routines they give sixth graders as part of their "junior high" experience. It was characteristically pathetic to hear that the one thing that made him happiest would be the option to buy soda at lunch -- something that wouldn't have mattered to Cookie last year because he doesn't drink the stuff.

Well, imagine Mojo's disappointment yesterday when he learned there would be no more soda for sale in the cafeteria. It was like when NY changed the drinking age on me after I'd be legal for six months!

Anyway, I told them if they got straight A's I'd buy them a case of Bawls and let them take a bottle with them each day to drink with their lunch -- the stylish way to stick it to the lunch lady. And keep the classroom shaking.

The boys are downstairs right now watching Abraham Lincoln Versus the Zombies. It's about as bad as you'd think it would be. Which is about as bad as Bubba Ho-Tep, which featured Elvis fighting an alien invasion. Yeah, nothing but the classics around here.

It is increasingly difficult to get these hooligans to stand for a proper photo. (We saw similar versions of that genetic trait at Steve's wedding in May -- more photos on that should be posted here.)

Anyway, school is now in session. Well, it will be in a few minutes. Da Chimpz just made their way across the wet lawn to make their way to their, ugh, sixth and seventh grade classrooms.

Notice the torn up driveway. Cement shoes for someone, yeah! No wait...

Nights get pretty cool these days. Still Da Chimpz like to sleep in the snowglobe room. Well, maybe not for long -- tomorrow morning I throw them out of bed because it's time for... school.

It's a little sad. Watch this space for tomorrow's obligatory send-off photos.

This may (or may not) be interesting to Big Vin. But if you jump to the 27 min mark you might see a familiar stomping ground. Too bad they didn't roll film between 9th Ave and West 8th.



If we saw Philly Stink Armpits in knickers would we even recognize him?

The Olympics passed already? Didn't that crap just start? I suppose I should try to follow these things. (Why? I can't even catch a baseball game -- and that's supposedly an American sport.)

As for wine and golf, I refer you to my Youtube post of a few weeks ago -- I suspect I had already guzzled a glass (or two) of veritas before putting iron to spud on that fine evening. (But now that you describe it as Tylka protocol I will be sure to do it exactly as you describe at our next Tee Time for Tater Tots.)

And sorry to break it to you, Jenny-babe, but male Mastandrea DNA does seem to run predominantly male. Did you look around the Caravella side of the banquet hall back in May? Total sausage fest. And big eaters too. I'd be more worried about your children's appetites than their interest in sports. Forget boy versus girl -- just hope the kid is born with a spoon in his hand instead of a fork.

John-Your predicament with "watching baseball" brings me to only one thought.....The Mastandrea boys of South Spumoni do not follow sports...Infact, I dare you to ask Stephen about the current sport season...He most enthusiastically will reply with: "the Olympics just passed".....If it is not being broadcasted by Fox News, there is no way Stephen even knows what is going on...

The Vin Man on the other hand always has a game on....and Uncle Vito well....we know he spends many hours in that chair watching (or not watching) a baseball game... I must say he has gotten his money's worth out of that chair.....Ellexa has stated in writing that her father spends time playing "basketball" with her...This surprised all of us...even Bazzukah Joe.....  (If a child writes it- it must be true)...

Anyways this all scares me..Either God is going to bless us with only female children....or I may get my wish of having a very confused, eclectic son who will spend his time "listening to music" while all of his friends play outside...This is not to say this is a bad thing.....nor am I questioning his "athleticism."

I know its not enjoyable- but sometimes you have to "take one for the team." Because if not, the influence of the Tylka family- where golf is enjoyed with a glass of wine for hours.....The wine is great but the people are crazy...(there is a country song in there....)- will overwhelm.....And well- this scares me most of all.... Golf is a four letter word after all....

Busy day! Got Cookie up early to make the obligatory meatballs. Not so obligatory in the summer months, I suppose. But the temps this weekend have gotten into the 60s so I'm not so reluctant to turn on the broiler.

After Mass I crawled under the kitchen sink to install an in-line water filter. This followed a quick trip to Lowes to get the drill bit I'd need to cut a hole in the stainless steel sink. After some amazing feats of near incompetence, I got the thing working.

This is good: Berea water tasted like sweat. And the counter-top filtration device takes up too much space. And I'm tired of having to refill it five times a day.

Not too long (not long enough?) after devouring the morning batch of meatballs we headed out as a family to play some tennis. Yes, you can imagine the hilarity. The blancmange from the Monty Python skit kept entering my mind: "They mean to win Wimbledon."

Actually, it was a good workout. My rheumatologist wants me to swim for my exercise, but that's hard to pull off. I don't feel so bad on the court, though I definitely feel some restriction at the hip joints, especially when lunging laterally. Oh, and bending to pick up a ball always hurts at least little. Eh, it's good to get your sweat on a few times a week.

Now I'm showered and thinking of putting on some baseball on ESPN3. Their iPad app is apparently a total POS -- it shows me the Mets are on tonight but doesn't give me a way to start the game. Maybe I'll have better luck on a PC. Or maybe I'll skip the game entirely. That's what I usually do.

Just got back from a few days in the NYC office. Long days for a sore spine. But I did get a nice dinner Thursday night at Stage Deli -- a lovely reuben sammich minus the rye bread (which is nice because they throw the swiss cheese slices across the top then slide it under the broiler -- awwww-uuuh!).

But the security lines at LGA are now as idiotic as CLE -- with the airport nazis zapping passengers one by one, slowing progress to a crawl, standing everyone in the "surrender" pose -- just to emphasize what it's all about. Absurd. Maybe next time I'll drive.

Tonight I'll just be kicking back. Maybe catch up on some reading -- got my weekly WSJ crossword puzzle that still needs noodling. Perhaps another mojito will grease the cerebral skids.

Hmm. Doesn't sound like a magazine that would agree that "every sperm is needed, in your neighborhood."

Steve negative? Well, maybe when it comes to mustard.

Dr. Sfingi-

I must say I am a major fan of the Monty Python series. I also recommend the Black Adder series with Rowan Atkinson and Hugh Laurie. My better half detests "British humor." As I make this comment, I already  hear him saying "You are always saying what I like or don't like- you make me sound so negative" blah blah blah.... I am not overgeneralizing nor am I putting words in his mouth. He rolls his eyes every time these Brits  are on the screen- yet his love, nay his devotion to British rock runs deep. Just saying.....

Speaking of my better half- he and I are currently debating on our next vacation. We have decided that we need a visit to a nice "red state, " for  a cleansing is much needed. Somewhere in the South---we are leaning towards South Carolina, Tennessee, and Louisiana.

I recently picked up one of my favorite magazines, "Women Health," and I was disgusted to find that one of the main articles focused on the "New Danger of Birth Control:........The politicians who wish to take away  YOUR birth control." This article is enough to make me boycott the magazine and cancel my subscription.  This article is riddled with bias politics and false information. So I ask- is nothing sacred???????

Night before last I was flipping through Netflix and not finding anything good. I stopped at Monty Python's Meaning of Life, knowing I'd have to keep my thumb ready on the FF button. The boys found the live liver donor scene disturbing and the restaurant puke scene weird. I decided to turn it off at the scene where the condemned man is executed by being chased off a cliff by a mob of topless women in helmets.

But last night, as we were once again trying to find something to watch, Alane asked if we had watched the Death scene. D'oh! We hadn't!

So we did: "You always talk, you Americans, you talk and you talk and say 'Let me tell you something' and 'I just wanna say this', Well you're dead now, so shut up."

Classic.

Best camp report yet: Cookie announced that one of the things he missed most over the week away was my grilling. Just how Mastandrea is the boy? He described how the camp staff worked the burgers on cook-out night.

"They kept pressing down on the burgers to squeeze the juices out. It made me sick to watch them do that."

This is what teaching your kids right from wrong looks like. Your sins against nature will not go unremarked. Burgers not bearing expert grill marks will be cast into eternal propane fire (not even charcoal).

Steve, you have no idea how messed up Ohio is. Fortunately I got a chance to meet a current state legislator, former military, who is behind some of law-making meant to ensure those ballots get counted. Unlike last time when many didn't. Yeah, there's something that network news somehow forgot to cover.

Berea-Rose is jumping this weekend -- the boys are back in town. Da Chimpz were at sleepaway camp all week. It was probably harder for us than for them: Alane and I had anxieties that ranged from imagining them forlorn with home-sickness to picturing felonious pranks as in the movie Meatballs.

Anyway, we drove them home this morning, dragged their mud-encrusted gear to the basement, and got some candied bacon started in the oven. As of now, Mojo is on the computer watching Minecraft videos while Cookie as on the Xbox shooting enemies in Halo. Situation: normal.

I so badly want to tell about the dinner-date Alane and I had to a trendy Cleveland restaurant earlier this week. But it was too ridiculous. Food was good, but the neighboring tables were much too close. The guy on one side was an over-eager foodie. And when the guy on the other side decided to get down on one knee to propose to his date, the crowding of the dining room essentially required him to do it from under our table. It was surreal. Alane and I spent the evening in total NYC mode: look straight ahead and don't get involved. And of course, being it was Alane and myself, try not to make eye contact with each other. Because I think we're all at a point now where we recognize the "see what I'm talkin' about" face without the need for spoken words. Isn't that right, Steve?

Right now I'm trapped home in an absolutely spectacular thunderstorm. So I'm flicking through the channels and catch Bela Karoli being interviewed about the United States gymnastics team. All I could hear in my head was the 80s Bauhaus song "Bela Lugosi's Dead", which back during my college days I insisted on singing "Bela Karoli's Dead".  Which of course, reminds me of the night that Kelly Fatone snapped at Broadway Joe how she hates when he changes the words to songs and Uncle Joe's instant response "I would never do that...".

Ohio in the news today. Obama is outraged you in the Buckeye state are allowing extra time for the absentee ballots of overseas soldiers to arrive...you Ohians need to shape up. An American soldier doesn't deserve his vote to be properly counted in your state...that right is the sole property of illegal immigrants without valid ID. Amazing.

Holy cow -- I remember those Germany videos. I remember Bway Joe having to endure some sort of promotional carnival. One teutonic teeny-bopper girl pulls a handful of cotton candy and presses it to Joe's upper lip and says "I give you mustache!"

Uncle Joe turns away from the videoscreen and says to me, "She'd rather be giving him a stinkin-stache."

I laughed uncontrollably for the next week or perhaps 10 days.

Not to throw my wife under the bus, but while she was engrossed in grading papers last night I played "We are Robots" and after about one minute she stopped, looked up and politely said "I don't know what your listening to...but its awful". I didn't reply or argue, just laughed and turned off the sound. (I had to watch the rest of the no-budget video.) Some tastes have to be acquired...like Turkish coffee and Bulgur salad.

Anyway, because Bentley has been struggling with skin allergies for the past week or two, Jennie decided to take him to a new vet recommended by my boss. The office is buried deep in the bowels of backwoods Jupiter Farms. I can only imagine what sort of disturbing sights she must regularly see, considering I have never seen a single animal in the Farms that doesn't possess some sort of physical defect or malady. If Dr. Sfingi can link us to the tale of the Hell House on Haney Lane (OK, done), you will recall the dog with the tracheotomy or even better...the petting zoo at the old Burt Reynolds estate. Just in case that story has yet to be told I hit you with a few details.

I believe it was back in 1997 (which is scary to think is 15 years ago), that Broadway Joe was just beginning his ascent in the entertainment business and was forced to spend most of the year working and promoting in Germany. To record and share his experiences there, his now-wife Kelly bought him what was in 1997, a state of the art handheld camera. So given some time off , Joe flies back to Florida and on one particular weekend shoots down to Spumoni Gardens. After viewing some of his amazingly funny footage in Germany, we decide this camera must be put to good use here. We head off just a few miles down the road to Burt Reynolds Petting Zoo, which was open and free to the public, and to my knowledge an abandoned refuge for deformed animals. Somewhere out there still exists a video tape of the four balloon-heads...who even in 1997 were old enough to know better, mocking and toying with sad mutant deer, llamas, emus, goats and even a burro (which had a sign above its cage informing it was a gift from Dom Deluise!). I feel sheepish giving all the details of the tape, but Broadway Joe was taught that an emus neck can be twisted 360 degrees without any physical harm...and he demonstrated. BazzukaJoe carried with him a backpack full of Doritos and M&Ms we could feed the hungry animals, by the time we reached the goats we had ran out, and were forced to feed them the receipts that were left. There was a llama with a severe dental problems, that we felt obligated to publicly humiliate, and the big finale was was an up close video of a goat pressing his face to Steve Fatone's ass, to which he responded to with a blast so powerful and perfectly timed that it stunned the goat frozen. Its a scene we watched 700 times and laughed every time. Anyway, I now start my day off with a big silly grin remembering that confused goat.
Disclaimer: Dr. Sfingi, please explain to your children...these are all terrible ideas.

We stopped for breakfast after Mass yesterday and ordered ourselves some eggs and coffee. In the corner a mounted TV screen showed a bicycle race and I wondered aloud if it could be the Giro or the Tour de France before realizing I have no idea when any of those are scheduled or why either of them would be on American television.

Anyway, Mojo immediately started singing We Are The Robots by Kraftwerk, which includes the zombified refrain Tour de France, Tour de France. Naturally, that singing quickly gave way to the Rathergood version of the song, We Are Pork Products (by Kraftwurst) which has the even better refrain Pork de France, Pork de France.

What did we say the other day about unlikely cultural references? Gotta dig the LED-studded necktie. And the googly-eyes glued to the hot dogs.

Y'know Shteef you remind me, back in 1985 I was the official scorekeeper an XU baseball game against IIRC Indiana University, Purdue (UI-PUI, or something). The opposing pitcher was a dead ringer for Steve Perry -- the nose, the hair, lots of both. Every time an XU batter took a big cut on one of his pitches our entire dugout sang out IT SHOULDA BEEN GONE! Poor bastard probably got a lot of that.

Ahhh...good to be back. Special thanks to the fine folks at Best Buy for providing Jennie with a brand new replacement computer free of charge after hers recently took a dump. Thanks to them, I return to the blogosphere. Anyway, its been two weeks and a lot has happened...so lets dive right in.

Recently, the wifey and I traveled to Newport R.I. for a family wedding. We had a fantastic time...and although yachts, vineyards and mansions are enormous fun, my shining moment occurred at a tiny rundown sandwich shop tucked away far from the chowder guzzling snobs by the pier. I ordered a sandwich of cooked Bartlett pears, fresh brie and prosciutto and hot baguette. It was magical. It reminded me of the scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when the knight watches Indy choose the grail and confirms "you have chosen...wisely". Jennie's brother Matt also went with it and I am certain he would mirror my enthusiasm.

Lets see what else? We saw the Gold-man this week, he visited Spumoni for Ree's birthday and continue the happy march towards the April 5 spectacular.

Last night I was driving home from work and "Oh Sherry" by Steve Perry came on the radio. Something in my head forced me to call my cousin Tomas. No clue what the subconscious correlation could be, but he fortunately picked up and was thrilled to be associated with such a timeless classic. When I read this story, I recall my brother's wedding when our friend Angela introduced her date to Me, BazzukaJoe, Broadway Joe and Steve Fatone.
Angela: "I want you to meet my boyfriend, Steve Perry"
Silence and then...
Me: "We're big fans."
Broadway Joe: "Shoulda been gooooone..."
Yeah, I know word and thought association gone awry. Well, I'm ready for work.

And today we finished out the Batman trilogy, heading out to our local Regal to catch the latest installment. A good movie, we all thought (though I drank a little too much coffee beforehand and had to spend the last half of the film with my legs crossed).

After the flick we played a little tennis -- because I needed to dump that much more water from my system. Actually, the weather's not as hot as it has been so I didn't sweat as badly as those two mornings last week, taking Da Chimpz to the courts for early-morning volleying.

We got back and got some stovetop sausage and peppers going -- the quick version of the old standard. Sprinkle it with grated parmesan and all is good with the world.

By now the sunlight is fading. Mid-summer is like that, with darkness setting in earlier each night. Early July is great because the daylight lasts until close to 10. In a few weeks, it'll be dark by 9. Gotta live if up while summer is here.

Tomorrow I'll call the Duke of Marcinski and tell him we urgently await his updates.

We just watched a whole lot of Batman. We started with Begins and then watched Dark Knight. We didn't mean to be up this late with it. But now that it's the wee hours, maybe I should strap on the utility belt and go swinging around town stopping crime.

(In Batman Begins the young Bruce Wayne dug out his father's old S&W Model 36. As he checked for rounds in the cylinder Mojo wisecracked "leave the gun, take the cannoli." The whole movie was like that. Smartasses.)

First you have to practice your swing to maximize head speed. Then you need to step up to the potato.

If this protocol makes no sense to you, it probably means you never played potato golf in our backyard. It is a truly disgusting sport, and tonight was a perfect night for it.

We started with some red potatoes ("I get the potatoes, the red potatoes," says Don Vito). These potatoes had been in our summer-warm kitchen for weeks -- all soft and overgrown with tuber sprouts. It was time to compost them. Or better. As you can see, we've done this before. Several times.



Notice how brown and crunchy our grass is? Been a hot dry summer. And yardwork is blowjhinsky.

Earlier today we stopped at Bob Evans for early lunch. Late breakfast, really. I like to order eggs over medium -- mostly because I prefer them that way, but also because it fascinates me how many places don't know what that means. I don't dislike the more common eggs over easy, and that's a good thing because that's typically what is sent out to me from the kitchen.

Anyway, we finished eating and went to the cashier to pay. The boys grabbed candy bars and lollipops and I said no and no. There was a cup with toothpicks. We each took a toothpick instead. As we went to the car the boys proposed keeping them in their mouths all day so they could look cool like the Ivan Vanko character in the Iron Man 2 movie we watched last night.

"Look cool? That guy looked scary," I said. I explained that I would prefer to flick the toothpick off the edge of my top front teeth the way Murdoc does while driving the dune buggy in the old Gorillaz video. So like a trio of dorks we stuck toothpicks in our mouths and drove to Lowes to buy a reciprocating saw (did I mention I have a lot of projects to complete during my week off?).

While entering the Lowes parking lot I finally got the toothpick propped vertically in the front of my open mouth. I tried to flick the top part forward. It worked, sort of. The fail started when I closed my mouth too quickly, sending the pointy top of the toothpick up into the soft underside of my nose, right between the nostrils.

"Aaaagh! I stabbed myself in the nose!"

Mojo was in the front passenger seat watching me; he had seen the whole thing. Meaning there was no use trying to deny what I had just done. And it was a good thing we were in the parking lot because lancing your nose like that hurts about the same as yanking a nostril hair -- I had tears welling up in my eyes.

So did the boys... from laughing so hard.

Every few years we drag ourselves out to a baseball game. I think the last time I caught a game was last year at Yankee Stadium. Was that last year or the year before? Anyway, Da Chimpz weren't with me -- they profess to be bored by the sport.

Even yesterday's day at the Jacobs Field (or whatever they call it now) was abnormal, as Mojo was sitting up in the grandstands while the rest of us hunkered for shade under a bleacher deck just to the rear of the right field foul pole. We had the patio area -- nice.

We even got a visit from Alane's favorite Cleveland Indian, Slider. Unfortunately Alane had wandered off and didn't get to say hello. Or get the obligatory snapshot. (That makes two snapshots we just barely missed over the weekend -- one with the Indians' insufferable mascot, and one with the local network's insufferable weatherman).

Cookie sat at his little patio table and sipped lemonade the whole time, mostly oblivious to the baseball game. I suspect he'd have more interest in the competition if he had a team to follow. But that's hard to do without cable TV so all we get to see are random games from random teams. Even I get bored watching those (I'm usually reading blogs in one window while ESPN3 plays in another).

So it looks like the baseball-fan trait of the Mastandrea gene is going to dead-end at this generation. I'm sure MLB has lots of geniuses explaining to each other why this is good for their sport.

More evidence Da Chimpz have all the wrong cultural reference points: when we were at Andre's last month sitting at the breakfast table eating pancakes, I noticed they were singing Frank Zappa's "St. Alphonso's Pancake Breakfast (where I stole the margarine)."

Yeah, that's my fault.

Today we bought and configured a new Blu-Ray player. I say configured because getting it onto the network and properly logged into the various services was a bitch and a half. But now that it's done we got our Netflix and our Youtubes and the ability to play all my old video downloads, even the ones in *.mpg format. So we sat around watching cheezy music videos from the 80s.

No wonder their pop-culture awareness is so... wrong.

"Don't push me cuz I'm close to the edge, I'm try-ing not to lose my head."

I was sitting in the Ice Room just now, enjoying the ebbing daylight, writing some gibberish notes to myself, when Mojo came in.

"Can I have some of that V8 Splash that's on the counter."

"That's not V8 Splash."

"Can I have some?"

"Uh, yeah. But that's regular V8. Vegetable juice. No fun."

But it looked so berry delicious he wanted it anyway. So I went into the kitchen with him because I had to see this.

"Get yourself a smaller glass," I said, already anticipating what was about to happen.

I poured out some of the red stuff and handed it to him. He took a tiny sip, made a face of intense disgust, then put it down and left.

This won't be the first time Mojo ignores his father's advice and tries something anyway. But what am I gonna do now with this open bottle of V8? If I had vodka I'd make a bloody mary.

Every time I see the "New Mastandrea Model", I think of the Watson Crick model. Just thought I'd mention it.

Thank you for posting the video!

But the best part by far is when you quietly state that "There really is no unison here"...And  Shteef not knowing what you had just said made the statement of "Its like a Well-Oiled Machine"......

"A WELL-OILED DEATH MACHINE" .....

Oh, you mean this:



And the answer is yes, be fruitful and multiply. We definitely need more of this sort of insanity.

John-

You know what video always makes me laugh: "Dance Catastrophe.." A few weeks ago- Merle made a poignant statement..."I hope your children dance like Steef"....

Should we procreate and bless this world with such rhythm and talent? This is quite a question to ponder..

Or just maybe...Cookie, Mojo, and Shteef should be their own dance troupe.... The ballistic balloon heads....

Just a thought....

These are the dog days of summer -- just the way I like it. Emerged from the A/C at about 5 a.m. to retrieve the newspaper from the driveway and was immediately immersed in the hot dark soup of pre-dawn sultriness. Awesome. I got the paper, then rummaged around in the garage to start the weekly migration of trash-cans to curbside.

Right now I need another cup of coffee. Like, right now.

Rookie? You look like you're an old farm hand about to announce the weekly rodeo.

Or something.

Even with the passage of two months, this photo still makes me laugh. Steve is about to do something completely ridiculous as both Joey and Vito look on approvingly. This is normal.

I refer everyone to the link in the sidebar titled "Boogie Heads." Because it's classic.

Did we mention that the hall where we celebrated our wedding reception has since burned down?

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!! Your blissful marriage is an inspiration to us rookies in the game. Indeed, I was present on that faithful day eighteen years ago...whichever one it may actually be. That weekend in Ohio was legendary. I have an exam question

Which occurred in Strongville, Ohio on July 17, 1993?
a. Uncle Vito was denied purchasing beer for not presenting a valid drivers license.
b. I danced with Jean Hatala to the groovy dance tunes of a three piece polka band.
c. a parish priest said "fart" during the wedding ceremony
d. a very young Ree seized the microphone to the delight of Guido and the wedding guests
e. all of these above

By the way, interesting song choice. On our last cruise, I participated in a music trivia game where they played the original version of that song by the Clovers and claimed it was the Searchers. I still haven't forgiven Royal Caribbean...for such a sin is unforgiveable.

Next question: Madame Ruth (with the gold-capped tooth) handed me a beverage that smelled like turpentine and looked like india ink. What did I do next?

a) held my nose
b) closed my eyes
c) took a drink
d) all of the above

Not unrelated to high-stakes multiple-choice conundrums, today is the start of our two-day wedding anniversary. It lasts two days because we can't agree on which day it occurs. I keep thinking it's the 18th but Alane swears it is the 17th. Ever the reasonable and accommodating spouse (a Mastandrea hallmark!) I have eagerly embraced the compromise position: let it be both days and we can celebrate that much longer.

I get to drink more wine that way.

Lately I've been in this kick of looking up "awesomely bad exam answers" on the internet. Sometimes I come across ones that I feel like I've seen before. Back in high school, I had an American History teacher who used to always make his multiple choice questions enjoyable. Thinking back, he'd have one question on every test where one of the multiple choice answers would be "Cousin Guido". Although I knew it was going to be on every test ... it was still funny every single time.  

Enjoy. 

Marlo never told me how her pho came out.

And yesterday at the mall we saw there's a Pho-licious coming to the food court.

Coincidence? Probably.

Last month I had to be in the NYC office so I did something a bit daring: I took Da Chimpz with me for some road-tripping and sight-seeing. I did have a full day of work to complete, but we did get some time to walk around Manhattan. I was impressed to hear them say they wanted to see the things they've heard Alane and me talk about over the years: WTC, Katz's Deli, and... Morgam postal facility?

Actually, we went to the West Side to walk a bit of the old High Line, now transformed into a pedestrian walkway. It was very cool, as cool as it looked on the documentary we'd seen about it. We walked north to where the walkway ends and the abandoned railway el continues -- further north along the main line and east along the short spur that used to connect that main line to the USPS.

We stopped there and I reminded the boys of what they'd heard from Grandpa Vito -- about how his father Giuseppe used to unload mail off those trains, first as a Post Office employee and then as a worker for the Central System.

These days the derelict structure no longer connects to Morgan, and the opening where trains used to pass has long been bricked up. It wasn't the typical family memory one hands down across the generations, but this wasn't the typical summer vacation.

It occurred to me that most fathers take their sons out camping to share with them knowledge of the woods. Instead I took my boys to the big city and shared some glimpses of their roots.

And fed them pastrami. That part they'll remember.

If I were a superhero, my name would be Bracciole-Man. My costume would include hightop Converse Allstars and a pair of oven mitts. My cape would smell like calzones. Indeed, I might just hum "I Got The Horse Right Here" as I battle crime and supervillains. So there.
 
Too bad that supermarket didn't have a a foldout that read " Try and Beat Our Meat...Prices". Or even "Pork Your Wife...Will Enjoy Broiling.

In late 1984, I'd lace up the old Converse high-top Chuck Taylors and hit the urban pavements of Cincinnati or Brooklyn to do a few miles of roadwork as prep for my ill-fated boxing matches (once ran from the Castle 1526 to the Coney Island train yards and back -- in a pair of white All Star high-tops).

Those were the days: when athletic footwear was so primitive, and a runner's expectations so low, that you could basically cripple yourself with poorly-designed gear but still hit the showers saying "that was a great workout!"

Those days sucked. Here are the Chuck Taylor's I bought over a dozen years ago. Not sure why I decided this morning to free them from bottom-of-closet oblivion, but I did. Wore them around the house, then out for a bit of shopping with the family, and finally for some back-and-forth between the kitchen and outdoor grill. Finally sat back and unlaced them and HOLY CRAP DO MY FEET HURT.

What the hell? I mean WHAT THE HELL? I know I'm old and decrepit -- but even with a few years of the no exercise and the AS I never had this. I can't imagine running to the corner wearing those things, let alone running a few miles.

Anyway, the whole experience gave me the added opportunity to even sound old and decrepit as I explained to Cookie and Mojo just how much sports gear has progressed over the last 30 years.

Yet still they have the nerve to mock my off-white Merrills. Hell, I can play tennis in those and not have pain. I don't care if they make me look like a retired codger lost on a Florida back-nine.

A FREEZE FULL OF MEAT AND MASTER OF THE HOUSE

John-

No freezer can possibly surpass that of Vito's. Vito has a "skill" for packing it- or rather "Omaha Steaks" has a knack for making their meat stackable to allow for such a skill.....This warrants research....

Speaking of things that warrant research--

Sir Stephen began singing "Master of the House"- a timeless classic of the musical Les Miserables ....When he realized I was a bystander to this serenade, he quickly became quiet realizing his mistake (he knows I will call him out on such a spectacle)...

My husband has never seen this musical-- nor has he seen Guys and Dolls..yet he knows most of the songs on these albums...(and not ones you would think..)

Growing up, I am assuming he was exposed to great music by the Vin-Man. I already know he is the "Master of the 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, and 90s" as does Royal Caribbean.....but I ask is this normal? How can one human being possess such great useless knowledge and never use it for monetary gain or recognition?

I would like to think of this as his SUPERPOWER. Some men possess great strength and intellect...Sir Stephen possesses the ability to smell any fart and name any tune...(musicals included)....

Long day here at Berea-Rose, but it's quiet now. Got a good way through this week's crossword from WSJ but my eyes are hurting and the light is fading and I don't want to turn on lights. Summer evenings are for not turning on lights if you don't have to. Or a/c -- though by the time we sat down to a heaping pile of grilled pork chops (more on that in a bit) we noticed the thermostat in the dining room was at 86F. Yeah, time to fire up the chillers.

Those were some nice pork chops -- very thick, so I had to grill them carefully. Alane took the day off so I made sure she saw the circular Giant Beagle stuck in my grocery bag earlier this week. Banner hed: "Huge 3-Day Meat Sale." It was in large type so it wrapped to two lines. That means you could fold it down the center to make it say "Huge Meat." So we did.

Anyway, Alane went to Giant Beagle this morning and got huge meat. Now we have a freezer that bulges like Vito's. Heh.

Hello again

Ree-

I feel so blessed and honored to be a part of the Mastandrea clan- hence my new screen name :). I was indoctrinated into the family (like most)..This blog was my first glimpse of the maddening love of family, food, and the wacky. I was welcomed with open arms- and now I finally feel a part of something great....

I also find myself saying and singing the most random of things...I know how my "husband's" (I like saying the word-so pardon me for that :) ) brain works....Its really CRAZY!!!!!!

I am sure this is just the beginning of great things...
And with that said....

MAZEL, MAZEL

Goooooooooldman!!!

Welcome back, Ravioli Ree -- I could've saved you a few keystrokes by reminding you: everything is funny.

Especially when viewed through the half-collapsed partition of a rest-area toilet stall.

Okay, gonna need some help here. Go in to about the 55 second mark. Is that who we think it is?

Making The Comeback

First and foremost, I must say how happy I am to be back on this blog. It may sound strange, but I feel so at home here. Ah, memories. You see, I was once a child star on this family blog, and at the time, my ownership of the mother of all surnames was nowhere near leaving me. It's crazy how time flies. Pretty soon, I will be celebrating my 25th birthday and closing the chapter of my life as the Little Mastandrea. Come spring, I will be inaugurated as Matriarch of the House of Goldman. Being a Mastandrea makes me know that I have what it takes to never let that macaroni dish be emptied. My excitement overwhelms me. 

I chose a new blog name in honor of all who contribute to the beloved macaroni dish, because if it wasn't for you, there would be no blog such as this one as well as  WWVS, and the bottomless sauce pot of knowledge called the Encyclopedia Mastandrea. In all sincerity, I honored to be writing again alongside the super geniuses of my life, The Mastandreas. 

PS: 

Farts are always funny. 

Doodie is always funny. 

Neckbraces are always funny. 

Mustaches are always funny. 

Bad hair is always funny. 

Uncle Vito is always funny. 

Reminds me of another wisecrack earnestly delivered but dead on arrival: "You give the aspirin a head-ache." Steve's 2004 telling of that tale is priceless. My addendum is here.

Interestingly, I had the boys at the local barbershop yesterday. Conversation ranged from the giant shoelace factory in southwest Ohio (don't ask) to Grandpa's Cheese Barn in Ashland (definitely worth a post of its own).

Every comedian must be aware of his audience. Cookie was correct, it was indeed a clever exhibition of wordplay. I have those unsure moments quite frequently. Normally, I will call my cousin Kristie and ask her opinion. She is the ultimate barometer because I can always count on her to laugh. Which reminds me. Not too long ago, I entered in to an ongoing conversation between Jennie's friends about a local Mexican restaurant called "Rocco's Tacos". As they were debating the different appetizers and margaritas, I quietly interjected into their discussion "I would like to open a competing restaurant right next door and name it "Rocky's Cockies" " Now, there are countless euphemisms for excrement, almost all of which funny, but "cocky and doody" have just never been as popular with the general public as they are inside the Fatone and Mastandrea households. I was of course beaming inside, but her friends were not only unimpressed, I'm pretty sure they were disgusted. For the record, Kristie laughed....and she laughed because she is an excellent judge of comedy....and because cocky is always funny. Just like farts are always  funny.

I'm not sure how it came up, but I told an old story at the dinner table the other night. Like most of my tales, it is oft-told. About 20 years ago now, while I worked at BNY, our secretary had spent much of the day telling us the details of the truck she and her husband were purchasing and how they were arguing over the color. Or something. As she regaled a small group of coworkers I made the "oh will you shut up already" face and her response to me was a friendly "tell it to my husband." To which I said: "Why? I have no truck with him."

And I thought it was funny! But everyone else thought it was not! "Of course you don't, she's the one who's buying the truck."

Anyway, I retold the story the other night and Cookie started to laugh. I was skeptical. "You're just being polite," I challenged. And he said, "No, truck, as in quarrel."

At which point I pounded the surface of the dining room table (yeah, that table) and proclaimed him a chip off the old block. Then I remembered the opening scenes of Revenge of the Nerds where the nerdy dad drives the nerdy son to school and now I'm wondering if I've erred.

Indeed, the time has come to unearth this buried treasure and display its majestic beauty for all those understand its precious value. Yes, the macaroni dish is overflowing with tales and legends which need to be shared...so lets jump right into it.

Has anyone noticed that my father really likes to call me Promo? No one seems to know if it is short for a longer name. I recently approached him on it, asked him "What the hell is promo?" He laughed and said "you". 
Recently, my parents received a tur-duck-en in the mail from Berea. In honor of my brother-in-laws 29th birthday, we prepared it. It produced exactly the sort of commentary one would expect. I offered an alternative hybrid meat idea for Passover...gefilte fish stuffed with duck and chicken..."a Gerfucken". However, Joe Fatone Sr. always steals the show...he suggested we send John and Alane a "Cat-bat-rat". 

Finally, I've decided I need to invest in more Luche Libre masks....I have no idea why.