one mans quest for fire........
Where does he get those wonderful toys?

So here's the little Hooverville I've been lounging in for the past few days. It's comfy. Last night I finished off the Smoking Loon as the sun went down; got back out there a little after Alane left at 5:30 this morning -- when it was still too dark to read the WSJ, even with both citronella candles blazing. It's quiet around here in the morning, just birds and insects.

Off to the side you can see a corner of the Chimp Tower. It still needs work. Cookie and Mojo were telling this morning of their plans to conduct a waterballoon fight from its upper deck. I wasn't sure if that meant they would both be on the platform heaving waterballoons at point-blank range, but I simply nodded... knowing they're more likely to have a snowball fight by the time I'm done putting the finishing touches on that monstrosity.

I even spent some time in my penthouse health spa this morning -- putting on the boxing gloves and smacking around the double-end-bag (which smacked me back a few times). It's a Spartan accommodation up there, but good enough for a morning workout -- and I do mean morning: try going up there when the sun is in the sky and you risk immediate heat-stroke. Even my work area at the bottom of the attic stairs, the room I've made into my office, doesn't seem to want to dip below 85 degrees in the daytime, even with the A/C on. That's a bit blowjhinsky if you ask me.

Well, almost time to wrap up my computer activities for the day -- return some phone calls, answer some message, arrange my papers... and retire to my tent for the evening.

The leftover beets from yesterday's grill? We pulled them out of the refrigerator this evening and sliced them into the salad. Yum.

It's my night to put the Gangsters to sleep. I'm searching online for stories about the sewers of ancient Rome, something to read to Da Chimpz as they drift off. How will that go over?

Berea-Rose sits on a street that runs true east-west. Out the front window is north, out the back window, south. That means the front lawn and the back lawn get sun all day. Sun, as in, no shade. No shade, as in, no use sitting outside.

All that is different now: today I purchased from my local Wal-Mart a 10'x12' screen canopy -- cheap at $99. The parts barely fit together and the instructions were not really in English, but with the help of some of my own hardware (including a roll of duct tape) this thing is standing. I'm in it now!

We also started re-construction of the playhouse that we bought when we first got out here. We picked it up used from a family moving out of their place in Strongsville. Taking it apart was a bitch and a half -- re-assembling it promises to be worse (but we're already thinking about "simplifying" the design by jettisoning some of the features). It's on its side, in the grass, a few feet away from my little tent-condo.

Another first for today: roasted beets. Fresh beets (from Westside Market), washed up and covered with foild along with olive oil, sliced red onion, and some tarragon. Let them sit on the grill for a little over an hour. Beet that!

Our lawn is a wreck. Scorched spots, strange plants sprouting in places, patches of bare soil... And there's a corn stalk growing out of the flower patch by the lawn light. Alane has grown fond of it, otherwise I'd pull up the eyesore.

Should I work to repair it all? Or should I park my ass in a lawn chair for the rest of the day and think about what I'm going to drop onto the grill later this afternoon?

Some decisions make themselves.

Finally got out to jog this morning. Did I ever blog about how much I hate jogging? Temperatures are in the low 70s this morning -- a good time to be out. Alane is going to work late this morning so Da Chimpz are being tended to -- they're on their way to summer camp right now.

I'm going to get some work done now. Then I'll call the Castle 1526 and we can finalize all our scheming: Vito's plan to put the sunshine back in the sunshine state!

Oh, and let's not forget OKEECHOBEE BOULEVARD.

Indeed. In all the years I used to drive the Long Island Expressway I had no choice but to drive past the big sign for Shelter Rock Road and announce, loudly and happily, Shelter Rocky Road!. Because I was always a big fan of ice cream.

Oh, and the proper response to the "Draw Bridge" sign is: "Draw bridge? I can't draw!"

I also like driving north on the NYS Thruway. There's a big sign for Coxsackie. No need to say much of anything when we pass that one.

John i believe you are on to something. I do think it's genetic. We began wearing radio's at work and they are similar to those lame one the old navy people wear except ours are much smaller. More like cell phone buds. I cannot help but to respond in a different voice or character every single time. I don't know why. Half of my employees do not have a clue what i am taliking about but they still laugh. This week "silence of the Lambs" was on cable. They ruined it. BUT Do I need to say what line i spoke. i said it on the radio every time and i laughed in my own head each time. What am i insane? I cannot drive on northlake blvd without saying out loud NORTHCAKE. Thanks to steve fatone.

I think I have brain damage. Probably a genetic thing. I stopped just now at the Giant Beagle supermarket after dropping the boys at summer camp. I selected some wilted vegetables, some bleached-flour breads, and a strange-looking pomegranite iced tea. Of course, I had to visit the wine section -- I wanted to find Smoking Loon, a selection I tried at Guido's last week. They had the Syrah and the Pinot Noir. I took the latter, mainly because when I read the words "pinot noir" I think of my brother-in-law Cowboy Joe when he brought out a bottle of the stuff one night and declared it an especially good because "it's a hard grape." (We had already finished a jug of a cheap red wine that night -- so the "hard grape" comment seemed to make sense.)

I put the bottle in my shopping cart and said aloud the obligatory "it's a hard grape." But as I walked away I noticed that I also said something else. Not far from the Smoking Loon was a bottle of Fish Eye chardonnay, not a bad little white wine. I've had it before, twice in the last few months. As my gaze passed the bottle I found myself doing exactly what I had done every single time I poured a glass of the stuff: I'd say aloud slowly and tauntingly fish-eeeeyyyyeeee while closing one eye and leaning forward with the other, trying to open it wide enough to make it bug out of my head.

Yeah, I know: it's not particularly funny. But I don't suppose I do it for the benefit of anyone's entertainment... because today I was by myself in a supermarket... saying that out loud... to no one in particular... And I don't know why!

Is my brain really doing this? Or is it more of a reflex response processed somewhere along the brain stem? If my brain were removed completely from my skull would I still be able to steer my car safely along the FDR Drive, the part under the apartments? Would overly-loud motorcyclists earn the proper Zappa-esque admonition to "Blow it out your ass, motorcycle man!"? Would I respond appropriately to the signpost outside Co-op City -- the big one on the Hutchinson River Parkway that commands drivers to "Draw Bridge"?