Great to be back!

Good Evening, Macaroni Dish!

It is so great to be back on this blog. I feel overjoyed knowing that we are starting this up again. Way back when the blog started, it was the mid 2000's, and I was in high school. I was spending most of my time doing stage shows, hitching rides to and from school, and trying to be the best student I can possibly be. Now, I'm in my thirties. I'm relishing in my happily married life and 25 weeks pregnant with our first baby. I spend most of my days working full time, trying not to get out of breath doing simple tasks, keeping up with our New Jersey home, and setting up our daughter's nursery.

It's been an interesting journey since my last post. Some say that's the most interesting part - "the journey". Some days I agree with that and other days I feel it's too cliche and it makes the future seem bleak.  Either way, in this relaxing moment of homeostasis (just kidding, there's no homeostasis in pregnancy), I can smile and say:
"I'm happy. Really happy."

Cat Turd Field Goals

I was considering why I find the Blog more fun and amusing than the popular social media platforms...and I've determined it's the exclusivity. Anyone can read it...but only the chosen can share their stories.

Speaking of which, a few weeks ago we made a spectacular discovery here at Stromboli House. It's long been known that our dog Bentley loves the taste of cat turds, and views Bruno's cat box as little more than his personal candy store. So for years, we have kept a baby gate a few inches in front of it, because both dogs are terrified of it. The cat ignores it and jumps right over it. Its like having an electrified fence...but only for the dogs. So for years, its been the perfect plan...until recently. Bentley was hovering around Bruno's room , so as we investigated why, we witnessed a medium size turd get kicked over the gate and land right at his feet. It was like a perfect field goal kick. He happily devoured it. Apparently there exists an interspecies gentlemen's agreement at my house, so that my cocker spaniel can enjoy the occasional piece of cat shit that I have been denying him.

Humans...we are just not as smart as we think....Dr. Sfingi remember this as you embark on your new adventure in house pets.

Mira the Dog

This woolly-head freak is Mira. She is a Labradoofus. Here she is peeking out the back window, probably tracking a squirrel or a bird. Or maybe a pizza. Did she order herself a pizza? What toppings would she request? Mind you, this is an animal that eats random poop off the back lawn: from rabbits, from deer, from whatever other creatures scurry across my backyard.

Mira the dog has been with us since October. Notice the muppet-like absurdity of her coat. It's ridiculous. But somehow she does not seem to shed. Or make us sneeze. So she can stay.

Anyway, tomorrow is April. Spring is almost here. So of course we woke up this morning to a few inches of wet snow. Sheesh. But as the day progressed and icy morning faded into icy afternoon, I got a phone call from Steverino. He alerted me to the fact that this blog is now being read by people who weren't even born when the blog started. Maybe they previously suspected this family was crazy; now they've got documentation. Practically a signed confession.

Steve said: "Let's start using the blog again."

I said: "That idea appeals to me -- in much the same way random lawn poop appears to Mira the dog.  Let's eat!"

Uncouth? We Got It

What, deep-fried reuben-on-a-stick sounds low-rent to you? How about walking through the living room and casually belching the word "Barcalounger"?

I'm not even gonna say who committed that crime against civilization. Except to say it wasn't me.

Happy 2017. We're starting strong.

Deep Fried Idiocy

A short word about the following life changing images. The story is that a few years ago my dad wanted to eat a reuben sandwich but was unable to due to his gluten intolerance. What followed this tragic discovery was the realization that we could skip the bread and just use deep frying as a way to still deliver the ingredients in a sandwich like manner. We tried numerous different things, most famously was the attempt to put the ingredients into a sausage making machine then deep fry that into a reuben corndog. That catastrophic failure turned into a tradition of deep frying whatever nearby foods we had around New Years. So from this years attempts here are some of our creations, they truly speak for themselves.

-The set up we used.

-The extraction from the oil.

-One of the completed deep fried monstrosities.

-Ooey gooey rich and chewy inside, golden flakey tender cakey outside...

This Is Steve's Brain on Ice; Any Questions?

As the latest Russian vaudeville video clip makes the rounds, I just want to point out that Steve was about 14 years ahead of the trends.

It was after the big party, Cookie's baptism (yes, the very same Cookie who started high school this week). We had eaten all the steaks, drunk all the wine, smeared all the cake... and still, we had this cooler that sloshed full with icy water. (And we mean icy -- Steve said he could hardly stick his hand into it to fish out a cold beverage.)

So naturally we decided to plunge our heads into it. One by one.

It made sense at the time.

Wow. Its been a long time.....so lets dive right into this. Quite a bit has changed since my last blog. First, a new zip code for Jen and I. Georgia called and said no one was cooking the sauce on Sunday for eight hours, so we decided it was our duty to immediatally relocate and help spread the gospel of the macaroni. Moving to another state was not quite expensive enough, so we decided it was  a perfect time to adopt a new puppy. Our new addition is named Maddie, and alas she is an English Bulldog. If you refer back to July of 2006, I believe I suggested that the Mastandreas may have evolved from the bulldog....noting the many shared attributes: oversize head, short neck, barrel chest, underbite and amazing appetite. Anyway, Maddie is the first member of a brand new breed...the Barese Bulldog. I've been pressuring Petco to offer a puppy chow made with sausage and broccoli rabe, no luck so far.

I spoke with Dr. Sfingi today and shared with him a conversation I recently had with Jenia and BazzukaJoe. We were discussing the World Cup final score and its impact on my musical choices (I was vacillating between Rammstein and "Dont Cry For Me Argentina") which prompted BazzukaJoe to tell us his reservations about a coworker who revealed to him his underwears sometimes smell like Fritos. You read that correctly..the mans underwear occasionally smells like Fritos. I used to like corn chips. Now I keep imagining reaching into a bag and pulling out a pair of sweaty tightie whities. BazzukaJoe was unfazed by it, simply stating the man's judgement may now be questionable. Anyway, Im starting to doze, so I'm going cut this short tonight, but I will be back tomorrow.

A Time Piece of a Timepiece

Not sure what made me decide to do this, but late this morning I brought my nearly-30-year-old cheap-ass wristwatch back to life -- loaded a new battery, set the time and date, and... turned back the clock.

Yep, I remember getting that watch, down on Broadway, trolling the shops in my then-current state of perpetual broke-ness, looking for a bargain. And there it was: black denim overalls. Just $15. And all purchases that day came with a free wristwatch.

My recollection is a little foggy (heh) but I'm pretty sure that was late summer 1985. I had just quit job number seven of the summer (but was keeping one of the ice cream vendor gigs -- would later sell gelato at a Squeeze concert on the pier, then roasted corn at San Gennaro). School was about to start, and with it would be other jobs: I'd later get a job at the campus publishing office, then late in the year make $200 doing a drug study.

Yeah, it was madness but that's why I always looked for a deal and this was a deal. I got lots of miles out of those overalls; in those days of lax-laundry and commando tactics I think it's fair to say that was one horribly abused piece of clothing -- but it always came back for more.

And the watch -- what a cheap piece of crap. I loved it. Wore it for years. I think at one point the electronic innards got roasted, so I transplanted a working LCD timepiece into it. Super-glued the case. Replaced the strap. The watch was a champ -- it outlived Canal Jean itself (not sure when that store closed -- I think it moved to Brooklyn for a few years before going fully defunct).

Anyway, it's all ancient history. Wristwatches, that is.

All The Who's Down In Whoville

Took down the last of the Christmas lights today -- always a somber duty. But at least we got to do it over the course of an unexpectedly long weekend, given the snows of Thursday night into Friday. So I got to sit back and slurp the last of the eggnog, sip what was left at the bottom of that Frangelico bottle, and eat the final holiday chocolates. Back in the old Brooklyn days, there would still be that box of strouffoli on the counter -- that sticky pyramid, half-eaten, half-wanted, but finally eaten away as the cookie plate ran empty and the moth of January got fully into gear.

Anyway, we took down the tree and living room decorations yesterday. Now the place is boring again. And the weather is getting cold -- we'll be spending some time in the single digits in the next few days. Blowjhinksi.

You know what I need? A nice refreshing cucumber soda.

Ringing Out 2013

Is this healthy? Almost certainly not. But somehow it has become a holiday week tradition here at the Mastandrea North: the New Year Deep Fry.

I much prefer doing this outdoors but for some reason I couldn't get any of my outdoor burners to blast hot enough to defeat the low-20s temps. So after hustling in and out the backdoor over the course of about a half an hour, Cookie and I trundled all the food and gear back into kitchen to do the actual cooking.

I gotta inspect my equipment.

This morning we have another layer of snow outside. Tis the season, I suppose. But it has been a good week off. All that household repair I've been meaning to do? The door-jambs upstairs needing paint? The carpet needing removal? Yeah, I never got near any of it.

Instead, we've been watching lots of bad cinema -- scraping the bottom of the Netflix barrel in anticipation of dropping the now-exhausted service.

Zonbiasu, anyone?