The stinky balloons. One of the best treasures ever to leave Castle 1526 and come to our humble abode. The bags when given to me looked, ancient. Something was very wrong about them. The descriptions on the front of the bags only added to my anxiety about product liability problems. Funny Shapes?!? Ok, this was explained by the crinkle cut french fry looking balloon with the Jackson Pollack design. This was the one that got to me. One of the bags declared that the balloons were "irregular". How can a balloon be irregular? Pretty much its only function is to be inflated. If it cannot inflate, then pretty much it is broken. Irregular is not really an option for balloons.

The balloons were stink. I believed they smelled like a crematorium. Not that I have ever smelled one--it just seems like one would smell like. John told me,matter of factly, they smelled of rubber going bad. I'll admit, I didn't know rubber went bad. Would my car tires eventually stink like that if I left them in Vito's liquor storage cabinet? The other interesting thing was just how much rubber has gone bad on John that he knew that stink.

Besides being stink, the balloons were a hazard. Maybe Joseph a/k/a "Airport Guy" and Vito in a Vodka induced haze believed that these balloons inflated, but everyone we attempted to inflate exploded. The first one I attempted, a crinkle cut french fry styled one, exploded and sent balloon sharpnel almost into my eye. Further attempts were equally unsuccessful. The one I was able to inflate could not be tied as the rubber ripped when knots were attempted.

Equally hazardous was my seating location at the Hair Salon. As I quietly sat getting my hair cut and not sharing any deep dark family secrets, the woman next to me decided she would share this with anyone in listening range: "My sister had babies. Once the babies were born her breasts sagged like those African women's. So she went and got breast implants. She got her husband to pay for them and then she left him and he didnt even get to use them."
I was astounded. All I could think was if that lady's sister was able to hear this, there would be scissors through the lady. Maybe it's me, but I never feel an urge to share highly personal information about relatives to my hair stylist and anyone else that happens to be in ear shot.

Airport Guy is right: I owe the blog a recap of our visit to Castle 1526. There's much to disucuss, but the most interesting piece was already alluded to: ancient ballons were bestowed upon Alane. They were found in the space-time transporter that is otherwise used as a liquor cabinet.

But it wasn't the balloon bag that got my attention first: it was the image of Airport Guy and Vito Stinky Balloons sitting on the circus couch polishing off half a bottle of vodka.

(It's a circus couch because I was sitting on one end when Alane plopped down on the other end; a wooden board that sits loosely under the cushions to keep your ass from falling through to the apartment downstairs teeter-tottered up and damn-near launched me over the 16-lb sack of Odd Job Tootsie Rolls and into the love-seat in the corner.)

Not only would the balloons not inflate -- they stank of rotted rubber. But wow, did they bring back memories.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been alomst a month since I have blogged.

I report from Suffolk County, NY, which is the current home of a flood watch and a winter storm warning. Snow last Sunday kept me from visting Castle 1526 before instructing and snow tomorrow will keep me from visting before I leave. I did learn that Long Island is more beautiful than I had remembered, especially from 10,000 feet. And from sea level at a quality Freeport eatery (if you ever get the opportunity, eat there. I recommend the stuffed lobster tails

I was watching the TV Guide channel on hotel cable a little while ago and I saw that the Aqua Teens would be on in about an hour. That prompted me to call John, who probably didn't want to sleep anyway. Turns out he's holding out on us. He visited Castle 1526 this past weekend and didn't report back to the blog about the balloons. Must have been the shellshock. Or was that battlefield fatigue?

Ellie and I shared a great Valentine's getaway but I was overwhelmed by both of my jobs so I haven't posted about it. Ellie and I celebrate Valentine's Day as our anniversary, and the most recent celebration was our 17th anniversary. We rented a cabin and enjoyed the getaway, especially the fireplace. Romantic dinners were included with the cabin rental. The first dinner was a comedy of errors: the waitress couldn't get anything right, leading to dueling predictions of what she would get wrong next. She did so poorly that we ended up laughing it off. The waitress on the second night did a much better job... to a point. She was prompt, attentive and accurate. In short, she was the perfect foil to the waitress the night before. Perfect, that is, until she served dessert to the couple at an adjacent table. As she leaned over to move the cheesecake from her tray to the table her apron sagged from her scarce bosom. Although the couple did not notice her cheesecake-smeared mammary, we did. And we chuckled over it. Eventually the waitress cleaned the cheesecake off her apron and returned to our table to ask what we wanted for dessert. I resisted the urge to travel the path blazed when Meg Ryan motivated the patron to say, "I'll have what she's having" in When Harry Met Sally. We giggled anyway. The watress looked confused. Don't worry, I tipped her well. It's the Mastandrea way.

Perhaps you had to be there.

The Aqua Teens are on in two minutes. I blame any typographical errors on them.

Honesty is the best policy -- but sometimes that just makes it hard (harder?) to be a Mastandrea. At least as it relates to owning up to one's true motivations.

Today I cancelled my AT&T Universal card -- a Visa account I'd had for about 15 years. Customer service patched me through to a supervisor who tried to talk me out of it. She asked why I was closing the account. I stalled.

It wasn't that I didn't have a reason; I just couldn't clearly remember it. The best I can recollect is this: a while back (a year? more?) I fell behind in my household paperwork and found myself late with my monthly payment (via Internet, of course). I can't remember how late, but in my mind it was only slightly late. Still, I got walloped with a hefty surcharge. I vaguely remember calling to complain, but they were within their rights: I was late and they charged me a late fee.

But it pissed me off -- enough that I resolved to close the account. I just never got around to doing that. Until today. So when the helpful supervisor lady on the other end of the phone asked why I was dropping the card, I suppose I could have been more forthcoming:

"Sometime last year you people pissed me off. I would tell you the details but I don't remember them."

But that wouldn't make sense to a non-Mastandrea. So I made up some line of shit about rewards points.

And I still haven't killed that Discover card account. Those annoying bastards really pissed me off...

I'm off to see Tommy in Bronxville because I need a haircut. I hope to return with hilarious tales. And both earlobes.

They seem to loop Matrix movies in the same way they used to loop the Silence of the Lambs movie. It's on again now. The middle one. I didn't quite believe Bazzukajoe when he declared it a steaming pile of crap -- but now I'm with him. There is a good chase scene. But everything else is talk. And the third one -- all talk. If I want to explore "fate of the gods" stuff, I'll read Homer.

Still, I can't seem to stop watching it.

Speaking of macaroni, it's a little-known fact that while stationed in a Germany in a U.S. Army barrack, Big Vin once constructed a half-scale replica of the Manhattan Bridge using nothing but tubatini. But for his aversion to wagon-wheel pasta, he would have made cars to represent Brooklyn-bound traffic.

No sense crying over spilled macaroni... Or is there?

There's also the inter-disciplinary approach to athletic footwear... and cellphones. Big Kahuna, take note.

Look carefully at the photo that accompanies the New York Post article on yesterday's sneaker riot on the Lower East Side. Can you see a head that's larger than the others? Snatching up the tricked-out skateboarding shoes while the crowd behind him brawls?

I give Big Vin credit -- in and out, nobody gets hurt.