Alane, that was the best challenge I have ever heard anyone pitch. It's genius. Also, Jenia and I got approved for our apartment. We will be moving to Orlando October 21st. Can't wait!! The downfall is that Jenia has the right to do anything he pleases, such as: Crunch on all of the chicken bones he wants. Watch his precious collection of movies starring: Dolph Lundgren, Steven Segal, Arnold, Sly, and his beloved Michael Dudikoff. At any given time of the day or night. Ah, home sweet home.

Today I have thrown down the gauntlet or Hulk Hands if you will. John has left for work carrying a gym bag, not containing work-out gear, but Hulk Hands. I have challenged him to sit on the train all the way to work wearing the hands. (Maybe occasionally hitting them together so they roared) I then wanted him to blog about the subject. Kinda like a anthropological study. I think even he cannot accept such challenge. Although he did once wear a fake bird attached to his jacket--so who knows...

I'm not a Vermouth drinker but today after Cookie got off the bus--I sure could of become one. He gets off the bus and he is crying a little. I could tell he was trying real hard not to. He told me some kid punched him in the stomach real hard. I asked if the miscreant was still aboard the bus and Cookie said yes. So I got on the bus and I told Cookie to point out the turd. (Figuring I would then call the school and if a line-up was needed at a later date I could identify the perp). I get on the bus and Cookie points out the little, and here I would use a WWVS word but since this is a relatively clean spoken blog lets just say the word I'm thinking of sounds alot like rock sucker. Cookie does and the brat says, "Yeah I hit him, but I said I was sorry." Doesn't say Cookie did anything--the monster just felt like punching Cookie and then did. What a friggin' psychopath and the best part of this is the little cretin is a kindergartener too. I see the offender and my first thought (drummed into me through years of feel good psychology), is this kid is neglected, nobody let's a kindergartener look like this. It was dressed and had hair like some kind of teen skanky skate boarder. This somewhat charitable thought was immediately replaced by--you will pay and too bad that you have a horrible life, you picked the wrong kid to vent on. Anyway--got home and immediately called the principal. The principal immediately asks if Cookie and this kid had some kind of beef--I said no Cookie didnt even know the little a**. Anyway the principal is suppose to take care of it first thing tomorrow. As far as I'm concerned they should banish that jerk from the bus. By the way, the bus driver was of no help because he speaks absolutely no english.

On a somewhat happier note, I took the boys to Wheels go Round, a fund raiser for a library in our area. The boys got to climb into all kinds of vehicles--fire trucks, dump trucks, tour buses. They really liked it. More amazingly I entered a raffle and won a brand new Specialized Mountain Bike. The frame is a little big for Cookie, but he will grow into it.

Some small vermouth variations from this particular Mastandrea, yours truly. Unlike Steve, I learned to appreciate vermouth right here at home. Unlike Vin, I get by on the cheap stuff. And while the vermouth certainly does not bother me, I do indeed get stupid.

Since we're talking about cheap stuff, tonight I'm finishing off that jug of Villa Armando red. Yeow.

Strange fact. I went to NY in May and came back drinking Cinzano, Vin goes to Mexico and returns drinking Cinzano. He was also preferential to Cinzano brand we stock at the house over the cheap vermouth they were serving on the boat. Theres something about a taste for Cinzano vermouth that doesn't develop unless a Mastandrea is outside his natural environment.

**Groundbreaking news** The Vinman and Marie just came back from Mexico full of jubilation. They had an incredible time. Most importantly Vin drinks Vermouth now!!! It's been about 2 years since he had any alcohol due to the Bypass Surgery. He had a glass on the cruise, and lastnight had a glass with Steve, and then Jenia. Simply beautiful!
He said, "Yeah, I could drink Vermouth. It doesn't bother me, I don't get stupid".

The dream's significance is quite clear to me. The steak is NOT symbolic, but is in fact THE object of your subconscious affections. Freud believed dreams were a window into an individual's hidden desires... and Vito you secretly desire a nice juicy porterhouse steak. But you're not craving just any steak, but a steak prepared in a culinary wonderland more fantastic than any children's fairytale... Aunt Rosina's Kitchen. This is both healthy and normal... in fact it is every Barese man's fantasy to feast at your grandmother's house. Notice that the beautiful young girl was lying in bed, and instead of climbing in you chose to return to the kitchen to cook the steaks. The primordial urges of your id favor focaccia over la bella faccia.... and for this we couldn't be prouder. I have a recurring dream where I'm lying in bed and feel a bit chilly so pull the covers over me... when I suddenly realize its actually a layer of lasagna and that I'm laying in a tray the size of my queen size bed. I keep thinking to myself "am I the meat or the cheese in here?" And then I start to think "either way if I start eating my way out would that be considered cannabilism?" Usually, I wake up as I feel my toes hanging along the edges of the tray start to turn a crispy brown because if it's an able chef at the helm I'll be coming out of the oven pretty soon. Hey V, you think theres a group discount if we enroll into therapy together?

Making meatballs on Sunday morning is a long and painstaking process. So when the bulk of the work is done and the sauce is simmering and the eight-hour clock starts ticking, I like to reward myself with a meatballl-tasting. Just one -- two if I can't control myself.

And so it was this morning: I dipped my cooking tongs into the big pot and brought out one sauce-covered sphere of happiness. I swung daintily to the table behind me, wanting to place onto the cutting board to cool. I moved quickly to avoid dripping sauce into the floor, but somehow I release the tongs' grip too soon: my hapless meatball fell rolling across the cutting board, down to the chair and off. It bounced off the face of the washing machine and landed on the floor.

And I had thought my work was done for the morning; I was now faced with a philosophical question that has never been asked, much less answered: can a meatball die?

I considered the geography of my kitchen floor -- this meatball had landed in the worst possible neighborhood. On this spot suds overflow Brady-Bunch-like from the washer, fuzz-balls fall mysteriously from stinky laundry, and dishwater splashes regularly from the nearby sink.

I tried to recall what Augustine of Hippo said about the sanctity of the kitchen, only to remember that anything Augustine wrote about the soul of the meatball would certainly have been revised by Aquinas (let's face it, that guy knew how to eat).

Imagine how helpless I felt. ("If a meatball falls in an empty kitchen, and there's no one there to wipe the sauce from where it bounced off the washer...")

Finally my actions were guided by that lesser-known philosopher -- Mike Yee of Purchase, who once announced "God made dirt, dirt can't hurt!" before stuffing some filthy morsel of curry-caked chicken fat into his pie-hole.

I compromised: I washed it first.

Absolutely, Alane, I'll watch your boys...and/or your husband.
Vito, I have a very important question: In your dream, was the microwave sized alarm clocks present in your Grandmother/girlfriend's room? According to the Dream Dictionary, if you see clocks in your dream it means: "Running out of time. Important business news". The latter is pretty funny.
I think you subconsciously prefer someone comforting and familiar to you, that's why Grandma Rose was so prominent. It's what you've always known and felt at ease with, you don't wanna lose your sense of self.
Heck, I'm aspiring to be your Grandmother.

I need to try the patch. I never remember any of my dreams. Sometimes thats probably a good thing. I think you really subconciously want your girl to be like like your grandma. Which while a weird though, knowing your actions in belmar, would not be bad. She is always feeding every person that walks trhrough the door. She has the cleanest house i have ever seen. I think we all secretly want someone like aunt rosina to take care of us. I mean look how happy uncle lenny is all the time. I think your right though about the hot outside cold inside thing though. As for your dad. Well thetre is no one like your dad. He has to be the funniest guy around weather intentional or not. I knew when you guys came over in S.I. that it was gonna be a funny night. Anytime you get Big V and Gagalia in a room you know you will laugh. BUT we laugh with Big V and laught AT Gagalia. He always had some interesting words he used. - your an 88- babababbaba-in and out-shtrimpps
I miss those nights. So i hear your trip to south beach was amusing did you come home with any big sunglasses?

So my mom and dad are on a cruise ship. We know not the planned course it will take. What we do know is Big Vin has his wheels and is the master of his domain. He very often goes off on his own with his new found freedom. My last conversation with THE Mother was regarding thier as still unkown destination. She told me Big Vin went on his own in the Hard Rock Casino and actualy won $200. Its reallly nice to see the laugh back. We had not seen it in a while. He can finally look shop and go where he wants to go. I think he need a box to speak out loud for him when people get in his way. Something like the the Jackie Mason one the we recieved so long ago from uncle vito.

Alane - you are surrounded by mastandrea men. You have earned your wings. When you guys come down to fl. you and John should go out one night.. I am sure that Marlena- Ree-Steve and myself can watch the men for you.

Here's how it works most mornings: Cookie and I leave together and walk around the block to where the school bus stops. When it arrives, he gets on and I then proceed to the train station down the block -- usually just in time to catch the 8:12 to Grand Central.

And so it was this morning. Cookie climbed aboard his bus and I watched him take a seat by the window; I waved goodbye and started walking to the corner. The bus rolled by me and stopped at the red light, so I got to pass it again as I got to the corner. Being verbal, Cookie was engaged in animated conversation with the kid next to him so he didn't see me. I crossed Main Street. Behind me, the light changed and the bus made its turn. I looked over my shoulder and saw through the bus window a giant head -- Cookie was looking at me with that 100,000-watt smile of his, and I waved as his bus roared up Main Street.

So I got in the train with a smile on my face.

But after I got off the train I had to wonder: why does Sixth Avenue smell like olive oil? I've been noticing it for the last few days as I walk to the office. I can't really explain it. The smell disturbs me: no part of Sixth Avenue should ever smell like anything I dip bread into. I even checked the playbill at Radio City as I passed -- nope, no engagements featuring Broadway Joe. So still the odor goes unexplained.

I would like to add a slight clarification if you will, of John sleeping on the couch. He left the impression that this was somehow due to his alcohol consumption and by extension my unwillingness to deal with him. However, the truth is when he phoned to tell me he was running late (and of course this is the one night he did not have his house keys), I asked if he would sleep on the couch. I told him that he was quite welcome to the bed but Mojo was sleeping there. Mojo was sleeping in our bed because the night before when it was Cookie's turn to sleep on the bottom bunk, Cookie caused more local flooding. Because we do not have normal matresses on the bunk bed, we do not have those great plastic covers for the matress to protect from such occurences. Thus, when Mojo went to lie down to go to sleep, the bed still was damp. There was no way he could lie that would not make him touch the urine soaked matress and get wet. So I put him on our bed, where I was so fortunate as to get to share the bed with the kicking mule, a drunken John would have been preferable.

Yes, Vito, that was indeed vivid. I'm going to ask Geekette to stand over you with a pail of water (because I love the pail of water idea, and now intend to employ it as a behavior-enhancer -- at home, and maybe at the office).

So Big Vito doesn't acknowledge expiration dates? Could we have known that when he opened up the cherry liqueur that had been in Marie's kitchen for almost 30 years, drank the syrup and ate the ancient cherries? I remember that bottle from when I was a kid. I bet he had vivid dreams that night.

Alane, you bring back memories of raising children that make me glad mine are grown and all of us survived. I am proud of you for hanging in there and not hiding under the bed while the world floated away around you (metaphorically speaking.)I have never had the washer overflow, but I have had the pump quit with the washer full of water and had to bail it out. . .I sympathize with you on the amount of work it was.

I always told my kids I was going for the title of "World's Meanest Mother" although I am sure I was much more lenient than my parents were. . .

You both can be proud of the kids' linguistic skills even when one of them puts his voice to work in a hollaring fit. I used to chant to myself to keep my sanity that God or Mother Nature or whomever was in charge that gave my kids their personality traits did so for a reason. . .reminding myself that every trait has both a positive and negative, i.e., the kid is tenacious, the kid is stubborn; the kid is talented in debate, the kid was born arguing with a sign post. . .the kid has a great linguistic skills, the kid chatters incessantly. . .the kid that asked why incessantly about everything turned out to be a doctor at Johns Hopkins. . .(fortunately I let her live long enough to get there). . .I haven't found a flip side for colic, though. Man, that was awful with nothing to redeem it! I fell asleep one night while the oldest was colicky and dropped her on the floor. And of course, I still have a tiny nagging corner of my mind where I harbor guilt for that!

My kids never threw a tantrum probably because they had seen me dump a pail of water on the cat for climbing on the screen door and they figured I might do the same to them if they misbehaved. I totally stunned three kids that day!

In re: Rita's trip through Florida
Glad the snack food, in whatever quantity, is in good order. I hope the cruise is a pleasant one, even if not the one planned. . .I have always secretly wanted to go on a cruise, but am afraid I might be hanging over the rail green about the gills the whole trip.

Every year I throw a few bucks toward Xavier High School -- recognition for how well they treated me way back when. My reward this year: I reception at Moran's, a fine old neighborhood bar in Chelsea. I just got back. Wow. Or, as Vito would say, "WoOow!"

Mingled for a while with w few folks, then fell in with Messrs. Gori ('82), Weatherall ('82), and Sheehan ('66). Ancient yarns were spun. Much wine flowed. Many tales were told and celebrated. Yes: celebrated. The donor reception ended so we moved out to the bar and drank even more. I'm totally in the bag; on the long, lonely train ride home, I almost felt like Party Girl. We visited all topics tonight: everything from the X-Squad to the Central Park Jogger fiasco. And the drinks kept coming (how many drinks do I owe Gori by now?).

Next year, I'm raising my contribution.

And tonight, I'm sleeping on the couch.

Did I mention? Cookie lost another tooth this week.

Just think alane if it were john in your place how would that have turned out? I don't think as well. You would have come home and john and the men would have rode the wave out into the garden like surfers. Bubbles overflowing from your windows. i admire your stubborn mastandreaness with the lollipop. Maybe you have been hanging around our family too long. I too went to the Gym today and climbed 35 flights on the stairclimber. I am preparing for a visit to hester street.
I hear the snacks are all accounted for in Jupiter Farms. In Jupiter however snack are only a name. The actual package very often says Mega or Super or Family Size. Colossal Costco sizes are the way to go for hunkering down supplies. My dad made sure to tell me that there is plenty of food if anything happens. You see they will not be home for the rest of the week as they will be on a cruise ship headed for Cozumel. Yes Cozumel is in Mexico. We are trying to figure what route the ship will take to avoid the enormous category 5 creating 20 - 30 foot swells in the Gulf of Mexico. I am sure they will have fun. i am just not sure they will go to mexico.

This is how pathetically bad my day was today--I was thinking to myself--now I understand the Boomtown Rats not liking Monday--which would be fine except today is Tuesday.

I get to the gym and am thankful that I get a month free so I dont have to pay to torment myself. I was looking forward to trying the cool little gadget that John gave me to use that plays MP3's. This is a very tiny device--with very few buttons. I pressed every single one of them and could not see the light go on that meant it was operational. I assumed it was the battery and put it down in disgust, having to endure two miles on the treadmill and another 15 minutes on the elliptical with no music. Later at home, John explained to me that you have to hold the button down until the light comes on.

After the gym and already feeling pretty miserable due to it being my first day back in about two months and having to endure without music, I pick up Joseph from nursery school. We stop at the little cafe on the way out and Mojo picks out a Ring Pop. However, he then decides that this is not the flavor he wants (a favorite activity of Mojo's-pick something than complain about the choice). He requests another flavor and I deny this request. This did not sit well with Mr. Mojo who reverted to Mr. Furious days and screamed as though I was skinning him alive. (This is of course in front of pretty much his entire class thereby ruining any chance for playdates for him for the year). He continues to scream at high levels as I carry him out of the building. By this point his teachers, the directors of the pre-school and his swim instructor has witnessed this meltdown of titanic proportions. I get him outside and he then clings to a light post because he wants to go back into the building and get the Ring Pop. The answered remained the same-NO. I manage to finally get him home and into the house. He calms down.

I then start to do the laundry-a task that never ends. I come back into the kitchen after checking that Mojo is still under control and I now have a Brady Bunch laundry flood in my kitchen--bubbles and all. So now, I'm trying to suck up the New Orleans after the levee break that is my kitchen. I finally get the mess almost under control--oh and did I happen to mention that Mojo insisted he "help" by mopping? Just as I believe that I have gotten it all done, I hit the kitchen table and syrup and orange juice from breakfast comes tumbling down. At this point I want to weep just like Jesus wept.

The only somewhat positive note of the day was I went to a Back to School night at Cookie's school. I stopped to ask the teacher how he was doing as he was scared of her prior to school starting. The teacher told me that he is a bright little boy and very verbal. Which of course led me to say, yeah he talks non-stop. She said no, she meant he puts his thoughts together well. I still think she meant he is a chatter box but hey it was more positive then anything else that happened today. I believe that tomorrow will be a much better day cuz I cant do another day like today.

Joe and I are watching your weather down there in Jupiter. . .are the snack food and chips secure?

The moon is out, and it's throwing some strong light. It's lighting up the remaining flowers in the front garden. It's clear and the air is cooler and drier than it's been. So I sat outside for a while (on the front step, "like a mook," as I tell the boys) after waking up from my couch-slumber. There's nothing on television, despite my having about 300 cable channels. So now I'm back inside, having opened that giant jug of Villa Armando red wine I bought today at Stew Leonards wine shop. I went there with Guido today to purchase said jug along with a bottle of Creme de Cacao -- which tastes appallingly like spiked Hershey syrup and nothing like what we drank from grandma's tiny shotglasses at holiday gatherings many many years ago.

As usual, Guido and I shopped for liquor that no one else wants -- I can't find website links to either brand of crap we bought today. This is the same Internet that has site devoted to photos of people's dogs, their paper clip collections, and favorite bowel movements. Still, no Villa Armando. But we drink it.

Kind-a reminds me of college, when Guido drove to White Plains with Mike Yee, walked into a neighborhood liquor store and explained to the shopkeeper their intention to buy "the dustiest bottle you got in the store."

They returned to the dorm with a big awful bottle of Coco Mist. That stuff doesn't even exist today... except as a tanning solution.

Publix rocks. I can spend hours there, strolling the aisles, contemplating the baked good and eye-balling the well-lit pork-chops. Around here I enjoy Stew Leonard's but only when it's not crowded. Walking through Stew's when it's crowded is mega-blowjhinski. Piggly-Wiggly could be a complete shit-hole and I'd still like it because of its excellent name (didn't Kris Kross once rap about something being "piggly-wiggly-whack"?). There's a Whole Foods in Manhattan at Columbus Circle. I walked there at lunch time a few weeks ago and bought a small container of figs. They were very nice. I think that cost me about $12.

Today Steve, Jenia and I went out for dinner together. We decided to get out of Palm Beach County and go north to Stuart. (About as fun as the name, but quite a delight). Gas was about 12 cents cheaper! We found ourselves at Bono's BBQ something, and we loved it. They sold fried okra, but we went with the creamed corn nuggets. They were a scream. The cops came in investigating some young Spanish locals, and then we were off, back to good old Jupi. Our conversations just kept rolling, but the most interesting was about supermarkets. Steve mentioned that NY supermarkets are filthy, and when visiting FL, he was amazed at the miraculous upkeep. It's true, Publix is beautiful, Winn-Dixie and Albertson's are okay too. I was thinking of some NY supermarkets that I miss: Shop Rite, Pathmark, and King Kullen (Aunt Barbara: Holla). I don't miss Waldbaum's , the name is rather ethnic, I don't miss Acme or Grand Union because it required you to take a flea dip after you left, or any of the various stores with the word Food in it. (Food Lion, Key Food, etc.) Just not original enough, also requiring you to takes stairs or an elevator. Not practical with an overstuffed cart. (Except Whole Foods, I adore that place.)
My friend Christine went to school in Rochester and loves Wegman's.
In Nashville I enjoyed PiggliWiggli, in Russia I liked Pyatichka (Literally means five) and Lenta. (Not to be confused with Yenta or Lentil). They play fun music while you shop and outside. The cashiers sit, and all products are scanned by a super-virtuo-techno computer, that lists everything about the item. And we thought Russia was backwards. Drawback is you won't find anything Italian or edible, and you often have to pay for bags, and that just skinks like yesterday's diapers.
What stores do you guys miss? Bohacks, Packers...

I recently noticed yet another strange trend in this house: the stockpiling of breakfast cereals. I guess know how we got to this point. The boys eat the stuff dry throughout the morning: Froot Loops, Gorilla Munch, Cinnamon Swirls, others. And when I swore off cheese-danish a few years ago I made a habit of eating Kashi or raisin bran each morning -- in soy milk no less (how pathetic is that?). Sometimes I help myself to Apple Jacks. And Alane eats thse strange Mini Wheat with filling n the center. Nasty.

Anyway, now we have boxes and boxes of cereal sitting across the top of the refrigerator and much of the top shelf of our kitchen shelving. Sure, it's nice to have variety -- but sometimes you can't find a place to store a can of tomatoes for all the amber waves of grain we're warehousing.

Maybe I'll start calling the boys "Quisp" and "Quake" (they need new nicknames anyway, since they no longer answer to "Uday" and "Qusay").

Wow, I can actually hear Marie's voice when I read that last post.

A few months ago, Cookie did some fraggin' in Quake. He'll use the rocket-launcher but is partial to the plasma gun. In fact, if I remember correctly, after clearing the arena he stood on top of the coffee table and announced:

"This victory has strengthened the soul of Astaroth!"

Or am I remembering something else?

Friggin' or frigging was a word pioneereed by my mother Marie. It can be used as noun or adjective in the following ways:
"One more friggin' pin and I would've had a strike!"
"Did you see that frig just cut me off?"
"Ravioli is always so friggin' heavy"
"You know Joey, you got a friggin' thick head!"
"Man, that hurt like a frig"

Theres quite a few "words" my parents used that I'm not sure actually exist. Sometimes my father would get surprised by something and he'd exclaim "Ottso!" It always made me laugh, maybe because its so close to Otto...and otto is always funny.

Fraggin' or fragging was originally used in Vietnam to mean killing your superior officer in 'friendly fire' so to speak with a fragmentation grenade. It was popularized in the Doom and Quake games to mean a gory killing with a Big F***ing Gun (BFG). We used to get together and play Doom, Quake, Rise of the Triad and other multi-player games where we shot each other up. . .I oftened told them 'you only frag the ones you love.' I think I might have been a weird mom. Cool, but weird.

Many of my Quaker Friends oppose all games that have an element of violence whether it is cops and robbers with toy guns, or green army men and G.I. Joe.

I was always concerned that this type of play would lessen their resistance to violence, so I did a lot of preaching about the difference between game characters and real people. I hope I got the message through about the difference between play and reality. . .I probably did since they rolled their eyes every time they heard me step up to the soap box.

Big Vin should have his action/adventure game where the player journies through time and space trying to collect enough elusive songs to fill his 750 CD Changer . The player can score additional points and lives by collecting as many flags, pinwheels, and sneakers before time runs out. Each level has a different supervillain which must be defeated to advance. Villains such as: "The Lawn Guy", Steve Thompson aka "The Builder", and Dr. Magania.
Marie has a game where the object is to prepare a Thanksgiving Dinner for 50 in the alotted amount of time using only one Hyundai to transport the groceries and still finish your nursing reports. Its alot like the old Atari game "Kaboom". I'm imagining any game that takes place in Castle 1526 would be reminiscent of the the dungeon scenes in Super Mario Bros. In fact I think it would now be hard to visit there without that hypnotic music running through my head.

I think uncle philly would have the power to stuff a breast pocket to capacity. Come to think of it uncle vito is pretty good at that too. The Brothers Fatone have the power to throw flatulence at will. I wonder if the size of my head could be used for the good of all mankind.
I am watching Weird US and they are in Gibsonton. Carnie Capital of the U.S.

I have a question:
What does Fraggin my kids mean?

Thanks, Alane. I read up on the Game Cube a bit before I wandered in to the store and still I felt that I was behind the digital divide when it came to the memory cards.
The major deciding factor was that it was 'easy to play' for kids just starting out. . .and that Sonic the Hedgehog was available since it was the family favorite.
I know that there are much more serious game systems out there. . .and, if I were gaming, I would probably want something that had more versatility. However, since Joe-maha had carpal tunnel surgery and I had 'Nintendo thumb' surgery, I think we are better off not getting in to the games again.
I didn't want to give up our 'systems integrity testing' and pizza nights with the gang or fraggin' my kids on our annual Mother's Day tournament. . .but alas, I had no choice.

I'm impressed to hear that Ellie was willing to confront the land of gaming systems. I find the whole thing overwhelming. Between the different systems and all the accessories I feel I need a course in order to even walk into some place that sells them. I look at the game controllers and get confused--could you possibly need all those buttons? I'm glad to hear that GameCube is good for the boys. When looking at the different games offered, GameCube offered the all important Sonic. Most of the other games looked good for kids their age.

Mojo started the "Real 4's" today. He was most excited about the whole thing. He finally was able to go off to school just like Cookie. I'm so glad that he started. He was wandering around here depressing me. Nothing was fun since Cookie was in school. Everything was boring. Mojo was out doing Morrisey in the depressive nature category.

Cookie has been in school a scant 4 days and already I have been suckered into making cookies for meet the principal night. Even more amazing, 2 days into school, a fund raiser pack was sent to me. I would much rather just give them a $ 100 donation and call it a day. No one needs this stuff--wrapping paper, assorted nasty looking candy, etc. all at ridiculously high prices.

I think that my games would have to include some kind of Siege game played out at Castle 1526 and another where the goal is to collect the most odd cast of characters and have them all over for dinner.

Funny to see Bazzukajoe mentioning He-Man -- because right now I'm wearing He-Man and Masters of the Universe boxer shorts. Had 'em on under my office attire yesterday; I think it gives me a competitive edge.

My game character would have the power to wield overwhelming cheese-stink at will. His name would be Fortunato.

"I got the power!"

Gamecube is an excellent choice for the younger novice player. The games are geared toward thier age group. My cousin Nikoles is very game crazy and into THE CUBE. However if my cousin Joe is looking for some interesting game play he should think about XBox or PS2. I think he would be interested in HALO 2. It can be played over your IP against anyone anywhere. I am not sure if Grand Theft Auto is his style. I have that for PS2.
I think we should get into the game business. Imagine a game that requires you to make the perfect meatball and stir the sauce to perfection. I don't know.
Any ideas.
And is there anyone still pondering the screenplay as much as i am. I am intrigued. I was thinking superhero flick. With very unique heroes and powers. Like a man with the power to make you put up christmas lights by telling you not to. No too limited. How about a manscaped he man with the power to make you smell pleasant. How about the power to grow hair at an alrmingly fast pace.

I found myself on the wrong side of the digital game divide this morning! It's been years since we followed every gaming development, even subscribing to gaming magazines. I did enjoy visiting with the young man who guided me through the maze of add-ons and had fun chatting with him about the "old dinosaur days" . . .I refrained from saying "Pong" since I was pretty sure that to the clerk, "Super Nintendo" made me a dinosaur. . .let alone the "original Nintendo."

The game cube [bundled with 2 games, 2 controllers, 1 skin] plus a 32mb memory card is on the dining room table waiting for packing materials. The Nebraska Claus Helpers' group will probably utilize the US postal system in lieu of a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

I drove over to Iowa to find it since supplies were apparently so limited that their store didn't even get this bundled package but graciously made a bundle up for us by adding the additional controller, game and skin to a different bundled game cube they just were unpacking. [Hence the need for packing materials to put all the component packages together.]

The store received 2 game cubes in their pre-Christmas allotment and neither were for this promotion.

I was grateful that he told me that memory cards were sold separately and didn't show disdain that I was obviously on the wrong side of the digital game divide. I wish I could upgrade --my-- memory for $19.99!

Nintendo help files about the memory cards below:
memory card

Back from Orlando, have some apartment prospects, now all I need is for some employer, any, to get back to me. This weekend we went to Paisano's for pizza. Janine ordered these pies: 2 pepperoni, 2 cheese, 1 sicilian, and one (Jenia's exact orders) "with everything that they have, except anchovies and pepperoni". And that was indeed what we got. There was Uncle Joe, Aunt Phyllis, Janine, Joey, Kelly, Whitney, Briahna, Nikoles, Jenia and myself. Joey and Jenia ate 6 slices, that's kind of low, I guess they were having an off day. Surprisingly, the everything pizza was quite a hit with Whitney and I.
OH, and Joey's wife, Kelly, dunks pizza in soda.
I nearly vurped bile twice at the instance of her getting an additional glass of soda for the pizza to soak in. I was used to clearing off plates that have crumbs and oil on them, not a syrup juice. This is worse than that time my friend Nicole ate chocolate with ketchup on it. (She's Swiss).

Cookie has gone video-game crazy, talking incessantly about whatever is the latest screen challenge Sonic is trying to clear. Maybe if he and Mojo are real good this year Santa will bring them a gaming console that isn't 15-years old (in fact, I hear Santa is already working on that).

We got the school calendar. Looks like the energy-conservation, winter-break whatever-they-call-it week off is the last full week in February. So we're going to look at airfares because we gotta get our sorry selves down to Spumoni South.

Don't want to book tickets too early, though. You never know which airline will be bankrupt by then. I'd drive... but then I'd need that spine surgery for sure.

I hve seen my name butchered on quite a few occasions. I once got a letter from College of Staten Island that was sent to
Master Andrea. I also had a teacher that called me mastandreawitz. He said it was my name in hebrew. I also for some reason always get refered to as Jerry at work.


I beieve cooking is a mandatory requirement for women at least for italian men to have an interest. This does not mean that they are required to cook every night but i believe it is more a sign of the femininity. Or maybe thats just me.

Deranged Turk searches Internet for footage of broccoli rabe aftermath; instead finds Nino, spider monkeys, and homemade limoncello.

Before taking Jenia to any pizzeria, it is advisable to call ahead:

"Fire up the ovens, you bastards. We're coming to clean you out!"

Just don't get rowdy like they did at this restaurant. Fortunately, it was just Olive Garden food being flung about; no real meatballs were hurt in the melee.

Merl, when I visit your apartment I'm going ot pack my overnight supplies in a bag the size of a change-purse. The WWII-era gas-mask pouch that I used to carry has since fallen apart; alas I now travel with real luggage -- though I've been known to travel with no luggage at all.

There's a good possibility I won't blog this weekend. Jenia and I are going apartment hunting in Orlando. We know where we're looking, but my cousin Janine is going to come with us because she's a real local, and knows a lot of good gossip about the city. For instance: "Don't go to that complex, there was this guy who lived in apartment 5C, nobody saw him for a month, and when the rent was way overdue, the landlord found him facedown in the toiletbowl wearing a skort made of Kotex and sunflower butter on every toenail." (That's not an actual quote, but you get the jist.)
So Janine asked Jenia if there was anything else and his only request was that we stop at a "really really good" pizzeria sometime during the weekend. As Joey would say, "the man has his priorities."

I never made the mental connection to Kaos/Control. But now that you've planted the thought in my head, I'm sure to never banish it (sort of like when Joe-maha IM'ed me this week to tell me Bob Denver had died, putting the Gilligan's Island theme song in my head for the rest of the day -- the bastard).

I had the usual last name experience. And the Valentine's Day cards of my early youth were often enough addressed to "Jhon." It wasn't until very early 2000 that Miranda Bongers in Amsterdam decided to call me Johnny -- after being told that my name was not "Sean" as she had been referring to me.

Not more than a month ago, at a meeting at a pre-eminent law firm in NYC, I was introduced as John Mastroianni.

Excellent, I thought. I always wanted to be in a Fellini film. (And have occasionally deluded myself into thinking I was.)

I don't have trouble with people spelling my name. . .I have trouble with people believing it is really "Smart." Then come the Maxwell Smart, Agents 86/99, Cone of Silence and other Get Smart comments. . .

I will confess to being a fan and even having a fan site or two bookmarked as favorites. . .including:
Would You Believe

Once they have had a laugh or two or told me about how sexy Barbara Feldon was/is, they ask me if I am smart like my name.

I received a pleasant call on Tuesday and the caller asked me how I was handling Tropical Depression #16 (which is not be confused with Love Potion #9 or Mambo #5) . I thought I was very clever when I replied "It's just all so so...sad". Ironically, the weather has been quite nice the last day or so. So I've decided the Tropical Depression, which has since developed into a lovely young storm by the name Ophelia merits its own mixtape. 1. Sadness Pt. 1 by Enigma 2. Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now by The Smiths 3. Sour Times (Nobody Loves Me) by Portishead 4. Cryin' by Roy Orbison 5. Here Comes The Rain Again by The Eurythmics 6. Brandy by The Looking Glass I also offer a final question to the masses: Could the perfect woman really be the perfect woman if she doesn't cook? Shakespearean tragedies were never so sad. Think Ill go listen to my tape.

I just spoke to my wonderful friend, Suzie. She lives in Gainesville, which is about 4+ hours north of Spunomi South. Upon graduating from her Zoo Keeper program a few weeks ago, she has landed a job that she absolutely loves. It's only been 3 days and already she tends to antelope, Giant Eland, Gerenuk, Kudu, feeds baby cheetahs, and juvenile roan antelope.
When she was still attending the program, she took me on a personal tour and knew all of the spider monkeys. Fascinating.

They should bring back the busmaid position. My aunt, MaryLou, was a busmaid, and my aunt Phyllis was a bus driver. Fortunately, I still remember this pretty vaguely. I'm not sure if it was only on days I didn't have school, or if I was in pre-school, something weird. My mother would drop me off at the Fatone residence all dressed, and I would go to work with them. It seemed like in between shifts, because there were rarely kids on the bus. One of my Aunt MaryLou's tasks were to gather any belongings off the bus, after students got off, and to deliver them to the office.
Cookie would have no problem if they brought back the busmaid position.
Oh, and by the way, I'll take any botched up version of my lastname. No one, and I mean no one, even tries to pronounce it. I get, "Marlena V-something", or "The really long Russian named person", or "What is this name?" I have to guess when they are calling to sell me timeshares or calling roll that that is me. Come on people, you're all pussies. If I see a big name I take it as a challenge and try my best to not only say it, but learn how to spell it. Christ, both of my last names are phonetic. To my old friends, Tiffany Sciaccatano and Kevin Sontschaiwanicz, this Perone's for you!

Cookie triumphed easily today, treating a lifetime milestone as just another speed bump beneath his bicycle wheels. Kindergarten was no problem. Though he did forget his Hot Wheels lunchbox on the schoolbus this morning. Poor guy. A teacher bailed him out and hooked him up with some cafeteria food. Grilled cheese.

What, no mortadella?

I was reading Alane's post and was magically transported back to the 1st day of....well every grade, actually. Inevitably, (and remember in Junior High and High School you can do this eight times in one day) my teacher would read aloud : "Stephanie Mast-aaaan-dorea? Which was inevitably followed by my loud, annoyed monosyllabic correction, "Steve.". Later in life I learned there was a legitimate explanation for the recurrence; the last name comes first on the roll sheet and there is only a limited amount of space so what was actually on the sheet was "Mastandrea, Steph" What I find really shocking is is no one has yet mentioned the senseless and painful mangling of our ancestral surname. I have more academic awards with my name misspelled than I do correct. And these are just a few:
1. Mastendrea or Mastrandrea (these are the old standards)
2. Mastanora
3. Masterini
4. Hastandrea
5. Nastandrea
6. Mustandera
and the worse mangling ever award goes to the principal of Tottenville High School where the entire school of 6000 students heard the winner of the Award Excellence in AP American Government was "Stephen Masta--eh Masta--hana-fana." I was unfortunately seated next to Mark Ward who laughed so hard and so long he cried. And every so often Ill receieve a voice mail from him for "Steve Massanahanna". And they wonder why I'm mentally scarred.

I shall politicize no more, forever. It's giving people too much agita. As Don Vito once said, probably at an inappropriate moment: "Don't shit where you eat." Another entry in the Disputations of Vito, a document that will one day reside in the canon alongside the speeches of Cicero.

Cookie made it off to school this morning with any tears (unless you count those of Alane, who seems to think our Bart Simpson has suddenly become a Dickensian waif being sent off to the factories of London). We eagerly await his after-action report.

Let's just hope he's not in his classroom right now quoting Don Vito.

I'm sorry if anyone saw the original post. I'm still here. And I hope that Ellie can be here, too.

I'm calmer now. I'm happy for the opportunity to interact with our family here. I thank John for hosting the forum, and working to keep it going.

Names are a funny thing. I could never be sure what my father would call me but it was always interesting. He on occassion called me Henry. My grandma however always called me Harry. Maybe she wanted that to be my name. Thank god good taste prevailed. Merle is a rather odd derivation of Marlena. My moms name was always Mare, like a horse. An for quite some time i badgered my mother till she conceded to not ever call my brother SteFan his name is steve. I have recently heard that i am beiing addressd as JoSephora. My cousin attempted to call me at work asking for me by that name.

I make my return to the blog after a virus reduced my running system to a very large clock. Its only correct running function. I have repaired it though and now sport an increased veil of security and i am loving the firefox. its much better than Explorer and less vulnerable. I was forced to reformat my hard drive because a cleaner program removed all corrupt files and i guess they were important. I lost some music but all is better.

In reference to Merlee and her fish. That was horrendous. She put a whole fish scales head and all in the microwave for 10 minutes. Better you put a nice BRUNZ in there it would smell better. It still smellled better than the Jamaican ladies with thier shoes and socks off and feet propped up on the table. There were many odd activities that went on at Victory Memorial. There were many strange people I would come in at 7am and go in the lounge to have coffee. The little Vietnamese overnight nurse would walk by and say" Time to make the donuts.." and go in the the bathroom on 3west . I once went in after her and i found footprints on the toilet seat. Bizaare.

It has been years since I've been able to say this, but tonight... is a school night. Yikes. Just put the boys to bed and we're looking forward to an interesting morning as we dress up our little man, hang a backpack on his shoulders, put a Hot Wheels lunchbox in his hand, and put him on a schoolbus.

Exciting. Expect photos.

I'm sorry to find out my wife is uncomfortable with her given name. Fortunately, I maintain a vast inventory of alternatives.

Names are a funny thing. My name is a pain to have. No one ever pronounces it right. I remember being in grade school and dreading the first roll call. I could almost guarantee my name would be mispronounced (which never made sense to me because after all they were teachers and should have recognized a silent "e"). Inevitably, my name would be called as Allan. At which point I would want to make the silent "e" point but would keep quiet because I figured it wouldnt be a good beginning to a school year.

The all time worst pronounciation of my name came when I moved to New York. My boss at Customs told everyone that my name was-- here is attempt at phoentics--AL (like the name)-LAN (like the network)-EE (long E). Which made my soon to be friend Jason think I was perhaps Hawaiian. My boss had equally botched my last name.

Although, al-lan-ee was about the most ridiculous pronounciation ever, it never bothered me as much as when people called me Elaine. I hate that name. Seldom would I bother to correct people but when the dreaded Elaine was called I was quick to state my name was Alane, often going into the explanation "like you walk down a lane."

Some people have never gotten my name straight--say like certain father-in-laws-but at least they call me Alana which I can stomach. I always kinda liked my name because it wasnt prone to nicknames. Indeed, until I entered the working world I never had a nickname derived from my name. Then I became Alaner to one of my close friends and Laney to another.

When I told my brother Joe we had named Joseph, Joseph he said, "I always hated my name." So there is my ramble on the name thing...

John has often called me Merle, pronounced as the country singer. Strangely if my mother read this she would pronounce it Merl-lee, like her dear Vietnamese nurse friend. Merle used to reheat fish in the lounge kitchen and consequently stink up the place. Joey has sniffed that on more than one occasion, being the Victory Memorial transporter that he used to be. Could be why he chose a career in fragrances.

When I was a little bitty thing I used to long for a cooler name. It's very funny how distorted my ideas of coolness were. Here are some of the names I tried to convince my mother that I was better off with: Robin, Samantha, Arielle (with that spelling), and Rebecca. My mother was never fazed by this, and told me that one day I'd grow to like my name better than the ones I had chosen. I just now found out what was in common with these names... they are all Hebrew. I look a little Rivkaish too, so I've been told. Maybe it's my destiny.

Spaghetti with Matza Balls and Kefir cheese, maybe I could make it happen. Not that I'd eat it, but Jenia would, no doubt. I'm becoming a bigger ball of culture with every passing minute.

I was just consolidating and packing up our belongings, since our goal is to move into an apartment next month. Trying hard to be the minimalist that I desire to be, Jenia and I have only a dozen boxes. We haven't tackled our storage bin yet. The horrendously overpriced moist shitbin that we have contains dinnerware of all kinds, linens, a bed frame, a table, and other basics I can't fit into a box. Damn!
Maybe I'll try to donate those items as well. My main goal in life is to possess only enough goods to fit into John's army green halfpack, boxing glove keychain included.

Oh, I never answered Airport Guy's question. Gas here is about $3.25/gal. More at some places. The mortadella was $4.99/lb. Boar's Head. And the juice-boxes I piked up today (also for Cookie's Hot Wheels lunchbox) was unit-priced at $6.32/gal. For 100% fruit juice. Supposedly.

Just got back from grocery shopping. One of the items on the list: lunchmeat. Yes, school starts in exactly two days, and Cookie will expect to find a little-sumthin' in that Hot Wheels lunchbox of his...

The instruction was to get ham. Which I got. But I also saw they were having a special on mortadella. I haven't eaten that stuff in years, so I got half a pound. Unable to control myself, I opened it as soon as I got home. Very tasty! Alane was disgusted. I took it into the living room where the boys were watching television. I gave a slice to Mojo. He followed me back to the kitchen, wanting more, exclaiming "I love it!"

Go figure... Mojo likes mortadella.

(I'm sure it helps that I told him the big white fat globules were marshmallows.)

Ever notice how we refer to each other by multiple nicknames -- sometimes in the same message? Casual readers must think we have a cast of thousands here. There's an Airport Guy, a Joe-maha, and a Joe Nebraska. He's Steve, he's Frylock. She's Marlena, she's Merle, she's more. He's Cookie, he's John Paul, he's Da Chimp. He's Vin-Man, he's Kahuna... and now he's Professor Xavier.

Brandi once requested a scorecard, I was getting her so confused. Maybe if we start calling her names she'll post something to this blog!

Actually, Airport Guy's comments have helped me to pinpoint what's bothering me about this whole fingerpointing affair. And it's not so much about actual emergency procedures -- Joe-maha is the expert on that, not me. My beef is this: opportunists are going to use this situation to expand federal power.

Airport Guy is mistaken. I did not insinuate that Bush called Blanco to urge evacuation (that would be an injustice!); I explicitly said it happened. Of course, I wasn't there to witness it -- I need to rely on media accounts.

The money-quote from a Bloomberg article:

Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco said U.S. President George W. Bush ``asked me to please ensure that there's a mandatory evacuation of New Orleans.'' [snip] Bush signed a emergency declaration for Mississippi this morning, after a similar declaration yesterday for Louisiana, freeing up federal disaster aid.

Or, from an AP story carried on August 28th by the Times-Picayune website:

Gov. Kathleen Blanco, standing beside the mayor at a news conference, said President Bush called and personally appealed for a mandatory evacuation for the low-lying city, which is prone to flooding.

All of this proves... nothing, really. I wasn't there to overhear the high-level phone calls or read the inter-agency directives. But there's some gale-force finger-pointing raging among newspeople and politicians. And there are some truly vile accusations being tossed about. Ray Nagin did lots of finger-pointing this week, and that's what makes the parked-bus photos so... interesting.

That said, I hope the sauce didn't scorch -- it sure doesn't help to have this type of blog-jousting raising temperatures to such extremes. Soon enough we'll be back to talking mostly about food. And digestion. Somehow, our conversation always strays into issues of disgestion. Digestion and beyond.

When Mastandreas make conversation, their sentences are most often punctuated by colons.

UPDATE: Just saw Airport Guy's latest post, and I agree with him that people should think carefully before rebuilding. Unfortunately, it would be political suicide for anyone to say "well, maybe we shouldn't try to have a city below sea level in a hurricane alley." The reflex is very unlike here in NYC where no one can agree on what, if anything, to build at the former WTC -- even though the quickest and easiest answer might be "rebuild them just as they were... only a bit more fireproof." Somehow, that option has been off the table all along. Never understood that.

Thanks, Marlena, it is great to hear about your neighborhood coming together for survivors with autism and their families. It is great to see people with special talents reach out to those with special needs.

Thanks also for your kind words regarding my shelter management, but it really isn't much when you get down to it. Red Cross trains people to work the shelter on a regular basis. They arrange for food, which is paid for with Red Cross donations when it is not donated outright. They arrange for a nurse 24/7 so that special needs can be addressed. They try to get all of the logistical items that we need (cots, blankets, pillows). They even arranged for 24/7 police presence at this shelter. So it's really easy to run.

In fact, that sounds like another validation of the actor/observer divergence. Could you tell that I'm an instructor at heart?

Or maybe I'm just sneaky.

Levees can be great things - they can allow you to use land that might otherwise pose a public safety danger. I know them very well because we have several in my county. I've seen them breached, I've sandbagged boils in an effort to keep them standing, and I'm currently involved in a levee upgrade project (it is in design phase waiting for funds for construction). Like New Orleans, we're just trying to get it to a uniform height to make up for years of settling and erosion when it was overtopped. Should New Orleans be rebuilt? It is the largest volume shipping port in the US and the fifth largest in the world. It will take billiones of dollars to rebuild the levees to a level that would withstand a category 5 hurricane. In my opinion that commitment should come before they try to drain the city, repair drinking water and begin clearing debris. Otherwise the clock is ticking until the next time we need to rescue thousands of people from their rooftops - and worse.

On a much lighter note, Ellie's homemade pizza was great tonight. The sauce was just right. And my nap was great. I would say that I could get used to days off but that might tempt fate.

I'm off to prepare a lesson that I'll give on our weekly radio training net tonight.

Hey Joe, I think it's awesome that you're going to the shelter. To literally manage it. That's a ton of responsiblity and very heroic. I work for a woman named Teresa, I am her daughter, Annie's, nanny. Annie is 4 and not only suffers from autism but seizures and food allergies, to boot. Teresa is very active in the Autism community, and spoke to Gov. Blanko on the phone 2 days ago. Teresa is spearheading a project that takes in Hurricane-devastated refugees who have an Autistic member of the family by volunteer families. Next week a family will come and live with Teresa, Annie, and Mark (Husband/Daddy) until they can get off their feet. The entire neighborhood will greet them in celebration and will be donating food and clothes. That's pretty amazing, just thought I'd share that with you guys.

Maybe you're smelling politics because you're starting to fling it. How can you say you're a local-supporting libertarian when the only entity you defend is the POTUS and you go out of your way to bash Governor Blanco and Mayor Nagin? Blanco and Nagin already had hurricane and flood plans - they were tested in 2004 in a tabletop exercise named "Hurricane Pam". The plans were implemented with the disaster declaration referenced in my earlier post. By Sunday the evacuation was thought to be nearly complete. Hence there is no proof that the plan wasn't followed, as you claim.

Further, I'd like to see some proof that POTUS convinced Governor Blanco to evacute, as you insinuate in your previous post. Evacuation was part of the 2004 "Huricane Pam" exercise referenced earlier in this post. Are you also going to claim that POTUS convinced her to evacuate during the exercise, too?

On a lighter note, Ellie was kind enough to make me a sausage, pepper and fresh mozz sandwich on home-baked bread. I'm glad I got to enjoy it before the Red Cross called. I'm on "two-hour notice" to manage the shelter they're opening for up to 500 refugees here. If I'm not blogging much it will due to humanitarian commitments. My feelings on this topic are strong and based on personal experience. I've avoided conflict here before, but on this topic I will not tolerate injustice.

I'm sure what you meant to say is that the funniest part of the Katrina debacle is that people have deeply-held confidence in Federal government. Local government is the front line - providing day in and day out. We're the first to respond after disaster. Even if there's a state declaration and the state helps. Even if there's a federal disaster and they help. When they pack up and leave, locals are still handling it. That's despite federal ability to borrow and local requirements for balanced budgets. Undeniable facts.

The local response to Katrina was amazing. On Friday, 8/26 at 5 PM Katrina was forecast to be a category 3 or more and New Orleans was in the projected path. That very day Louisiana declared a disaster, began its response and asked for a federal declaration. On Sunday, 8/27 Governor Richardson offered New Mexico National Guard troops, which Governor Blanco of Lousiana accepted, "but the paperwork needed to get the troops en route didn't come from Washington until late Thursday."

I am proud to be a local emergency manager. We've done so much for so many with so little for so long that it's all we know. FEMA used to be able to work miracles - even George Bush admitted that in the 2000 debates. They have to work miracles - FEMA is tasked with response and recovery when the disaster is beyond the capabilities of local government. Since 9/11 we've focused on counterterrorism at the expense of all-hazards mitigation, prevention, preparedness, response and recovery. Tragically, after Hurricane Katrina, a current FEMA official and Hurricane responder admits that, "It's such an irony I hate to say it, but we have less capability today than we did on September 11."

The funniest part of the Katrina debacle: that people still have such deeply-held confidence in government. And they are shocked, shocked, when things move slowly or inefficiently. Maybe Joe-maha will disagree, but my experience with government "decision-makers" has never been impressive -- even when they or their front-line people want to help. Rules is rules, and the law is a ass.

I've said it before: one big reason I don't practice law is how utterly ridiculous the process can be... and no one on the inside even notices anymore.

(Maybe we can open our own tribunal... Thoughts on that?)

No red tide in Tuckahoe -- unless you count the sauce we made. Yes, Saturday meatballs, knowing we wouldn't be home Sunday. Oddly enough, I did get the sneezes. Sympathy snot?

Just when I was really starting to enjoy the political mud-fight arising from New Orleans, along comes the scheduled Supreme Court confirmation hearings and now another vacancy. So it's going to be a full week of news... or mud-fights, at least.

I look forward to further phone-interviews with the All-Seeing Vin-Man, who seems to have a good handle on all these events. Perhaps I will also solicit the views of Don Vito -- I'm sure the Postmaster has a hand in all this, and the truth will out. WWVS?

Conch fritters? Good choice, Ree

Judge not lest ye be judged. Ever hear of the actor-observer divergence? In short, an observer attributes observed actions to the actor, while the actor attributes their actions to the situation. When you have lived three, four, five or six days without food, water, electricity and a working sewer you can speak about who takes what. Speaking of "who takes what," we don't even know what was in the box. Hurricane Katrina is an ongoing, growing tragedy. Thousands, and possibly tens of thousands of Americans are dead as a result of the hurricane and other associated decisions. Light a candle, don't curse the darkeness. We're getting ready to host up to 500 refugees right here in the middle of the country. There is much to be done so my blogging time may be further reduced.

BTW night is a great time to really learn what is going on in New Orleans via WWL on 870 AM. They're sounding great here tonight.

Gas is running $3.19 a gallon around here, nearly twice what it was a year ago. What's it running on the east coast?

Howdy all, Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I took a trip with my parents and some Fatones to Longboat Key, an island on the west coast of Florida. It is outside Sarasota and touches the Gulf of Mexico. In fact, the main street is called Gulf of Mexico Blvd. I had so much fun, I'm seeing us all there in the future! It's gorgeous, we stayed in a cottage directly on the beach and enjoyed the sun, breeze, and solitude. Solitude, yes, this was the atmosphere on the island. When I first arrived (early Sunday morning) I just thought it was quiet because we got there at the sound of the cock's crow. Then I quickly realized:1. A few hours after we arrived hurricane devastation was pasted all over the television, we were all glued to it. Locals probably were as well. Hopefully. 2. Dead blowfish were beached on the shore, and hoards of birds were staring blankly at the sea. 3. We kept coughing, sneezing, yacking, hacking, and snarfing every time we walked outside. It only lasted for 5 seconds but it occurred at every entry. It was all such good material for an M.Knight Shamalan thrasher flick. I repositioned my pillow and blanket to the foot of the bed, where the window wasn't. You never know creepy BlowFish Hands Man could easily break the window and take me in as a servant girl for the crustacean-human hybrids who seemed to be taking over the south eastern coastline.
It wasn't until we went out to eat that our waitress asked us if the Red Tide was bothering us. BINGO! Red Tide was the reason for the striff season. Red Tide can cause respiratory irritation, and is deadly to fish. It's probably deadly to humans as well. Too bad the waitress told us after we scarfed down the coconut shrimp, conch fritters, scallop salad, and other various filets.
Speaking of Bingo, Janine, Aunt Phyllis, my mom, and I went to the Bingo Hall. We were often lost in the neo-Bingo lingo, all the other old hags would yell at us to keep us on track. ("You're not supposed to be on the Gray cards yet, we're all on the Yellow. Gray comes after the Bonanza!") We were busy trying to figure out what was being annouced (The MC talked just like Kip from Napoleon Dynamite= very soft and feminine). After 4 hours of Bingo we were delirious. My mother was blatantly talking on the phone, my aunt Phyllis was singing, Janine was laughing, and I was passing out from the oxygen to carbon monoxide ratio that was taking place. The entire congregation was staring as us in disgust and ultimate animosity. Oh yeah, and we were all wearing Jupiter hats...I'm sure that didn't help.
These old broads really take the game seriously, they had computers, lucky stuffed animals, mucho cigarettes, bingo bags, food, an assortment of colored dobbers. (bingo stampers) And they all sported that pissed off as all hell look on their faces when I won the very first bingo game that my pre-menopausal ass has every played. $25, thank you very much, as they all hocked up phlegm from a cigarette they smoked in 1952.

I don't think it's fair to call them "insurgents" -- they're just trying to beat back an occupation, trying to keep the local resources for themselves... Call them "freedom fighters."

I heard the interview with an ambulance driver who'd been shot at. I saw women sifting through shoe-boxes, and others wading through the streets with new clothes still on hangers. Frylock today told me he saw a clip of someone scurrying off with a case of ketchup.

A case of ketchup? Was the guy planning to hijack a cheeseburger truck next?

Bonus question: is hurricane-ravaged New Orleans more or less capable of self-government than war-torn Iraq? Use your blue-books to write your essay.

The chimps wore their St. Petersburg shirts yesterday. Since I'm so fond of confusing them, I asked Cookie to name the letters (I could've asked Mojo, but to him all would have looked normal).

I explained to him that some languages have different alphabets. I showed him how some letters that look like ours actually have different sounds. Now he is awaiting formal Russian-language lessons from Jenia.

Next, I'm taking him to Pell Street.

Cookie is pretty much addicted to that old Sonic Hedgehog video game -- the cheap kind that plugs right into the A/V inputs. Maybe we should upgrade to an X-Box or Playstation at Christmas. Which, of course, would mean having to get a better television. Which would require some furniture, since a real TV wouldn't fit on this crappy stand we've been using.

This can get pricey.