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?

Living, Loving, and Working in a Scaffold Infested Opportunist's Safe Haven

Greetings, my fellow family of bloggers and a Happy Halloween!
Miss you dearly and wish for you all many blessings.

Today I wanted to talk about the last six months of my life. 

At this moment, I consider myself a 26 year old newlywed who is an optimistic non-conformist with creative goals, tasks, and continuous life challenges. Please don't take this as a preaching, teaching, or philosophical tool, but just merely a recollection of my own meandering experiences. One thing is for sure: living, loving, and working in New York had taught me a wealth of lessons that I will take with me on this journey of life. 

Lessons in LIVING

1. New York is a jungle. This is the true in every sense of the word. Whatever or whomever comes to your mind then associating the word "jungle" in your brain is exactly what I mean ... and then some. 

2. It really does take a village to raise a child. Or in my case, a 26 year old. 

3. If you think you need extra time to do something, you probably do. 

4. Travel by yourself sometimes to help give your natural senses an awakening. 

5. Enjoy the culture of this compact world so that it can inspire you. 

6. Never compromise who you are for anyone or anything. 

7. When in doubt, keep your mouth shut. 

8. Live within your means. 

9. Your health and well being should be something you strive to constantly keep solid. 

Lessons in LOVING 

1. Self love comes first. As selfish as that sounds. It's true. 

2. Make self love first on your list. If it becomes second, make the switch as quick as possible. 

3. You are strong. Stronger than you will ever know. But make sure you understand that strength is mysterious, and that it can be misunderstood. 

4. Nip big things in the bud. Let the small stuff go. 

5. It gets better. 

6. Call family, friends, and loved ones as often as possible just to say "Hi!" 

7. Tell your spouse how much you appreciate them. Sometimes appreciation is all that is needed to get through the day. 

8. Keep on building and cultivating. It makes love so much more meaningful. 

Lessons in WORKING

1. Only you know your true potential, creative ideas, work ethic, and worth. Work doesn't. They never do. Nor will they ever. 

2. Small goals count. 

3. We are supposed to be challenged. If this was easy, then this job would be boring, unsatisfying and create zero opportunities to be resourceful. 

4. In college, I took a few management courses and what I distinctly remember being said is that managers' 4 main focuses in their job description are: to lead, control, plan, and organize. Be careful and very aware when that is not happening. 

5. Never forget that things you've been trained to do ... even if its from way back when. And if you need some memory refresher, there's always a YouTube tutorial for it.

6. Don't let your co-workers define you with a nickname or a small piece of who you they think you are. They should know you by your name, work position, your projects, and vague aspects of your work life, that's about it. 

7. If you find yourself miserable or dreading work everyday, this job is not for you. Admit it. 

So that concludes my blog about me. Is there any lessons that you've learned up to this point in your life? Thank you for taking the time to read this. 

Ravioli and Meatballs, 

Kitty Von Schitz 

That's "Mister" Dumbass to You

Yes, Mojo is familiar with a root beer commercial that aired on television years before he was born. Don't ask...

It's certainly not rare that a Mastandrea sits in a room full of people and is the only one who notices something funny.

Dumas

Recently in our social studies class we watched a video. In the video we saw Greece and there was a dr , Dr. Dumas to be exact. Immediately when I saw this I thought of the root beer commercial. I t was terrible because everyone is there bored and I am laughing.

1 Week Left

I only have one week of school left. This is very exciting. I cannot wait for it to be over. Then I can do whatever I want during the summer. I can't wait for it to be over.

Answer Key

Oh, and about that Mother's Day video... You'd have to read through the vast archives of the Macaroni Dish to understand many of the references. Here are some links to make your research more efficient:

Jumping the Curb.
This comes from one of our favorite road adventures, oft retold, when Alane lapsed into some sort of  Dukes of Hazzard fugue will driving us into a parking lot for baseball practice. I believe we went airborne. Keep it on the road lady!

I'm a Fun Guy.
Alane's favorite joke. A mushroom walks into a bar and the bartender says, "We don't serve your kind here." The mushroom replies, " Why, ain't I a fun guy?" Also oft retold. Too oft, perhaps.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws...
... scuttling across the floors of silent seas. A snip from a T.S. Elliot poem. I'm not sure myself why Cookie can recite it. The important part is Alane can too. "Let us go then, you and I..."

It's All Red Lights In this Town.
Something I started muttering to myself once I realized that the International Traffic Gestapo had synchronized all the world's traffic signals to turn red upon my approach

Draw bridge? I can't draw!
This is one of those mental tics. Not unlike what happens upon seeing a Fish Eye wine label. Reflexes. Brain damage. Piss water.

Dinosaur, dinosaur, stop tromping all around...
...the silver moon is rising, it's time to settle down. A snip from Dinosaur's Binkit, a book Alane read to the boys repeatedly when they were babies. "Time to brush your dino-teeth, and put your PJs on!" It is etched in the boys' subconscious. And ours.

Burying James Madison

So the IRS has gone full-Nixon, targeting certain individuals who sought to "peaceably assemble" (as some dead white males once called it). To paraphrase the real-world of movies: never go full-Nixon.

Hell, even Nixon never went full-Nixon: he famously talked about sending the IRS out on a political witch hunt but he never actually did it!

Particularly angering is watching the people who run these government agencies pretend it's someone else's fault. At the very top of today's power structure are people who have shamelessly waged class war, culture war, and endless political campaign. The letter and spirit of their program is that we are absolutely not equal before the law:

• In the GM bankruptcy contracts were abrogated, subsidies allocated according to political criteria.
• As health care markets were further rigged, waivers were granted for favored interests.
• With private enterprise strangled in red tape politically connected firms got regulatory relief while others got enforcement actions.
• In the effort to perpetuate racial division (and the lucrative industries that arise from it) the DOJ dropped cases that were on the verge of yielding justice -- specifically to frustrate that unwanted result
• And who ever heard of a guy named VanderSloot anyway?

The detail of each injustice has been ignored but the tone has been unmistakably set. Thus the IRS abuse is no real surprise. Those who speak for government and media have explained in many ways that liberties are to be rationed, with party-members-in-good-standing going to the head of the line. People got elected on that. It is their program. They are directly responsible for every manifestation of that project. They'll say otherwise, even as they urge on further lawlessness.

That's what got me so depressed about last fall's election: the breakdown of law had been "ratified." I think the Founders would be depressed too. If you could dig up James Madison and show him today's IRS scandal he would almost certainly say:

"You asshats let the federal government usurp all those powers and didn't expect massive corruption? We did all that work modeling a true separation of powers and you morons let it unravel! Put me back in the ground."

Don't worry, President Madison, you will stay in the ground. Apparatchiks from every corner of the permanent bureaucracy will do whatever it takes to keep you buried.

We Now Consider Mother's Day

Not all people would consider this a "tribute" but around here it's as good as it gets.

Delicious Food

On Saturday we had eggplant, and tomato, and garlic on the grill. We also had sausage but the tomato and eggplant was the best.

Bad Winds, Good Winds

Busy week. Saw some interesting dynamics at the airport gate when the rubes of United Airlines tried to explain how our delay was due to "budget cuts." It almost resulted in rebellion: it seemed everyone knew better and shouted down the PR talking-points being read by the hapless gate attendant.

Actually, it wasn't her fault -- she explained she had been instructed to read a prepared statement and didn't feel comfortable doing it. We could see why: United was on the wrong side of a political campaign and passengers were having none of it. "It's a political stunt, don't tell us it's budget cuts!"

Maybe United has a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome? Or maybe the head honchos let their party affiliation cloud their thinking? Either way, a disgraceful performance by United. And everyone noticed. Heh.

As for today, we finally have spring weather. To celebrate, we did some yard work and got our grill on.

I mean, we really got our grill on. I wish you could smell this. YOU wish you could smell this.

It doesn't take much: take some eggplants and some roma tomatoes, slice lengthwise and lay them facedown on a really hot grill. Flip them, lower the heat, brush with oil and garlic and let them sit for an hour or more. I even laid on some wild arugula leaves for extra flavor. The stuff is growing in every corner of my yard. Yeah, springtime is here.

Dig the umbrella. Living large.

Hey, You're Both 12 Years Old Today

A dozen years ago today, Mojo made his appearance among us -- and boy was he mad! He wasted no time making his mark in the world. By pissing on the delivery room paperwork, among other things. Come to think of it, he's been doing some form of that ever since...

So today, we celebrate Mr. Furious!

Oh, and we also celebrate those four days of each year when Mojo is nominally the same age as his older brother.

Yes, until this weekend they are both 12. And according to the time-honored (and much-loathed) tradition of this household I must remind them of this as often as possible for the duration of those four days. And urge others to do likewise.

Let it be done: tremble and obey.

Or, in the words of that other monkey-in-a-turban: I am Mojo Jojo, obey me!

Race Matters?

Hey, I thought the NRA500 was running tonight? Mets game just ended so I got the car race on but this must be some other race. WTF? What network is airing the NRA500?

Eh, screw it. Maybe see what's on Netflix.

Four More Vitos

We last took this photo in 2005 (see sidebar for link to that one). Herewith the updated version:

Vitos? We got 'em. We got four of 'em.

We are the world.

No Roto

Well, Cookie got a freebie today -- he's been fine all day, following his morning "wet and wild" thrill ride. Better safe than sorry (or so we've been saying since December 2000).

And speaking of maladies, I've been suffering the last few days with a terrible brain infection -- the song "We Are the World" keeps looping through, flattening the brain-waves, raising the blood pressure. I need to break out of this. Maybe later I'll fire up some K.C. and the Sunshine Band.

I'm gonna put on...
My my my my my boogie shoes.

That'll clear the clutter. Or worse.

Saturday's intense, alcohol-fueled conversation with Tommy later put me in the mind of a story Stefan Kanfer told me some 25 years ago.

A wealthy man desired a certain drawing of a certain bird. So he went to a famous artist to commission the sketch. The artist agreed and a large sum of money changed hands. Shortly thereafter, the man called the artist to ask if the piece was done. "Not yet," was the response.

So the man waited, then called again. "Is it done yet?" But the answer was always the same. "No, it's not ready."

This kept happening. Finally, the man went back to the studio to confront the artist. The artist took out a clean sheet and while the man stood there he quickly sketched the bird exactly as requested -- it was everything he wanted, maybe even better. It was so good he suddenly forgot his frustration over the long wait. He thanked the artist and turned to leave. At the door he stopped.

"Don't take this the wrong way. This drawing is perfect. But it only took you a few minutes to do it. Why did I have to wait so many months?"

The artist nodded and waved the man over to a back room where stacked in the corners and pinned to the walls were hundreds of drawings of his bird, some of them complete, none of them as inspired.

Or at least I think that was the story Stefan told. I'm sure I'm botching the telling, but cut me a break -- "we are the world, we are the children" still wafts through my head like the scent of an odorous gorilla. A dancing gorilla. One who dances with the bride, then departs in mystery.

What does the story have to do with Ree's wedding? Absolutely nothing. But if I keep trying to explain what I saw there, I might eventually produce... a sketch of a bird.

But it'll be a good sketch. A really good sketch.

Sickness Stinks

Today I was sick and could not go to school. I possibly had the stomach bug that has been going around. It was a pretty boring day and I hope I can make it to school in the next one or two days.

Wedding thing.

The wedding was amazing and I thank people for inviting us. The food was great and I am happy for Maria Rose. It was the most fun I have had for a while and am glad I could go. The best part was the insane dancing. Oh and Janine cooking food in the bathroom with her memo hat on. Ah pancakes and poo poo.

Maria Rose's Wedding

I had a great time at the wedding. There were a lot of fun things to do, and good food to eat. Talking to the family was great. There were many odd and interesting topics for discussion. I especially enjoyed the wedding itself where Jenia presided over the proceedings. Jeanines breakfast buffet was great. Over all I had a fun time in Florida.

Iowas

This week at our school we are taking the standardized tests known as the Iowas. They happen to be the most boring tests to ever exist. I am only two days in and I am already bored out of my mind. They stink like bad doo-doo. I can't wait until they are over.

Demand a Flan

The funny part about Mojo's dream is how he got halfway through the telling of it when Alane interjected, "So world peace was achieved because you eliminated itchy heads?"

Because that's what you'd think, right?

Wherein lies the madness of Mojo's subconscious -- it is more steeped in reality than the average adult's wakeful mind.

Also more steeped in reality than Nanny Bloomberg and his Mayor's Against Civil rights crusade. Demand a plan? I have a better, more delicious idea: demand a flan.
 


It's more achievable. It'll make you happier. And unlike fear-mongering politicians, it won't have adverse effects on public safety!

New York is so screwed. The city. The state. Everything in between. I'd laugh, but for two things. First, I still pay taxes there (no vote, just a tax bill). Second, the stupidity appears to be contagious; the infection is spreading.

I eagerly await Cuomo's multi-billion-dollar plan to eradicate itchy scalp. My taxes will go up. And it won't work. But even if it did work, a positive upshot for humanity is far from assured. Even Mojo knows that. It came to him in a dream.

I had a dream. The dream was that I had a single wish that could change the world. In the dream my first reaction was to say,"So people heads stop itching." This lead to the leaders of the world to start fights over who had made their peoples heads stop itching. These fights soon turned into a mass world war.

Oscar, Oscar, Oscar

Here's another way I know I'm getting old. I recently watched the movie The Odd Couple. The original, with Jack Lemon and Walter Matthau. Great film -- a classic. I'd seen it before and used to be an addicted watcher of the sit-com reruns back in the late 70s (channel 11, for a time, was wall-to-wall Felix and Oscar).

Anyway, Netflix has a kind-a lame selection so at this point we're squeezing its database for any missed gems. We're quickly running out. So I sat that night and watched, even though I had seen this movie before, a long time ago.

Here's what was new: when I used to watch the sit-com, and when I first saw the original movie, Oscar's bristling at Felix's eccentricity made perfect sense to me. This time, I found myself very sympathetic to the Felix character. Why was Oscar being such a sadist?

Eh, I'm getting old. Or maybe I just can't stand to see spaghetti thrown against the wall like that. Linguini. Whatever.

There's No Business...

Cookie and Mojo are perfecting the science of psychological torture. Or at least the art of making themselves a pain in my ass.

We were watching a movie not too long ago and I made the mistake of sharing a personal insight.

"That guy used to annoy the shit out of me," I said.

I explained that back in 1986, the actor in question had the same on-campus summer job that I did -- painting dorm rooms. Every day, he and his girlfriend would while away the tedium by singing show-tunes. Like, loud show-tunes. They'd effect a wildly exaggerated Ethel Merman caw and belt them out, one after the other... until I wanted to drown myself in my friggin' paint can.

Advice to parents of pre-teens: never volunteer information like this. It's like the Death Star advertising the location of its vulnerable exhaust ports -- you will be methodically destroyed.

I have since been forced to endure many impromptu performances. They even have friends over to send them in to where I might be quietly reading a magazine. A kid will walk in and start singing "There's no business, like show business...!"

Then the kid apologizes and says, "I don't even want to sing this but they told me to do it." Which is bullshit because he included the high-kicks and jazz-hands.

And so I must find an appropriate way to return the favor. I'll think of something. Until then, this may as well be in your head too. Like mine. Since 1986.

Oh What a Feeling...

I was on the subway earlier this week, a late morning trip into Manhattan on a train where I did happen to get one of the few remaining seats. At Lexington Avenue a couple of youths boarded and announced their intention to dance for us. I glanced at my fellow passengers -- each and every one of them maintain blank stares, straight ahead (just as Alane and I had done at Lolita's that night!).

Anyway, one of the two switched on a portable speaker and the other grabbed the overhead straphanger rails and started... a bizarre parallel-bar gymnastic display. Remember: there's not a whole lot of room on those not-very-wide subway cars. So these guys stayed mostly in a crouch as they flipped and hung and twirled around the upright handrail.

By the time the train pulled into 5th Avenue station they had already gone up and down the car asking (unsuccessfully) for money. They got off and the doors closed. I turned to the woman sitting next to me and said, "Those were the least attractive pole-dancers I've ever seen."

The woman seemed surprised that she would be spoken to. She laughed nervously then quickly went back to staring blankly ahead. I got up because my stop was next. As the train came to a stop I looked up and saw a fresh sneaker-print on the ceiling.

Cookie's Latin Class

Today I went to my first Latin class. Not only was it interesting, but the teacher covered more information on the culture than my Spanish teacher has after teaching me for six years.

We also got to shoot marshmallows at each other during the class, it was great and I cannot wait to go next week.

Making the Blog a Gouda Look

I did a little sprucing up on the blog's layout. Because after all, it has been ten years we've been writing our thoughts onto the old template. Definitely time to...

Cut thuuuh mullet!

Oh yeah...

Noting the Constitutional Collapse

Cookie neglected to mention the other fish the zookeeper put out for the grizzlies -- live ones she dropped them into the bears' pond. But even as she did it we were already shouting at the TV that she should hang them in the tree as she had done with the oranges.

We scream at the TV a lot. More than you'd expect for a family that doesn't have cable. For instance, we were watching Netflix during the Christmas holidays and to make merry we watched a surreal performance of The Nutcracker.

All I wanted was the Russian dance. But we wound up watching many other segments because they were so bizarre. Cookie and I were particularly intrigued by the three-headed rat. I told Alane it reminded me of that horrible movie where they sewed the white guy's head onto Rosie Greer's body. I was shocked and appalled that Alane wasn't aware of this cinematic gem. So of course I had to look it up online.

Because that's what we do around here -- we tie all things to their cultural antecedents.

And I'm happy to say that the boys have developed some skill in this. In fact, as I was telling them of that crazy dream I wrote about last month, Cookie came up with a very interesting legal theory that even I had not considered. You'll recall that in my dream, our bolshevik president came to my house and helped himself to my coffee. In the dream (just as in real life), I really wanted the guy to just go away. But I also didn't want to be impolite.

Cookie skipped right past being polite and was formulating a legal theory -- a constitutional argument -- that would allow me to eject him summarily from my property.

"He's the commander in chief, right?"

"Sadly, yes."

"That's a military position. So couldn't you say he's not allowed to quarter himself in your house?"

Brilliant! Not only has Obama perpetrated flagrant real-life violations of the First and Second Amendments, he has infiltrated my dreamland to violate the Third! And Cookie caught it!

Which just goes to show you -- you really don't want to mess with the law firm of Mastandrea, Mastandrea, Mastandrea & Mastandrea.

Feeding Time

Last night I was watching a documentary on feeding animals. It was all well and good until they froze the fish and gave it to the grizzly bear. He got very frustrated at the " fishcicle" and started stomping on it. That is my story.        

                              THE END

It snowed a lot this weekend. The suckage of that was so bad I even cleared a space in my garage for, yep, my car. I was tired of having to scrape the friggin windshield.

Started reading (well, re-reading) Aldous Huxley's Brave New World today. It was that wacky social engineering idea I recently read that got me to dig out the classic paperback. It's only in the first chapters where they review the procedures at the Hatchery -- breeding and conditioning each successive generation of Julias. Those reactionary authors of the1930s... so prescient!

Eh, I suppose every generation longs for an authoritarian "cure" for the human condition. And as much as the science crowd likes to mock the religion crowd, totalitarian these days always seems to cloak itself in theories -- economics, sociology, psychology. And the more they generate new laws and cultural norms, the worse the problems get, the more the discontented demand an authoritarian cure.

So let's send everyone to the same government schools -- that'll cure it!

Cookie and Mojo are doing pretty well in the Catholic school here. I like to think the education they get is worth the money we spend. Maybe it's an added bonus that it also makes us subversive. Nice. Keep your soma, I'm drinking Pigfandel tonight.

Steve, you got some sort of brain damage: your dream state jokes are as appalling as your waking state jokes. Must run in the family. I had a bad dream myself this morning. Barak Obama had come to my house. I was so disgusted I didn't even bother to get dressed -- I was hoping he'd take a hint and GTFO. But no, he decided he was going to make us coffee, so he goes in the kitchen and somehow rigs the bubble-up espresso-maker onto my electric percolator. It wasn't going to work. I wasn't quite sure how the smooth-talking commie had even found my Bialetti coffee maker (the one that has the guy on the side, his finger in the air). He explains his wife won't let him make it that way at home, and I realize he's not making us coffee, he's making himself coffee. Which figures.

And speaking of commies, the Senator from California was waving the bloody shirt today, urging a legislative violation of the Second Amendment. I won't try to rebut her because there's a guy on Youtube who does it better than I could. I don't know the dude but I think I'd like to hang with him.



Oh, and speaking of Second Amendment, Alane and I will be helping at the open house being held this weekend at the boys' Catholic school.What's that got to do with the Second Amendment? Nothing. Yet.

Forget nightmares: real life is scary enough.

Hey Steve, what if Chuck Schumer came to your place and offered to make coffee? Would you remember to hold your hand tightly over your wallet? Would you sign up to buy his timeshare?

Hootingbird.

I must share:
I had a really vivid and bizarre dream 4:30 this morning: I was with Jennie in a movie theater watching a film that starring Woody Harrelson. We're watching the opening credits, which are taking place in a medievel forest when across the screen projects the title "Kafke, King Lighten and the Inquahooties". In response, I turn to the young boy next to me and tell him "They finally left the Blowfish". He doesn't laugh, he doesn't smirk, he doesn't even smile. Agitated and a bit devastated, I turn to Jennie to repeat to her my ingenius remark....and my friggin alarm goes off. I went to work annoyed that I never got to find out what the movie was about, or that I ever got reassurance from Jennie that it was the seven year old that stunk, and not my joke. (Although we all know what her answer would have been, so its probably better) Anyway, it started my workday on a sour note...although it ultimately turned out just great.

Ive been examining the title, trying to make some analysis: most notably the Inquahooties,  it sounds quite a bit like "in cahoots", an old fashioned expression my grandmother liked to say. Kafke, obviously close to Franz Kafka, as for King Lighten...not a damn clue...or why the hell Woody Harrelson would be on my mind.

Fom the backseat:
Mojo: Give me a Skittle.
Cookie: You have to answer a question first.
Mojo: Okay.
Cookie: Mom, it was Johannes Gutenberg who invented the printing press, right?
Mom: Right.
Cookie: Okay, Mojo, who invented the printing press?
Mojo: Uhhh, Hippopotamus Hootingbird?

It was the day after Christmas and we were going to Lowes to buy paint for the boys' room. I had moved the car into the garage the previous day to keep it out of the snow. I got in, turned the key, and got only a nasty-sounding squawk. Tried again, same thing. Wait. Repeat. Squawk.

In any event, we called for a tow Naturally, the engine started just fine for the mechanic. They couldn't find anything wrong. We got it back on new year's eve (right after eating the reuben fritters).

Needless to say, we've been a little nervous about the car since. So maybe it wasn't totally unexpected that we'd get about 100 miles out toward NYC early yesterday morning only to have the engine light come on. I had been watching the fuel gauge for the prior hour -- it already seemed to be dropping more quickly than usual.

Figuring it was better to get stuck within 100 miles of home we decided to turn around and try to make it back to our driveway. And we did. But too late to swap cars and get back on the road -- not that the 12 year old Jeep is much better, but hey, that's what we're driving these days. A Jeep without a rear-view mirror. You see, when we got into that to drive to Lowes I went to adjust the mirror, and it came off in my hand.

Because that's how it's going for us these days. Oh, and don't try spray washer fluid in that car either. Not sure what's up with that.

Mojo announced, pretty much out of nowhere, that he wants to be a motivational speaker.

My response: "So, how'd you talk yourself into that?"

He didn't find that funny, so we went to the Youtubes and watched come motivational movie speech clips. Braveheart yelling "freedom" is kind-a played out since the block party. Instead, we watched Bill Murray in Meatballs, John Belushi in Animal House, and George C. Scott in Patton. To name a few.

This seems to have cured Mojo of his desire to have a career.

We stayed up late (for us) watching bad movies and finishing that bottle of champagne. Okay, that was me in that bottle; Alane didn't have much. We started the evening by finally getting to our holiday tradition of greasy fried food. This time we batter-fried big meatloaf-balls, small dill pickles, and reubens.

Yes, reubens. When we last tried that a few weeks ago my roll-ups of pastrami-swiss-kraut could not hold together under the weight of the batter -- it started unraveling in the oil. Last night I got clever: folded a small payload of pastrami and kraut, then rolled it in the slice of swiss. Nuked the roll to make the swiss melt a bit, then slid the whole plate into the refrigerator to firm it all back up. Took the batter nicely and made for a frickin awesome reubenesque fritter that I drowned in thousand island dressing and ate with my deep fried pickled.

Sorry, no photos -- except for Cookie's snapshot of the one leftover pickle.

Did a lot of painting over the holiday week -- the boys' room, the bathroom. Pretty much done with all that. Now I have the doorframes of the upstairs hallway to paint. And all that ripped up carpet and destroyed dresser to dispose of. It's all piled sadly in the garage. Looks a bit like the national economy.

And speaking of market disasters, who knew there was a Garbage Pail Kids movie released in 1987? It was spectacularly awful.