Profound observation, MariaRose.

Missions for no reason. I remember a few of those way back when. Those were the days! As I recall they could be a great deal of fun. Thanks for the stroll down amnesia lane.

The more I think about it, I'm afraid that we had a purpose that night. I'm thinking that we were playing paddleball in the dark and we lost the ball (imagine that!) causing the aforementioned flashlight run. Any guy will tell you that a tool has to be broken down to its most basic elements, explaining the liberation of the clear lens.

Could we have been looking for remnants of Frankie's sparkler? That should get the all-knowing Otto going.

See how old age has made me into a conspiracy theorist?

I'll be out of town on business for a couple of days with no internet access. Maybe I'll be able to remember the search target from way back when. Take care everyone.

Ree, you are more correct than you realize. One might argue (correctly) that the whole inquiry into what we were doing that night is indeed one of those pointless missions.

Why do I pursue it?

No reason.

Nonetheless I eagerly await the wise words of the all-knowing Otto.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been almost a year since my last blog. What shall be my penance?

I'm very excited to be back on the blog, it is good to know that I can speak with those who I don't normally speak with on a daily basis.

First off, let me wish everyone a Happy Belated Memorial Day. I hope that you had a restful weekend and day off.

Wow! Summer is finally here! Well, for me at least. School ended the 28th and I couldn't be happier, I'm a senior now. Things are going to be a little different, but that's okay, it should be fun.

John, to get back to your question, do you remember if you were doing one of those missions for no reason? For instance, I remember when I was little my friends and I used to do fake missions and go out to look for absolutely nothing. It was fun. Kind of pointless, but still lots of fun from what I remember. As a kid, you don't know that its stupid because its fun, itsa game. Think about it! I'm sure John Paul and Joseph do it!

When you think of that now, it seems that it all was just a waste of time because our society is now known for doing things for a reasons, if its really unimportant, then we'd rather not do it at all.We work so hard at things that are important, that it makes us lazy and in the long run so that we can't spend time on things that are a blast but are unimportant.

This is what our world is coming to.

Does that ring bell at all? It was just a suggestion...I figured I would help answer your question even though I wasn't there.

Happy searching for the answer!

I'll talk you all later, have a great day.

Al Pacino said it best in The Godfather III: "Just when you think you’re out they pull you back in."

Please excuse me if I pass on the motorcycle, even if it does include the manual.

Spring has sprung, as evidenced by he infrequent return of the Midwest Mastandrea. Winter has thawed and been replaced by tornadic storms and floods. After a couple of months of hell (two days off in March and four days off in April) I'm actually catching up. Three weekends ago we replaced the trees killed by the drought. Two weekends ago I tilled the garden. This past weekend I fenced the garden. Now I need to plant a fig tree where the deer can't get to it.

I didn't see any updates since the announcement of the Weinermobile contest. I too thought of Steve immediately when I hearda bout the contest. No, I don't have any connection with the people running the contest (although Blair is less than 50 miles from where I live). What's the status of your entries? They're due by the end of July.

There isn't much new going on here, which generally leaves me thankful. I'll be awake in 6 hours and at work in 8 hours so good night, Mastandreas, where ever you are.

It's a question that nags at me for no good reason. To set it up we must go back to a distant time (a good 20 years), a distant land (38th Street in Brooklyn), and a late hour of a summer evening.

My brother and I were outside with Otto and Phyllis, maybe others but I can't recall. I can't remember any of what we were talking about, but we laughed until our sides hurt. For some reason, my brother had brought out a big yellow flashlight -- we were looking for something in the dark and not having any luck finding it. In doing so, we somehow managed to lose the lens of the flashlight (not sure why we would have unscrewed the cover, but apparently we did and the lens got away from us).

We then spent the next few minutes (or hours, for all I could tell) searching, in vain, for the clear plastic lens that had mysteriously hidden itself in the darkess beneath the soft amber light of the lamp-post.

Eventually we gave up and repositioned ourselves on the hood of a parked car, to tell more jokes, start to look at our watches and comment on how late it had become.

The laughter was finally ebbing, the night winding down, when the Russian livery driver from the next house drove up and started to park his car across the street from us. After backing in, he turned his front wheels toward the curb and inched the car forward --

Crunch!

We looked at each other and tried to say "Found it!" but we were doubled-over with laughter, unable to talk through our convulsions.

The question that lingers, albeit unnecessarily, is this:

What the hell were we originally looking for that made us bring out that flashlight?
No one remembers. That is, I don't. Phyllis and Joe, understandably, don't even remember our being out that night. But I do. And I need closure!

Maybe Otto would remember...

Last registered/operated in 1996, this majestic heap of rust was once the classic superbike Honda CB750, vintage 1973. Can you salvage anything from this low-mileage, storm-tossed beauty? Place your bets carefully: this "as-is" sale is final.

To help you decide, here are the facts:

Got the bike in 1990 and set about several much-needed improvements:

- new fork seals/fluids (both front and back are squishy now)
- new seat (but the metal base pan has rust-perforations at the edges, so only expect to salvage the still-intact cushion/vinyl)
- replacement pipes/muffler (couldn't find originals, so I put on some POS 4-1 and had to remove the center-stand which is here and part of the deal)
- tires (didn't put many miles on them, but they're almost 15 years old, so don't expect much grip)
- electronic ignition (I still have the original points-plate -- it's yours)
- paint job on the gas tank, a sweet glossy black, but there's a nasty ding on the left side (don't ask)
- new front-brake calipers (barely any miles on them -- I rebuilt the brake cylinder right before parking the bike for the last time, as if to make it final)

This bike has been stored outdoors -- under a canvas cover, but still outside. There's rust everywhere. I assume there's rust inside too. I did peek under the valve covers and everything looked as-new clean (for whatever that's worth). All the chrome trim has rust specks (some rust trim has chrome specks, as with the handlebars). Frame seems intact, but there are spots with rust exposure.

The lucky purchaser of this motorcycle also gets:

- Haynes manual
- CB750 coffee-table book (nice photos!)
- new chain (never got to install it)
- some lens-covers for the directionals
- stock mirrors (and the lower-profile replacements I had been using)
- original tool kit and user manual
- points-plate

Come and get it. Don't everyone contact me at once.

This motorcycle is shot. Hauled it back from Larchmont on Thursday, and finally got to poking around yesterday. More rust than hope. The engine won't turn, the carbs are gummed, the chrome is... gone.

It's about what you'd expect for a bike that hasn't been run since 1996.

I'll decide soon whether I want to take the time to tear down the engine and get it running (I bet I can -- but it'll cost time and money). Or maybe I'll just sell it for parts (if anyone wants it). I see eBay charges $30 to list a motor vehicle -- hope I can make that back!

The closest we have to any sort of plan is to drive that giant sculpture of non-Halal meat into the center of Fallujah and demand that the Ba'ath loyalists sue for pease. Otherwise: poisonous nitrate-preservative clouds, as far as the eye can see...

It's not likely to win the contest (but could win the war).

I forwarded the contest link to Oakley in London, assuring him that I'd pick him up from his office if we win. Sure hope that rig floats.

This announcement is for all -- but is pointed especially at you, Steve.

Alane handed me the entry form last week, thinking there was something I could do with it. But I do not feel worthy.

In short, the Weinermobile is available as part of an Oscar Mayer promo event.

This is our chance to drive the frigging Weinermobile! Steve, this is your childhood dream (childhood, in this case, being what you're still in the throes of). All we have to do is say what we'd do with it.

Though, I suppose we'd have to be a bit circumspect in telling them what we would do with such a cool ride. I mean, what we would really do.

I am gripped with the situation's potential. But I feel so unworthy.

Malted balls. It's that time again.

I know it's that time because I've seen elsewhere various exegeses on the much-loved, much-maligned peep. Count my comments as malignant. I don't like peeps. Yeah, I often purchase them -- but only for the irony. Half of what my generation does is for the irony. Buying peeps is ironic; putting them in the microwave is just plain fun. And yeah, I'll often enough eat a peep -- but only grudgningly, because the good candy has already been consumed.

A malted ball, on the other hand, I'll often eat willingly -- because I too-easily forget that I don't much like them. But how can it be that I don't like them? They've been around forever, so there must be an established consumer base. So I know my reaction to the malted ball (the Whopper, if you will) is probably not representative of common taste. It's probably not even normal -- and I suppose that's why I can't quite accept the fact that I don't like them.

They look like the kind of candy that would taste good.

So I eyeball it, roll it between my fingers, test its airy heft, and toss it into my mouth for a quick crunch.

Blah.

There must be something wrong with me. But at least in my older age I'll remember my condition. That is, I won't accidentally purchase a bag of Whoppers for myself. In fact, I was in a Florida Wal-Mart not too long ago staring at a bag of Whoppers, musing again on my distaste for them.

"How could anyone like those," I said out loud, to no one in particular. "Malted balls."

That last part went over as if it were to someone in particular -- a woman who'd hovered the Easter-candy aisle about as long as I had. She smiled nervously and fled. What kind of conversation did she expect, hanging around in a convenience store at midnight?

Well, we've got some Easter baskets set up, ready to give the boys tomorrow morning. No malted balls there, I'm happy to say.