Monday, December 31, 2007


Call TLW (The Little Woman).

Growing up in a house filled with both older and younger women, more often than not I was viewed as an oddity. I never thought along the same lines as my Mother and four sisters, so we were not always on the same page. And when it came to me being a male, either as a boy or man, certain traits would kick in. One of those traits was looking for something and not finding it. I would stick my head in a closet to find a certain item, not see it and call: “Mom, I can’t find it!” “Did you look in the closet?” asked Mom. “Yeah, it’s just not in here.” Mom would get up, come to the closet, blindly stick her hand into the closet and retrieve the item, without a pause. “There is none so blind as he who will not see.” Said Mom. She said it often enough, and frankly speaking; I think it was all a setup. Whenever she said it, I would mouth the words along with her. If you notice, she always said: “HE who will not see.” Another favorite of hers was; “If it were a snake it would have bit you.” (Definitely a cranky old lady.)

Then one day I got married, and the trait took on new characteristics. The newer traits are trying to figure out certain devices TLW bought from the Internet or store, certain techniques she employs to do certain jobs, and other things to get me into trouble. If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that TLW pretty much bosses me around (and I love it), and again I think I am being set up. What is happening is she is giving me a job to do, and when I get into it, some kind of question will arise, where I need to ask her what to do, and she looks like a genius.

A few weeks ago were a historical day in the annals of Joe Del Bloggolo incompetence, as I turned the tables! It seems she didn’t have certain liquids or baking powder to soften up a baking pan. The pan had burnt on the bottom from some brown sugar. I suggested using dish detergent on the bottom of the pan, and letting it soak in hot water. It was like she hit the lottery, telling me I had finally caught on, leaving me feeling very proud of myself for a change.

Now, if I can only find something, without her help.

Need help finding relief from this blog? Then write to:
Tell him: “I hope they find you with Jimmy Hoffa.

Sunday, December 30, 2007


Recently and more than once, TLW (The Little Woman) and I will get into a situation and it can become comical or interesting to make it extraordinary. Whenever that happens, she will say: “I feel a blog coming on!”

What is really happening is TLW is reading my mind, knowing full well that my mind is churning and creating segments of Blog that I will enhance and string together for electronic publication.

Being predictable is not my favorite thing. TLW knows how I react in certain situations and will predict that a blog is about to come from my Blogosphere of unwritten tedium. Actually, all my blogs are made; they just have to be typed out. Yes, just like Michelangelo said that the work exist in the stone, he just has to free it.

Being predictable presents certain challenges, for one, I can’t surprise TLW like I should, she is on to my every move, so I will be spending some time in the basement inventing a new me.

This evening I got talked out of 5 bucks by TLW making me think I wanted something that I hadn’t thought about, when she got the money and left the house, it dawned on me that it was what she really wanted! Using her wife skills with my susceptibility to being made predictable, she convinced me that I wanted when she really did.

Which reminds me, June is coming up again in 2008, the month of weddings, and I need to write a blog on “Advice for the future husband” Or “How to fold like a cheap camera.”

Looking for a special gift to give to yourself?
Tell him: “Don’t write to me, I’ll write to you.

Saturday, December 29, 2007


Today #2 Son is 20 years old! To think he has survived this long with me is amazing!

#2 Son is special in a lot of ways. He helped ease the memory of a tragedy that occurred years ago when we lost a son, Mike as he likes to be called is the “Baby” of the family, the spoiled one. He is also very thoughtful, caring, crazy and kind. Handsome like his Mother is beautiful, he put life in the household when #1 Son moved to California. He is in a great rock band, and I really like the group.

Most importantly, he is MY son, talented, handsome and caring to a fault. He once freed the chickens in a chicken coop because he felt they shouldn’t be confined. He doesn’t eat meat, because he cares about animals. He joined the Family Worker’s Party because he supports the downtrodden.

If he has a bad feature, it is he is a slob. So who isn’t? I just wish he would quit smoking. As someone very close said about him: “He eats vegetables, and what he doesn’t eat he smokes.”

Once, as a young teen he came home to tell us his friend was thrown out of the house. Mike went into the pantry closet and took out a new bag of cookies and gave them to him. He thought we should take him in.


Now pick up the cigarette butts around the property.


What is it with sons, they can never talk to their father, but will spend an eternity talking to Mom?

When I was a teenager and then in my 20’s, my parents and I had an interesting relationship with each other. I didn’t talk to them and they never really tried to talk to me. All my issues were for me alone, and I liked it that way. I told them I was off to school and then told them I was graduating. I worked, came home, went out on a date, ate, slept and did it all over again without talking to anyone.

Two sons later, I am experiencing a different kind of phenomena, one where only Mom gets the scoop, and avoid telling Dad at all cost. Nothing bad, but it’s none of his business. #1 Son tells me some of his comings and goings, especially if I ask, but #2 Son works life like a poker game, holding his cards close to the vest and a blank face, in case he might give away his hand.

My conversation with #2 Son is “Where’s Mom?” This is any day, any time of the day, no matter what and where. He works with an intermediary who happens to be TLW (The Little Woman), or “Mom” as he calls her. TLW. He will make a phone call, speak and then hang up. The phone rings and I answer, its TLW, telling me #2 Son needs some money or a favor, would I please give it to him? I’d like to give it to him.

Recent conversation with #2 Son and Mom: “I have to start doing some exercises.” Mom; “What kind?” #2 Son: “sit ups” Mom: “You should try some bend overs and pick up your messy room.”

Bending over backwards trying to read this blog? Send a message to:, tell him: Why isn’t YOUR picture on a milk carton?”

Friday, December 28, 2007


It was a hot and sunny day, and my feet were tired from walking around the city of Rome. The hour was slightly past noon, and both TLW (The Little Woman) and I were hungry. Before us stood in all its ancient glory were the Spanish Steps, welcoming us to climb and finish the morning’s itinerary.

At the top of the steps stood an old and historic church, its doors closed for the noon hour as we began the climb, one tired step at a time we took until we reached the top where we surveyed our surroundings.

To our right stood a line of empty black cabs, parked nose into the slotted assigned under shaded spaces, with the drivers laying on the ground resting or sleeping against their cabs or the building walls as we approached them looking for a cab. Not one driver would get up or even acknowledge our existence as we sought a ride back to our hotel and the hotel restaurant. Up and down the row of cabs, but no one taking the bait.

Suddenly a very attractive, sexy looking Italian woman, strolling down the very same line of cabs is seeking a ride. Out of the stupor of sleep and mid day siesta time comes a herd of charging cab drivers, keyed on the young lady’s lire and charms, knocking down each other to gain her attention and whisk her off in their gallantry and black cabs.

As she gets their attention and one wins the contest, there before TLW and I stand all the losers, now caught in the midst of their losing efforts, we corral one and get our ride back to the hotel.

I didn’t tip the bum.

Tired of climbing the stairway of hope, need a rest from these tired blogs, do your feet smell? Then write to:
Tell him: I wish you could get a kick out of me.”

Thursday, December 27, 2007


Cryptograms, cross word puzzles, any of that stuff has nothing on TLW (The Little Woman), when it comes to puzzles.

This morning I asked TLW what she wanted for dinner tonight, and she mentioned that we have some leftovers in the freezer, so out I go to find something. Coming across a white rectangular container, I read the label, which is written in TLW’s script. I could recognize some of the words in her hand but not all, so I sat down for a moment to try to decipher her special coding. It read something like mixed incinerators or something.

After numerous attempts at decoding the past, I decided that this is a job for a bigger man than me, so I went to the source of the puzzle to see if she could make it out.

Me: “Toots?”
Her: “Yes?”
Me: “Can you read this?”
TLW looks at me like she is asking: “Are you challenging me?”
She looks at the label on the container and her look now becomes more defined, sort of “Yes, he IS challenging me.”
Sheepishly she studies the label, turning it sideways left and right, and finally admits:
“No, I can’t read it either.”

Tonight on the menu we are having a nice salad and a thing I call “Mystery Meat.” If you want the recipe, send an email to our next of kin.

Tired of decoding your need to read this blog? Then send a nasty note to:
Tell him:
“Beats the hell out of me why I read this!”

Wednesday, December 26, 2007


Today being the day after Christmas, a lot to tell. First off, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JOHN, THE POLISH PRINCE! Today is my brother-in-law’s, (actually feels like a brother) birthday.

This is one of the best Holidays I’ve had. #1 Son and #2 Son, along with TLW (The Little Woman) had a great day. We all wore DelBloggolo shirts for the first time, thanks to #1 Son’s generosity for Christmas. It was fun finding them, wearing them, and being part of my very own family. It touched me very much that they would even consider wearing these shirts, let alone on Christmas Day!

I hope you all have had a great day, as much as I did, having a delicious feast prepared by TLW, then visiting two wonderful nieces that I have, makes it very special. Not to forget the Christmas Eve dinner we all shared at my sister Theresa’s house with John her Polish husband, Mom and Henry and all the kids and sibs.

Today I try to get back to life. Breathing and not eating will be difficult, not to mention painful. Also in the works are a New Year’s party at My Man Bill and his lovely wife Carole’s house, the party people of the hood. Then we fly off to Arizona, and hopefully hook up with a great gal and her husband, Carole and Joe Sapienza. Carole was a sweetheart of a gal who worked with me at PCH, along with Jan Spaulding, another wonderful gal. One thing I want to do this year is get in touch with old friends and acquaintances. A few being: Tom Owens, Edmund Smith, Jack Stern and my best friend, Phil Mark. All will be introduced to you all a little later next year.

Need the ghost of Christmas Future to visit this old Scrooge once and for all? Then write to;,
Tell him: “I hope the Ghost gets you, crumb bun.

Monday, December 24, 2007


TLW (The Little Woman) invited me (with a threat of no dinner) to go to #2 Son’s band appearance. The name of the band is Cosa Nostra. No, they are not gang members or part of organized crime. (Although it is a crime what this kid is costing me!)

When we arrived at the place where the band would perform, there was a long line waiting to get in. We got in and went directly to the bar where we ordered a few brews, and were surrounded by lots of funky kids in tattoos, body rings and weird hair, to the point where I felt Bohemian!

There were four bands before Cosa Nostra, and only one seemed good. Not great, good. It seemed that they all had this style. One guitar player hops up and down on the stage wildly, while the lead screams into the mic, and they all swing their heads to allow their long hair to sway in different direction and then they violently shake their heads up and down! I don’t remember any lyrics!

Now mind you, I was the oldest guy in the building, and you would think they’d offer me a chair. Well after some agonizing hours of listening to nothing in particular, Cosa Nostra appeared. Not because he is my son, but the place came alive! I mean alive. They were clapping, dancing, little girls were screaming, and one old goat went crazy. I was so impressed by their performance I told TLW that I would go to hear them again, someday. Believe me, this is something! I never dreamed they would sound so good.

Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and I will be taking the day off from this blog. Before I go, let me say Happy Holidays to all my readers, particularly my neighbor Carole (The cookies are great!), my new friends out in California, MFF (My Favorite Fan, Laura), Justin. Jared, Minnesota Pete, and Pete The Teacher, my good friend Steve Phelps and all the rest from PCH and whoever else I can’t mention because of space and time.

I have to leave at 12 midnight to pick up #1 Son at the airport, his plane is running 2 hours late, and he should arrive at 2:00 AM!


Sunday, December 23, 2007


You must have seen at least one of these money giveaway game shows. It started in earnest with ”Jeopardy” and “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” and most recently “Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?” There are more shows coming out that give money away, there is one with some real talented girls with suitcases for instance, that I cannot get the point of.

Last night, we were “surfing” the channels when TLW (The Little Woman) stopped at this game show. The object of this show is to win money, what else? The object was for the host to make up rules as he went along, and the contestants to scream at the top of their lungs like Conan the Barbarian as he slays someone, strutting about and clenching his fists, in triumph.

The loser got to sit down on the sideline and act like either they are constipated or are trying to hold it in. I kept asking TLW: “Why are they sitting there?” “I can’t for the life of me figure it out at all!” was her reply. There were chips that people placed on the 4 choices they had to answer a question. You could play one on the answer you thought was correct, or you could hedge your bets and place chips on all the answers.

An assistant, (The usually a good looking lady type) comes along and takes away your chip or chips, something like Mom would do before dinner. The total of winnings kept going up and up, with no one winning the money. The questions were stupid; “What is the total number of dwarfs in Snow White and how many houses did the Big Bad Wolf blow down in the Three Little Pigs stories, what does that number add up to? The choices were: (A) 7, (B) 8, (C) 9, (D) 10. The answer appears at the bottom if you are really interested.

Well, one contestant placed his chip on one answer, and the other contestant that was playing against him placed her chips on other answers! The people on the chairs on the side were biting their nails and grabbing their heads while waiting it out.

Meanwhile the sum ran up and coup[le of hundred thousand dollars.

Did I get the answer? Yes. Does it matter? No.

One contestant got it right, one didn’t. The screaming and yelling, fist clenching and strutting began. Boy is that annoying! The answer is (C), 9. Seven dwarfs but only two houses were blown down.

Tired of meaningless critiques of TV shows? Send your criticism to:,
Tell him; “Who cares?”

Saturday, December 22, 2007


When I was a child, I would awake every morning to the pleasant odor of baking bread. The hunger-inducing odor came from a grocery store that had a bakery in the cellar, where the bread was baked and sold all around the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. It was a two-edged sword in that it made me want the fresh baked bread, and Mom would disappoint me with cereal.

Another great aroma around that time of the day is obviously: coffee. Great smelling when it perks at the magic hours of 5 to 8 AM, but better still is the quick aroma one gets when he opens a can of it for the first time. There is nothing better than freshness in the morning.

One of my favorite times is going into a bakery in the morning to purchase rolls, or buns, and getting that great whiff which jumps out at you and into your nose! Talk about delightful! It defies you to not want to buy every item in the store, and twice as much on Sunday.

Ever go into a pizzeria hungry? Ever get the delicious aroma of the pies baking in those giant ovens, their doors flapping shut after a culinary exam by the pizza guy? The oils, cheese and garlicky tomato make my mouth water. Dad and I would go on a Friday night to the corner bar where they made pizza, and when I first smelled it there, it stayed with me forever.

While growing up, I used to go to my Grandmother’s house for Sunday dinner. Being Italian, she cooked from her garden herbs and vegetables, whenever possible. On the beautiful Sunday mornings, she would scurry around her large kitchen, going in and out of her back kitchen door to her garden. Back in, she would bring her fresh basil or parsley, and whenever I smell basil, I can only think of those days.

Not all odors are so great. Whenever I entered the office where I worked, the smell from the carpet would rise up to greet me, reminding me of the day ahead. And how could I not mention gym class? A special odor emanated from my locker after three or four months of the same gym clothes? My gym socks, standing at attention, looking at me and saying, “Hey, I’m not a pair of high top sneakers, hello?” I remember being so proud as I carried them home (alone) to give to Mom for washing, handing her a stick and then the socks.

Probably the smell that turns me off the most is a florist shop. When I was in second grade, my first grade teacher died, and wanting to make sure she did, I went to her wake. The smell of flowers over took me, to such an extent that I always associate it with death.

I guess there is a very fine line between what stinks in this world and what smells good. These days I change my underwear regularly, bath and wear clean clothes, so the only thing that stinks is this blog.

Need a reading cleanser? Write to:
Tell him: Pee Hew, you stink!”

Friday, December 21, 2007


I live in a world of contradiction, surprises and general disappointment. For years, whenever I expected something nice to happen for me, things for some reason would change. I won’t go into specifics, but believe me they changed. With the change would come disappointment. “Sorry, we are all out of it. We don’t do that any more” Or, “We just changed our policy.”

If you happen to be on an errand, say to the Post Office, Motor Vehicle Department, bank or perhaps a breadline, waiting to get assistance to feed your starving 19 year old, and you see me there on line, DON’T GET BEHIND ME. I say this as a courtesy. Why you ask? Because the person ahead of me will do something to slow the whole friggen world down, leading to a bubbling inner frustration. I can always grab defeat from the jaws of victory.

Years ago, I would commute home from a long day in the city, where I worked as an art director for various ad agencies, and then later for a major marketing company that gave away millions of dollars without Ed McMahon’s help. In those days, everything was done by hand. I would “Comp” a mailing package, designing, and lettering everything before it went into production. It could be labor intensive if the project was a big one. It would never fail, that some copywriter would get feedback from higher ups, and have to change the heart of the project because the writer didn’t get it right. That is to say, his direction was incomplete, and those giving it, incompetent. It meant I had to change everything! Do it all over again. I’d get home and wail against copywriters, telling TLW (The Little Woman) how dumb writers are, and they should all be shot.

Life has a way of playing little tricks on me. Not only did I raise one writer, #1 Son, but now #2 Son is looking to write also. On top of all this, I just signed up for the firing squad. I am now doing three writing projects! OK, so what?

Yesterday I had lunch with an old buddy, and business partner, who happens to be a writer. What else? It turns out he not only writes, but now works for the IRS also! The IRS!! What did we talk about? Advertising, prose, literature, maybe the techniques of writing, no, we talked about reasons why people are late in paying their taxes.

Well, two things come from yesterday, fodder for the pen, and tips on staying honest and avoiding jail.

Need relief from the taxing task of reading this blog?
Write to:,
Tell him: “By April 15th, I hope to see your picture in every post office.

Thursday, December 20, 2007


The other day, I went to the telephone, that object that sits on my desk to make a call. The object of my call was some service assistance for my computer.

With a cup of coffee and a notepad and sharpened pencils, I dialed the number for my service rep.

“Thank you for using your touchtone keypad. For English; touch one, Para Espanola; dose, for operator assistance; please stay on the line.” Touching “1”, I patiently waited for the next available operator. Humming a few bars from Beethoven’s Ninth, I sipped my coffee and fiddled with a pencil. Finally, assistance arrived.

Him: Hallow?
Me: Huh??
Him: Hallow, ow mhay I hyelp hew?
Me: Hi, I’m looking install some type fonts, and for some reason they are not reading in my program.
Him: Hew av a Mock ora Peecee?
Me; I have a Mac.
Him: Verrry goood, did hew gho to preefonces?
Me: Huh? What? Give me that again. I’m sorry; I’m hard of hearing.
Him: I sade; did hew gho to seestem preefonces?
Me: Where’s that??
Him: First hew gho to hopple menu. See hoppleontop?
Me: Huh?
Him: Ontopseehoppleen corner?
Me: Hopple een?
Him; Yes! See eencorner?
Me; Totally confused; Oh, yeah, now I know what I did wrong! Thanks for your help.

Tired of all this racism against foreigners who don’t speak English and try to help you in the good old US of A?
Write to;
Tell him; “Why don’t you go back to where YOU came from, you

The answer to yesterday’s question: MFF (My Favorite Fan) Laura from sunny LA.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007


Way back in the 1970’s, was a gentleman who was a jack-of-all-trades. A snappy dresser who had served his country well in WWII, the big one, he did all the non-clerical and non-creative things that needed taking care of around the office.

His name was Howard, and his personal life was very secret, kind of hush-hush. Howard fixed chairs, clean phones, washed coffee cups, ran errands, and drove you to the airport when needed. A voice that was almost reduced to a whisper, and raspy at that, Howard was loved by everyone. Howard could spin a yarn; tell a tale, schmooze and what have you. Everyone loved Howard.

I had a habit of keeping my office very neat. Everything had to have a place, and a place for everything was had. Every morning, Howard would come to my office first, and proceed to put things in their correct assigned place, and made sure that I was happy with it. If a picture were lopsided, Howard would correct it. My clock was official Greenwich time; there was no fooling around, as long as I had Howard. He would even wipe my phone with some kind of alcohol solution to top things off.

One year we got a client from Italy, called Prodomo, a classy giftware company that did all their ads in the NY Times or the New Yorker Magazine. Very high end, and trendy. One of the partners of Prodoma also had a lot of money, and a brother who ran a very expensive restaurant in the heart of NYC.

One day my company moved from our top-floor office space to a brownstone, we leased on the east side of Manhattan, near the UN Building. We now had a kitchen, and decided that we would make lunch once or twice a week for the employees, and entertain our clients there. Who was to do the cooking? I mentioned this casually to my boss, and all of a sudden, who comes out of the woodwork but Howard. Howard was a chef. Not only was Howard a chef, he was polished, and taught us all some tricks about chefdom, that I still use to this day. If I could get Howard to design for me, I could as they say: “mail it in.”

Then one day we got a call, Howard wasn’t coming in that day. Why? Howard had cancer. Howard had his wife, who we never knew about, and whom he never mentioned called. Howard had worked for the company over 10 years, and not one mention was made. Our curiosity took over, and we began imagining this extremely good-looking young woman, (Howard was in his 60’s at the time), and we all romanticized about his personal life.

When we finally got the news that Howard had died, it hit us all, taking our breath away and making us feel like we lost a friend. His wife called to tell us the sad news, and that she would come in for the necessary paper-work that was needed, and to collect Howard’s personal effects. As luck would have it, I had to be in Chicago the day she finally appeared at the office, so I never finished painting the biography of Howard’s life in my mind. It seems that she was older than he was, was missing some front teeth, needed to get her hair at least combed, and had a high–pitched voice, that peeled the wall of all its paint! So there is a lesson in all this boys and girls. Actually two: one; don’t let your imagination run wild, and always expect the worst.

These blogs making you sick? Wish you were watching re-runs of Bowling for Dollars? Do what millions of Americans do: write to”, tell him: Hey stop this writing, I have a life too.

Can anyone guess who this lovely young lady is with me in the photo? The answer tomorrow.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007


And as usual, there is no time for anything, let alone Christmas. I’m using Christmas and NOT Holiday here, because I’m Christian, even though I don’t act it sometimes.

I went shopping this morning for TLW (The Little Woman), and I got to the store at 7:10 AM! I’ve never been in a store at that hour before. I’ve been in donut shops, deli and restaurants for breakfast, but never a retail store.

Shopping for TLW is a serious time for me. I have to always have a plan, no matter how insignificant it may seem. Every year, it’s: “Don’t spend a lot on me” as she instructs me to go easy on her for Christmas. I of course am of the other mind to do what I want, and be as lavish as possible for the girl I love.

At least I can sleep from now until next Thanksgiving, having gotten TLW her presents!

I never know for sure if she will like my gift, but I know she will tell me, she does. It warms my Christmas heart to see her happy if possible. If there is one moment in the course of the year that I love the most, it is watching my wife and kids on Christmas morning when we open our gifts. TLW has always been giving, sometimes practical, sometimes lavish, always lovingly to all of us. I know that that happens in all families, and I think that is a real spirit that resides in us as human beings.

This year I make a pecan and walnut bread for breakfast during the Holidays, and stuffed baked shrimp for the Christmas Eve feast at my sister’s house. Pecan bread is for #1 Son, walnut for the rest of us. Shrimp because I was assigned that dish, and so it goes.

There are no children left in the house, so there is no Santa to worry about, but without you faithful readers, I couldn’t have the time of my life doing a blog. Thanks a million. Have a great and successful week before the Holidays, and enjoy yourselves.

Need a respite from this tired old Santa? Send him a what for at;
Tell him; “try going down the chimney headfirst.

Monday, December 17, 2007


I would like to take a moment to recall those brave men and women who are constantly fighting the battle of the bulge.

Not to trivialize the real Battle of the Bulge in 1944, this one is also serious business in that we are falling like flies. To be surrounded by fat cells as we sleep, to awaken to the harsh reality of: “Help I’m fat, and I can’t get up!” is indeed horrific.

As I lean over my stomach to find the keys to type, I consider the fact that it isn’t my fault, that indeed the devil is at work! Every Sunday morning, I sit down with a Weight-Watchers cookbook, and plan the menu for the week. I make a list and check it twice just like Santa, only my goal is not to look like him.

It only took a few precious weeks in Los Angeles to blow away a year’s worth of dieting, and although I don’t know if I did gain any weight, I feel like I did. I am losing both the weight and psychological wars at the same time.

I have a good mind to surrender, and march to the nearest donut shop with a white flag in my hand, to be taken prisoner. (Hopefully by a toasted coconut donut and a cup of coffee.)

But I will not despair. Go ahead fat cells, make me fat, see what I care. Come January 1, I take control again. I just need to get by a few dinners, and…uh, oh, make that the middle of January, I have to go on vacation to Arizona, and there is no point trying until after I get back. Obviously.

Tired of hearing a fat-ass moan, send your disgust to:,
tell him: “Fat chance!”

Sunday, December 16, 2007


Friday night was the annual Holiday dance at the agency, and I played Santa. Every year it is the same thing, people from the various group homes for the Suffolk Chapter Association for the Help of Retarded Children, file by one and two at a time to get their picture taken, tell Santa what they want or rant.

This year started quietly enough, with music blaring, dancing and shouting, yelling and laughing. Suddenly this lady about in her 30’s came over from the middle of the crowd and with her walker and passed in front of me. As she passed my chair, she turned to me and said: I hate you, and spit in my direction. A number of thoughts came to mind; TLW (The Little Woman) was in disguise, or my beard had fallen off, when I realized she was angry with Santa! AND I’M LEFT HOLDING HIS BAGGAGE!

I asked her to come closer, and asked her if I could help her. She said I promised once to help her Mommy and I didn’t. I explained to her that only God helps in real ways, Santa can only bring gifts, not health. She surprised me with a smile, not a smack in the face for handing her garbage. We parted (Santa and her) on the best of terms, she hugging Santa and Santa hugging back.

That was the only incident in the ten years that I have been playing Santa, and I hope the final one. There was one couple that sat beside me, he on my left, she on my right. He said: “Hi Santa, this is my girlfriend!” Oh, they were a real couple alright, she told him what he should do and say, and he just went along with it. Life imitates itself!

When the ladies sit down, they kiss me, when the guys sit, they shake my hand, vigorously. They all love Santa, and tell him so.

Christmas started when I first walked out to the crowd, and will end New Year’s Day, when I will start looking forward to playing Santa once again. Like Superman, he has to keep his identity secret, so please, don’t tell on me.

Still looking to hear what your favorite blog is. Just remember one and send it to me in your own words to:

Saturday, December 15, 2007


It’s La Senorita’s birthday. Sibling #2, Francesca Dzicek. That name is like kielbasa and spaghetti! Sibling #2 is my second sister, the person who not only followed sister #1, but me also.

It was a cold December morning in the middle nineteen forties, Mom was on her way out to the hospital, and Sister #1 and me stayed behind, with my aunt. The little apartment on Hull Street was going to get even smaller. Fran was coming, and we had new accommodations. I would get the couch, and that was that.

#2 grew up to have three children and a few (3) grandchildren, after marrying the Prince of Poland and/or Connecticut. Connecticut is actually a government in exile, waiting for the Soviets to leave Warsaw.

Fran has a happy disposition, as long as you don’t step on her foot, or drink her soda. SHE, was named “Boss” of the soda by Dear old Dad, and was until she had to have a tooth removed because of too much soda! Of course, she was only about 4 when that happened, but none of us had soda again until we married.

If you want to have fun and laugh, Fran is the “Go to Gal”, whose biggest thrill was “Telling Mommy on you.” She excelled at it.

Like all my sisters, she is beautiful, fun and talks very fast, but with her hands. She is by law, not allowed to talk near train stations, because her hands are so active she redirects trains and has caused major tie-ups throughout the system in Connecticut as they think they are being waved off,. She is also barred at airports from going out on the tamarack because she once directed a Southwest 737 to the helicopter pad at Bradley Airport, and she just talking to herself!

So, to the Queen of Princess Summerfall, Dilly Dally, Phineas T. Buster, and Flubba Dub: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NIPPY!
If she is 90, you can say she “Looks Good”, I think.

You ask, Nippy? Why Nippy is her real name, she likes a nip or two before leaving for school in the morning, and as she explains: “It fortifies me for all the little children I teach, hic!”

Keep your sanity, write to, ask him: ARE YOU CRAZY, WRITING ALL THAT JIVE!”

P.S. Don’t forget to send in those favorite blogs for publication, get credit in the book.

Friday, December 14, 2007


You may have read my official position on rain (May 12, 2006 blog); today is my “Official Position” for snow days.

“Oh the weather outside is frightful”

The snow started around noon, and is coming down steady as I type this. I love it. Nothing better that snow if you are not driving. I, however, must be cautious since TLW (The Little Woman) and #2 Son have to drive in it.

“But the fire is so delightful”

Snow, unlike rain, is a motion enhancer. It gives me great energy to want to swim in my pool, plant a garden, do some heavy landscape work. Oh. No! I can’t, it’s snowing! Darn. Well, so much for ambition, maybe what I’ll do is read a book and do a little research on my novel, and tuck in a nap somewhere in between.

“And since we’ve no place to go”

Snow should always be viewed with caution. If you look at it too long, it can be boring. Not enough viewing can be surprising, as it accumulates on your car, and you have to clean it off.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

My first encounter with snow was at the tender age of about 3 years that I can recollect. Living in Brooklyn, my sister took me down to the street, and I climbed up on a snow bank in front of my house. With a serving spoon, I began to dig and play on the bank. There were kids all around me from the neighborhood that I met for the first time, as I familiarized myself with the hood.

“It doesn’t show signs of stopping”

As I peek out my window, the branches are holding white ribbons of snow along the limbs and it looks colder than it did before. The suggestion of cold weather and the view of the snow make for a nice feeling when you don’t have a place to go, but your easy chair.

“And I’ve brought some corn for popping”

I think I will make a cup of tea, relax and watch it coming down. Maybe if it goes on long enough I’ll make myself a Jack Daniels Manhattan. Good for the soul.

“The lights are turned way down low”

I will keep the lights off altogether to get into my catatonic state of sleep, that drowsy no-man’s land of euphoria induced by mood and dream.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

P.S. Don’t forget to send in those favorite blogs for publication, get credit in the book.

Want to rant about this sickness? Write to:
Tell him:

“When we finally kiss goodnight,
How I'll hate going out in the storm!
But if you'll really hold me tight,
All the way home, I'll be warm.

The fire is slowly dying,
And, my dear, we're still good-bying,
But as long as you love me so,
Let It Blog! Let It Blog! And let it Snow!”

The wonderful Christmas song “Let It Snow” was created by lyricist Sammy Cahn and the composer Jule Styne in 1945.

Thursday, December 13, 2007


Well, now that winter is here, the family is looking forward to a winter vacation in Sedona, Arizona. It looks like January 5th we will fly out and spend one day in Phoenix before we head out to Sedona. We might even extend the trip an extra day or two to spend it in Phoenix instead. Of course there is the possibility we will see it during the week we are in Sedona.

Yesterday morning we spent on the internet, checking our flights and making reservations for a tour and car. Of course TLW in her methodical way, made me read all the fine print and view all the pictures. We had to view all the tours offered, and went back to the original one we wanted to begin with! Shopping for a car took time and a lot of dedicated reading also.

TLW (The Little Woman) has decided that she has to see the Grand Canyon at least once in her lifetime. Me, I don’t need the Grand Canyon, because around that time of the year, all the streets in my neighborhood have their own versions of the Grand Canyon, and the good part is it is free, local, and will relocate with new “Grand Canyons” next year.

I want to see the funny little mountains that are red in color, and maybe a mesa if they exist there. Maybe I can meet an Indian (Native American, give me a break). When I was a kid, I played Cowboys and Native Americans. I think it was General Custer who said: “Here come those friggen Native Americans!”

I will be taking a lot of photos to bore you to death with if I ever see you. It is either that or my baby pictures. By the way, I was adorable, just ask my Mother.

Both sons will be accompanying us on this vacation hopefully, so they can argue whether I snore loud enough or not. We’ll see if they are man enough to snore louder. TLW will stay awake those nights to keep score.

The vacation will go on a point system. The person who gets the most points gets to come home with TLW and me.

You can lose points by:
One: You complain
Two: You borrow money from me
Three: You tell TLW on me about anything. Forget it.

I feel a shopping expedition coming on. TLW, as she “Gets ready” for this vacation, will need her basic supplies, namely clothes and shoes, and her pack mule, me. Me, I’m ready already. I don’t need much, a sandwich, aspirin and snacks and I’ll be fine. (Also a place to nap.)

Need to get away from these meanderings of an old fool? Voice your displeasure to:
Say: “Me dispiache! Basta!”
English translation: “Enough already, you’re pissing me off!”

P.S. Don’t forget to send in those favorite blogs for publication, get credit in the book.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007


This year I had help in the decorating of the house, with TLW (The Little Woman) lending all the assistance. The one job I hate is decorating the house for the Holidays, and this year was no exception.

Being how TLW is home this week for the first three days, she was eager to go at it, while I was eager to get away from it.

Getting up this AM, and coming down the stairs to the den, the chair was moved and the spot vacuumed for putting up the tree. This year the tree is like the one in Rockefeller Center in NYC; green. Unlike it, it is smaller and not real, but already has lights on it. TLW was waiting for me. I tried to not make eye contact with her, but she had the drop on me, and was ready to go. Up the ladder in the garage I went, onto the top shelf, moving huge boxes around in an awkward position, so that my limbs, back hurt and all my arthritis was activated, in the name of the Christmas Spirit. The only Christmas Spirit I want is a Jack Daniels Manhattan.

Outside I hung two wreaths, more climbing and fussing. Here is the bad part; I have to take everything down and put it back into boxes, and climb up to the top shelf again when the holiday is over. It seems the older I get, the less enthusiasm I have for that kind of thing. Call me an old Scrooge, but without little kids in the house, it seems like a routine I could eliminate.

Next year I’m going to take a picture of this year’s Christmas tree, and blow it up life size, and lean it against a wall. Saves a lot of time and work. HO-HO-HO.

Need the spirit of Christmas back but don’t know why? Write to:, say: “Hey, what are you doing to me here?”

P.S. Don’t forget to send in your favorite blog for my blog book. Remember the date and title of the blo9g.


Maria went to the Post Office to buy stamps for her Christmas cards.' What denomination?' asked the clerk. 'Oh! Good heavens! Have we come to this?' said Maria, 'Well give me 50 Methodist and 50 Church of England ones please.'

Tuesday, December 11, 2007


Dear Readers,

While I was in California, a group of really nice and wonderful people asked if I would put together a book of my blogs. Selecting some of my favorite blogs and getting them published would be a fun thing to own and give as gifts. Being easily flattered by the suggestion, I come to you.

Being how I have over 600 blogs written, are there any that stand out in your mind, that you would like to see included in the book.

If you look over to your right, you will see almost a year and three quarters of entries I have written since March of 2006. Could you help me out and select what you feel are your favorites, and I will include them in the book. Just click on a month in either 2006 or 2007, and a whole month’s worth of blogs will come up for your perusal.

This could be our joint venture, with the proceeds going to Mental Health and the Suffolk Chapter Association For The Help Of Retarded Children. I would love to contribute to both these causes, and I don’t want to profit from it. You, by helping me can make this a reality, as I will learn which ones would best sell the book.

Thanks for your help, even if you tell me, don’t do it.

Send your favorite one to; Just select the month and year with the title.

Thank you in advance.

Monday, December 10, 2007


It was the big day, the day I was waiting for, for over 6 months. TLW (The Little Woman) and I got into our car and drove to the Park and Ride and found the bus that would take me to my feast of feasts. Little did I know what lay in store for me?

Climbing the stairs to the bus and finding a nice comfortable seat, I settled in with TLW and waited to take off, to pick up other passengers to visit the famous Rainbow Room in New York City, high above the NBC Studios.

As I sat on the bus, contemplating this very expensive brunch, I couldn’t help but notice a lady or two climbing onto the bus, wearing red hats. After a while, there were many ladies wearing red hats and no men in sight! What had TLW gotten me into?

I must apologize for sounding crass or crude, but the girths on some of these cows made me wonder if the bus (A Greyhound type) would be able to carry this much cargo, so to speak. As we went from pick-up point to pick-up point, more and more of these red hated ladies would board the bus, bigger and bigger did they seem.

Once we were finally on our way, the bus slid onto the Long Island Expressway, and began its journey to the heart of the city. The ladies were becoming louder and louder, and there were only a few men on the bus. Sleeping was not an option.

Along the way, I decided to use the toilet in the back of the bus, and started to walk back to it, and as I did, the bus weaved side to side, the driver possessed.

Stepping into the phone booth size toilet, I see the sign: “Please sit while using the toilet” or something like that.
Being a man, I felt that that was not practical, and suddenly realized why one should sit. The bus jumped into another lane, sending me against the door, against the wall, then another wall, followed by still another, when I finally came crashing down onto the bowl itself! I suspect the bus driver was playing with my head, as they say. With no choice left, I followed instructions as they were suggested. This did not help much, as the bus recreated its last path, me now flying off the bowl, against the door with my pants down around my ankles! I finally got out of the chamber of horrors, and limped back to my seat.

Now it was the herds time to get up and graze, as they past me by, smacking my face left and right with their huge posteriors each time they passed me, sideways down the rather narrow aisle they traveled. Their rears all pointed in my direction. Smack, left cheek, smack right cheek, and my head now loosely flopping left to right in my seat. I felt I had spent 15 rounds with Ali, my hands tied behind my back, ready to fall, my eyes rolling in my head!

Then they all gathered for the romp through the Rainbow room, standing at the entrance, ready to stampede to the buffet table and overrun the service, tables and customers in a feeding frenzy. Huge hams and trays of eggs, big cakes and shrimp so large you could saddle them; were consumed by these ladies.

I know I am not being nice, but one must consider circumstances and reactionary fear that comes into play.

As we later ventured with this group to the NBC building (National Biscuit Company), in downtown NYC, where Rachel Ray does her program, the ladies were loading up with ice cream and cookies. TLW suggested that I stop complaining and maybe draw one! I suggested to her that there is not enough ink in the world to draw one.

Tired of tasteless blogs? Write to:, tell him; “Hey, you ain’t so skinny yourself, you fathead.”

Saturday, December 08, 2007


Yes, that magical time of the year is approaching fast. That special time when I go into the garage, get a step stool, (no, not step in stool) and reach up for the holiday decorations.

In a long box sits my tree, with lights on, ready to go. Then there is the tedious process of getting down the boxes of balls, garland and whatnots. (As I’ve said before, I have a lot of whatnots.)

Last year I had the inspiration of placing the decorations, still in the box, outside my front door. When you come to visit me, you reach inside the box, and select a decoration to hang somewhere, the tree, the walls, anywhere you want. When the season is over, as you leave my house, you take down the decoration and place it in the box. Don’t worry about the box; I’ll put that away.

I hate putting up decorations, getting the stuff down and putting it up. I know you must be thinking: “But this bum was complaining that it didn’t feel like Christmas in California!” Well, true, but it doesn’t mean I have to make it so.

Then there is the snow village, that dirty little slum I have to build every year in the front window of our dining room. The Dicksonian theme of: snow, caroling, horses and sleds, snow covered churches and brats. Now in my neighborhood, if you heard: “HO_HO_HO!” you immediately call the police and complain about a prostitution ring going on.

Hey, I’m no Scrooge but, it seems to me that the whole idea of Christmas is out of whack, too much of a deal about making ones self stressed out, poor and over-weight. Give me a simple time, a simple gift to give, a nice little dinner with family and friends and I’m happy.

This year I have all my kids with me, that will make me more than happy, and it will be a real holiday of both joy and thanks. That is what I wish for you, too.

Have a Scrooge in YOUR life? Have him read this blog, you might witness a miracle.


Sitting at home alone last night watching TV, I suddenly remembered that first TV show, on that first TV.

It was 1949, and life was very simple. There was no TV up until the night Dad brought one home. As he climbed the two flights of stairs to our third floor apartment, I noticed he was carrying a large box in his hands and marched into the parlor.

As my older sister and I watched, Dad put the box down and opened it. Tessie was getting more excited by the moment, “ we got a Television, we can watch Howdy Doody, and…” Being new at the game of wonder, I went along with her excitement.

Clearing a corner table, Dad put the TV on it and hooked up some wires that were hanging from outside the window next to the table. Now my curiosity was at its height, as Dad disappeared and was suddenly calling down from the roof. Mom put on the TV and a picture in gray and blacks and white suddenly appeared after a while. Dad started barking instructions and asking: “How’s it now?” “Too snowy” said Mom, “how about now?” countered Dad, “Go back a little, a little more, good, that’s it!” yelled Mom.

Finally things were hooked up, and there were people in the box, just like there are in the movies! It WAS exciting!

The very first program we watched was Kukla Fran and Ollie, a children’s puppet show, with a long toothed puppet that reminded me of my cousin Victor.

Dad and I watched wrestling (rassling) and boxing every Friday night, the boxing was spectacular with names such as: Rocky Graziano, Rocky Marchiano, Joe Louis and Archie Moore, wrestlers such as Haystack Calhoun.

Black and white TV became a staple like milk and bread, a job or education, an inalienable right. There was Lucy, and Ed Sullivan, Uncle Milton Berle and the Dodgers, “live from Ebbets Field”.

Now here’s the clicker, you had NO, I repeat, NO remote control! You had to get up, and go over to the TV, and change the station by turning the knob for the stations that had on only 13 numbers. Just think of it, 13 knob positions for only 7 active stations: 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11 and 13 as the channels.

Often the picture would go zigzagging or flipping up and down. Sometimes reception was so bad that you had to go up on the roof to adjust the picture. Television was not just new and exciting, but a lot of work.

So, when you turn on the boob tube, just remember the last thing you needed to do was find the remote. HDTV is just the beginning, and we are taking all of it for granted. No getting up to change the channel or adjust the horizontal or vertical controls, the brightness and contrast are all there, and in perfect color.

Tired of reading a reminiscing old fool going on? Change his channels, write to;, tell him; a fool and his TV soon wearout.

Friday, December 07, 2007


Yesterday after an exhausting day of flying, TLW (The Little Woman) met me at the airport and took me home.
She always looks like a million dollars to me, and yesterday was no exception. As I got out of the car, I felt the cold night air and stopped for a moment as I looked about, the different neighboring homes all decked out in holiday cheer and decorations, it started to feel like Christmas to me!

I love California, the wonderful people I met for the first time and those I know already, but there is no place like home. The house has certain strangeness to it, as I fumble about, getting back to business, and even the dog seems unsettled.

Give me some time and I will be my old self again, doing and having fun. The first order of business will be getting TLW a present for the holiday.

So there is not much to report today, made a few phone calls, read over 700 emails, or at least deleted most of those. Tomorrow is another day,

Thursday, December 06, 2007


In my Southwest Airplane.

As you read this, I will either be coming or going. Depending where you are now, the news is either good or bad.

Last evening in the confines of the Red Lion Tavern, I said my final goodbyes, and got to meet a great guy (#1 Son’s friends, what else) for the first time. Beside Hollywood’s best looking couple, MFF (My Favorite Fan, Laurie) and her handsome beau, Justin, were Pete the Teacher, Minnesota Pete, a stand up comedian, writer and like all the others, a stand up guy, and finally: Jerod, Justin’s younger brother, a director in movie land.

Between Jerod and Justin, all the ladies of LA must be in a tizzy, because these are two very handsome looking guys. If you were blind, you would never know it about them, they are very down to earth, making it easier for an ordinary guy to share the earth with.

MFF as usual was kind and thoughtful, giving me a going away gift that I will put in a special place. The Red Lion is a great friendly atmosphere, with very good German food and beer, a place that invites good conversation and friendship as all seven of us gathered around the table and told stories. I really wish I could introduce all my family to these wonderful people, and maybe someday I can. Included in this goes Christine, Steve, Mathew and Peter, too. (Hey, how many cavones does it take, Mathew?)

So, one last time, goodbye LA. Thanks for the great people, encouragement I got to write three books, and some great weather. Hello TLW (The Little Woman), #2 Son and the freezing cold. As for me, I have a little Holiday shopping to do.

In the holiday spirit and want to stay that way? Then send a sternly written email to
Tell him; GO AWAY, how many times do I have to tell you?

Tuesday, December 04, 2007


I see where all the pretty Angelinos are anticipating a snowfall of some kind in the area soon. Although the weather for today is near 80 degrees, it seems a lot of young ladies are waiting for it to snow soon. How do I know this? I see they are wearing snow boots! Yes, thick heavy snow boots. The kind you say: “Mush” with behind a sled of dogs.

If the above is not interesting enough, then you should see the guys. They are wearing hooded parkas, woolen knit hats, and some are even wearing woolen gloves. Did I mention that today would be near 80 degrees?

I, on the other hand, am wearing summer t-shirts, sitting in outdoor cafes and slowly walking to take in the warmth of the sunshine and the golden rays of the LA sun. Oh, sole mio! New York is waiting for me. I must go; tomorrow is the last dance for me. Then Thursday I fly home to the cold, the wind, the rain, the snow, and the Christmas rush. No more will I frequent the Daily Donut, nor will I bask in the glow of California sunshine under palm trees, that gently sway in the blue sky above, nor will I hunt for movie stars such as Doris Roberts, behind every corner, in every cafe.

But rejoice oh fair reader, and do not cry for me, for I shall return someday, and next month I head out to Arizona, with TLW (The Little Woman) and #2 Son, to the natural beauties of Sedona, and Phoenix for a little respite from life in general.

So goodbye LA, Adios, Ciao and Kinitchi Wa, Syonara as they say. Your people are great, your sunshine beautiful, and your golden rays will shine in my heart, forever.

So long to MFF (My favorite fan, Laura) To Peter the teacher, to Justin and to Minnesota Pete: all cool guys, with great futures that I am sure and hopeful of. To beautiful Christine, and my good buddy Steve with the two coolest guys in the universe, Mathew and Peter, what a wonderful time I had with you all. (How many cavones does it take to screw in a light bulb? A coupla three or four, who cares, make me a salami sangwich.)

And to #1 Son I say: Lucky you, you live in a great place, with great, and true friends, with a great career, what a great life you have!

Join the celebration of millions of Los Angeles residents. Take part in the fun as DelBloggolo FINALLY leaves LA. Wave up to the sky towards Burbank Airport, Thursday morning at 8:25 A.M., as his plane soars higher and higher away from here, and sing: “Glad to see you go.”
Send celebratory emails to each other, and one to;,
Say: “Ooh Va Napoli, ya Bum, bout time ya left fer cryinoutloud!”


It looks like my stay may be coming to an end soon. It seems #1 Son has taken up his life as he heads back to work. The writer’s are still on strike in Hollywood, but #1 Son and his partner are formulating plans, and keeping busy, while leaving me behind all day.

I on the other hand will miss the sunshine to some degree, but I do miss the spirit of Christmas that I don’t seem to have here.

Crowds of angry shoppers, pushing, and bumping into me to convey the true holiday spirit, as I traipse through a Macys’s or JCPenney store; shopping for TLW (The Little Woman). What can be nicer than the cold damp rain that seems to find its way during this very festive season? Along with the cold, the emptiness of my wallet, and the aggravation of the mall simply lift up my spirits.

Naturally I will get the old Christmas tree down and put it up, agonizing over the strings of lights, the decorative pearls that I must masterfully string on in perfect balance.

Of course there is the reoccurring nightmare I have every year. I dream that it is Christmas Morning, and I don’t have a gift for TLW. Guess what? I don’t have one yet!

One thing I really look forward to is the Christmas Eve dinner that my extended family has, that massive and grand feast that feeds us all, as we eat, drink and laugh the Christmas eve away, trying to forget how much we spent this year.

Not having little children in the house, (the only child will be me) takes some of the fun away from the big day, or morning. I used to go from seeing the kids excited on Christmas Morning, to looking at the bills and Christmas mourning.

Looking to cheer you up this Holiday Season?
Send a nasty email to:
Tell’em “Hey, its Christmasforcryingoutloud, go away!

Monday, December 03, 2007


Yesterday #1 Son and I went to a little outdoor Italian neighborhood restaurant called Mama Mia to have some lunch. Pretty clever name for an Italian restaurant, no?

As we sat and watched the Angelino’s walk by, with their casual gait and laid back attitude, the owner’s wife came out to take our order. Being how #1 Son is friends with the owners, she was very friendly and introduced herself to me, and we talked briefly about our American Heritage beginnings. Her husband came from Rome, and she came from Soronna, just next to Naples, "una Naplitana", as she proudly boasted, and rightfully so. She asked about me and we became friends by virtue of our Italian heritage.

It struck me as funny as how a race of people can be so clannish, and take in strangers as brothers and sisters, if you are Pisano or Pisana. Even if you come from Italy, you are considered family; period. You are of one bloodline, and treat each other as brother or sister.

Many of my friends in business were of Italian extraction, and they take on a brother or sister relationship, and look after one another. We laugh at each other, with each other and believe it or not, for each other. This is just like when I get together with my four sisters.

Later in the day we had dinner over in Burbank with some friends. They have two beautiful boys ages 7 and 4, and these little guys were telling me Knock, knock jokes with an Italian flavor, their parents using the Italian they learned from their parents and grandparents, and with the kids-#1 Son and I laughed our heads off.

You know, I am happy that I have an Italian heritage, people who gave a lot to the world culture wise, but more proud that they are happy people, a people that will take in a stranger and feed him, no questions asked, they may be loud at times, “Cavones” but they are good people, love to laugh, love to sing, eat and be merry.

Need to put a contract out to rub out a blog? For 10 large, call:
tell him: “Eh, I gotta contract out for ya, so get me a cappicola sangwicha, ya bum.

Thanks to Mathew and Peter

Sunday, December 02, 2007


This is going to be my fourth week in LA! I find it hard to think that I would be away this long from home. A month away from TLW (The Little Woman) is an awful lot, and I should start to think about going home soon. I miss #2 Son an awful lot, but I need another week to figure out why.

Be that as it may, I am living like an unmarried man without girlfriends. I am sharing #1 Son’s “pad”, and am enjoying the casual life style that he enjoys. It is nice to build a new relationship that is apart from Father and Son, and seems more like friends and confidants. We talk and we laugh, cry and we are serious to a fault. Sharing his friends is like finding gold, you don’t want to spend it, or lose it, either. We eat, too well.

TV is not on much, we spend the time talking, reminiscing about days gone by, people we know, stories to share. We play his video game called “MLB, The Big Show”, an electronic baseball game that I am starting to get the hang of, and I know I will finally beat him at, so help me God! We don’t smoke, but will have a drink. We eat donuts and drink coffee or water or even beer.

He has been very helpful and encouraging to me in my writing. I pass my novel outline and some of the writing I am doing for it to him, and he reads it with enthusiasm, encouragement and help. He sees things I overlook as a good editor would, and it helps. He suggests and recommends, I listen and hear him.

It is probably an experience I will never forget. It is a great time to be alive.

Meanwhile, Carole from the Hood, one of my “Homies” and my man Bill wonder and wait, as do all my neighbors: “Is this guy coming back, and does that mean I can’t have company because I’ll be embarrassed when he does?” To the Hood I say: “Yo, Momma, be settlin in my crib soon, ya know? Ya hear what I’m talken about?”

So to the Lovely Carole, my man Bill and all the Avenue C denizens I say: be seeing you soon. Be cool.

This unfortunate display of literary jibe getting on your nerves, when you go blogging? Kicking your dog when you read it and don’t even own a dog? Then voice your indignation, write to:
tell him: I wish I never learned how to read, your stuff is making me sick!

Saturday, December 01, 2007


Yesterday #1 Son and I went to Wendy’s for some high cholesterol action. While he waited on line for our lunch, it gave me a chance to look around and observe the customer base so to speak.

Diagonally across from me sat a young Hispanic couple with a small child in a stroller. (Is that what they’re called?) She had a pretty face, but I noticed a very sad face and down turned mouth. He wore a green baseball cap that had a flat peak, and the peak was over his left eye. His pants hung down under his hips. Whatever he was saying had her on the verge of tears. I thought that if this is the father, with his ghetto look, and she is crying over him, she needs a reality check. Maybe I jumped to a conclusion, but I do admit, what was happening wasn’t conclusive by just looking.

Then there was the master chemist. He was with a beautiful Asian gal, and as she ate, he spent the whole time mixing mustard with mayo and ketchup, and dipping his fries in them, tasting them then re-mixing some more. I guess he was looking for the right balance. He would add more of one ingredient or another and do the same thing all through lunch.

Finally there was the Great Wallenda, tilting his chair back on its hind legs, balancing himself while eating and reading! I must say; this was a truly amazing feat.

When we got back, #1 suggested we go to his favorite coffee shop, where he will write, do a crossword puzzle, and suggested I read and take Tolik to Poland. (Tolik is a character in my novel),on his laptop computer.

What does all this have to do with the price of pork futures?

Well, it was raining in California yesterday, in spite of the song to the contrary, and I was so disoriented by it, didn’t even go to the donut shop. On top of that, you would never know it is Christmas in LA! NO FRIGGIN SPIRIT IN THIS CITY!

P.S. TLW (The Little Woman), Toots #1 (The Little Woman), Sweety (The Little Woman), I’m a bigamist, I miss you all!

Need a respite from crazy talk with a Brooklyn bent to it?
Write to:
Tell him “getattahere

Friday, November 30, 2007


Being the father of two sons, I sense that I am watched for flaws that both boys will detect. Their fear is that; they may at some point in their lives, emulate me. Whether the flaws are real or imagined.

For instance, last evening, we went to a Thai restaurant, and I sat next to a window, with #1 Son sitting across from me. A Thai woman was outside the window watering a potted plant, and as I watched her, she smiled at me. (I’m a customer) I smiled back. #1 Son wanted to know; “Why are you smiling?”

The waitress was Thai, and she had these socks on that just didn’t work with this black dress she was wearing, and it bothered me to a small distraction. It seemed odd. Again #1 Son: “You like that lady.” Me: “Huh?” Him: You keep looking at her.” Me: “Hah!’

I think we will be going out to eat separately for now on.

Sometimes when I have a cold, my nostrils will flare a little. Either #1 or #2 will say; “Why are you looking that way?” Me: “What way?” “You know, THAT way.”

If I am not dressed to their code of standards, I get the business. #1 Son once made me roll down my white socks when I was wearing a pair of summer shorts, because that was the cool way to wear socks.

I should have worn black thin dress socks that just go over my ankles, with brown shoes and shorts. That would fix him.

#2 Son has a passion for fashion. (Catchy, no?) He laughs at me because I wear a belt! Not only that I wear a belt, but also that it fits! Not only that it fits, but also my pants aren’t hanging down at my ankles. He laughs that I wear shirts that are slogan less, that I do not praise the virtues of Che, Fidel, Mao or that nut; Hugo Chavez! You #2 Son, you missed all of the old Kremlin guys. Nikita, Andre, and Leonid.

Anarchy? Revolution? Riots? Just reach in his closet.

Parenting is hard work and when they finally grow up, is when you really want to send them to their rooms.

Need some fodder to throw at the father? Write to;
Tell him, jeez, I’m glad I’m not your kid!

Today’s Blog is brought to you by the letters; D, A and another D, and the numbers: 1 and 2

Thursday, November 29, 2007


#1 Son has decided that he can’t have a donut every morning. This defies logic. Why can’t he have a donut every morning? He must have read it somewhere that donuts, my friend and yours, is no good!

I was thinking of creating a sort of DNR label like you find in a hospital. DND would stand for “DO NOT DONUT” a warning that goes on people that take up two airplane seats. By the way, the Daily Donut on Hillhurst Avenue in LA should become a national shrine, and embedded on the Hollywood Walk of Stars.

There are other labels that I would wear such as: OJD “ONLY JACK DANIELS!” and IRME for “I’M RESTING MY EYES!”, so no one disturbs me. Probably the most important one would be IH, for “I’M HUNGRY!”

But getting back to donutless #1 Son, and his request. This morning I brought home a single solitary donut, for my sole eating pleasure. Who gets up but DND #1 Son, looks at the donut and asks; “Is that the only donut?” “Yes, you said you didn’t want any anymore!” “Oh! OK” Me: “You want half?” Before I could finish my sentence, he had placed a knife in my hand!

Need instant relief, but don’t know from what? Write to:
tell him: If you go away, maybe all the world’s troubles will, too.

This blog comes to you by the letters D and N, and the number 1.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007


LA is a young person’s town. Young up and coming people, vital and interesting, inhabit all the streets and restaurants, cafes and Laundromat’s. It almost has the vitality of New York City, without the rush and bustle that makes New York what it is.

Judging by the impact of the writer’s strike, it is strictly an entertainment city. The movie stars and starlets, along with the studios, make for a tourist attraction, and someone like myself, born and bred in the big East, subconsciously looks to find a movie star around every corner, in every elevator, stopping at every light.

But the big star of this town is; the I-Pod devices one sees almost on every individual encountered. It has taken over like a hit song, or a popular TV show, everyone knows about them, knows how they work, and owns one, maybe even a second or third generation I-Pod!

The other night, #1 Son and I were walking back from dinner, and as we strolled by a cafĂ©, two young ladies sat outside having drinks, and on the table in front of one was an I-Pod, lit up, as she awaited either a call or text message. Yesterday I was peeking out #1 Son’s apartment window, when I spotted two young women, walking in the same direction about 10 or 12 feet apart. Guess what. They were walking with their phones in their ears.

I am wondering, as even #1 son mentioned, what is happening to emails and phone calls? I know the emails are a vast improvement over snail mail, and have changed the course of instant communication, but is it now becoming obsolete? Are the emails poorly written and too quickly done when one is written at all? Text messages have become a short hand instant communication device that lacks personality, and seems awfully cold when communicating. What is happening to the art of talking?

Not owning an I-Pod myself, I barely use my cell-phone, do people find there is no longer solitude, privacy or even a chance of not being found? Have we imprisoned ourselves to the phenomena of instant communication? Will I someday enter a public restroom and hear a private conversation over one of the urinals?

Think this blog is no phenomena? Send a nasty email (no text messages, please) to:
Tell him, if I wanted YOUR opinion I would have asked. Shut up.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007


Well for starters, how about the idea of creating a book of my favorite blogs of DelBloggolo? Sound unreasonable? I think not. I thought about it after the lovely MFF (My Favorite Fan, Laura) and some really sane people suggested it to me. If it weren’t for them, I would never have ever considered the idea.

Just think of what this could mean. A coffee table book or reception area book that would help people who have coffee cups in their hands, a place to set them down, without staining the furniture!

I might even own one myself.

Now the next thing I’m about to say may just make you nuts. During this past week, #1 Son and I were talking about the blog, and he suggested that I write some kind of book. Something creative and when he did, I nearly jumped out of my shorts. I had formulated an idea for a novel in my head, and told it to him. Then Sunday afternoon, the two of us went to the Cat and Fiddle, to meet Justin a Hollywood screenwriter, MFF, and Pete the Teacher. By the way, we will discuss Pete the Teacher later on.

Justine suggested that I write a novel. Well the blood is swelling up in my head, when I heard that, I again gave them an idea I had brewing, one of which is almost complete. They all loved the idea and are encouraging me to do it, and I think I will. Even if I don’t go anywhere with it, I can at least say; “I tried”.

These past few weeks have been a revelation in many ways for both myself and #1 Son, he got to know me better than he thought he did, I got to know him the same way, and have some new and worthwhile friends, that will be treasured forever.

Afraid of DelBloggolo proliferating your book shelf or public library, act while there is still time, write to;, tell him; “Don’t you dare put it in a book too!”

Monday, November 26, 2007


Yesterday’s blog was a test of LA. Yes indeed. I was looking to see if the city would break out in celebration that I was leaving town. In fact, last evening on my way to the Cat and Fiddle, a great place for a drink and a light lunch (nothing dark), I was convinced it was the case. As we drove along, people were lining the street, with their families in lawn chairs even coolers at their sides. I figured they were having a parade, a DelBloggolo is leaving in the morning parade. Fortunately, I stopped one of the people with his kids and asked what was going on. “The Christmas Parade” Oh! I don’t think he’d lie in front of his kids.

As I do on occasion, I like to recommend things, movies, shows, books and whatnots. I happen to be an expert on whatnots, having collected a few over the years. Today I highly recommend the TV show; Madmen, about an ad agency in NYC during the early 60’s.
Watch it, there will be a true or false test one of these days. Actually, it gives you a little insight in the life and times of DelBloggolo, and where all this sickness comes from in a way.

Well, I’m still in LA, and can’t bear to leave a city that has palm trees on a cold day. I walk every morning to Daily Donut, where the two little ladies sell me cholesterol-laden deliciousness and a cup of coffee. As I walk, I see the same people every morning, some will give me eye contact so I can say; " Good morning!", some don’t. A lot are homeless people, dressed for the North Pole, and carrying all their posessions in one bag.

I may not leave until around the middle or end of the month. Meanwhile, I think I’ll do some laundry today.

Sensing some nervous tension every time you fire up the old computer? Write to;
Tell him; I’ve had enough and I WON’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

Sunday, November 25, 2007


Today I will enter my last blog while here in LA, and then I will take Monday (Tomorrow) off and fly home. However I will take my back problem with me and grin and bear it.

Martyrdom does not sit well with me, since I have had the experience of growing up in the 40’s and 50’s, where life was somewhat harder than it is today, and we were told by our parents; “You think you have it hard?” I hated when they said that. Of course according to Dad, things were always done better, “Not like today.” Why yesterdays orange seeds “were as big as today’s oranges” and comparisons like that. You walked to school, and the only time you were driven was in an ambulance because you couldn’t walk. “Ma, I got two broken legs, puss coming out of my belly button, a headache, one arm fell off, and I’m spiting blood!” “Oh, you’ll be fine, take an aspirin and go to school.”

Chores were serious business. Mom wasn’t getting involved in anyone’s mess, she sent you in to “clean it up” or else! Dad had a litany of items that needed “Taken care of before I get back”, and when done, you better check it twice, or be dumbed down. When it came to doing chores, no one would get in each other’s way, because the chore would bowl you over by the “Choree” so to speak.

We didn’t own a car in the city of Brooklyn, no one really did. When my dad did own one, it was parked for weeks at a time, never moving, and eventually becoming first or third base in a stick ball game. We walked everywhere! The other day, #1 Son and I where looking to get to the LA County Museum of Art, and asked someone the best direct way to get there. This woman offered up, it’s a long walk, about seven tenths of a mile! Seven tenths of a mile! I walk that when I go to the toilet in the middle of the night, and don’t remember the trip! We walked to school, church, the movies, and the stores, everywhere, no buses or cabs or subways, just our two feet. Do you think we minded?

Darn right we did.

Our parents came of the depression of the 30’s and the war of the 40’s and the Korean conflict, so trouble was always staring them in the face. Hardship was nothing new; sacrifice was a way of life. You didn’t waste; you hardly spent, and just barely made ends meet. So they decided; “if I had to suffer, so will these little bastards.”

So with aching back, I say adieu to you. So long LA for now, see you later allegator, goodbye, you are a gem on the Pacific.

You did it in LA, now do it on the blogosphere, tell delbloggolo to “GET OUT”
Tell him how your offended sensibilities are feeling better in LA, and will if he goes away period. Write to: joedelbroccolo@yahoo .com

PS Look for an exciting array of delbloggolo goodies for your enjoyment and my enrichment, at the delbloggolo blogstore.

Saturday, November 24, 2007


Today, like yesterday is misery day, a day devoted to grimacing, wincing and looking like a student from the Barbizon School of modeling learning to walk with a book on her head. As I try to walk or sit, and the pain in my back shouts out at me; “Hey, stop!” as I try to keep my head upright and my back straight. Because of the discomfort, I missed a movie with MFF (My Favorite Fan, Laura) and friends.

Thinking about the flight home on Monday, I will be in the air for six hours, and about two hours of layover in Pheonix, I dread the thought of the whole ordeal with this back. Then the wonderful geniuses at Southwest Airlines will help my day along with their free-for-all boarding policy. They create lines, with letters, and your ticket has one of four letters; (A), (B), (C) and (W) which is my designation. The letters are on your boarding pass, but you have no seat assignment, so you get on according to your place in the alphabet as stated on your ticket. The “W” designation (mine) stands for wing, and is where I should wind up again, as there are no seat assignments, I usually wind up between two really portly guys, and have to sit sideways because shoulder to shoulders doesn’t fit.

When I take off, and the wheels pull up and I am in the air, I will say goodbye to beautiful LA, to my Son and all the wonderful people I met and know, my friends forever. If you’ve seen me here, come to New York and see me there, I will welcome you all with open arms and treat you like the royalty you guys really are. Thanks for the pleasure of knowing you and in some cases your children. Thanks for the memories as Bob Hope used to say.

I plan to come back, and this time I will try to bring TLW (The Little Woman), where we can enjoy visiting with #1 Son, bringing along #2 Son, we will have a great time, as I try to defend myself from the two bozos as they take me apart for whatever I say or might do. Usually they laugh at me because I’m not “NOW” but I enjoy the banter.

My target this time will be Pasadena, where TLW will fall in love with a city as she has never before. Just passing through it inspires one to want to stop and explore, with interesting people bouncing up and down the streets in a purposeful manner, their noses aimed at something, with something to do. By the way, I miss TLW. I wish she could meet everyone I met, I know she would be impressed by #1 Son’s friends, too.

Tired of hearing an old man whine? Write to;, tell him,
“Here, whine this.”


Friday, November 23, 2007


Well LA, you did it again! Just as I was missing home, TLW, (The Little Woman) and #2 Son, I had some people to take my mind off of it. One was #1 Son, who I always love to see, and hear from, who makes me both happy and proud. It started Wednesday at lunch when we drove to Pasadena to have lunch with one of #1 Son’s favorite people Steve Holland (Come to think of it, they are all his favorites) and Steve’s very good-looking sons. These boys have the faces of angels, they beautiful! Nice sweet kids, normal in every way, include testing Dad’s ability to keep a strait face. Steve seems like the kind of guy that stays with you like a nice time in some far away land on vacation.

Thursday, Yesterday, and Thanksgiving Day, (Hard to think that I spent 3-days in a 24 hour period) was spent with #1 Son’s friends and mine Steve and Christine, with two of the most energetic kids I have ever met. These two boys have their old mans personality, and they really took the edge off of missing home. They played with me, (It was ok with them), they did tricks and climbed walls, and I got a one-man drum concert from the oldest boy. With only five lessons, this kid sounded like Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa all rolled into one! The beautiful Christine was sensational as a hostess goes, the food was excellent, and the hospitality goes beyond praise. Steve followed orders like a good husband, and the whole day was perfect. We even had the pleasure of meeting Christine’s cousin, and handsome guy from Long Beach, N.Y., named David.

So this was the only happy turkey in the land yesterday, and to all the people I’ve met out here, I hope you Thanksgiving was grand.

Tired of some turkey roaming the blogosphere? Write to;,
Tell him, “Go stuff it.”

Thursday, November 22, 2007


I promised myself that today, being it is a holiday I would take a break from writing this blog. This would allow the reader to really enjoy his or her turkey, and not feel sick from what I have to say. I want you to know I do this out of love for you, and think you need the break.

Pretend today is yesterday, and get over it.

Last year, I spent the holiday in the traditional family get-together, with Mom leading the clan by warning me to behave, and not to get so smart, after all, I’m not to big to get a wooden spoon on the head. My four lovely sisters, each taking the day off from the Covent of sisterhood, with their husbands and/or children and their spouses and significant others (all straight), gathered around the buffet table, telling stories, joking, and just having a grand time of poking fun of me in general. I supply my reputation as a service, in which the host or hostess gives me turkey to eat.

The first Thanksgiving Day actually occurred in Brooklyn, NY, in a three-story walk-up in the Bushwick section of the borough. Don’t believe all that nonsense about “Pilgrims” and Native Americans. (By the way, I do still use “Indians” but don’t want anyone to fall forward and hurt their head.) I know this fact from the sheer weight of being there when it occurred. Mom was younger, Dad was still alive, and there was only one alien there, my much older sister; Tessie. Mom made Lasagna, meatballs with rolled stuffed pork and beef bracciolas, then turkey and all the trimmings. Wine and formula were the beverages of demand, and that was it. Aside from the pies, cookies and other desserts, such as Italian pastries, that was all you got, and if it wasn’t enough for you, too bad.

Well, I must put on my game face for the big day, some friend’s are expecting me as company today, and I happen to be going there with #1 Son, so this works out real well, not too complicated for me.

Again, have a great holiday, eat all you want, and when no one’s looking, drink some more.

Joe Del Bloggolo

Help prevent holiday depression, write to:
Tell ‘em: “it is sad enough around here, go away you turkey.”

Wednesday, November 21, 2007


Tomorrow I spend Thanksgiving Day with #1 Son, for the first time in a few years, and only the second time in many years since he moved out here. To make it more festive, we were graciously invited by our friends, Christine and Steve, and two little bandits named: Mathew and Peter. Mathew is learning to play the drums, and already climbs the walls. Mom will be nominated for Sainthood, but I must say, there is an awful lot of life in these two beautiful children. I was lucky enough to attend Christine and Steve’s wedding a few years ago, or at least it seems a few, and can attest to the fact that there was one beautiful bride there, and a beautiful couple that haven’t changed. Whenever I come out here, they graciously invite me to their home for dinner, and make my stay an event to remember fondly. More importantly, they are true friends; the kind when the chips are down, they stand up.

After dinner, we visit Justin’s place, one of the most handsome men in Hollywood, who isn’t an actor, but is the leading man in a relationship with a beautiful gal, MFF (My Favorite Fan) Laura. Justin just may wind up on the silver screen someday.

As you may guess, Christine, and Steve, Justin and MFF, and the likes of Big Pete from Minnesota, and Peter the teacher, are all good friends of #1 Son, and all are the best you may find anywhere in this world. So you can see that it will take my mind off of not being home with TLW (The Little Woman) and my other son, #2, somewhat.

So dear readers, I wish you the kind of holiday that makes you glad to be alive, grateful for all you have, and realize that love is around you, just reach for it by reaching out.

Joe Del Bloggolo

Tuesday, November 20, 2007


Being how I have been out here one full week already, I thought I should assess my stay in LA, and in particular in #1 Son’s world.

Living with someone other than TLW (The Little Woman) seems strange to me, since I’ve done it for so long. But with this strike of the Writer’s Guild, I figure the opportunity affords itself, and since I am retired, all my commitments can be put on hold for a while. The weather stays nice out here in California, I don’t see #1 Son much, so why not?

One of the things that took me by surprise is the nice life he has. First there is his apartment, situated in a good part of town, near a lot of things, and convenient to get to. But when one enters the place, the transformation of boy to man becomes apparent, the shocking news that #1 Son has grown up staggers me. As I gaze about, I see the neat and tidy look of a bachelor, one on the prowl none-the-less, with a well-ordered appointment of places for things and things for places. And don’t you dare spill something; you get a pointed look at to clean it up.

Being how he works all day when he doesn’t strike, he has a cleaning lady, who helps keep it clean for him. The things that adorn his apartment have some of his Mothers’ touch, some of his interests and all of his history and tastes. The funny thing is some of it is very much my taste. His tapes, books, CD’s DVD’s etc. are all lined up for easy access, and ready to be called up at a moments notice. All day long I go; “Just like a grownup!” Then it occurs to me, he is a grownup, and I am now an old fart, looking at the new world, new generation, doing what should be done! I shouldn’t congratulate him so much as to marvel at how time goes by so quickly, and you never see the transformation from boy to man.

Well I’m going on the net now to look up; “old age homes”, maybe something with little note pads and pencils so I can write down who I once was. Maybe I’ll find one out here in La La Land with a nice view, and #1 Son can drive me in his Prius, with built-in GPS!

Tired of waiting for old people to stop writing blogs, with their left blinker on doing only 10 words a minute? Write to:,
tell him; GOOO AWAAAY

Monday, November 19, 2007


Last night, the Chairman of the Board, and CEO of DelBloggolo, along with #1 Son, went to visit the Salvador Dali Exhibit, but arrived too late to view the show. Instead we confined ourselves to the main permanent exhibit, which I found to be just great.

On our way out of the building, as you Angelinos all know, you enter a nice looking park, tree lined paths and nice green rolling hills, that even on a dark, misty early evening, tends to still be beautiful. I commented to the kid that I thought wherever you go in LA, it is done up nicely. All kidding aside about your street light timing and some of the ladies I see walking, LA is a real nice looking town in some parts. Although I love NYC, LA has a summery, exotic feel, one that belies the fact that you are in a large metropolis, and constantly gives you hints of suburbia. Maybe it is the high volume of automobile traffic, maybe the flowers that decorate the windows and entrances of a lot of homes and businesses. Maybe the happy Hispanic and graceful Asian influences lend themselves to the feeling. I would think, coming out of the northeastern part of the USA, and seeing palm trees in the middle of the big city, make for a great view.

After the show, went to Gelato’s for some good old Italian hospitality, and some really great food, when who passes by my table and chair, but the beautiful Doris Roberts. Doris Roberts, one of the best actresses in all of Hollywood, who has amused me, and awed me with her great acting, passing her biggest fan, like two ships in the night. Did I say anything to her, no. The reason I love her so much is that she is a lot like my Mom, so I didn’t want to disturb her privacy, or annoy her. If I did, and she is like Mom, I didn’t want a smack in the head.

So to LA, and Doris Roberts, thanks a million!

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Sunday, November 18, 2007


Every morning I take a stroll down Hillhurst Avenue, to purchase a cup of coffee and a donut. The coffee is to get me up and going and the donut is to remind me that I am a diabetic, and this is what I’m missing. As I traverse down the busy road early in the morning, usually about 7:00 a.m., I have to cross a number of streets that have traffic lights. These lights have been installed when I made my reservation to fly here. Believe me.

As I approach the corner, the light is green, I still have a ways to go yet, but it is green. As I descend the curb to cross, the light turns red. A big palms-out hand denies me my rights to cross, and almost mocks me, saying: “YOU’RE GOING NOWHERE CHUMP.” Of course I feel offended, but I stand still and fume. After several weeks, the light changes back to green, the hand changing shapes that says: “Come on, I dare you.” I step into the street, and halfway across, starts warning and flashing me: “MOVE YOUR ASS GUY.” As I come close to the curb, the light changes and I feel I am in violation of the law, and some policeman is going to nab me for j walking.

One of the streets I cross on my way to donut land is Kamikaze Blvd., the street that has an Indianapolis Speedway trial run for all motorists looking to enter the race. They usually point their engines right at me. Honking their horns, and accelerating even faster than they can go, to achieve warp speed, while killing a New Yorker, and maybe even themselves, they race down the street. As the zoom by, they usually salute me with one finger, meaning I guess; “You’re number one”.

The Ladies that walk the street, especially during the daytime, are of the most interest. LA Ladies are talkers, affixed to their ear is a cell phone, which can stay there without the use of a hand. They usually walk in pairs, carrying bottled water, and a shopping bag, tattooed over every inch, sunglasses set permanently on their nose, and their gait somewhat casual.

Down the road from where I stay, is the LAFD. That brave band of boys that help keep the city of LA from sleeping. All fire fighting must come by my door, pause, blowing their sirens, horns and whatever the hell that grinding, deep beat of noise they make is. The people of LA must stop playing with matches, especially after 9:00 P. M.! On top of this, it all occurs at only two instances, so I should really be thankful. Instant one is as I doze off, shaking me out of my restful pose, and giving me a shock so severe, my necks snaps forward. If instant one is not terrifying, then instant two really finishes the job. I get on the phone, the critical part of the conversation comes and so does the FDLA boys.

I am tempted to set a record for LA. I am seriously thinking of j walking, discarding trash AND spitting all at once. Let’s see if they can deal with that?

Don’t get me wrong; I love the city and the state. The people are pretty nice, and nice looking. But there are evil forces about, designed to make my stay miserable.

Tired of the bitching and moaning? Then write to:
Tell ‘em; “Shut the hell up already.”

Saturday, November 17, 2007


Years ago, when I was a young and hopeful artist, I used to get together with other artists, film and architectural students to socialize and talk about our work, dreams and love life or lack thereof. It was a small community and very closed. Usually the place was a small cafeteria where we drank coffee, smoked, (some not always cigarettes,) and just lounged around in the haze and smell of turpentine and oil paint.

Last night I was lucky enough to be in LA during a very historical time, a time that threatens the economy of LA, and the TV and Motion Picture Industry. I went to a hangout of sorts, where a good many young people were gathered together to socialize and compare notes about the strike and others things about their lives in LA. The place was a long abandoned film studio that housed Tom Mix, the first cowboy film star to grace the silver screen. This was a good-looking crowd of young people, congregating and having a good time. I was introduced to them, and got to know some of them. These very people are a core of the economy, trying to survive, doing a wonderful job, and not being in the least bit appreciated by those in power. The actors and actresses march in support of the writers in their quest for fairness, and rightfully so, since the writers are the real talent, leaving the actors the glory and the money, while the writers hope for a decent contract every few years. No writers, no income for anyone in this industry.

I’m hoping the writers get what they need to feel appreciated, then some for the fact that they more than anyone else, are the driving force for the entertainment industry.

It may be Tinsel Town or Hollyweird or La La Land, but these are the people that bring it back to reality, and they should not be taken advantage of.