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:
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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 café, 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?

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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.

Friday, November 16, 2007


It is 6:44 in the am, and I sit here at this I-Mac, just having gotten out of the shower, on a somewhat cloudy day. Yes, it is still sunny California, still LA LA Land, Hollyweird, but it is going to be a beautiful day. I have spent some time with #1 Son, and getting to know his world somewhat, how he lives and meeting some of his friends.

Friends are an important mix as an ingredient in life. They can make or break the recipe of life, give it flavor, perhaps be a spice in that huge melting cauldron of events and places we all live in, in our hearts, souls and minds.

I never realize just how fortunate life can be for a person like me. There’s TLW (The Little Woman), and my children. Then every now and then I get an additional treat of meeting new people, people that affect my life in an indirect way, by being friends to one of my sons.

Tuesday evening I had the pleasure of meeting: MFF (My Favorite Fan), two wonderful guys named Peter, and a Justin. Justin is dating MFF, who has a name. It is Laura, a fan of the blog, but not just a fan, my biggest fan, and certainly one of the sweetest fans I could imagine. What is important here is every one of these wonderful and beautiful people are fans of my blog! It is humbling to say the least, in that they are intelligent, professional people, some are even writers!

I will post a photo of MFF for all to see that I speak of the truth when I use the adjective beauty, or wonderful or any other that may come from me.

Being how I am in the land of sunshine and warmth, I have a birthday party to go to tonight, yes, MFF has gotten older yesterday! So off I go celebrate with a round of drinks to celebrate MFF’s birthday tonight.

Coming home is proving difficult for me. I hear that there is rain and cold, and even pestilence in New York, while here it is sunny and warm, with pretty girls and John Denver’s song: “Sunshine On My Shoulder.” On top of that, I learned how to play with #1 Son’s Play Station Baseball game, so I might have to wear-out the game before coming home.

We’ll see.

Help stamp out childish behavior, write to:
tell ‘em: “GROW UP!”

Monday, November 12, 2007


I will be leaving tomorrow to visit #1 Son in LaLa Land, and will attempt to turn Hollyweird on i8t’s collective ear. What this means is that I will not return to this blog for about 1week. I’m sorry to leave you, but I need some time to bond with the kid.

When I return, you will get the full story of my visit to The Rainbow Room, high above the NBC Studios at Rockefeller Center in the heart of NYC.

Included in the report will be my experience with a herd of cattle on the bus ride in.

Until then, CIAO.

Sunday, November 11, 2007


The funeral Mass was winding down, and the coffin was being pushed down the aisle for the last time, as everyone in the congregation stood up to watch. It would be the last time Eleonora, a woman of great faith would leave her beloved church and place of solace.

As I watched the procession, the doors to the church swung open, and daylight poured through, illuminating the building in fresh natural light, the sun shining, and the hope of life’s continuance promised. It was a grateful ending to a somber moment, a time of sadness and reflection.

I couldn’t wait to get outside again, to smell the freshness of a cold and crisp day, one that said; “Yes, you are alive.” When I finally stepped outside, the family and friends of the deceased were all out there, standing and talking, and saying “Hi!” for the first time in some cases, years.

Eleonora will lie to rest somewhere, but her memory won’t, and the people who said goodbye today will have a friend for life.


East Rutherford, NJ (AP) -A seven-year old boy was at the center of an East Rutherford Courtroom drama today when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of him.

The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge initially awarded custody to his aunt, in keeping with child custody law and regulations requiring that family unity be maintained to the highest degree possible. The boy surprised the court
proclaiming, that his aunt beat him more than his parents and adamantly refused to live with her. When the judge then suggested that he live with his grandparents, the boy cried and said that they also beat him. After considering the remainder of the immediate family and learning that domestic violence was apparently a way of life among them, the judge took the unprecedented step of allowing the boy to propose who should have custody of him. After two recesses to check legal references and confer with the child welfare officials, the judge granted temporary custody to the New York Jets, whom the boy firmly believes are not capable of beating anyone.

Saturday, November 10, 2007


The funeral parlor was somewhat quiet, only a hand full of people standing around. Yours truly drifted over to a table that had pictures of the deceased, and curious to look at a little history, picked up a handful of pictures and started to look at them. Along with the loose photos was a few picture frames with old photos that looked very interesting that were lying against a wooden prop.

Not being able to hear too well anything behind me, I didn’t realize that there was a gathering of family and friends being led by a priest to begin praying for the deceased. Suddenly there was a tap on my shoulder, and one of the prayers was telling me we were going to say a pray now. I turned around in horror as I realized that a Priest was standing at the coffin, with the people all in seats, waiting for me.

Nervously I started to put the picture frame down, and when I did, knocked down all the standing photos on the table, and as I did murmured: “Oh God!” When I said that, I thought that maybe I should continue and lead the prayer. Luckily I didn’t.

The Priest, an elderly man looked at me and said: “That’s OK.”

It wasn’t OK, I suddenly felt very self-conscious, and while others bowed their heads in prayer, I held my head down in shame, all the while on the corner of my eye was the mess I left at the table. If you know Larry David, this was his moment.

After the prayer, I scurried back to the table to rearrange all the photos, and as I did, the deceased daughter, rearranged my arrangement.

I think I could have gone over to the coffin, and asked if there was any room for me.

Before You Meet With God

A man died and went to The Judgment. St. Peter met him at the Gates of Heaven and said, "Before you meet with God, I thought I should tell you -- we've looked at your life, and your really didn't do anything particularly good or bad. We're not at all sure what to do with you. Can you tell us anything you did that can help us make a decision?"

The newly arrived soul thought for a moment and replied, "Yeah, once I was driving along and came upon a woman who was being harassed by a group of bikers. So I pulled over, got out my tire iron, and went up to the leader of the bikers. He was a big, muscular, hairy guy with tattoos all over his body and a ring pierced through his nose. Well, I tore the nose ring out of his nose, and told him he and his gang had better stop bothering the woman or they would have to deal with me!"

"I'm impressed," St. Peter responded, "When did this happen?"

"About two minutes ago," came the reply.

Friday, November 09, 2007


If you didn’t catch this story on the Internet, you missed a beauty. “Boys Privy Prop Keeps The Lid On.” Some little genius has invented a foot-activated toilet seat that raises or lowers when you step on a pedal. The 9-year old is in a class for gifted and talented kids, and I think he gets his brains from his Father, and here’s why:

While her son, who is in the school's Talented and Gifted program, manages assignments with ease, he has one weak spot: remembering to lower the seat after he's done, his Mom said.

"My mom was getting mad at me for forgetting to put the toilet seat down and she was falling in," said Jake, a fourth-grader at Odebolt-Arthur Elementary School.

Need I say anymore about “Dad”?

"He's done this pretty much all his life," his mother said "He's in too big a hurry to take care of that. He's been reminded thousands of times over the years."

Do you think that Mom has a soggy bottom?

“Thousands of times over the years.”

The PRIVY PROP was selected by judges at the Invention Convention to advance to the regional contest in Pocahontas, where it was chosen to be displayed at the Iowa State Fair this past summer.

"Jake drew it all out and I supervised, Dad said. "I helped him with the tools to make sure he didn't cut off any fingers."

Jake has all 11 fingers in place, I’m happy to report.

Meanwhile Mom is feeling kind of weepy, from top to bottom, so to speak.

Thursday, November 08, 2007


Today is a sad day indeed. Today I learned of the passing of a wonderful lady Eleonora, pure and simple in her ways, sophisticated with her love, kind and gentle to all. She was my friend for over 25 years.

I found out in a very strange way, too. I sat down to have a cup of tea about 3:00 pm, and flipped on the TV. The picture had a funny screen covering that made it hard to see, like looking out of a screen door. Normally I never carry my cell phone, but today I decided to charge it and put it in my car the first chance I got. I got up to reboot the cable box to rid the screen effect, and must have turned on the phone when I did. I decided to check for what I thought was a single phone message when the cell phone went off. I couldn’t get back in time to the main menu and the call was missed. Again, I went to the messages and discovered that Eleonora’s daughter had called and wanted me to call her back. I knew the call was not good.

Maureen, Eleonora’s daughter told me that her Mom had passed away yesterday afternoon.

You can read about what I thought of her on my blog of Saturday, December 9th, 2006.

Goodbye Eleonora, I’ll miss you, you sense of humor, and your great friendship. It is time to die.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007


Every week I give myself an allowance to tide me over to the next week. Gas, minor expenses such as coffee or a bagel, and then I squirrel away the balance for gift buying for TLW (The Little Woman.) Sometimes I buy art supplies as a treat, once-in-a-while an article of clothing. Often, when she is home on Saturdays, I treat TLW to breakfast. I don’t take a whole lot of money, just enough. Once-in-a-while I purchase an item or two to make dinner more interesting.

Now TLW is my personal banker, which stems from the old days when I was working for myself, and I used her bank, or credit union because it didn’t cost me for a checking account, and I got her benefits and oversight for me, since she worked for the credit union.

Last night we got to discuss my weekly allowance, and TLW’s curiosity as to what I do with my money. (Just like a woman) She suggested that since I don’t go anywhere, I should have a full tank of gas, and a bulging wallet filled with money. I would rather discuss my underwear at the end of the day than my wallet at the end of the week. TLW is somehow running audits of my cash flow, and has a sense of how much I spend and how much I tuck away. Knowing that she is completely honest, I know she never ever violates my privacy, it is one thing that I am very proud of, her complete honesty. So how does she know what I have?

I suspect that when we were first married, she learned how to interrogate me in my sleep, and has applied her technique and advanced the method, to the point that she can advise the CIA, FBI, and even KGB.

She has an uncanny way of knowing everything about me. No wonder she doesn’t snoop, I must be tipping my hand. I can assure you, there is no way I could possibly pull off an affair, even if I was a thousand miles away from her, without her knowing.

When I suggested the fact that I spent so much money on this and that, she did a quick calculation and decided if it is true, she should get a $1200 gift for Christmas. After all, that would be left for gift money. I walked away from that argument unable to reply, when it dawned on me that she gets at least that much in a year’s worth of Christmas, anniversary, birthday, Mother’s Day and Valentines day gifts! It’s the old case of; “Gee I wish I had said THAT.”

Tuesday, November 06, 2007


TLW, (The Little Woman) is now becoming the company spokeswoman for her credit union. It started out quietly enough when she joined the place about 6 years ago, and has been slowly building a world of credit union jargon, lore and wardrobe!

Being a spouse of a credit union employee, I have to witness and listen to all that occurs in a few hours each day. Weekends, like the “Bank” hold no exception for me. It’s credit union as usual, be it Mondays or Saturdays. Sundays are not a day of rest either. For instance, on certain Sundays we go on a tour in NYC, usually to places like: Central Park and Chinatown. On each occasion, there was a bank employee with us. It is not unlike touring the old Soviet Union, and having a spy guide along for the tour. A kind of KGB agent that is implanted into the group. But instead of KGB we have TFCU agents to watch over us, I guess to make sure we are not using other banks or credit unions, and that our loyalty to the credit union is sincere.

On our tour of Central Park, there was agent “Lois” or so she calls herself, then on the Chinatown tour there was agent “Barbara” again, keeping her eye on things. We will be going to “The Rainbow Room” this Sunday for a great dinner, and I wonder who will represent the credit union. These trips are NOT sponsored by the Credit Union, but are free and independent of any bank or credit union.

At home I get briefings about the “bank”, stories about who did what to whom, and who said what to who didn’t do what to whomever. Then the day came when TLW put on a blue button down shirt one Friday, with the embroided letters; “TFCU” over the breast pocket. We now have bookmarked websites for TFCU and I have learned all the jargon for bank loans and their acronyms different kinds of forms and the letter assignments for them, I can now even talk a good loan! There are desk calendars, book calendars, trips to ballgames, hats and I’m sure, underwear. The reason I’m sure is when a teller checks out, they have to: “Count her draw.”

There is a problem that I foresee coming, and coming soon. Embroided PJ’s with the TFCU emblazoned on the top of the breast pocket. NO, not hers, mine.

Monday, November 05, 2007


This morning I open my e-mail and I find an e-mail from Jerry O’Hara, my nephew, making fun of my wardrobe! How would You like to wake up one day and find out your closet is the laughing stock of one of your nephews, who’s putting it all over the internet? As you can see, he was also poking fun of some of my furnishings, which is another low blow. The pictures he sent were from an early 1970’s JCPenney catalog.

I may be in my 60’s, but I consider myself hip, the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas, the snakes hips so to speak. Yes, I think of myself as pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty cool, a kind of Renaissance man, a fashion trendsetter.

The ties alone that I harbor from TLW (The Little Woman), including a green on green stripes with a paisley background in both muted browns and greens, one I got for purchasing my suit, back in 1974, which I prize dearly. (After all, I got it free!)

I don’t consider my suits “Old”, but timely. Like myself, I think they should be preserved. The fact is dear reader, they will come back someday, and I will have saved myself the expense of being fashionably dressed, while you are charging to your MasterCard.

My shoes, like my socks, come in various browns and blacks, which I have kept over the years and still wear, because my feet DON’T get fat. I mean, come on, shoes are shoes.

TLW over the years has actually badgered me about my wardrobe, telling me to throw out the stuff. Can you imagine? I suspect that she is very jealous of my frugality, my foresight into thinking ahead. But my thinking is, if I kept her around for all these years, wouldn’t it make sense to keep my wardrobe too? Think of all the confusion I avoid for my wife and kids, they would not recognize me in other clothes. It kind of creates a comfort zone, I would think.

TLW would not dare to throw out any of my stuff, because she knows I take inventory every other week. I have shirts with every kind of collar made, just waiting to be called up into service, as the trends change on 6th Avenue, London, Paris and Rome.

Sunday, November 04, 2007


but not as much as I would have liked.

The evening turned out to be one of my favorite times. I had no speech I had to make, just smooze a little with donors and suppliers, talk to all the wonderful staff people and dine like a fancy schmancy man.

The menu was an appetizer of Agnalotti Pasta with Sun-Dried Tomato Cream Sauce, and Asiago Cheese, A Boston Bibb Salad with maple glazed walnuts, goat cheese & pear vinaigrette. The entrée consisted of both Filet Mignon, Cabernet Jus, paired with herb crusted halibut Buerre Blanc Sauce, served with Dauphine Potato, veggies and dessert was a Puff Pastry of fresh strawberries and chantilly cream, Crème Anglaise, and a plate of Chocolate dipped strawberries, cordials and liqueurs. Some how I felt like a French hooker after reading and eating the menu!

The “Veggie” description was mine.

Of course there is always someone to talk to me when some great hors d’ oeuvres goes by, and you really want to try one but the person won’t shut up long enough for me to grab the server to get some. Couple that with my phony manners trying to hold the drink in one hand, and the plate of food in the other. I get very self-conscious at these affairs, and I often go to them so I should get over my self-consciousness, but don’t.

Going to the bar, I ordered my usual Jack Daniels Manhattan, and a scotch and soda for TLW (The Little Woman), reminding the bar tender to go easy on the soda. That got some chuckles from people behind me going: “Yeah, heavy on the scotch”. So of course, I let them think it was my drink. Seems TLW thinks they water-down her drink with too much soda. Sure.

Well, the magic hour approached, 11:30 pm, and all I could think about was the feather ball at home I wish I was at.

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Friday, November 02, 2007


Many years ago, when I was just a tyke, at night, when Mom and Dad had enough of my sister, and me, would announce that we were getting dressed. Excitedly, I would ask where it was we were going to, and dear old Mom would say: “The feather ball!” Then I would ask her why I was putting on my pajamas for? And she would say it was a special ball where you put on your pajamas to attend.

Tonight I go to a real ball, the Suffolk Chapter AHRC Candlelight Ball. A formal dance for all the people who work for the agency, Included are; staff, Board and vendors. We have an honoree and fancy food, booze and lots of it. It is a very large fund-raiser for the people we serve.

The Candlelight Ball is an annual occurrence, with raffles, silent auctions and speeches, loud music and tedious conversations that all try to strain over the loud music to hear. Small talk becomes a large issue, wishing not to slight anyone, one moves from venue to venue, cocktail in hand, hors de ovules in the other, jiggling all to shake hands or kiss. These are the pain in the ass maneuvers.

Sometime around 11:30 pm, when all the food is finished, the drinks are lingering, the speeches done and the announced winners of the 50-50 raffles and silent auctions completed, as the music starts to heat up to a frenzy, I start thinking about going home to my own ball, the “Feather Ball.”


Yesterday I went to the eye doctor for my annual eye exam. I took all the preliminary drops, did some chart reading and had an attractive young lady look into my eyes. Unfortunately, she was on the other end of some kind of lens device. Then after about 15 minutes, the Doctor entered, applied his own lens device, read off some numbers to the assistant and talked to me.

He gave me some shocking news, yet I kind of knew it along, especially these last 6 or 7 years. It seems I have TACD, a disease that strikes people in their early 40’s to 60’s, and although curable, it needs constant monitoring, carefully diet and medications that can help it from becoming totally debilitating.

Luckily, for me, I already take the medications to keep in under control, but not all people do. It is a serious disability, and one out of about 3 or 4 persons have this dreaded disease.

The disease is called: Teen Age Cleanliness Disorder. The symptoms are a bedroom floor that hasn’t seen the light of days since the child was 13. It also includes dirty cups, dishes and dirty clothing, spread all around the floor. The reason it is spread around is that the teenager has lost track of the: Kitchen. Bureau, Desk and/or Night Stand, and while discarding whatever items they possess, become disoriented and forget they are discarding, thus the falling to the floor of said items. Other symptoms are: messy car, leaving of cups, dishes and cigarette butts all around the house. Will walk around in PJ’s all day if there is nothing going on until the midnight hour.

How does this affect me? I need to get a 9-foot titanium pole to stick into the pile to see if anyone is under it. Sometimes he is asleep, sometimes in class, sometimes camping out in the pantry looking to eat. If TLW (The Little Woman) decides to clean out the mess, which she does once a week, we don’t for some obscure reason want to remove the child by accident and leave him at the curb. I have to ask her why again to refresh my memory.

As I mentioned before, I take medications for the disease, such as high blood pressure medication, which helps keep my pressure at an even keel. Also, TLW does the actual fumigation, liter removal and necessary demolition to remove all the dirt, mess and crud.

The eye doctor is concerned about my condition because of the burned-in images that are attached to my retina. I explained to him that what is happening is that we like to keep the room as dark as possible, so that whenever I do turn on the light, it acts as a camera lens on photo film. He is prescribing a pair of goggles used to test atomic and hydrogen bombs for me to wear whenever I do open the lights again.

If you feel you are having the same symptoms I just described, please see you ophthalmologist as soon as possible, and get plenty of eye rest, drink plenty of fluids (preferably Jack Daniels) and start going to either a temple or church or your choosing.

Thursday, November 01, 2007


Yesterday was a good day for the simple reason that I experienced the hand of God, like I never considered it before.

As a Board member of the Association for the Help of Retarded Children, I took some time to visit the Seiff Educare Center in Bohemia, NY. It is Halloween and there was a; “Fall Family Festival” that included costumes, a parade and picture taking in a pumpkin patch that the staff created. The staff and consumers were all decked out in their costumes, and the only thing that shined brighter than the gorgeous sunny day was the smiles on the staff, consumers and parents that witnessed the event.

When you are a parent of a handicapped child, the biggest thing that overtakes you is fear for your child’s future, and disappointment that the child will never be normal. You feel the lack of normalcy that other parents have, you feel the sense of being outside, and you feel trapped. Desperation is no easy matter when it comes to your child. You wonder what you did wrong in God’s eyes that warrant such retribution?

You realize that there is no legacy you can leave him or her. You know that there is no real world anymore; there are no dreams, and no hope otherwise. Then one day you get over the denial and get up and do something meaningful. You enroll the child in a day program that is tailored to your child’s needs, and suddenly your child’s future has a new meaning to you. No longer do you hear the words: mental retardation, or developmental disabilities, but you then see "a child of hope." It is all you have, hope, that four-letter word that keeps you going.

I joined the Board because I was grateful for a place to take my child and do something about her situation. I can never dance with her at her wedding, or be a grandfather to her children, or even have a meaningful conversation with her, but I will give myself and all the other parents that share the same grief, hope.