Sunday, May 31, 2009


Every now and then, I peruse my bookshelf in my studio. Not looking for anything in particular, I find things that astound me. What I find is the story of my life summed up in souvenirs. It seems that cheap, inconsequential crap is what I save! I counted seven (7) toy cable cars from San Francisco, scattered throughout the house. Primarily in my den and studio. These were collected in 1993, on a business trip to San Francisco! What was I thinking? If there is ever a shortage of cheap models of cable cars from San Francisco, I have made a wise investment! OK, maybe not.

Maybe cable cars are not your thing. How about a toy car from the Deutsche Post International? A nice yellow metal car, with moveable tires and doors that open? I got that from a direct mail convention from somewhere. Would you care for a 747-model jet plane, again in metal, from Alitalia Airlines I once purchased at an airport is collecting dust? Small white rubber footballs from I don’t know where, which by the way is neat for indoor play! Probably thought it would look good next to my Joe Namath autographed football I won. A Benihana Japanese lady drink holder, with straw hole sits looking at me, in which I stuck American and Italian flags in. (The American flag is on the right, of course.) Baseballs, cups, mugs, and a seashell, all grace my shelf with a story behind them. I even have a lei from somewhere, where, I don’t know!

It reminds me of a true story. Many years ago, my Dad’s cousin passed away. Before he died, while on his deathbed, he instructed his wife to remove a holy picture from off a wall that hung over his bed, and place it, frame and all in his coffin! Not being a religious man, his wife thought it wonderful that the guy was making such a request. Well, his day of reckoning came, and the undertaker took the picture down and tried to fit it in the casket. It wouldn’t fit! So, the undertaker decided to remove the picture from the frame and roll it up. When he did, he found (Are you sitting for this, it’s true) $50,000! That is Fifty Thousand Dollars! His grieving wife, the poor widow, decided to dispense with any more formalities and was last seen on the Champs Elysees!

My collection extends to paper as well. I have small brochures that are maybe 38 years old, that I have never read since I picked them up, small booklets that I kept so some day I could throw them out, and even scraps of paper that have no meaning anymore to me. I kept them all because I figured someday they would come in handy! There are baseball caps, military hats and foreign flags, why I don’t know. I guess I’m just a sentimental old fool. If I kick the bucket, please just pack it all up, and put it in a U-haul, and I’ll take it with me.

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, including MMB (My Man Bill) and my brother-in-law, John.

Saturday, May 30, 2009


Before leaving this world, one thing I wish to leave for the betterment of mankind, is how to survive womankind! Yes, that tricky fine edge between wedded bliss and the great abyss.

The other day, TLW (The Little Woman) and I were out in the pool area. It seems that the pool is still covered for the winter, and we needed to pump out the water that rests on top of the cover, and then remove all the leaves that have fallen in. TLW loves to take charge! Yes, that thing that all women do so well is taking over for the mate. It constantly happens in nature, just reference the black widow spider!

Having a master plan is what it is all about. Knowing how to utilize the available manpower to the maximum. The pool can be as very trying experience! Fortunately, there are the workers and the queen bee.

“OK, we need to shift our strategies here. I think we should pump some water under the tarp to raise the level, so we can see what we are working with here.”

Me; “Yes, the water is so muddy I can’t tell how many leaves are left at the bottom!”

TLW: “And when you pull out the leaves, put them on the side to dry out.”

Me: “Yes, dear!”

Now, that was simple, and direct, from the queen bee to the worker. Nice, neat and no back talk is going on, you notice? Does a general ever get back talk from a private? Does a CEO ever get back talk from a night guard? Does a manager ever get back talk from a rookie? A resounding: “NO!” And they never back talk to their wives, either! However, the spider does sometimes. (See above reference.)

The pool pump was pumping properly.

“Can you look at the pump, it doesn’t seem to be working.”

Me: “OK, I’ll take it apart.”

While I hold the pump, TLW stands next to me, tells me that the cover has to come off the housing, that the tool I’m holding is not the right one, and hands me a butter knife.

Me: “Gee, all these years I was buttering toast, I should have been opening the pool pump!”

TLW: “Ha ha!” (A sneer and a dirty look do not go well on her sweet face!)

Me; Like the coward I am, “Hee hee, sorry!”

So, what is the advice? I’m sure you guys have all heard it before; just say “Yes, dear!” smile, and move on.

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, including MMB (My Man Bill) and my brother-in-law

Friday, May 29, 2009


Today’s uniform of the day is somewhat confusing to me. I really don’t understand wearing a baseball cap that has a visor that is not finished off or rounded. In the good old days, if you wore a peaked cap that was flat, and not sitting squarely on your head, you were either developmentally disabled or a sissy that didn’t know baseball.

Today, not only are they wearing the caps this way, they leave the labels on them too! Stickers, labels and tags hanging from caps, make for a very stupid look. Couple that with jeans that are torn, or pants that hang so far down, I can see your crack, makes me ill. These are fathers of little children! The so-called good examples or role models for their children!

The young people don’t walk anymore, either. They bounce along, a strut that looks like a mix between a march and a dance. Heads shaking like bobble head dolls, their index and pinky sticking out to talk, make the whole thing look embarrassing. The other hand holds a cell phone or some toy, where they drop out of reality and into an electronic nether world! Ah, the future of this once great country!

In fact, the young women are now getting into the act! They have surgically implanted cell phones, which are always on, as they drive, walk, shop or even use the toilet!

Do I sound like an old crank? Yes, I do. But hey, you dress that way to get attention, so you got it! If you dress that way, expect me to say something about it, here.

I guess people today who wear that uniform are trying to express their singularity or uniqueness, along with their sheep-like behavior!

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, including MMB (My Man Bill) and my brother-in-law, John.

Thursday, May 28, 2009


Many years ago, as a young man, I would take some time out for my wardrobe. It was important to wear ties that worked with my shirts and suits, and my shoes were either brown or black. On occasion, in the heat of the summer I wore white shoes! I was a dandy. Down to my underwear and socks, I was a model for color coordination.

On the weekends and vacation times, it was still a button down look, and color coordination was important. I wore white socks (A harbinger of things to come) with my shorts and sneakers, but wore funky hats.

My, how times have changed!

Today, I wear what ever the hell I want, whether it is coordinated or not! Who cares? I’m retired and loving it. One thing I try to keep constant: white socks. If I have to go to a wedding, I will then break all the rules and wear a coordinated effort of my finest: black, blue or brown socks.

My generation has contrasted my father’s generation in terms of everyday wear. For instance, I wear a baseball cap, sneakers or soft shoes, and jeans. My shirts are t-shirts and they advertise where I’ve been, maybe a cruise, or that “old people rule!” Dad’s generation wore shirts with collars and penholders in the breast pocket, long pants that were buckled under the breast pocket, and when they wore shorts, they were with brown sandals and black dress socks. My generation dumped the socks!

Dad’s generation drove Crown Victoria’s or Mercury Marquis’. We drive SUV’s, don’t matter which one, either.

My Mom dragged my Dad down to the mall, where he sat on a bench and waited for Mom to come out of a store like Macy’s. Today, TLW (The Little Woman) is in Macy’s, while I’m home watching the ballgame.


Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, including MMB (My Man Bill) and my brother-in-law, John.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009


TLW (The Little Woman) and I have over the past two or three years, become regular tourists. That is not to say we wear loud shirts and shorts, carry a camera around our neck, and shoot everything in sight, while speaking Japanese. You could consider us occasional tourist, or occidental tourist! We are domestic tourists or DT’s. We only travel to destinations on a bus or train, providing I don’t need to use the toilet too often.

Traveling primarily to a foreign destination like NYC, we decided long ago to see what we live near, and not just go off to some foreign land and spend our money. The effect of visiting NYC is two fold, 1) it gets us out of the house, and b) it is just like any other country, I can’t understand the natives! English is a second language in NYC, as Spanish has taken over! Pakistani is a very close third, although the middle finger is right up there!

The people that take these tours with us are mostly older people. Retired, tired, and cranky, I fit right in! Most are women who go off without their husbands, and the husbands that do come, like me, are trainees for bobble-head dolls, as we stand there, and shake our heads “yes” to everything our wives say. (Men, read the “or Else” clause in your marriage license.)

Being how I like to learn new things (providing there is no final exam), this type of touring is suited for my quest to improve myself for when I die. (I don’t want someone at my funeral saying: “Man, he was one dumb bastard!”)

One of our visits was to Central Park, and I thought: “A park? I could go to a park and not spend the money to see flowers and trees, and maybe some birds.” But I was wrong, I learned. Never sit on a park bench without first looking down on where you will sit! While you are looking where you sit, look where you step!

The Rainbow Room was another adventure that was perfect for me. The top of NYC, I had brunch and enjoyed the view of a teeming city of heat, hot cement, crowds of unhappy people and bus fumes. There was this one “lady” in the Rainbow Room who stood ahead of me in the buffet line, about 300 pounds of pure beauty, orange hair and tattoos all over her body. Wearing tight fitting clothing including a short dress. She had a tattoo of fire on one leg, a tattoo of the devil on her other leg, and when she crossed her legs, she looked like hell! The cellulite was now getting it’s own cellulite, and the look on her face said: “If you dare to get in front of me on the buffet line, you will BE the buffet.”

Waiting to get on or off a bus with older people in front of you can be very time consuming. If the doctor didn’t give you long to live, I suggest you get a second opinion if you travel the buses with these nice folks. They are by nature kind and considerate, not like the “Me First” generation of today. But they are slow! Deferring to one another, it takes a while to determine who should get out of their seat first, and who still wants to sneak a fart out before leaving the bus.

Most of these trips leave the meeting place around 7:30 or 8:00 AM, and the women seem to take perfumes baths prior to boarding! The mixed aroma of these “lovely’ women is or can be overpowering, as is their laughter and chit chat. Their running time is longer that the bus-ride into Manhattan. Coming home on the bus, people seem to slow down from their day, although the women still smell of perfume, and still chat, trying to finish up what they started on the bus in the morning.

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, including MMB (My Man Bill) and my brother-in-law, John.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


Growing up in Brooklyn took a lot of time. Not only was there school, and church, but also Mom and Dad each had lessons to teach, like any good set of parents.

Mom’s lessons were more of a practical nature. For instance: take an ordinary dish of beef stew. I hated beef stew, and Mom enjoyed making it so I would suffer.

“Oooh! Beef stew? Again? I hate beef stew.”

“You eat your dinner, there are millions of starving children in China!”

“Then give it to them.”

“Don’t get so smart.”

TLW (The Little Woman) had to deal with the starving Armenians, who together with the Chinese were more than half of the world’s starving. Perhaps had we given them the stew, they would have stopped complaining after they tasted it!

Dad would get into the act too. (Same bowl of stew.)

Me: “I don’t want stew, I want ice cream.”

“Oh, but you like stew!”

“Nah, I want ice cream.”

“But you said that stew tastes like ice cream. Don’t you remember, around Christmas, when you promised to eat it?”

“I did?”

“Yup, so why don’t you eat your ice cream?”

Mom had other lessons for the young mind, or the mindlessly young.

“Make sure you wear clean underwear. If you get hit by a bus, no one can say I sent you out with dirty underwear.”

Mom was specific about it. She said bus, not car, or even horse and wagon. She figured that a bus had a lot of people to witness her not caring about our underwear. A car, one or two people, who cares, but a busload of tongues wagging, well furgedderboutit!

Mom made sure our shoes were polished. Every Sunday night we had to surrender our good shoes for school to mom, who would polish them then put them on the cast iron stove that heated our apartment. We may have been poor, but we were shiny poor! Mom’s rules always included good grooming. Our hair was combed, our clothes clean, and my head whacked at least once in the morning, to remind me to behave. Every month she would take out this square comb, with fine teeth, and slowly and deliberately run it through our hair. This was torture, but I guess it was one of the parental perks. There would be a rumor about lice in some girl’s head in school, and my big mouth older sister would report it to mom, and the torture began. Slowly, and deeply went the comb, like the police dredging for a body at the bottom of a lake.

Dad’s advice was timely. “Go ask your mother.” Never wanting to upset the system of discipline, Dad knew Mom controlled things: after all, she did all the cooking!

Dad wore the pants in the house, only because he was modest. Mom told which pair to wear. (Dad passed on that modesty to me.)

Parenthood in our home meant employing certain catch phrases. One was “I’m coming in there if it doesn’t stop!” Another when exasperation set in was: “Wait ‘til your father comes home!” Other more frequently used particularly by mom was: “What are we related to the electric company? What am I made of money? You are using a whole pound of butter on that toast!”

Mom sent us to parochial school, which in turn taught us prayers. This was Mom’s grand plan, to save my ‘ungod’ like soul! Dad tried to help it along. Being poor, he would take me aside and ‘re-teach’ a prayer to allow for our economic status.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, Harold be they name. (Mr. Hoffman, my Dad’s boss) Give us a steak, and our daily bread” (Suddenly you would hear a scream: ANTHONY! Anthony was Dad’s name. The screaming was Mom.)

Well, I’ve bored you enough for today, come back tomorrow and I’ll bore you some more.

Please remember MMB (My Man Bill, my brother-in-law, John, and all those that need our prayers.

Monday, May 25, 2009


It was a cold January day in 1953. Class was let out for lunch at Our Lady Of Lourdes School in Brooklyn New York, as two friends named Joe went to their respective homes for lunch. We talked as two little grade school children would, and split off.

Joseph Crispino was a gifted storyteller, and a good kid. He was also very proud that his Dad was in the army, away in some gosh awful land called Korea. He told of the souvenirs his dad had left him from the army, where he had been stationed, and hoping to see his dad soon.

Mom knew Joseph, she used to call him “A storyteller”, but he always won your heart with his gift. He was an ordinary looking kid, a bit round, no movie star looks, but a lot of appeal. We could play for hours, in an abandoned lot on Somers Street around the corner from my Grandmother’s house on Fulton Street.

When I had finished lunch, it was getting late, and Joseph was supposed to call on me then we would continue onto school for the afternoon session. I waited, and Mom finally told me to go call on him. Off I went down Hull Street, crossed Rockaway Avenue to the other side of Hull Street.

I reached Joseph’s apartment and climbed his stoop, entered his vestibule and rang his doorbell from the bank of mailboxes. His floor was the second one, and the door swung open.

“Joe, are you coming to school? It’s getting late!

I could hear sobbing, a great deal from within Joseph’s apartment. Joseph stepped out, standing at the landing, looking down at me, tears streaming down his face, dressed in a long army coat, too big for him.

“I can’t,” he sobbed. “My Dad was killed in combat.” Was all he said, as he turned and went back into his apartment, quietly closing the door behind himself. It was the last time I ever saw Joseph.

His Dad had made the ultimate sacrifice. In the line of duty for his country, your country and mine. His blood lies deep within the Korean soil, fighting for the freedom of South Korea, a Korea where they now dislike us, until they are invaded again. His blood deposited in the defense of his buddies, as they all fought for survival in those bitter cold winters of -20 degrees Fahrenheit. His blood is a barrier for all of us here in the US, as he gave it to safeguard our freedoms, and help defeat communism.

Because Joey grew up without his Dad, never sharing a ballgame or an ice cream soda, a laugh or even a good meal, we are now free to blame everything on this country that goes wrong in the world. We are free to criticize the brave men and women who are giving their lives and time on this earth, away from their families, to protect us from terrorism.

We are now free to coddle the enemy, make sure we give them all their rights, and even facilitate their ability to destroy us in our office buildings, and create more Joseph Crispino’s.

I for one am ashamed that this occurs. I love this country, and will always love those that sacrifice daily, and those that led the way in the ultimate sacrifice.

God bless America. God bless Joseph Crispino.
You have read my rants toward the newspapers and TV reporting, now read this, sent to me from my good buddy Jan at PCH. I think it is worthwhile.


Navy Petty Officer Mike Monsoor

PO2 (EOD2) (Explosive Ordnance Disposal)
Mike Monsoor, a Navy EOD Technician, was
awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor
posthumously for jumping on a grenade in Iraq,
giving his life to save his fellow Seals.
(Notice: Mike was not a Navy SEAL, he was EOD.
He gave his life to save a group of Navy SEALS.)

During Mike Monsoor's funeral in San Diego,
as his coffin was being moved from the hearse
to the grave site at Ft. Rosecrans National
Cemetery, SEAL's were lined up on both sides
of the pallbearers route forming a column of two's,
with the coffin moving up the center. As Mike's
coffin passed, each SEAL, having removed his
gold Trident from his uniform, slapped it down
embedding the Trident in the wooden coffin.

The slaps were audible from across the cemetery; by the time the coffin arrived grave side, it looked as though it had a gold inlay from all the Tridents pinned to it.

This was a fitting send-off for a warrior hero..

This should be front-page news instead of the crap we see every day.
Since the media won't make this news,
I choose to make it news by forwarding it.

I am very proud of our military. If you are proud too, please pass this on. If not then rest assured that these fine men and women of our military will continue to serve and protect.

God Bless our Troops

Please remember MMB (My Man Bill), my brother in law John, and all those that need our hopes and prayers, especially the men and women on the front lines.

Sunday, May 24, 2009


The sun shone in all it’s glory yesterday. Yesterday was a day of goodbye, a sad day for me, and sadder still for Paul. Paul was a good friend with developmental disabilities. We stopped saying “mental retardation”, and masked it with developmental disabilities. My daughter Ellen has developmental disabilities, and yet it still doesn’t make her parents feel any better.

Paul came into this world with less than nothing, and left with more than he realized. As I entered the funeral home, I was astonished to find all the wonderful caretakers of Paul’s. Paul was 52, and had more friends than I imagined would be there. I couldn’t tell you all the people’s names, because their hearts were in the way.

Paul had no family to speak of. There is a surviving brother, whom I hear is a Suffolk County Police Officer. Paul’s brother couldn’t make it.

The deputy executive director, head nurse of the agency, Paul’s caseworker, a fellow board member and co-chair of the Guardianship committee, of which I am the other, was there. Paul’s cook and another nurse, and a group of wonderful women who cared for Paul were there also.

The world only gave Paul 2 hours to say “goodbye”. Then Paul was removed like a piece of furniture and put in a Hurst, to be deposited into the ground. There was no priest or preacher or rabbi to pray over his final resting place. There was no rite of passage into the other side.

As we entered the cemetery, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the day was! Warm, the sun was leaving a golden light, one that made one feel glad to be alive! Even the statues of saints and angels seemed to be singing in some holy harmonic single voice. Yet only a handful of people stood at Paul’s final resting place. No one had any final words in which to remember him by. So, I stood forward and remembered. I told of his life being deceptive. I told of his life being unpredictable. I mentioned how surprised we all were when we heard stories, stories that shocked and sent chills up our collective spines, stories that made us laugh and cry. Somehow, he was reminding us he was a human.

When Paul was just brought to his home, and living there a very short while, a young woman was moved into the same home. The young woman’s mother was distraught over the change in lives. Paul was observing all this, and got up and walked over to the young woman, and planted a kiss on her cheek. The mother was taken aback and asked: “Who is that, that just kissed my daughter?” The day care person gave Paul’s full name, and the mother almost fainted. “Why he used to play with my daughter when they were young!” said the mother.

Yes, Paul’s life was deceptive. He lived like a human. How could he? He had mental development problems!

Have you ever wondered where God is? Did you ever question how God could allow the things that happen to people happen, and not stop it? I used to. Then one day it hit me, right between the eyes! It’s not God’s fault. It’s our fault. God put us all on this earth to do his work. How we are born is our luck, what happens to our lives, what we do to each other, is our fault. Yet, God is the escape goat. You know what an escape goat is? That is the goat, of poor quality, slow to run that we allow to be eaten so the wolf can overtake it, then the wolf won’t catch up with the healthy goats. So we blame God, he won’t argue or contradict us. Just think, we weren’t all born rich, or poor, or even of the same intelligence. We need each other.

I saw the faces of some of the people that did all they could for Paul. They fought with the State, the hospital, nursing homes, all on Paul’s behalf. In Paul’s mental deficiency, the greatest moment in humanity occurred. People stood up for Paul, loved him, and gave him what he deserved, his dignity. Yes, we even stopped traffic for Paul. But faces, should not be let down, or sculpted in utter defeat. No, instead we should celebrate a mission accomplished, be proud of those faces, lift them up and say: “Congratulations, Paul leaves this world in dignity, and humanity has not failed him. As Paul lies in his grave in the years to come, each one of us, one-by-one, will die too. When we do, we will each become Paul’s equal.

Goodbye, Paul.

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, including MMB (My Man Bill) and my brother-in-law, John.

Saturday, May 23, 2009


TLW (The Little Woman) and I try to maintain a civil household. That is to say: She will not comment on politics, while I have my say. When I give an opinion, it is usually because I find a minor disagreement with the politician or news ‘commentator’.

Our opinions vary on many issues. For instance, whenever a politician goes to jail, TLW will silently voice her agreement or disagreement, while I might say; “Good, the son of a #!%$( should rot in hell afterward.” This crosses all party lines and philosophies. Once when a certain news ‘commentator’ was caught trying to do something cranial on his news show, it didn’t work. As TLW and myself both observed, she looked skeptical at what was trying to be achieved, while I voiced my instant observation: “Sure, that %$#*&^ son of a #!%$(‘s father is a ^*$^#%^%* politician, how could HE make it work with HIS brain?” TLW’s immediate response was: “Oh my!”

I have a passion for speaking my mind. This does not mean I am political. No, quite the contrary, I am apolitical, and have been for years. The trouble is, once you open your mouth, agreeing or disagreeing with someone, the assumption is you are a “Liberal” or a “Conservative”, and therefore must be convinced to rethink your point of view! Some people think I’m a left wing pinko commie and some think I’m a right wing whacko fascist. I like to think of myself as a centralist, one that makes a beeline to the refrigerator or bar, regardless of your political persuasion.

#1 AND #2 Son along with their Mom, my first wife, think I’m a fascist. Many of my colleagues think I am a commie, and all think I’m awfully opinionated. I enjoy the deception, since I like to see people make up their minds about me, and be off base.

Many years ago, when I married TLW, we moved into this little apartment. My Dad gave me a bit of advice. He said to register with the local political power in office, because if I ever needed something done, it would happen provided I was one of them.

When in high school and college, I was a staunch Liberal, filled to the brim with idealism, and the willingness to “Help” people. I despised former President Nixon, and still do for what he did. However, as I grew older my views changed to become more independent in my thinking. This made it convenient for me to swear at them all. Now I am an equal opportunity swearer. Let’s face it: politicians are feckless, cheating, liars, who change colors when they think it helps them get elected. Few stand by any principles, because few have any.

I don’t watch the news because it is so slanted, depending on whom you watch. The regular news shows, give very little news, no real useful information, and very little value to the viewer. Be it CNN or Fox News, the opinions are slanted. I don’t watch or listen to talk shows that invite politicians, because that becomes a forum for bologna.

They should have a news program with the byline: “Out of context and on the air!”

Please remember MMB (My Man Bill, and my brother-in-law John, and all those that need our hopes and prayers.

Friday, May 22, 2009


Welcome to the rolling forum of #2 Son’s political philosophy! I dear readers, am a prisoner in my own car, listening to his ‘solutions’ to today’s ills. As I drive, I hear these truly remarkable concepts, ideas and suggestions. Sometimes I have to pull over to figure out what I just heard, they are so remarkable.

When you are 22 years of age, it is nice to know you have all the answers to life’s troubling questions. Just ask #2 Son. #2 has his political and social philosophies all printed on his many t-shirts, and as we fold his laundry, we can read what he is thinking. I like to read them with a Jack Daniels Manhattan in hand.

The solution to world hunger for instance. Some people ask: where do we get the money, or the means to identify and deliver. No problem. Just feed them! #2's solution is simple, direct and end of the story.

Your community has a homeless problem? Call on #2 to solve the simple problem. “Just build homes.” God, why didn’t I think of that?

Are there poor people living near by in your neighborhood? No problem. “You take the heads of the huge corporations, even those that have started their own businesses and created jobs, and you reduce their salaries. After all, all they are doing is sitting on their butts reading the stock market and figuring out ways to make profits!” What would we do with the money they don’t get? Why give it to the hard workers! Of course! After all, they do all the work. Man, these are real solutions!

Everyone in this country should get health care. I agree. How? I don’t have a clue, but #2 does! “You just do it.” Come on guys, get with it!

I am thinking of calling the President and asking him to take #2 into his cabinet. The problem is Mr. Obama may become concerned that #2 will take his job away!

Please remember MMB (My Man Bill) and my brother-in-law, John, and all those that need our hopes and prayers.

Thursday, May 21, 2009


Last evening I got a email from TLC (The Lovely Carole) about MMB (My Man Bill). It seems everything fell apart! I know I keep coming to you guys, but he needs help and our prayers. This is not an ordinary guy. This is a guy with a big heart and a wonderful family. He is the best neighbor I ever had, dating back to when I was born. They don’t come any better, or more deserving of our prayers. Please, as a friend of this blogue, at least keep your fingers crossed for him. Just think, if he were your neighbor, you would be very upset!

Minnesota Pete, one of the “Fab Five” (in the stripped shirt) sent me an email that I want to share with you. Pete is a great guy, a friend of #1 Son and therefore, my friend too, and as you will see, very talented. He writes:

“Hey, everybody! My sketch group, Mountain Man Academy, has just posted our fourth video for It's called, "Real Roommates." It's featured today on the website, so please check it out. I hope you enjoy it. Plus, you can check out our other videos afterwards.

Here's the link:

-Peter Dirksen”

Check him out. Thanks!

#1 Son will be coming home in early June for a few days. He is attending a wedding of a fellow named Chris Nellen. Chris worked with us at PCH, and was one of these guys that had a great sense of humor. Chris was a talented writer, and just a cool guy. I don’t know who the lucky gal is, but I wish them both all the luck in the world. I know she will need it, living with that crazy guy!

Once again, please remember MMB, and my brother-in-law, John, and all those that need our prayers and hopes.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


I was sitting in the executive Director’s conference room, doing my Tuesday morning duty of signing checks over $7,500 for the Board of Directors. There is a door that leads to the Executive Director’s office, and standing near it was a woman who is a Social Worker and coordinator of the Guardianship Committee of which I co-chair. She gently entered the room, and by the look on her face, I knew something bad had happened. I was right.

There is a developmentally disabled gentleman named Paul, who resided in my Daughter Ellen’s wing of her home. Paul recently became ill, and the agency could not care for him. It meant that we had to send Paul to a hospital, where he was ‘wired up’ for survival, which is all I will say about his illness. From there, the warmth of the hospital did not want to have anything to do with him, once they were done, and we needed to move him out. After much difficulty with the State, we finally found a nursing home that would take Paul.

TLW (The Little Woman) and I both knew and loved Paul. Paul would sit on a chair by himself, a look of sullenness on his face, which belied what was behind that mask. Paul was an anxious person by nature. He sat alone, occupying himself. My daughter in her eagerness to mix with people would go over to him and ‘help’ him put plastic blocks into a laundry basket. She was the only one allowed to assist him.

Whenever I visited Ellen’s home, I did what I felt I should do, and remove my hat, then greet each of the seven other people that lived there. When it came to Paul, I was afraid to go near him. He is a man about 5’3” tall. What I was afraid of was his rejection of any overtures to friendliness on my part. Then one day I decided to risk his wrath and go over to him, get in close and say hello. I bent down close to his ear and with one hand rubbed his back, and with the other held it to shake his hand. I said softly: “Hello Paul, how are you?” I was shocked at what occurred next! Paul leaned toward me, and kissed my check! He then returned to what he was doing. From that afternoon onward, whenever I saw Paul, it was the same ritual for us. A silent bonding occurred, one that will last forever. Paul and I were friends.

Well, this morning, Shelley, the Social Worker gave me the news that Paul had passed away last evening. A heart attack claimed Paul. In his silent world, his closed lonely world of suffering, Paul had an agency of people who loved him. He had a woman named Shelley who cared; one would think it her brother who had passed away. She said she felt so bad. I had to remind her she was the one that worked so hard on his behalf.

People like Shelley and her assistance, make the agency work so well. This could not have been just another mentally disabled person to her, no one to get too excited about. And, it is not. Saints help people, my people and angels like Shelley, too. Paul is probably better off now, now that he is not suffering.

I have a niece of whom I am very proud. She is a nurse, a special person, and an angel from God himself. People like her make life and death tolerable, in a sense, understandable. We go our way, think nothing of criticizing them if they do not run to our aid fast enough, but they hang in the shadows, when the doctor takes all the credit. They enable the doctor. Shelley, although not a nurse, enabled Paul to die loved.

Now, at every meeting of the Guardianship Committee, when Shelley speaks of one of my people in need, I will try to understand what her pain is, also.

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, especially my brother-in-law, John.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009


If there is one thing I have, it is the need to use a toilet when none is around! If you go on a long trip, and you do not drive, the annoyance can be magnified at my age.

A number of times in the course of my life, I have been on buses, trains or planes, and the old kidney would reach out to me and make a comment: “NOW! NOW! NO, I DON”T WANT TO WAIT! NOW!” would be what it would say.

Being an adventurous soul that I am, I usually take the shortest route to the bus toilet, even if I have to climb over some little old lady. One thing I notice is that in 38 years of marriage, TLW (The Little Woman) never has to go. In fact, she doesn’t even know what our toilets at home look like, if it weren’t for the fact that she cleans them!

Once in Europe, I believe it was Tuscany, I went to the bus toilet, where once inside, the bus driver was involved in a high-speed chase! Turning hair pin corners, on its two side wheels, abrupt stop and starts, high to low then high speed movements. All in the time it took for me to find the target!

I know this blogue is somewhat crude in subject matter, but you understand that I am of the age where I don’t have to give a darn. I can even lean to one side or the other and make ‘funny’ noises in public!

Getting back to the subject at hand, there was this weekend. It was a slow steady ride. That is until I entered the bus toilet. Nudging TLW that I needed to go, she arose from her seat so I could get out, and the action began. The look in her eyes said: “You poor old bastard.” All these tour bus drivers carry a photo of me that the bus company gives them. This is in lieu of a bonus check at Christmas. The driver checked the photo and smiled. He knew he would be able to entertain himself, once the door closed behind me.

As I entered, a light went on, this is for your convenience, to see what parts of your body you will bang up. If you are a man, you know that in order to “GO” standing, you should have a steady floor, and a smooth ride. Not the case in a bus toilet. Noooo Sirreee! If you reach for the two side-bars, the bus driver has you right where he wants you, and the bus maintenance crew will find you and hunt you down.

This particular bus from Wells and Wells, had a full length mirror facing you if you are a man. It is the final indignity of it all. You watch yourself as you become unraveled, disheveled and black and blue. It finally dawned on me, that the only way to survive was to sit! Yes! Just like a woman!

How is it that all these toilets are so small? Planes, trains and buses, all have small toilets that are so cramped that you could not move more than a few inches either way. The bus in Tuscany, had one rule that I did not see until after I used it. I entered the toilet while it was stopped. As the door closed, the light went off! In the dark I had to deal with the trouncing I got. When I finally got out, when the bus stopped, there was a little sign that said the doors lock when the bus is in motion!

Please remember all those who need our prayers, including my brother-in-law John.

TOMORROW: Hockey, a game or a cry for help?

Monday, May 18, 2009


E’ La Piccola Donna (LPD) AKA The Little Woman.

Saturday, we climbed the steps to the big old bus that would carry us to “Da Bronx”, and I greeted the bus driver. The bus company, Wells, and Wells, was new to me. I asked the driver if he ever drove for Fargo and Fargo, as he shook his head “No.’ as I moved down the aisle, I heard him start to laugh! I wonder why?

We were heading to ‘The City’, to do a little historic visiting of Little Italy, both in “Da Bronx” and Manhattan.

As you know, I do these trips for you, my dear readers so that I can enlighten you. As for me, I could care less. For instance, there was the incident at ‘Zero, Otto, Nove’ LPD ordered a pasta dish, a rigatoni; while I ordered the lamb chops. The chops were grilled (3), with thinly sliced potatoes, cherry tomatoes, mushrooms and God knows what else, that so moved me I couldn’t speak! Every time I tried to answer LPD’s question: “”How is it?” I would try to form words, but only tears welled up, lips trembling, I had to look away. The food was outrageously delicious, and I was led out by LPD, as I sobbed, knowing full well, the meal was over!

But my assistant and I continued our unselfish work for our “Dear Readers” and moved on to a bakery. Actually two bakeries. One was for good luck! Bread, bread, and more bread, as I spotted the big round loafs, the hard crusty type, the kind that Grandma would place on her chest, and start to slice. (Fear would run up and down my spine, as I worried what would happen if that knife ever slipped!) With tears streaming down my face, we proceeded to the next bakery. This one smelled of that great Italian sweet smell! This of course led to more tears, as I had to sit and sob for a while, while making hard decisions for cookies, and more bread.

After drying my eyes, we decided to walk around the neighborhood some more. I kept my handkerchief handy, as we looked in windows, read menus, and found the Italian version of “Chotchkies,” where I purchased a few items. A short visit to a quaint coffee shop and a visit to a market ended our stay.

As we climbed back on the bus, our ‘Italian’ guide, Arthur Zuckerman, announced that we would get … (Arthur Zuckerman?), anyway, we went to Mulberry Street in Manhattan, the original “Little Italy”. Deep into Manhattan we rode, fighting traffic and as we did, I was finally able to compose myself.

Reaching the bastion of Italian colonization of America, (Outside of East New York in Brooklyn) we were immediately greeted by maitre’d’s who would tell us he had tables available, this without our asking! This led to more purchasing, more items to entice and more tears.

We visited an Italian church. It was the Most Precious Blood Church. Situated on Mulberry Street, (The back entrance), we entered a back door. Why was it called the Most Precious Blood Church? You ask. Just look at the collection baskets, and the Paisano’s collecting.

Well, that is all for now, I need to dry my eyes again!

Please remember my brother-in-law John, and all those that need our prayers.

Sunday, May 17, 2009


Yesterday while waiting for TLW (The Little Woman), I sat in front of the TV and put on SNY, ESPN, The YES Channel, and MLB. All are sports channels, and they all had one other thing in common!

They are filled with food commercials!

There is Papa John’s, Pizza Hut, MacDonald’s, Burger King, Chili’s, Red Lobster, and a bunch of others. They all portray themselves as family restaurants, catering to Moms, Pops and their little brats. All have happy, smiling faces.

On every one of these commercials, the food looks plentiful, colored well to look delicious, (lots of reds and yellows) and everyone is enjoying the experience of a high cholesterol, high sodium, and high caloric menu of treats.

I kept changing channels, hoping to find a sports show. I was looking for either baseball or football. Would have settled for college hoops, college football, and yes, even hockey. (In absolute desperation.) Even golf or tennis would have foot the bill by the time I was done looking.

In my perusing through the channels, it dawned on me that the major league clubs are missing the boat. Instead of names like the New York Yankees: how about the Burger King Yankees? The McDonald’s Mets, the Pizza Hut Jets, all renamed for the sake of saving me the time of having to sit through the commercials?

Instead of numbers, we would have:


You get the picture.

You watch the game. The ads keep coming, and you never go to a commercial!

Maybe shows like Boston Legal and CSI could follow the example. Crimes would be played out in restaurants. “The murder scene was right at the salad bar, Captain. I checked for condiment stains, and I found a suspect, as he was enjoying the double cheeseburger with fries and a large coke, a super-sized meal. We’ll remove the body, once we find a way to lift it and enlarge the exit so he can fit through and we can place him on the flat-bed truck.”

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, like my brother-in-law, John.

Saturday, May 16, 2009


Going into my email last evening, sitting amidst the requests to “Get right back on this” and “Amazing new formula to lose ugly fat (I should wear a mask), and other sales pitches, stood one email that I immediately clicked open. It read:

“Hi, Delbloggolo, dear friend!
It's MFF! How are you doing? Sorry I've been a bit out of touch, I
have been so busy with grad school - but it is going really well, so
that is good! I'm so glad that I went back to school. Anthony told me
that you heard the happy news - Justin and I are engaged! We went on a
trip to England over my spring break and he proposed to me in Oxford,
The city of dreaming spires. It was amazing. We are really happy!
Anthony told me that you wanted our picture - well here is one that we
took in England :) I hope you are well. How is the novel coming?
Laura (MFF)
P.S. Justin says Hello!”

The beautiful couple you see, are two of the ‘Fab Five’ I have spoken about when I was out in LA, spending a month with #1 Son! Beautiful couple, no? Laura and Justin are what you call friends to #1 Son, and therefore that makes them my friends! If you wish to read about good people, type in MFF in the search box on top.

As you can see, “grad school” is what we are talking about! These smart people still read this blogue! As for me, I love these guys. They are fun, creative and friends. That two such people could find each other is amazing! It’s like coffee and a donut, steak and red wine, better than Romeo and Juliet! (You notice that two out of three are dinner and dessert?)

The best present I could give these two wonderful people is my heart felt sincere wishes for a happy life. One that mirrors my marriage, in that you truly love each other no matter what the weather, the time of day, or the time in your life. Don’t take life too seriously: it only gets in the way of living it. Love one another, and it will pay dividends when you reach what you think is the beginning of a long hard road. I hope you never have a long hard road, but we all do, and marriage is the best way to survive the journey.

Good news! Not only is MMB (My Man Bill) feeling better, but now my brother-in-law, John is making very good progress! Keep praying for him and all those that need our prayers.

Friday, May 15, 2009


The other day, I had to pick up #2 Son from class in the afternoon. As we passed the street where an old friend of his lived, I asked #2 if he had seen him lately. The conversation went like this;

Me: “Have you seen Carmelo lately?”
He: “No, not since high school.”
Me: “So you don’t know what happened to him.”
He: “Nah, you know, he was going bald!”
Me: “You mean in high school?”
He: “Yup, he was what you could say is ‘legitimately’ bald!”
Me: “Hmmm… you know, you can’t be illegitimately bald.”
He: “Yea!”
Me: “In fact, grandpa Tria was completely bald by his mid twenties!”
He: “Oh? That’s weird! Is that why you have a bald spot in the back of your head? You do have hair on your head, at least you are not completely bald!”
Me: “Well, you see, before I met your mother, I was considering becoming a Franciscan Monk.”
He: “You! A monk!”
Me: “Yup, I even went to pre-seminary preparation for it.”
He: “What was that?”
Me: “I had my hair removed surgically from that spot. It is supposed to be the holy spot of the body on a monk.” He: “ Wow! You must have had some issues: you must have had a dark corner in your life. Did you ever figure out why you wanted to be a monk?”
Me: “Oh, no issues, I just knew that the life of meditation, free of worldly things was best for me. You know, they take a vow of poverty?”
He: “Wouldn’t you have missed the real world?”
Me: “No, I love the quiet life, then I met your mother. Now I live the life of poverty and believe me, any married man does. As far as the quiet life, I really don’t get a word in edge wise anyway.”

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, especially my brother-in-law, John.

Thursday, May 14, 2009


That sums it up nicely.

The other day, I was out in my backyard, moving my sprinkler around to water some new grass seed I placed down on my lawn. It seems, when I bent down to pick up the sprinkler, I was too far over it, and the weight of my body pushed me forward a few inches, with the sprinkler now directly under my legs, and me reaching for nothing! Feeling like an idiot, I backed up, still bent down. At my age, you don’t waste a bend down.

As I type this, (This always seems to happen lately) I wanted to type the word “placed”, and I started by typing it ‘pal’ instead of ‘pla’.

Whenever I want to select an icon for a new program to load, I seem to select the wrong icon from the side of my screen! This always results in a long time to load something I don’t even want, but can’t stop!

I go into a bank, every teller in the bank, suddenly leaves for lunch! This could be anytime between 10:00 AM and 4:00 PM, just let me show up. The only person in front of me is at the only teller in the bank, counting out 40,000,000 pennies.

Of course, I couldn’t go a day without a lady in front of me at the supermarket checkout, buying 40,000,000 things, paying with coupons, and a check, and then doing an item-by-item question of every price.

Need I mention the stoplights? You know, the person who sits at a stop light with a very short green period. He/she inevitably falls asleep: you blast the sleeper awake, they come out of their coma, slipping under the green, just as it turns red, for you.

I’ve decided I’m too old for this world, that I should sign up for a space ride with the Russian space program, and when I’m over the moon, bail out. The problem is my parachute would probably tangle with my foot!

I once went to the original Yankee Stadium to watch the Roger Maris hit his 61st homerun. My seat was situated right behind a steel beam!

A six-hour flight to California once resulted in my sitting between two fat guys on a Southwest Airlines flight! (How I hate that system!) One guy had the figgits, in sudden bursts, the other, a gentleman from India or Pakistan, had them in slow motion!

None of the teams I root for ever make the playoffs, my warranties expire right before I need them, and my diet is getting more limited than ever! Where do I sign up for the space program, or do I need to know Russian?

Please remember my brother-in-law, John, and all those that need our prayers

Wednesday, May 13, 2009


That's where my money goes, to buy my baby clothes
I buys her everything to keep her in style
She's worth her weight in gold, my coal black baby
Hey boys, that's where my money goes

When we go walkin', she does the talkin'
And when my arm's round her, how time does fly
She does the teasin', I do the sqeezin'
Hey boys,...

She's got a pair of eyes, just like two custard pies
And when she looks at me, I sure get a thrill
She's got a pair of lips, just like potato chips

Well, I must confess: I have a mistress!

Now before you get all crazy on me and tell TLW (The Little Woman), listen to what I have to say.

This past two weeks, I spent over $275 on my mistress! Yes, but what do I get in return? The look of her beauty, the sweet smell that is her, the joy, knowing that TLW will appreciate her too. My mistress is Flowerfield Gardens in Farmingville, just east of Nichols Road off of Portion Road.

It is a fantastic place, a nursery run by AHRC Suffolk and the money goes to help the agency pay for programs and services that we would otherwise not have! Our workers are the best in the world, taking pride in what they do everyday. They live in our group homes, and do some wonderful work and are supervised by wonderful people.

Good workers are hard to find. Finding good workers that show up every day, eager to do their jobs, is rarer still. I spoke with one as she was putting some small plants into soil, a smile on her pretty face, and a pride in what she was doing. She seemed very happy, talking about her job, while doing it! How many people can talk and walk at the same time? She is a gem, but there were other gems, just as shiny, just as bright and valuable as she was!

If you look around, you will notice that the product put out is superior! Quality from quality is what it is! Beautiful flowers and plants, vegetables, hanging plants, beautiful displays, that make you spend money, because you do it selfishly, wanting to beautify your homes, hearts and souls!

Visit Flowerfield Gardens, do something wonderful for others and yourself.

Please remember my brother-in-law, John, and all those that need our hopes and prayers.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009


One of life’s sweet moments is when the family gets together. The magic works for me, as it should. If you look at all my sisters’ faces, they, like me, love to laugh.

The occasion was the celebration of my very handsome nephew, Sean O’Hara’s First Holy Communion. Attending the 70 people present at my niece Laurie Ann and nephew, Gerard’s home were all the people I love to see. There was Joan and Joe O’Hara, Gerard’s parents, his family of sisters and nieces and nephews. There was the Bogdan clan of my brother-in-law, John’s two nephews and of course a slew full of neighbors, of Laurie and Gerard’s. Then there were the four sisters of the covenant. Yes, my four sisters. One drove from Connecticut, Fran, without passport problems at the border, along with her husband, the Polish Prince of Kielbasa land: Tom. There was the flying sister, using a plane for a change, Mary Ann, who flew in from Virginia. There was Tessie, the wandering grandmother, who never ever painted a wall in her house, because she is always changing their location. The walls are on wheels. My brother-in-law John will not get up at night in the dark, because the walls can change overnight! Then there is the baby sister, the silent one, Joanne. Joanne just moved into a new house, but won’t tell me where! Her husband Don, a prince of a man, who has the whole family in sympathy for him for marrying you know who, closed out the spousal list, along with TLW (The Little Woman).

Joining the large group was the Schneider’s, two and a half people, Annmarie and Greg. Making bets with everyone in a pool too see who wins $85 as whether it is a boy, girl, or whatever. You have to guess the day and weight, also. There was the Macaroni Man Chris and his lovely girlfriend, Kim.

I don’t think there were too many conversations that were serious. Serious will come someday, but not now. We are not a serious group. We love to tease each other, laugh with each other, tell stories and remember things from the past. It gives strangers a great insight into who we are when they meet us all together for the first time.

Please remember my brother-in-law John and all those who need our prayers. MMB (My Man Bill) has taken a turn for the better. Apparently I have to thank you all for your prayers and support for Bill. But when a good person has your help, you become even greater in my eyes! Thanks a million!

Monday, May 11, 2009


Recently I received a forwarded email from an acquaintance and good friend of mine. In it was a response to an email he sent to someone we both know, who was telling him about her new home in Florida. She wrote of all the things she was experiencing: things she missed about Long Island, her husband’s health, etc. She ended it with a curious note, stating that the Jewish population was very small, but she didn’t seem to notice any “anti-Semitism”. I was troubled by that statement, and am worried too.

Why am I troubled? This wonderful lady, worked so hard for the betterment of people with mental disabilities. Working long hours, she poured out her professionalism in an untiring way, spending long days into nights working to make my daughter’s life better. Oh, she was paid for it, but she did what she did for a very worthy cause. In her mind, there is no distinguishing Jew from Christian, no qualification other than being a human being. Yet she must worry about someone hating her because she is Jewish!

Why do people still carry hatred over something that happened over two thousand years ago? Something that was part of the times, that colors our thinking today? How much have we lost our way? I often see old photos of the Holocaust. Little children are being led away, old people, young and old women, all to their death! Why? Because they committed a crime, they were born a Jew? Men, fathers and grandfathers, hard working, devote people all, and being slaughtered because they believe in God, but not your God? Who’s God do we invoke when we burn down a synagogue? Who’s God are we asking to strike down the children who are Jewish? Who’s God will bless us when we persecute a Jew?

How many are taught hatred not because they can recall some old history that has not real meaning to today’s world, but because they are taught to hate?

Look around you. What do you see? Do you see the road structures that a Jew built; do you not feel the healing benefits of a Jew from a medical school or hospital? God forbid, if you should be in a horrific accident, would you question the rescuer, is he a Jew, if not then he can help me? No, you thank God for someone.

You are familiar with the play ‘Fiddler On The Roof’ The line goes something like this: “I know Lord, the Jews are the chosen people, but could you choose someone else for a change?”

On the Board where I serve, there are Jews. I’m proud to stand shoulder to shoulder with them. They care; they speak out for all the people that we are serving. Not one has qualified that his work is for Jewish children only. Not one has condemned the Christian for his ugliness against the Jew, not one has wailed that a Christian must die, or a Muslim should be condemned to hell.

Jews have made this place we call earth a better place than it could be. Medicine, health, education, business, law, the arts, all of humanities endeavors have been benefited by the contributions of the Jews. Let’s grow up in America. Let’s put away, or better yet, let’s kill off the hatred. Let’s embrace one another, and realize, we need each other to live in this world.

I can ask the question: “Why?” but I can’t provide the answer. There is a Hebrew phase: “ani ma’amin” - I believe. I believe that we need to help each other, need to have hope in each other, and preserve the future in our children, to preserve the legacy that is ours.

Please remember MMB (My Man Bill) and my brother-in-law John, and all those that need our hopes and prayers.

Sunday, May 10, 2009


The great baseball Hall of Famer, Ralph Kiner once said during a baseball game as an announcer for the New York Mets, on Father’s Day: “On Father’s Day, we again wish you all a Happy Birthday!”

Today is Mother’s Day, so I would like to again wish my Mom a Happy Birthday!

Yes, every so many years, her birthday falls on Mother’s Day, too. Today she is 91, strong as an ox, and still carries a wooden spoon in a holster for when she sees me. I always think of her birthday as a sunny beautiful May Day, filled with sunshine and flowers.

Mom taught me a lot. She taught me that Olympia, her name, is special, after all, how many Olympia’s do you know, personally? She also taught me that I better behave, or that wooden spoon would move like the speed of light, and feel like the speed of sound!

I would like to take a moment to make a few comments on mom’s out there that I think are special. I would like to remind everyone that mom’s are special, in their own light, but these mom’s in particular. One that comes to mind is TLW (The Little Woman). She, like many others share a bound, and a deep sadness, that on Mother’s Day can be painful. First she does not dwell on her pain, she like all Mothers bares it only in her heart and soul. These mothers are special because something that defines them as mothers, their children are under siege or worse, have passed on, long before they should have.

TLW has suffered both. She lost a child 28 years ago, and has a child who lives in a special home. This home is for people, good, loving people with mental disabilities.

There are other mothers too, ones that have children that suffer depressions, or are autistic, maybe disfigured, or find themselves outside the law. When you draw out the different problems mothers have with their children the circle of perfectly happy mom’s gets smaller.

We all are someone’s child, special, challenged, indifferent, we are all someone’s children. The beauty of it all is we are children of the God given: mothers.

My mother-in-law, Helen, was a typical mom in so many ways, yet I hear a special quality when TLW speaks of her. She, like my mom, instilled certain values in her children that never left. Those values made for a kinder, more humane world, one that would not be tolerable, without Mom’s everywhere, and love, as well as their wooden spoons.

So happy Mother’s day, Ellen (TLW), Olympia, Helen, Theresa, Frances, MaryAnn, Joanne, Maureen, Sara, Angela, Mrs. Garrity, Laurie Ann, Jennifer, Jean-Marie, Christine, Elizabeth, Mrs. O’Hara and her daughters who are mothers, and anyone out there like Laura B. who reads this blog and has one of her own called:, read it, it will lower your cholesterol!

So, if you are lucky enough to still have your Mom, give her a hug and a big old kiss for me, too. If she has passed on, look in the mirror, and say: “Thank you, Mom, I love you.”

MMB (My Man Bill) is back in the hospital, and needs our hopes and prayers, once more, and pray for my brother-in-law, John. Lets keep them in mind, and all those that need our hopes and prayers.

Saturday, May 09, 2009


Went back to the doctor for two things. One was a referral for the eye, ear, nose, throat and big left toe doctor, and the other thing is he gave me someone else’s prescription. He gave me a prescription for ‘Synthroid.’ Synthroid is for women and is a replacement for a hormone that is normally produced by the thyroid gland to regulate the body's energy and metabolism. Synthroid is given when the thyroid does not produce enough of this hormone on its own. Synthoid is a natural remedy to regulate thyroid hormones and treat hypothyroidism. If you're a woman over 35, your thyroid may not be the problem. It helps stop the suffering and weight gain, low energy, hair loss & depression.

Dr. Know sat down behind his desk and when I told him about the error, and blamed it on the computer! Holding his little hand held I-pod looking device, he punched out two new prescriptions, one being a change, and one he forgot to give me. Picking up the paper prescription, I started out of his office, when I noticed the names on the prescription were not mine! Jose Hernandez (Sounds like a millionaire baseball player) was getting my drugs! My pill pusher made another mistake!

Returning to the scene of the crime, he looks like he has a headache, and promptly blames the computer once more.

“Well, at least I got the Jose right!”

“Actually doctor, its’ Giuseppe.”

Please remember my brother-n-law, John, and all those that need our prayers.

Friday, May 08, 2009


Yesterday, as I sat in my chair, watching the morning news, I got a little testy about what I was watching!

The news was about Miss California, and how she might lose her crown. A report went on about some picture she posed for when she says she was 17. Her rear end is exposed in the photo, and the pageant people say the picture was taken after she won the crown, or shortly before winning it, violating her agreement.

After the report, there was a discussion by a young anchorwoman and some other woman “expert” about the issue, in two easy chairs. One would think the importance of this “news” was equal to the downturn in the economy! I-D-I-O-T-I-C!

I turned back to the newspaper rather than watch this stupidity, and soon, a commercial followed. The topic: starving children! Yes, there are starving children in this world, and the newscast is about some lame-brained broad and her “Title!

Shouldn’t starving children be a cause for alarm? Shouldn’t the channel make it a report, one with a discussion afterwards by the so-called commentators? Am I missing something, or is it just me?

If you are going to waste your time on something, waste it reading this blogue, which is chuck full of useless information, bad grammar and a distorted point of view, written by a nut-job with absolutely no clue as to what is going on.

Thank you.

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, particularly my brother-in-law, John, and a certain sweet young woman I know, who could use them too.

Thursday, May 07, 2009


I went to the doctor yesterday for my quarterly checkup. The good doctor is trying his best to save me. Save me for what, I don’t know?

As I entered his waiting room, the place was empty, except for the ladies behind the desk.

“Joe Del Bloggolo” I announced.

“Did you change your insurance and have to make the doctor change his vacation plans?” asked the woman.

“No, still Al’s HMO.” I stated.

I sat down for about five minutes, when they announce my name like I was sitting in a crowded room.


I look around and no one else is there or named Joseph, so I get up and follow the woman. Problem is she races to the examining room, and being there are about ten rooms, I lose sight of her. After poking my head into a few rooms to the chorus of screams, I finally find her.

“Leave your stuff here and pee into a cup in the toilet. Joseph.”

I think, ‘Thank God she asked me to do it in the toilet!’ I ask her not to call me Joseph, since only my mother calls me that, and only when she is threatening me, even at 91 years of age.

I deposit my cup, and sit in the examining room,

I sit on the examining table and read two scenes of the Glass Menagerie, by Tennessee Williams. Still no doctor! I get up, play with his instruments, check out the steel drawers, think about maybe helping myself to a few tongue depressors, and maybe a few band-aids, when the good doctor, Dr. Know enters.

“How are you today?” asked Dr. Know.

“I’m fine, except,,, about a month ago, I got up from sleep one Sunday morning, and felt dizzy. That night I went to pick up a newspaper off the floor, and almost fell over!”

“Hmmm… you have a condition that is called dizzy in the head with the chance to fall over.”


“Yes, I think it is an inner ear problem. You see: what happens is there is tiny sand particles in the middle of your head, that give you the balance you need, and the sense of space relationships.”

I think that space relationships I can relate to, being how some of my friends may be from out of space.

The good doctor continues, “Do you feel dizzy, like you are going to fall over?”

“Yes! Like I’m drunk, without the fun!”

“I’m going to send you to an ear, nose, throat and big left toe doctor to check it out, just to be sure.” The last time Dr. Know sent me somewhere to “just to be sure”: I had a by-pass operation.

Please remember my brother-in-law, John, and all those who need our prayers, and a special prayer for someone who could use a little of God’s help suddenly.

Wednesday, May 06, 2009


Today’s rant is brought to you by: the makers of cigarette butts on the ground, loud music, intense makeup applications, and chitchat, that wonderful method of slowing down traffic.

You may find it hard to believe from reading this blogue, but I can be a reasonable man! I don’t find too much to be annoying or troublesome, but get behind the wheel, and every damned fool in the universe is in front of me!

Who am I talking about? Those turkeys driving with little regard, little idea, and little sense when behind the wheel of an auto. I don’t know about where you live, but here on Long Island, the worse drivers exist. They have all moved to my neighborhood, and seem to congregate in front of me while I drive.

There is the college or high school kid. Emulating Ishiro Tsumamato, the famous Kamikaze pilot (Over 50 missions before his father took away the plane keys.) Wearing a baseball cap, brim flat, and turned slightly askew on his square head! Not cool, kid! No. You look like a schmuck, AND, you left the labels on the visor. He sits behind the front seat to drive, music blaring, almost lying down (how the hell you can see out the front window is beyond me!) He spends his time checking himself out in the mirror, instead of checking out the traffic. Like a moron, he zooms up and tailgates, inviting disaster, and wonders why his car insurance is so high.

Then there are the chitchat ladies. You find them at the light stopped. Busily in conversation with their hands in motion, they are not necessarily Italian. Sitting six car-lengths behind the car in front of them, when the light changes, and after I beep my horn, they finally realize they have to move, getting by the green light just as it changes, leaving you behind the red light! I must confess to swearing a little.

Mr. muscles and good looks is usually on the highway, combs his hair, flips a cigarette out the window, and rolls his head as he drives, wondering what that heavy weight is on his shoulders. His driving is like he is being sexually molested while trying to stay on the road! All over the lanes he goes, slows down, speeds up, drifts, while checking his mpg player, text messaging, and just out because he heard that I was out there, and a space was open in front of my car. If I try to get in front of him as he slows down, he will step on it and prevent me from getting there. Generally, his low I.Q. gets the better of him. What I do is as I come up to him is, I pretend I’m going right, looking into my rear-view mirror, checking my right back side, all along really checking how far I am in front of him. He relaxes, and I cut in. My “Up yours, amigo” nicely finishes off my maneuver!

Early mornings will find the next birdie. She is busily applying makeup, smoking a cigarette, text messaging, and adjusting the volume on her radio AND her rear view mirror. A dangerous driver, she will weave in and out of a lane, tailgate, and sped up to 100 mph to close a gap in front of her. As she cuts you off, her attitude is “you don’t exist!” God help us all!

Please remember all those that need our prayers, especially my brother-in-law, John, who drives very well, just like me! :-)

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

HOLY $#!+

I was sitting at my desk Friday, busily doing what TLW (The Little Woman) ordered, working on some books for her religious education students. The little heathens (second graders) get a few homemade presents every year from TLW, and it is my job to make them.

The ringing of Alexander Graham Bell’s crazy invention suddenly disturbed my quiet solitude.

Me: “Jello?”
Caller: “Joe?”
Me: “Who’s this?”
Caller: “It’s me,”
Me: “WHO??”
Caller: “Your SISTER!”
Me: (I have four sisters, they all sound alike on the phone) which one, you all sound alike!”
Caller: “ &#^*^# *&)(%^$#@ ^%$#*^ &%#$*(?”
Me: “Oh, MaryAnn! How ya doin?”

Now Mary Ann is my third sister in the lineup or my tormented life, succeeding where the first two left off, and passing the baton off to the last one, in making my life miserable as the only boy in the family.

It’s funny how you can identify someone by the use of language, or in Mary Ann’s case, the creative use of language. She is probably the most street wise and down to earth in terms of reality. That means if talking like a sailor gets the message across, then the media is the message. Her media is her mouth, and although it can be rough, her heart is soft. She probably is more like me than any of the girls. Like’s to be outspoken, and likes to drive home her point, creatively, if needed. The only difference is she is beautiful: I look like what is left over in the refrigerator after six months.

Please remember all those that need our prayers, especially my brother-in-law, John.

Monday, May 04, 2009


I woke up with a headache, and took it down stairs to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and two aspirin. The morning was dark and dreary, wet and chilly. The rain outside seemed to put a damper on my spirits, as well as my lawn.

Pouring the coffee, I sat in my chair to read the morning paper, as TLW (The Little Woman) was busily on her laptop computer. Waving a piece of paper at me, I realized, she wasn’t going to go away, and with an achy head, I acknowledged her.

Her: “I got this from Mark at work, yesterday.”
Me: “Good”
Her: “ It’s about the service provider for our gas and electric.”
Me: “Good”
Her: “Come over her and look at this.”
(She wasn’t going to stop!)
Me: “What is it?”
Her: :It’s a listing of all the company’s that now offer the service.”
Me: “What service?”
Her: The service for the deregulation of gas and electric.”
Me: “and…?”
Her: “You have to look into it. I can’t because you do it better, and I would need a secretary to do it.”
“Me: “You hate me, don’t you? You’re going to get that widow insurance if it kills me, huh.”

Looking at the long, LONG list on the computer screen, my head starts to pound; thump, thump, thump. My eyes can’t stand the glare of the kitchen lights, and the coffee is starting to taste like she put something in it!

Her: There is the different meter reading from the National Grid, the reading from LIPA, and they give you a two month discount if you change to ARMPIT Service. Also, they give you a 1% discount of the taxes and a 7% to 8% discount of the bill for switching. Plus you get a free three-day, two night hotel stay at choice locations. Here read this paper that was given to me by Mark.

I take the paper and go into my downstairs office with built in toilet/chair, for special reading assignments given to me by TLW. I read, and soon realize if I cross my legs, I won’t get much done!

Coming out, TLW looks at me.

Me: “Okay, I’ve made a decision!”
TLW: “What’s that?”
Me: “We should really get 2-ply!”

Please remember all those that need our prayers, including my brother-in-law, John.

Sunday, May 03, 2009


This morning as I pulled into the parking lot of the Handy Pantry for my customary roll and coffee, a fellow was just stepping out of his car. As he stood at the car, he shook his head in disgust, waving it back and forth in utter disgust and disapproval. As I passed him on my way into the store, I noticed why.

I entered and he followed, as I got my coffee and he got what he needed, we both went to the counter to pay, me preceding him. He followed me out the door, and said as he reached his car: “The whole parking lot in mapped out with lines, and I missed all the stalls! What he had done was park next to the end parking space, over a spot marked with lines that were diagonal; this meant it was not for parking. Having done the exact same thing myself, I laughed and said that I did that once myself, so welcome to the club. Laughing, he wished me a good day. He is about my age, so that alone should excuse him.

I got to thinking about the time I went through a revolving door in a bank on 53rd Street in NYC one Friday, and by not paying attention, was in the same section as this little old lady! With my hands up in the air so as not to touch her, I tiptoed behind her until we got through to the bank. I was about 25 at the time, and she was about 70.

“A woman can’t go through this city without being molested” was her cry, out loud, for all the people on line to hear! In her 70’s and she is insinuating that I molested her! The look on my face may have suggested that I DID, but the experience was very revolting to me.

To clean up a popular bumper sticker: “Poop happens!”

Please remember my brother-in-law, John, and all those that need our prayers.

Saturday, May 02, 2009


One of the people I failed to mention about at the reunion, and a favorite of mine is Toots II. Toots II is TLW’s (The Little Woman) friend at the wanna-be bank and a fellow graduate of Seton Hall High School.

If you don’t know Toots II, type in her name (Lois) in the search box above, and all the terrible things I’ve said about her in this blogue will be listed.

Toots II didn’t say much that night. No, she, like Toots I or TLW are intent on quiet observation and content with silent conclusions!

Going into the wanna-be bank, one would run the risk of mixing up the two. Once, when Toots II’s son Jason came into the bank, he asked TLW what was for dinner. It turns out when he went home for dinner, it wasn’t at all what he had heard he was having at the bank! I asked TLW why she didn’t tell him that she wasn’t his mother, she said: “Oh, he is such a nice boy, and he smiled when I told him what we were having for dinner, I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

One night, I went to pick up TLW for some function at closing. Everyone left the bank at the same time, and I was afraid of who I was talking to, until I got in the car, and TLW could show me some proof of who she was!

Anyway, Toots II wore her saddle shoes and skirt was below the knee. Sister Hairy Mary hardly notices you when you play by her rules, so Lois didn’t get yelled at! She sat next to me at the dinner, and I tried to remember that I was now in a stereo system of Tootsies!

Going home that night, both ladies sat in the back seat, and when I looked into the rear-view mirror, I thought I had too much to drink, I saw double Toots. Its bad enough to have a double vision when you are drunk, but when one speaks with the other, you should really pull over to the side of the road and sleep it off.

Please remember all those that need our hopes and prayers, particularly my brother-in-law, John.

Friday, May 01, 2009


The other day #2 son arrived in the threshold of my studio. With each hand on a side of the doorway, he leaned in and made an announcement. It seems a certain friend of his was arrested for a misdemeanor of some kind, and would I not blab it about.

Who would care? I know I don’t.

Me: “Good!”
#2: “Good! Why?”
Me: “He broke the law.”
#2: “Yes, but he didn’t hurt anybody.”
Me: “That is on his record.”
#2: “Martin Luther King was arrested.”
Me: “True, HE broke the law, he should be arrested. Besides, Martin Luther King was calling attention to himself for a cause, he didn’t say to his Dad not to blab that he was arrested.”

#2 left with his cause somewhat diminished, and his friend still held in high esteem by #2 Son. I know the person who he is talking about, and I personally like him, always have, and probably always will. But, the law is the law: we have to obey, to keep order.

He wears Che, Working Party, and old Soviet Union T-shirts just to rile me. It is my fault there was slavery in the 19th century, poor people all over the world, and the very fact that I live in this great country, a reason to not be trusted. That is, until he needs cigarette money, then, God Bless America, and dear old Dad!

It is my firm belief, that my son, #2, is a closet arch conservative, a FOX NEWS subscriber both financially and philosophically. His overall design is to annoy me, push my buttons, and just make a pain in the butt of himself, for his poor old man’s sake. So, he takes on every imaginable cause that poor people have, and blames me for them, because I am a white middle-class man. The fact that I have given to countless causes to help the poor does not matter!

If he decides to ever leave, I will sit him down, and tell him, that HE is a white man too. What this does to his day I don’t know, but I can’t wait to tell him. I’m saving it for a rainy day.

Please remember my brother-in-law, John, and all those that need our prayers.