IT’S A BUST

NOW THAT I HAVE MY ATTENTION!

I recently read where a woman boarding a Southwest Airlines flight was approached by a boarding gate attendant and told she was showing too much cleavage. It is sparking debate, and so here it is on this blogue.

To me, how she dresses is important because she is mixing in the general public, there are people who are of the religious life, there are prudes, children and people who get uncomfortable when they see things like that.

My concern is will the lady draw flies, or leave unwanted odors, or some obnoxious thing, other than her cleavage for me as a passenger to contend with?

I have been traveling on all kinds of conveyances and have seen some of the garb people don at train stations and airports or bus terminals. Most of the people dress appropriately, but every once in a while someone wears something objectionable.

Since T-shirts were in vogue, people have been putting things on their shirts that are mean, disgusting and down right nasty! Politics and religion are popular subjects and so is sex. However, the worst thing I ever saw in public was on a subway train back in the 70’s

I boarded the #7 train at Hunter’s Point Avenue Station one morning on my way into Manhattan. The car was sparsely populated and I got a seat. Across from me sat a rather heavy young woman in a very short mini. On one knee she had tattooed fire, and on the other knee she had tattooed the devil. I hate to say this but when she crossed her legs… she looked like hell!

I’m sorry :(

I’LL SEE YOU, IN SEPTEMBER

Many years ago, while living in Brooklyn, at the end of summer, and you could tell it was because Mom had this perpetual smile painted across her lips, Dad would take me to either Pitkin Avenue or NYC to buy me new shoes and two suits for the opening of the new school year, along with two blue ties and about 4 or 5 white shirts and black socks.

I went to a parochial school where they made you wear a white shirt and blue tie. It was run by nuns for the girl’s side of the building and brothers and lay teachers for the boy’s side. They had a zero tolerance for fooling around and made sure we didn’t by separating us.

The school itself resembled a reformatory with it’s brick structure and imposing way it stood out on Aberdeen Street, and it was called: ‘Our Lady of Lourdes’. I called it ‘Our Lady or Lords’, because of the blind obedience they expected from me. I hated the place and the harshness of the teachers. They thought that learning was a physical experience, and that God would get me too if I didn’t learn or behave. Needless to say, I have been hiding ever since from God, waiting for the lightning bolt to strike.

Dad and I would get on the subway and head out to the store, and he would say to the salesman, I need two suits for my father here, bending his head in my direction. This got the obligatory chuckle needed to make the sale, and I of course was left feeling a little silly.

He would follow mom’s instructions: “Two suits, one blue and one grey.” Two pairs of shoes: “One black and one brown.” We then rounded out the ensemble with socks two blue ties and the white shirts.

We would then go home, and I had to try on the suits for the boss, while Dad hoped he didn’t screw it up. We would eat dinner and Mom would further ruin my day by telling me I had to get a haircut, like it was my fault that my hair grew long, or that I didn’t get one already.

The day after the first day of school was the most troubling. By now I knew I hated my teacher and why, and I had to give her money for my books, I was in a place I didn’t want to be in, missed being free, and wanted to go home. Instead, they were giving me books I didn’t want after I opened them for the first time and took a whiff

The days were still hot, my clothes were not summer wear and there was NO AIR CONDITIONING in the building! The witch was about to slap me with homework that I was supposed to memorize and return the next day to recite my catechism lesson by rote, and be able to read from my reader. Yes, they were indeed pushing my endurance.

Meanwhile Tess, my older sister (much older) was doing her homework like a brat and making me look bad.

Mom would then begin the ritual known as advancing Joe DelBloggolo’s academic career that afternoon before supper:

“JOSEPH, DO YOUR HOMEWORK!”

“OK”

“NOW!”

“OK”

“PUT THOSE COOKIES DOWN AND DO YOUR HOMEWORK NOW” as she reached for a little gentle persuasion, her wooden spoon!

Some habits are hard to break

I was always a little rebellious, testing: the limits of anyone’s endurance, including teachers, principles and priests, let alone mother or father. Dad was smart: he would turn all disciplinary issues over to a higher authority, Mom, who would threaten me with my father: “Just wait until your father comes home!”

Then one day Mom really scared me, she said: “Waaait, just wait until you have kids, you’ll have one just like YOU!” I thought that mean, scary and not nice. Besides, she needed some challenge: Tessie my older sister (Much older) was doing every thing right, her homework and even cleaning the house, never swore or cursed!

But I digress, the fall was the hardest part of the school year for me in Brooklyn, the rest of the year then went downhill.

IT’S AMAZING

On our TV we have a box. The box hooks us up to the cable network and all the cable channels. On the hookup we can record shows and watch them at our leisure. And this is a good thing. However it does have its drawbacks.

TLW (The Little Woman) likes a show called “Major Crimes” and I’m sure some of you are familiar with it. Having a cast of characters that come on the show every week, the regulars solve a murder. They never solve a purse snatching or pick pocket!

Well I have seen one episode so many times I know the whole dialogue by heart! Yes, I can repeat the words of all the characters verbatim, and the ending keeps happening the same way, every time I watch it.

It’s amazing what technology has brought us, what wondrous things there are. I have seen the same episode two and sometimes three times a night? What do I owe this dedication, this fascination and devotion to one show to?

Well it seems every night TLW takes the remote and says:

“Is there anything you want to watch Joe?”

“No, whatever you wish.”

She goes onto the Cable and calls up the last “Major Crimes” she has recorded and settles in and watches it. Not all of it, just about half of it, because you see, she has fallen asleep. Yes, she has drifted off, with a death grip on the remote control and two hands that will strangle me to death if I dare try to take it while she is asleep.

There are few things scarier than TLW awakened from sleep with the remote in her hand. If I am near enough, the look of “I’m going to kick your ass, finally” crosses her face. The deep sense of need to beg for forgiveness crosses my heart.

So she finally goes off to bed, leaving me with the sense of guilt because I won’t let her watch her show in peace. I feel like a cad.

So, tomorrow’s episode of “Major Crimes” will be today’s, and yesterdays and the day before that. I will look for a new way to watch it and surprise myself. How about standing on my head?

I decided I am the perfect husband, I keep my head down, my guard up and I keep my mouth shut, utilizing the words: “Yes Dear.”

Somewhere there is a husband who has seen the complete episode of “MAJOR CRIMES” and somewhere children play, some where hearts are singing and somewhere wives will stay, but there is no joy in DelBloggoloville, mighty TLW will have her way.

I’LL CROSS THAT BRIDGE WHEN I PAY FOR IT!

I checked the car for tire inflation, toll tag, gas, GPS and adjusted the mirrors and seat since I was using TLW (The Little Woman)’s car to drive #2 Son up to Purchase NY, or more precisely, White Plains to get an apartment for school this coming semester.

I almost jumped off this!

One thing I like to do is be ready, never hold anyone up on my account. We hit the highway and drove to the Cross Island Parkway, and indeed we did. We parked before we got to the Throgs Neck Bridge in the middle lane, so I decided to bypass it and go on to the Whitestone Bridge and onto the Hutchinson River Parkway to exit 26-W, which would take me to where I needed to go.

Not only was the Cross Island jammed, but the WhitestoneBridge as well and once I cleared the bottle neck, I raced to the EZ-Pass toll booth, being about #4 in line. Suddenly the line is delayed! %#$@*^$, someone was having trouble with their tag and holding everybody up! Damn, why don’t people pay attention to their tags, now I have to maneuver over to the next tollbooth! I manage and the car in front of me moves on.

My turn to pass through the tollbooth, I stop in front of the gate and nothing happens! I look over to the lane I just came from and the lady that had problems is still there! I think: “OH GOD, NOOOOO! I take the tag and move it about and still, nothing! I try again and know what is coming next, sure enough here comes the traffic lady, scanner in hand and book in her hand.

I give her the tag, resigned to the fact that I am dead. Sure enough, I’m dead and she says: “$6.50, please, as uninterested as she could be, like a cheap French hooker. (I read descriptions of one) Park to your left as she takes my $20 bill and goes to get me change. Meanwhile, TLW tries to call me on her cell phone and is told she has run out of money on it! She has to use a new credit card and re-establish her account.

There is a lesson in all this, actually two.

1)   Always check your expiration date on your credit card, and

2)   If your kids wants to go somewhere through the bridges and tunnels, tell them to get their own damn ride.

WELL-I’M SICK OF IT!

This year’s presidential election is becoming a real pain in the neck and/or ass as far as I’m concerned. I see people blindly following the party line on both sides of the fence. Therefore, I have decided that since they both stink and stink royally, I will not vote for either the hard place or the rock.

You may think this unpatriotic of me, but let’s face it, why would I want to hurt my country with either one of them? You go ahead and vote, and then when the poop hits the fan, and it will, you can accuse the other side, and or defend the amount and quality of the poop.

Of course, we can all blame Bush or Clinton, but neither one is now running.

One guy has a running mate who he disagrees with and the other one has a running mate that he would like to muzzle. Which one is which? Make up your own mind.

But what to do? Well this Blogue would throw its support behind Joe Leiberman. He may be old and he is, but he is wise. He dropped the Democrats and won’t for good reason support the Republicans, and so we have an independent, level headed man, who weights the issues and not the party line. He has always been wise when he was a Democrat, but became wise enough to realize that is not healthy for the country.

Will Leiberman run-no, but there is a write in candidate you might want to float. Yes, that’s right, TLW! She would make a great president. The first woman to become president, aside from me, there is no one she dislikes and I could recommend for her running mate my sister #3: Mary Ann. She would NOT give the opposition a chance to get a word in edge wise, and TLW could send her out of the country to go to funerals and weddings and inaugurations and that would lower the amount of her noise level and grandchildren pictures she puts up on Facebook.

We could solve the medical insurance issues very quickly, they both have good medical plans with The Wanna-Be-Bank and Truss Co., and JetBlue! International relations will be a snap, TLW is nice to everyone, (well, almost everyone) and that should lower the National Defense budget a lot, so the women in this country would have more money to spend on shoes and tops for work!

I could go on but I know that some of you haven’t had breakfast yet and need to get going.

Remember: A vote for TLW and #3 is like money in the Wanna-Be-Bank!

I KNEW THAT, SORTA

TLW (The Little Woman) and I operate on different wavelengths. In the morning, she is still operating on the day before, whatever unsolved mystery may exist, whatever still needs to be done, and tying up loose ends before she surveys the place to give me my orders for the day.

As for me, I have no idea what is next. I live for the moment and unless I’m working, live for each moment as it comes on. My planning is strictly in my head, as I try to put together clues about who I am, why and what I’m supposed to do.

Have you ever noticed that some people can use the same word over and over again? It becomes the flavor of the month? Well, I have been using the same two words over and over again for the past 41 years: “Yes, dear.” It’s simple, direct, needs no planning and gives me time to figure what she needs form me. If I deviate from those words, I will find myself in some kind of trouble. For instance if I said: “Dear, yes.” She would immediately ask me what I meant by that so there is no point in doing that.

When either one of us initiates a conversation, she begins with giving me the situation like I was watching a movie, and know where we are in this conversation. However, if it happened yesterday, you better brief me because it is out of my mind. OK, it is small, not a lot of room for extraneous material to crowd it, but I do the best I can. Curiously both my sons initiate conversation with me like I do, they will give me the subject matter and I’m on board, they know I can’t remember which right hand to use for the pledge of allegiance.

The other morning, TLW was on the computer, looking up housing for #2 son and said: “It looks like the same house, so I’m going to assume it is.”

“Huh?”

“It looks like the same house, so I’m going to assume it is.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

She had looked on the Internet with #2 Son, and apparently saw a room offered for rent, that was of interest and so she assumed I knew about it. The only problem is you may think: Come on DelBloggolo, get on the same page with TLW! Well let me say, it was the first words she had said to me that morning!

Husbands need not say much, we keep our mouths shut (can’t get a word in edge wise anyway and shouldn’t chew with it opened) our ears clean (to take orders and process them immediately) and our hands empty (so we can carry out the orders).

HOW BOUT ME???

Recently I read a story on the Internet about this man who was in a store when he came across a kindergarten teacher purchasing ten marble cover notebooks, which the teacher was going to pay for out of her own money and cut in half to distribute to her class.

To the surprise and happiness of the teacher, the man paid for the books himself, stating that he was doing it in memory of his dad, who was an educator. He felt that teachers were under-appreciated and under-paid! I have nothing against teachers, half my family is teaching and the other half is too young yet. But I have read about some of the contracts, pensions and ages they can retire at. I know of teachers that go on cruises and far away places for an awful lot of underpaid and

Under-appreciated people!

I feel underappreciated. I feel underpaid. I want some of that under appreciation so I can take a nice long trip around the world. TLW, (The Little Woman) is also in the same straits. She needs some appreciation. We are not asking for much, just enough NOT to whine about how unappreciated we are, truly. We too would like to have a nice fat pension, mind you not more than the teachers get, and our medical should also be fully covered: and oh, TLW said she could even go for the two month vacation. Yes, I know, they teach our children. If I was going to give kudos out to any for dealing with my children, it would be for those that work with the handicapped, the developmentally disabled, and to nurses, who nurse not only children, but me and God forbid my wife back to health, while changing bed pans and taking guff from unhappy people, while gently caring for them, cleaning them and trying to heal their wounds.

Actually I’m glad for teachers that they do so well, like my sisters and in-laws and nieces and nephews, but they don’t warrant any more appreciation or recompense than the garbage men, a noble profession.

Send all your hate mail to my agent, but I can’t guarantee anything since he doesn’t get paid and can’t read.

PICKING MY FIGHTS

I am always up to challenging myself, be it a painting or piece of art, writing or cooking or something around the house that needs help. Recently I have been looking for a challenge in any of the areas mentioned and it came to me by accident. TLW (The Little Woman) does the food shopping and I do the cooking. Last weekend she brought home some small, baby peppers, yellow, orange and red and left them in the refrigerator.

Now I don’t ask her to buy anything, she just buys what she thinks she will like and leaves them in the cupboard or refrigerator and I figure it out. Baby peppers I never cooked before. So I went for a walk and thought about it and came up with a recipe that I hope she will like. Hoping is one thing, making it happen is another thing.

I could have just cup them up and put them in salad, or I could have fried them and that would be easy too, but I started to think about those cheesy Jalopeno peppers you get as appetizers and it inspired me to try a special version of spicy baby peppers with onion and cheese. If it turns out good I’ll give you the recipe.

Dad was another guy who liked challenges, especially with my mother’s patience. Once many years ago, we were having my older sister Fran’s new boyfriend coming from Connecticut one Sunday so Dad spent the whole of Saturday giving the house the once over, painting some trim on the outside of the house. Dad always liked to paint the house, either in or outside, and was happiest when he had the paintbrush. He happened to finish all the trim that day and decided to take it a little further. Dad was a lot like me, an enthusiastic come what may, let’s rock and roll type. I do it with my eyes closed resting, and he did it with a paintbrush. So what did he do, you wonder?

Well my sister Fran was washing dishes that night and could look out the kitchen window that overlooked the backyard, and could clearly see dear old Dad. Suddenly there was a scream.

“MOM! TELL HIM TO STOP!!!

Dad was painting the trunk of the big old oak tree white. I was watching the whole thing and wanted to see out of curiosity how you really do that and where do you end it, or do you cover all the branches too. Of course I was laughing so hard from the vantage point I had in the dining room.

Mom came into the kitchen to see what Fran was screaming about.

“Anthony, put that brush down and come inside!”

“I just got a little bit more to do…”

“NOW!”

Now I am about to wet my pants from laughing so hard, my mother is really mad at Dad and now turns to me.

“And YOU, why didn’t you stop him?”

To this day that tree stands proud and tall in the backyard, just over the cesspool, reminding us of that fatal day Dad decided to paint the vegetation.

Trees

 

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,	5
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.	10
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918

 

 

A SACRILEGE

There are some things in life I hold very dear. There are traditions such as Christmas Eve dinner, with the 7 fish and lobster sauce with spaghetti, a steak on a Saturday night and of course my pizza on a Friday night. These are events that should not be trivialized, disrespected or treated in any way that displeases me. Great attention to detail is a must since these events are so important.

The pizza fix is really a TLW (The Little Woman) tradition started about 40 years ago when she was home with the kids and to reward herself for not killing me for going to work while she stayed home to cook, clean and take care of two small children all week would order pizza on Friday nights. See Thursday, June 02, 2011 blogue http://delbloggolo.blogspot.com/search?q=Albert%27s+Pizza

This is an outgrowth of the meatless Friday’s that Catholics had to endure, until they changed things when the Vatican cook was getting testy on Friday’s and didn’t want to cook fish anymore.

So last Friday came around and I get the cue from TLW as the phone rings:

“Jello?”

“Hi, I’m about to leave now, you can call for the pizza.”

I hang up and call the pizza place.

“Albert’s, pick-up or delivery?”

“Pick-up Rosie.”

“Mr. Del, how are you today? The usual?”

“Yes Rosie, and make it half pepperoni.”

“You got it Mr. Del, twenty minutes.”

So far everything was running smoothly, everyone was doing his or her part and on cue, it was as usual coming together nicely. Except for one individual who will go nameless.

Some time later about 45 minutes since TLW called, she walks in carrying the precious cargo. I have set up the TV to play a DVD of a Downton Abbey episode, the paper plates and napkins are out and the drinks set up, I am ready to rock and roll, lay that pizza on me baby!

We greet each other in the customary way, and after shaking hands we sit down to eat. I select what looks like a nice cheesy and peppered pepperoni slice and bite into it.

Suddenly my life is rolling before my eyes. Bad things are coming to mind, all the pain and suffering I have ever had is filtering through this one bite! Something is terribly wrong! The pizza, my slice of heaven, the thing of Friday night beauty is not right.

“What the (^%#?”

I look at the pizza as TLW watches and wonders what she had against being a single woman that could be so bad.

Looking under the pizza, it is jet black! Jet Black! Someone wasn’t minding my pizza while cooking it and not checking their work!

Outraged I pick up the phone and call the pizza guy. This time I get one of the many guys that are too busy joking and talking instead of paying careful attention to my pizza!

“Hello? This is Mr. Del, the Little Woman just picked up a pizza I ordered and it is uneatable. THE BOTTOM IS JET BLACK!”

“Oh! I’m sorry Mr. Del, can you come on back down in 20 minutes and I’ll make you another one?”

“OK, do you want me to bring the pizza with me?”

“Noooo, you have been coming here for years, we believe you.”

I figure, why not and hang up. Then it occurs to me, what to do with all that pepperoni that is sitting on the burnt pizza, that is still good? I decide.

“Toots, don’t throw out that pizza!”

I go back, pick up the new pie amid mass apologies and walk out a little disappointed. I figured I’d get a bag of garlic knots for the inconvenience!

I get home and start loading the new pizza with the pepperoni from the old pizza: I have struck gold! Well maybe I struck pepperoni.

IT’S ALL NEWS TO ME!

Being married for 41 years you begin to get the message. As a husband you are the second most important person in the house, everyone else is the most important.

We get two newspapers on a Sunday Morning and during the week. The reason I structured that last sentence that way is because of the rituals of marriage that have taken me from my once free and independent life of bachelorhood to the structured life of dependence and compromise of marriage. Sunday I have to give TLW (The Little Woman) the Daily News to read first. That is because she likes to read a feature they have every Sunday called: The Justice Story. It is about usually a murder that has happened in the past, what happened and how it was solved.

During the week, she gets both papers first so she can peruse them quickly and then go off to work. These are the many perks she has being married to me. There are other things that she gets also that carry her through her day.

We get two newspapers the other being Newsday. Both are rags and both are a waste of time to read for news. They are biased and poorly laid out rags that have a tradition. Growing up in Brooklyn, Dad would send me out each morning with a nickel and I’d go to Sam’s across the street on the corner, a candy store basically, where I would buy either the Daily News, and if they ran out of it, the Daily Mirror.

Now Dad read the newspaper because of the sports pages in the Daily News, and I would watch with fascination as he would start the paper from the back page and work his way forward, so as to cover the sports section first. He would pinch the paper in the middle of the page and turn to the next page, with a cigarette and cup of coffee. He would read Jimmy Young the famous sports writer that covered the Brooklyn Dodgers and announce that the News had the best sports pages in town.

When sales were brisk or I was late getting the paper in the morning and the Daily News was sold out, I’d buy the Daily Mirror and immediately turn to the Walter Winchell column and his staccato like bites of news. The man fascinated me because he had a segment on the TV where he would carry over from his radio days his technique. He was a reporter who could make or break a politician or movie star by what he said. He would begin his telecast by saying something like: “Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America, and all the ships at sea!” There would be a big microphone in his face, and a cigarette in his hand with what he was reading and a fedora on his head.

At night, Dad would return home, a fedora on his head, and the NY Journal American folded under his arm. He would ring the doorbell down stairs and we would ring it back and he would ascend the two staircases and whistle on his way up. That was the signal that dinnertime had arrived, and as he changed from workingman to Dad, we would take his newspaper and go to the comics to read them before dinner was ready on the table.

Dad was not a NY Times reader, and his son never cared for the paper either. I never liked it, subscribed to it and found that the reporting was too biased for my liking, so a lot of the ‘facts’ that they reported were built on a sanctimonious, arrogant and elitist displays of long-winded interpretation of the news. I can do that on my own. I had it delivered to my home and to my office, but never really cared for the news end of it. To me it was and still is dishonest.

TLW is smart, she reads only factual stuff that has an impact on her life. She goes to the Internet like a lot of us do now, and really doesn’t hold that much stock in reading the rags. But it is nice to do a Sudoku puzzle or a good old-fashioned crossword puzzle, holding a newspaper with a pen or pencil.

When we were first married, my in-laws would come to the house on Sunday, and my father-in-law Jim would read my Sunday newspapers, and as much I loved the guy, he would totally leave my newspapers in disarray, the pages slipping out of their position. He would read the paper, make a comment out loud and bury himself, immersed in the minutiae of the story and physically get rough with the pages. I am very particular about how my newspaper should look when I pick it up to read it. Pristine in condition is what I want. If I went to a newsstand to buy one, it had to look unread, if it looked otherwise, the news was used, not new to me. (OK, I’m crazy)

LIFE CAN BE BEAUTIFUL!

A few years ago there was a movie with Roberto Benigni called: La Vita E’ Bella, ‘Life Is Beautiful’. It is about the horrific world of being a Jew in World War II Europe under Nazi rule. In that darkness was light, a beautiful light that shone so brightly it took the ugliness and hid it, in spite of it being all around.

In this world of today there is a light so bright, there are no shadows, so strong that you clearly see what life should be for all of us. In a place called the Westhampton Beach ‘Day Program’ that helps people with disabilities both physical and mental. Some of the people come from out of the shadows of Willowbrook, some have been born under the shadows. None of these people had a choice: all were dealt a bad hand, which is played as best one can.

The program had a fashion show and I was privileged to see by invitation. I jumped at the chance to see God’s hand move. His hand is in the form of Jean Kelly and her amazing crew of staff people. These are the people that God chose to be his surrogate, to do his work, to let the world know he exists, whether you believe or not. There were no real fashions: maybe the theme was there in the guise of the 1970’s “Psychedelic” format and decorations. But it wasn’t really the show that struck me: but the staff and those they love so much, beginning with Jean Kelly.

I’ve know Jean since my daughter first joined the Day program and have met her at least twice a year at my daughter Ellen’s semi-annual and annual reviews for too many years to count. She is a woman with a great uplifting spirit, and huge beautiful heart, and common sense and so much love for those she works with.

An amazing transfiguration occurs in the domain they call Westhampton Beach. People who you would ordinarily meet, sitting in wheel chairs, maybe sitting by themselves suddenly become alive, as the incredible staff under Jean begins to do their thing. Suddenly a whole building comes alive with excitement, and positive motion, a place becomes a happy place. The crowded room was packed with parents, siblings and friends who eagerly awaited the show, and let me tell you, no one was disappointed, everyone left feeling better. The participants in the show worked hard to put on their spectacular presentation, they paraded down the runway in the fashion show, wiggling hips, strutting, laughing, and mugging for the audience.

The theme was the 70’s and lo and behold who showed up! The caste of Welcome Back Kotter, Movin’ On Up and Sonny and Cher, complete with afros and joy.

It is a wonderful thing when we can stop for a moment and see something so beautiful as a group of dedicated people like the staff of Jean Kelly, beautiful dedicated people in their own light, shine so brilliantly and hide the shadows.

As I sat a lady came over to me and stuck her hand out for me to shake. She couldn’t speak clearly for me to understand everything she had to say, but she said enough

“Hi-do you know Ellie?”

“No, I don’t, I’m sorry.”

“That’s OK, do you ride the bus?”

“No, but if I did, maybe I’d be lucky enough to know you.”

Maybe we all need to ‘ride the bus’ and visit this world to put our crazy sad and horrific world in a better light and loose the shadows, just like Jean Kelly and her wonderful staff does at Westhampton Beach.

I PLEDGE MY ALLEGIANCE!

Since the Jerry Sandusky scandal and the Joe Paterno meltdown at Penn State, I need a school I can whole-heartedly support this football season. I do support NY Tech and UNC and of course SUNY/Purchase even though it doesn’t have a football team, but I need another college. So scanning the horizon I happened to find one right under my nose!

Ladies and Gentleman: I give you Stevenson University, home of the Mustangs!

Dr. 'K'

I don’t take these things lightly, so after carefully investigating: the college passed some very rigid tests. For one, the President of the college, a certain Dr. Kevin Manning has never been arrested, been involved in scandals, or had his picture in the post office! This along with the great achievements the college has made under his stewardship and the fact that I might get into a game for free, or at least half-price, coupled with the fact that he is TLW (The Little Woman)’s older brother. If I ever get a free ticket to a game, he will immediately be her younger brother (much younger).

You know me by now, I don’t kid around, and tell you with all honesty, I checked all the other colleges and universities in the country, and none had a brother-in-law of mine running it. So step aside Peyton, go have a milkshake Eli, my football Manning is Dr. ‘K’!

Of course the fight song of the Mustangs will soon be rivaling the Notre Dame fight song, and be on the lips of every college football fan in America. To keep you up to date, I will be giving you an update each week on the teams many successes that will occur on the gridiron, because I know you now care too.

Stevenson University

ITS WHAT I NEED!

The phone rang one evening shattering my calm and interrupting the Jeopardy show, I hate when that happens, and when the caller is identified on caller ID on my screen as Dr. Strangeglove, makes me nervous.

“Jello?”

DR. STRANGEGLAOVE

“Hello, this is Doctor Strangeglove’s office, may I speak to Joseph!”

“Speaking?”

“Dr. Strangeglove would like you take start taking vitamin D, 2,000 milligrams daily.”

“Does he know why?”

“Wellll, let me see, your blood tests show you are very low in vitamin D”

“Hmmm… I guess I better then. Thank the doctor for me.”

Turning to the Little Woman (TLW) I ask: “What does vitamin D do for you?”

“Strong bones!”

“Ah! Strong bones, sure, I knew that! Is there any vitamin D in Jack Daniels?”

“You probably don’t drink enough milk!”

“But what happened to all the vitamin D I had? You didn’t take it, did you? Maybe at night when I’m sleeping, are you siphoning off all my vitamin D?”

Lately my feet have been hurting, and I was wondering if there was anything wrong. Sharp stinging pains in the first three toes in my right foot have been occurring. That may be a reason, lack of vitamin D. Being a diabetic I asked the doctor, and I guess vitamins are the best he can do!

You are supposed to get it from sunshine, and I don’t go out in the heat of summer with humidity, just not happening unless it is the pool or on my way into an air-conditioned place. Starting tomorrow, I will get a lounge chair and get a book and read in the sun, soaking up Mother Nature’s rays.

My thinking is vitamins A, B, and C are all doing ok, and I need to get through the rest of the alphabet, and I hope I do, I’d hate to have to blogue about vitamins ‘E’ through ‘Z’ too!

A MEATLESS ‘HOW DO YOU DO!’

I pull up to the parking space in front of the doctor’s office for my quarterly checkup, and found a spot under a maple tree. The branches were low so it would be a perfect place to park on a hot day.

As I shut down the engine I noticed a pair of thick legs sitting on the steps to the entrance and as I got out, they belonged to an elderly lady. I approached the steps and wondered why she was sitting there alone.

“They aren’t opened yet! The door is still locked!” she complained.

I noticed she was a short lady with grey hair and glasses and a bit stocky, but seemed very limber to me.

“They should give me a key! I’m gonna tell ’em to give me a key! The Hampton Jitney leaves me off here at 8:55 am when I come for my visit. I went next door and asked them if they could open up, I should have gone to my podiatrist next door, I see them more than Dr. Strangeglove!”

I was about to offer her a seat in my car until they did open within 10 minutes, but she went on.

PET BY DAY

DINNER BY NIGHT!

“I’ve been going to Dr. Starngeglove for over 15 years, I go every three months!” Waving her hand she continued: Hey, the more doctors the better, they can see me all they want! I’m 89 years old you know? My cholesterol is a little high, but I’m a vegetarian, never eat meat!” Then holding her palm down about waist high she said: “I got my old man to thank for that when I was that high! He was my stepfather, he was mean. When I was a little girl I went into the house for supper while looking for my cat, I said: where’s the cat? You know what he said to me, I’ll never forget that, he said, we’re eating it!” I pictured my cat and cried. You k now the brain is a wonderful thing. I can remember when I was five years old, but I can’t remember what I ate yesterday! They used to eat rabbit, you know, we grew up in the depression, we were always hungry. You would get a piece of stale bread and dip it in the olive oil we were so hungry. I used to go with my mother in Manhattan where we lived in the city, she would go to the market and buy a chicken. They would cut the chickens head off, turn it upside down and drain the blood, then stick it into water and start to feather it. You look at the chicken’s head and I never eat meat again. On the roof they used to raise pigeons, when we were really hungry, my father would go on the roof and get a pigeon, ring its neck and we had to eat it. You won’t find me eating meat. How could you eat something you pet? Oh, no, now I make other things. I cook with vegetables, you’d be surprised what you can eat with vegetables. They even got vegetable hamburgers, taste just like the real thing, you wouldn’t know the difference!”

I wondered how she could tell since she never ate meat, but decided I didn’t need to die at the hands of an 89 year old lady.

Finally they opened the doors and as we entered she advised the gall who opened the door that she had been waiting for over a half hour, but luckily “This nice gentleman kept me company!”

We sat in the waiting room and chatted some more and she was called first, and a few moments later so was I. As I go into the inner examining room the nurse weights me and tells me to give her a urine sample, and as I turn to go into the toilet, who comes out but my new old girlfriend.

Pointing at the nurse, she starts in: “You should fix this door knob! It’s loose, you need a screw or a new screw, it’s loose!

When I’m her age, if I live that long, I hope to be as outspoken and deliciously informative as she is.

WCIF – AGAIN

Who Cares Its Friday day is here once again, (08/10/12) a day of cutting edge complaining with the need for a coffee break. Now all you out there who say its Friday get over it. You still have to work, if it was Saturday or Sunday I’d say OK, but you shouldn’t be taking it easy because its Friday.

I got up very early this morning, being awakened from a rather deep sleep at 3:30 in the morning by TLW (The Little Woman) thinking someone was trying to get our attention from our bedroom window.

Then at 7:25 am, the roof guy is knocking on my door to tell me he is going to see what needs to be done! FIXING THE FRIGGEN ROOF IS WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE! Nice guy though.

It is so hot and muggy, with the threat of rain and a big storm coming my way, I just know I will be having to deal with the pool once again, having just gotten it back to a pristine level of clarity and chemical balance. But you bet the damned rain will take care of that, causing the pool to need backwashing to bring the level of the water back to where it should be.

Then I hear school doesn’t start until September!

So I went to the mall to get into some exercise, I walk like old people do, but I make it look like I’m shopping, I wear shoes, not sneakers and I don’t swing my arms. I stopped at the pretzel stand and looked, then went to the Cinnabon stand and looked some more. I figure if I do that, no one will know I’m an old geezer getting exercise. I even went into the Apple store to look for a wire. But with all the heat and humidity, I don’t walk every morning like I like to, so this was to start the process once again.

To tell you the truth, I don’t know why I walk, diet and exercise, I’m only going to die someday anyway!