GETTING UNDER THE DESK!

A sign of the times!

Ah, I remember it well, we as a nation were waiting for the Russians to come and bomb us and so we had bomb drills, as the paranoia reached frenzy in the mid-fifties Cold War.

Families were building bomb shelters and every siren I heard I wondered if it meant a fire, lunch or a bombing! The Russians now had the Hydrogen Bomb and the Korean War wasn’t settled yet. Our only confidence was in the fact that we had General Dwight D. Eisenhower as president.

I remember the classroom when the alarm went off. We were told to get under our desk and to cover our heads. Each of us would pop down under and hide, as Mrs. Walsh would pull the shades and walk around the classroom. Peeking I would know when she stood nearby, her shoes with her toes pointing out in various directions until they pointed to me. Then I would close my eyes and wait for her to move on.

It was a frightening thing to have to practice since we, as a nation had never experienced war on our shores. The thought of a mushroom cloud and the thunderous noise it would bring only helped to scare the bejeebee’s out of me. It would be a sudden flash, followed by a big hot wind and noise!

Home sweet shelter

I remember once seeing a film in black and white on a screen in front of the classroom where the procedures to stay alive while being bomb were introduced. First you had to have a bomb shelter, stocked with food. Second, you had to stay calm, and walk in an orderly fashion, especially as the bombs rained down on you!

I wondered where Dad would put the salami and cheese and not to mention the wine in a bomb shelter. How would I ever get all my toys in there also? Probably one of my sisters would have to stay outside! They were talking canned goods and water, like canned corn or stringed beans. I thought: hey, you need tomato paste and boxes of macaroni! And where would I be able to store a couple of cases of Yoo-hoo, the chocolate drink? In the ‘50s and ‘60s, Yogi Berra and other New York Yankee baseball legends starred in the most successful Yoo-hoo advertising campaign of all time. A photo of Berra drinking Yoo-hoo along with the new slogans "Me-hee for Yoo-hoo" and "The Drink of Champions" became especially

famous!

 

I imagined the Russian people as being enslaved, with Joe Stalin holding a whip, and men with pug noses and cauliflower ears dressed in green uniforms and jackboots as the enemy. I thought that the red star on their aircraft was designed to confuse America as we had a white star on our aircraft.

 

All this in one easy bomb drill! When it was over and we left school for the day, I would get myself a Yoo-hoo and Devil Dog cake, lick the sides of the cakes for the white cream and savor a slug of Yoo-hoo for being brave!

 

HOHOHOHO!

Santa is coming! Yes boys and girls, that old bag of bones is coming to visit his little niece and nephew at their home!

Having a Santa Outfit is good, it allows me to fulfill a little dream I always had, to make a kids Christmas memorable. Now this is CHRISTMAS, and NOT a ‘holiday’ visit and I’m allowed to say that since it is on my dime.

Now the two little munchkins I will visit are my niece and nephew’s children. Mamma and Poppa, Annmarie and Greg have two beautiful little children: Al and Aubrey Rose, and she looks like a rose.

Many years ago, when I was about 3 or 4, my folks had a Halloween party in their apartment. I remember the kitchen and dining room had the kitchen chairs lined up along the wall and a witch came. Being too young to be afraid, I do remember it being creepy. So this experience with my Santa suit will be something more merry and hopefully special.

Later in life I found out that the witch was an aunt of mine who happened to be my godmother. Since I grew up with 4 sisters, I’m now used to witches, and they don’t scare me any, just as long as I use caution.

The suit comes because I will be visiting people with disabilities in their home and a dance for people with disabilities! This is always special to me and it launches the holiday week, making Christmas a special occasion for me.

In a few days I will report back to you on how it all went.

NEW YORK OR CHICAGO PIZZA?

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This past spring, I spent some time in Chicago with my two sons. During my culinary experiences in the city with the big shoulders, I got to experience the cuisine that is the center of Chicago life.

Most of the meals I had at lunchtime were in plastic red baskets with a waxed paper on the bottom, fries and some kind of sandwich or finger food. But I knew I needed to try the famous Chicago pizza, so off the Miracle Mile we found this sports bar and ordered the pizza.

Now we all know how great the pizza is in New York, the originator of pizza as we know it in America, or really: New York. I’ve been to Los Angeles, and there is no pizza there. If you venture to San Francisco, you might get a good pie, and have since learned that there is no other place like New York for good pizza.

Chicago Deep Dish made in Canada

But I was determined to have ‘Chicago’ deep-dish pizza and so pulled up to a table with my two sons and roll the dice. A young lady took my order and I excused myself to use the men’s room. When I returned I found my deep-dish pizza waiting for me.

Now pizza has to have a flavor that comes from the oven alone. Everyone has experienced the crispy dough, the flavorful taste that greets the pizza eater in that first bite. Then you get into the gooeyness of the cheese and the garlicy flavored sauce that tops it off and finishes the savory experience.

Real Pizza

Did you ever build up the anticipation in your mind of how something will taste? We all do that and when we do we discover that we are disappointed. Being it is a one-man pizza, it is cut into four slices, and I carefully extract the first slice, and carry it into my mouth. I bite down and it is like kissing your sister! Nothing, just a dough bucket with melted cheese, no flavor, no crunch, and no garlic taste.

http://www.ritholtz.com/blog/2013/11/tds-pizza-war-new-york-vs-chicago/

As I chewed on the slice, my face must have indicated my disappointment as #1 Son said to #2 Son: “See, I told you he wouldn’t like it!”

In New York, like everything else it offers, it even offers many kinds of pizza. There’s Neapolitan, Sicilian, Grandma, Margarita and three of the four come form Naples! Maybe if the Chicagoans put some pasta in the deep dish and gave up on pizza, all would be well! Or maybe they need Papa John’s. Ugh!

Chicago deep-dish pizza needs to stay in Chicago. It’s probably made in Can

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABY SISTER FRAN! 

On a cruise to celebrate as you read!

 

OH MY GOD!

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The other day (Sunday) TLW (The Little Woman) and I were discussing children and her class in particular. Telling me stories about these little 7-year olds and their quest to make their communion for the first time.

The conversation shifted to the use of bad words and what constituted a bad word, and when a word isn’t bad and when it is in a context of a thought. For instance: the ‘H’ word. Yes the first word you use when you learn to swear, the ‘H’ word is the beginning.

“Now when you do something bad, you go to Hhh!” said one little tyke.

TLW: “That’s right! If you kill someone, you could go to Hell!”

“OOOOU! You said the ‘H’ word!”

TLW: “No, it’s not a sin if you use the word correctly, not to swear at someone.”

Now, when I was growing up, that was one of the first English swear words I used. Most boys learn things from their father’s knee, me, I learned from the end of Dad’s foot, and most of the words were in Italian!

As we talked, TLW mentioned the confessional, and how as kids they are learning about telling their sins to the priest. They even have an ‘Act of Contrition’ tapped to the wall inside the confessional. When we went to confession so many years ago, there was no aid tapped to the wall, and we ran through the ‘Act of Contrition’ very quickly, mumbling the words to get out of there ASAP.

 

I would go every Saturday afternoon about 4:00 pm; entering into this big ornate marble pillared church darkened since it was confession, to confess my sins. Mom was a stickler about me confessing all to the priest. I would stand on line waiting my turn and dreaming up sins to tell the priest. Since I was under ten years of age, there weren’t too many sins to confess other than I aggravated my Mother and Father and used the name of the lord in vain. Mom believed I had a conscience and that I would reveal more sins to a priest. I never said I lied, since you never wanted to tell a priest you lied, so you lied to the priest!

The priest every Saturday would listen to my sins, bless me and give me the same penance: “Say three Hail Mary’s and an Our Father”, on occasion an Act of Contrition or a Glory Be to the Father. If you picked a wrong priest, he would send you off with all the prayers, which was embarrassing, as we had to go up to the altar to say them. If you were on your knees longer than 3 minutes, your friends would snicker.

I would return home, Mom would question my older sister Tessie (much older): “Did he go, did you see him enter the confessional?” Yes, Mom worried about me.

WHAT A HOLIDAY SEASON!

With the news that my granddaughter is on her way, as you can imagine we here are awfully excited. A lot of things go through my mind that pop-up suddenly. One of the things I like about this whole thing is telling people!

The other day I was visiting Mom, and she of course weighted in with her observations. One such thought was that the generations continue, that life is indeed going on. Driving, I thought about the fact that this solitary child, unborn yet and even not named, is turning life around for me. One of the things I hope for is that this little girl will grow up loving her dad as much as her mom loves her dad. It is a wonderful thing to witness that a grown woman still loves her dad into adulthood, to have a special bound and still enjoy each other. That is beautiful! Indeed it was a special day when we went to Disneyland with TLC (The Lovely Courtney) and Roger her dad, and like it was someplace in time, and they never aged, enjoying their time together.

You never know how long each of us has on this earth, but if I live to see a grandchild, then I have lived a full life and I consider that a blessing. Looking back I often think of my father and how much he loved his grandchildren. Dad would do anything for his grandkids, it didn’t matter which one, loving them all the same! If he only knew his namesake was on the verge of becoming a father, it would have made him unbearable to live with.

Many years ago on Christmas day, we would as a family gather on Fulton Street in Brooklyn and celebrate the day. It was a day rich in Italian food, the Italian language and grandchildren. All this stemmed from one 16 year old when she came to this country in 1910. From her oldest child Anthony, I think a wonderful family was created that carries on a tradition of love and respect for one another. I hope my son and I’m sure he will: will create such a family himself. He has all the tools, a wonderful wife, a soon to be beautiful child (how could she be anything but?) and a great potential to be a dad like my daughter-in-laws’ father was to her.

Enjoy this season, I know I will.

HO-HO-WHOA!

Every morning when I turn on my laptop, one of the places I like to go to is Facebook, after checking this blogue. Being I am in the Christmas mood somewhat, I even changed my picture profile for the season.

As I was perusing one morning, I came across this.

It was written by an unhappy woman, who instead of doing the dishes and rattling those pots and pans, was mad at her husband who in today’s world was probably in the kitchen doing the dishes and rattling those pots and pans! Now what she had to say was unkind, uncalled for and true.

Let’s take each of these ‘points’ she made on her Christmas cheer sign and explain what ‘THREE WISE WOMAN” really means.

1)   WOULD HAVE ASKED DIRECTIONS-sure, any excuse to stop and talk

2)   ARRIVE ON TIME-find me a woman who does that and I’ll show you a woman who is really late for another previous event.

3)   HELPED DELIVER THE BABY-like all women, has to tell a man how to do it a better way.

4)   BROUGHT PRACTICAL GIFTS-That usually means no beer or cigars

5)   CLEANED THE STABLE-It’s called ‘nesting’ and they do this a lot!

6)   MADE A CASSEROLE-Apparently “From the lips to the hips” means nothing to them

7)   AND THERE WILL BE PEACE ON EARTH-Ha, three women together, all talking at once?

Now, I’m NOT suggesting that all women are like that, nor should it have been suggested that all men are like that sign says they are. I mean after all this, this is the season for peace on earth and love, etc. so until the lady who wrote up that sign gets wise, there will never be:

7a)   PEACE ON EARTH.

She started it!

MERRY HOLIDAYS AND IT’S A CHORE

Every year since I retired and TLW (The Little Woman) decided to go to work, I have been left with certain ‘chores’ so to speak. One of those chores is to write Christmas cards and holiday greetings for the season.

Every year I take out my personal phone book and start at ‘A’ and end at ‘Z’. This is a logical progression and I am proud that I was able to figure this all out!

I also need to rely on TLW’s phone book, which is a problem. No, actually it is two problems: she files names alphabetically by first name and she never finishes addresses, leaving me without zip codes. Couple this with her handwriting and you suddenly have a crisis. I have to bookmark all the addresses I can’t read and go to the local pharmacist to read them for me.

This year I went through the list of names and realized that we have lost a lot of people through the year and it feels funny not writing them cards for the season. They would elicit old memories and that would cause me to stop and think about them. Yes folks, when I write cards I get to think about the person or family and it kind of reviews my life for me.

Every year I vow that I would make a complete separate list on my computer, combining all my names with TLW’s names after translation and work from that. About half way through my writing of the cards, I notice something. Two pieces of regular 8.5” x 11” paper folded in half and stapled together! What I had vowed to do I did indeed do, but forgot I did it! There in Times Roman 12 point sat all my names and addresses, with zip codes ready for my use! I am what you call a schmuck! Yes, a schmuck for forgetting that I had the list that would have saved me hours!

AND THE ‘EYES’ HAVE IT.

An 'Official' message

On the last Tuesday of the month, I attend a board of directors meeting for AHRC Suffolk. This is an attempt to keep out of trouble and go somewhere safe. This gets me out of the house while TLW (The Little Woman) attempts to change the locks.

Every month a few days before the meeting I receive a packet in the mail that includes the minutes from the last meeting among other things. It is my job to review and if necessary if I see something I feel is incorrect make note of it. There was something to note.

There on page 14, third paragraph down started the paragraph with a reference to me, a misspelling that made me sound like a vegetable!

Off to the meeting I go, armed with righteous indignation and my driver’s license showing the correct spelling of my last name. I was confident.

The meeting is called to order, the prayer read and roll call completed. We now turn our attention to the minutes of the last meeting. Our distinguished and very competent president of the board, one Jim McEneaney then inquires:

“Are there any corrections to the minutes if the last meeting?”

I raise my hand and state:

“Page 14, paragraph three.” Not a word is heard from the 19 or 20 people sitting around the long table. I continue…

“In spite of what you may have heard about me from my wife this past weekend, about all the football I watched, I did not vegetate (The room is now laughing, realizing the spelling) nor should you take my complexion into account as a indication of who or what I am.”

It is important to set all the records straight, dot all the ‘I’s and cross all the ‘T’s, kind of have all your ducks in a row, and above all: avoid cliché’s.

PS, it wasn’t 'couch potato' I was referring to.

‘TIS THE SEASON

Every year around this time, I dread the thought of taking down the Christmas stuff and decorating the house. To me, there are no kids in the house waiting for the magic of Santa. A small tabletop tree should be enough and maybe a wreath or two and we are done.

But suddenly, this season for some reason, I had the urge to decorate! I actually got the decorations down and then did something crazy! I even took down the Dickens like village and set it up! I haven’t done that in years, and here I was excitedly assembling a little village!

TLW (The Little Woman) watching me as I took the beautiful reproductions out of their boxes asked how come I was decorating?

I thought about it for a moment and then realize where all this Christmas spirit was coming from.

My grandchild is on her way!

She is not going to have an old coot for a grandfather! When she comes to my house for the holidays, she will have magic and more magic, she will remember her grandfather and grandmother and the house decorated.

So already this little child, who I have not met yet, but love more than I imagined, has lit the fires in her grandpa, has made the spirit of the season live within my soul. I had hoped to give her a first gift for the season, instead she has given me the greatest gift of all, joy and love: and she isn’t even born yet, and as of this writing, I don’t even know her name!

And so we see why it is so wonderful that #1 Son married TLC (The Lovely Courtney), Courtney has made the joy of the season for me, and for the whole family by bringing into the world a beautiful child I can call my grandchild. Christmas is fun again!

WHAT A FALL!

This fall, between September and November I have attended three weddings and one formal ball. In all four occasions I ate well and strained to hear, the music so loud and pounding I wonder how anyone can have a decent conversation?

I used to be very good at cocktail hours, which used to run an hour. Now I need a seat to rest my plate and drink down, as I constantly shift my eyes from the person I’m talking to, to my tie, where I fear spilling something on it. Of course they serve things like clam sauce with spaghetti: that always flings itself outside your mouth and whips the sauce straight to the tie.

I noticed that people, especially young people are dressing down for weddings. I saw one young man wearing a white shirt and no jacket or tie, and a middle-aged fellow wearing a ordinary shirt I wouldn’t wear to a party!

The other day, my nephew the Macaroni Man, noticed that I carry a handkerchief, and asked me about it! I have been carrying a handkerchief all my life, and never thought anything about it, but today’s generation is telling me it is old-fashioned!

I recall growing up in Brooklyn: everyone dressed up on Sunday in their what else: their Sunday best! If you went to visit someone, on went you suit and tie and a piece of cake in your hand as you knocked on a door announced or unannounced.

Holidays such as Christmas and Easter required the suit too, and you better be going to church (unless you were my father) to round out the formalities.

Air flight, train travel and church meant dressing up, today flip-flops for all occasions. It is sad in a way and a welcome relief in another way that we have wrestled with so much formality.  There was dress down Fridays introduced in the late 90’s and even the work place is losing its classy edge.

I think that we are as a universal society losing our edge, as we quickly replace person-to-person eye contact with I-phone to I-pad or computer communication of the social networks. The art of script is already on the way out and soon no one will be able to write in long hand, or spell correctly as we have resulted to such things as LOL or BRB (Laugh Out Loud or Be Right Back)!

I wonder where the writers of tomorrow will come from? Will we have any poetic verse or fluid thought put down on paper or even on a computer generated document? Will the art of writing a novel be gone forever? How will the short stories go, the way of long hand script?

Yes, it’s been a hell of a Fall!

A WOMAN’S WAY

There is a lot to be said about how men and women do things, and even about what they expect.

before haircut

after haircut.

For years when I wanted to get a haircut, I went to the barber and when I left his shop, I knew I had a haircut. Why? Because I looked different, the joke my ears were lowered was really a statement that the barber cut my hair.

The other day TLW (The Little Woman) said, or should I say announced, that she was going to get her hair cut. That statement in itself is different then when I say it. TLW says: “I’m going to get my hair cut.” This is said like she was taking her head off and giving it to her beautician to cut, then put it back on her shoulders. Her hair is an accessory to be handled as such.

Now when I need a trim, I say: “I going for a haircut” or “I’m gonna get a haircut.” Poor grammar and all: that is what I say.

Now the results are another area of dispute. When I come from the barbershop, TLW says: “Ah, I see you got a haircut.” I even smell like I had a haircut, and even feel a little raw on the back of my neck.

When TLW comes home from the beauty parlor, I’m afraid to ask if she got it or not. She looks the same! There is NO discernable difference from when she left the house! She could go out all day for haircuts and I still wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

The last time she came home from her beautician, I was going to remark but thought better of it and decided not to go there. What if she didn’t get a haircut? As someone once asked me what the secret to my being married for 42 years was, I kept my mouth shut.

IT’S HOLIDAY TIME ONCE AGAIN!

And so another year of holiday anxiety is upon us! Do you know where your mind is?

TLW (The Little Woman) fortunately for me does all the shopping for the Holidays. With present buying and food purchasing. Me, I only have to worry about her. Yet, I am the one with all the anxiety and worry about what to get her for Christmas morning.

The worry begins about June when I realize that once the fast moving summer days are over, I’m facing the holidays, and have I put aside enough for TLW to make it a nice gift. By November and early December, I have nightmares that have me awakening to Christmas morning and her giving me a great gift, and me? I forgot to get her a gift! Fortunately, this has never happened to me but the dream seems real.

Dad used to give one of us money and tell us to go get mom a gift, something I never did, but often wondered how that might fly.

The other day I was walking through the mall on my way to the Apple store, when I went through Macy’s and the perfume department. It took me back to when I was a young kid with money to burn, sometimes as much as $15 to $20 bucks! Being I was only 11 or 12, I had a newspaper route and would save my money for the holiday, I had to buy my mother and father a gift and this meant getting on the Fuoco Bus line on Montauk Highway and taking it into Main Street in Patchogue, getting off to shop and walking the cold Christmas Eve morning and early afternoon going into stores and figuring what to get Mom, who was first on my list.

As I past the counters of lipsticks and perfumes in Macy’s last week, it took me back to McBride’s Pharmacy in Patchogue and the display of lipsticks that I would pick from, or was it a bottle of perfume? Then I would look for Dad’s gift that was more trouble because dad didn’t wear ties or really read. Often I would wind up with a tool, but I can’t recall what I did buy. Then there was always something for my baby sister, since she was the baby of the family. My other sisters were out of luck since I didn’t have enough money for them.

I’d go home and wrap the present as mom was cooking the magnificent fish dinner for the feast that night, and I would become excited, thinking my gift would wow her. In those days $15 was a lot of money for a kid, and I was proud that I had saved it. Now I look back and realize that mom’s excitement on Christmas Morning wasn’t the gift, but the fact that I went through the trouble. That was her gift to me even to this day, a memory I will always cherish.

OH, HOW WE DANCED!

Love is always a splendid thing, and when it involves itself in a wedding, it is the only thing.

On the north shore of Long Island, sits a former country club with a golf course overlooking Long Island Sound now called Lombardi’s on the Sound. It was the scene of a beautiful time, as the evening seemed to turn to magic.

Two great kids!

On the dance floor for the first time stood my niece Sarah Harrow and her Prince Charming Alex, as Mr. and Mrs. Pombano!

I love weddings, I like to get up from the table and roam the floor and say hello to people I haven’t seen in years, joke, and laugh about life and see how they are all doing. The brides Stepfather, Don, who officiated the proceedings in his tuxedo (very dapper I may add) has two lovely sisters, both of whom I met at the wedding in my wanderings. Both lovely and I must say charming gals bear a remarkable resemblance to each other and their brother Don, and so I was able to just introduce myself to one and say hello to another without a hitch, or mistaken them for my neighbor or church organist! Age will do that to you.

But it struck me, as it always will on these occasions when my nieces and nephews marry: I am getting older. Out on the dance floor I would dance the night away with the lovely TLW (The Little Woman) and all would be well. Then about a year ago, I went on the dance floor, danced to my heart’s content and the next morning, awoke to a horrible headache and the vibration from the night before was still playing throughout my body. I thought I had Parkinson’s disease! The noise level at these functions seems to take over and invade your body!

TLW too has now resigned herself to sitting out the fast ones, hip pain and the pain in the ass she married will do that to you, also. I remember how beautiful she looked on our wedding day, and how we really never got to dance that day because we were too busy with the wedding guests, and by half way through the occasion, I was too drunk!

And so another child becomes an adult, another wedding goes down in the books and another year I get older! But oh, how we used to dance!

AND THE WORLD GETS SMALLER YET!

Mom is 95 years old and losing a step or two as she ages. She still has it all upstairs, but her lateral movements; especially her throws in turning a double play are not what they used to be.

She complains that she can’t do the things she loves to do like bake, cook and clean, along with hitting me with her wooden spoon. To compensate for her lose of movement: I hired a cleaning team to come periodically and clean her house. Russell, the fellow who is in charge of the crew, brought along a lovely lady named Rosemary, who is training to take his place when he can’t make it.

The ‘Clean Team’ as it is called, is from AHRC Suffolk Chapter, and is part of a day-program for the three people who work in the program under Russell’s supervision.

I usually sit with Mom while they go through the house, vacuuming, dusting and polishing, and we talk about everything from the old neighborhood to past family members and what is going on today.

Rosemary, the lady I mentioned above, stopped by and I struck up a conversation to break the ice, and it turns out, she was right out of my past! Turns out she was from the old neighborhood, around the corner from my house, and get this, right next door from my buddy Jim on Somers Street!

Then I mentioned Jim’s last name in front of my Mom and what the heck do you think happened? Mom knows Jim’s parents! Jim, who found me by accident, by Googling my old school, came across this blogue, we became friends and he lived on Somers Street, around the corner from me. He used to park his car in a garage he rented next door to me! We almost share the same birthday, his is on July 5 and mine the day after! Jim is now a blogger on his own: http://jpantaleno.blogspot.com/

http://spaldeendreams.blogspot.com/

THE OLD MEN AND THE SEE

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Recently I went to the mall and the Apple Store’s ‘Genius Bar’ to have my laptop repaired. The base was coming off and they replaced it for free. The process took a half hour and I was asked to wait for it.

Being this store is in the mall, I decided to go out and sit outside the store on a comfortable chair and watch the traffic go buy while they fixed the computer.

Sitting there was a scene it seems from the movie with Walter Matthau, George Burns and Lee Meredith in the Sunshine Boys! Three gentlemen, who must go to the mall everyday and sit in the same place, were convened and the session in progress was amusing.

There sat a guy with a cap, thick tinted glasses and he was filled with opinions, next to him was a gentleman with a brimmed hat and listening mostly, and then there was a gentleman without a cap who showed up last.

CAP: “Don’t go in there (P.F.Changs), my friend went in and it cost him eighty bucks! Now you want good Chinese, ya gotta go ta my place, six bucks, and they give you a forks and napkins for takeout!”

HAT: “Nah, I go to my place, but I’m not big on that stuff, ya know?”

HATLESS: Pointing to CAP, “You mean you don’t take ya wife there? Don’t ya take her out for dinner?”

CAP: “WHY? SHE COOKS! I ain’t spending no

money and then ya gotta tip, by the time you get the car and park, geez, I went to a wedding coupla months ago, BIG pain in the ass… hey, look at that broad with the big ass! I could spend some time with her!”

HAT: “What you gonna do with her, you don’t remember what to do, besides, you wouldn’t take her out to dinner or nothing!”

Unfortunately, I posted some of this on Facebook, stating that three old guys were sitting there, when I get a comment that broke me up. My good buddy from Somers Street, Brooklyn wrote: “Don’t you mean four?”

http://jpantaleno.blogspot.com/

You know, I think I got my smart ass attitude from the old neighborhood.

GOOD MORNING FACEBOOK JUNKIES!

“When I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn, we were so poor we couldn't even afford to pay attention! Makes you want to send me money, huh?”

This is what goes on in the early mornings on Facebook to lighten myself up and start the day with a chuckle. I’m a real chuckler, and have been doing it for years. You know when you get old as I am: nothing is really sacred, nothing so important that you can’t poke fun at it.

I first realized that God was a kidder Himself, while looking at pictures of myself, and it is where I got the inspiration to grow a beard! Creeping up to the mirror every morning was a bit troublesome, and so the beard saved my knees from any potential damage.

TLW (The Little Woman) has for years remained steadfast in her attempts to be serious. She is not a laugher, but rather an observer of her mistake of having to live with me. No matter what I try, she will not crack a smile. She feels that if she did, it would only encourage me, making it hard for her to keep the household sane.

Mom had a great sense of humor, having five children she needed something to keep her spirits up, while Dad was a great kidder. He once drew a picture of my Mom’s mother, sitting on a kitchen chair asleep. Under the chair was a pot he drew. To Grandma’s credit, she laughed.

Most of my sisters have a sense of humor, and when we get together we let each other have it. If you don’t have sense of humor and can laugh at yourself, you could not survive in my family.

I enjoy making people laugh because it is better than the alternatives, crying or somberness. If I wanted to be somber all the time, I would visit a funeral parlor, but don’t bet on my not trying to get you to laugh. I have had fun at funeral parlors, just ask my sisters about one we attended in Franklin Square on year, as I gave them a tour of the basement and what we found!

Church was a particularly fun place for me, both as a worshipper and as an altar boy. There was a very hoity-toity lady who would come to church every Sunday with her husband. He was a lawyer, and looked boring, and she was a short, heavy-set woman in her 60’s, with a well coiffed hairdo and a mink stole with long drooping earrings and who carried herself like she was the queen mum. One Sunday we miscalculated the seating, as Mom mistakenly took a pew where this woman sat that bore her name on the end of the pew on a nameplate. There we were, Mom, her four daughters and myself. I was a teenager at the time as we waited for the service to start. Who arrives but her ladyship, the queen mum, sees us sitting in her pew (It really wasn’t her pew) and she gives us a dirty look. How dear us sit in her pew, after all, that should remain empty all day Sunday unless she showed up.

It just so happens as she is sitting among the unwashed she places herself in front of me in the pew ahead of us. But someone else comes along to attend services! A spider suddenly appears along the backrest of her pew in front of me. My sisters are watching, and so I take the spider, a daddy long legs and carefully place it in the old girls hair, where it buries itself deep inside her sprayed do, to the hysterical amusement of the four girls! Mom, being a pious woman, who should have known better, was not paying attention, (I think she was distracted with praying) suddenly looks at me and gives me the second dirty look of the morning in that church!

All through the Mass, the spider made an appearance in and out of the nest of silver hair, and the girls would try as they might, stifle their laughter, as I would guide the spider back into the deep recesses of Lady Clairol miracle maker.

After the Mass, Dad, who never went to church: picked us up and we all got into the car. Mom asks what was going on in church, and my sisters relate the whole incident, laughing as they do. What saved me was Dad, who started to laugh uncontrollably, making Mom laugh too.

IT DON’T GET BETTER

turn on the jets and gas them!

I think I’m going to stay in bed from Saturday nights through Tuesday mornings. The reason for this un-sociable behavior is the world of sports, and my rooting interest there of. Why should I witness or read about it the next morning?

Some people are lucky in football teams and some, like myself, not so lucky. Some people are lucky in their baseball teams and some like myself, not so lucky. Then there are people who thrive in their hockey team, (You know who you are Roger) and some like me, not so lucky. To beat the odds this season in basketball, I figured I would root for two teams: if one falters, the other would take me to the finish line. Not so, they both stink.

I guess I am paying for the idea I have for a kind of bobble head doll I was thinking about. Instead of bobble head, I was thinking about a bobble hands doll. It would be made in the image of Bill Buckner, and sold exclusively in New York.

Losing another in the knick of time

Anyway, there is this curse in New York sports and the teams I root for. In the big metropolitan area of New York City, the city that never sleeps, where if you make it there you can make it anywhere, with all the teams it offers, two in every sport, I keep picking the wrong team.

I am the Rodney Dangerfield of team sports: they get no respect!

This past Sunday, November 24, I sat through not one, but two football games. Well one wasn’t a football game, it was a practice for the Baltimore Ravens, using the New York Jets as tackling dummies, a game that the Jets lost in the first quarter when they stepped out onto the field, and the second game, a heart-breaker for the New York Giants that assures them a seat on the couch for the Super Bowl.

The house that Marv Thornberry built

As I sat watching these two teams, leading candidates for the Toilet Bowl, I kept my eye out for the baseball free agency goings on, which would elevate my Mets into contention. The General Manager is having trouble with his phone, and can’t seem to get in touch with any free agents!

I have decided to turn the standings upside down in the NBA so that my teams look like they are in first place. Both teams were predicted to lead the league this season with draft picks, trades and free agent signings. You can’t expect to win if you draft from the cemetery!

That leaves with my hockey team, which also leaves me cold, and on an island of loneliness in last place.

Go Islanders, to Brooklyn that is!

Starting today, I am relieving myself of sports and the interest thereof, devoting myself to ballet. It is athletic, there is no disappointments or failures. I don’t need to look at the standings and fret, throw my hat at the TV because of stupid plays and talentless players with poor strategies, and having to hear others gloating as their teams are winning and mine making it possible. When the Macaroni Man comes over on Sundays, he will get a steady diet of Bolshoi and macaroni from now on. Really.