OK SMARTY PANTS

There is one thing I hate and that is smugness, unless of course, I’m doing the smugging. It seems that when I’m smug, it is hard to NOT act it and be humble. I have to look the other way; act bored and not notice that I was right, and go on with life for the person who is wrong. They know you know and they know you know what they are thinking.

Then there are those rare times every day of the week when I might be wrong. Hard to believe that it is, yes, I can be wrong somehow. 

I get up one morning, and find TLW (The Little Woman) kneeling behind the TV uncrossing and recrossing wires. I don’t dare ask since I haven’t had my coffee yet. It is better to not look up in the early part of the day for fear of a “We” project that costs me my ability to live free.

Finally, the impulse DOES take over and I ask…

“What are you doing?”

“I think I know why the screen looks like Russell’s Tour & Event Planning teal, there is a wire that is unconnected.” To add to my humiliation of not connecting it to begin with, she instructs… “Tell me if the color is better.”

Bitterly I acknowledge that the TV does look better now. She says nothing, not even: “You big dummy, stay away from these damned wires or the next time, I’ll wire you!”

To think that once in my life, I redid my kitchen, bathroom and living room in my old house. I did the wiring for some of it, the plumbing and all the carpentry and floors. Now I can’t reconnect the TV to the cable, VCR, and two HD devices because the wires look like an intricate map of the Long Island Railroad switching yard.

TLW finally finishes, and stands, looking at me but not saying anything. I take the high road and slink behind the newspaper.

Now you may be wondering why I tell you these things, or even admit to them.

Old age has taught me that I don’t care anymore. Soon there will be a point in time when I will leave MY cart in the middle of the supermarket aisle, so no one will be able to get by, soon I will drive at 20 mph, with my left blinker on for the whole trip, soon I will lean to one side or the other to get one off and add to air pollution. In other words, I am writing so it will be a public service to all the younger men that plan on getting married in the near future.

BEHIND THE DOOR

Growing up in Brooklyn, there were many things that impressed me, both good and bad. Impressions came from the strangest places; often filling me with mysterious imaginary forms that filled my young mind.

It seems that most of these impressions came from older people, strangers and relatives that lived in times so far past that they seemed ancient to a 7 year old.

There was a lady that lived down the street from us, a wonderfully kind woman who was in her 50’s or 60’s, and had grown children. She was a friend of the family because she came from my grandmother’s hometown in Italy, so we thought of her and her family as our family.

In this woman’s home was a telephone, which sat in the strangest place. Being how we did not own a phone, phones were a novelty. This was a standard black rotary dial phone. But where it sat was weird to me. In this lady’s living room, in the wall was a niche, with an extended shelf that accommodated the phone. To me it seemed like the three-storied apartment building was built around this phone!

Then there was the mysterious home of Grandma Frances. Grandma owned the two-story building on Fulton Street, and she occupied the ground floor. The bottom floor was an interesting layout because it included an empty storefront, and a long split hallway that ran the length of the apartment and ended at a toilet.

It was the storefront that got my attention. It was locked from the street and had a locked side door in the first section of the split hallway. Peering through the dirt encrusted grimy windows I could see old hand tools, and a worktable. It was originally a carpenter’s shop, and the owner must have died leaving it as it was.

It seemed whenever I went to Grandma’s house, I would peer into the store and wonder what went on and who was it that had the place. I pictured an old man, with a beard, wearing an apron, something like Geppetto from Pinocchio. The mystery and intrigue of the abandoned storefront seemed to occupy my imagination, with all kinds of scenarios that played out, making up stories that had frightful endings and unknown ghosts who still occupied the store.

Then one day, the door was opened. Inside were Grandpa Ralph and Dad, cleaning it out and making repairs. Soon there were long tables and a freshness that destroyed my little world of intrigue. Dad was opening a gift shop! Olympia’s Gift Shop was soon in business, selling everything from house wares to candy, toys and Italian Ices. It was the down payment Dad would need to buy our house on Long Island!

Moving away, Grandma closed the store, and not soon after, Grandpa Ralph died. So where did Grandma hold the funeral? You bet, the store. Grandpa was laid out in the front of the store, in his coffin, dressed to the nines. The whole family gathered to say goodbye to Grandpa, and as an impressionable 10 year old by that time, I wondered if Grandpa was marked down or even on sale.

WHAT WOULD JESUS DO???

Dinnertime on a Wednesday night is a very important time for me. It is the time that I get my religious education. Yes, the time that I missed in religious education on those Saturday mornings when I didn’t want to be in the church basement of St Joseph the Worker Church in East Patchogue, NY.

TLW (The Little Woman) is fresh from her religious class and tells me about the day’s lesson.  This one night the lesson was about Jesus, and what would he do. TLW wrapped two boxes, one in gift-wrapping paper and one in newspaper, the idea being to challenge the little second graders. That is what she says! I say deceive in the name of Jesus.

What she did was wrapped the gift paper box and inside was crumpled up newspapers. In the newspaper wrapped box was a bunch of necklaces that said Jesus and some colorful ice cream themed erasers.

Setting the boxes next to each other she asked: “Which one would you choose?” Of course the little heathens all lined up behind the gift-wrapped box. Except one kid, who happened to be in 4^th grade, he stood back and watched. “Jimmy, aren’t you going to choose?” inquired TLW.

“Nah, I thought I’d see what everyone else choose and then pick the opposite!” said the over-aged tyke.

Well the newspaper wrapped gift box held the treasures. A necklace that said: JESUS, and a rubber eraser, like I mentioned.

And so, came her lesson. Looking at me to participate she says:

“You are in a candy store. You see a piece of candy you really like. You look around and no adult is around, what do you do?”

This question scares me, there is a lot I could do, I mean, I do have imagination. I feel the heat of being on the spot.

TLW goes on: “You would look around. You would find an adult. If you didn’t see an adult you would ask yourself, WHAT WOULD JESUS DO? Then you would prayer.”

“Nah, I’d take the chocolate.”

Let me hear an AMEN!

IT’S HOW WE LOOK AT IT

I’m sure all of you have heard of David Arquette. If you haven’t, he’s the dumb ass who divorced Courtney Cox. Yes, I know, should he even be allowed to live?

Well the scuttlebutt is that he looks like #1 Son, who IS married to a Courtney. I guess if you look like them you have to marry a Courtney. This is a major deal, particularly in TLW’s (The Little Woman) family, where this was brought to our attention.

It seems that her family spends a lot of time trying to figure out who everyone is, and if they figure it out, who else does that person look like. This makes for interesting conversations at Christmas time when they complain that David Arquette didn’t send a Christmas Card this season. Talk gets around and before you know it, poor David is an outcast.

My family on the other hand doesn’t think that way, because of famous people like Saddam Hussein, the current midtown murderer, an ass pincher and a slew of Polish relatives we have developed over the years. Our motto is: “If you don’t know them, they won’t stay to eat!”

When we first married, TLW had her own way of talking. “I feel like roast beef today!” she would say. (She may have been undercooked!) “He has the divel in em” What’s the divel???

TLW’s family has a habit of what I call: “Sing songing”. Whenever they say something, they sing it partially, ending each sentence on a high note. It sounds like a tune up for an opera when they get together.

So one night we are watching Dancing With The Stars, and who’s dancing but #1 Son or David Arquette.

“Look Joe, look who’s dancing, the one that looks like #1 Son!”

“Yup, sure looks like #1 Son but what a Dumb Ass!”

“JOOOE, WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE!!!”

“Yes Dear. Funny he don’t look as much like #1 Son as #1 Son does!”

SHE’S A LADY

When she enters our home, her home, she enters with a smile, and a big wave. Her smile can cause me to lower the sun on a sunny day at noon.

When she sees me, her smile tells me she knows who I am, and that I will give her whatever she wants. That earns me a hug or two. Hugs are tough to come by, especially for a funny looking father! But once I get one, I remember it forever.

She started her life out pretty normal and quickly went down hill, along with any dreams her mother and I had for her. Through the years, we all struggled, working to make our lives whole, not knowing where we were going. She was in the forefront of all our efforts, and we never lost sight of her.

Once a long time ago, we thought she would talk, but she doesn’t, yet she can make herself understood. Her mother is her priority and her mother’s priority is her special needs daughter.

They called her retarded, developmentally disabled, and every label in between, but we called her Ellen. She will always be Ellen and she will define our family. We lost a child once and we mourned but never forgot him. Ellen we mourn every day, every moment we know that what should have been isn’t. There’s something that is very dear to my heart that goes: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been. And so that defines every parent or sibling that relates to someone like Ellen.

But there is something that the outside world never sees, never experiences, never knows. That something lies in the inner being of people like my daughter. That something is awareness, awareness as to whom she belongs to, who she is, and the uplifting spirit she owns carries us through her life until we are gone.

I guess we think God can be cruel, when he is giving us a gift. That gift is in a humble being, who when opened, can benefit the whole world by what we do with the gift if only we realize it.

I have spent many many hours on board business and various committees, many hours on donating time and effort with talent that God gave me. I guess I could make money on it, but that would be sacrilegious and non productive. I instead invest that talent and time into helping my daughter and her friends that inhabit her world.

You are so beautiful to me
You are so beautiful to me
Can't you see
Your everything I hoped for
Your everything I need
You are so beautiful to me

Such joy and happiness you bring
Such joy and happiness you bring
Like a dream
A guiding light that shines in the night
Heavens gift to me
You are so beautiful to me

“JOE, I NEED YOUR HELP.”

These words strike fear in my heart! They are never taken lightly and I always weight suicide first as an option.

It is a Sunday afternoon, and I am watching a football game, and it is a nice easy-going afternoon. Leisurely I peruse through the Sunday papers, one eye on the TV and one eye on the newspaper, thinking about dinner and of course a cocktail. The sunlight filters through the curtains and pours through the skylight, embracing me with warm contentment and a need to be happy fulfills my heart. Life seems so good. Then, suddenly, out of the blue comes…

“Joe, I need your help.”

I look down from where the noise is coming from, and notice that TLW (The Little Woman) is on the floor. I know she hasn’t been drinking, and her color looks good, and then I notice she is surrounded in curtains!

Cautiously I respond with great forethought…

“What?”

“I need you to help me pleat this curtain.”

“Huh?”

“You get on one end and fold this over like so, about three inches and then you fold back, then forward and then back again, until we are done.”

“Huh?”

I go down on the floor to one end of the curtain while she is at the other end. The material is very flimsy, kind of like tissue: “I can’t pleat this!” I plead.

“Just take your time and try.”

I start to cry, tears are staining the cloth and blurring the pleats: “Oh God, rescue me. I promise to pay more attention when I hear a sermon from a priest or TLW” I pray.

After we get one side done, TLW makes an announcement.

“Now we will do the other side! Hmmm… I wonder if I lay it on the iron board, I can get it done myself?” she says.

I quote her verbatim: “Just take your time and try.”

Suddenly the sun is shinning brighter; joy is restored to my heart and ease to my aching back, Oh hallelujah!

Now I have to make good on a promise to God! You can’t renege on the Big Guy, no way! I think starting next Sunday, the days will be a lot longer!

A MILITARY OPERATION!

They arrived and marched to the front door, wielding a yellow piece of paper. I opened the door and invited them in, one with the paper; one with the tool box and one came with a broom and dust pan. None of the gentlemen were over 5’2” and none could speak English very well except for the leader.

There was a military precision in the way they conducted themselves: and went to the den without my directing them. They seemed to have their ducks all in a row!

There was Paisley, Rt431 and Jesus. Paisley wore a maroon t-shirt, Rt431, the most interesting of the group of three wore a shirt that had Rt431 Puerto Rico and Jesus had on a t-shirt with … Jesus on it.

Watching these guys go to work was impressive, first thing they did was take my furniture and toss it out the back sliding door. Well ‘toss’ is strong they placed it out there along the poolside. While two did that Paisley started to cut the old rug apart and when Rte431 was done with the furniture started to roll up the old pieces, tie them and leave them at the curb.

It was fun to watch, and frankly, I thought back to my old uncles who came here to do the jobs in construction when this country was still being built by hand. Poor immigrants who could barely speak English, working to the best of their ability and leaving their mark, and good one. Hard work and pride in the details was what it was all about.

I have had a lot of work done on this house, and most of it was done and is still being done by immigrants. I think that is good, because it is the initiation rite of passage into this nation. My relatives from Italy did it, and now these people are doing it. What it means is that the claim to being an American is theirs, and I will help them define and defend it. Soon they will be in the boardrooms and business establishments with the rest of America, doing business and making money. Their children will be in colleges and their wives and lovers making the economy grow with jobs and purchases. Soon none of them will go to bed hungry, all of them will speak English and we can get on with the next group of immigrants to come here.

God bless America!

IT IS A LONG WAIT!

As I write this, I am waiting for the carpet people to show up and lay a new carpet in my den. This is not a big deal in itself, except that I had to remove the TV from the den, and all the books in the bookcase and empty out the cabinets. The TV sits in the kitchen on the table crowding the room somewhat because I moved the table into the deep end of the kitchen. This was done to allow the carpet layers to have clear entry into the den by going through the kitchen.

As I look about me, I realize I have a lot of work ahead of me, putting back everything in the bookshelves, cabinets and rewiring the massive mess of wires and connections with the TV, VCR, DVR and DVD players. Putting them together also means wiring one to another somehow.

That leaves me with no TV and just my laptop for amusement. I took my book down from my bedroom, and have to stop reading for a while because I am running out of reading material!

I check my email every 15 minutes, as I don’t have any ambition to do anything today but wait. Soon the rug must get here.

Waiting can be frustrating. It is time-consuming, with no prospects for doing anything else. I am sitting in an empty room, waiting for the phone to ring, and nothing else. Soon the rug must get here.

I tried a nap, doing Sudoku and the crossword puzzle, and now that is done. Do I dare start something and be able to finish it in time, before the rug guys get here. Soon the rug must get here.

I imagine all kinds of scenarios, the biggest and worst is me or TLW (The Little Woman) will hate the new color. Of course there is always the fear of redecorating. If those guys don’t get here soon, I don’t know what will come to mind next! Soon the rug must get here

I think they are here!

TOMORROW: A MILITARY OPERATION!

THE BANKING BUSINESS COMES HOME

A few weeks ago TLW (The Little Woman) sat down to eat with me and we naturally went into my favorite topic.

Me: So, what’s new at the wanna-be bank?

Her: Well, this woman came in today and said she was angry.

Me: Oh! Working with the Wanna-Be Bank & Truss Company and she is angry! How ungrateful!

Her: Yes, apparently her father took out a loan on a car, and after a few payments he died.

Me: Why, were the payments too high?

Her: Well, he had this car loan and he died, and she was on the loan too.

Me: She was on the loan too, and that is why she is angry?

Her: No, her father was on the loan, and he died and…

Me: Wow he’s died three times already and she’s pissed off!

Her: They decided that since the father died, they didn’t need to pay off the loan. He’s dead so why bother? No one made payments so the bank (The Wanna-Be Bank & Truss Co.) repossessed the car!

Me: Hmmm… interesting concept! Who’s name is on the title and who’s name is on the registration?

Her: The name on the registration doesn’t mean anything, it’s the title. His name, the father, is on the title.

Me: Yes, but he decided to die, he didn’t want to pay anymore, so he took the easy way out.

Her: Well, this woman was angry. She needed the car to go to work.

Me: She was still angry? Boy, that bank No one made payments so the bank (The Wanna-Be Bank & Truss Co.) is soooo inconsiderate to take a car away from the woman, just because they own it now! I mean…

Her: The car was impounded and she needed to get it out. The bank (The Wanna-Be Bank & Truss Co.) wanted three forms of ID, wanted her to come up to date with the payments, and say it was a real bank. (That last one may be an exaggeration, no one would believe that)

Me: Well, don’t you think the The Wanna-Be Bank & Truss Co. has a right? No one is paying for the loan that is outstanding, yet they are using the car?

Her: I think they are unfair and mean.

Me: But still, they need to have their money, they are stuck with a car that someone else borrowed money from them for and …

Her: Oh sure, screw it up!

Me: Yes Dear!

WHAT’S IN YOUR WALLET?

You’ve seen the commercial and the answer seems to be: “Not much these days!”

It seems that everyone is angry at the economy, congress, and the President, taxes seem to go up, cost of food and housing is going up, the cost of gasoline will rise again, and we wonder: “Will anything ever go done?”

Well let me assure you some things will go down, like your savings, your level of happiness, your income and your sanity. I guess this creates a balance, one where you can walk a tightrope and fall into the precipice of despair. Despair I think is rising.

I don’t carry pictures in my wallet anymore. It seems the kids all grew up, I have no grandchildren that anyone admits to, and I know what TLW (The Little Woman) looks like. I see her everyday so I don’t need to see her picture. I bet she doesn’t have one of me in her wallet either. I doubt my kids carry pictures of me or TLW or each other.

No, my wallet is filled with little papers, usually white and fading info is on all of them. Restaurant and store receipts, from so long ago, I transferred them from an old wallet back in 1996! There are some clearly written phone numbers on slips of paper, but I NEVER put a name to it. I think I will buy a phone that has an unlisted number so I can call these numbers, disguise my voice and find out who the hell these people are! I suspect I really don’t know any of them, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I am wondering what I did with this one and that one’s phone number.

Life is like a roll of toilet paper, the more it runs, the shorter it gets. It seems for someone retired I have a lot to do and no time to do it.

Then there are the incessant emails, the ones that state that I can now have a new career if I enroll in their college, and on line. There are the emails that tell me to pass them on or I will die in 3 seconds, some tell me to send them to everyone in my email list including them. (Why don’t they just send them to themselves and eliminate the middleman?)

Of course the diabetic salespeople keep calling from unlisted numbers, trying to trick me into talking to them. “Hallo, is Giossuph there?” Me: “Just a moment I’ll get him!” I place the receiver down and hang it up after I hear the dial tone or whatever that awful noise is the phone makes after they hang up. TLW admonishes me because she says they are only making a living. Well, them they have great jobs, just sitting there and getting paid for waiting for me to come to the phone. No heavy lifting, and they work indoors too! I used to tell them to stop the calls but they say they can’t.

While I’m at it, I hope Christmas, which they started to advertise in the middle of August is over soon, the paper recyclers are sending me nasty notes about all the catalogs. (In email form of course, and asking that I forward it to all my contacts in my email lists.)

I have decided to schedule four private celebrations just for me. The Mets winning the World Series, The Jets winning the Super Bowl, the Knicks winning the NBA Championship, and the Islanders winning the Stanley Cup! I know they haven’t, but I figure I would celebrate while I am still alive!

NOW I’M CLUED IN

The dinner table as you know has become a venue for discussion about the Wanna-Be- Bank and Truss Co. As we head into each bite-full, we have discovered the internal policy of the Wanna-Be Bank and TLW’s (The Little Woman) view and assessment of said wanna-be bank.

We have analyzed the purchase of new headquarters, new branches established and even little machines located in some business establishments such as the IRS, this is the mark of a well-run enterprise. I am the Wanna-Be Bank and Truss Company since I am what they call a “Member”.

So what does this all mean? I’m glad you are so inquisitive.

What this all means is TLW has to answer to me! After the so-called bank nearly taking over the world, and after 40 years of “Yes Dear” with TLW, I can now become the one barking. Yes, I will take charge. I am a member! All employees of the Wanna-Be Bank and Truss Co. have to be nice to me: I am a member!

I think there will have to be some changes around here first of all.

For instance, when I enter that place, I want a coffee and Danish put in my hand, and for now on it is Mr. DelBloggolo when I show up. This is important to maintain discipline and boundaries with the workers. Also, when I enter the wanna-be bank, I expect everyone to look busy, not stand around chatting or even looking at each other. I don’t want to leave a bad impression with potential members; this could be setting a bad precedent.

Another thing: when I show up, I don’t want any more speculation as to why I am there. No more thinking: “I wonder what HE did that he’s taking her to lunch?” It is things like that that make for bad impressions with the fellow members.

Well, I’m glad I got that off my chest, I just hope TLW doesn’t read this.

COLUMBUS DAY

One Native American's opinnion

As you read this, Columbus Day will have passed. But it is never too late to air a grievance.

Columbus Day is usually celebrated by Italian-Americans to commemorate their heritage. They don’t have Italian-American Heritage month, many don’t have a day off for the most part, and they even have to share the holiday with the Hispanic Americans. That is all ok, since the air is free and both cultures have something in common, America.

My problem is every time I look around; someone says: “Hold on, the Vikings discovered America!” Then they go into these long stories and lay out ‘facts’ for their argument.

Here is my question: why isn’t Minnesota further east of where it is? If the Vikings discovered America, how come there are no Viking artifacts? Surely there would have been a Native American who witnessed it. And how about this-the rest of Europe had no idea the Vikings discovered anything, other than Norway, Sweden or Finland, and sometimes Denmark as sounded as A in neighbor and weigh.

Now in fourteen hundred and ninety two

Three ships sailed out to sea.

The Nina, and the Pinta and the Santa Marie.

And as they sailed the stormy seas that mad historic day

From way up in the crow’s nest you could hear Luigi say:

Please Mr. Columbus, turna the ship around

Take me back I wanna to feel my two feet on the ground,

Eh why you tella Isabella that the world is round?

Please Mr. Columbus turna the ship around.

Now Chris took out his mandolin and he began to play

They sung and dance the tarantella until the break of day

They ate up all the provolone and drank up all the wine,

But still up in the crow’s nest you could hear Luigi cryin’

Please Mr. Columbus, turna the ship around

Take me back I wanna to feel my two feet on the ground,

Eh why you tella Isabella that the world is round?

Here is what would have happened in America if the Vikings did discover America. Viking deli’s, Viking restaurants, and NO PIZZA!

 

THEY’RE OUT THERE!

Just when you think everything is under control, reality rears its ugly head!

I always knew there were other Del Bloggolos out there, and once many years ago got in touch with them, but they were only one family. There is my cousin’s wife and son who survives him, and that is all I know of. Then I get an email from an old sweetheart of a gal Martha (Scott) Phipps from my high school, and I quote to some extent:

“Hi Joe!

I was reading the wedding section of the Houston Chronicle tonight and found a write up there about Susan Clark and Vincent Michael Del Bloggolo getting married last night in Houston. When they listed the wedding party, there appeared one Anthony Del Bloggolo of Westbury, NY, Best Man, Christopher Del Bloggolo of Patchogue, NY (only they misspelled it to read "Patachogue", lol), and Groomsman Michael Del Bloggolo of Patchogue, NY (again spelled "Patachogue"). That's a lot of DelBloggolos! Any related to you?

Martha”

Well Martha, ‘No!’ I don’t think so, but who knows? I can understand if you are worried that there ARE that many! These people may be impostors, trying to load up on my fame as a world famous screw-up and say they are the best at something too, or maybe they want to say THEY graduated from Bellport High School too! I wouldn’t put it past someone to try that last one!

However, what to do about MORE Del Bloggolos? That is a hard nut to crack, especially from this hard nut that IS cracked. My suggestion is if you know of one in the vicinity; try not to look him/her directly into the eyes, they may ask you to invite them to dinner!

I will pray that Houston, and in fact all of Texas; is safe.

MR. FORD WOULD HAVE BEEN PERTURBED.

I was reading on the Internet recently that Ford has built a new car, something innovative and unique. The car has some nice features, one of which is good-looking babes leaning on the cars. I always like to look at new models, but TLW (The Little Woman) won’t let me test-drive them.

The thing about this news is that this happens every autumn, the new cars come out, and everybody goes wow! Nice. NO GOOD.

These cars are in Germany. Germany is an auto industry leader: we in the USA are followers. Once we were leaders, now we follow, now we work to catch up. At one time, the mighty power of the USA was not in her industrial might, but in her ability to innovate, to bring new ideas to the forefront.

Where does the USA lead? We lead in weapons development. That should really make the world happier, more prosperous. Flipping through the channels one day, I came to the military channel. There were these soldiers from the US Army, setting up an artillery piece, then loading it. There was an aircraft carrier with jet fighters taking off, and I thought: How expensive, how wasteful. It may bring jobs, but we are shooting our money faster than we can make it!

I wonder how much that aircraft carrier costs? I wonder how much that cannon, the truck the pulled it into position and the ammo that was used all cost? HOW MANY STARVING BABIES COULD WE FEED WITH THAT MONEY. Would we have money left over after we fed them to maybe help a family pay for medical bills that could save a members life?

Don’t get me wrong, the USA isn’t the only culprit, all the nations on this earth seemed hell-bent on scaring each other, building weapons that kill and maim, and not feed the hungry, hail the sick or house the poor. Please, don’t hand me drivel about the USA being imperialist. All the world is imperialistic, lets stop the finger-pointing and point out solution to stop the insanity.

But getting back to Germany, Henry Ford built his company with production in mind, in the good old US of A, not in Germany. His plan was to build not only cars, this country, the people’s lives who live here, and to help stimulate thinkers to step beyond the ordinary, into the extraordinary.

I keep hearing the lyrics of Barry McGuire from the ‘60s “YOU DON’T believe we’re on the eve of destruction!”

Well if you don't...
HAPPY #2,000 BLOG DELBLOGGOLO!
2,000 blogs IS a lot of observation! Thanks for reading and not sending me white powdery stuff in the mail.

STEVE JOBS REACHES ACROSS THE DIVIDE

It was this past October 5^th, and as I was working on my laptop, the darn thing froze on me. The cursor was stuck on my desktop, and eventually disappeared altogether! This started about 3:00 or so, and I was worried that it would probably cost a bundle to fix. I would have to go to the Apple store, make an appointment and then go down and listen to a geek tell me things I didn’t want to hear, like you’ll see this baby in 2 weeks, maybe three.

On October 5^th, TLW (The Little Woman) announced to me that she had just heard on her car radio driving home from work that Steve Jobs had passed on. In case your head is in a vacuum, Mr. Jobs created Apple and the wonderful line of products in computers and all things electronic.

As I sat down and absorbed the news, I felt bad, of all the products out there that are sold, Apple is my favorite, being how I won’t use anything but an Apple. Granted PC’s are cheaper, but Apple’s are consistent, reliable, and so much easier to use. In other words, any moron can use one, and I do.

I got back to my laptop and of course it would not do anything, including shut down! I tried all the keys, a combination of keys, and was almost ready to maybe kick it too. I even typed: "SHUT DOWN DAM IT!" Nothing. One last time I tried the power button and finally it responded! Shutting down, I decided to see if it would start up again, and it did, so I still use it.

I think the darn thing froze out of respect for Mr. Jobs! Coincidence? I don’t think so. Steve Jobs really knew what he was doing!!!

IT’S ALL BEHIND ME NOW!

Going to my G.P. is a pain in the butt, and he’s not a proctologist. No, that honor goes to Rear Admiral Spielberg.

The G.P. Dr. Strangeglove finds ways to make my life miserable, impossible and annoying. He sends me to cardiologist Dr. Diapers, eye doctor, Dr. Ego, and of course Rear Admiral Spielberg. It was the Rear Admiral that gives a spiel on the importance of an end-to-end checkup.

He insists that I be there at 6:30 A.M., and then I make out more forms and sign my name to more documents than a house closing. The only difference in the two is he gets all his money up front.

I will say this for the medical center; the nurses are wonderful and make you feel like your butt is covered at all times, even when it is not.

Entering the medical center I said to TLW (The Little Woman): “Another old man getting a procedure done!”

“Where?”

“Here”

Once inside we register at the desk, and “Take a seat”. After signing more papers, (These papers are to allow you to sign more papers in the prep room, which are not like the papers to filled out before you even got to the place, or the papers you filled out when you originally went to the Rear Admiral’s office.) I think the only ones who demanded more papers were the Nazis.

There are four couples at this ungodly hour. All are old shits like me, and all look like they may be doing this for the first time. Being this is my third, I will soon be able to talk to mothers about birthing, since I gave birth each time to enough gas to foil an oil embargo! There are two women and two men getting the procedure, and all look like they are afraid that this is their last day on earth. In a sense it is, it is their last day on earth with dignity, once the gown is swept aside, they use these tools to remove the dignity.

The anesthesiologist comes into the procedure room and introduces herself. She is young and beautiful, and I think maybe I should reschedule another colonoscopy for tomorrow too. She is very concerned about my comfort, and comes over and repositions my head, fixing a small pillow and then repositioning my head once again. Taking her truth serum, the stuff TLW must use, she injects it into a tube and says: “This will …”

Suddenly I look around me, and I’m in the prep room once again. There was so much I wanted to tell the anesthesiologist, but she is gone! I settle for someone’s great grandmother who tells me everything went fine, the doctor recovered all his tools and you can go home. Just don’t drive, lift heavy objects or swear out loud.

Colonoscopy is a procedure that can save your life, especially as you get older. It is preventive medicine, and I think for one day of inconvenience, the day you flush you system, the trouble is not so bad, and worth the time.

Please, if you think you should have one done, or your doctor thinks so, please, please do it.

THE KEY TO MR. WALKER

It’s rather large. People often stop and stare at it, wondering: “How can he carry anything that BIG, around?”

It is the envy of his male friends, both of them.

Many times he will have to flip it aside, since it gets in his way, and when he sits it will bang against the chair!

He wears them and they remind him to never be caught short.

I once asked him: “Mr. Walker, sir, that is big, how did you get one THAT BIG!!?

He answered: “Sonny, by hard work and dedication, playing tennis and ringing my bells in the Methodist church choir, that’s how.” I think that pretty inspiring for a nice Jewish boy!

Of course we are talking about his car keys. Yes, and he wears them around his neck so he doesn’t ever forget them.

He forgot them only once. After I picked him up at the Park N Ride at exit 49 on the LIE for a trip to Albany. After the 3 and a half hour drive back to exit 49, he discovered he left the keys in Albany, and had to call his wife!

“Hello, Dear? It’s me, I left my keys in Albany again, and now I need to get home! You can’t come and get me!? Why?... You’re in Church, praying for my soul! Again? Then what! You’re going out for pizza! Could you leave the back door open for me?”

Oh, he took his suitcase apart on the LIE, desperately searching through his luggage. Tossing his Batman undies to one side of the road, his Liberace CD’s to another side, and his bottle of Milk of Magnesia across the parking lot, just so he could get a better look, there were NO keys! He feared he would have to walk from Huntington to Amityville to get home, and started to take off his shoes, so he wouldn’t wear out the cardboard soles!

“Mr. Walker, Sir, what are you doing?”

“Well son, heading home, If I get across the LIE in one piece.”

“Would you like a ride home from here?”

“Well son that would be fine!”

And so he climbed aboard once again, and as we drove toward Amityville, he could relate to another horror:

“Well son, I have the feeling I haven’t heard the end of it from DelBloggolo!”

“Yes Mr. Walker Sir, but I won’t embellish it.”

HELLO MA?

About a year ago I made the decision to get my 93 year-old mother a cell phone. This was done with the idea that she would have immediate access to a phone if her land-line went down for any reason.

The trouble is that she will not use it, uses every excuse not to use it, then pretends that she tried to use it and it didn’t work!

Recently my older sister Tessie called (much older) complaining that she tried to call Mom, and there was no answer. So Tess tried Mom’s new cell phone, still no answer. Could I go over to Mom’s house and straighten it out?

Off I go to Mom’s house. I ring the bell and after a half hour she arrives at the front door.

“Oh! Joseph! And what do I owe the honor of this visit???”

“Gee Mom, I fell so welcomed!” Leading me into the inner sanctum of Motherhood domain, I ask for her cell phone. There is no question, so she knows why I am here.

I try to turn it on and nothing happens.

“Mom, your phone doesn’t work! Where is the book that came with this?”

“Book? There is NO book!”

I look into her eyes and I can tell she is not telling me everything.

I plug in the recharger and wait for it to charge, meanwhile we talk about family members and finally the phone is charged.

“Now Ma, your message mail box needs to be set up. Where is the book that came with this phone?

“Book? There is NO book!”

“Now Ma, there was a book when I brought this phone for you, you must have put it somewhere.”

“Oh, no book, I swear there is no book.”

“Ma, in December when I got this phone for you, there was a book, I know because I needed it to set up the phone!”

“Joseph, there was no book. Would I lie to you?”

”Of course not Ma, but you may have misplaced the book, no?”

“See what you can do without the book.”

I work for about 15 minutes and figure it all out, including setting up the mailbox. I decide to call Tess my older sister (Much older) to try out the phone and see if she can call me back on Mom’s cell phone.

“Hey Tess, since you called me and are my older sister (much older) you should have the honor of the first call. I’ll give you Mom.”

“Hello, Theresa? This is me, your brother Joseph set me all up, but it couldn’t be that hard, we are all set. Call me to see if I ring.”

I stand in front of her and state: “Ma, for now on you will begetting calls on your cell phone so you learn to how to use it. I want you to use it to call out, also.”

“OK, now, I push this button here and I dial?”

“No Mom, you dial the number you want first and then push the green button.”

“Oh! OK, I push the green button…”

“No Ma, you dial first then push the green button!”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“Ma, I did.”

“Don’t get so smart, I can still crack a wooden spoon on your thick skull, you are not too big to get it.”

Dear Mom, I called her later in the day and she didn’t pick up her cell phone to answer. But she did pick up her land-line phone in the middle of the first ring!

OK, I CONFESS!

The other night TLW (The Little Woman) and I were having dinner when this conversation came up after I asked her about her religion class she teaches for 7 year olds.

“So did you introduce Jesus to the little heathens?”

“Oh Joe, they were really shocked when I discussed confession to them, what they had to do and all. One little boy asks what if you don’t have sins?”

I started to chuckle and TLW asked what was so funny.

“Well when I went to confession in the city, there was only two sins I confessed to. The process went down like this:

Bless me Father for I have sinned, it’s been one week since my last confession. I aggravated my mother and father and I used the name of the Lord thy God in vain”.

This stops TLW cold.

“How old WERE YOU to be cursing?”

“Oh, maybe 8 years old.”

“And you said aggravated! I used ‘disobeyed’.

Well, I was only 8 years old, Mom would say I was aggravating her to death, and would go on with: WAAAAAIIITTTT until you father comes home, just wait! There was her additional line of I HOPE WHEN YOU HAVE CHILDREN, THEY DO TO YOU WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO ME!” I think she used that last intonation to scare me.

Being 8 years old, there weren’t too many sins I could come up with every Saturday afternoon by 4:00 PM. “AGGRAVATING” was a good word to throw in after only six days and two sins.

In those days dear old Mom strove to have my soul saved by any means possible. She used two methods, one was the wooden spoon, where she had an arsenal of different sizes, depending on the offense and it’s magnitude and one was the confessional. By sending me to the confessional, her hope was that at least one hour of saintliness would stick, and she would supplement it with hours of chasing me with the wooden spoon. More often than I care to remember Mom would chase me around the dining room table, and after a while of trying to catch an evasive bad boy, would sit and rest in one of the chairs for a minute or two. When she looked like she was getting bored, I would ask: “OK Mom, are you ready?, and she would try to lunge with the spoon as off we went. She was dangerous with the spoon and crafty, often aborting the rest before I was ready.

I think I was 12 years old when I realized the lady in her wedding picture was her, and she did NOT look like the end of an index finger pointing at me!

WHAT CAN WE DO?

Being a grandson of immigrants, I can remember the issues of speaking with them, especially when I was younger. Having come to this country as young Italians, (my grandmother was only 15,) the conditions were not welcoming. What did Italian immigrants do? They did what the German, the Polish and every other non-speaking English immigrant did; they went to communities that spoke their language. The hostility that greeted them from the “Natives” was pretty blatant, and so they had to gather themselves for self-preservation.

I can remember how frustrating it would get when Grandma or Grandpa would ask a question, in a mix of broken English and Italian, and we needed translations from our parents or aunts and uncles to clarify meanings.

They worked all day long, then went to a second job, or took work home with them after hours. Their lives were hard. What the hell were they doing in my country? Making it better for me, and my parents, and my children.

We should be born old, and get younger, but born with the older person’s understanding and logic in life.

Today I read the papers and there is a movement on for “English Only. Por favor!”

I see immigrants lined up outside on street corners, looking for work to feed their families. The community as a whole resents this, and works to prevent it from re-occurring. I can understand the fear of the unknown; I can understand the resentment of the after effects from their gathering in front of businesses. What I don’t understand is how we forget our own personal history, how we got to be American citizens in the first place.

Why are we making life hard for people to survive! If I lived in a country of poverty, or dictatorships and void of any hope, I’d want to leave it too, and find a better place for my family, for myself. This is not to say that those people living in those countries should fix their own problems, but it must be awfully hard when you look down the barrel of a rifle aimed at your head, the truncheon that strikes across your back if you protest, the fear of losing your child or mate or your own life from an oppressor, while those around you live in silent, inactive fear.

So what can we do?

We can instead of wasting our time and breath in protest of these people, in denying them a chance to live, to be able to just live like we do, we can direct our energies toward finding places to send them to learn the language, without fear of being deported, and not charge them to learn it. Think about it, how many places can they go to learn the English language, and living in poverty, how do they pay for it, and how will they get there?

Here is one solution I offer.

If you live in a community where you speak Spanish and are fluent enough in English, take the time and find a place and teach your people to speak the English language. Do this out of love, for your people, your heritage, for your future generations. Help level the playing field. Doing this in every Spanish speaking community would solve a lot of issues culturally in the country. It would help bury resentment, and would create a new respect for your people.

No child in my country should be deprived of anything when it comes to the necessities of life. No adult should live in fear for his child, his wife/mate, and himself. Arguing they are here illegally makes us a non-Christian country, a bunch of hypocrites. On the same token, if you live in this country and are not helping your own people to assimilate, you have no reason, no cause and right to be in this country also.

I don’t like the idea that there are illegal immigrants sneaking into my country. I don’t like the idea of giving away entitlements to illegal immigrants. But my discomfort is far less than my discomfort with the idea that someone has to sneak across a border, endangering his own life, and maybe the life of his family. And why is he doing this: for the hope of a better life. I can’t blame him.

Maybe the churches and temples should start instituting programs for English as a first language. Gather the non-English speaking people and two nights a week teach them English. It would be a start, it would close a gap and it would make all the immigrants a lot safer, and our communities more secure.

God knows we all have prejudices, the blacks, Asians and Hispanics as well as the whites. Let’s stop finger pointing and let’s start helping each other. And one more thing: let’s learn to laugh at each other and ourselves, there is nothing wrong with that. The problem with Illegal aliens is we keep them form being productive, so we shoot ourselves in the foot.

We all have work to do.