Yeah, it's a choice.

I chose to be slighted. I chose to be marginalized. I chose to be your butt of jokes. I chose to be opted out of every law on the books. I chose to let you let my life partner die in a room all alone and spread his wealth/ashes wherever you deemed good. I chose to be spit upon. I chose to let third world countries kill me and make it the social norm while accepting my homeland countries financial aid and tourism dollars. Please leave me for dead in an alley. Please let all that I stand for fall moot so you can exercise some dead ritual in an out dated tome. Let all that I am come upon you in recompense and let your education sweep you and your family to a new reckoning. Because we aren't a fluke and we aren't going away makes me let you know that the rainbow is ideallic of society and u don't really choose to be a part of it. We will let you know that our true colors are yours too, and that we will eventually end up burrying you too.
We are one. We wil bury our shame, our integrity, and our family, but most of all, we will end up burrying the lot of you. We chose all these added responsiblities? Did you not notice that we were built on same sex-appreciation? We are the most narcistic in society. We are the mirror and the blow. Our true colors are more selfish than your own, and yet we clean up after you.......

Why, Y, Whie

Why is it that people think that their 5.50 for a cocktail entitles them to an alcohol beverage in a clean glass, unlimited cocktail napkins and free reign to cast judgements on the server of said beverage? If you really think this is a pathetic job, don't come out here and PATRONIZE us. We have two types of Patron already, peddle your crazy elsewhere, we're all stocked up here. I'm scared by the limited mobility that these people have in their life and am afraid to drive my life around them. I need to maintain a certain course to pay my rent and put food on the table and cleaning suppllies in the hutch, why would people interfere with my directive with banal requests on limited data intakes. They should be allowed a license to dine out, much like driving and shooting heavy artillery, before they make their mark in our world. You heard me. If you can't say it, you can't have it. If your repertoire of social interaction includes not appreciating who's serving you and why, cast off and go home, cuz we are done with your lame ass.

YMCA's are a staple in society. They are a facility devoted to community, a dance and sometimes a vowel. I apppreciate the fact that they have been in existance as long as they have been. I appreciate the fact that they offer respite from the banal dregs of society with eliptical trainers, pools and saunas. YMCA's are a conduit to what society should be; a centered community. Inclusive and proud. I stand behind this dynamic and swim my laps there. If only they would recognize that the individual is the sum of the whole and not some of a hole. That's all I ask. Oh, and extend lap swimming hours to all day.

Whie is the name of the homeless guy who cant afford a restaurant, or a YMCA, and lives in the park adjacent to my current YMCA. He shutters when you talk to him in an effort to scare you off. He has a light load in his purloined shopping basket but that belies the spirit that he is taking in more than he is taking. He's a peach, and the pit is scary to see. Let all of his fruit be cosmetic and his inner core be unseen, cuz he is vindictive. Don't give him money, give him food or bottles. He is what we all rebel against, being alone in the face of society. Why, Y, Whie.

You do the math. Or alphabet.

Air Banada

Banada is a stuffed bread, and an italian favorite. It's not as doughy as a calzone or as commercial. I remember growing up to the aromas of spinach and anchovy (back before I knew what they were) or broccoli and sausage. My grandmother made them and my Auntie Goosey inheirited the talents/task. They were ususally made around Easter and were a warm up course in the marathon holiday meals we used to eat. One big table and the satellite table for the kids. Then more kids arrived and it became two large tables, then eventually buffets took over so people could go eat wherever they wanted (where the deals were being made). Eventually the banada disappeared from view.

When I relocated to the city of angels I found a vacuum for italian culture, albeit any discernable Culture, but I digress. It's taken time and torture to find the niceties that I took for granted back east: cookies, breads, olives, cheezes, meats, opportunities to piss on the french, you know what I'm talking about here, creature comforts. I was seated next to a warm (crazy) italian woman last year on a return flight from the east coast and we were both comparing our premade sandwiches replete with provologne and roasted peppers. Her soppresata was homemade so she got points for authenticity, again I'll make mention that she was crazy and my xanax hadn't gotten to my Kettle quick enough to put off the conversation. We were both packing cheeses and cookies in our carry-ons in lieu of altoids. It turns out, bear with me here, that she went to the same HSchool as my older brother and gave me her email, to pass on to the star football player of her day. John, I'm publishing it below for you and anyother crazy that needs a good woman with a moustache who can knit, kill a chicken, make pasta and raise a family. Email early, email often.

I digress. This year I had such nostalgia and homesickness I nearly broke my cell phone speed dial buttons keeping up with my sib's and fam. It's especially hard for an italian to not be around family on the holidays. Easter time found me crazed and wanting, you heard me. I called Aunty Goosey, more on her and her words of wisdom as he develop here, and said,

"Goose, ya gotta hook it up." She set down her second scotch and oj,
"Sweetie pie, I don't know what that is."
"Goose, ya gotta make me banada."
"Oh, you."
"Serious Goose, I havent had it in years and I need it. Yours is the best and you could bang out two and get them here in time for Easter. Overnite them to me, I'll pay for the whole thing."
"Sweetie pie, I wasn't planning on making any this......"
"Goosie, serious. I need your banada." Begin the manipulation, "If you make it I'll have Carole come pick it up and mail it for you, you won't even have to leave the..........."
"Carole?" Sidenote, there was coldwar (not so much a fatwah, as a spatwah) between the two, "Dont you bother her. I can go to the post office all my own." Prepares third scotch and oj. "Now tell me what's new in California."

It arrived five days later, my carepackage. Overnited, and STILL WARM. She ran from the oven to the post office with it screaming, "Damn the torpedoes, my sweetie needs my banada." Two of the most perfect banadas I'd ever hoped for. I'd hoped that I hadnt promised her I'd go to church or anything silly like that, because I was going to have to eat my words, and for a sicilian, that's a meal.

I promise to tell you about the time Goosey and went cruising in Rome, how she got us thrown out of Florence and her person to person relating skills with female prisoner chain gangs. Until then I'd give you the email of the nice divorcee I met on that fateful plane ride but my lawyers advise against it. Ciao bella.

Think It Threw?

Many times I refer to something being funny on a number of levels and I want to cultivate this to improve society. I mean that reading is fun-duh-mental; amusing, staggering, and inspired. You read something and your mouth makes a little upward twist. The text has pleased you simultaneously on the brain and in the heart. You may even re-read the text to further the experience. This is "Fun". On occasion something you (re)read may give you pause. Are the words too big? Are they arranged unusually? Is it a topic or concept that is completely strange to you and your world that it makes you want to run for the nearest shelter to regain your wa? The text has brought you to that little mindspace "Duh". Maybe as you (re)read the information you think it through and accept the information as only you can personally. Perhaps this motivates you to seek more information, change your life, brush your teeth or call your ma. Processing the data may inspire you to rewrite the dialogue or throw it away into the vacuum of nonsense that we all cultivate and so few revisit. Here the text has made you "Mental". Reading really is fun-duh-mental.

My philosophy, if I can be so base to call it that, or bass even, is that if you read something left to right, then right to left and then up and down and so on, you may find yourself in a fresh place. Opening your conciousness while processing information can only expand your appreciation and thus your tollerance. The endresult will be a society at peace, informed and amused. Go forth and try this new dance and see if you crack yoursleves up on some level or another or many. We only have time and information at our disposal surely we can leave our mark. Spread the word, literally. Sometimes points need to be made in multiple fashions to be succesful. Like hurling balls at a targetpaddle of a dunking booth at the county fair. My Point? Think it threw?

Pan, Pandemic, Pandering, Panties, part two.

Pan, the goat legged god, frolicked the day away. Making merry, and margaritas, his hilarity found it's sway from the Staples Center for the Espy awards to Malibu's PCH. Armani and Diesel, flashbulbs and flashers, Pan turned and smiled and embraced the attention. A sensation spread in the land at how well he looked and that he must be keeping new company. Speculation sizzled as the new company was very stylish and witty (with a trim waist and developed abs, natch). They have words for company like that. Pan bathed in his buzz and the pandemic arose. At the awards ceremony Espys honored the autistic basketball player, Jason McElwain , who's amazing 20 points in the final moments of the game is still one of the best videos to watch. The recipent was moved by the adulation and the shiny trophy and celebrated the moment with the trophy in his mouth. When irony meats freudian, can there be safety for anyone?

Malibu's Pacific Coast Hwy allows bicyclists some lovely vistas and a rambling workout. Pan celebrated the marine beauty (more irony) with his new company on such a jaunt. Spandex is a privellage and not a right as so many people tend to believe. Pan looks happy in this new pack. No one can really hear any bad things that are being said about them or he when they see how shiny and pretty they are all together. A triumverate has been formed where the talent meats the iron. The three together are one unit that smoothly moves amongst people, gracefully leaving good natured, cowboy warmth. Negative press? No thanks, benchpress maybe. Is this considered pandering? Damn skippy. But who cares, just look at them.

Some people are wearing shiny yellow bits of jewelry. They were very popular recently. The jewelry marks their commitment to life and

celebration of all things that make you strong. Most people wear them where they can be seen, but not Pan. Pan has no need for following tradition, it doesnt always move fast enough for him. As an emissary of Life, he has important things to do. Nature can't always wait for Nurture, ultimately it's all about the survival of the fittest. Time marches on and you can march or atrophy. Pan marches and sometimes throws his baton high in the air. It may be pandemic, it may be pandering, but there's talk that his bracelet is doubling as a ring, and is under his panties. But that's just talk, and people will always talk.

Pan, Pandemic, Pandering, Panties.

Pan is the Greek God of pastures, flocks and shepherds. he was commonly seen as having the legs of a goat and it's horns. The pagans embraced Pan's image in ceremonies. He was the perfect blend of man, nature and the divine. We all have a little Pan in us. If you doubt this, remember fawning over some crush, talk about primal feelings of nature. If you missed the pun/pan in that last sentence you need to check your pulse. It was funny on three levels. Count 'em.

Pandemics are widespread episodes usually attributed to disease. One might label the fervor behind World Cup Finals as pandemic, it spread over a large geographic area and affected a large amount of the population (coming soon; Affluenza, Affleck, Affected on this very topic) but with mostly positive aftereffects. Oh poor France, to lose by arrogance, a hard headedness. Quelle Justice. I love when something un-seismic shakes our town up. The World Cup Finals certainly did that. On all class levels, too.

Pandering is to provide gratification to one's desires. To cater to, to exploit other's weakness are other definition. Martha Stewart has perfected pandering. PS her subscriptions are up since last year's release from Bedford and revenue 40%. Someone needs to get on the ouiji board and tell Ken Lay. Now this is pandering twice over. PT Barnum turned out to be my perfect dead soulmate on an online quiz. He set the standard on Pandering and I think that we can all take a lesson in that; know your assets, your liabilities and what sells to who. The motto in a successful breakfast operation is to grab 'em by their eggs, and they'll beg you for juice. Inspirational? Well, yeah I guess I meant that too.

Panties are found as undergarments. They usually cover the lower trunk and have a closed crotch. If you have read all of this and sit back I think you'll get todays lesson. Grazi mile, Signore Gattuso. I love it when a pan comes together. (the humor, my ribs...........)

Summer People, Some Are Not.

You meet certain people in life who imbue an amount of information that you realize applies to your own sense of fair play. One such character, Lorraine Ruckdesheldt brought amazing sensibility to my formative years. She and her better half were four foot, six inch jazz fans. She wore the short skirts, well into her late seventies, and he his fedora and tie. They followed their favorite area bands, patronized there favorite bartenders, and were pretty specific in their needs. They liked a heart of iceberg salad, now trendily called the wedge, with onions , one with tomato, one with bleu cheeze dressing, one with thousand island. He drank a VO and soda and she a Vodka tonic. They carefully scrutinized drink prices and the crowds that were attracted in the area haunts. They had NO problem vocalizing their concerns/complaints, even their compliments were sometime caustic. One would wonder what the beauty of these two were? I'll continue.........

As I got to know their beautiful romance, I discovered that Lorraine was the one who pursued Rucky (I never got his real name, didnt need to). It turns out that she and her girlfriends happened upon the boys in town at ye olde swimming hole, skinny dipping. She said to her gal pal, "I'm gonna marry me that one.", pointing to Rucky, and not so little rucky. She went big. Literally. They would look at each other with the type of reverence that you can only pray comes into your life. Sometimes their personal conversation wouldnt be too sweet to each other but the look never changed.

She would drive in their later years as his eyes would go. Two sets of little legs poking out of this huge Continental, as they came towards your bar you would pray they would have a rope ladder to get down as you never wanted to clean up a broken hip. They were vigilant in their support and love of jazz. They adored my impression of Billy Ray Cyrus, replete with mullet I admit. They would always wrap up the leftovers for the dog, the dog died from diabetes, gout and other diseases associated with obesity. Lorraine ended up on oxygen from his second hand smoke and he wore the guilt of that for their remaining days. They would still make the rounds, but not so much. She went first and he soon followed. Pretty classy, I think.

Through all this nostalgia you look for your lessons? They come dryly with New England grace and endure. Here goes. Her biggest lesson was that being choosy can pay off for the rest of your life. Biggest not in the sense of importance as opposed to size matters. Lorraine always said, "when it rains, wear red." And she would. On the CT shoreline we were doused wet with rain like a wall adjacent a neighborhood irish bar is with urine. But its true, it changes your mental state surrounding yourself in color can repell negativity. Being salty yankees, they understood the fun/frustrations of tourist season and tour-ons and would always offer the sage to waitr-ons they liked, "you can't let it (crazy tourists)get to you. Summer people, some are not." We miss that level of class and seek it out in todays market. With the parameters given us, we know that the search will be insightful. No one can ever replace the Ruckdesheldts but the bar that they set, in the bars where they set, natch, is something we can all aspire too.

VIVA ITALIA!!!!!!

SALUDADOS!!!!!!!!! I came across this fine piece of work Dolce & Gabbana scored. Manuele Blasi, Gennaro Gattuso, Andrea Pirlo, Gianluca Zambrotta, and Fabio Cannavaro from world champion Italy's football team.

Goooooooooaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vocabulary List: Update, Addendum.

In addition to himbo, google and such are old time favorites; mouse potato, unibrow, and bling. Color me confused but I could have sworn that bling sparkled into the dictionary years prior. Did it not? I was almost certain but I am prone to prophetic visions induced by chemicals and/or lurid entertainment. Strange the languages you can speak when denied enough sleep.

Em, M.E., Emmy.

My friend Em used to tend bar in a roadhouse called the Highliner in Westbrook, CT. There was sawdust on the floor, trains would go by and the beer was still 2.50. On Fridays the whole town would converge on the Highliner to hear the Convertibles play popular 50's and 60's tunes. Em would navigate the bar in cut-offs and a white button down looking like a curvaceous dilletante who didn't know she'd been drugged, mugged and taken from the cotillion. Somewhere between Patty Hearst and The Mrs. Astor you'd find my beautiful friend tending bar and maintaining her ben-wa-balls. When my better-half was courting me, he brought his good friends in to spec me out, the Highliner was designated as the petri dish (funny on two levels). The good friends associate queried Em on what white wines does she serve. Em, sweat running from buzz-cut blonde tip to bossom stopped patiently and delivered, "I don't know if you've noticed sir, but you're in a gin-mill. The only white wine we serve comes out of our soda gun. How many would you like?"

An M.E. cuts into you when you are dead.

Emmys this year posthumously honor almost as many shows that are off the air as they do shows that are still running. If you trace my tangent properly you'll see that all topics reach the root of what's real/reel. And you're probably smiling, natch. Gray's Anatomy was nominated for an emmy, has had an ME, and reminds me of my friend Em. Coincidence? I think not.

Vocabulary List: Update!

I want to applaude everyone on their increased use of the terms, ridonculous, ginormous, and douchebag. We still haven't added the first two to the books (douchebag already is published verbiage) but are efforts havent gone unnoticed. I hear everything in society between working in a restaurant, blogging and watching a fair amount of General Hospital. I have noticed an increased frequency in using our new vocabulary list. Kudos to all. Just food for thought, Merriam-Webster's just announced the inclusion of new words to their latest edition. These include google (v.) and himbo (n. male bimbo). This really makes our task seem less daunting, yes?

Gracious Living, part five.

Well, Aaron Spelling has barely hit the afterworld and his widow is listing the homestead on the market. The 56,000 sq. ft. property is being shopped at the 150mil mark. Can you imagine? When the house was completed in 1991 for 46mil, that included the 10mil that the land was worth, it was fully staffed and ready to entertain. Now someone has shouted, "abandon ship" and the missus is laying off staff and making sure that 'so no Tori-ous' has no homebase. It's gone. The prayers of a new 'Graceland' are lost, as this little jewel in the Holmby Hills section of LA are history. How did they traverse this land vessel? Monorail? Dynastairs? Charlies Angelevators? Love Boats? My Je-wish for this property is that it sells for it's asking price and that rides are installed, museums cureated and OJ sells the tickets. When I'm opulently wealthy, I plan to open the palace gates to all that got me there. Except for you. And you know whom I'm talking to.

Gracious Living, part four (th)

Certain traditions are more special than others to me. Open houses at the holidays, calling Mom on my birthday to say thanks, and especially the Fourth of July. Independence Day means more than renting a Will Smith film and frying chicken. We celebrate our freedom todo such things like this, blogging.Our independence is a great swelling of pride that makes people appreciate all things american; soccer, hotdogs and apple pie. Let's celebrate with fireworks and nice looking men. All in one.

The World Cup plays on and I can't hope that I get to see Italy level France enough. It would be right on so many levels. The whole world around is celebrating soccer and the americans are the last to arrive in the hysteria. We are bullish people who demand our language be spoken wherever we are, local systems of measurment translate into ours and that our sporting events be worshipped as if a temple. It would be ideal if our celebrity athletes treated their bodies in a similar manner, but I digress. Go Italia!!!!!!!!! Gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!


It means watching the Nathan's sponsored Coney Island Hot Dog Eating contest and having hotdogs for dinner, cringing at each bite. The only thing worse than watching the actual event is reading the contestants prior victories and fortes. The crazy samoan who ate 35 burritos in a half and hour, the little asian girl who place second in the goldfish swallowing contest, the senior citizen who took too much exlax and blurred the line between sportsmanship and ...........depends. How in the name of Jenny Craig do people come to these competitions? Crazy is as crazy does, shirley/surley there are more entertaining things they can find to do with there time than risking renal failure. Maybe they can run through the fields of whatever backwater they hail from, singing selections from "The Sound Of Music" with a lightning rod in each hand. "Thee Hiiillls arrre a-liiiiive with thee soooound of Muuuussszzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiikkkkkkkkkkkkk". Cue sulphur smell.

Apple pie is part of the my most important traditions in the holiday. A long time ago in a cottage by the Sound, the heat rolled in and set oppresively on our sweat glands. My sister, her lover and I opted to spend the afternoon in front of the fridge, cleaning. The door was removed, the shelves too. It was purged, pummelled and pollished. Our dillegance belied our brains but the endproduct was so sweet. Independence from smell, scum and stains left by apple pies gone by.
Today, in Los Angeles, there is one more sparkling fridge. This fridge is free (to be admired) of scum and stain-free. It's contents rejuvinated and organized. Remember that traditions are our footprints in the sand that we leave so the following people can samba like they're at a Fred Astaire Dance Studio.

Rabbit Rabbit.

Queerly, we approach the holiday of independence. The colonies have stood up and announced their freedom from oppression and tyranny. It's actually ironic that we celebrate Gay Pride the previous month and then Independence Day right on it's heels. Freedom to love meats nationalistic zeal. Gosh darn, those crazy gays are just ahead of the curve.

On this holiday weekend we welcome back Superman to american culture. The icon is proudly being bandied about on many a chest, banner, bilboard and bimbo. It's nice to have heroes to look up to in such a creatively starved, cinematic summer of disappointments. Bryan Singer's tribute to this legend has been launched with all kinds of wonderful spin, one would think that the marketing people for the film spent time in the Whitehouse trenches. The buzz began several months ago with the buzz that went around announcing Brandon Routh's publicity posters were being retouched as his tights were too so, around the south. Props to the man with the unit, but the talk started. Following this began the rumor that maybe Superman was actually gay. Can you believe this? True, when you want to revitalize a neighborhood you bring the gays in. Cafes, Boutiques and well manicure lawns are the fringe benefits that are brought with the increase of a gay population. The gay community has been leaving it's creative stink on society for generation. But now we are a discussion opener, an unrealistic social barometer. "Is he?" or "Is she?" is a great game to play at a cocktail party but must we be stylists to everything? Comic book characters, unfortunate events, and even tossed salads are commonly being referred to as "Being Gay" can't we just be left alone and new adjectives be used for a while? Buzz is created and people begin chatting. THIS IS A COMIC BOOK CHARACTER FOLKS. Move on to a new topic and congratulate the marketing people that we're all talking about this movie just on the suggestion that the man of steel..............insert your own joke here. Please, Superman is not gay, if he was he would have lost that UGLY ass costume long ago. End of tour, move on.


If anyone's a homo it's the new Batwoman. She's been dragged out of the comicbook graveyard to be re introduced as a crime fighting lesbian, socialite. The socialite is the most important nom du guerre. DC Comics announced last month that Batwoman, originally introduced in the 50's and offed in the 80's was going to make a return as an emissary for the company to reach the gay market and show us not as victims or villains. Such a concept. I love her already, I make no secret that I am especially fond of lesbians. They're more than my peeps, they fix things. And would you just look at that costume, now that's HOT.


And if anyone's a big homo................................