Fugetaboutit!!!

In Fourteen Hundred and Ninety Two Columbus......

2010-10-13T13:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it just takes a word or a phrase to make you pause…. And then pause again…. and think to yourself, “Huh?”

Yesterday morning I had to go to the Post Office. Because of Monday’s holiday the line was even longer than usual.

There were more than 30 people in line and none of us was thrilled to be there. People were complaining about how slow the service was and the usual stuff about lousy service at the Post Office.

Now I don’t complain at the Post Office. I smile and compliment them and tell how much I love stamps. Because… well…. There’s a reason they call it “going postal”.

In front of me were two younger guys, maybe in their twenties. They were texting or tweeting or whatever you do with what used to be a phone when one of the guys says, “I don’t see why we had to have a holiday for the Colombians anyway.”

There’s a moment in time where everyone hears the same thing at once. Maybe it’s a gunshot or a slot machine jackpot or maybe… just maybe….. It’s when an idiot speaks.

There were at least half a dozen of us that heard this and we all kind of had this, “he can’t be that stupid” look on our faces.

And then…..

The guy in front of him spoke.

“It’s about the drugs. I think we do it because they’re trying to stop the drugs coming in.”

The first thing that popped into my head was, “What are the odds that I would have two people who were obviously dropped on their heads as infants in line in front of me at the Post Office?”

Or maybe I had just met two of the people that had dodged “No child left behind.”?

Then an older woman in line in front of them said, “No it wasn’t about Columbians it was about Columbus and him discovering America.”

And then someone next to her said, “The Vikings discovered America long before Columbus.”

And someone behind me said, “I think the Indians might have had a thing to say about that. They were here way before either of them.”

A conversation ensued that I didn’t quite catch all of but I heard the words, “slavery”, “genocide”, “disease, “invader”, “colonization”, “explorers” and “hero”.

The two idiots that started the conversation didn’t even respond. They kept texting and tweeting and ignored the whole conversation.

I had stayed out of this whole thing until the older lady looked right at me and said, “What do you think?”

They all stopped talking and looked right at me.

Even the two idiots.

“Hey I’m just happy an Italian guy got me the day off.”

They paused for a moment and then went back to their discussion like I didn’t even exist.

“What is wrong with all of you people? The man gave us a day off. Why do we care whether or not he owned slaves, spread diseases caused global warming or played on special teams for the Chargers? The man gave us a holiday. That’s all that matters to me.”

When I got home last night I told my wife what had happened in the Post Office.

“You know Christopher Columbus was actually Portuguese.”

“What? No he wasn’t he was Italian.”

“Sorry he was a Portuguese Nobleman spying on the Spanish.”

“That’s ridiculous I saw a painting of him eating a torpedo sandwich on the deck of the Santa Maria. That’s an Italian sandwich.”

“Where did you see a painting of him eating a sandwich?”

“In the Louvre. It was on the Discovery Channel or the History Channel or one of those channels that has a show about finding something that they never find.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Monster Quest, Mystery Quest, Destination Truth, UFO Files, Ghost Hunters or any of those shows that suck you in and then never find anything.”

“You’re the idiot that watched that crap not me. And what does that have to do with Columbus?”

“Well I have a theory that Columbus was actually an alien life form that transformed himself into Columbus. I think he was sent here to find another alien, The Lochness Monster, and that the Lochness Monster ate him. Now the ghost of Columbus the alien still searches for other alien life forms on earth. That’s what I think.”

“Uh huh…… Are you done?”

“Nope. Have you ever wondered why none of those shows ever looks for things like ghosts or monsters in the day time? It always has to be dark. That’s because ghosts and monsters never figured out daylight savings time. Think about it.”

“Whatever Calabrese.”

“What if all the so called monsters in the world were actually alien life forms?”

“I don’t care.”

“What if menopause was actually brought to earth by alien life forms? Maybe Columbus wasn’t trying to discover anything. Maybe he was trying to run away.”

“You’re a dead man talking.”

“It’s just a theory. Don’t blame science. It gave us a national holiday.”

My Comeback.......

2010-10-08T11:41:00.000-07:00

I’m writing today for the sake of writing. To try to jump start any semblance of my sense of humor.

I stopped writing when I just didn’t feel the funny.

I quit performing three months ago. Oh I was still funny on stage but I wasn’t funny inside. And even if the audience doesn’t know it as a comedian you feel it in your performance.

2010 sucked the funny out of me.

Now we all know the kind of people that say things like, “Sure it’s been a tough year but at least I don’t have………” (Fill in what you want there.)

Those are the “positive” thinkers.

There’s an old saying that says “Positive thinkers grease the axle of the world.”

Well so do careless joggers.

You know people… sometimes things just suck.

That’s it.

Deal with it.

In my mind I’m what might be called a “Fixer”.

But sometimes you just can’t fix things. That’s happened a lot this year. So you suck it up and just deal with it.

What sparked my need to finally write was a conversation I had with my wife this afternoon.

My wife was diagnosed with Lupus a couple of months ago and so far it’s been pretty rough.

I can’t fix this and it kills me.

The conversation went like this.

“I talked to the doctor this afternoon. She’s renewing my prescription for my anti-itch medication for the rash. She says the issue with my veins is unusual and we just have to wait until next week when I see the specialist.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Kill me.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Put me out of my misery.”

“Nope.”

“If you loved me you’d put a pillow over my head.”

“Sorry you’re not leaving me with your mother.”

“I’ll put a codicil in my will leaving her to my sister.”

“I don’t want to go to prison. I don’t want anything going up my butt.”

“Plus you’d look terrible in orange.”

“That’s true too.”

“Honey is this the way I’m going to have to live the rest of my life?”

“I don’t know babe.”

“I don’t want to live the rest of my life like this.”

“At least they don’t put a finger up your butt for Lupus.”

“So I got that going for me…which is nice.”

“See babe. You can’t quote Caddyshack and feel bad.”

Not my best work but it’s a start. I’ll end it with this photo of my three year old Granddaughter arguing with her father about a call made in her soccer game.

I know she looks a little intense.

But then there are moments.......

I'm in hot pursuit!

2010-02-19T14:46:00.000-08:00

I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff in my life. This ranks right up there.

As many of you know I’m the president of a local bank. I’ve been in banking for over 30 years. In that time I’ve been involved in eighteen bank robberies. There have been some scary ones but most of the time the suspects are in and out before anyone other than the bank teller that was robbed even knows what happened.

What we tell our employees in the event of a robbery is to follow our normal security procedures, remain calm and always cooperate with the bank robbers so hopefully no one gets hurt.

Under no circumstances are you to chase after the bank robbers.

Ever.

I repeat.

Ever.

Yesterday we were robbed.

I won’t go into the particulars of the robbery. I will only say that at some point my bank manager yelled that we’ve been robbed.

Now I’m a little different than most bank presidents. I don’t have my office upstairs where my staff and customers can’t see me. My office is the very first office you see when you enter the bank and it is closest to the door.

I don’t know what possessed me to chase after the bank robbers. Well I kind of know. A good friend and the husband of one of my employees, Donald, happened to be in his wife’s office when we were robbed. He decided to chase the robbers and I decided to chase him.

Now this was not exactly a high speed pursuit.

The bank robbers, two of them, walked…… I repeat…… walked up the street.

My friend Donald was walking behind them and I was walking behind Donald. Donald was about twenty feet behind them and I was about 20 feet behind Donald because I had the good sense at least to run back to my office and get my cell phone.
So as our little parade is heading up the street and I’m on the phone with 911 trying to explain to them that we are in hot pursuit of two robbery suspects.

On foot.

About two blocks from the bank the robbers stopped turned and looked right at us. Donald being closest, but way too thin to cover me if they started shooting stops and folds his arms and stares right back at them.

This was a very surreal moment. In my mind I’m thinking, “BOB AND WEAVE, BOB AND WEAVE, SERPENTINE, SERPENTINE, SIDE TO SIDE, SIDE TO SIDE!!!!!!! But in reality I was calmly telling the police dispatcher on the phone what was happening like I was some kind of on the spot news reporter.

“The suspects have stopped and turned and are facing us. The one with the back pack is now setting it down. They are now walking away from the backpack. They are walking away from the pack back. We are in pursuit.” (I have seen way too many cop programs.)

And here is where I officially turned into a complete idiot. When they dropped the backpack we followed and Donald picked it up. At that moment I was thinking if the cops show up now Donald looks like one of the robbers. So I told the 911 operator…..

“THE GOOD GUYS HAVE THE BACKPACK!!!!!! THE GOOD GUYS HAVE THE BACKPACK!!!!!!”

You don’t realize how stupid you can sound until you have one of those moments.

“THE GOOD GUYS HAVE THE BACKPACK!!!!!! THE GOOD GUYS HAVE THE BACKPACK!!!!!!”

I swear the 911 operator laughed.

I won’t go into the rest of the details other than to say about 20 cops showed up, cornered the “suspects” and arrested them.

The rest of the day was spent with the police and FBI retelling the same story over and over again so I could relive my stupidity.

When I got home my wife was not pleased. My staff had ratted me out to her.

“What the hell were you thinking?

“I was….”

“You’re an idiot. What if they had been armed?”

“Um… Donald started it.”

“If Donald ran out into traffic would you run into traffic? These were bank robbers for Christ’s sake. You know better Calabrese.”

“I used my cat like reflexes to……”

“THIS IS NOT A JOKE!”

“You know the robbers were way less tense than you are right now.”

That’s when she punched me.

Then she hugged me.

Then she laughed and followed her laughter with…….

“THE GOOD GUYS HAVE THE BACKPACK!!!!!! THE GOOD GUYS HAVE THE BACKPACK!!!!!!”

I will never live this down.

And the three caddies saw a star appear above the 18th hole.

2009-12-22T14:55:00.000-08:00

So Christmas is almost here. I’m at that part of the Christmas season where I’m trying to find that gift for my wife that she told me she doesn’t want because we’re not getting each other anything this year.

Right.

I’m a marriage veteran I’ll think of something.

So 2009 is almost over. As years go this one will not make the top ten list of fun years. If I was a doctor I would say the side effects of 2009 are likely to cause infectious explosive diarrhea.

It was a crappy year.

But I’m not going to let it get me down. There is always tomorrow, according to the Mayans at least until 2012.

As I plan for 2010 I realize I need a goal that I can most likely achieve so I can feel positive about the new year. So obviously losing weight and getting in shape is out of the question.

I’ve decided that in 2010 I’m going to learn how to properly greet people.

You see I still use the good old fashioned hand shake to greet people unless they look like they have the Swine Flu or they’re just walking out of the Men’s Room. If that happens I just tilt my head up give them a little nod and say, “How U Doin?” or pretend I’m Japanese and bow.

I can’t figure out how to greet young people today.

Am I the only one that’s had one of those awkward moments where you go to shake someone’s hand and they stick out their fist?

What the hell is the fist for? And how do you know when to use the fist? And how come sometimes the fist is followed by what looks like an impression of a seagull flying away or a bomb exploding or some weird type of exercise I’ll never do?

Maybe the first fist bump happened when one of these young guys was trying to hold his pants up and couldn’t extend his hand to shake.

It makes sense.

If I’m going to greet someone with a hand gesture other than a handshake it’s probably going to include my middle finger.

My other goal for the year is to learn Ballroom Dancing.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA………………..

Not really. But I did just think of my wife’s Christmas present.

And I hope 2010 turns out to be better for Tiger Woods. I know, I know, there’s been enough about Tiger Woods already. I just want to say that while I don’t condone his actions I have do have to say that unlike other celebrities and politicians at least the women he was having sex with were pretty hot.

Well… all but that one cocktail waitress.

Then again I don’t thing Tiger Woods had sex with that woman.

I think she had sex with some other black guy that told her he was Tiger Woods. Hell, haven’t we all been Tiger Woods at least once. I’ve been Tiger Woods and I’m not even black.

I’m going to be in trouble for that last line but it makes me laugh and sometimes it’s all about me.

Trust me people when I tell you that I know for that there’s hope for this country. I know for a fact that everything is going to be fine. I know for a fact that 2010 is going to be a great year.

Why?

The Chia Obama.

That’s right they now have a Chia Pet in the shape of the head of the President of the United States. There are two versions, the “Determined” Chia Obama (because nothing says determined like a ceramic head with a plant growing out of it) and the “Happy” Chia Obama.

Don’t believe me? Take a look.

I bought two of the Happy Obama’s to give to my communist liberal friends as Christmas gifts.

I think this is the best gift since the “Tickle me Cheney” doll.

Seriously, how bad can it be if a Chia Obama exists?

Or maybe the only thing left to do is laugh.

I’ll leave you with this last thought. Yesterday I overheard to people complaining about how their luck was terrible. Nothing was going their way but a friend of theirs was the luckiest person on the planet. Everything he touched turned to gold and it just wasn’t fair that he was so lucky.

It always amazes me how the luckiest turn out to be the ones that do the most work, have taken the most risk and have learned from the most failures.

So if you’re going to have a good 2010 don’t just rely on luck. At least once during the year pretend you’re Tiger Woods.

Have a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous and "lucky" New Year.

Don't Try This at Home...

2009-11-17T18:05:00.000-08:00

They say that 90% of all fatal accidents occur in the home. Usually because someone did something stupid.

They don’t say anything about flesh wounds.

I don’t know what’s worse. Doing something stupid that causes injury to yourself or having to tell your wife that you’re an idiot.

As if she doesn’t know already.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I don’t think I was able to close my eyes for more than a minute.

You know how the sounds of the ocean, of the waves crashing against the shore can help you relax? You know how just the sound of raindrops can make you feel totally at ease and at peace with the world?

There’s something about water that’s just calming.

Apparently it’s not a good idea to get that calming feeling when you’re in the shower.

That’s right.

I fell asleep while I was taking a shower.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if I had perpetually running hot water.

But I don’t.

When the hot water ran out….

I woke up.

In what only could be described as a “WAAAHAAAA!!!” moment.

In a “WAAAHAAAA!!!” moment your body is not connected to your brain. Because if it was it wouldn’t have jerked my head back striking the tile causing me to momentarily go back to sleep.

Oh I woke up again. But not until I had dropped to my knees. My brain at this point was saying to my body, “HEY ASSHOLE GET OUT OF THE SHOWER!!!!”

Using my catlike reflexes I jumped out of the shower. Well I started to jump and then my brain remembered that I don’t do that.

So now I’m wet, cold, naked and wedged between the toilet and the sink which is the spot I fell into coming out of my reverse 2 ½ with 2 ½ twists in the pike position while holding my ankles… or something like that.

I believe it had a 3.9 degree of difficulty.

“I’m okay!”

That’s what came out of my mouth a second before I realized I wasn’t okay. I don’t know why I said it. There was no one home to hear it accept me. Maybe I was trying to reassure myself that I had a shred of manliness left.

I felt the back of my head to make sure I wasn’t bleeding, saying out loud to myself, “I may have a concussion. Maybe I should go to Urgent Care.”

Then the remainder of my stupid kicked in and I called my wife. Because I needed the loving, caring, sympathetic ear of my soul mate of 35 years.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“It’s not funny I could have been killed.”

“That would have made a great episode of CSI.” (hahaha…)

“Thanks babe.”

“Okay I’m done laughing. (hahahaha…) Are you bleeding?”

“No.”

“What hurts? (hahaha…)

“Other than my pride? Everything.”

“Do you think you should go to the (hahahaha…) doctor?”

“You’re still laughing.”

“I’m just picturing you explaining this to Dr. Roth.”

“With my luck he’ll want to use the “finger”.”

“HAHAHA!!! I’m sorry babe. HAHAHAHAHA!!!!! I can’t help myself.”

"Would it help if I told you I was limping?"

"Yes.... (hahaha...)"

"In sickness and in health babe."

"In sickness and in health maybe. But I don't remember anything about being stupid in our wedding vows."

"Ouch... Maybe we should renew them..."

Perhaps imagination is only intelligence having fun. ~ George Scialabba

2009-11-13T17:09:00.000-08:00

“Skittle's Pool Hall, Eight Ball speaking.”

“Dad?”

“Anthony?”

“You should not be allowed to have caller ID.”

“What’s up?”

“I think something’s wrong with John.”

“He didn’t get the flu did he?”

“No… It’s… well… He’s talking to himself.”

“He’s three! All three year olds talk to themselves.”

“Yeah but dad he’s having actual arguments.”

“What?”

“He’s arguing with himself. He takes both sides of the argument and battles it out with himself.”

“Uh… I got nothing.”

“Dad I think me and Kim breaking up is making John a little…well… I think it’s affecting him… you know in his head.”

“Anthony he’s three. I’m sure it’s one of those phases we men go through. You know, like when your brother liked girls with big noses.”

“I’m being serious here. I’m worried.”

“Well what does he argue about?”

“This morning he had a toy plane in his hand and he said it was a dinosaur and then he said it was a Transformer and he kept going back and forth. “Your supposed to be a Transformer. No you’re a dinosaur. I’m a Transformer. I’m a dinosaur, I’m a T-Rex. No you’re not a T-Rex can’t fly….” Dad this went on for an hour.”

“Well he was right; a T-Rex can’t fly. Son he’s not arguing with himself the toy is arguing with itself.”

“Dad you have to see it.”

“It seems normal to me. I mean if a toy plane thought it was a dinosaur then I think there needs to be some kind of discussion.”

“Dad he looks at me like I’m supposed to solve the argument.”

“I wouldn’t get in the middle of it. You might pick the wrong side.”

“Why can’t he have an imaginary friend like every other kid?”

“How do you know he’s not arguing with an imaginary friend?”

‘HE USES HIS OWN NAME!”

“I still have an imaginary friend myself. I use him to listen to your mother and to go to Pottery Village.”

“I should use one to argue with Kim.”

“Why not? Give him a good name though. I named mine “Armando”.

“Armando?”

“He doesn’t speak English. That way when I make him listen to your mother his head doesn’t explode.”

“You have an imaginary friend that doesn’t speak English?”

“Sure. I found him outside a Home Depot. I used him to listen to you and your brother when you guys tried to get me to help with your math homework.”

“That explains a lot.”

“Sometimes I send him to board meetings for me.”

“Please Dad. Can we be serious for one minute?”

“Son you are totally over reacting. He’s a happy imaginative three year old. If he was thirty then I think we might, I say “might” have a problem.”

“It’s freaking me out dad. I think it’s my fault because of…you know… me and Kim.”

“Son, there will be plenty of time for you to freak out. Just wait until he’s four and wants his own iPhone. Look, people break up all the time. It’s sad and it can be tough on the kids but you both love your son. Try and treat each other with respect and understanding. He’ll see that and even though you won’t be together he’ll be fine.”

“I guess… It’s hard… It sucks…”

“Don’t worry son. No matter what happens I will always be there to give him advice and consul. And if for any reason I’m not around he can always borrow Armando.”

“Perfect. Maybe Armando can argue with him in Spanish.”

“Why would Armando argue with him in Spanish?”

“You said he doesn’t speak English.”

“He doesn’t.”

“But…”

“I never said he was Mexican.”

“But you said you found him outside of Home Depot.”

"What are you racist?"

"Dad! No! I just assumed..."

“You realize were discussing the language skills of my fake imaginary friend here right?”

“Yes but…”

“Ukrainian. Armando is Ukrainian. He was in the Ukrainian special forces before the wall came down and then he immigrated to the United States and worked as a private investigator and bouncer in a comedy club. But he always felt a yearning to build things so he got into construction. He tried to get his contractors license but he couldn’t read English so he became a cake decorator instead but then he lost that job during the Atkins Diet craze. So he became a parking lot space stripe painter at Home Depot.”

“Dad… I… How in the hell does your mind work like that?”

“I guess it’s from the discussions I used to have with myself when I was three.”

I have returned. I think.

2009-11-09T16:44:00.000-08:00

I had given up on this blog. It’s been a challenge lately to think funny. To sum it up I’m a banker. Not a fun profession to be in right now. Both of my sons were mortgage brokers. Notice I said “were”. Both my sons are going through tough times.

It is difficult when you write a humor blog about life and family when there is all this negative crap going on. I want to respect my sons privacy (a little anyway) so the humorous moments related to their job struggles just seem off limits.

But then something changed.

On top of everything else my wife gets the H1N1 virus otherwise known as the “Swine Flu”.

Trust me.

Not funny.

This is a nasty bug. I have never seen my wife this sick in thirty two years of marriage. She looks and feels like she’s been hit by a bus.

Make that two buses and the second one backed up and ran over her again.

Neither one of us likes to go to the doctor. Normally my wife would have to be bleeding out her eyes before she’d see a doctor. So when my wife said she “needed” to go to the doctor, I got a little worried.

The doctor warned me that she was contagious and asked me if I had any underlying health issues.

“Well I am a tad overweight. But that’s because I’m saving up for the apocalypse in 2012.”

Nothing.

Not even a smile.

He then prescribed rest, plenty of fluids and “Tamiflu”. Tamiflu is an antiviral that… well I don’t know exactly what it does but she had to have it.

So I went to Vons, dropped off her prescription for Tamiflu at the pharmacy in the back and then went around the store stocking up on Lysol, Clorox, Purell, Anti Viral Kleenex, Rubber Gloves, surgical masks, soups, popsicles, eggs, oregano, rosemary and provolone cheese.

When I was sick my grandmother always gave me a little piece of provolone cheese to make me feel better. She also put a raw egg under my pillow and taped oregano and rosemary to my bedroom door. A Sicilian grandmother is a lot like Jesus. They can heal anything.

So after I’m done loading up on flu stuff I go back to the pharmacy to pick up my wife’s prescription. The pharmacist told me I was lucky to get “Tamiflu” because it had been “flying off the shelves”. And then he said the following:

“Make sure she takes this with food, she should not operate heavy machinery or drive, and you should be on the look out for any odd behavioral changes.”

I looked right at him and said:

“Odd behavioral changes? My wife is a 52 year old premenopausal Portuguese grandmother. How am I supposed to know the difference?”

The pharmacist looked up at me, paused, and then at the same time we both laughed… and then I started to cry a little… because I was serious.

My wife is still sick but there are signs of improvement. She gave me the “evil eye” this morning. Anyone married to an Italian or Portuguese woman knows exactly what I’m talking about. The “evil eye” is a lot like X-Ray vision only it can suck out your soul.

So I’m going to try again to find the funny even in the most negative of things. It won’t be easy but I need it for my own sanity.

And people please, please, please don't screw around with the "Swine Flu." Get a vaccination as soon as you can and make sure your kids are vaccinated. This thing is really brutal.

Two short ones.

2009-08-18T17:13:00.000-07:00

Here are two of my favorite things I’ve heard this week. The first comes from my three year old grandson John.

“JOHNNNNY!!!!!”

“POPPPAAAAAA!!!!!”

“Hey pal did you have fun today?”

“I went to the beach Poppa.”

“Did you have fun at the beach?”

“I got sand in my balls.”

“Uhhhhh……”

The second comes from a conversation I overheard between two older women in line at the pharmacy.

“My granddaughter wants me to get with the times. She wants to set me up with a “Face lift” account.”

“Face lift? She wants to pay for you to get a face lift?”

“I guess. I didn’t know she had that kind of money.”

Face Book for old people…..”Face Lift”. I like it.

To sing, or not to sing: that is the question.

2009-08-11T17:37:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had one of those moments where a tune or song gets stuck in your head and you just can’t get it out?

Of course you have.

We all have.

So here’s the deal.

I’m on another diet.

Big Surprise.

I’m always on a damn diet.

There’s a certain time after I’ve started a new diet where I tend to get a little... oh I don’t know... psycho.

It’s usually when I wake up and lasts the whole damn day.

Every day.

I cannot be responsible for my actions when I’m dieting.

I’m a little nuts.

I’m the only person I know that’s gets emotional watching the Food Network.

Oh it gets bad.

So I'm in 7-11.

Because I need cash.

Why would the president of a bank need to use an ATM in 7-11 to get cash?

Because I’m married.

I am my wife’s ATM.

She doesn’t take all my money.

She always leaves me one dollar.

Because she wouldn’t want to leave me without any cash.

So back to 7-11.

Next to the ATM is the ice cream freezer.

Well I had to look.

Tucked behind the fogged ice cold glass was the most marvelous site. Hagen Daz, Ben & Jerry’s and Dryers OH MY!

I felt a teardrop on my cheek.

And then...

This song...

It just popped into my head.

“Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Dont cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Dont cha?, dont cha?”

I know...

I don’t know.

I........

It wouldn’t have mattered except for one little thing.

Apparently that song wasn’t just in my head.

It’s not so bad when you sing or hum a tune that’s... let’s just say... inappropriate for your gender...in your head.

For instance a man should never sing, “You make me feel like a natural woman.”

But we’ve all done it.

In our heads.

But when you sing it out loud........

That’s a special kind of gay.

You’re probably wondering how I knew I was singing that song out loud instead of in my head.

One of the 7-11 clerks started to sing it with me.

There’s an odd moment when the song you think you’re singing in your head is being sung out loud by another man who thinks he’s only singing it in his head.

We looked at each other and both had one of those, “OH MAN!!!” moments.

Then we couldn’t look at each other at all.

For a second I stood there trying to figure out which one of us started to sing it first. As if the guy that started it was a bigger loser than the guy that just joined in.

I also had an extreme need to go home and watch Rambo.

Then I turned and walked out. Thinking to myself I could never go back to that 7-11 again.

And I forgot to get any cash out of the ATM.

So I stood at the door to my car.

In my head I thought, “Okay, the clerks at 7-11 just saw a guy walk in, stand in front of the ice cream freezer, sing a chick song, then walk out without buying anything.”

I had to go back.

I couldn’t leave it that way.

I walked back into the 7-11 got cash out of the ATM and then got a diet ice tea and a pack of sugar free gum. Because nothing says what a tough guy you are like diet ice tea and sugar free gum.

Both clerks were looking at me but the one that was singing had this look of shame on his face.

When I went up to the counter to pay, the non singing clerk walked away leaving American Idol's next best hope to wait on me.

I drop my tea and gum on the counter and for some reason, in the deepest voice I can muster, this comes out of my mouth:

“I’m on a diet.”

He just looked at me like he had been violated.

I left, got in my car, and drove home.

My wife was surprised to see me.

“What did you forget?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why did you come back?”

“Um... You are never allowed to take money out of my money clip again.”

“HAHAHAHAHA!!!! Okay. Whatever. HAHAHAHA!!!!!”

“I’m serious.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”

“No I mean it.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!”

“Stop laughing.”

“Ha... Ha ha... Okay... HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! No... I’ll stop. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”

When she got the last laugh out I explained the whole story to her. Well almost the whole story.

“You’re such a homophobe.”

“Yes. Yes I am. I’m okay with that.”

“Did you at least remember to get money out of the ATM?”

“No... Um... I forgot.”

“Show me your money clip.”

“Nope.”

“Show me.”

“You make me feel like a natural woman!!!!!!!!!!”

“Ouch!!! Okay!!! Fine… Just leave me a dollar.”

Sometimes I write just for me........

2009-06-16T16:46:00.000-07:00

“Hey Dad.”

“Hey A.J. Hellooooo Sweetheart. Hey Alex give Poppa a hug.”

“POPPAAAA!!!!!!!!!!”

“Where’s mom?”

“She’s at a meeting.”

“So you’re gonna babysit the kids by yourself?”

“Yep.”

“Both of them?”

“I think I can handle my grandkids for an hour.”

“But dad….”

“A.J. it’s not like they’re babies. Alex is six and Angelina is two. I can handle that.”

“I’m pretty.”

“Yes you are sweetheart.”

“Ice cream Poppa.”

“Uh… How about some apple instead?”

“No.”

“How about some grapes?”

“No grapes. Ice cream!!!!!!!”

“I wonder why she always asks for ice cream when she comes over here?”

“No clue son."

“Dad they’ve been good all day they can have pretty much anything they want just don’t overdo it.”

“Trust me son.”

“Dad… seriously…”

“I got this don’t worry.”

“Okay Angelina come here. We need to change your diaper before daddy leaves.”

“Thanks for that son.”

“She should be fine until Melina gets home.”

“Have a good time son.”

“Bye Daddeeeeee. Bye Dad.”

“Okay kids who wants ice cream?”

“MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!”

“Poppa?”

“Yes Alex. “

“Can I play the X-Box?”

“Let’s see if we can’t find a TV show we all can watch instead. You’re not going to be here that long.”

“But Poppa I need to fight the forces of evil.”

“Yes we all do but you can’t fight the forces of evil without ice cream can you?”

“Um… I think I can Poppa. But I should have some ice cream just in case to recharge my energy.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Poppa.”

“Yes Angelina.”

“I pooped.”

“Seriously?”

“WHOA!!!!!! POPPA!!!!!! SHE DEFINTELY POOPED. We’re talking serious poopage Poppa. Man can my sister poop or what?

“Yes she’s a real pro.”

“You’re gonna need some Febreeze in here Poppa.”

“My lord how in the hell can such a sweet little thing hold so much poop?”

“She’s a Calabrese.”

Now I have to break this story up a little. The following is not my fault. When did they decide to make diapers that just pull up like underwear? How are you supposed to clean up a kid with a poopy diaper if the only way to take the diaper off is to just pull it down? The old diapers with the little tabs on the side made sense. You open it up, grab the legs with one hand, lift the kid, use thirty or forty baby wipes, grab a clean diaper with your free hand, slide the diaper under the clean butt and presto diaper changed. But how in the hell do you do that if the diaper slides off? There were no tabs. You yank that puppy down you’ve got poop everywhere.

I got a beach towel and old newspapers and set up on the tile floor in the kitchen.

“You want me to go outside and get the hose Poppa?”

“Not yet Alex.”

“Okay sweetheart I need to you to stand here. We’re gonna change your diaper.”

“Ice cream!!!”

“In a minute sweetheart.”

“I really think you’re gonna need the hose.”

“I can’t use the hose inside Alex, Gramma will kill me.”

“Hose her off outside.”

(Now I will admit that I thought about that for a moment. But only for a moment.”

“Just go in the living room and play the X-Box until I’m done here.”

“YES!!!!! You battle the poop and I’ll fight the forces of evil.”

Twenty minutes later I had changed her diaper. I had used the entire box of baby wipes and two sports sections. And I was definitely going to need to mop the kitchen floor.

“I’m pretty.”

“Whatever.”

“Poppa?”

“Yes sweetheart.”

“HANNAH MONTANA!!!!!!”

“What?”

“No way Poppa we are not watching Hannah Montana.”

“You’ve been fighting the forces of evil and now it’s your sister’s turn.”

“She can’t fight the forces of evil Poppa she doesn’t have any training.”

“HANNAH MONTANA!!!!!!”

“Do you want to listen to her yell for Hannah Montana for the next forty five minutes?”

“This sucks Poppa. She always gets her way.”

“Get used to it.”

“HANNAH MONTANA!!!!!”

“Fine just hold on a second sweetheart.”

So we all sit down to watch Hannah Montana. Five minutes into Hannah Montana……

“Scooooby Dooooooooo.”

“What?”

“Great Poppa, now she wants to watch Scooby Doo. She’s always changing her mind. You just can’t watch TV with her it’ll drive you nuts.”

“You want to watch Scooby Doo?”

“Yes.”

“Okay……..”

Five minutes into Scooby Doo.

“HANNAH MONTANA!!!!!!!!!”

“Told you Poppa.”

“Okay. Angelina how about Poppa reads you a story? You want to read a book?”

“Yes.”

“Can I play the X-Box Poppa?”

“Yes sure Alex.”

(Under his breath I hear….)

“Great. Now I have to start over. You’d think a grownup would know a woman can’t make up her mind.”

“Okay Angelina, go and pick out the book you want Poppa to read to you.”

“OOOOooooooooooooooooo.”

“Oh? Oh what sweetie?”

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo!”

“She wants you to read the Oprah magazine to her Poppa. She loves that.”

“You’re kidding.”

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”

“OOOOKay, Poppa will read “O” to you. The first story is called Oprah and the three bears…… and Oprah huffed and puffed and puffed and huffed and blew all the other talk shows away. And only Ellen was left and she had very short hair, not like your beautiful hair, so Ellen couldn’t let her hair out the window for a handsome prince to climb up and rescue her so she turned into a lesbian that loved to dance but never got her own magazine.”

“More Poppa.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s see here…. Stacy says the most important thing to look for when trying on jeans is the “rise” or crotch area. You don’t want any pulling or puckering or extra fabric up front….. Huh… I wonder if the same thing goes for guys jeans?”

“I love you Poppa.”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

“YES!!!! Level six!!!!! I’m soooo good at this Poppa.”

“Can you read yet Alex?”

“Some stuff.”

“Would you like to read “O” to your sister?”

“No thanks.”

“You could learn how to look ten pounds slimmer.”

“I’m only six Poppa I’m already slim.”

“Grab the phone for me Alex.”

“Calabrese’s residence. Hi mom. I’m playing X-Box and Angelina pooped so Poppa is reading “O” to her. Hey mom what’s lesbian?’

“ALEX!!!!! Give Poppa the phone.”

“Hi Melina. Yes. She’s… well I’ll be… she’s asleep. No…. No trouble at all. Um… you’re all out of baby wipes though. Okay I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Okay Alex be very quiet you’re sister is asleep. Let’s turn the volume down.”

“Poppa you can’t fight the forces of evil with the volume turned down.”

“Try.”

“Fine, but if I die it’s on your head.”

“I can live with that.”

About ten minutes passed and I realized that I was actually reading “O” magazine. There were some great tips for grilling the perfect steak. Now everyone knows that women can’t use a barbecue so this must mean that men are supposed to read “O” magazine. By the way rub a stick of butter on each side of the steak every time you turn it to give it great color.

My beautiful granddaughter was curled up under my arm asleep. I’m sure she was dreaming Oprah thoughts and about getting a manicure and a pedicure. My wife would have killed for that moment.

When the kids left I straightened the house so that when my wife came home everything would be ship shape.

“Hey babe I’m home how were the kids.”

“Perfect.”

“No issues?”

“Nope.”

“The house looks clean.”

“Yep.”

“Well I guess grandpa can watch the kids… for the love of god!!!!! What the hell happened in the kitchen?

(I knew I forgot something.)

“Um…. She pooped. A lot. Major poopage. Alex wanted to get the hose but I took charge and cleaned her up in the kitchen.”

“Christ Calabrese newspapers and a beach towel? How many baby wipes did you use? The whole box?”

“There wasn’t that much left in the box. I forgot to clean it up once I got her changed. Boy I think I need the hose.”

“Idiot.”

“By the way….. “

“What?”

“Your jeans fit perfectly? No pucker at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just something I read.”

How could I not read Oprah Magazine to that face?

It's been too long so here's a brief moment of inspiration.

2009-06-09T12:49:00.000-07:00

I believe it was Cher or possibly John McCain that sung, “If I could turn back time, If I could find a way…..”

Well you can’t.

Yesterday I found myself saying the following: “I’m going to get myself in the best shape of my life….”

Why?

The answer.

The Food Network.

I saw something yesterday that I could have only dreamed of.

It was on the Food Network Challenge. The episode was called “Super Heroes”.

There was this sandwich.

She was so beautiful.

A spaghetti and meatball sandwich.

Oh God.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you see a great work of art and you actually get emotional?

I wept.

Spaghetti and meatballs inside bread.

Say it with me people!!!!

Let me hear Amen!!!!

And the Lord looked down from the heavens and on the eighth day, the least talked about day, he created the spaghetti and meatball sandwich!!!

And it was good.

And all the angels in heaven said in one great voice, “Fuggetaboutit!”

And then he turned to Adam and Eve and said, “How U doin? Hey, why would you want to eat a friggin apple when I got youse a sandwich like this?”

But Eve turned out to be a liberal vegetarian and ruined the whole thing. And that’s when god created the calorie and the rice cake and ruined everything that tastes good.

And yes that is the story I will probably tell my grandchildren.

So I did the math.

One spaghetti and meatball sandwich is all the calories I can have for four days.

Communist bastards!!!!

My skinny wife says to me, “You know if you exercised more you could eat things like that every once in a while.”

Really?

If I exercised more?

I’d have to build the Great Wall of China on my own with nothing but a tablespoon and duct tape to burn off enough calories to eat a spaghetti and meatball sandwich!!!!!

Every once in a while?

Skinny people really have no clue. They do not understand food. They think food is just for sustenance.

Barbarians!

These are the same people that want to go “green”.

That’s when I uttered the following, “I’m going to get myself in the best shape of my life so that I can eat all the spaghetti and meatball sandwiches I want!”

What was I thinking?

Then I realized if I ate all the spaghetti and meatball sandwiches that I “want”, I couldn’t possibly be in the best shape of my life.

This posed what we food scientists call a “conundrum”.

But using my superior intellect it dawned on me that I was already not in the best shape of my life. So technically if I’m already not in the best shape of my life then eating all the sandwiches I want couldn’t hurt.

Do you follow me?

Here’s how I explained this to my wife.

“Ask yourself the following question: Am I in Moscow?”

“Of course I’m not in Moscow.”

“If you’re not in Moscow you must be “somewhere else”.

“Duh.”

“If you’re “somewhere else” you can’t be “here”.”

“What?”

If you’re not “here” then you must be “somewhere else”.

“You’re an idiot.”

So if you’re “somewhere else” you can’t be eating a spaghetti and meatball sandwich with me “here”.

“How does that pea sized brain of yours come up with this stuff?”

“Stay with me babe. So if you’re not “here”, and I’m with you, then I must be “somewhere else”, so I’m not “here” either. So I can’t possibly be eating a spaghetti and meatball sandwich “here” so this could only be a dream and the calories wouldn’t count!!!’

“Just make the stupid sandwich.”

Thank god for a Catholic School education.

This.... I.... I don't even know how to title this one.

2009-04-06T12:33:00.000-07:00

I want to start out with saying that I do not read women’s magazines. If I did my head would probably explode or I would turn gay so I don’t read them… ever.

My wife on the other hand reads them all.

The other day my wife and I were sitting on the couch in the living room. I was watching Man vs Food and she was reading one of her magazines. I think it was called Elle or Evil or something like that.

She pushes the magazine in my face ands says, “Look at this purse. Guess how much that purse costs.”

“No.”

“Just guess.”

“I don’t want to guess.”

“You won’t believe how much it costs.”

“I don’t care how much it costs.”

“Play along. Just guess.”

“Fine. $12 dollars.”

“Idiot. It’s $2,800 dollars. That’s what a $2,800 dollar purse looks like.”

“It looks the same as a $28 dollar purse to me. Who the hell spends $2800 dollars on a purse? Wouldn’t you rather have $2,772 dollars and a $28 dollar purse to put it in?”

“You don’t get it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Give me back my magazine,”

“Look at these stupid ads. If you bought the purse, shoes, dress, makeup and earrings on this page you’d spend over $20,000.”

“No. You’d spend over $20,000. Women don’t buy that stuff they get their men to buy it for them.”

“Not this man.”

“You wouldn’t spend $20,000 to make me look beautiful?”

“Sweetheart you’d look better at $200.”

“What?”

“I mean I don’t need to spend anything on you. You’re beautiful at any price.”

“You’re so full of shit Calabrese.”

“OH MY GOD!!!”

“What?”

“Did you read this?”

“What?’

“The story under the papaya.”

“What papaya?”

“THIS PAPAYA RIGHT HERE!!!!!”

(From magazine)

“Suddenly there seems to be a niche market for putting the va-va-voom back into your va-jay-jay, with specialized treatments and products designed to tighten and firm the region.”

“They’re tightening va-jay-jays now!!!!! Can you believe it??? I knew it was just a matter of time. First the e-mails for penis enhancement and bigger breasts and now this! Tightening the va-jay-jay!!!! Unbelievable!!!!”

“Give me back my magazine numb nuts. Why did you read this in the first place?”

“I was looking at the papaya. I love papaya. What the hell does papaya have to do with va-jay-jay anyway? You women are sick. Now you’re ruining fruit.”

“Hand over the magazine Calabrese or die.”

“This is so stupid. Who’s running around going, “Boy I wish I had a tighter va-jay-jay right now.”?”

“You’re pushing it.”

“With all the penis enlargement going on you don’t even need to tighten va-jay-jays do you? It’s kind of redundant don’t you think?”

“Calabrese……”

“When are they going to come up with a specialized treatment that lets us men get to the va-jay-jay in the first place? That’s what I want. Where’s that treatment?”

“If you ever want to see a va-jay-jay again you will hand over my magazine.”

“Here. I can’t believe the crap you women read. Tightening va-jay-jays… unbelievable. How come we can enlarge a penis and tighten a va-jay-jay but we can’t build a decent electric car? Hell, build an electric car and call it the Va-Jay-Jay and you’ll sell out in a week.”

“You want to name an electric car a Va-Jay-Jay?”

“Why not? We already have a Volvo. That sounds a lot worse than a Va-Jay-Jay.”

“You think Volvo sounds worse than Va-Jay-Jay?”

“I think a Volvo sounds like the part of a Va-Jay-Jay a man can never find.”

“That sounds like a joke you tell on stage.”

“Actually I think Va-Jay Jay should be the name of the car company. Chrysler, Ford, GM and Va-Jay-Jay. They could sell Volvo’s.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“It would save the economy. Ouch!!!! Don’t hit me with that!!! Unroll that magazine!!!”

“I’m never showing you anything in one of my magazines again ever.”

“Fine. I’m okay with that.”

“Where are you going?”

“The grocery store. I have a sudden craving for papaya.”

My Kingdom for a Thin Mint

2009-03-12T17:36:00.000-07:00

So the Girl Scout Cookies are here.

Great.

Just great.

I bought four cases of Thin Mints.

I sent them to the troops.

I almost felt like enlisting.

So I don’t have any Girl Scout Cookies.

None.

Nada.

Zip.

Zilch.

I actually feel refreshingly free.

No pressure to eat a box an hour.

I can sit here happily with my carrot chips and apple slices. I may even have a cool drink of water. Boy I wish I could have some broccoli today to take the edge off. That would be perfect.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW IN THE HELL CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO NOT WANT A THIN MINT???????

SON OF A BITCH!!!!!!

The damn things are everywhere!!!!!!!

So here’s the deal. One of the temptresses that works for me has every kind of Girl Scout Cookie imaginable on her desk.

Right out in the open.

Can you believe it?

I wanted to stab her in the head with my letter opener. But I had just used it to cut my apple.

I can smell the damn things from my office. In my head I start to do the caloric math. If I have one serving of Thin Mints, which I believe, is one plastic sleeve, that’s 16 cookies at 40 calories each for a total of 640 calories a serving. I have to walk twenty paces to her office so that will burn off about 300 calories. Today is Thursday so I get an automatic deduction of 200 calories. I looked briefly at the sun so that’s another 150 calories. I watched 15 seconds of an infomercial for a Bow Flex at 10 calories a second so that’s another 150 calories. So let’s see… if I eat 16 Thin Mints I will actually burn off 160 calories or... I could just eat 4 more and break even.

I didn’t even need my calculator for that.

So I walk over to her office, breaking a sweat midway and… and… there are no Thin Mints.

What the hell?

How can you have every kind of Girl Scout Cookie right out in the open and not put out Thin Mints?

“Uh….. No Thin Mints?”

“I don’t put those out.”

“What?”

“People eat them all so I don’t put them out.”

“What are you some type of heathen?”

“They eat the Thin Mints too fast so I just take them home for me.”

“How many boxes do you have?”

“Why?”

“I just want to know.”

“A few.”

“How many is a few?”

“Ten.”

“I’ll give you $100 for them.”

“They’re not for sale.”

“$200.”

“I’m not selling them.”

“$300 final offer.”

“I’m not selling my Thin Mints.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I can’t sell them to you. Your wife says you’re not supposed to eat them.”

“My wife doesn’t work for me.”

“Have a carrot.”

“What?”

“Your wife told us that if you ask for Thin Mints we’re supposed to tell you to eat a carrot.”

“Remind me to fire her when I get home.”

“You know there are other kinds of cookies here.”

“I wanted Thin Mints. Hell. What are these? Chocolate Chip? I guess I’ll have a few of those.”

“Um… Those...”

“SPAWN OF SATAN!!!!! WHAT’S WRONG WITH THESE COOKIES? PLLLLLTTT!!!! PLLLLLTTT!!!!”

“They’re sugar free.”

“They taste like crap. What’s happening to this country when the Girl Scouts start selling garbage like this? That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever put in my mouth and I drink tequila. God that’s bad. PLLLLTTTTTT!!!!!! PLLLLLTTTT!!!!!! Don’t they taste test this filth.”

“Sorry.”

“Why would you buy these?”

“They have less calories.”

“So does dog poop but you don’t eat that. Let me see that box. Wait a minute. These actually have more calories than a Thin Mint. Look at this. A serving is 3 cookies and there’s 160 calories a serving. That’s about 54 calories a cookie. A Thin Mint is only 40 calories a cookie!!!!!”

“I didn’t know.”

“Why in the hell would they make a sugar free cookie that tastes that bad and then make it more calories than a Thin Mint. Who was the marketing genius behind that? That idiot needs to be hanged!”

“I guess I could open a box of Thin Mints. But...”

“Of course you could. You’d actually be helping me lose weight.”

“Can I still have the $300?”

“Do you still want a job?”

“You should probably just have a carrot.”

“How much is my wife paying you?”

“I’m not supposed to say.”

“Obama gets elected and now this. I can’t believe this. Communists everywhere. Stupid Democrats. Stupid sugar free cookies. Stupid Thin Mints. Stupid Girl Scouts. Stupid Democrats. Stu…”

“You already said Stupid Democrats.”

“They deserved it twice.”

“Just go back to your office. Maybe you should drink one of your diet shakes.”

“Does a diet shake crunch like Thin Mint?”

“Maybe if you walked around the block....”

“With my luck those little Girl Scout drug dealers will be selling the damn things on the corner... Wait..... Maybe I will go for a walk.”

“Um…. You’re supposed to give us your money clip if you leave the building.”

“My wife?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll just go back to my office. I’ll have a carrot stick. Yum. My life is whole now. I hope you’re satisfied.”

*************************

“Andrea? It’s Mimi. Tony did exactly like you said but we didn’t give him any Thin Mints.”

“That’s great. I’ll give him a little treat for being good when he gets home.”

“Thin Mints?”

“Nope. Lucky Charms.”

She loves the smell of shopping in the morning.

2009-03-11T16:22:00.000-07:00

We’re in March so all of my... okay... the one New Years Resolution I made is already broken. I had resolved to have an “Ab” by the end of the year but…okay… maybe resolved isn’t the best word. I had “hoped” to have an “Ab”, but that would have required crunches that are not made by Nestles so that ain’t gonna happen.

So here we are in March, the season of Lent. Apparently being Catholic I’m supposed to give up something for Lent. So I figured I’d give up the same thing I gave up for New Years.

Hope.

My wife on the other hand made a real sacrifice. She gave up shopping. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen her weeping over an Estee Lauder catalog. She was crying and smacking herself in the head with it. The entire time she just kept repeating the same phrase, free gift with purchase (smack)... free gift with purchase (smack...”

I wanted to laugh.

But I was afraid.

My wife gave up shopping?

Part of me was thinking, “There is a god”. The other part was thinking, “Maybe that’s not my wife.”

What if the “pod” people captured my wife and substituted her for an alien that was on a budget?

Um... Maybe.......

No...

I would want my real wife.

She’s the only one that knows where my keys are.

I wonder...... Would this alien give me back the television remote?

“Um... Hi babe.”

“YOU DID THIS TO ME!!! (smack)”

“What? Why is this my fault? And stop hitting yourself in the forehead with that catalog.”

“I can’t believe you made me give up shopping. (smack)”

“Me? I made you give up shopping? Are you telling me that there is some magical word out there that I spoke that put a curse on your credit cards? Because if there is I need to know what it is for when this no shopping thing wears off.”

“Don’t screw with me right now Calabrese.”

“What? What did I do?”

“I gave up shopping for Lent so I could go to Ireland.”

“And that is my fault because.......?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“You’re just going through withdrawals.”

“I gave up shopping!!!!!!!!!!! And on top of that I’ve got some kind of bites all over me, I’m itchy, I’m bitchy and... And... something needs to die.”

“Uhhhh... I need to go put something away... a lot.”

“Free gift with purchase, (smack)”.

“Jeez just buy something babe. You’re gonna have a big red welt in the middle of your forehead.”

“Really? You want me to buy something? Really?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“A supportive husband would see the effort his wife is making to save money for her trip but nooooooooo........... You want me to break my Lent sacrifice. I can’t believe you. (Smack)”

“This is one of those times that no matter what I say I’m wrong isn’t it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Smack away babe. Smack away.”

I have to give her credit. Every year my wife her aunt and her cousin go to New York usually over St. Patrick’s Day. Maybe the whole St. Patrick Day thing has rubbed off on them because now they want to go to Ireland. Why three Portuguese women want to go to Ireland I have no idea? Are there outlet malls in Dublin?

So they are going to spend a couple days in New York, see a couple of plays and then fly to Ireland. The whole trip isn’t going to be cheap so she’s making an effort to save a few bucks now.

But she’s a tad edgy.

The following is an e-mail she sent to me today:

“I was in our little coffee area grabbing my yogurt and mentioned I was hungry. Rosemary brought me a "Bora Bora Organic Snack Bar".... yeeeaaahhh, that's what I was craving.... seeds!! It looks like something a big bird would crap! She said it's very nutritious... code for "tastes like shit"!!

So, to sum up.... I'm in shopping jail, I was viciously and repeatedly attached by unknown insect assailants, blown off by my doctor, and then offered bird crap to make me feel better. What's wrong with this picture??? How did this become my life???”

So I needed to do something to make her feel better.

I bought her a box of Lucky Charms.

I haven’t given it to her yet.

That’s a gift you have to give at the right moment.

Like when they’re boarding..........

A "short" one.....

2009-03-03T17:27:00.000-08:00

As many of you know I’ve been married for thirty one years.

In a row.

I’ve had many conversations with my wife over the past thirty one years and there is no way a man’s brain could store all that information coming out of her mouth.

My head would have exploded a long time ago.

That’s why when my wife starts to talk to me about stuff I could care less about my mind tends to drift.

I’m pretty good at the “look”. You know that glassy eyed stare that makes it look like you’re paying attention but all you actually hear is Waa waa waa waa waa.

The problem is sometimes something pops into my head while she’s talking to me and I can’t get it to leave.

“So I’m going to work out with Christine tonight and waa waa waa waa waa…..”
(Way out west….way out west.)

“We’ll probably have dinner at waa waa waa waa waa……”
(There’s story told… there’s a story told.)

“Then when I get home tonight I need you to waa waa waa waa waa…….”
(Bout a bunch of cowboys, tiny and bold… tiny and bold.)

“Don’t forget I need you to waa waa waa waa waa…..”
(Riding tall…. riding tall.)

“So when my sister calls we need to waa waa waa waa waa….”
(Tall in the saddle, herding cows the size of schnauzers but they’re cattle.)

“Are you listening to me? Waa waa waa waa waa…..”
(Yipee aye yay mini sirloin burgers, yipee aye yo mini sirloin burgers, yipee aye yay mini sirloin burgeeeeeeeeers…EEEyahhhhhh!!!!!)

“I said are you listening?”

“Yeah I got it babe. Hey…. You hungry?”

For those of you outside of California that may not have heard the Jack in the Box Mini Sirloin Burgers commercial you can see it at You Tube. It’s my favorite commercial of the year and it’s been stuck in my head all damn day. Here’s the link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ut0WDb-xzks

Out of the mouths of........

2009-02-19T17:34:00.000-08:00

I’ve mentioned before that my mother-in-law is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease. One of the things that seems to keep her more alert or aware is when she is around her great grandkids. During the day my daughter-in-law Melina stays with her and my two year old granddaughter, Angelina and my six year old grandson, Alex, get to visit with their great grandmother. (When he gets out of school)

You never know what those kids will say.

I had to run up to my mother-in-law’s house yesterday to meet a plumber.

“Hey Poppa.”

“Hey Alex.”

“Hi Tony.”

“Angelina! That’s your Poppa not Tony.”

“That’s okay Melina she can call me whatever she wants.”

“Hi Poppa. I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart.”

“Look at me. I’m pretty.”

(I might as well get the money clip out right now because that little girl is going to cost me a fortune.)

“Hey Poppa?”

“Yes Alex.”

“I’m sad.”

“Why are you sad?”

“Because of the recession.”

(HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

“The recession? Why would you be sad about the recession?”

“I don’t know what it is.”

“Well you’re not alone little buddy.”

“A lot of my friends at school are sad too.”

“You talk about the recession in class?”

“Nope.”

“Um… so where do you talk about it?”

“At lunch.”

(I have this image in my head of a group of six year olds sitting around eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches debating the stimulus package.)

“Alex why would you talk about the recession?”

“Cause a lot of my friends can’t get toys and stuff because their parents don’t have any money because of the recession.”

There’s not a lot that can make me speechless but when you hear something like that from the mouth of a six year old you need to take a moment.

“Uh…”

“The recession sucks Poppa.”

“Yes it does.”

“Poppa?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what a recession is?”

“Yes I do. A recession is when gross domestic production slows, businesses stop expanding, employment falls, unemployment rises, and housing prices decline.”

“Poppa I’m in the first grade now you don’t have to make stuff up anymore.”

“You’re right. A recession happens when you have eight years of ignorance and incompetence from your elected offcials.”

“What’s a depression?”

“Well a depression happens when the Democrats control the Presidency, the Senate and the House of Representatives or when your grandmother misses the Nordstrom yearly half off sale.”
“Okay Poppa.”

At this moment my beautiful angel of a granddaughter comes over and socks her brother in the nuts. And then “she” starts to cry!

“Alex! Did you touch your sister?”

“No mom honest! I didn’t! Honest! She just socked me in the privates.”

“You must have done something.”

“Honest mom I didn’t! I can’t lie. I’m honest it’s a character trait of mine.”

(HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

“A character trait? Alex when did you learn about character traits?”

“Helloooo Poppa. I’m in the first grade.”

“He’s right Melina. Angelina just walked up and socked him in the nuts.”

“In the privates Poppa, we’re not supposed to say nuts.”

“Sorry… She socked him in the privates.”

“Angelina why did you sock your brother?”

“I’m pretty.”

“I think she was upset that I was paying too much attention to Alex.”

“Well she can’t go around socking people in the nuts.”

“You mean privates mom.”

“I know Alex.”

So I met with the plumber and hung out for awhile with the kids.

As I was leaving……

“It really was my nuts Poppa. I don’t see what the big deal is. Nuts are nuts. It’s not like I said she socked me in the balls.”

“That’s true.”

“Give Poppa a kiss goodbye Angelina.”

“No.”

“Angelina!”

“Poppa stay.”

“Poppa has to go sweetie. I love you very much.”

“Look at me. I’m pretty.”

“Yes you are. You’re gorgeous.”

“Bye Tony.”

“Poppa Angelina! Goodbye Poppa!”

“Boy my sister can be a real pain. I’m glad I don’t have to be married to her. Give me a hug Poppa.”

Now she starts crying…..

“Okay sweetheart Poppa will hug you too.”

Alex shaking his head…. “She gets everything with that.”

As I was driving away the thought hit me that all the stress of these tough economic times doesn’t just hit adults. How our children and grandchildren deal with it goes unseen by many of us. I suspect even high school age young adults are feeling the effects and feel scared and unsure.

Many of us have lost jobs or know people that have. We know people that are losing their homes or businesses. Things are going to get a lot tougher before they get better. There are no simple solutions and whether we like it or not the world we live in today is going to go through tremendous change over the next few years.

In times like these there is nothing more important than family. Communicate with everyone, kids included. Don’t frighten them but explain the facts to them as simply as possible. Above all listen. You’d be surprised at some of the ideas kids can come up with.

I was talking to a friend of mine the other day and he said that all the negative news was making people sick. He told me that more and more people that he knew were diagnosed with cancer or some other illness. He was positive that negativity breeds negativity. That stress causes illness.

I think he’s right. We can’t ignore reality but we can control how we react to it. Jim Valvano, The North Carolina State basketball coach said the following while he was fighting his battle with cancer.

"I'm fighting cancer, everybody knows that. People ask me all the time about how you go through your life and how's your day, and nothing is changed for me. I'm a very emotional, passionate man. I can't help it. That's being the son of Rocco and Angelina Valvano. It comes with the territory. We hug, we kiss, we love. And when people say to me how do you get through life or each day, it's the same thing. To me, there are three things we all should do every day. We should do this every day of our lives. Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. And number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special."

There isn't much I can add to that.

For a friend.

2009-02-04T11:28:00.000-08:00

It’s been awhile so this is a long one.

Everything has a beginning, middle and an end.

Everything.

Even this post.

Well…

Everything except Guiding Light.

And true love.

And herpes.

Sometimes those two go hand in hand. But most of the time one of those involves too much tequila and the city of Tijuana.

But everything else has a beginning, middle and an end.

Life.

Life ends.

Whether we talk about it or not we all check out at some point. The older we get the more we think about it. Maybe because friends we know start to go, maybe because we’re faced with those life changing health moments.

But at some point we all die.

I’ve done it on stage a few times but I get resurrected the next time I perform. In that way comedians are a lot like Jesus.

We even have disciples.

Unfortunately mine are two retired strippers that come to my shows and yell at me to “take it off”.

I swear I have never seen those two old broads before in my life.

But the other kind of death…. The permanent one…. I’ve been thinking about that lately.

January has been very tough.

So far this year my high school wrestling coach, Glen Takahashi and Ron Baldan, my best friend in high school, best man at my wedding and godfather to my oldest son have both passed away. They were both in their 50’s. In addition three very close friends were diagnosed with cancer. Thankfully with surgery they should all recover.

The thing is…. I’m in my fifties.

Fifty one.

Saturday my wife and I were at a wedding reception and we had our photo taken together. They gave us a copy of the photo while we were at the wedding. Who was that middle aged overweight balding guy standing next to my wife? What the hell happened?

I’m getting old.

I could die.

I think I’m going to start saying I’m in my very late forties.

I have been thinking a lot about Coach Takahashi and Ron Baldan.

I was a member of the first wrestling team Coach Takahashi ever coached. It was at the University of San Diego High School.

I only joined the wrestling team because I saw that the cheerleaders sat at the edge of the mat with their legs crossed…. or not.

That’s how they cheered!!!!

I was an Italian high school male.

What else can I say?

Coach Takahashi was one of the most soft spoken men I have ever met. He weighed about 130 pounds and could turn me into a pretzel. He never yelled at you in anger. He yelled encouragement and instruction. He was a great motivator and a man of honor.

I was never a star. I won more than I lost but my heart was never into that sport. When I graduated I remember telling Coach Takahashi that he was the best coach I had ever had. And he was. He was also one of the finest men I ever met.

Coach Takahashi passed away on New Years Eve. Ron Baldan passed away a week later.

Ron Baldan was my best friend. I would have trusted that man with my life. He loved tequila, food and strippers and not necessarily in that order. There are way too many stories to tell about Ron. I’m going to share just one.

We did a fundraiser once where the guys dressed up as female Miss Universe beauty pageant contestants. There were about a dozen of us. Not one of us could ever pass for a woman.

Ever.

I was obviously Miss Italy and Ron wanted to be Miss Poland because Miss Mexico was already taken. When Ron came out on stage from behind the curtain he pretended he had a wooden leg and would bend over, pick it up, and then turn it in the direction he wanted to walk while he was on the “runway”. Later, as entertainment for the “contest”, Ron and I along with my wife’s cousin Albert did a rendition of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy dressed as the Andrews Sisters.

Each of us weighed over 250 pounds at the time.

We all had moustaches.

It wasn’t pretty.

But the best part of that event was at the second intermission when Ron dressed up as my mother in a skit we did to the song Shut Uppa You Face. I was out in front singing and Ron was sitting behind me on the stage dressed as an old heavy set Italian woman. He was holding a large bottle of Chianti and was rocking back and forth to the song taking huge gulps of Chianti. By the time the song was over the bottle was drained.

It was real Chianti.

I told you Ron loved tequila. Well that’s what we’d been drinking to get the courage to go on stage dressed as women.

First tequila.

Then Chianti.

Tequila and Chianti.

Sounds like a new cop show on FOX.

By the end of the night Ron actually believed he had a wooden leg.

I will miss both of those men.

There comes a time in every man’s life when he asks himself the question, “Why am I here?”

I spent thirty seconds reflecting on that last night.

Why am I here?

Why am I here?

Am I just a collection of the atoms that were created billions of years earlier in the interior of stars, the fraction of a fraction of a percent of normal matter that escaped annihilation in the first microsecond of the universe?

Uhhhh........

Nope.

Am I here for the food?

Does it really need to be more than that?

What if the reason I’m here is for a pizza with the works?

The average everyday Joe isn’t going to go down in history books for any great deeds. He isn’t going to leave some magnificent piece of art or music behind. He lives his life and when he dies those close to him remember their experiences with him. But when they die those before them are often forgotten by the next generation.

Everything has a beginning, middle, and an end.

So what’s the point?

Maybe there isn’t one.

I believe James Bond, or perhaps it was me at my bachelor party, said the following:

“Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die.”

But that isn’t enough is it?

So I’ve decided not to die.

I’ll just have a beginning and a middle.

Here’s my theory.

Everybody that retires.......dies.

If I don’t retire.

I can’t die.

But if by some chance I do die someday I need to have some “famous last words”.

That way I’ll be remembered. There have been some great famous last words.

Julius Caesar – “Et tu Brute?”

Lou Costello – “That was the best ice cream soda I ever tasted.”

Winston Churchill – “I'm bored with it all.”

Edmund Gwenn – “Yeah it’s tough. But not as tough as doing comedy.”

Union General John Sedgwick – “They couldn't hit an elephant at this dist. . . .”

I need to come up with some famous last words just in case. That way even if I don’t get to say them I can have it in my will that these are my famous last words.

Something like, “Et tu Andrea?”

or....

“I think there’s a couple of twenties in my money clip son.”

No....

I need something that will be remembered for all time.

Something profound.

Something…..

Something………..

AH HA!!!!!

“Chianti for everyone!”

Goodbye Coach.

Goodbye Ron.

You shall be remembered.

If I could have just one wish for Christmas.......

2008-12-23T13:08:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas.

See.

That’s not so hard to say.

Merry Christmas.

Two words.

Merry Christmas.

Two words that mean so much more than what most people think when you hear them.

For some reason we’re not supposed to say Merry Christmas anymore. Businesses are not supposed to send Christmas Cards they’re supposed to send “Holiday” cards. Too many people are offended by Merry Christmas.

How can you be offended by Merry Christmas?

I know what some of you are thinking. That I’m going to rant about Christmas being about celebrating the birth of Christ. That’s not going to happen here. You see that’s what we Italians call a “given”. I don’t need to explain that one.

I’m talking about the Christmas spirit, something that anyone regardless of race or religion can enjoy. Even godless communists can enjoy the Christmas Spirit. The “feeling” of Christmas.

Forget buying stuff. Forget the shopping and the madness of the malls. Forget about religion for a moment. Just concentrate of the feeling of Christmas.

Is peace on earth goodwill towards “man” a bad thing?

As tough as the economy is right now can’t we all just spend nothing more than a moment to think of family and friends?

Things cost money. Feelings, thoughts and imagination are free. That’s where the true meaning of Christmas really lies.

It’s a small world and we’re not here that long. I wish that feeling of Christmas could last all year but it can’t. As the human race we will never all agree on everything and in the end we’ll probably never have global peace. It just doesn’t work that way.

History will remember some of us. Most of us will be remembered only by family and friends. And some… some will be forgotten never really known by anyone.

But for a time each year all of us can share, whether we know each other or not, whether we are enemies or friends, a moment, a brief moment where the feeling of goodwill and friendship is extended.

A Merry Christmas moment.

Say Merry Christmas.

Mean it when you say it.

Let people know you wish them well. Give them a Merry Christmas moment. It doesn’t cost a dime.

I wish all of you a Merry Christmas.

I leave you with the words from my favorite Christmas song.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Let your heart be light
From now on,
our troubles will be out of sight
Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on,
our troubles will be miles away.

Here we are as in olden days,
happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who are dear to us
gather near to us once more.

Through the years we all will be together
If the Fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Merry Christmas!

Here comes Peter Feather Tail?

2008-11-28T13:49:00.000-08:00

A lot of people complain about their in-laws but not me. Mine were the best. Angie and Adrian welcomed me into their lives even though I was this “Italian guy with long hair” that wanted to marry their daughter.

My father-in-law passed away several years ago but my mother-in-law “Angie” is in her mid eighties and isn’t going anywhere.

Physically.

Unfortunately she has Alzheimer’s disease. She’s not completely debilitated although each day seems to bring new challenges for her and the family.

Thanksgiving was well….. different.

“How’s your mom getting here?”

“My sister is picking her up.”

(Doorbell rings)

“What time did you tell people to come over?”

“After 1:30pm.”

“It’s a quarter to one. That must be the old people.”

“Stop it. Just answer the door.”

(Tradition calls for anyone over the age of seventy to show up at least 45 minutes early for every event. Which is why when I invite them anywhere I lie about the time. But not my wife.)

(My wife’s aunt Rita her friend Wally and a cousin, I don’t know how we’re related to, were at the door.)

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Are we early?”

“A lit….”

“No… of course not.”

“Is Angela picking up Angie?”

“Yes we’ve got it covered.”

“She was a little confused this morning.”

“So was I. I bought ground lamb instead of ground beef for the stuffing.”

“He’s an idiot Ti Rita but he can cook.”

(30 minutes later my mother-in-law and my brother and sister-in-law show up. My mother-in-law gives me a hug and says…. )

“Happy Easter.”

“Uh….”

“Oh it’s so good to see you guys. I’m ready for the Easter egg hunt. I just love Easter.”

(She joins her sister in the living room and my wife and I go into the kitchen. My wife is definitely upset.)

“She thinks it’s Easter?”

“So… let it be Easter. What difference does it make?”

“But it’s Thanksgiving. The decorations, the food is all about Thanksgiving.”

“Babe, we’ve had turkey for Easter before. It’s not that big a deal. Let’s just go with it.”

“Okay but… It’s just…. She’s getting worse.”

“She is, but today is about family and being thankful for what we have. Don’t dwell on the negative stuff today.”

(And then I had an idea.)

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get the plastic Easter eggs out of the garage.”

“You’re what???”

“We’re going to have a Thanksgiving Day Easter egg hunt.”

“That’s crazy.”

“No it isn’t. Call the kids. If they haven’t left yet tell them we’re celebrating Easter today. Tell them to put the kids in their Easter outfits. Explain to them what’s going on. I’m going to run to Vons to get some candy to put in the eggs.”

“Calabrese this is nuts. You can’t do this.”

“I can and I will. I’m going to tell Rita and Wally. You call Sheila and Bobbi. If anyone else shows up let them know as soon as they get here that we’re celebrating Easter today for your mom.”

“But…”

“No buts. The Easter Turkey is making his visit today.”

(My wife called the kids and a few other people we had invited over and explained the situation to them. As each group arrived they were greeted with “Happy Easter!”)

(My sons cornered me in the kitchen.)

“Dad, Alex is a little confused. He knows its Thanksgiving.”

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him about the Easter Turkey.”

“Dad I think what you’re doing is pretty cool but I’m not sure it’s the right thing.”

“Look guys. I don’t know if it’s the right thing either. But it feels right. You’re grandmother deserves to have a good day. So today is Easter. We’re having an Easter egg hunt and I’m going to make sure she has fun.”

“Just…. Don’t confuse Alex too much.”

“Trust me.”

“Come on Dad.”

(We spent the day eating and talking and doing what any family would do on Thanksgiving Day. We even had a Thanksgiving Day Easter egg hunt. At the end of the day people left stuffed with turkey, pumpkin pie and whatever candy I had put inside the eggs that my wife and I hid. It seemed like a pretty normal Thanksgiving.)

“Angela wants to know if you can take mom home. They have to go to David’s house now.”

“No problem. Today was kind of fun wasn’t it?”

“You never cease to amaze me Calabrese. An Easter egg hunt on Thanksgiving…”

“Are you crying?”

“It’s just…”

“Honey it’s no problem. We just started a new tradition that’s all. The Thanksgiving Easter egg hunt. The grandkids loved it. Everybody had a good time. Your mom was happy celebrating Easter. Hell… she won’t even remember this tomorrow. Plus I got to have M & M’s for Thanksgiving so I’m happy. Life’s too short to sweat the small stuff babe. Just go with it.”

(About an hour later I took my mother-in-law home. She didn’t say anything in the car, she just looked a little confused. I’m not sure she knows the way home anymore even though she lives less than a mile away. When we got to her house I walked her up to the front door.)

“Thanks Tony. You’re a good son-in-law.”

“You're welcome mom. Did you have a fun day today?”

“Yes I did. I really did. You know… I know its Thanksgiving today. There’s no football in May. The Cowboys and Seahawks don’t play in May. Did I really think it was Easter?”

“Yes… Yes you did.”

“I’m losing it.”

“Not all of it.”

“The Easter egg hunt was a bit much.”

“It was fun though.”

“Yes it was. What are you going to do for Christmas?”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“You may have to dress up as a pilgrim or a turkey and hand out presents.”

“I’ve been a turkey before.”

“That’s what my daughter tells me…. I think.”

“Happy Thanksgiving Easter mom.”

“You too Tony.”

Alzheimer’s is a progressive and fatal brain disease. As many as 5 million Americans are living with Alzheimer’s disease. Alzheimer's destroys brain cells, causing problems with memory, thinking and behavior severe enough to affect work, lifelong hobbies or social life. Alzheimer’s gets worse over time, and it is fatal. Today it is the sixth-leading cause of death in the United States.

Not only does Alzheimer’s take a persons memory but it takes their dignity as well. It puts strains on the family you can’t even imagine. To find out more about Alzheimer’s visit the Alzheimer’s Association at www.alz.org

Wherever there is injustice.........

2008-11-24T17:39:00.000-08:00

My good friend Paul, http://paulstoecklein.blogs.com/ wrote a great post titled “The Trouble With Dreams” and it reminded me of the conversation I had with my wife this morning.

The alarm goes off, I give my wife a little nudge to wake her up, and she greets me with…..

“You have a huge carbon footprint.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your carbon footprint is too big.”

“I had Mexican food last night.”

“Idiot your carbon footprint!”

“I wear a 13 EEE of course my feet are big.”

“Not your feet, your carbon footprint.”

“What the hell did you dream about last night?”

“You need to reduce your carbon footprint.”

“Did I kick you in my sleep or something?”

“If you did you wouldn’t have woken up.”

“Why are you worried about my carbon footprint?”

“You use too many paper towels.”

“In my sleep?”

“No numb nuts. Yesterday when you made dinner you used too many paper towels. You went through two rolls of paper towels.”

“And this is an issue at 5:00am because……..?”

“Because your carbon footprint is too big.”

“Let me get this straight. Yesterday I used some paper towels and for some reason it bugged you enough to dream about my carbon footprint?”

“You went through two rolls!!!! How many rolls of paper towels are you going to use for Thanksgiving? You use too many paper towels!!!

“Really? Would you say I use a plethora of paper towels?”

“Look don’t start that Three Amigos crap with me. You use paper towels like they grow on trees.”

“They do.”

“What?”

“Actually they do grow on trees. Paper towels are actually a renewable resource, as opposed to a synthetic cloth that might be made of finite petroleum resources.”

“Shut up.”

“Shut up? That’s all. Shut up?”

“Don’t piss me off Calabrese?”

“You started this. Do you even know what a carbon footprint is?”

“I know what a carbon footprint is.”

“Then tell me.”

“Why?”

“Well, you told me my carbon footprint is too big. And I just would like to know if you know what a carbon footprint is. I would not like to think that a person would tell someone he has too big a carbon footprint, and then find out that that person has no idea what it means to have a large carbon footprint.”

“Wait… That’s… You’re doing that stupid Three Amigos El Guapo thing again.”

“Forgive me, sweetheart I know that I, your husband, do not have your superior intellect and education. But could it be that once again, you are angry at something else, and are looking to take it out on me?”

“Get out of bed!”

“Ouch!!! Jeeez woman what is your problem this morning?”

“Starting today you are going to be a more responsible eco friendly human. You Calabrese are going to reduce your carbon footprint.”

“All this over two stupid rolls of paper towels? This is nuts? What if I don’t want to reduce my carbon footprint? What if I feel like turning on every light in the house and every TV and every radio? What if I want to stand in front of the open refrigerator door naked to cool off? This is America!!! I still have a few rights! Maybe I’ll just go to the garage start my car and gun the engine all damn day!!!! What are you gonna do about it? Cover me in solar panels?”

“Are you done yet?”

“Our forefathers fought to leave the lights on! When Paul Revere warned us that the British were coming he used a lamp that burned oil!!! Well what if he didn’t have that lamp? We’d all be driving on the wrong side of the road!!!! Carbon footprint my butt!!!” That whole carbon footprint thing is just stupid. The human race is a pimple on the earths butt. You know what? In the end we’re all going to be one big carbon footprint. 50 million years from now some TV show on the Discovery Channel will host the dig for the remains of our carbon footprint. Well you can take my carbon footprint and shove it where the sun don’t shine. You can’t stick a solar panel up there! I tell you what when I’m dead plant a tree on my grave and use it to make paper towels!!!!”

“Now are you done?”

“Yes.”

“We… that’s right “we”, are going to make every effort to reduce our carbon footprint. Why? First we are going to set a good example for our grandchildren, second because we’ll actually save money and third because it’s the right thing to do.”

“That sucks.”

“Get over it. Did you hear Alex last night? Our six year old grandson wants to go green!”

“It’s not easy being green. What? Fine… I’ll cut back to one roll of paper towels. But don’t blame me if you get salmonella on Thursday. Wait…. Now I get it. It’s about everybody coming to our house for Thanksgiving isn’t it?”

“Of course not!”

“Oh yes it is. Thanksgiving is your El Guapo.”

“My El Guapo? Okay Dusty Bottoms get this straight. You’re going to keep that kitchen clean and you’re going to use a normal amount of paper towels. We are going to have a Happy and green Thanksgiving. Do not embarrass me or I’ll kill you is that clear.”

“Yes Jefe.”

In a way, each of us has an El Guapo to face. For some, shyness might be their El Guapo. For others, a lack of education might be their El Guapo. For us, El Guapo is a big, dangerous man who wants to kill us. But as sure as my name is Lucky Day, the people of Santa Poco can conquer their own personal El Guapo, who also happens to be “the actual” El Guapo!

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!

It's just no good anymore since........

2008-11-15T10:29:00.000-08:00

I burnt my nipple.

Boy that’s something you don’t say everyday.

In order to tell the tale we must go back to the beginning.

It was a dark and stormy night….

Okay so I live in San Diego it wasn’t exactly stormy.

I’ll start over.

It was dark.

I was hungry.

Inside my head my brain was saying to me…

“You should probably have some fruit Anthony, maybe a carrot or some snap peas. Think of your health.”

Inside my body my stomach was saying…

“Ma please. Fruit? Carrots? Come on Tone you’re Italian you can’t eat that crap and feel satisfied.”

The problem is they were both right.

So what do you do when confronted with one of those situations where wrong is right and right feels wrong? You know, like when you’re in a strip club with nothing but a debit card.

Well I decided I would take the high road. I’d eat all of my wife’s Jenny Craig Personal Pizzas. That way I’d be eating diet food. Eating something kind of like pizza but not really pizza.

And yes I said I’d eat “all” of her Jenny Craig’s Personal Pizzas. Hell you can’t eat just two or three and feel satisfied.

First I had to sneak down to the kitchen without waking my wife to get the pizza out of the freezer.

So using my catlike reflexes I slinked along the hallway wall to get downstairs. Did you ever notice how when you’re trying to be quiet you squeak?

I squeak.

I was like the friggin Tin Man. Where the hell was that noise inside my body coming from?

I think I need looser underwear.

I had considered dressing like a ninja but all I could find in my den to make myself black was an “El Marko” marker and I didn’t want to do anything permanent.

So I make it downstairs but I don’t turn on the lights. I don’t want a single light ray to waken my wife.

You don’t want to wake my wife up after midnight because the last thing she’s going to turn into is a pumpkin.

I figure I’ll just work with the light from the freezer.

You know nuking pizza after midnight with just the light from the freezer and the microwave is actually kind of romantic.

She’s got five Jenny Craig Personal Pizzas in the freezer. In my head I was thinking I don’t need to eat all of them. If I only eat four maybe she won’t notice.

I didn’t read the directions. It was dark. I figure it’s frozen; five minutes should be about right.

I should have known better from watching the Discovery Channel.

With each Jenny Craig Personal Pizza is a space age material that you set the pizza on in the microwave. After five minutes this material turns the cheese on the pizza into lava.

I’ve seen lava on the Discovery Channel.

I know lava.

That was lava.

So I’m staring at the bubbling lava through the window on the microwave waiting for it to be done.

The one thing I hadn’t counted on was the “beep”.

My microwave beeps. Three times when whatever you’re cooking is done. It’s a loud beep. A really loud beep.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, oh baby here it comes, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, BEEP… BEE….. SON OF A BITCH!!!!!

I grab the microwave door and thrust it open to stop the beep! I don’t know why I thought I needed to grab the pizza and yank it out of the microwave at the same time.

Have you ever touched lava?

I have.

Picture in your mind a middle aged overweight Italian man standing in the kitchen in the dark with his hands in molten pizza lava.

Naturally I pulled back from the pizza of death.

It wouldn’t let go.

It was now melted to my right thumb and index finger.

The whole thing seemed to be happening in slow motion. The pizza was flying through the air towards me. I ducked. Why? Because it was dark and I didn’t want the lava to hit me in the face.

Well the pizza wasn’t going anywhere. It was part of my hand now, the hand that was coming right at my body.

The pizza landed lava side up on my right breast. I had burning molten lava pizza cheese on my right nipple.

I may have used someone’s name in vain at this point.

I was wearing a tee shirt so it wasn’t direct lava on nipple contact but let me tell you it wasn’t much different. At this point I knock the pizza to the floor. I have lava pizza on the floor and a burnt nipple.

I mean a really burnt nipple.

Well what do you do when you have a burn?

You put ice on it.

Immediately.

Because the last thing you want is a blistered nipple.

Blistered nipple?

That may be the name of my new band.

So I take off my tee shirt and drop it on the floor. I go to the freezer and get an ice cube and put it on my nipple.

You know how timing is everything?

All of a sudden the kitchen light pops on and guess who is looking at her husband putting an ice cube on his nipple in the kitchen in the dark with his shirt and a pizza stuck to the floor?

You guessed it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Putting ice on my nipple. What does it look like I’m doing? You’re always questioning me. Can’t a man put ice on his nipples now and then?”

“WHY ARE YOU PUTTING ICE ON YOU’RE NIPPLE?”

“Uh… I burnt my nipple.”

“WHAT?”

“I didn’t want blistered nipple.”

“How did you burn your nipple at 1:00am in the morning??? Better yet why did you burn your nipple at all??? Who burns their nipple??? What kind of an idiot burns his nipple??? You better have a good explanation numb nuts.”

“I was trying to make lava in the microwave. I saw it on the Discovery Channel. It was an idea I had for a science project for Alex.”

“Uh huh…. Is that one of my Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s on the floor?”

“No. That is the molten lava pizza of death.”

“Why are there four boxes of my pizzas on the counter?”

“Uh… One would be too lonely and two can be as bad as one according to the song and three just feels perverse but four looks like a barbershop quartet and everyone loves harmony.”

“You were going to eat all of my Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s at one o’clock in the morning?”

“No I wasn’t. You are incorrect. I was not going to eat “all” of your Jenny Craig Personal Pizza’s.”

“What the hell is wrong with you Calabrese? It’s always something. If you’re not crawling around on the floor of our bedroom you’re burning your nipple. This is not normal. Normal people don’t do things this stupid.”

“It’s not my fault. I was hungry.”

“Have an apple for Christ’s sake.”

“Funny, that’s what my brain was telling me.”

“Well the next time why don’t you listen to that pea sized brain. Let me see your nipple.”

“You want to see my nipple? Yeah baby…..”

“Idiot! I want to see if you really burned it.”

“Fine. Go ahead and look.”

“Oooooh! That’s gonna blister!”

“Great. Just great. Blistered nipple. Probably leave scar. Hey…. Women like scars right?”

“Right. We women just love to see a scarred male nipple. We should put some aloe on that. Clean this up and then come upstairs and I’ll…”

“Clean this up? I’m wounded. I feel faint. I’m probably going into shock. Plus I’m still hungry. Maybe you could heat up one of your pizzas for me while I go over and lie down on the couch and try to gather my senses. Could you turn the TV on for me?”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! You want me to clean this up? HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! How long have we been married? HAHAHAHAHA!!!! You’re on your own blister boy. Clean this up…. I’m going back to bed. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!”

“But what about my nipple?”

“You and your nipple are on your own.”

"I don't think I should be alone right now."

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

Cause one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number, worse than two
It's just no good anymore since she went away
Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday
(Number) One is the loneliest number.....

We the people....most of the people.......

2008-11-05T13:41:00.000-08:00

Last night I wept.

No not because of the election results but because I lost 20 minutes of good pre election comedy material.

I have four shows this week. Now I have to think up some new stuff.

So I went to my local bookstore to pick up some current magazines to look for material ideas and I spied the bargain book table.

Everyone loves a bargain, especially during a recession.

There were all sorts of cooking books and military history books but the thing that caught my eye was a stack of hard cover dark blue books, with no outsider cover identifying them, that were marked down to $6.98.

That seemed like a pretty good deal to me. So I picked up the top book. The title was printed on the spine.

The Constitution of the United States of America.

On sale????

$6.98?

For a copy of the Constitution?

Over 50% off?

Are you kidding me?

So I opened the book to the first page.

We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

Pretty powerful stuff for $6.98.

The book also contained the Declaration of Independence and the Articles of Confederation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

All for $6.98.

I sat down right in the bookstore and started to read the Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments of our Constitution, written by men over 200 years ago.

Freedom of speech.

Freedom of religion.

The right to keep and bear arms.

Freedom of assembly.

The fundamental right to petition the government for a correction or repair of some form of injustice without fear of punishment for the same.

Prohibit unreasonable search and seizure, cruel and unusual punishment, and compelled self incrimination.

The Bill of Rights also prohibits Congress from making any law respecting establishment of religion and prohibits the federal government from depriving any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law.

I got all that for $6.98?

So I picked up the entire stack. Fourteen books in all and took them to the checkout counter.

The clerk looked at me like I was nuts.

“You must really be in to the constitution. Are you a teacher?”

“Sort of. I’m a comedian.”

“I don’t think there’s anything funny in the constitution.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“What are you going to do with all these?”

“Give them away. And you get the first copy. Do yourself a favor. Read it.”

As I sit down writing this I have one copy left. I gave then other 13 copies out in less than an hour. I gave them to the first thirteen people I met.

Yesterday was a historic day for our country. We elected the first African American to become president of the United States. Many of the men that wrote our Constitution and our Declaration of Independence were slave owners. They could not know and probably would never have believed that this event would ever occur.

But there’s a funny thing about our Constitution. It can be changed. We the people can make it better.

The Thirteenth Amendment banned slavery in 1865.

Five years later the Fifteenth Amendment gave all “men” regardless of race or color or previous status as a slave the right to vote.

Here we are, 138 years later, and an African American is the president elect of the United States.

We witnessed history last night.

It doesn’t matter who you voted for. It doesn’t matter what political party you belong to. It doesn’t matter what your religion or ideological beliefs are. It doesn’t matter whether you are a man or a woman. It doesn’t matter what your race or color is. Today we can all celebrate that this country has in place a living breathing document that allows us to change without violent revolution but under the rule of law.

It isn’t perfect. Eighteenth Amendment (Prohibition) proved that. But the Twenty-First Amendment fixed that little problem and assured that I can have a Patron Platinum gimlet now and then.

The Nineteenth Amendment gave women the right to vote. I’m on the fence on that one. I swear my wife picks her candidates the same way she picks the horses.

The Twenty-Sixth Amendment lowered the voting age to eighteen. It recognized that if you were old enough to die for your country you should be able to vote on those running it.

There have been seventeen amendments to our Constitution since 1791. There will probably be more. I can’t imagine what will influence us two hundred years from now.

My candidate didn’t win last night and at first I was a little depressed. But as I watched the celebrations of the other party on TV I saw the thousands of Americans who had exercised their right to vote I felt a sense of pride.

This is the greatest country on earth. We may have our ups and downs. At times we may lean to the left and at other times we may lean to the right but in the end this is still America. The land of the free and the home of the brave. The land of “we the people”.

From the Statue of Liberty we read:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

No matter what is said about other nation’s health care or education systems or energy policies, people come here. They come here to be part of “we the people”. They come here because there is hope. There is freedom. The freedom to be right and the freedom to be wrong.

There is the Constitution.

I picked one up for $6.98.

You should all go out and get a copy.

Yesterday we exercised our greatest right.

Today… Well today I just hope these pinheads don’t raise my taxes.

It must be Election Fever....

2008-10-31T18:12:00.000-07:00

“Hey Tone can you believe it? Japanese explorers have found proof of the “Abdominal” Snowman.”

“Abominable Snowman.”

“That’s what I said the Jap…..”

“You said Abdominal.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well unless the Japanese found a huge hairy man beast that likes to work out at 24 Hour Fitness in Nepal I’m pretty sure it’s “abominable”.”

That was an actual conversation I had yesterday with an “intelligent” college educated friend of mine in his mid thirties.

I’m worried.

Maybe it’s just me but do people seem just a little more stupid than usual?

Here’s another example. Here’s an e-mail my wife sent me today:

“I called Dr. Roth this morning and he actually called me back! Gave me the name of a Dermatologist to go see called Dr. Mofid. First available appointment is Dec. 15th! Told the receptionist it was for an ongoing, current problem. She asked if I “anticipated” it lasting until December!!! Anticipated? Can you believe it? Stupid %$#&%#!” (I had to edit that last line.)

So what is it?

Global warming?

The fall out from No Child Left Behind?

What?

Now for those of you that may be upset at me for that last line I believe it was Gandhi or possibly Emeril Lagasse that said, “Sacred cows make the best hamburgers.”

Come on we all know at least one child that needs to be left behind. I saw one yesterday screaming his head off in Vons. Trust me that kid needed to be left somewhere.

Stupid kid.

Maybe it’s the need for everyone to be winner. I blame the current financial crisis on recreational soccer, tee ball and self esteem. How do you learn from your mistakes if you aren’t allowed to fail?

So we just create stupid.

Or medical office receptionists that expect patients to predict the future.

Maybe it’s the election flu that’s making us stupid and we’ll all be cured after next week.

I think the election flu is really affecting me. I don’t have anyone to vote for. I’m a disgruntled Republican.

I guess I need to explain what a disgruntled Republican is. A disgruntled Republican is a fiscal conservative and a social moderate. I better give you an example. A disgruntled Republican doesn’t care if two gay people want to get married as long as gas is under $3 a gallon. Get gas under $2 a gallon and they can marry a donut. We don’t care.

Disgruntled Republicans look at Sarah Palin and say…. Well I can’t say what they say. But I can tell you this. I watched her speak last night. That was only the second time I ever touched myself while I was watching C-Span.

What?

No one remembers Margaret Thatcher?

Have I gone too far?

I don’t care.

I sick and tired of all this election crap. All I have to say to both parties is be careful what you wish for. Who the hell would want to be president now?

See…. Another example of just plain stupid.

But my top example of stupid is… well… It’s me tearing my house apart trying to figure out where my wife hid 50 pounds of Halloween candy.

I know I’m not supposed to eat it I just want to know where it is. Just in case. What if Al-Qaida attacks and the food supply is wiped out? I’m going to need that candy.

Dammit I know it’s here somewhere.

“What are you doing Calabrese?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re going through my lingerie?”

“Um… I was just picking out something for our anniversary?”

“Really? So you’d thought you’d wear some of my lingerie for our anniversary that’s in June?”

“It wasn’t for me… I was… Uh… I like the red one…..”

“OH MY GOD!!!! You’re trying to find the Halloween Candy!!!!!!”

“No I wasn’t. I was worried about Radon poisoning and I was checking the levels in our bedroom and…. Never mind that’s too stupid an excuse even for me. I just want one of those little Nestle’s Crunch Bars. They’re so small and they seemed so lonely in the store.”

“Calabrese you are not going to get any candy!!! Period!!! You know you’re not supposed to eat candy so just get over it and have a carrot or an apple.”

“Communist.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You want to take my hard earned candy and just give it away. Share the candy. Did those kids earn that candy? I’m just supposed to take my candy and spread it among the people that don’t have candy is that it? Let me guess 95% of the people won’t have to give their candy away and I’m just in that lonely 5% that gets screwed is that it? Well let them go out and earn their own candy!!! This is America!!!”

“Uh huh…. You’re just pissed because McCain is behind in the polls.”

“This isn’t about politics this is about fairness. I earned that candy. What if I wasn’t there to earn that candy? Then what would those little costumed commies do?”

“They’d egg our house.”

“Oh really, with what eggs? The eggs from chickens that were kept in those cramped cages or the expensive eggs from those other chickens we’re supposed to be voting on?”

“You’re just a bitter Republican with no Nestle’s Crunch Bars.”

“PLEASE TELL ME WHERE THE CANDY IS!!!!!”

“Nope.”

“Fine. But if Al-Qaida attacks and we starve it’s on your head.”

“I won’t starve.”

“What?”

“I know where the candy is.”

“You’re such a Democrat.”

“You’re such a Republican.”

“Screw the candy. Want to order pizza?”

“Nope. You can’t have that either.”

“Obama eats pizza.”

“McCain eats vegetables. He needs the fiber.”

“This is just stupid.”

“Yep. Now have an apple and get out of my drawers.”

“I miss Ronald Reagan.”

“Ronald Reagan. Please…”

“He always had jelly beans.”

Let me stand next to your FIRE!!!

2008-10-19T08:03:00.000-07:00

Menopause.

Latin for “Men… think before you speak or breathe.”

There’s no secret that I live in fear. Living with a woman going through menopause is like living with a, well….. I can’t think of anything scary enough.

Here’s the thing. For the first thirty years of our marriage I knew that one week a month I needed to disappear. It was a fairly regular week of the month and I could plan appropriately.

Sure I was a day or two off every once and awhile, and I’ve got the scars to prove it, but for the most part I got the hang of when Attila the Hun was coming to visit.

But this…..

This……..

You haven’t really lived until you’ve survived the hot flash of a menopausal Portuguese woman.

I could fry eggs off my wife’s butt.

I’m talking hot.

Fifty seven years ago Mary Reeser, aka the “Cinder Lady” was one of the first people to have thought to have spontaneously combusted. All they found of her was ashes in a chair and on the floor part of her left foot. Nothing else was burned. The FBI called it the “wick” effect. Basically she became a human candle. I’m not kidding, look it up on Wikipedia.

Wick effect my ass! You don’t need the FBI to explain what happened. It pretty obvious to me that Mary Reeser was going through menopause!

Last night I get home from performing and my wife is sleeping sideways across our bed. She has an industrial fan pointed at her and the TV blaring over the sound of the fan.

I’m tired. I need some sleep. But I’m not crazy. If I wake her up I’m a dead man.

So the first thing I did was look under her pillow to see if by any chance the ovary fairy had stopped by.

You never know when this menopause thing will end.

Then I grabbed my pillow and went downstairs to sleep on the couch.

The sound was so loud coming from our bedroom upstairs that I couldn’t sleep downstairs.

Apparently menopause causes women to go deaf.

So I creep back into our bedroom. I could have tromped back in. I mean she probably wouldn’t have heard me over the fan and the TV but I was afraid.

So I’m creeping.

Ever so lightly.

Using my cat like reflexes I moved around our bed so I could get to the TV to manually turn it down. I wanted to use the remote but she had a death grip on it in her sleep. I don’t know what she was dreaming about but she was choking the crap out of something or someone.

I swear I turned the TV down one notch. Just one little white bar and she moves. Crap! So I freeze. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do when confronted with a wild animal.

But then I realized that I was just a stationary target. So then I thought of that episode of Mythbusters where if you run in a zig zag pattern an alligator is not supposed to be able to catch you. I was about to zig when it dawned on me that there was not enough room to zag.

By this point my heart is beating through my chest. If she wakes up….. Oh god….

Then my survival instinct kicked in and I started to bob and weave. So I’m bobbing and weaving, weaving and bobbing trying to make myself as skinny as possible and I stub my little toe on that F%&*#+g fan.

The pain was unbearable. I make a muffled groan and whimper sound.

My wife rolls over.

STOP DROP AND ROLL TONY! STOP DROP AND ROLL!

That’s what my brain was telling me.

I dropped.

It wasn’t a clean drop.

And I forgot to roll.

It was more like Tiiiiimmmmmbbbbbberrrrrr!!!!!

So I’m on the ground and because the TV and the fan are so loud I don’t know if she’s awake or not and I’m too afraid to get up and look.

I start to belly crawl out of our bedroom like I’m a Navy SEAL in Vietnam. I’m trying to blend into my surroundings. Become invisible. I am the night. For a brief moment I became Rambo.

A very brief moment.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Crying?”

“Idiot. Get up off the floor and give me a good, I repeat good explanation for why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“I didn’t want to wake you up so I came in to get my pillow and sleep on the couch.”

“So where’s your pillow?”

“Uh… it’s on the couch.”

“So you came in and got your pillow, put it on the couch, and decided you needed to come back upstairs and crawl around on our bedroom floor because why?”

“Exercise.”

“Exercise? At 1:00am?”

“Exactly! I don’t have time to exercise during the day so I thought I do my required 30 minutes a day after I got home from my show.”

“You’re so full of crap Calabrese. You were going to turn my fan off weren’t you? Admit it.”

“No I swear I wasn’t going to turn off the fan I was going turn down the TV. The neighbors were complaining about how loud it was and after the Police came by and warned us twice I thought I better come up here and turn it down.”

“The Police?”

“Uh… I think it was the police. I may have dreamt that part.”

“This isn’t funny Calabrese. I’m hot, tired and irritable. Do you think it’s a good idea to screw with me right now?”

“No… not a good idea.”

“Now I’m awake. And because I’m awake you’re going to be awake. Capiche?”

“Yes Godfather.”

“You know if men had to suffer through menopause you couldn’t handle it. You’d be whining and crying all day. You’d go out and buy the most expensive air conditioning unit you could find and sit in front of it 24 hours a day.”

“Acupuncture.”

“Excuse me?”

“If I was going through menopause I think I would try acupuncture. There are about 500 million Chinese women. Now if the average life expectancy is 80 years that means that about 60 million Chinese women are going through menopause at any one time. 60 million hot flashes. Think about it. That could be the reason for global warming all by itself. But it isn’t. Why? I figure it must be acupuncture…or iced green tea.”

“Come over here I’ll show you acupuncture.”

“I can’t I pulled a muscle while I was working out.”

“Tell me again why I married you?”

“Huge hands.”

“Go back downstairs numb nuts. And don’t you dare wake me up again. Am I clear?”

“Yes darling.”

“Well?”

“Um… Could you turn down the fan and the TV?”

“CALABRESE!!!”

“OUCH!!! OUCH!!!! LET GO!!! THAT’S MY NIPPLE!!!! THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME, THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME. AUNTIE EM! AUNTIE EM! IT’S A TWISTER IT’S A TWISTER!!”

Times like these......

2008-10-15T12:16:00.000-07:00

I’ve been so busy with running a bank, standup comedy and radio that I’ve been remiss in my writing. I was about to shut down this blog figuring I’d written enough to give me material for the next five years when I received several e-mails and comments saying essentially that in “times like these” we need a laugh.

“Times like these.” I wondered if I was ever going to have a good “I lived through the great depression” story that was anything other than my wife missing a Nordstrom Half Off Yearly Sale. Now I do.

The world is very tense right now. Times are tough. We adults stress about finances, 401k plan values and job security, yet kids for the most part are oblivious to what is going on outside of their world. And they see the world a whole lot different than we do.

So I give you a conversation with my oldest grandson, Alex age six, that we had this weekend before the Charger game.

“Poppa?”

“Yes Alex.”

“My teacher says that humans evolved from monkeys 20 million years ago but I don’t think that’s right.”

“Uh…. What grade are you in again?”

“I’m in the first grade.”

“And they teach you this in the first grade?”

“Nope.”

“But you said your teacher said that humans evolved from monkeys 20 million years ago.”

“She did.”

“I’m confused.”

“She said it but she didn’t teach it to us because I didn’t learn it.”

“If you didn’t learn it then how did you remember to tell me?”

“Because I remembered that I didn’t evolve from a monkey.”

“Uh… What did you evolve from?”

“A shark!”

“A shark?”

“Yep. Some people evolved from monkeys. You can just tell. But some of us evolved from other stuff. You know, like sharks.”

“What makes you think you evolved from a shark?”

“Because I like to eat things and I’m mean.”

“You’re mean? I don’t think you’re mean.”

“Well I’m not mean all the time just when I’m dealing with the evil Justin or the evil Lucas.”

“And they evolved from monkeys?”

“Nope, they evolved from spiders.”

“So I take it you have an issue with Justin and Lucas.”

“EVIL Justin and EVIL Lucas. I don’t have a problem with normal Justin and normal Lucas.”

“So you have two kids named Justin and two kids named Lucas in your class?”

“Nope.”

“Poppa is a little confused here Alex.”

“Sometimes evil Justin and evil Lucas aren’t evil.”

“They’re normal?”

“Yep.”

“So when they’re evil you act mean to them?”

“I used to bite them.”

“Well that would explain the shark thing.”

“But I get in trouble if I bite them so I punch em instead.”

“But sharks don’t have fists.”

“I know that Poppa but I told you that I “EVOLVED” from a shark. I’m not a shark now.”

“That’s true.”

“What did you evolve from Poppa?”

“Your grandmother, she made me what I am today.”

“You’re funny Poppa. You didn’t evolve from Grandma. Grandma has a uterus. She has actual babies. She already evolved so you can’t evolve from her.”

“Um… You know about the uterus?”

“I know about a lot of things Poppa, I’m in first grade now.”

“And they teach you about a woman’s uterus?”

“Nope. Jeffrey taught me about that.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Jeffrey evolved from a snake.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

“I think you evolved from a bear Poppa.”

“A grizzly bear?”

“Nope. I think you evolved from a polar bear.”

“A polar bear?”

“Because you’re big and white.”

“That’s what your grandma keeps telling me.”

“Grandma evolved from a parrot.”

“A parrot?”

“Yep, because she says the same thing over and over again.”

“She does?”

“Yep. Sometimes I don’t listen the first time so she has to tell me again but because I’m a man I don’t listen the second time either so she has to tell me again only that time it’s louder.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I know. Grandma told me. She says you never listen.”

“I listen it’s just that I don’t always hear her.”

“You have to pay attention Poppa. You have to hear with your eyes too. That’s the secret.”

“That’s the secret? I almost spent $39 on a DVD to find out about it when all I had to do was ask you?”

“All you have to do is pay attention to people Poppa and you can learn everything.”

“I think you may be on to something Alex.”

“I know. It’s a first grade thing.”

“That must be it.”

“Poppa, you want to know some of the other stuff I know?”

“Sure.”

“I think Angelina evolved from an angel.”

“That’s a very nice thing to say about your baby sister Alex.”

“When angels get mad they shoot lightening bolts and laser “beans” from their eyes and fry people and then they cry a lot.”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody, some things I just know.”

“So do your mom and dad know about his evolution thing?”

“What’s evolution?

“The stuff you just told me about monkeys and sharks and snakes and stuff.”

“I told you about EVOLVING.”

“Oh… I see… So do your mom and dad know you used to be a shark?”

“I didn’t use to be shark.”

“But you told me you evolved from a shark.”

“I did.”

“But….”

“You just don’t get this do you Poppa?”

“No I guess I don’t.”

“You need to watch the Discovery Channel.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“And pay attention.”

I give you my pledge to post a new story at least once a week during "times like these". Maybe I'll just let Alex write this for me.

The secret to being married for thirty years is.......

2008-07-16T17:26:00.000-07:00

These are two of my grandchildren. They're cousins. Angelina Isabella is almost two and John Anthony just turned two. Whenever they are together they “talk” and laugh and generally have a good time. We have no idea what they talk about or even what language. We think they're speaking Czechoslovakian, Greek or in some kind of code. So I believe that means my grandchildren are geniuses.

"What the hell are they talking about?"

“I think Angelina is a liberal."

"What!!!"

"She said something about Obama.”

“She said mamma.”

“I think John wants the remote.”

"I think they're talking about dinner."

"Nahhhhhh....... They'd be arguing....."

“Well they seem to understand each other.”

“That’s because they’re not married.”

I consider myself a very fortunate man.

There are very few of us that can say they’ve been married to the same woman for thirty years.

In a row.

Since our anniversary in June I’ve had a lot of people comment on how amazing it is that we’ve been married for so long.

Why is that such a shock?

You see I don’t believe the grass is always greener on the other side. I figure grass is grass; you just have to constantly remember to mow and water it.

Which is why I don’t have a lawn.

I hate yard work.

I have rocks.

Rocks never have to be mowed. Rocks don’t need fertilizer. Rocks never go anywhere. Rocks are just rocks. You hose them off every once in a while to keep them clean and they’re good to go.

But they don’t go.

Because they’re rocks.

Which in a nutshell is why I’ve been married for thirty years.

I like rocks.

Some people say that my wife is a rock for putting up with me for thirty years.

Now I know a lot of people that have been married more than once. I know one poor guy that’s been married five times.

Why?

Why would you do that?

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”

“Well… kind of… what happens if she just wounds me?”

All his previous marriages ended in divorce.

Don’t you think at some point this guy needs to look in the mirror and say, “Is it me?”

And what kind of an idiot marries a guy that’s been married four times.

"Oh I know I’m the one, he says I’m his soul mate."

By the way he’s fifty four and his new wife is twenty seven.

Yeah…. That’s gonna last.

I could never do that.

Marry a woman in her twenties…

How in the hell do you listen to that music?

How in the hell does a guy in his fifties even talk to a woman in her twenties?

I’d have to hire an interpreter.

“She says you’re too old and you’re creeping her out.”

“Tell her I have money.”

I had one friend of mine tell me that my wife and I have been married for thirty years because we’re “comfortable” with each other.

Ya think?

Of course I’m comfortable.

What’s wrong with being comfortable?

They say the secret to being happy in life is comfortable shoes.

Maybe if you’re single, but trust me, the secret to being happy in life if you’re married is being comfortable with your wife.”

But this comfort thing didn’t come overnight.

I had to be trained.

Now I’m smart.

I’m like the farmers pet pig that only had three legs.

I’m too smart to eat all at once.

Even that pig was comfortable.

For a while.

But the real secret to being married for thirty years is communication.

It doesn't mean you have to understand what the hell your wife is talking about.

As long as you're communicating.

A typical conversation might go something like this:

“What do you want to watch?”

“I dunno. What to you wanna watch?”

“America’s top model.”

“I don’t wanna watch that.”

“Then go upstairs.”

“I’m hungy.”

“What do you wanna eat?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to eat?”

“I dunno… something.”

“Do want fast food?”

“I dunno.”

“Just get me something.”

“What?"

“Anything.”

“Okay I'll go to Wendy’s?”

“I don’t like Wendy’s”

“You said anything.”

“Anything but Wendy’s”

“How about Arby’s?”

“Anything but Wendy’s and Arby’s."

“But….”

“Just get me a cheeseburger.”

“From where?”

“I don’t care.”

And that my friends is the secret.

In the end it all comes down to making her happy.

Even if it doesn't make any sense.

Walk Like a Man.........

2008-07-03T12:22:00.000-07:00

Okay… This is a little personal.

It’s difficult to talk about.

It still gives me nightmares.

But they say time heals all wounds and it’s only been a week.

I spent four days in Las Vegas last week. My wife and eight other friends went with us. I had to do a radio promotion and a few other business related items but the trip was mainly for pleasure.

We all were going to see The Jersey Boys on Saturday night.

We stayed at the Venetian Hotel. The Venetian and the new Palazzo Hotel are really pushing the Jersey Boys theme. You can’t ride an elevator in either hotel without hearing Frankie Valli music.

Here’s the thing.

Lately I’ve been traveling a lot. A hotel suite, no matter how fancy, is just not the same as being at home.

They say a man’s home is his castle. That’s not entirely true. It’s really just one room of the house that’s his castle.

You got it.

The bathroom.

Sanctuary.

Next to the remote there is nothing more precious to a man than his bathroom.

Sometimes men will just take the remote into the bathroom with them. It doesn’t get any better than that.

A man’s bathroom is comforting. It’s private. It’s like going back to the womb, if the womb had a sports page.

But a hotel bathroom is different.

Especially if you’re sharing one with your wife.

You have to plan “sanctuary”.

On Saturday morning I woke up at 4:30 in the morning for absolutely no reason. This happens to you when you turn fifty and is the primary reason for early morning traffic jams.

Old people awake with nothing to do and no where to go. “I think I’ll go for a drive.”

But that’s another story.

Since I hadn’t gone to bed until 2:30 in the morning this was at first a little annoying. But as I looked over at my wife who was sound asleep, and by the smile on her face obviously dreaming of a Nordstrom shoe sale, it hit me.

Sanctuary!

Then my next thought was that I needed something to read.

Men know what I mean. I’ve read everything while seeking sanctuary. I don’t know what methyparaben, propelene glycol, Octyl methoxycinnamate, sodium laurel sulfate or FD & C colors are but I know they’re in shampoo.

So I grab all the magazines in the suite. “One of these has to be worth reading.”

“Sanctuary” in a suite at the Venetian is actually a little closet inside the bathroom. So technically you can close yourself off in the bathroom and then close yourself off in the little closet so you have an extra layer of “sanctuary”.

Ummmm……

This is the tough part.

Just as I started to get “settled”……

“BOOOOOOOWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOOWWWWOP!!!! This is the Venetian hotel early alert system. There has been an incident in the hotel that we are investigating. Blah blah blah blah blah….. BOOOOOWWWOP!!! BOOOOOOWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOWWWOP!!!!
What the hell?

Did you know that there’s a speaker in your hotel room that broadcasts messages and alarms?

I didn’t.

You can’t believe how loud this was.

It sounded like we were under attack.

F%*&ing Taliban.

Figures…. Just as I get “settled” the commie bastards attack.

I thought maybe I was dreaming.

But then…..

“BOOOOOOOWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOOWWWWOP!!!! This is the Venetian hotel early alert system. There has been an incident in the hotel that we are investigating. Blah blah blah blah blah….. BOOOOOWWWOP!!! BOOOOOOWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOWWWOP!!!!

Crap!

Now I’m locked up tighter than an altar boy before mass.

But I’ve got a decision to make.

Do I finish getting “settled”?

“BOOOOOOOWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOOWWWWOP!!!! This is the Venetian hotel early alert system. There has been an incident in the hotel that we are investigating. Blah blah blah blah blah….. BOOOOOWWWOP!!! BOOOOOOWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOWWWOP!!!!

Or do I flee for my life?

Then the answer came to me.

It came over the speaker in our room.

“Stay…. Ahhhhhh just a little bit longer…..please please please please tell me that you’re gonna….”

Frankie Valli had answered the question.

“BOOOOOOOWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOOWWWWOP!!!! This is the Venetian hotel early alert system. There has been an incident in the hotel that we are investigating. Blah blah blah blah blah….. BOOOOOWWWOP!!! BOOOOOOWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOWWWOP!!!!

There couldn’t possibly be a real emergency if they were playing Frankie Valli music in between the announcements. Could there?

“Hang on, hang on, hang on to what we got Dooh doo, dooh doo, dooh doo……”

This had to be a sign.

I’m not going anywhere. This was my “sanctuary”. This was my moment. I may die but I’ll die… ummm… lighter.

I told you this was difficult to write about.

I get my concentration back and read about the Blue Man Group, the best buffets in town, where to buy jewelry, Las Vegas restaurant reviews, the Tao night club………………

“BOOOOOOOWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOOWWWWOP!!!! This is the Venetian hotel early alert system. There has been an incident in the hotel that we are investigating. Blah blah blah blah blah….. BOOOOOWWWOP!!! BOOOOOOWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOWWWOP!!!!

“Working my way back to you babe with a burning love inside…….”

You can’t make this stuff up.

Now some of you are probably wondering what my wife was doing during all of this.

It’s simple.

She was snoring.

Yes through all the commotion, the alarm, the music….. she slept.

I leave “sanctuary” shave, shower, get dressed and turn on the TV.

“BOOOOOOOWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWOP!!!!! BOOOOOOOOOWWWWOP!!!! This is the Venetian hotel early alert system. The incident has been investigated and has been resolved.”

Now my wife wakes up.

“It’s six o’clock in morning! Dammit Calabrese you woke me up! I need some sleep. What the hell are you doing up at six o’clock in the morning? We’re in Vegas who the hell gets up at six o’clock in the morning?”

“My eyes adored you….. though I never laid a hand on you…. My eyes adored you….”

“Where is that music coming from? Turn that damn radio off!!!”

“So close… so close and yet so far……”

And the music stopped.

Thirty Years... Thirty Years... In a Row....

2008-06-25T15:14:00.000-07:00

It’s been awhile so this is a little long.

Thirty years…..

That’s how long I’ve been married.

Thirty years….

In a row.

We went back to Maui for our 30th wedding anniversary. That’s where we spent our honeymoon. It’s also where we went for our 25th wedding anniversary.

Some people say I like returning to the scene of the crime.

The truth is I like Maui because I don’t have to learn a foreign language.

The problem with vacationing in a foreign country is… well… they’re all…. you know…so foreign.

So we traveled to Maui on Hawaiian Airlines and because it was our 30th anniversary I decided we should travel First Class.

First Class is a different world from the rest of the airplane.

“At this time we’d like to begin our pre boarding.”

See when you’re in First Class you become a “pre boarder”.

“We’d like to invite any families traveling with small screaming children, cripples or anyone pretending to be crippled, anyone needing assistance and of course our First Class guests to pre board at this time.”

All of a sudden I felt a little uncomfortable.

“Come on honey we get to pre board. Limp a little.”

“What?”

“Pretend you have a fake leg or something so people don’t hate us.”

“Just get on the damn plane.”

We sat down in these nice leather seats with plenty of leg room. My whole butt fit on just my seat. It was awesome.

And then they came.

The people traveling in coach.

No one smiles when you’re boarding a plane for a five hour flight and you’re traveling in coach.

They all glared at me as they walked by.

I don’t know why but I started apologizing.

“Sorry… It’s our 30th anniversary. Two of us. Right here. 30 years. In a row. Hey, 30th anniversary, that’s all. Don’t normally sit up here. My wife lost her leg in the last Nordstrom sale. She was fighting the Taliban for a black sweater.”

“What are you doing?”

“People hate us for sitting here.”

“Yeah... well…Life’s a bitch.”

My wife didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. Especially since our steward “Eddie” looked like a male supermodel.

I think I heard her say “yum” and it wasn’t because of the free macadamia nuts.

Apparently women can be pigs too.

Eddie called us by our first names and stuffed us with food and drinks the entire flight. By the end of the flight I was ready to adopt this guy and believe me so was my wife.

We stayed at the Fairmont Kea Lani in Wailea. Kea Lani is a Hawaiian term that means “maxed out credit card".

Everything there is expensive.

The first day we had lunch at the hotel and the bill was $142. I had teriyaki chicken with pineapple, my wife had a chicken salad and the bill was $142.

$142?

I thought maybe we had eaten the last chicken on the island.

“This wasn’t someone’s pet was it?”

“Excuse me “Bra”?”

“The chicken. Did it have a name? For $142 I thought maybe it had a name.”

Hawaiians have no sense of humor when it comes to their chickens.

That night we had dinner at a very popular upscale restaurant called Nick’s.

The dinner special was Pacific wild abalone.

The waiter described all the wonderful things the chef was going to do to this abalone and I have to tell you… I felt a quiver.

So I order the abalone and this woman at the table next to ours leans over to me and says, “You ordered the abalone? Don’t you realize it’s an endangered species?”

“Yes… well… maybe if it didn’t taste so good it wouldn’t be endangered. And if it is endangered then I might as well eat the last one before someone else eats it. I think I ate the last chicken for lunch. Now go tell everyone how much you love Obama and leave me alone.”

She didn’t bother me again.

By the way she was eating salmon.

Wild Salmon.

Go figure.

Liberals.

By the way that abalone was so good it was like eating a piece of God. If the Catholic Church could figure out how to make communion wafers taste like abalone every Sunday mass would be a sellout.

Why don’t they make flavored communion wafers? A different flavor every week. If I knew I was getting a pizza flavored wafer you might see me in church for something other than a funeral.

But that’s a different topic.

The abalone wasn’t cheap.

$120 a plate.

I would have paid twice that much.

At that point I was like Richard Attenborough in Jurassic Park, “Spared no expense.”

My wife thought I was an idiot.

“You just spent $120 on three bites of snail.”

“It wasn’t a snail it was an abalone and it might have been the last one.”

“Fine, you blow $120 on a snail and I’ll go to the spa.”

I hate when she goes to the spa because she always has something done at the spa that I’m supposed to notice.

“Look.”

“At what?”

“My toes.”

“What about your toes?”

“They match.”

“And this is news because they didn’t match before?”

“The color idiot, the color.”

“Huh?”

“The nail polish!!!”

“Oh…. It looks very pretty.”

“That’s it? It looks pretty? You don’t notice anything else?”

(I hate these tests. You would think after 30 years I would get a hall pass but nooooooo…….)

“It’s a nice color babe. What do you want me to say?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t notice that the color matches my bikini.”

“Sweetheart. We’ve been married 30 years. In a row. In 30 years have I ever commented, even once, about the color of anything you’ve had painted on your body?”

“If I had my toes painted bright purple you’d notice.”

“I didn’t think you had a bright purple bikini.”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t say anything about my face.”

(Crud)

“Your face looks nice.”

“That’s it?”

“It matches your bikini.”

“You think my face matches my bikini numb nuts?”

“Um…just the top.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t notice how soft and smooth my face is?”

“Maybe if you were smiling right now it would show more.”

“I had a pedicure, a manicure, a facial and a full body stone massage and you don’t notice anything different?”

“I feel poorer.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Sorry babe I just don’t get this spa thing.”

“You should get a facial.”

“I’m not gay.”

“Homophobe, they have facials for men.”

“Like I said I’m not….”

“Don’t be ignorant. Men get facials and manicures and pedicures everyday.”

“Not this man.”

So she talks me into getting a facial.

I don’t know why I agreed to it. I think it was because I wanted to know what goes on in that spa.

I was greeted by this smoking hot young Hawaiian babe at the counter. I think her name was Oolala.

“So Mr. Calabrese you’re having the Haleekallee ukalele (whatever) treatment for men.”

“My wife wants me to do something to my face.”

“Is this your first facial?”

“Of course it is!!! Do I look gay?”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

“Okay Mr. Calabrese so go through the double glass doors and there is a locker room on your right. There’s a warm robe and slippers for you to change into.”

“Why do I have to change into a robe and slippers? It’s my face. My face doesn’t need a robe and slippers.”

“That’s fine Mr. Calabrese you don’t need to change you can stay dressed if you like. It was just to make you feel more comfortable.”

“I think I’m more comfortable with my shorts on.”

“No problem. If you would just follow me to our waiting area your aesthetician will be right with you.”

“My what?”

“You’re aesthetician.”

“I’m just here for my face.”

“Yes sir.”

“Shouldn’t I get a facialist or something?”

“Mr. Calabrese don’t worry, Simone will do your facial for you.”

“Simone? Does she look like a Simone?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know… uh… all Simonee and everything. You know French or something.”

“Just wait here.”

So she leaves me in what looks like a set from an old Star Trek episode. You know the one where Kirk is being seduced by the dancing green alien chick? Exactly like that. There are crystals and chimes and dried fruit and these two huge glass jars with flavored water. But the paper cups to drink the water were these little tiny cups. I had like ten cups of water. Then there was this weird music playing real lightly in the background. It sounded like Yoko Ono was being beaten with a duck.

Simone comes to get me.

Simone does not look like a Simone. She may have looked like a Simone once but that was about fifty years ago.

She takes me to her room.

“Take off your shirt.”

“I don’t wanna take off my shirt.”

“I am going to massage your shoulders and I need you to take off your shirt.”

“What do my shoulders have to do with my face?”

“Take off your shirt!!!”

“Yes ma’am.”

Now I’m a little scared.

The next thing I know I’m covered in hot blankets, I’ve got steam and hot towels all over my head, and this crazy old French broad is squeezing my nose. What the hell?

“So where’d you work before? Abu Ghraib?”

“What? Just relax. Aren’t you relaxed? You will be relaxed. I told you to relax!!!”

“Yes ma’am.”

Now she’s “massaging” my face with what feels like a hammer. It was her fingers.

50 minutes later we’re done.

When I went back out to the front desk to pay smoking hot babe Oolala asks me if I’d like to leave Simone a tip.

“Tell her to clip her nose hair. It’s kind of scary when you’re looking up at it.”

Don’t worry I left her an extra forty bucks. I may be an uptight middle-aged homophobe but I’m not cheap.

I get back to the hotel room and my wife says.

“You’re face looks ten years younger.”

“Of course I look younger!!! I just had the top five layers of my face melted off!!! MY FACE IS RAW!!!!”

“You’re just a big baby.”

“How do you women do this crazy stuff?”

“You need to learn to relax.”

“I know how to relax. Give me a Patron Platinum gimlet on the rocks and a plate of macadamia encrusted sautéed abalone and I’ll relax all damn night. But I can’t relax with an old French woman squeezing my nose!!!! ”

“Great big baby. It’s just a facial.”

“Look at my nose.”

“What about your nose?”

“It matches.”

“Matches?”

“Your Bikini. OUCH!!!! Not the face! Not the face!!!”

Jack Spratt Could Eat no Fat....

2008-05-13T22:27:00.000-07:00

Back Fat.

Back fat?

On MSN.com today under the health section was a listing for “Back Fat”.

The first thing that popped into my mind was a new Ted Nugent song.

Go ahead try it.

“Well I don't know where it comes from
But it sure do come
Don’t want it comin' for me
The pizzas probably do it
Cause they’re just to damn good
Much better than celery

They give me Back Fat Fever… Back Fat Fever…”

I take great pleasure in knowing that many of you will now have this song stuck in your head.

For those of you that just don’t get this look up Ted Nugent on Wikipedia.

Almost everything can be found on Wikipedia.

Unfortunately they have no references to “Back Fat”.

It also can’t help you with Homeland Security and the TSA.

Let explain.

I spent four days in Chicago last week.

I love Chicago.

I hate flying to Chicago.

I also hate flying back from Chicago.

Because I hate flying coach.

On the way to Chicago I had a Hassidic Rabbi fully recline his seat in front of me the entire flight.

His head was in my lap for four hours.

By the time we landed I actually felt a tad German.

On the way back I had made up my mind that no way in hell was I going to let that happen again no matter who sat in front of me.

I had the window seat and my wife had the middle seat.

At first I was feeling a little light headed because no one sat in front of us. We actually had three empty seats right in front of us. Can you believe it?

I was so happy.

Then it happened.

Coming on to the plane late were Conan the Barbarian, Helga the Circus Fat Lady and their demon spawn.

Well ladies and gentleman there’s a time in every man’s life were he needs to stand up for himself. A time to say I’m a man and I control my own destiny. A time to say I’m a man and I’m going to prop my knees against that seat in front of me, lock my arms against it and make sure that son of a bitch is not reclining that seat.

And that’s exactly what I did.

Conan sits in front of me, Damian sits in front of my wife and Helga sits on the aisle.

We take off and I’m ready.

There’s no way in hell that seat is reclining.

After we’re airborne Conan tries to recline.

Sorry sucker!!!!

He tries and tries. He’s now throwing his back against the seat trying to make it go back. Repeatedly he thrusts himself harder and harder at the seat.

All I could think of was a line from the war movie "The Longest Day".

“Hold until relieved….hold until relieved.”

My wife is mortified

She whispers to me, “Knock it off they’ll throw us off the plane.”

“Not at 30,000 feet they won’t”

“Idiot you’re going to cause a scene.”

Damian has now turned around in his middle seat and is looking over the seat at me.

“I want PEANUTS!!!!”

You know the expression, “No child left behind”?

They’re wrong.

We all know at least one child that should have been left behind and one of them was sitting in front of my wife.

“I want some Peanuts! I want some Peanuts!”

My knees are sore but I’ve held fast. Conan is frantically trying to force the seat back.

And then I hear Helga the circus lady talk, “Get the plane lady to see if she can fix it.”

The plane lady?

Conan’s hand reaches up to press the call button for the flight attendant.

My wife is now pinching the back of my left arm as hard as she can to get me to relent.

“Hold until relieved…hold until relieved…..”

“Sir, what are you doing sir?”

A flight attendant that looked like a six foot tall version of Wednesday from the Addams Family was hovering over us.

“I’m uh… stuck…. my knees seem to be locked against this seat. As you can see I’ve been trying to push the seat up to release my knees but the guy in front of me has trapped me here.”

My wife is now pretending she’s married to the woman on the other side of her.

Damian is yelling at the flight attendant, point blank, for some peanuts.

Wednesday Addams leans across my wife’s seat and in a voice normally reserved for morons says, “Sir, I suggest you move your knees. We have an air marshal on this flight.”

“Really? Does he have short legs? Maybe he’d like to sit behind this asshole.”

(Please let me have just said that in my head.)

I believe it was Mother Theresa or Jose Cuervo that said, “Timing is everything.”

Just as Conan gave one big push to recline I lowered my knees and let go of the seat. He flew backwards; the “Sky Mall” magazine in his hand flew over my head hitting the lady behind me in the face.

I know that because she yelled, “The Sky Mall magazine hit me in the face.”

All I could think of at the moment was, “Who shops at the Sky Mall?”

Who gets on an airplane, looks at that magazine, and impulsively orders a treadmill, an upside down tomato garden or a rusty gears clock?

Seriously, do you know anyone that’s ever ordered anything from the Sky Mall?

And why was Conan reading this?

He was probably just looking at the pretty pictures.

Wednesday Addams is now really pissed off with me and informs me that she will be watching me the rest of the flight.

So I ask her for a copy of Sky Mall magazine.

She wasn’t amused.

If MSN.com had only posted todays article before I went to Chicago.

Then I could have blamed my behavior on, “Back Fat Fever….Back Fat Fever….”

What happens in Vegas can leave a mark.

2008-05-07T17:42:00.000-07:00

After almost thirty years of marriage I can finally say with complete confidence that I will never understand women.

Oh I’ll fear them.

But I will never understand them.

My wife spent the weekend in Las Vegas with three of her friends that all turned fifty years old this year.

They drove to Las Vegas in a big blue van.

Sort of a menopause road trip.

You couldn’t pay me enough to be in that van.

I’ll bet they broke the air-conditioning in the first fifty miles.

Leading up to the trip I had to hear about all the things they were going to do, all the things she was going to need, and all the things I was going to have to do while she was gone.

I paid strict attention like I normally do for an hour or four and when she finally finished I snapped out of my self induced coma.

She finished with the familiar line….. Did you hear anything I just said?

“Yep. Every word of it.”

“Then what did I just say.”

“Um….something like, “On the way we’re going to stop at an outlet mall and blah blah blah blah…….. and don’t let the dog touch my camera.”

“Idiot, we don’t even own a dog.”

“Then why would you worry about a dog touching your camera?”

“I asked you if you remembered to charge my camera.”

“To take a picture of a dog?”

“Calabrese you would think that after thirty years you would at least attempt to listen to what I’m saying.”

“I attempted it. You lost me after outlet mall.”

“Look numb nuts I need my camera charged so I can take pictures of our trip. We’re going to have fun and I want pictures to share with the girls later.”

“Fine I’ll charge the camera. Um… Did you say anything about a dog at all? I could swear you said something about a dog.”

“Don’t make me kill you.”

I then noticed the cardboard box on our dining room table.

“What’s in the box?”

“Party supplies for our trip.”

“Honey? There’s nothing but Johnny Walker Black and low fat graham crackers in the box. Scotch and low fat graham crackers? That’s your party supplies?”

“I’m on a diet.”

“Nice diet. You’ve got all the essential food groups in there.”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“You know friends don’t let friends drive and eat graham crackers.”

“These are not for the van. This is for the hotel room.”

“Scotch and low fat graham crackers? What are you girls gonna be listening to while you eat and drink this? Tonight we’re gonna party like its 1939…..”

“You’re just jealous because you’re not going to Vegas.”

“Honey, first of all I don’t drink scotch. Secondly I don’t eat graham crackers and third if I ever found myself trapped in a Las Vegas hotel room with four fifty year old women who were drinking scotch and eating graham crackers it would either mean I was some sort of bizarre strip-o-gram, I had lost a major bet or both. But jealous? No I would never be jealous.”

“Whatever. Just remember to charge my camera. That’s the one thing I need you to do. Charge my camera. Can you remember that?”

“Of course. I'm smart! Not like everybody says... like dumb... I'm smart and I want respect!”

“Okay Fredo, just remember to charge that camera.”

“Trust me.”

So they leave and I have the whole weekend to myself. Just me. No one else. I could have done anything I wanted. What did I do? Well on Saturday I woke up a round 2:00pm and then I took a nap. On Sunday I got up bright and early. I think it was around noon and then I had breakfast and then I took a nap. I’m a wild man when the woman is not home.

She gets back around 9:00pm Sunday night.

I looked at these women as they piled out of the van.

It was scary.

My wife looked like a tired angry coal miner.

I turned into Sgt Schultz. “I know nothing, I see nothing, I say nothing!”

I help unload her stuff from the van.

I notice her cardboard box of supplies is still full of graham crackers but there’s no scotch.

“I know nothing, I see nothing, I say nothing!”

I help carry her luggage and crap upstairs for her to unpack.

She unpacked without saying a word but she grunted a lot.

At that moment she kind of reminded me of me after I try a sit up.

“I know nothing, I see nothing, I say nothing!”

She starts to undress and I notice something on her back.

Right above her butt.

IT’S A TATTOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sgt. Schultz went out the window!!!!

“What the hell? Are you nuts? You got a tattoo? A tattoo? You’re fifty years old and you got a tramp stamp over your butt crack? What happens is Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas and you need to take that back!!!!!”

“Calabrese…. I’m going to only say this once. I’ve been trapped in a van with four other menopausal women for eight hours fighting through heavy traffic. I’m tired, I’m irritable, I may go off at any moment. Don’t F#*^ with me right now. Am I clear?”

“Hell no!!! You got a tattoo!!! A tattoo!!!! Jesus woman what the hell were you thinking? Tell me you don’t have any extra piercings to go along with that!!!! Did you go Vegas for the weekend or prison? How drunk were you to get a tattoo? What the hell is that anyway a bald eagle or Charles Manson? I can’t believe you could be that stupid. What are you going to tell your great grandchildren forty years from now? Great grandma and her friend Johnny Walker Black decided that they wanted the Hindenburg permanently etched above her ass crack so the nurses at the home would have something to look at during her sponge bath???”

“Ten.”

“What?”

“Nine.”

“What are you doing?”

“Eight.”

“Oh you think you’re going to do a countdown like I’m supposed to be afraid or something? Well you don’t scare me Miss Tattooed San Diego.”

“Seven.”

“Hey I’m not the one in trouble here you are. You know what wild and crazy things I did this weekend? I took two naps. When I woke up no one had drawn anything above my ass. You know why? Because I’m an adult.”

“Six.”

“Stop counting! This time… for the first time in thirty years of marriage… I’m right!!! Did you here that? I’m the correct one. I’m the one who is acting responsibly. So you go right ahead and count away woman but you can’t win this one. TA DA!!! I’m the victor on this!!!!”

“Five.”

“Go ahead and count! Count all night! But you’re going to have to tell your sons that there mother wants to look like drunken trailer trash. Go ahead. Count. Count away!”

“Four.”

“Stop counting!!!! You have no right to be mad. I’m mad. You can’t be mad. You’re the one that finally screwed up! I’ve been waiting years for this moment. This is my moment! So stop counting.”

“Three.”

“What are you going to do? Sprinkle graham crackers all over me. Cause you’ve got plenty of those left. I guess no one eats a box of graham crackers and then says, “Oooh I feel like getting a tattoo.” You couldn’t eat a few graham crackers? You had to drink a bottle of Johnny Walker Black?”

“Two.”

“AWE COME ON!!!! Stop it! You know I’m right! I’m right! Let that sink in for a moment. Your husband finally wins. I may get that tattooed on my right butt cheek. Right next to “exit only”.”

“One.”

“Oh Crap…..”

“It’s Henna.”

“Umm…. That’s it? It’s Henna? No psycho rage thing? No yelling? No explosion? Who’s Henna? Is she some famous Las Vegas tattoo artist or something?”

“This tattoo isn’t permanent. It wears off. Henna is an ink. Think of it in your pea sized brain as “magic marker”.”

“Uhhh……Oh…. Am I dead?”

“No you’re not dead. You’re just an idiot. An idiot that just made a complete ass out of himself. I was going to tear you a new one Calabrese but now I don’t have to. You know why? Because I won again. I’m 30 – 0. Undefeated. You lost again. Now let that sink in. I am the champion, I am the champion. No time for losers cause I am the champion…. of the world.”

“Damn….. Can I ask you one question?”

“Could I stop you?”

“What’s that supposed to be a tattoo of?”

“A dove.”

“Huh…It looks more like The Grand Canyon.”

“OUCH!!!! Not the face. Not the face! I know nothing, I see nothing, I say nothing!”

Here comes the Sun... City.

2008-04-14T13:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you need a little spark to break your writers block.

My spark was Sun City California.

We went to visit my wife’s cousin who had just had a baby.

She’s forty years old.

I don’t think you’re allowed to have children in Sun City until you hit forty.

Forty is a teenager in Sun City.

The greeter at Wal-Mart is one hundred and thirty five years old.

Stop lights? No one even bothers. They go when they feel like going. And they go very slowly.

I could have gotten out of my car, opened my trunk, retrieved my bat and pummeled them to death before they would have moved any quicker.

We’re talking about a lot of really old people.

Why she lives in Sun City no one knows.

At first I thought she was in the witness protection program.

Then I thought well maybe she just likes to introduce herself to people over and over and over again.

That whole town thinks it’s always meeting someone new.

So maybe it made her feel special.

Plus you feel like you’re among royalty. On every street are estates. Of course these are mobile home estates.

I think Elvis started this.

I went in to the Walgreen’s there to buy an extra memory card for my camera. I don’t think I’ve seen a line that long since the last time I was at the DMV, although it smelled a little different, more like Eucalyptus.

A Koala Bear would have gone nuts.

I watched three women in their eighties or more arguing about the warning label and the “side effects” of a multivitamin.

Um…. Don’t you think you get to a certain age where warning labels and side effects aren’t that important?

If you’re 85 and want to start smoking I say go for it. If it kills you it kills you. So it knocks five years off your life. It’s the last five.

Live a little.

Some of these warnings and side effects just aren’t that important.

Does an eighty year old man really need to worry about the side effects of Viagra?

So he gets a four hour erection that has a blue tinge to it. Maybe it’s a good thing. Think about it. He looks down… there it is. He looks up… he forgets about it. He looks back down… Bada Bing! There it is again. He may not remember what it is but he’ll be damn proud of it.

And seriously, it only becomes a problem if grandpa wants to show everybody.

I know… I know. A lot of people are tired of Viagra jokes and comments. But heck half the commercials on TV ask me if I’m worried about E.D. and then they list those stupid side effects.

And what are the main side effects that stand out?

The blue tinge to your vision and the four hour erection.

I haven’t had a four hour erection with a blue tinge to it since I was fifteen so if that happened it might scare me a little, maybe for a moment, but I’m Italian, I’ll figure out some place to put it.

I don’t worry about E.D. anyway.

Hell at age 50 I think I’m a little to young for E.D. I’m also too old for A.D.D.

I think actually have “A.E.D”.

I can still get an erection, but I tend to get distracted.

“Is that pizza I smell?”

At least most of the stuff that has warning labels and side effects is “newer” stuff. Like new drugs or cosmetics or air bags.

When I was a kid my air bag was my face.

I figure I’m kind of safe. I don’t like new stuff. I like my old reliable stuff. My same old deodorant, cologne, cheese, wife, etc…..

For me life really is very simple.

You’d never see me arguing about the side effects of a multivitamin because… well… I would have to take one to worry about it.

How come there are no warnings about the side effects on the stuff that’s really important?

Like marriage.

Shouldn’t we have had some kind of warning about that?

Maybe a sticker or a tattoo?

“Surgeon General’s Warning: Marriage has been known to cause your entire collection of Playboy magazines that you have cherished since 1975 to be thrown into the trash without your knowledge. Your vision may be affected causing you to see things in your house that you are absolutely unable to identify. This includes children, small animals and your self esteem. You may lose your ability to find parking, drive correctly on the freeway or ask for directions. You may no longer be able to decide on what you want for dinner, what movie you want to see or what to wear. Married men have frequently been spotted wearing two different colored socks. You may be unable to drink black coffee and instead will insist on something that sounds like it should only be ordered in San Francisco. You will lose closet space and in some cases the entire closet. You will be unable to fold sheets or pillow cases correctly but find yourself determined to try. You may lose all independent thought finding yourself agreeing on things just so she’ll shut up while you’re watching The Office. In more sever cases you may even end up at an outlet mall during pro football season. You may no longer have the will to live but will be afraid to ask your wife’s permission to kill yourself because you don’t want to get in trouble. You may find yourself hearing about “her day”, unable to comprehend that she doesn’t want your opinion or solutions, she only wants you to listen. You may be unable to listen because you could care less about what she is saying and are afraid that in the end she may want your help in picking out drapes. You may end up grunting and nodding a lot. Prolonged exposure to marriage may cause you to completely forget what a vagina looks like.”

Hmmm… When she reads this I may have to move to Sun City.

Don't ask me why this stuff goes through my mind on Valentine's Day.

2008-02-14T14:56:00.000-08:00

At some point in history someone got the concept of free samples. I believe it was probably the ancient Chinese. “No ees no too hot, you try sampu.”

Now free samples are for the most part a good thing. I don’t know how many times I’ve had lunch at COSTCO without spending a dime but trust me it’s a bunch.

I actually tried taking my wife to COSTCO to learn how to cook.

“See honey if that mentally handicapped Asian woman with three teeth can make ravioli’s with just a frying pan, olive oil and a pencil you could do it too.”

(That ones going to cost me.)

(A lot.)

Most of the free samples I’ve had are food or drink items. Very rarely do you see free samples of light bulbs, motor oil or toilet paper.

I also hear you never get free samples at a strip club.

That’s what I hear.

It’s too bad you can’t get a free sample of what the next president would be like. I think it would be great to get a free sample of foreign policy, fiscal policy and common sense before we vote.

Right…. And that will happen when monkeys fly out of my butt.

I remember when I thought it was a good idea to go and get free samples of wine.

My wife and I and a group of friends went on a limousine tour of the Temecula Wineries. There are twenty wineries in Temecula and they all make the same thing.

Red and white wine with really fancy names.

You go from winery to winery “tasting” wines. It’s not free though. You buy a ticket for $7 to $10 bucks at each winery and it gets you four or five tastes. So basically you get free samples of wine for around $2. That’s almost free.

The wineries do have some totally free samples… of crackers. All the crackers you can eat.

First you sample wine and then you eat crackers.

I thought the crackers were like nuts or something at the bar. You know…. snacks!!!

I just kept eating crackers until one of the wine baristas, or whatever you call those people, scolded me and told me I was supposed to eat just one between tastes.

The crackers are supposed to “clear” your palate so you can tell the subtle differences between wines. By the third winery your palate can’t tell the difference between and old sock and cheesecake I don’t care how many crackers you eat.

As for these wine baristas these poor bastards do nothing all day but pour wine to the throngs of drunks passing as wine aficionados that visit the wineries.

They’re like Starbucks baristas that have finally grown up. They’re angry because no one can pronounce the names of the wines they want to sample.

“I would like try that one.”

“You mean the 2005 Decaf Frapponoir Salamanca Chico Sauvignon Family Reserve?”

“Whatever.”

“Fine it has a light oaky fruity cherry wood taste with a hint of smokey apricot fungus, old worn German sandals and grape flavor to it.”

“Uh… It tastes red.”

99% of the people tasting wines at these wineries are drinking their samples as if it was last call.

Here’s what you’re never supposed to hear at a wine tasting:

“Hit me again.”

There are a few people that pretend they actually know what they’re doing. They smell the wine, swirl the wine, smell the wine and then pound it down like a shot of tequila.

But they do it delicately.

Then they eat a cracker.

There are also people I call wine snobs. I love these people. They know everything there is to know about grapes.

Here are the only two things I know about grapes. I know that my ultimate fantasy is to have Salma Hayek wearing nothing but high heel shoes feed them to me one at a time while she calls me Caesar and sings “My Funny Valentine”.

What? Like I’m alone on that one.

Plus I know that I like grape jam better than grape jelly.

Wine snobs spend hours tasting and spitting out wine. They actually spit it out! Even if they like it! Trust me I’ve seen it!

The only thing I ever spit out is tofu which to me is vegetable liver. I swear it has the same disgusting texture as liver. I’ll bet if I kill, cut and skin broccoli somewhere in there next to the kidneys is the “tofu”.

You don’t believe me?

Taste it. You never see anyone giving out free samples of that crap because no one would buy the stuff if they did.

“Yeah Yeah Yeah…. I know. It’s healthy and will help you lose weight. The only reason it helps you lose weight is because you can’t swallow it.

I don’t want to go off on a tofu tangent here.

The wineries are a fun place to people watch. You see a wide variety of alcoholics and just plain drunks at the wineries. The other thing you see a lot of…. is.… um…. well…. Cougars.

And I’m not talking about big cats.

For some reason there were hordes of 40 something year old women piling in and out of limos at every winery we went to.

I don’t get it.

All I know is they frightened me.

I felt an evil presence around them.

Maybe they were all having hot flashes.

I had this terrible urge to go hammer something use a television remote or barbecue.

I felt sorry for their limo drivers. Those guys would be safer driving in Baghdad.

That brings up something else that I couldn’t figure out. How in the hell do you tour these wineries without a limo?

If I was a cop I would just park outside a winery and pull people over. I have my DUI quota in about an hour.

In defense of the wineries they do have food. Some of it is really amazing. There is one winery called the Maurice Car’rie Winery that sells hot sourdough bread with… get this… cheese baked in the middle of it.

It’s hot and filled with melted cheese. A little sourdough volcano of cheese.

I wept.

I wanted to sacrifice a virgin to it.

I swear after I ate some of it I was actually speaking in tongues. That may have been the molten cheese just burning my mouth though.

We’re talking an amazing loaf of bread. Maybe the best bread I have ever tasted in my life.

I didn’t want to leave.

They had to force me back into the limo.

Communist bastards.

I was fighting them off as best I could but I was holding four loaves of bread at the time. That must have been how it felt at the Alamo. I would have stayed there the rest of the day just eating my hot molten cheese sourdough bread. Eventually I weakened and lapsed into a sourdough coma. When I woke up I was in the limo and my bread was gone. BUT THERE WERE CRUMBS!!!!! Communist bastards ate my bread.

You know ladies you can make a man a sandwich and feed him for day. But you melt some cheese in a loaf of sourdough bread……You’re getting jewelry for the rest of your life without having to do anything even remotely related to oral sex.

Damn now I’m hungry.

Does COSTCO give out free samples on Thursdays? COSTCO should have free samples of wine to go with the crackers, soup and ravioli. They have a bakery. COSTCO should bake enormous loaves of sourdough bread with cheese melted in them.

You know…. I might even vote for Hillary if she gave out free samples of sourdough bread with cheese melted in it.

Um….

Wait….

Nope can’t do it.

Not even with the bread.

I still can’t get past the “cankles”.

Not even if she was feeding me grapes.

"My funny Valentine... sweet comic valentine..... you make me smile with my heart. Your looks are laughable, unphotographable, yet you're my favorite work of aaaaaaarrrrrrrttttttt.................."

One of those special life moments…..

2008-02-09T08:07:00.000-08:00

I love Monty Python. I actually love British humor in general but Monty Python… well… shear brilliance.

Two weeks ago I changed my cell phone ring tone from the Godfather Theme to an excerpt from Monty Python and The Holy Grail.

Now when my cell phone rings I hear the following:

“Bring out your dead… bring out your dead… bring out your dead… here’s one…I’m not dead yet….”

Anyway every Friday my Rotary Club meets for lunch at the Yacht Club.

I head to the restroom after lunch and just as I unzip my zipper my cell phone rings.

“Bring out your dead… bring out your dead… bring out your dead…..”

There’s a little old guy with a captain’s hat standing at the stall next to me and he turns to me and says:

“It’s not dead yet…. But it is a little worn out.”

Did you know it’s almost impossible to pee when you’re laughing?

Here's a cell phone ad you won't see......

2008-01-29T15:55:00.000-08:00

“Yo?”

“DAD???”

“Anthony?”

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!!!!”

“WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?”

“I’m dead dad, I’m dead!!!”

“What???”

“Kim’s going to KILL me!!!”

“What did you do this time?”

“I didn’t do anything. It’s not my fault dad, it’s not my fault I swear. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!!!!!!”

“Son calm down. What happened?”

“It’s John.”

“IS HE OKAY????”

“Dad I swear I wasn’t watching him for like five seconds and he…. he….”

“HE WHAT??????”

“He swallowed my cell phone.”

“WHAT???????? HOW IN THE HELL COULD HE SWALLOW YOUR CELL PHONE????”

“Dad I don’t know. But when I call it he rings. IT’S INSIDE HIM!!!!!!”

“You’re dead.”

“OH MY GOD DAD!!!!!!”

“Did you call 911?”

“I called you.”

“Is he choking?”

“No dad I told you, he swallowed it.”

“Son how in the hell could he swallow something that big?”

“MAYBE BECAUSE HE’S PART ITALIAN DAD!!!! I DON’T KNOW HOW HE DID IT!!!! HE JUST DID IT!!!!”

“Okay calm down we have to think this through. Does he seem sick? Does it look like it hurts? What’s he doing now?”

“Now? He’s watching Curious George. He looks okay he just RINGS!!!!! What am I gonna do dad? What if they want to cut it out of him? OH MY GOD!!!!!”

“Umm….. Does he eat a lot of fiber?”

“What?”

“Well maybe if you give him some fruit or bran or something eventually it will come out.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna work dad.”

“Okay here’s the deal. Meet me at Urgent Care. Don’t tell Kim and I won’t tell mom. Maybe they can pump it out of him and no one will ever know.”

“No one will ever know what?”

“Umm…..””Crap dad, is that mom?”

“Yep. I swear she’s a Ninja.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Anthony.”

“What are you two up to?”

“NOTHING!!! Why do you assume we’re up to something? I can’t just have a normal conversation with my son?”

”Uh huh…. Then why are you saying that “No one will ever know?”

“It’s a secret. If I told you it would spoil the surprise.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dad maybe we should tell mom. Mom’s know about these things.”

“It’s okay son I’ve got everything under control.”

“Calabrese give me that phone.”

“Anthony what’s going on?”

"Momit’snotmyfaultJohnswallowedmycell
phoneandnowheringsandKim’sgoingtokillme
whenshefindsoutbecause
theywillhavetocuthimopentogetitout!!!!!!”

“What?”

“JOHN SWALLOWED MY CELL PHONE!!!!!”

“What are you looking at me for? Anthony was watching him.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Anthony there is no way John swallowed your cell phone.”

“MOM HE’S RINGING!!!!”

“You’re both idiots.”

“Mom I swear…. call my cell phone number. Call my cell phone from your cell phone and I’ll hold John’s stomach to the phone.”

“Fine.”

“SEEEEE!!!!! I TOLD YOU!!!!! HE’S RINGING. KIM’S GOING TO KILL ME!!!!!”

“Uh huh…. Son…. When was the last time you changed his diaper?”

“Uh…. About an hour ago.”

“Uh huh…. Change it again.”

“Why? He’s not….. oh…… hold on………..”

(A few moments later)

“False alarm mom!!! My cell phone was in his diaper! Boy am I glad he didn’t poop! Thanks Mom!”

“No problem.”

“Uh… so… John didn’t swallow the cell phone?”

“No, when Anthony changed John’s diaper somehow his cell phone ended up in there.”

“HA!!! Kind of brings new meaning to, “Can you hear me now? Now that’s funny. Anthony was worried for nothing. Kim would have killed him. Well that’s one more funny story he can tell when John grows up. Soooooo…… I’m going to the store do you need anything?”

“Sit your butt down Calabrese. Let me get this straight. You and Anthony thought that John had swallowed Anthony’s cell phone and you were trying to hide that from me and Kim?”

“Um…. No….. Not exactly. I was using my superior analytical skills to assess the situation so we could take a prudent course of action and didn’t feel it necessary to worry the two of you at the time.”

“So you were trying to cover up for your son being an idiot like his father?”

“Hey, I’m no rat. It’s an honor thing… you know… a code we Italian men live by.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Come on honey. I knew John couldn’t have swallowed the phone. There obviously was a logical explanation and we would have figured it all out at Urgent Care.”

“Urgent Care…. Tell me again why I married you?”

“My incredible wit and charm and my huge hands. OOOUUUUCH!!!!! I hate it when you smack me on the back of the head like that. Damn woman I’m going to have a concussion.”

“Just be thankful I don’t have your huge hands.”

You either order with us or against us......

2008-01-21T09:07:00.000-08:00

“May I have your order?”

“Yes I’d like five pieces of grilled chicken and a pint of coleslaw.”

“You want a large or a small?”

“Umm…. A small or a large what?”

“Coleslaw.”

“I want a pint of coleslaw.”

“Do you want a large or a small pint?”

“Uh…. I want a pint. You know, 16 ounces of coleslaw.”

“We don’t have ounces. We have small and a large.”

“How big is the large?”

“Pretty big.”

“HOW BIG???”

“It’s large.”

(I knew at this point I may be talking to the future president of the United States.)

“Do you want something to drink with that?”

“Can you read my order back to me please?”

“You want five pieces of chicken and a small macaroni and cheese?”

“I DON’T WANT MACARONI AND CHEESE!!!! I WANT A PINT OF COLESLAW!!!!”

“Let me get my shift manager.”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“No problem, I’d like five pieces of grilled chicken and a pint of coleslaw.”

"He told you we don’t have pints sir. We have a small and a large. Now you’re holding up the line sir. I suggest you order or leave.”

(Ahhh…. The future secretary of defense.)

“Okay I’ll leave, but let me ask you one more question. How many ounces in a pint?”

“What has that got to do with chicken sir? Do you want a pint of chicken?”

“I don’t want a pint of chicken. I want a pint of coleslaw

“We don’t have pints.”

“Okay let me educate you. There are 16 ounces in a pint. How many ounces in a large coleslaw?”

“I’m going to ask you again to leave sir.”

“HONK HONK HONK. Come on asshole order!”

(Great…. The future vice president is behind me.)

So I left. It wasn’t like I could eat the chicken or the coleslaw anyway. I’m sure they would have graced it with a little something extra for me.

I guess the older you get the more you embrace the “principle of the thing”.

Once you’ve had a colonoscopy you’ve pretty much reached that point in life where you’re opinions and thoughts are irrelevant.

Unless of course you’re married and then you’re opinions and thoughts become irrelevant on day two.

So you grasp at any little chance to prove a point or show the world that, “Hey! I’ve been around fifty years! I know stuff.”

And one of the things I now know is maybe… just maybe…. We need to leave the occasional child behind.

Comedian Ron White says, “You can’t fix stupid.”

But shouldn’t we at least try? Or are we destined to be a nation of illiterates placated by our Xboxes and Playstations and Bluetooths and iPods and and and and………

How can you not know what a “pint” is?

It’s not like the kid was brainwashed by the metric system.

Maybe I have finally turned into my father.

I wonder how many people in their twenties have actually read a book.

How many have read anything other than e-mail or a text message in the last five years?

“No Child Left Behind”?

Why not?

Fix stupid before it gets a chance to screw up your drive thru order.

A small or a large "pint"?

Ma please!

2008 a year to....

2008-01-12T15:41:00.000-08:00

I came home last night to find my wife twisted into a pretzel on my living room floor.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It started out as Downward Facing Dog.”

“It looks more like Sideways Curled Up Cripple.”

“Idiot, I pulled something now my back is spasming.”

“You sure you’re not just trying to turn me on?”

“Don’t make me kill you.”

“Do you want some help?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“So this is like sex.”

“GRRRRRRRRRRRR……”

And so the newest New Years resolution had reared its ugly head.

I don’t know why my wife has to try all this crazy stuff. It started with the Jane Fonda workout about twenty years ago. I’d come home and instead of being able to watch M.A.S.H. I’d have to watch my wife hopping around the living room to that pinko Commie on videotape.

The worst was that Taebo kickboxing thing. We had this stupid pole with a pad on it in the middle of the living room and she’d kick the crap out of it all damn day.

I accepted it in the belief that it saved my life…. or at least significant bruising.

Then it was Aikido. I’m sorry but there is absolutely no reason to give a premenopausal woman a sword.

Then boxing. She did that for five years. I didn’t get away with crap in my house.

For the past twenty nine years the only question I’ve ever been afraid my wife will ask me is, “Do you want to see what I learned today?”

So when she said she was going to take yoga I thought, “Hey that’s great. Go for it. She can’t hurt me with yoga.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you up?”

“No!”

“Maybe you should have started with an easier yoga position. Like “Lazy Fat Man Sitting On Couch Eating Pizza”. That would be the one I started with. Then maybe go into “Crouching Ego Hidden Self Esteem”.

“I swear you’re a dead man Calabrese.”

“Have you ever thought that instead of doing all this crazy stuff that you should… Oh I don’t know…. try a sit up?”

“I am so going to hurt you.”

“How about next time instead of trying yoga you just eat yogurt? I’ve never heard of anyone pulling anything from eating yogurt.”

“Idiot, help me up.”

“I thought you didn’t need any help. Okay okay.”

“Here’s the deal Calabrese. This year I’m doing Yoga, and Pilates. I’m also taking a “fusion” class. Then we’re going to take up ballroom dancing. I’m doing it for me. Because it makes me feel better about myself and keeps me in shape.”

“Hold on….. I’m rewinding what you just said in my head. Um…. Did you say “we” are taking up ballroom dancing?”

“You don’t want to do it with me? Fine, but I’m doing it and that’s that.”

“What would possess you to think that I would want to ballroom dance?”

“You don’t want to dance with me?”

“Awww Jeeeeezzzz…… I don’t want to dance with anyone. At least you’re finally going to learn how to cook.”

“Excuse me?”

“Um….. You know that….. you know…. um…. fusion class?”

“Idiot that’s not a cooking class!!! It’s an exercise class. You think I need a cooking class?”

“Awwwww Jeeezzzzzzz………..”

Now that 2008 is upon us I look back upon 2007 and can honestly say it pretty much sucked.

Not in a tsunami destroyed the neighborhood kind of way but it just wasn’t as good as 2006.

2007 was not my favorite year, maybe because I turned 50 and have not fully embraced my mortality yet.

I did learn a few things though.

I learned that it is possible to pull a groin muscle simply by getting out of your car.

I learned that it’s dangerous to open a new DVD with a fillet knife.

I learned after I had my colonoscopy that I could never be gay. But I now have unequivocal proof for my wife that my heads not up there.

I’ve also learned that I’m not a ballroom dancer.

Wait…

I take that back.

I already KNEW I wasn’t a ballroom dancer I just never thought I’d have to PROVE it to anyone.

I would have thought my wife had learned that when I almost threw her out the window during her “disco” faze.

“Stayin alive, stayin alive, whoops…..”

But nooooooooo……….

Apparently one of those hot flashes fried the part of her brain that would have remembered that.

For those of you unfamiliar with a “hot flash” let me explain it for you.

You’ll go to bed with your woman by your side on a chilly night. As you drift off you feel the warmth of the covers around you and the heat radiating off of her body. It’s nice. It’s comforting. It’s peaceful.

It’s…

It’s……….

IT’S F&%*&#G COLD!!!!!!!

What the hell happened?

She’s thrown off the covers.

She's sweating.

You’re shivering.

She’s still asleep.

If you’re lucky.

Because if she has a “hot flash” while she’s awake you’re going to hear about it.

ALLLLLLLLLL………… DAYYYYYYYYY……………...

Menopause and hot flashes are much worse than the one week a month thing you used to have to be afraid of before.

Because now she has all the knowledge and experience to really know how to hurt you if you do something stupid, you know, like breathe.

You do not want to confront a woman about not wanting to ballroom dance or how crappy her cooking is while she’s in the middle of a hot flash.

So apparently I’m going to be the new star of “Dancing with the middle aged overweight Italian guy.”

And… I’m going to be hungry.

This year I’ve given up resolutions. Instead I’ve set goals.

Goal number one – Don’t get hurt ballroom dancing.

Goal number two – Don’t get hurt saying or doing anything that will piss off a menopausal Portuguese woman.

Goal number three – Lose weight, get in shape, blah blah blah……….

Goal number three never changes.

Hmmm……

Maybe I should take a “fusion” class.

Happy New Year!

I wish I was making this up........

2007-12-14T17:12:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you get caught in the middle of a conversation that could only be had by men.

“F*&>+#g mortgage crisis.”

“I know.”

“You know what?”

“I know how you feel.”

“No you don’t.”

“Maybe he doesn’t but I do.”

“Neither one of you skinny little bastards know how I feel or what I’m thinking.”

“What? Are you saying only fat people can have feelings about this?”

“In this case yes. Only Tony understands me here.”

“Whoa!!! I’m not fat.”

“Maybe not on the outside but on the inside you’re still a fat guy no matter how much weight you lose.”

“He has a point Tone. You probably have a fat gene that makes you fat inside.”

“Who are you now? Pauli Walnuts? A fat gene? I don’t have a fat gene.”

“He’s got a pizza gene though.”

“I miss the Soprano’s.”

“Stupid ending.”

“Totally.”

“I almost shot my wife when the TV went blank. I thought she had touched the remote.”

“You know you do kind of look like Pauli Walnuts sometimes.”

“It’s the hair.”

“I thought we were talking about subprime mortgages.”

“Hey you guys ever have the prime rib at Hunter’s?”

“Hunter’s? Ma please…. You gotta go to Morton’s for good steak.”

“Why does every conversation always go to food? You guys know I’m always on a friggin diet. Why do you always end up talking about food?”

“We don’t always talk about food.”

“Yeah sometimes we talk about women.”

“Same thing.”

“You guys are pathetic. And I’m tired of the fat references. I’m not fat. I’m slightly overweight.”

“Uh… Tone…. You know how they always say, “Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes to the bone. It’s the same with fat.”

“Fat doesn’t go to the bone.”

“Sure it does. You never heard of bone fat? What do you think they mean when they say, “She’s just big boned.”? That’s bone fat.”

“Who is she?”

“Your sister.”

“Watch it. My sister really is big boned…. What? She is.”

I meant she in general she. You know, they like to say that about fat chicks.”

“You guys are losing the point here. Sully is obviously upset about mortgage crisis and those are personal feelings for him that we just can’t possibly understand. Each person has to deal with it on their own.”

“Shut the hell up. Who are you trying to be? Dr. Phil?”

“He looks more like Oprah.”

“He’s white.”

“The hair.”

“Oh.”

“Oprah’s hair changes all the time.”

“That’s true.”

“I don’t have Oprah hair?”

“I’m not fat and I don’t have a fat gene.”

“Fine Tone we get it.”

“Why’d you have to start with the fat stuff anyway?”

“I didn’t start it Sully started it.”

“Why?”

“What the hell are we talking about?”

“Sully is fat and he has feelings.”

“It’s those pistachios he always eats.”

“Yeah it affects the brain. Clogs it up.”

“You guys don’t get it. I mean… this is terrible guys….”

“What?”

“For some reason I can’t stop thinking of barbecue.”

“Hey we could get some steaks from Cecil’s meats and have a …”

“WE ARE NOT HAVING A BARBECUE!!!!”

“Jeez Tone relax.”

“We still gotta eat.”

“He’s still eating that space food… makes him tense.”

“How many of those little packaged meals you gotta eat to feel full.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt full.”

“You should see the crap they call lasagna.”

“You got lasagna?”

“Sort of.”

“Show him Tone. You have any in the trunk of your car?”

“You keep lasagna in your trunk? Now that’s Italian.”

“Yes and turkey chili and barbecued chicken and a few others.”

(Moments later)

“Dude that’s not lasagna.”

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“That’s it.”

“What are you supposed to do with that?”

“You eat it.”

“Be serious.”

“You think I’d kid about lasagna?”

“Why is there corn in there?”

“It’s just one kernel.”

“What?”

“For some reason there’s always one kernel of corn in this packaged lasagna.”

“Tone there’s no corn in lasagna.”

“There is in this lasagna.”

“Who puts one kernel of corn in lasagna?”

“They probably make that stuff in China. Everything is made in China now.”

“The Chinese don’t eat lasagna.”

“I’m pretty sure they eat corn.”

“What are you talking about? The Chinese invented lasagna.”

“I thought Marco Polo invented lasagna.”

“No he invented Chicken Parmigiano. Hello? His last name was Polo.”

“The Chinese invented woks and Yo-Yo’s.”

“Woks and Yo-Yo’s?”

“Where do you think “woking” the dog came from?”

“Not even a courtesy laugh?”

“Nope.”

“No.”

“Dude? Woking the dog? Please?”

“Can you just pick out the noodles and wash them off? You get seven or eight of those and wash off the noodles it might not be so bad.”

“No, I get one. That’s it. Maybe I eat two in a pinch.”

“You’d have to pinch me pretty hard to eat that.”

“Now that I think of it I’ve never seen a story about corn in China.”

“You think they have subprime mortgages in China?”

“Boy this subprime thing is a real mess.”

“Boy what do you do with two billion subprime mortgages?”

“Two billion?”

“Yeah there’s like three billion Chinese people. Figure there’s about two billion homes.”

“Boy that’s a mess.”

“Look at it that way and things don’t look so bad here.”

“So let’s get some lunch.”

“Seafood?”

“Sure.”

“Talking about Asians always makes me think of fish for some reason.”

“You got any fish dinners in that space food Tone?”

“Tone…..”

“Why’s he leaving?”

It's been too long.

2007-12-11T13:02:00.001-08:00

In addition to being a comedian I actually have a day job. Some of you know this already but most of you don't.

During the day.... Boy you are going to find this hard to believe...

I am the president of a bank.

I don't talk about that on stage or in my blog because I try very hard to keep those two worlds separate.

I can honestly say that I am the only professional comedian/bank president on the planet.

Not only do I run a bank during the day but in November I filled in as co host of a radio show called "The Big Biz Show". I am now a regular on air personality on the show where I am known as "Tony The Banker", very original I know. Blame Sully.

The hosts of the show are Sully & Russ 'T' Nailz,

two San Diego Radio personalities who are heard Weekdays on the Business Talk Radio Network! From current business events to internet-related issues to the movers and shakers in the business world-along with the occasional drink recipe. If it relates to the business, Russ and Sully are talking about it on the air. With their topical, laid back, and comic commentary of goings on in the business world, Sully and Russ 'T' aren't only thinking outside the box-they didn't even know there was a box!

(Yes I copied that right off the website, www.thebigbizshow.com)

The show is on in 125 markets around the country. Visit the website to see if we are on in your area. You can also click "personalities" at the top of the site to see who else is on the show.

I promise to get back to regular posting in the next couple of days.

See ya!

Tony "the banker" Calabrese

How do you fake spontaneity? Maybe with a song?

2007-11-01T12:26:00.000-07:00

So I’m watching TV….

Here’s a commercial that’s going to be about food.

A bunch of guys sitting around playing guitars.

Oh look a bass.

And drums.

Must be about a lot of food.

That’s what I was thinking.

This must be another commercial for Chili’s Baby Back Ribs.

That’s what I was thinking.

Here’s it comes…..

“I want my baby back baby back baby back…..”

What the hell?

An Elvis song?

“VIVA VIAGRA!!!! VIVA VIAGRA!!!!

Elvis just rolled over in his grave.

On top of a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

Is this what we’ve sunk to?

“Viva Viagra”?

What’s next?

“She’s got it. Yeah baby she’s got it. I’m your “penis”. I’m your fire. At your desire.”

What the hell. Why not?

I’m so sick and tired of all the Levitra, Viagra and Cialis commercials.

Haven’t we heard enough about how to give old guys an erection?

Now we have to sing it?

It isn’t any better on the radio either. XM Radio is the worst. I’m not sure they have any commercials that aren’t for products to give men erections.

But now we have a new term for it.

“Spontaneous male enhancement.”

Huh?

Um…

That’s a boner.

It’s XM radio you’re supposed to be able to say anything you want. I heard them swearing on XM Radio.

You can’t say boner?

There’s one product where this semi comatose woman’s voice comes on and says….

“Hi I’m Stephanie. Would you like to have spontaneous male enhancement in three to five seconds?”

I think it would sound a hell of a lot better if she asked if you’d like a boner in three to five seconds.

And think about that, three to five seconds? Three to five? Well then that isn’t really spontaneous now is it?

If I want spontaneous male enhancement all my wife has to do is tell me she’s skipping a Nordstrom Sale.

Trust me I’ll be enhanced in way less than three to five seconds.

Is that really an issue?

Are women all over the world clamoring for spontaneous male enhancement?

I always thought they wanted a little build up.

Aren’t we supposed to lie to them for a while? Fake sensitivity or pretend we’re listening?”

I’ve been married for thirty years I’ve never needed “spontaneous male enhancement”. I usually give myself five minutes or so at least. Maybe spend a little time finding the right television show on the bedroom TV. It’s tough to get “spontaneous male enhancement” to reruns of “Little House on the Prairie”.

I have a question.

All these ads targeting us middle aged guys…..

Um…

Who’s @$%*ing us?????

Seriously.

I’d like to know.

Because in my opinion before you take any of that crap you might want to…. oh I don’t know… HAVE A DATE!!!!

So where are all the women that are looking for old guys to have sex with?

Because I don’t need a pill that will give me spontaneous male enhancement.

I need a pill that will make a woman want to see my penis is the first place.

Where can I find that pill?

And here’s something else.

I’m a fifty year old, over weight, balding Italian man with two grown kids and three grandkids that’s been married for thirty years in a row.

And I drive a Cadillac.

Maybe I’ve #$*^ed enough!!!

Maybe I need a pill that will keep my wife’s hands off my remote.

Maybe I need a pill that will give me more of the closet space.

Maybe I need a pill that will keep my mind from wandering every time she tells me about her day.

WHERE’S THAT PILL????

How about “spontaneous listening enhancement” in three to five seconds? That’s what my wife wants.

WHERE’S THAT PILL???

Just another day in paradise...... Sort of.....

2007-10-18T11:42:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in every man’s life where you wake up in the morning with all the intentions in the world of going to out exercise and then you look at yourself in the mirror and say,

“*&#^ it…”

“I’ve peaked.”

I am just not a morning person.

How do these people wake up before the crack of dawn and exercise?

I don’t want to get up at the “crack” of anything! It’s not normal.

I’ve had friends say that they listen to their bodies and their bodies tell them to get up and exercise.

They’ve obviously never listened to my body.

I’ll admit my body makes a little noise in the morning but it has never told me to exercise.

My body has never told me that.

If my body is talking to me at 5:00am it’s telling me there’s cold pizza in the fridge.

I’ve asked myself a thousand times, “What do I get out of this if I get up and exercise at 5:00am?”

And the answer is always the same.

Hurt.

Let’s say I get up early, exercise, lose weight and get in the best shape of my life. Let’s say I’m the picture of health.

It still won’t change anything.

At my age if I go into a doctors office no matter what the problem is I’m going to get a finger up my butt.

“Doc my shoulder hurts.”

“Well let’s check the old prostate.”

“But….”

“Oh there it is. Your prostate is nice and small.”

“That’s just because it’s cold in here doc. Normally it’s huge. But you know what they say... Big hands, big prostate.”

Seriously, what does good health really buy you once you hit 50 years old?

An extra five years?

What if that extra five years is during Hillary Clinton’s time as President? Do I want to spend the last five years of my life listening to someone that always sounds like a pissed off ex-wife?

What if you diet and exercise to get that extra five years and then get run over by an illegal alien who doesn’t have any auto insurance?

Hey I live in California, it could happen.

I think there are too many “ifs” in the world to throw all my eggs in the “eat right and exercise basket.”

What if exercise and broccoli are the real killers?

No one really knows now do they?

If you stand a piece of broccoli on its stalk it kind of looks like a little mushroom cloud doesn’t it?

Do you really want that going off in your body?

Now look at a pizza.

It’s a circle.

Like the “Circle of Life”.

It’s starts out as a little roll of dough and then gets tossed and shaped into a beautiful circle, covered with all sorts of yummy toppings and then it’s baked to perfection, and you eat it, and the world is good, and eventually it turns into a little roll of…

You get the picture.

I can hear Elton John singing about it in my head right now.

“The circle of life, covered with pepperoni and cheese, and it moves us all, through despair and hope, faith and love, with a sauce like Momma use to make…….”

Oh god….

I think I’m weeping.

“What the hell is wrong with you Calabrese? Put down that phone.”

“I… I was just checking the time….”

“They don’t have that service anymore. If you want the time just look at the cable box.”

“I can’t put it down. I need to call someone.”

“Who? Who are you are you calling? Are you crying?”

“Yes… I think I am.”

“Why?”

“I was just thinking about calling Joe over at The Venetian.”

”What the hell are you talking about?”

“I miss him. I haven’t been there or seen him in almost a year.”

“Oh my god!!!! You were going to order a pizza weren’t you????? I can’t believe you!!!!”

“I just want to look at one. I wouldn’t eat it. I would just hold it up and smell it. Maybe build a little shrine to it in the kitchen.”

“You’re pathetic. You’d blow your diet after all this time for a lousy slice of pizza?”

“BE SILENT!!! SACRILEGE WOMAN!!!!! It’s not lousy pizza!!! It’s the best pizza in San Diego! Eating that pizza is a religious experience. I saw the face of Jesus in that pizza. Once. Briefly.”

“Be silent? Be silent? You did not just tell me to be silent.”

“Um…”

“I don’t care numb nuts do whatever you want. You want to blow your diet and get big and fat again go ahead. It’s your health.”

“AHA!!! Yes it is. And do you know what good health gets you? A finger up your butt that’s what!!! Well not me woman, not me.”

“You’re an idiot. You want to be around for your grandkids? You want to watch them grow up? Well then you better take care of yourself starting with your diet and exercise.”

“But… But… I miss it so much….”

“Snap out of it!”

“Fine. But my butt is on your head woman. It’s on your head.”

“Excuse me.”

“I mean the fate of my butt is in your hands… Well not in your hands actually…”

“Look at it this way Calabrese. The smaller your butt is the easier and quicker the examination will be. Because it doesn’t matter weather your skinny or fat or in shape or not that’s where the doctor is going.”

“But it’s not fair.”

“Think of it as punishment for ditching jury duty.”

“I… um… that makes sense in an odd sort of way….”

“Now go drink one of your diet shakes and then go for a walk.”

“Yes doctor…… You might as well be one… you’re on my ass all the time.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing sweetheart… You know me… I’m all about health.”

Dancing with The Unit

2007-10-06T11:31:00.000-07:00

“Damn! Now that’s an outfit!!! What show is this?”

“Dancing With the Stars numb nuts.”

“Porn Stars?”

“WHAT???”

“Look at that chick. She looks like a Las Vegas stripper.”

“Really. And you would know this because?”

“Uh… I read a lot.”

“Uh huh… Stop being an idiot and let me watch my show in peace.”

“Who’s that old guy?”

“What old guy?”

“That guy right there. Who’s he?”

“That’s Wayne Newton.”

“That’s not Wayne Newton.”

“Dammit Calabrese! I’m trying to watch the show! That’s Wayne Newton, he’s the old guy on the show, just like Larry King was last year.”

“Larry King danced with Porn Stars? Well that explains the heart attacks.”

“Don’t make me get off this couch.”

“Sweetheart look at that guy, that’s not Wayne Newton, look at his face.”

“Idiot, he’s had a little plastic surgery.”

“A little? Ya think? He looks like Marie Osmond.”

“That is Marie Osmond.”

“What?”

“That’s Marie Osmond she’s on the show too,”

“Come on you’re making this crap up. You’re trying to tell me that Wayne Newton had plastic surgery so he could look like Marie Osmond so they could be on a TV show to dance together with Porn Stars?”

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I want to remember the look on your face right before you died.”

“Come on babe change the channel. I don’t want to watch this crap.”

“It’s not crap. I like this show and I was here first. Go upstairs and watch TV.”

“But… This is my TV.”

“Your TV? Really? Your TV? You think this is your TV?”

“Yes. Remember? We bought this big screen HDTV TV so I could watch football on the big screen. Remember?”

“Uh huh… And what night is tonight?”

“Tuesday.”

“Uh huh… And is there a football game on tonight?”

“Uh… no…..”

“So you came in here to ruin my show because………”

“I want to watch The Unit”

“Watch that stupid show upstairs.”

“That’s only a 30 inch screen it’s not the same on a 30 inch screen. Um… Put the coaster down.”

“Get out of here Calabrese.”

“At least DVR it for me.”

“I can’t, I’m recording House down here.”

“BUT THAT’S NOT FAIR!!!! HOW COME YOU GET TWO SHOWS???”

“My god! How old are you? Big whinny baby? “That’s not fair, that’s not fair, my wife is recording her shows and not mine. Waaaaaaaa.”

“All I’m saying is that we should compromise, we should reach an agreement that’s acceptable to both of us.”

“Nope.”

“COME ON!!! WHY???”

“Cuz I’m here first and I’ve got the remote.”

“Communist.”

“Excuse me? What did you call me?”

“You heard me.”

“Just go upstairs and watch your “Unit”.

“THE UNIT!!!”

“Whatever. Go play with your “Unit”.

“This is BULL!!! Marriage is supposed to be about compromise. Give and take. A little sacrifice on both parts. You watch one show I watch one show.”

“Marriage is about compromise? Uh huh…. Who told you that?”

“I read it in one of your magazines. I think it was Better Homes and Vaginas or something like that.”

“Calabrese I’ve been married to you for almost thirty years. I know you. This is not about compromise. This is your little game to annoy the crap out of me until I give up and go upstairs so I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“Is it working?”

“Look at this face. Do you think its working?”

“A little.”

“Really? This face?”

“Well actually you are starting to look a little like Wayne Newton.”

“OUCH!!!!! MARIE OSMOND??? Damn woman!!!! Stop throwing coasters”

***By the way for those of you in the San Diego or So Cal area I’ll be performing at The Pala Casino on Tuesday, October 9^th, opening for John Pinette. Normally I don’t post performance dates here but John is my favorite comedian and truly one of the funniest men on the planet. It’s an honor to share the stage with him. This is a show you do not want to miss. To order tickets before the show sells out visit:

http://www.palacasino.com/entertainment/

I hope to see you at the show.

Ask not what your treats can do for you. Ask what you can do for your treats.

2007-10-02T17:20:00.000-07:00

Well it’s October.

And naturally Family Fitness has come out with a list of the “best” treats and “worst” treats for Halloween.

Here’s a partial list of their “best” treats:

“Pretzels, crackers, and popcorn. If you get whole-grain versions of crackers and pretzels, you can add some much needed fiber to the season’s high-chocolate diet.”

That’s just what we need. A bunch of little kids running around with too much fiber in their diet from all the whole grains they’re downing. Legions of little farters roaming our neighborhoods.

Beautiful.

“Pumpkin seeds, almonds, peanuts, and trail mix”.

Peanuts? Aren’t they constantly warning us about peanut allergies and now we’re supposed to hand this crap out.

Trail mix? Are you kidding me? Trail mix? Where are these kids Trick or Treating? The old west?

“Juice boxes. (just check the label to make sure it’s juice & not colored sugar water!).”

What’s wrong with colored sugar water? I grew up on Kool-Aid and I turned out okay. Maybe if more kids had good old fashioned Kool-Aid they’d be able to stay awake in math class.

Here’s their “worst” list of treats.

“Gummy bears, jelly beans, caramels, fruit leather, gum, and other sticky treats. Full-sized chocolate bars. Cookies and snack cakes. Stay away from the following snacks voted worst vending machine snacks for kids by the Center for Science in the Public Interest: Chips Ahoy!, Oreos, Hostess HOHOs & other snack cakes, Keebler Club & Cheddar Sandwich Crackers, & Starburst Fruit Chews.”

Um… Read that again.

Who in the hell gives out Keebler Cheddar Sandwich Crackers for Halloween? If I’m Trick or Treating that’s a house that’s definitely getting toilet papered.

And who are these communists at the “Center for Science in the Public Interest”? That’s right communists. Anyone who doesn’t like a HOHO has to be a communist.

Gummy bears? Come on! What are old people supposed to eat?

And Chips Ahoy? That’s a nautical food. Maybe the kids into sailing. How can you knock a food that’s basically saying hello every time you look at the bag. That’s not a bad treat. That’s a happy treat. That’s a treat that welcomes you home.

They’re bashing Starburst fruit chews? Hello? It says fruit right on them. We’re supposed to have five servings a day of that stuff.

This list got me thinking. Why would Family Fitness tell you what not to eat? That’s like a cigarette company telling you not to smoke.

If I owned Family Fitness I’d be serving Banana Cream Pies at the Deli I owned in the front half of the gym. Fatten them up and sell them another 24 month membership so we can hold their checking account hostage for those automatic deductions.

But I guess they don’t have to do that.

Because there are no fat people at Family Fitness.

Well…

Okay you see them there…

Once.

As a matter of fact you never see fat people at any gym.

I take that back.

I’ve seen fat people at “Curves”.

I seem them when I look in the window on my way to the Cheesecake Factory.

They’re two doors down.

I’m not sure that’s a real gym.

It’s more of a gathering.

It’s like the women’s restroom at the stadium or the movies.

Just a place to hang out and tell each other how stupid men are.

After lunch.

When are they going to come up with a real gym for real people?

I swear one of these days I’m going to open an all you can eat buffet and strip club and I’m going to call it….

The Gym.

“Where you going honey?”

“Going to the gym babe.”

“You’ve been going there every night for a month and you’ve gained ten pounds.”

“Well you know what they say babe, muscle weighs more than fat.”

So don’t listen to these people that want to ruin Halloween for the kids.

Load them up with candy and chocolate. Thousands of dentists are depending on us. Just make sure to check out their bags first and snag a few of the good treats for yourself.

You know… Like the Keebler Cheddar Sandwich Crackers….

Please……

STAY AWAY FROM MY TREATS!!!!!

This one is just for me.... and the rest of us miserable San Diego Charger fans.

2007-09-24T11:53:00.000-07:00

Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky...Stormy Weather (It's a long one)

2007-09-14T16:13:00.000-07:00

“Hey Poppa!!!!”

“Hey Alex!!! Hey son. Did you have a good day in school today?”

”I’m a rainbow!!!”

“A rainbow?”

“Yep.”

“Dad that means he wasn’t bad but he wasn’t perfect either.”

“Whew! I thought maybe they were teaching some weird sexual orientation thing in kindergarten.”

“It’s a behavior thing dad!!! They have four behavior levels in kindergarten, Sunny, Rainbow, Cloudy and Stormy…. He’s been a little “Stormy” lately.”

“That’s how we labeled the nuns when I was in school. I never saw Sister Mary Sunny but Sister Mary Stormy used to beat the crap out of me.”

“Dad don’t start in front of Alex, he takes that stuff you say to school. He repeats everything his Poppa tells him.”

“So basically he’s a genius.”

“Dad please….”

“Fine, I get it, no problem.”

“Where’s mom?”

“Shopping.”

“So you’re going to watch Alex on your own?”

“I can watch a five year old.”

“I know dad but… well… just don’t teach him anything until mom gets home.”

“Son… trust me…..”

“When is mom coming home?”

“You really think I can answer that question? She went shopping. She could be home next Tuesday. You know how women are. Stick a Visa card in their hand and they use it like a scepter.”

”DAD! Not in front of Alex.”

“Don’t worry. You and Melina go to the parent teacher night and leave the care and well being of my grandson to me.”

“And no sugar dad.”

“Not to worry just healthy fruits and veggies. I’m all about health.”

“Dad?”

“See you later son.”

“Alex, listen to your Poppa and Gramma when she gets home, we’ll see you later.”

“Bye dad.”

“So Alex. Are you hungry?”

“Yep. Can I have some Spiderman gummies?”

“Sure, that’s technically a fruit.”

“YAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!”

“Slow down little buddy. Here’s the deal, you get one bag now and one later but it will be our secret okay.”

“Okay Poppa.”

“Cause once we make a deal it has to stay secret. You know what Italians call people that tell secrets? A rat. You don’t want to be a rat right? So we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

“Okay let’s shake on it.”

(One hour later)

“Hi honey I’m home.”

“Hey babe how was shopping?”

“I wasn’t shopping. I just went to pick up a blouse.”

“Uh huh…”

“Don’t start with me Calabrese. Hi Alex give Gramma a hug.”

“Hi Gramma Poppa gave me Spiderman gummies.”

(Kid has a lot to learn about being a rat.)

“I hope you gave him something for dinner other than Spiderman gummies.”

“He gave me two bags of Spiderman gummies.”

(A lot to learn….)

“Technically they’re a healthy snack. They are made of fruit.”

“Fruit? Okay Calabrese name a fruit that has the texture of gummy candy.”

“Um….”

“Times up numb nuts. You know better than load him up with sugar. He’ll be bouncing off the walls all night.”

”I didn’t load him up. He’s about a half a tank.”

“Gramma called you numb nuts.”

“She sure did. Tell your mom. Not like you’d keep anything a secret.”

“Numb nuts, numb nuts, numb nuts, numb nuts……”

”I can’t believe you. You told him to keep it a secret?”

“Numb nuts, numb nuts, hahahahahaha, Poppa is a numb nuts. That’s funny Gramma.”

“It was a history lesson. I was teaching him about his Italian heritage. I’m all about education.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Poppa is a numb nuts, Poppa is a numb nuts…..”

“Alex that’s enough. Let’s sit down and read one of your books. And you… husband… need to think about not being an idiot.”

“Gramma what’s a scepter?”

“What? A scepter? Calabrese?”

“He saw it on the History Channel. It was a Queen Elizabeth special. Very homely woman as a matter of fact but she had a nice scepter.”

“Whatever Calabrese…Whatever.”

(A little later)

“Hey dad, mom.”

“So how was your first parent teacher night?”

“Apparently Alex has a very vivid imagination.”

“That’s great! I knew my grandson was creative. You can always tell the smart ones.”

“Dad… This is not necessarily a good thing. We need to talk to Alex.”

“HI DAD!!!! HI MOM!!! POPPA IS A NUMB NUTS!!!!”

“Son, settle down. Your mother and I need to talk to you. Son you told us that you were a “Rainbow” today.”

“Yep.”

“Your teacher says you were “Stormy” today. That you punched Dustin for no reason. Is that true? Did you have a Stormy day?”

(Uh oh… Looks like it’s gonna rain.)

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“I felt like a rainbow today.”

“You didn’t punch Dustin?”

“I didn’t punch him.”

“Are you sure you didn’t punch him?”

“Sure I’m sure. I didn’t punch him. I socked him in the head.”

“Alex why did you sock Dustin???”

“He needed to be socked.”

“Alex what did Dustin do that would cause you to hit him in the head?”

“I didn’t hit him.”

“I know, I know, you socked him. Why did you sock him?”

“Cause some people just need to be socked.”

“Alex you can’t go around socking people in the head. Violence never solved anything.”

“Yes it does.”

“No Alex it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does dad. Dustin wouldn’t listen to me so I socked him in the head. He listened to me after that. He was crying a little… but he was listening.”

“Kids got a point.”

“DAD!!!”

”Tony! Knock it off.”

”I’m just saying…OUCH!!! Fine I get it. Stop with the back to head thing. See, now I’m listening. OUCH!!!.”

“Keep quiet Calabrese you’ve done enough already.”

“What? What did I do? I never told him to hit anyone unless it was in self defense. Okay okay I get it.”

“Alex, your teacher said you socked Dustin and then pretended someone else socked him. Is that true?”

“No…”

“Alex who is Ryan?”

“He’s a rat.”

(HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Apparently he’s learned something.)

“What are you smiling about?”

“I’m not… I was… He… I… I’m not smiling. Don’t hit me in the back of the head.”

(After about twenty minutes of watching and listening to my son and daughter-in-law lecture my grandson…)

“I got in trouble Poppa.”

“Yes you did.”

“My teacher is a rat.”

“Teachers don’t count. They’re supposed to rat.”

“So what’s the real reason you socked him?”

“I didn’t sock him that hard.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I probably won’t sock him again.”

“That’s good. You said Dustin wasn’t listening? What were you trying to tell him?”

“I was telling him not to talk to Jessica.”

(AHA!!!! A woman was involved. Figures.)

“Was Jessica talking to him?”

“Jessica talks to everyone. Jessica never stops talking.”

“So you like Jessica?”

“Everybody likes Jessica.”

“Oh… Well it was still wrong to sock Dustin but I understand why you did it.”

“Why didn’t you just tell your mom and dad about Jessica?”

“Because I’m too young to understand women.”

“Who told you that?”

“You did.”

“Um… Yes… Well… I was right. As a matter of fact your Poppa is still too young to understand women and I’m fifty years old. You never really understand women. I’ve lived with your Gramma for thirty years I still got no clue. Dealing with women is kind of like scratching a lottery ticket. Sometimes you have a winner but most of the time it just costs you a buck. But hey, at least you got to scratch something. Do you know what I mean?”

“Nope.”

“Alex women are like…”

“OH MY GOD!!!! Did you just tell our grandson that I’m a lottery ticket?”

(My wife is a freaking ninja!)

“Eh….. What I was saying was that…um… you know…How great it is to be with women… um… even though… you know… we men don’t always get you.”

“Oh you’re not going to get any alright.”

“Do you want me to scratch you Gramma?”

“No Gramma doesn’t need any scratching right now. But your grandfather is going to be scratched real soon if he doesn’t behave. You need to go downstairs now honey it’s time for you to go home.”

“I love you Gramma.”

“I love you too.”

“I love you Poppa.”

“I love you too little buddy.”

“You’re my best friend Poppa.”

”Well you’re my best friend too.”

“A scratcher? So I’m a scratcher.”

“No…AlexsockedDustinbecausehewasjealousof
DustinfortalkingtoJessicaandhesaidhedidn’ttelhis
momanddadbecauseIsaidhewastooyoungtounderstand
womenandIwasjusttellinghimIwasrightand…”

“Stop it right there. Did it dawn on that pea sized brain of yours that he’s going to go to school tomorrow and probably try to scratch Jessica? You realize that don’t you?”

“No… yes… but….”

“But what?”

“I’m proud of him.”

“For what?”

“He didn’t rat me out to AJ and Melina about the “too young to understand women” thing. He took his punishment like a man.”

“He was punished because he punched another child in the head. Why he punched him is irrelevant.”

“Spoken like a woman and he didn’t punch him, he socked him.”

“Don’t even start.”

“Don’t you get it? Even at age five he gets it. It’s a question of honor and loyalty. It’s a man thing.”

“It’s an idiot thing. You need a keeper Calabrese.”

“No… Poppa needs to be scratched… wink wink.”

“Here’s a coat hanger knock yourself out.”

“Ooohhhh… Someone’s having a Stormy day.”

My Kingdom for a Goat!!!

2007-09-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

It’s not everyday that you read the following headline:

"Airline sacrifices goats to appease sky god”

No this was not an old issue of “The Weekly World News” this was a Reuters headline yesterday..

The story continued:

“KATHMANDU - Officials at Nepal's “state-run” airline have sacrificed two goats to appease Akash Bhairab, the Hindu sky god, following technical problems with one of its Boeing 757 aircraft, the carrier said Tuesday. Nepal Airlines, which has “two” Boeing aircraft, has had to suspend some services in recent weeks due to the problem. The goats were sacrificed in front of the troublesome aircraft Sunday at Nepal's only international airport in Kathmandu in accordance with Hindu traditions, an official said.”

Maybe that’s why they only have two planes….. left.

How would you like to be looking out the window of the 757 you’re on waiting to take off and see someone sacrificing a goat on the runway?

“Excuse me stewardess?”

“Yes sir?”

“Umm… Someone is killing a goat out there.”

“Yes sir, we know sir. We’re just having some mechanical difficulties and we want to make sure the sky god has us covered.”

Sacrificing goats?

Fifty bucks says there’s a mechanic named Jesus with his hands on his hips saying, “A couple more hours I could have replaced the chingarera and that thing would have flown great. But noooooooo………. they have to kill my goats.”

How would you like to be the pilot and copilot of that plane?

"Tower this is Nepal 001, we are experiencing an engine malfunction and may need to return to the gate."

"Nepal 001 this is the tower, no need to return... we're sending out a goat."

Where is PETA when you need them?

I have this vision of a herd of goats next to the runway and every one of them is thinking, "FLY YOU SON OF A BITCH FLY!!!!"

What happens if this trend starts to spread?

Anything mechanical breaks down… some mammal needs to die.

What if Greyhound starts sacrificing cats in front of buses?

What if it spreads to any kind of failure in general?

“Honey we just got little Timmy’s report card and he’s failed his geometry class.”

“Kill his fish.”

“Mr. President we’re having a little trouble in Iraq.”

“Kill a Donkey.”

Sacrificing goats?

Who the hell keeps a goat around to sacrifice anyway?

I don’t know anyone that owns a goat.

Or a pig.

Or a cow.

Basically I don’t know anyone that owns farm animals.

How did they come up with the idea that killing two goats would make a Boeing 757 fly?

I’ve never seen a flying goat.

I did see a flying pig once.

Once.

At least I think it was a pig.

It squealed a lot just before it landed. Well… it didn’t actually land… it kind of crashed to earth.

It’s a tequila story and I’d rather not relive it.

This is the kind of stuff that makes me glad I’m an American.

Sacrificing goats.

Sure we can screw a few things up. But we’ve never sacrificed a goat. We probably won’t sacrifice cats, donkeys or hamsters either.

I’m okay with chickens. We could sacrifice a few chickens maybe add a little barbecue sauce some mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, some biscuits and gravy…

Hmmm…. I wonder if you can barbecue goat?

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2007-08-31T07:27:00.000-07:00

“Yellooooo.”

“Hey Dad it’s me AJ. Alex has something he wants to tell you.”

“Hi Poppa! Are you ready?”

“Sure buddy what have you got to tell me?”

“I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER THE SON HOLY SPIRIT AAAAAAMEN.

(HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!)

“That’s great pal! Did you learn that in school?”

”I learned that in my kindergarten glass today.”

“They taught it to you just like that?”

“Nope.”

“So did you… maybe… add something to it?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe that last part?”

“Nope.”

“Alex I don’t think the Pledge of Allegiance ends with that last part.”

“I didn’t end it.”

“Um… I’m a little confused Alex.

"Poppa…. I didn’t “end” it…. I “closed” it.”

“Um… Well… You’re supposed to say In the name of the Father, the Son, Holy Spirit, Amen after you say a prayer. The Pledge of Allegiance isn’t really a prayer.”

“It’s a prayer to me.”

“I... um... you know… I… You might be right pal. When you think about it you might be right.”

An affair to remember..... almost.

2007-08-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

Every once in awhile I would I catch a glimpse of her.

God she was beautiful.

Dark and tan.

She was exotic yet wholesome.

Distant and yet only a moment away.

Her shapely curves were born to drive men like me wild.

I knew she saw me too.

I knew she wanted me.

I could tell.

Normally I would have walked right past her.

But today was different.

I don’t know what compelled me to stop.

I think it was something I saw on TV that reminded me of her.

I don’t know.

My head was spinning.

My heart was pounding.

My stomach rumbling.

Should I go over to her?

What if she’s not there?

Would I look foolish?

God what am I doing?

My wife would kill me?

What would my kids say?

I’m fifty years old I shouldn’t be doing this.

My head told me to stop but my heart and every other organ told me to go for it.

Yes! I could see her now.

She was behind the glass.

Sitting near the window.

My god she was amazing.

I inched closer.

Soon I was right up against the glass.

I felt like a kid at an aquarium.

I put my hands around my face and pressed up against the glass pretending to be looking at anything else inside.

I must look like an idiot.

Oh god she must have seen me.

I’m such a fool.

Just go inside I kept telling myself.

Just go inside.

But if I went inside…..

If I crossed that line…..

Could I ever forgive myself?

There she is.

Damn.

She’s gorgeous.

What was I thinking?

Why would she ever want me?

My money?

I have money.

I’m sure with my money I could have her.

But would she be happy?

I know for a moment she would.

I could make her happy for a moment.

But would I be happy?

God yes!

I’d be ecstatic.

I would feel reborn.

Whole again.

Normal.

This is meant to be.

It’s Fate.

Kismet.

Now is the time.

This is my moment.

The time when a man feels………….

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you looking at?”

“I said nothing.”

“What did you stop for?”

“I didn’t stop.”

“What’s in the window?”

“Nothing…. okay? Cut me some slack.”

“Oh my god. You were looking at that German Chocolate Cake weren’t you?”

“No.”

“You can’t eat that. Get over it.”

“I wasn’t going to eat that cake.”

“What were you going to do? Take it to dinner and a movie?”

“I don’t want the cake. She is beautiful though isn’t she? Look at her frosting. Damn that’s a thick layer of frosting.”

“You’re pathetic Calabrese.”

“What? I’m just admiring how perfectly she’s frosted.”

“She? You’re really calling a cake a she?”

“Yes all baked goods are referred to in the feminine form.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m not having cake okay? I’m just looking. A bakery is like an art gallery to someone who’s always on a damn diet. It’s not just cake it’s art. We look but we don’t touch. We fantasize about what it would be like to own a particular piece but that’s it. Now lighten up and give me a break.”

“So you have your money clip in your hand because you just wanted to give Andrew Jackson a massage?”

“I… um… Oh… I didn’t realize I had my money clip out. I was… uh… just making sure a pickpocket didn’t get it. Lot of pickpockets in malls especially food courts.”

“Look numbnuts do you have any idea how many calories there are in a piece of German chocolate cake?”

“It’s not about the calories. You can’t put a price tag on fine art and you can’t count calories on a gourmet German Chocolate Cake. It’s priceless, calorie less. You don’t eat a piece of cake like that and think about calories. You savor it. If you have to think about the calories you can’t afford to eat it.”

“Step away from the glass Calabrese.”

“What?”

“Back away keeping your hands plainly where I can see them.”

“Come on honey this is ridiculous.”

“Now very slowly hand me your money clip.”

“This is stupid. You can trust me. I won’t get any cake.”

“You’re right not without money you won’t.”

“This sucks.”

“Life a bitch and so am I when it comes to your diet.”

“Just the diet?”

“Don’t push it WOP. Keep moving.”

“I’m an adult you know. A grown man. I have willpower.”

“Yes dear I know. You’re the man of the house. You wear the pants in the family…no matter what size they are.”

“Goodbye Mon Cheri…….”

“You’re speaking French to a cake?”

“I think she winked at me. OUCH!!! Why do you always have to smack me on the back of the head?”

“Tradition.”

"Hey honey?"

"What?"

“Can we walk past The Cheesecake Factory?"

"OUCH!!!!!!!!!!"

Does Jimmy Choo make a man shoe?

2007-08-27T12:29:00.000-07:00

Friday night I came off the stage at The Comedy Palace and went outside to cool off and get some air. There were a couple of other comedians out there and of course the usual drunk young girls smoking Camel no filtered cigarettes.

I was followed outside by a woman that looked like a very tanned version of Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies who had obviously had a few too many.

She was probably about twenty one years old.

“Hey man you were f&*^*ng funny man.”

“Well thank you.”

“Naw man I mean really f&*^*ng funny.”

“Thanks again.”

“Hey man you wanna hear a joke?”

Most comedians today don’t tell jokes. We talk about life and put our own twist on it. But every comedian will tell you that people constantly offer them jokes. Usually they are old jokes we’ve all heard a million times but we’re polite, tell them they’re funny and thank them. That way everybody’s happy.

“Sure I’d love to hear your joke.”

“Give me your shoe.”

“Excuse me?”

“GIVE ME YOUR F#$%*NG SHOE!!!!”

“I’m not giving you my shoe. Just tell me the joke.”

“I need your shoe man.”

Now the other two comedians that are out there, my dear friends, are egging her on.

“Give her your shoe man, come on man, give her your shoe. Don’t be a pussy man give her your shoe.”

“Why don’t you guys give her a shoe?”

“DUUUDE I NEED YOUR F*%$^NG SHOE!!!!”

“Okay okay here’s my shoe.”

(What am I doing this for?)

She then takes a huge drag off of her cigarette and places my shoe over her mouth like a gas mask and exhales the smoke into my shoe.

She then holds my shoe out to me. Smoke is coming out of my shoe billowing up from the opening.

“What’s this man?”

“I... uh... have no idea.”

“Guess.”

“I don’t know.”

“A Palestinian bus stop.”

I lost it. I don’t think I have ever laughed at a joke that hard in my life. To see this sun burnt wrinkled drunk chick holding my smoking shoe deliver that punch line was just too much.

The two other comedians were laughing just as hard as well. One of them spit out his drink.

The drunk chick handed me back my shoe and then turned to stumble back inside. As she turned she looked at the three of us and said, “I should be a f$%#*ng comedian.”

Not one of us could argue with her.

The three of us told that story the rest of the weekend. The comedians we told that story to all laughed. They loved the setup, the punch line and the fact that a drunk chick told the joke.

It’s a great joke.

Not one of the women around us liked the joke.

Not one.

Why?

It was originally told by a woman.

It’s a brilliant joke.

It always amazes me how something can be funny to some people and not funny to others.

I decided that I would consult an expert on jokes and humor to find an answer.

I decided to tell the story to my wife.

“You’re not laughing.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Oh it was funny.”

“No so much.”

“How can you not like that joke?”

“That girl put her mouth in your shoe? I can’t believe that girl put her mouth inside your shoe.”

“I know isn’t that hilarious.”

“It’s disgusting. How drunk was she?”

“Pretty drunk, but don’t you think that’s a brilliant punch line?”

“So you’re telling me that a perfect stranger, who was drunk, asked for one of your stinky smelly shoes, which you then gave to her, and then she put her face into it and blew smoke into it?”

“My shoes aren’t stinky and smelly.”

“The girl put her MOUTH inside your SHOE!!!!”

“Forget that part. Focus on the joke. The smoking shoe, Palestinian bus stop, get it? That’s funny.”

“How did that girl get home?”

“What?”

“How did that girl get home? You didn’t let her drive did you?”

“How do I know? I’m sure her boyfriend took her home.”

“Do you always hand your shoes to drunken women?”

“Of course not.”

“So this particular woman got you to give her your shoe.”

“Yes.”

“Was she pretty?”

“I told you she looked like a tan version of Granny from the Beverly Hillbilly’s.”

“Uh huh… Did she have big boobs?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t looking at her boobs. You’ve forgotten the point here.”

“The point is you need to stop hanging around these drunken women.”

“I don’t hang around drunken women. I don’t hang around any women.”

“You seem to always have a story about some drunken slut outside a comedy club.”

“She wasn’t a slut.”

“How would you know?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I don’t know any sluts. I don’t know anything about sluts. I couldn’t find a slut if you paid me to find a slut. I’m slut free. I’m 50 years old. I’ve been married for 29 years. I’m in a slut free zone. I only told you about this because of the joke. That’s what I was trying to get across. I was trying to figure out why women don’t like the joke. I don’t care about that drunken slut.”

“So she was a slut.”

“How on earth would I know if she’s a slut?”

“You just called her a slut.”

“I only called her a slut because you called her a slut and I’m trying to get past the whole slut part.”

“So you’re trying to shut me up?”

“That’s not what I said. I was just trying to turn the conversation back to the joke.”

“The joke the slut told.”

“Fine she’s a slut. She’s a comedy groupie. We’ve all had her. All comedians secretly have a fetish for Granny and Miss Hathaway. It’s the threesome we’ve all yearned for. I can’t sleep at night without thinking of her tanned wrinkled flesh. Are you happy now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I’m happy now.”

“What the hell are you happy about?”

“Everything.”

“So the joke…. You like the joke?”

The joke…The joke was stupid. Me getting you all worked up over the story? Now that’s funny.”

“So you put me through that on purpose just to make me feel like an idiot?”

“If the shoe fits…..”

Love that dirty water!

2007-08-24T07:06:00.000-07:00

For all of you who think I make this stuff up all I can say is sometimes I wish I did.

Unfortunately I don’t.

This article was in the San Diego Union Tribune yesterday.

“Chula Vista center connected to pipes carrying treated sewage”

“For two years, occupants of the 17 businesses in Eastlake's Fenton Business Center have been drinking and washing their hands in treated sewage water.”

Two years?

AGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Shop owners in a Chula Vista business park knew something was wrong with their water. It tasted bad, smelled funny and had a yellowish tint.”

Ya think?

This was going on for two years?

At some point, way earlier than two years, doesn’t someone in one of those offices say, “You know… this office coffee tastes like crap.”

Ken August, a spokesman for the state Department of Public Health, said officials are investigating.

“We have learned about the situation and we are evaluating it,” August said.

Evaluating it?

Um…. There’s poop in the water. It’s poopy water. You want an evaluation? Here’s one, THERE’S POOP IN THE WATER!!!!

You don’t need to evaluate poopy water you need to fix it!!!

To me this should be the responsibility of Homeland Security. If there’s anything we want to be secure from its poopy water. There needs to be a special poopy water assault force that can swoop in and scoop out the poopy water. Delta Force, Rangers, Ninja’s, I don’t care but someone needs to do something.

How come I can’t take toothpaste on a plane but they can put poop in the water?

How come I can’t open a checking account without the complete history of every member of my family but they can put poop in the water?

How come I can’t buy Claritin without feeling like a criminal but they can put poop in the water?

This is America!

This is a poopy water free country.

Al Queda doesn’t have to do anything!

“Hey Osama, peace be upon you, you want we should blow ourselves up to get the Americans?”

“Shakeel O’kneel my friends, no need to blow yourselves up, we will just poop.”

How can our president deal with the rest of the world when this happens right here at home?

“President Putin we believe it prudent for Russia to stop flying long range bombers over NATO airspace. If you do not cease these flights immediately we are prepared to take action.”

“President Bush, please, you are a cowboy, you will do nothing. You have poop in your water.”

“Yeah… well… your name rhymes with poopin.”

Our great nation, our states, our cities, deserve poop free water!

You don’t see “Poopafina” water anywhere do you?

Because it isn’t supposed to be that way.

That’s a tap water that’s not supposed to exist.

I want the mayor of the city of Chula Vista to dress up in a biohazard suit, stand on the back of a septic tank truck and declare, “Mission Accomplished. The evil poopers of our water are defeated.”

Somehow this is going to get blamed on illegal immigration or the Republicans even though everyone knows that if ever anyone was going to drink anything recycled, especially poop, it would be a liberal democrat.

How in the hell do you hook up the recycled sewer water to the drinking water line?

Who’s working at the Water Authority?

Ed Norton?

“Heeey Ralphie-boy!!! Check out the practical joke me and the guys in the sewer played on the city of Chula Vista.”

“Norton! Norton! Are you nuts? People can’t drink poopy water. One of these days Norton I swear I’ll…..”

“Look, just don't get upset. There's no sense in getting upset. Now listen, the boys in the sewer, there, when we get upset we got a little motto... a little saying that gives us comfort in time of need. Maybe I can pass it on to you. May I favor you with this little ode? "When the tides of life turn against you, and the current upsets your boat. Don't waste those tears on what might have been, just lay on your back and float."

“Well said Norton well said.”

It may be Saturday Night Fever but it feels like the flu.

2007-08-21T07:24:00.000-07:00

In the 32 years I have known my wife I have had to do things or to go places or to listen to things that I have absolutely no interest in.

That part of a relationship is called a “given”.

When it comes right down to it there are two basic things in life that a man really wants from a woman and they both begin with the letter “P”.

One of them is peace.

What?

On Saturday night one of my wife’s friends had a 70’s party at her house. I know from experience that I had to pretend I really wanted to go this party.

I had to pretend because I know that she, like all women, doesn’t just want me to go, she wants me to “want” to go.

So I have to fake it.

I also know that after 32 years she knows that I’m faking it. But as long as I keep the lie to myself I have peace. But if I make even the slightest negative comment…. Well let’s just say I’m not making a negative comment.

And that’s the hard part.

The toughest thing to do when you’re a man is to resist the temptation to ask the following question even though every fiber of your being is screaming to know the answer. The question will go something like this:

“So… how long do you think we’re going to have to be there?”

Game over Batman.

We can’t help ourselves.

So I’m pretending that I want to go this party and fighting the urge to find out what time we can get the hell out of there.

This 70’s party is a costume party.

I have to dress up in a 70’s theme.

I went to my little section of our closets.

Nope. No 70’s stuff.

I guess I’ll just wear a pair of Dockers and collared shirt.

Wrong.

So I have to pretend that I “want” to wear a costume to a party that I’m pretending I “want” to go to.

By the time we left the costume shop I was one half of “Two wild and crazy guys” from Steve Martin and Dan Aykroyd on Saturday Night Live.

Two guys dressed that way could be funny.

Thirty years ago.

One guy dressed that way today is well… think gay pride parade.

But I’m keeping my mouth shut because at this point not only is she going to owe me both the known “P’s” I’m going to make up a few new ones.

I never bothered to ask where the party was ahead of time, because I didn’t want to go, so when we went to leave I asked my wife if she knew where we were going.

“Don’t worry I printed it out from Map Quest. I think they live in Escondido.”

I know how to get to Escondido.

So I head out Interstate 8 “East” to 163 North to 15 North to Escondido.

“Okay babe now what? We’re coming up to Escondido.”

“Take the 78 “West” to Oceanside.”

“What?”

“We need to go to west.”

“West? Ummm… Honey… Where is this party exactly?”

“Let me see…. It’s in La Costa.”

“Uh huh… Honey… When you searched for the directions for her house what did you use as the starting address?”

“Um…. My work address.”

“Uh huh... So what you’re telling me is we just drove 30 minutes out of our way to someplace that was basically a straight line NORTH from our HOUSE!!!!!”

“Don’t yell at me you know I don’t do directions.”

There was an old movie called “God is my Co-Pilot”.

My co-pilot was a forty nine year old premenopausal Portuguese woman dressed as a disco diva that was using one pair of glasses to read the directions and another to read the street signs.

“You need to turn on Paseo Caciendo. Ooooh! That was it back there.”

“Don’t you think it would be a good idea to tell me where to turn before we pass the street?”

“Shut up.”

“Shut up?”

“That’s right, shut up. If we had taken my car we could have used the GPS but you always want to drive your Cadillac.”

“If I need to I can use OnStar! You have the directions in your hand!”

“Just shut up.”

Oh this is going to be fun.

Thirty minutes later after driving down every street that started with “Paseo” we found the house.

When you’re the only sober person at a 70’s party you become an observer.

Why is it that middle age white men feel the need to look like complete idiots?

If you’re old and fat….

Don’t dress up like K.C. without the Sunshine Band.

Why is it that middle age white women dance in packs?

What the hell are they hunting?

All the women were dancing until “Cher” knocked over and broke the authentic 70’s lava lamp.

Then an elated “Sonny” grabbed “Cher” and got the chance to get the hell out of there because it “was time for her to go home.”

Why didn’t I think of breaking that lamp?

It was as bring your own booze party.

My wife brought scotch.

About a fourth of a bottle of scotch.

Who brings and open bottle to a BYOB party?

Apparently my wife.

Why?

Because that was all she was going to drink.

So after switching to vodka when the scotch was gone…………..

Needless to say I had no co-pilot going home.

At two o’clock in the morning.

I got lost.

I couldn’t find the freeway.

I drove around in circles for almost half and hour.

Disco Dolly is passed out in the front seat snoring.

Well there goes at least one of the “P’s”.

Finally I saw a cop car parked at an intersection.

Here’s a little heads up.

If you’re driving around lost at 2:30 in the morning dressed in a silver quiana shirt, skin tight checkered Angel Flight style pants, platform shoes with dice in the heels and Disco Dolly passed out in your front seat it’s a little tough to ask a police officer for directions.

“I know this is going to sound crazy officer but I swear I’ve had nothing to drink and I’m not gay. I’m just lost.”

“Uh huh… And just what are you supposed to be?”

“Married.”

“Enough said. Where are you trying to go?”

“Well not the Y.M.C.A. I’ll tell you that. Sorry officer just joking. I’m trying to find the entrance to the freeway.”

“Turn right at this corner it’s about two blocks away.”

“Thanks officer.”

“By the way how come you don’t have a GPS navigation system in that car?”

“I.. um… I have On Star.”

“Why didn’t you use it?”

“I forgot about it.”

“And you’ve had nothing to drink?”

“Officer would you take the chance, dressed like this, to drink and drive?”

“Well Excu-u-u-u-se me!!!”

“Excuse what officer?”

“Steve Martin? Saturday Night Live? Get it?”

(There is no god.)

“Oh… sure… Ha ha.. I get it.”

He laughed and waved and told me that “he’d catch me on the flip side” whatever that meant.

We got home just after 3:00am. Disco Dolly briefly came to as I got her out of the car proclaiming, “This was the best party ever!”

I got her upstairs and plopped her down on the bed.

Here’s the thing about being a man….

You see a woman in a miniskirt and six inch platform knee high boots passed out drunk on your bed….

Well….

No… I didn’t.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

I wasn’t going to “boogie wonderland” at that point.

I slept downstairs on the couch.

When she woke up my wife wasn’t her normal cheery self.

“Shut up! Stop making so much noise with the newspaper. Do you have to breathe so loud? Do you even have to breathe?”

“Not feeling so groovy this morning honey?”

“Don’t make me kill you.”

“Oh I will survive honey cause I'm stayin alive stayin alive ha ha ha ha stayin aliiiiiiiii...OUCH!!!”

They may take my Marlboro's but they will never take my freedom!

2007-08-15T12:56:00.000-07:00

Smoking.

It’s a dirty filthy nasty deadly habit.

We all know this.

Everybody knows this.

The world knows this.

But people still smoke.

And it’s wrong.

Unless……….

You live in a city like El Cajon.

Let me explain.

The City of El Cajon in San Diego County passed a new ordinance this week that will prohibit smoking in most public places.

El Cajon was the first city in San Diego County to outlaw smoking in parks and also requiring businesses that sell tobacco to get a city license.

Under the ordinance, smoking on a city sidewalk will be forbidden. Smoking outside office buildings, however, will be permitted, as long as smokers are in a designated area away from non-smokers.

Um…

That’s just stupid.

This is El Cajon.

Have you ever been to El Cajon?

They should be able to smoke anything they want in El Cajon.

They should be able to roll up an old couch and smoke it.

Smoke a dead pet.

Smoke a live pet.

Smoke everything!

It’s El Cafrigginjon!

How are you supposed to drive around covered in tattoos in a pickup truck with a gun rack and a pit bull and not smoke?

El Cajon is a…. well… well… It’s El Cajon.

It’s the Spanish word for one testicle.

It’s Tijuana East.

It’s a thousand degrees in the smoggy shade.

It’s the “meth” capitol of the United States!

For the love of God let them smoke.

Let them smoke all day!

I think that certain cities should be designated as smoking cities.

Think of it as legalized euthanasia.

Wouldn’t it be easier to have designated smoking cities like El Cajon and just ban smoking everywhere else?

It makes more sense.

This idea of banning smoking outside in public areas while noble is just stupid.

How are they going to enforce this?

Are they going to deputize posses of pissed off busybodies?

I can see it now. Roaming bands of menopausal women beating smokers to death while secretly stealing their smokes.

I’ll get smacked for that last one…. I know.

How can they possibly have a “designated” smoking area OUTSIDE?????

Are you kidding me?

What are they going to do hire “wind checkers” to make sure there’s no drift factor?

How will they make sure the "wind checkers" aren't illegal aliens?

I can see the El Cajon police force at their Monday morning meetings.

“Sgt. Billy Bob, Deputy Rufus and Deputy Skeeter will be on “smoke” patrol this week. Make sure your Tasers and cattle prods are fully charged men. Zap em before they light up if you can.”

I’m going to go out on a limb and say the police in a city like El Cajon have a hell of a lot better things to do then arrest or ticket smokers.

I know some of you are thinking that I support smoking.

I don’t.

But I do support an idiot’s right to kill himself any damn way he pleases.

It thins the herd.

Let’s face it this whole battle against smoking is just a little odd.

The cigarette companies keep producing cigarettes and yet on their very own websites state comments like the following:

Smoking causes serious disease.
Nicotine in tobacco products is addictive but is not considered a significant threat to health.
No tobacco product has been shown to be safe.
An individual's level of risk for serious disease is significantly affected by the type of tobacco product used as well as the manner and frequency of use.

Huh?

Here’s my favorite right off the R.J. Reynolds website.

“R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company believes that individuals should rely on the conclusions of the U.S. Surgeon General, the Centers for Disease Control and other public health and medical officials when making decisions regarding smoking.”

And here’s just a few of the highlights from the Surgeon General and the Centers for Disease Control:

1. Smoking harms nearly every organ of the body, causing many diseases and affecting the health of smokers in general. Quitting smoking has immediate as well as long-term benefits for you and your loved ones.

2. Smoking is the single greatest avoidable cause of disease and death.

3. The risk of dying from lung cancer is more than 22 times higher among men who smoke cigarettes and about 12 times higher among women who smoke cigarettes compared with never smokers.

4. Cigarette smoking increases the risk for many types of cancer, including cancers of the lip, oral cavity, pharynx, esophagus, pancreas, larynx (voice box), lung, uterine cervix, urinary bladder, and kidney.

5. Cigarette smoking is associated with a tenfold increase in the risk of dying from chronic obstructive lung disease. About 90% of all deaths from chronic obstructive lung diseases are attributable to cigarette smoking.

6. Secondhand smoke exposure causes disease and premature death in children and adults who do not smoke.

7. Children exposed to secondhand smoke are at an increased risk for sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS), acute respiratory infections, ear problems, and more severe asthma. Smoking by parents causes respiratory symptoms and slows lung growth in their children.

8. Exposure of adults to secondhand smoke has immediate adverse effects on the cardiovascular system and causes coronary heart disease and lung cancer.

9. Cigarette smoking causes reduced circulation by narrowing the blood vessels (arteries). Smokers are more than 10 times as likely as nonsmokers to develop peripheral vascular disease.

10. It smells.

Okay I made up that last one. But it’s still true.

So… The R.J. Reynolds Co. believes that individuals should rely on those conclusions but continue to smoke anyway?

Isn’t that what they are saying?

Smoke at your own risk.

But smoke.

That has to be it. Otherwise all they need to do is just put up the following on their website.

Don’t buy cigarettes. They may kill you.

But let’s be honest, it’s not the tobacco companies fault if you get cancer or die from smoking cigarettes.

It’s your fault.

It’s not even their fault if you get cancer and die from second hand smoke. It’s the fault of the asshole who was smoking next you.

Cigarettes don’t kill people.

People smoking cigarettes that own guns and pit bulls and drive pickup trucks and have tattoos and live in El Cajon kill people.

Confucious say - If the Choo fits.......

2007-08-10T15:30:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in life where a man reaches the pinnacle of knowledge when it comes to women.

The peak ain’t that high.

But when you’ve been with a woman for thirty three years and twenty nine of those have been in marriage you tend to learn a few things.

But not enough.

I apparently will never learn how to “listen”.

The other day my wife mumbled something about going out with her sister to get some “Jimmy Choo’s”.

Now I’m on a diet… again… and I can’t have Chinese food, but I figure what the hell, she works out everyday, she can afford the calories, if she wants it go for it.

So I say……

“Sounds great honey, if that’s what you want, you’ve earned it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. It won’t bother me. I’ll just go up to the den so I don’t have to smell it.”

She had this puzzled look on her face but in thirty three years I’ve seen that face a lot.

I’ve never understood it, but I know it.

She started to say something, shook her head, and walked out the door.

Five hours later she walked back in.

She had this look on her face…. Oh god…. This look….I know this look…. It’s the look that says, “This is going to cost me money.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What do you think?”

“Uhhhh…. About what?”

“My Jimmy Choo’s.”

“I… uhhh…I dunno… what do you think?”

“It’s amazing! It’s like I’m walking on air?”

(Man how good is this Chinese food?)

“What did you have for lunch?”

“Lunch? Oh I had a sandwich at the Deli in Nordstrom.”

“You ate at the Deli in Nordstrom and got Jimmy Choo’s?”

“Too much?”

“Don’t you think?”

“Lunch for both of us was only twenty two dollars.”

“I don’t care how much lunch cost honey but how can you go to Nordstom and Jimmy Choo’s?

“Jimmy Choo’s is right around the corner.”

“How much time between the time you were in Nordstrom and the time you were in Jimmy Choo’s?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Did you at least walk it off?”

“After I got my Jimmy Choo’s.”

“How did you hold that much?”

“They gave us bags numb nuts, how do you think we held it?”

“I just… I’ve never… You don’t usually go to two places in a row like that. It’s not good for you. You could get cramps or something.”

“Cramps? Please? You can’t get cramps with Jimmy Choo’s. Only the cheap stuff gives you cramps.”

“You can get cramps when you have too much of anything sweetheart. What would you say if I said that I went to Nordstrom and Jimmy Choo’s at lunch?

“Ummm... That you were gay?”

“Gay? What does going to Jimmy Choo’s have to do with being gay? What did you get at Jimmy Choo’s anyway?”

“I got some Bindi’s and a Bale.”

“I thought you didn’t like seafood.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Jimmy Choo’s.”

“What has that got to do with fish?”

“They don’t sell fish at…. all those Chinese places have fish… Wait… What the hell kind of restaurant is Jimmy Choo’s?”

“Restaurant?”

“Didn’t you and your sister go to Jimmy Choo’s for lunch?”

“NO!!! Jimmy Choo’s doesn’t sell food. I told you we went to Nordstrom for lunch. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Um…. What… does… Jimmy Choo’s… sell?”

“Shoes.”

“Shoes? Crud….”

“Aren’t you going to ask me how much I saved?”

Let them eat cake!!!

2007-08-09T11:07:00.000-07:00

To some people there is nothing more terrifying than hearing the following:

“Potluck lunch on Friday! There’s a signup sheet in the kitchen.”

“Potluck” is an ancient Hebrew word that means “free food”.

Now there are certain unwritten rules regarding the Potluck lunch. These rules have been around since the first cavemen started to drink out of Styrofoam cups and seal their mammoth meat in Ziploc Freezer bags.

In order to help those of you that are unfamiliar with Potluck etiquette I have written down twenty of the more important “Potluck” rules:

Rule #1 - If you have even a hint of Filipino blood you will be expected to bring “lumpia”. It doesn’t matter if you have never caught and skinned a lumpia or if you have ever even seen one. Trust me. The entire office expects you to bring lumpia.

Rule #2 - The boss always buys or orders a main course. Think pizza, KFC or a three foot sandwich from “Sub Marina”. Someone will have to go pick it up for him.

Rule #3 - Fat people always bring the smallest portions. They didn’t mean to but they’ve eaten half of what they were going to bring before they left the house.

Rule #4 – Skinny people have no clue how much food to bring and invariably they bring a small vegetable tray with some stupid kind of fat free yogurt dip. Skinny people should be banned from potlucks

Rule #5 - There will always be something on the table that looks like some type of goulash and no one will know who brought it.

Rule #6 - At least one dish will have some type of “Top Ramen” in it.

Rule #7 - Males under the age of twenty five will sign up to bring soda. One liter of Coke and another of Sprite. That’s it.

Rule #8 - Women under the age of twenty five will bring their version of Mexican food… Tortilla Chips and guacamole. They’ll then sit around and complain about how they just don’t taste the same without a “Corona”.

Rule #9 - The oldest woman always brings something chocolate. Always.

Rule #10 - The newest person will try to impress everyone with something homemade. God knows what it is…… but it’s homemade.

Rule #11 – The person that has been there the longest will pretend what they brought is homemade. Everyone will comment on how it’s, “Just like they make it at the Olive Garden.”

Rule #12 - If you have Italians in your office they will wait until they see what everyone else brought, announce that there isn’t enough food, then go out and get enough food for three times the people in the office.

Rule #13 – Never eat the “authentic” Indian food the Mexican girl brought.

Rule #14 - Someone will try to pass off something they’ve burnt as Cajun.

Rule #15 - Someone will not bring anything, pretend they did, and eat a little of everything everyone else brought.

Rule #16 - Someone’s Tupperware will be missing at the end of the day. Everyone will think the oldest woman took it but they’ll never say it out loud.

Rule #17 - The young guy that brought the soda took the Tupperware. He needed a new cereal bowl.

Rule #18 – At the end of the day whoever had “kitchen duty” will be pissed off. This will be the person that doesn’t bring anything to the next potluck.

Rule #19 - Everyone will pretend they want the recipe for something. Especially the dish with the “Top Ramen” in it.

Rule #20 - Potlucks should always be on a Friday so people with food poisoning have the weekend to recover.

I’m sure there are a lot more rules. Feel free to add your own.

Friends I will remember you... think of you... EAT with you.

2007-07-26T12:27:00.000-07:00

Have you heard?

A Harvard study just released links obesity to friends.

Apparently just by hanging out with fat people you can become fat.

And I thought people only looked like their dogs.

So what they are saying is that these diet programs where you have to go to a meeting with other fat people are in fact contributing to their fatness?

And I always thought it was the complimentary nachos.

That may explain why every diet fails.

That also explains why over eaters anonymous isn’t… well… anonymous.

If you see are large gathering of fat people it’s either a potluck, a dieters meeting or the new release of a Rosie O’Donnell video.

I sense some of you feeling a little uneasy. You’re not comfortable with me talking about fat people.

It’s okay.

I’m fat.

I can talk about it.

It’s like how white people can’t make fun of black people but black people can make fun of white people.

I’m fat so I can make fun of fat people and skinny people.

But skinny people can’t make fun of fat people.

That would be wrong.

Especially if they make fun of fat black people.

This whole friends make you fat concept is very intriguing.

Usually friends just make you so drunk you go home with whatever fat person is left at the bar.

But this is way different.

I wonder now if these gangs of skinny girls that always have the one fat girl with them to make them feel better about themselves will worry about that fat girl “turning” them.

Guys don’t care about this study. You get a group of guys together and tell us that if we hang out with fat people we could gain weight we’ll take it as a personal challenge and order the pizza and beer.

This is one of those studies that just didn’t need to exist.

You can’t get fat hanging out with fat people.

There are no calories in hanging out.

You get fat by eating the crap that fat people eat.

I know.

I’ve done it.

But let’s face it. It’s more fun to hang out with fat people.

Fat people love to watch TV or go to the movies. They have pizza and popcorn and milk duds and slurpees and torpedo sandwiches and they drink beer and tequila.

Skinny people never have anything good to eat with them.

Skinny people make a meal out of a carrot and a stick.

Skinny people think a gourmet meal is something frozen with the word “cuisine” in the title.

Skinny people love to exercise.

Fat people love to relax.

Fat people end up dying.

Skinny people end up dying.

Skinny people don’t need as many people to carry their coffin.

Fat people shouldn’t be cremated because of the fire risks.

Most fat people have a great sense of humor.

Most skinny people look so tense they could swallow a lump of coal and a diamond would shoot out of their ass.

Am I wrong?

Take a skinny person to an Italian restaurant and they’ll go into convulsions trying to figure out what they can eat.

Fat people just order.

A lot.

Fat people tip big. They want the waiters or waitresses to remember them. They hope that next time they'll bring them extra food.

Skinny people don’t eat out enough to know how to tip.

Fat people look good at the wheel of an RV at the stadium eating hot dogs.

Skinny people think they look good driving minivans with a cup from Starbucks on the dashboard.

Skinny people go to the beach and get sand in their cracks.

Fat people watch reruns of Baywatch and get Doritos in their cracks.

When a fat person says he’s making a “run” to the store it means he’s out of peanut butter.

When a skinny person says he’s making a “run” to the store…

He’s actually running to the store.

So with all these proven differences that I’ve pointed out it’s pretty obvious to me that those researchers from Harvard were smoking crack.

People are fat because they eat too much.

People are skinny because they want to get laid.

If you’re fat you can’t get skinny hanging out with skinny people.

All you get is hungry.

If you’re skinny you can’t get fat hanging out with fat people.

All you get is whatever is left after the fat people eat.

So save your research dollars and buy a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake and feed a homeless skinny person.

Better yet go down to the airport and get some free terrorist cheese.

Make love, not cheese.

2007-07-25T16:33:00.000-07:00

I can put up with a lot.

I can deal with E-Coli scares.

I can survive salmonella.

I can handle a few fingers accidentally left in my Chili.

But for the love of god don’t turn my cheese into a weapon!!!

Have you heard about this?

Terrorists are smuggling blocks of cheese with wires and batteries and timers attached to them in their luggage.

At first I was really angry.

They’re trying to blow up our cheese!!!!

F@#*%*g communists!!!!

What’s happening to a world where there’s no respect for the cheese?

Then I thought…. Well… I’ve been a little bloated from too much cheese but I’ve never seen cheese blow up.

I don’t think cheese itself will actually burst into flame and shrapnel.

Although it does seem that way sometimes.

When you eat too much of it.

If you know what I mean.

I wonder what kind of cheese these terrorists were smuggling.

I don’t know any good Muslim cheeses.

Come to think of it I don’t know any Muslim cheeses.

I have a lot of cheese experience and I’ve never even heard of a Muslim cheese.

Especially one that explodes.

Then I thought that maybe our war on terror was finally working.

We have succeeded in cutting off the supply of actual explosives so now these people are making bombs out of cheese.

And people think George W. Bush isn’t doing a good job.

He’s got the evil doers resorting to incendiary cheese.

Cheese of mass destruction.

I can’t wait to see how many of the democrats say they never eat cheese.

Hillary eats cheese.

Look at those calves.

Trust me she eats a lot of cheese.

Has anyone checked to see if Dick Cheney owns a dairy?

Maybe it has something to do with methane.

Cows produce methane.

Methane is flammable.

Cows produce milk.

Cheese comes from milk.

Tada!

Flammable cheese.

I did some long hard research on this, Wikopedia, and there’s a cheese in the Middle East called “Jibneh Arabieh”.

That even sounds like a terrorist’s name.

If a guy gets on a plane and his name happens to be “Jibneh Arabieh bin Laden” then we’re going to have a real problem.

I think the dairy industry is really going to be challenged here. I have this horrible feeling we’re going to see a press release promising the American public that U.S. made cheese does not explode.

In California we have the “Good cheese comes from happy cows.” ads all over the place. I can’t wait until the cows are dressed in full battle gear and a helmet and the ads say, “Good cheese, good old American cheese comes from good old American cows. Happy cows, tough cows, patriotic cows. God bless our cows.”

Actually I would have Clint Eastwood as “Dirty Cheddar” and his tag line would be,

“I know what you're thinking. "Did he eat six pieces of cheese or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being this is Vieux Boulogne, the stinkiest cheese in the world, eat too much of it and it will blow your asshole clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”

“Go ahead, eat my cheese.”

Now that’s an ad.

But seriously folks our friends at the TSA released a bulletin alerting airport security officials to look out for terrorists practicing to carry explosive components onto aircraft.

One of those components was cheese. Blocks of cheese.

I found the quotes from the TSA officials a tad disturbing.

“The unusual nature and increase in number of these improvised items raise concern.”

Um… Are you kidding me? ONE block of cheese with wires and electrical crap attached to it is going to raise my concern!

“There is no credible, specific threat here,” TSA spokeswoman Ellen Howe said Tuesday. “Don’t panic. We do these things all the time.”

Huh? No credible specific threat? Don’t panic? They do these things all the time?

Anytime anyone from the government tells you not to panic bend over, stick your head between your knees and grab your ankles.

Who puts cheese in their luggage? I want to know the names of the people that put cheese in their luggage. Why don’t they publish the names? If there are a lot of people named Mohammed putting wired cheese in their luggage that’s a pretty specific threat in my book.

If the guys name is Pedro then I’m not that concerned. A guy named Pedro will never blow up himself or his cheese.

“During the past six months TSA has produced more than 90 unclassified bulletins of this nature on a wide variety of security-related subjects.”

NINETY!!!!

Of this nature?

How much cheese are we talking about here?

If these are the unclassified ones what do the classified cheese warning bulletins have to say?

I want a congressional investigation! I want a senate committee on cheese weapons!

They could sit at a table that looks like a big cheese wheel.

We could serve a good cheddar or a gouda or a .......

Cheese in the luggage.......

Please……

What's next?

Exploding hams?

I'm just waiting for airport security to ask me, "Has your cheese ever left your sight? Are you carrying any cheese from other people? Did you pack your own cheese?"

Cheese.....

Cheese???

So now what?

2007-07-24T13:57:00.000-07:00

So I’m 50.

I spent two weeks celebrating my 50th B-day.

Now it’s over.

The big “5” “0”.

50.

Whoopee……..

Now what?

Seriously, I’m asking a question here.

What the hell do I do now?

Part of me thinks I should become a great philosopher and religious leader and impart my wisdom upon the world.

I would call myself “Fuddha” and my followers would be called “Foodists”. They would wear clothing made out of pasta and they would roam the countryside passing out pizza and marshmallows singings songs about veal sautéed in butter and white wine.

It would become the age of diet enlightenment.

Anyone associated with the word “exercise” would be stoned to death with hardened sourdough rolls.

FOOD News would become the new news channel and giving nothing but fair and balanced diet reporting by a renewed chubby Rush Limbaugh.

Oprah would become her fat jolly self again and lead scores of celebrities to the Foodist cause.

A monument to the “Twinkie” would be put up next to the Washington Monument and thousands would visit it every year leaving bags of peanut covered M & M’s for the poor.

A statue of the fat Elvis would be erected next to the Lincoln Memorial depicting him sitting on the toilet eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

And the world would be a happy place.

What?

Too far on the Elvis thing?

Well I have to come up with something.

I know stuff now.

I have five decades worth of valuable info stored up in my head.

Things I’ve learned about communism and the meaning of the word hunger and how far I had to be driven on a sunny day to get to school and stuff.

I’ve learned that nodding and grunting every once in a while can make a woman think you care about whatever it is she thinks you heard long enough for you to get out of the room.

I’ve learned that my wife reads what I write so I’ll get punched for that last thing I learned.

I’ve learned to understand women, a little, and that even if I understand them it doesn’t matter. Understanding something doesn’t change it. It just makes it more frustrating to deal with until you finally lapse into a coma so your brain doesn’t explode.

Okay maybe not a coma.

It’s more of a nap.

I’ve learned that what you don’t know “can” hurt you.

Usually when you’re napping.

She’ll punch me for that one too.

While I’m awake.

I’ve learned that it’s important to have a good education and you can get a good education in places other than school.

I’ve learned that education is no substitute for good people skills and a baseball bat.

I’ve learned that no one earns a degree in asshole but it sure seems that way sometime.

I’ve learned that if there is a God he or she seems to love war, death, violence, country western music and sand. But not foreigners, especially the French or illegal Mexicans or infidels.

God hates the infidels.

Wasn’t that the name of a 70’s disco band?

“Sister Sledge and the Infidels.”

It had to be.

I remember the 70’s.

All the discos were filled with Arabs.

I’ve learned that everything that tastes good is bad for you until they find a way to screw up the taste and make it the “healthy alternative.”

I’ve learned that all politicians are corrupt and full of crap. Okay I didn’t really learn that. That’s what we call a “given”.

I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter whether you are on the far right or the far left you’ve already convinced yourself of your own bull shit and you’re never going to listen to the other side.

I’ve learned that no one is ever passionate about “common sense.”

I’ve learned you can’t win a land war in Asia.

Or an argument with a woman.

Especially women from Asia.

Or Portugal.

I’ve learned you love your children unconditionally until they learn how to drive, develop their own taste in music and want their own phone.

I’ve learned that spoiling your grandkids is great payback.

I’ve learned that no matter how skinny you get you’re still going to die.

Probably hungry.

I’ve learned that “what happens in Vegas” is only what your wife will let happen to you in Vegas once she takes your ATM and credit cards.

I’ve learned that rarely, if ever, does a plan no matter how well thought out, not need to be altered on the fly.

I’ve learned that being flexible can be painful.

Especially if you have bad hips.

I’ve learned a lot of other crap too but I’ve also learned that if you write too long a blog post no one is going to read it.

So I leave you with a question?

What have you learned?

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a fishing rod?

2007-07-05T12:44:00.000-07:00

I’ve seen all kinds of stupid in my life.

All kinds.

But there is something that I just saw that now cracks the top ten.

The “FishPen.”

“The Coleman FishPen is the amazing fishing pole that lets you fish anytime.”

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been to Sea World and thought, “Damn, if I only had a fishing pole on me right now.”

This is hillbilly stupid. I would love to interview someone from Coleman about the “FishPen”.

“So it’s a pen that is also a fishing pole?”

“Um… No… It’s not a pen. You can’t write with it. It just looks like a pen.”

“So you keep it in your pocket and people think it’s just a pen but you can whip it out in a moments notice to get into the hot fishing action?”

“Um… No…You have to attach the reel.”

“Does the reel look like a pen?”

“Um… No… It looks like a reel.”

“So all you have in your pocket is a fishing pole?”

“Well the reel is small enough to fit in a pocket too.”

“So my friends might walk up to me and say, “Hey Tony is that the reel of a FishPen in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“I suppose.”

“What about the hooks and line and lures and stuff?”

“There in the handy FishPen carrying case.”

There’s a carrying case for the FishPen?”

“Yes it comes with it’s own case for the FishPen, the Reel, the lures and line and hooks and it fits in the glove box of your car.”

“Then why would you put the FishPen pole in your pocket?”

“Um… Well… See… it telescopes out into a pole. You just reach in to your pocket and in one motion you can flick and whip it into a pole… It’s in your pocket… A pole… It collapses… Into a pen… “

“A pen that doesn’t actually write.”

“No... but it looks like a pen.”

Why are they marketing this as a fishing pole?

I have a better idea.

“Parents, teachers, disgruntled office workers, have you ever had a moment where you wished you had a pole to whip someone with?”

“Now you can with the amazing WhipPen!!!”

“It looks like a harmless pen but in an instant transforms into a notched pole to keep children or non English speaking office workers at bay!!!”

"But wait! There's more!"

“Duct tape an actual pen to the WhipPen and your WhipPen transforms into a real pen!!!”

“That’s right unlike some products that only claim to be a pen this pen actually writes!!! Write hostage demands, hold up notes, suicide notes, grocery lists and more!!!”

“But wait! There’s more!”

“The amazing WhipPen can also be used to get out of boring business meetings or conversations with women. Just pretend you want to take notes and then complain you’re “pen” is out of ink you need to go get another one. Then don’t come back!!!”

“But wait! There’s more!”

"The amazing WhipPen can also be used as a fishing rod!!! That's right! How many times have you been to an aquarium and thought, "What a waste, those rare tropical fish look awfully tasty"?

"Well drool no longer! We'll included the "Pocket Rocket" vibrating fishing reel with every WhipPen!!! It even comes in it's own intimate carrying case!!!"

"Women love it!!!"

"But wait! There's more!"

“How much would you expect to pay for the amazing WhipPen? $399.99? Well you won’t pay $399.99, you won’t pay $299.99 and you won’t pay $199.99!!! You can have the amazing WhipPen at the TV special price of $99.99!!!

“But wait! There’s more!”

“Buy one WhipPen and we’ll send you two additional WhipPens absolutely free, just pay $85 for shipping and handling, that’s a $200 value absolutely free!!!”

“Now the whole family can enjoy the amazing WhipPen!!! Whip the family dog, the neighbors dog, you can even whip your neighbor!!!”

“The amazing WhipPen! Spoil the rod, spare everyone!!!”

Where’s Ron Popeil when we need him?

Everything changes....

2007-07-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

I miss godless communism.

There was much less tension in the world when all we had to worry about was nuclear holocaust.

I miss the days when you talked about Iraq everyone thought you were talking about some new type of Chevy Camaro.

Do you remember when you only drank water when you were thirsty?

Don’t you miss the days when the only “pods” you heard about were in the movie, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

Remember when the only time you were buying something “online” was because you were standing in one at Sears? (A Sears with more than one checkout counter.)

Remember when a “Global Positioning System” was your recliner?

So I got a new car.

I made the mistake of telling people I was going to get a new car.

So I was bombarded by people telling to me to get a Mercedes or a BMW.

I couldn’t do it.

Those cars are German.

I’m Italian.

In my mind if I got a German car it would always be trying to get even with me for us switching sides in WWII.

I’m not buying anything German unless it’s hotdog at Wienerschnitzel.

Then they started in on me about buying a Lexus, Infiniti, Acura, even a Volvo.

A Volvo?

How can anybody buy a car that sounds like another one of those secret body parts on women that a man can never find?

I've been married for twenty nine years.

I’m used to driving an automatic.

How do you take that for a test drive?

So I just went with another good old fashioned Cadillac.

I know, I know…. boring.

I like my Cadillac.

It’s got a nice trunk.

The salesman at the Cadillac dealer wanted to sell me an STS with a GPS, Global Positioning System.

Now someone tell me why I need a “Global Positioning System” in my Cadillac?

If I want to know where I’m going, trust me, my wife will tell me.

Apparently salesmen get some kind of special award, like 72 virgins, for selling you a Cadillac with GPS.

This guy wasn’t giving up.

“I don’t need GPS I have OnStar.”

“OnStar doesn’t have a map.”

“I don’t need a map, OnStar talks to me.”

“GPS talks to you and has a map.”

“What kind of voice does GPS have?”

“What kind of voice?”

“Yes, what kind of voice? Is it a calming voice, a nagging voice or a bitchy voice? I don’t want something that sounds like Hillary Clinton.”

“It's kind of a sexy voice.”

“I’m used to the OnStar voice. She kind of reminds me of my mom without the accent. Any moment I think she’ll say, “What did you have for lunch today Anthony? A cigarette? A peck of cigarettes?”

(You have to know my mom, she couldn’t say anything that ended with “ack” it always sounded like “eck”. She also could say anything that ended in “eets” it always sounded like “its”. I loved when she announced she was going to change the “Sheets”.)

“You want a car that sounds like your mother?”

“Yes it’s very comforting.”

“Wouldn’t you like a younger sexier voice?”

“Umm…. It’s a Cadillac. Most people, when they see a Cadillac, think, “I wonder who he’s got in the trunk?”

“Not today Mr. Calabrese. Cadillac’s are very sexy. Very hip.”

“Very hip? Who says that anymore? Very hip? It’s a Cadillac. It’s not like I’d be driving a Volvo.”

“A Volvo?”

“Never mind.”

So no GPS, I have basically the same car I had before with one major difference.”

“OnStar ready.”

“Who are you?”

“OnStar ready.”

“You not my mom’s voice.”

“You can say store, delete, dial, call…. OnStar ready.”

“Crap. You sound like my eighth grade teacher, Sister Ursula.”

“Shut up and drive Mr. Calabrese or you’ll be cleaning the blackboards in detention for a week.”

“Huh?”

“OnStar ready.”

I should have gotten a Volvo.

“Goodbye.”

Jurassic Breakfast

2007-06-21T16:21:00.000-07:00

“Did you see this? It says that the dinosaurs were probably hard of hearing. I wonder why they wanted to find that out? That’s kind of a weird thing to study don’t you think? Some kid in college, sitting in a basket weaving class, and it hits him. “I’m going to study dinosaur ears!!!” I think that’s really odd don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The dinosaurs are deaf.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“No I’m not, it’s in the paper, look.”

“Calabrese what would lead you to believe that I would even be remotely interested in hearing about deaf dinosaurs at 5:30 in the morning?”

"It's science."

"Idiot."

“I was just making conversation.”

“Look at this face. This is a 5:30am face. In 29 years of marriage has this face ever had a conversation at 5:30am?

“Apparently not.”

“Don’t make me kill you.”

“Is this that communication thing you women are always talking about? Cause if it is you suck at it……… That was just a joke… Small joke…. Little joke… Not even worth retaliating for.”

“You’re not going to shut up are you?”

“I just think it’s bizarre that this would be in the news. Is it supposed to add another extinction theory? Did they think there were “ninja” dinosaurs sneaking up on other dinosaurs because they couldn’t hear them? How does something that big sneak up on something anyway? And how do they know they were deaf? Maybe they just didn’t speak the same language. Maybe there were illegal alien dinosaurs that only spoke dinosaur Spanish. Maybe the whole dinosaur extinction happened because they couldn’t understand each other. Maybe there was an illegal alien dinosaur that tried to warn the other dinosaurs to “RUN” but it came out, “ANDALE ANDALE!!” and the other dinosaurs just look bewildered and then WHAMMO!!!... meteor. If they had only listened to the more liberal dinosaurs they would have all spoken English and Spanish and they might still be alive today. This article just doesn’t answer my questions. Why would they get us thinking about this and not answer all the potential questions? Huh? Well?”

“So you’re basically just trying to piss me off.”

“I’m not; I swear this really bugs me. Why is this in the paper? Is the knowledge of deaf dinosaurs going to cure cancer? Will it get the stem cell research bill passed? Will it get us out of Iraq? Will it help us select the next president? On that maybe it will. Most of them are deaf dinosaurs. Will it make me think of something other than Osama every time I hear Obama? Will it make Hillary look less bitchy and give her thinner calves? Will it help Mitt make up his mind on anything? Will it give any republican candidate some charisma? Will it lower gas prices? Will it help me lose weight? Will it keep them from canceling Studio 60? Will it help us find out who really killed Nicole Simpson? Will it make Bob Barker younger and Rosie O’Donnell straight? Will it free Paris Hilton? Why is this even in print?”

“Where’s my sword?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Okay Calabrese let me ask you a question. How come when I’m talking to you 90% of the time you don’t hear what I’m saying?”

“What? Just kidding? Come on babe I hear you.”

“So you hear me you just don’t listen to me. Because if you were listening to me you wouldn’t be talking right now at 5:30 in the MORNING!!!!”

“Uh… I don’t think the dinosaurs were deaf. They were probably just married.”

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's.....

2007-06-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

When I got back from Boulder I sat down and said, “Tony on July 11th you turn fifty years old. You need to figure out what you want to be when you grow up.”

Well I don’t want to grow up.

First you’re born.

Then you grow up.

Then they stick a camera up your butt.

Then you die.

I don’t want to grow up.

So then I said to myself, “Maybe this is your midlife crisis Tone. You need to take a nap.”

When I woke up I realized that I had been “dreaming” about “worrying” about stuff that only old people think about. Like the following:

Fiber
Anyone named Mitt.
Partially Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil
Hillary Clinton
Erectile Dysfunction
Immigration Reform
Global Warming
Global Cooling
The Globe Trotters
The Communists
Paris Hilton
Gas prices
The end of the Sopranos
My current diet
My annual physical
The future
Death

And that was just one dream.

I was dreaming like an old person.

Where were all the playmates and naked cheerleaders? Where was the Ferrari? Where were the all you can eat buffets? What happened to my dreams?

So I’m totally bummed for a couple of weeks and then I get this in the mail.

So now you know why I haven’t posted anything for a month.

I can’t believe this.

Me.

In the A.A.R.P?

How do these people know I’m turning 50?

Communist bastards.

This has to be a satanic cult.

A.A.R.P.? I have an A.A.R.P. card?

They call it the A.A.R.P. because that’s the sound you make when you first open the envelope it comes in.

“AARP!!!!”

Why do I need to join the A.A.R.P.?

I’m already in the Vons Club.

I never thought that turning the big 5-0 would bug me so much.

But it does.

It really really does.

It’s bad enough that I sound like the “Tin Man” every time I get up from my couch now I have an old person ID card?

Damn.

So I go to their website to find out about the A.A.R.P.

Um…

Maybe this isn’t so bad.

I can get discounts to Disneyland and Sea World and Hertz and Hampton Inns. (I think there’s a law that says old people have to stay at a Hampton Inn or Motel 6)

I can get 50% off an Oregon “scientific” BBQ Thermometer that let’s me monitor my food from a 100 feet away.

They obviously don’t know me that well. I’m never a 100 feet away from my food.

I can get 35% off a GPS device if I’m in the AARP.

How come all old people aren’t buying these things? Maybe then we wouldn’t be reading about these old people wandering off all the time. They should automatically send a GPS with the damn card.

I spent an hour on the website. I can get discounts on everything!!! I finally figured it out. AARP is COSTCO for old people! And it’s all online!!!

I’m starting to think this isn’t such a bad idea.

I start to picture myself coming up to a line of elderly people standing in line waiting for government cheese when I whip out and flash my A.A.R.P. card. “Stand aside peons! Tony Calabrese! I’m in the A.A.R.P.”

I can use this card for everything! I’ll get it laminated and put it in it’s own little separate wallet and keep it in my right front pants pocket next to that plastic squeezy thing old men keep their change in.

Then I’ll whip it out like I’m an FBI agent.

“Tony Calabrese, A.A.R.P.”

I’ll be almost like a secret agent for the elderly.

I could be an old person’s super hero.

A.A.R.P. Man!!! Swooping down with long term health insurance and soft food.

I need a cape.

And a walker that shoots Viagra and Celebrex.

I can still be somebody!!!!

“TONY!!!”

“TONY!!! WAKE UP!!!”

“What?”

“You’re thrashing around in your sleep and yelling Ta da!!!”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Then you’re an idiot. Where are you going?”

“To the bat cave woman!”

“What?”

“To the bathroom okay?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I can’t tell you. I can never reveal my secret identity to my loved ones. I wouldn’t want you to put you in danger.”

“Jesus, why can’t you just go out and buy a Corvette like any other idiot having a midlife crisis? I think you can get a discount on one with that A.A.R.P. card.”

“Maybe I will……maybe I will.”

Lord I was born a travelin man... as long as I don't have to climb anything.

2007-05-12T08:38:00.000-07:00

I was in Boulder Colorado last week.

I have to give them credit. Colorado does green real well. There are trees and plants and nature everywhere. I usually only eat nature but it was truly a beautiful place to just look.

I stayed at the St. Julien Hotel.

“Julien” is a French word that means “Holiday Inn”.

St. Julien, as we all know, is the patron saint of hotel rooms with no closet space.

Boulder is 5,000 feet above sea level.

Architects that live where there is no oxygen should not be allowed to design hotels.

They actually sold oxygen tanks in the spa at the hotel.

I walked around like a scuba diver for four days.

How in the hell do people live in these cities where you can’t get air?

Boulder is a college town. I think it is home to The University of Cities with no Oxygen.

I noticed something very odd about Boulder.

There are no old people.

None.

At first I thought they had been kidnapped but then I realized they had all probably died from lack of oxygen.

The whole town is full of young unshaven college kids.

And that’s just the women.

I felt like any moment someone was going to come up to me and hit me up for their tuition.

When I called the hotel ahead of time to find out if there was anything exciting going on in Boulder they told me that it was, “Tea and Tofu” week.

Tea and Tofu?

Uh….

That’s just sad.

I didn’t realize that Tea and Tofu went together but it’s probably some bizarre “new age” health potion to help bald guys grow a longer pony tail.

They also told me that I could “stroll” along the Pearl Street Mall and see “Bongo the Balloon Man”.

Stroll? I only stroll when I’m drunk and I’m listening to The Diamonds.

And there has to be oxygen.

“Bongo the Balloon Man”?

More proof that the old people had all been eliminated. The whole city was run by teenagers who entertain themselves at the mall by watching the last person to make it through puberty create balloon giraffes.

They also said I could hike to Chatahackawuckapucka… whatever… and see the flatirons.

Hike….

Right.

I’m all over that.

Hiking through the mountains with my scuba gear.

By the way flatirons are rocks.

They wanted me to hike to rocks.

We went up to Estes Park which is about 50,000 feet higher than Boulder to have dinner at the Stanley Hotel.

You kind of chew between breaths.

The Stanley Hotel was the hotel in the movie The Shining. Very cool old hotel with a Stanley Steamer in the lobby and a gift shop that my wife disappeared into thirty seconds after we got there.

As I walked up to the front of the hotel I turned around and saw these incredible snow capped mountains.

Damn.

That might be the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in my life… next to the first episodes of Bay Watch.

While we were having dinner it started to snow.

Here’s the thing.

I have never seen snow fall in my life.

I’ve seen snow.

Sea World used to make it around Christmas time for the kids.

But to see actual snow fall was amazing.

I ran out of the hotel to frolic in the snow.

It’s very hard to frolic when there is no air.

But I frolicked.

By the way snow tastes like crap.

While I was frolicking I noticed something coming out of the snow.

It looked like a bus.

When it got closer I realized that it was alive.

I yelled out…. “A MOOSE!!!”

Then I noticed there were more of them.

“A HERD OF MOOSES!!!!!”

Standing on the hotel porch was a couple of guys that looked like a cross between Elmer Fudd and Grizzly Adams that were looking at me like we were in the movie Deliverance.

“Them there are not moose. They’re Elk. If you creep up behind them and whistle they might come right over to you. You probably shouldn’t creep up behind that buck though.”

Yeah…

That’s what I was thinking.

Don’t creep up on that buck.

Which one is the buck?

I counted twenty two elk. How do you “creep” up on twenty two elk? WHY would you creep up on twenty two elk? And if all you have to do to catch an elk is whistle then the NRA has a lot of explaining to do.

I’ve never been that close to live food out in nature before.

I looked back at Elmer and Grizzly to ask a few more Elk questions and all of a sudden I noticed something. Something that was totally odd about these two Colorado locals.

They weren’t symmetrical.

I know that’s not something you usually think of when you’ve come face to face with nature but this was really weird.

Elmer had a huge head that just didn’t fit his body.

Grizzly had was really tall but had arms that were way too short.

You know how when you first notice something that you hadn’t noticed before and you kind of have that “holy crap” moment?

Try not to do that out loud.

Then it dawned on me that everyone I had seen in Colorado wasn’t symmetrical. It scared the hell out of me. I ran to the hotel gift shop to find my wife who at this point was teaching the rest of the hotel guests how to properly stack clothing at the counter so it won’t tip over so you can continue to shop.

“We… need… to… go…”

“I’m not done shopping.”

“We… need… to… go… NOWWWW!”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Ali………….ens.”

“What? Why are you breathing like that?”

“No…air….”

“Well put your scuba tank on and go back out in to the snow.”

“The… aliens… took… the… air…”

When I came to I was sitting on the tour bus with a huge, filled, gift shop bag sitting on my lap.

“What happened?”

“You sort of passed out.”

“Sort of?”

“Apparently frolicking in the snow at 8,500 feet after two tequila gimlets isn’t something you’re good very good at.”

“How did I get on the bus?”

“You sort of walked, crawled, and then a couple of hunter looking guys helped you on the bus.”

“Did one of then have a huge head and the other short stubby arms?”

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just want to make sure everything matches.”

“Idiot. Look what I bought for our grandkids. I got this little dress for Isabella and this jacket for John and this……..”

She was definitely my wife.

And I am now definitely in trouble.

Because if she spends the time to read this far down I may have to move to Boulder.

And I hate the Broncos.

Did you ever notice how John Elway had a really big head?