Ring The Doorbell

A woman places an ad in the local newspaper. “Looking for a man with three qualifications: won’t beat me up, won’t run away from me, and is great in bed.”

Two days later her doorbell rings. “Hi, I’m Tim. I have no arms so I won’t beat you, and no legs so I won't run away.”
 “What makes you think you are great in bed?” the woman retorts.

Tim replies, “I rang the doorbell, didn’t I?”


A Couple Bonus short jokes:

I remember going to a store with 20$ and coming home with groceries to last for a week. But now? Damn security cameras everywhere.


A Couple was married for forty years:

But with the husband in serious financial trouble, he told his wife he was considering suicide.
"Don't worry, honey!" she said reassuringly. "We aren't as hard off as you think. When we first got married, I put away two dollars in our savings every time we had sex! We have almost $100,000 saved!"

"Wow!" the husband exclaimed, "what a genius woman I married! I only wish I had given you all of my business!"


Two silkworms had a race.  It Ended in a Tie.


My girlfriend isn't speaking to me for ruining her birthday.
I'm not sure how that's possible, I didn't even know it was her birthday.

It's 3AM and a General Urgently Calls The Sergeant

A private awnsers the phone: -"Hello?"
-"Quickly, hand me over to the sergeant" the general says

-"No, i'm sorry, the Sergeant is sleeping, and he doesn't want to be disturbed, call him again in the morning".
The general, angry, says: -"Incompetent! pass me with the sergeant"

The private yells into the phone: -"Are you a tough guy? CALL BACK TOMORROW IN THE MORNING"

-"Do you know who I am?"
-"No, and I don't care"

-"I'm your General"
-"Holy shit, and, do you know who I am?"

-"Of course not" the general said.
-"Oh, what a relief" and he hung up the phone.

Who's Vacation Is It Anyway?

When I lived in Philadelphia people would ask: "When's the last time you went to see the Liberty Bell?".

Normally when I heard someone respond they'd say "Oh back when I was a kid" or "A couple years back".

I did go to see it from time to time.  I have a great picture somewhere, probably lost to the ages, of someone walking behind it so that it looked like The Bell was walking somewhere.

I guess you had to be there.

But that's the thing.  The Locals don't do these sorts of things. 

Oh sure, I was at The Rocky Steps, the Art Museum Steps in Philly, many times.  It was a great place to cool down when I had a race or was just out training.  It's also a great place to rub shoulders and meet up with friends, or friends to be.  But to go TO the Rocky Steps to do that run up them?  Nah.  The Art Museum in Philadelphia is a totally different thing, a world class museum of Art that if you're there, you should go see it.  I did... Back when I was in High School.

Get the picture? 

Now that I've been here 9 years, I'm starting to grow roots.  Some of them are quite deep, the others may just be a bit grey, but they're sinking in.  I'm beginning to make those comments about my adopted home city of Wilton Manors and Fort Lauderdale area in general.

"The Beach?  Floridians don't go there except in their car to look at it.  It's pretty but it's just full of tourists!"

"South Beach is a nice place to go for a meal but it's such a hassle to get there.  You can drive through it though and look like you're in an episode of Miami Vice or Grand Theft Auto!".

"The Keys?  You have to do it at least once, that drive to Key West, but be careful.  It could last anywhere between 4 to 12 hours to get to Key West.  I heard once there was a fender bender in the island just above Key West and the traffic didn't clear for two whole days!"

You know, those comments "Locals" say when they have been there a while.

So add to it the general "Nice" factor and you know what I am going through this week.

"Whaddya wanna do?"
"I dunno, what do YOU want to do?"

Then suggestions are made, the nay sayers are heard, and eventually something happens to the day.

Nice to have a day to "kill" anyway, right?  You're in paradise, the sun is bright, the weather is warm, the Everglades are burning because the wet season paused.

Oh that last one happens around this time of year.  You see things dry up and burn out there on the river of grass.

But yeah, you'll see it.  We can go for a drive there.  Hit Federal Highway and maybe drive down to the Keys if it's not backed up. 

Removing a Catheter is a Happy Dog Day

Pretty simple really.  We had to be at the Vet's by 9:30.  We were about 5 minutes late. 

Rack needed to water the tree first, anyway.  After a day of being pumped full of fluids, he needed to pump them back out.  He also drank a full bowl of water.  That's 28 ounces according to the Fridge.

After going through sepsis from a dog bite, and spending the entire day in a crate, he seems to be back to his normal self.   Almost, anyway.  Standing up is still a little stiff, but the first walk this morning was done with him dragging me for a mile around town on his four legs instead of him doing the tripod hop on three.

I've still got a course of antibiotics to go through, and there is one last "exit" visit to the vet on Saturday Morning, but I think we're good.

Nothing like a nice quick visit.

 They will tell you they're feeling better.   Instead of Rack wanting nothing to do with anyone, we were greeted by him being excited and whiny.  Whine to say hi to the vet tech.  Whine to say hello to the puppy in the back.  Whine to the nurse.  Whine to the door to go out and water the tree, yet again.

But he's on the mend. 

He even whined at another car on the way back. 

That's a bit of a surprise.   You see there was a delivery truck near us too.  Rack has a strange habit around big trucks.  He tries to avoid them.  He avoids them by diving down behind the seat in the back and trying to make himself as small as possible.   Since I was sitting in the back with him taking up half the back of the four door Accord, it wasn't possible.  Instead, he whined at that truck, tried to dive under the blanket, then bailed and simply watched the truck from next to me.  All the while he was doing that, he was staring a hole through it from the seat.

Silly dog.

But definitely on the mend, no matter what.

Rack in a Sleepover Cage

I'm not sure what to call these boxes.  I do know that leaving my boy at the rather excellent Dr Glass' Family Pet Center in Fort Lauderdale was not done by my first choice of what to do this morning. 

But I really didn't have a choice.

The thing is, that it was the best choice for him.  It also was a bit of a shock how it came to happen.

When they tell you that the mouth, dog or human, is one of the most dirty places around, believe it.

I'm having house guests this week.   My buddy from Atlanta, Craig and his dog Katie have arrived.

We went through all the normal precautions of how to introduce two dogs.   Both dogs were medicated with "Doggy Downers" so they were "toned down".  Katie was let in our back yard after a 10 hour drive here.  She was feeling off, so we introduced Rack to her while on his leash.  She didn't seem to care, so eventually we let Rack and Katie run free.   For a good half hour they were acting Normal.  Running around, sniffing, peeing, doing normal dog things.  We had no reason to expect otherwise.

When we all came into the house, after about an hour, Katie started coming out of it and Rack went off to his corner.

Then when he went to get a drink, Katie nipped his back leg.

Rack didn't even  really react other than my running over, separating the dogs, and sending them to neutral corners. 

After 10 hours in the car, Katie had had enough of today.

By the next morning, this morning, Rack was tender from the bite.  We got him to the Vet and found he had been running a fever and was put on antibiotics and a saline drip.

Not too much more to tell.  It's mid afternoon, my dog is probably in a really weird alternate universe.  We got a muzzle for Katie, a Gentle Leader for her, and some instructions to Craig on how to do some training exercises. 

I've got another hour before I can find anything else out.

Basil and Flower

When I make a pizza, and I want to go "All Out" and really make a good one, I use a lot of fresh Basil.

We would hit the supermarket, find a little plastic package with a couple fresh sprigs of the stuff, and buy it.

All the while I am thinking of what my mom would say.

"Bill?  Why aren't you growing that?"

Knowing her, there'd be a few random other things in there like "clean this", or move the car onto the roof, or some such blather mixed in.  She had her way.  Nothing was quite right.

But as for the Basil, she was right.  It really should have been grown at home, and in the garden.  Why not, she did that off and on all through my childhood.  

I didn't really see the attraction.  When I was a brat, it was too strong for me, and I used it sparingly.  The last time I made a hoagie, I left the lettuce off and used a layer of Basil.   That was a little bit too strong, but my tastes did change, somewhat.

I'll be more careful.

After many false starts of taking the leftover sprigs and trying to get them to root, only to find them melt to a green or brown mush in the bottom of a red solo cup next to the kitchen window that was a perfect home for my pet mosquito collection, I gave up.

Then I got the bright idea to buy one of those rather pricey starter/started plants at the supermarket.

I made a pizza the next day, and it was good.  The Italian Flag pizza of Red Sauce, White Mozzarella, and Green Basil was perfect.  I didn't use too much of the green goodness, and I still had some in the pot growing.

Promising myself to stick it in a pot on the irrigation chain "tomorrow", I left it on my window sill.

A bit too long, half of the plants moped away and faded to nothing.  By the time it made it to the white ceramic pot mid way down the pool, there was only one healthy plant left along with a few others that looked quite sad.

I wouldn't put those on a pizza, trust me.

After silencing my "External Voice" of someone who constantly told me that "Basil Won't Grow In This Climate!" and "When Are You Going To Do Something With That?", I finally planted it.

Setting the drip feed on low, it watered it gently along with the other flower pots. 

Suddenly I had enough Basil to consider putting on a sandwich again.  Then enough for a Pizza.  The little pot was a happy place in the full sun of my Florida backyard in Spring.

Wandering out the other day to get some fresh Basil for the salad I was making, I noticed a flash of white.  My Basil that wasn't supposed to grow in this climate was so happy that it was putting out a flower spike.  An inflorescence that looked like the Coleus in the corner of the yard. 

I had to get a picture of that spike, not so much to say "Look at what happened" but more to actually look at what happened.  Just like my Coleus that is so happy that it is going into year 9 of growing under my Bougainvillea, I had some tiny flowers.

I could hear Mom again.  "Bill, you want to pick those flowers or it will go to seed!".

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Mom, You're right, and that is what I want.  I'll get more plants that way.

At least I hope so.  But I had to get a good close up view of these things.  They were tiny.  The entire ring of flowers would fit on my thumbnail.  All the while guaranteeing some good sandwiches and salads in the future.

Everyone here helps out.  We make sure it is watered.  I do have to make sure that Rack isn't helping there.  We have caught him doing so. 

Better wash that Basil well!  You know who helps out!

So my little herb garden is growing.  Rosemary for rolls, pizza sauce, and other sauces.  Every time I brush against it, the Rosemary Oil perfumes me.  Basil for the same thing, more sauces.  Mint, courtesy of my godmother who knew I liked a lot of Mint Tea.  And on a whim, a little Green Onion for my stirfry.

If I could just get the dog to stop watering the stuff!

The Story of Betty's Pizza Rustica Recipe

Had she made it to today, my Aunt Betty would have her 96th birthday.  She was short of it by only a

handful of days.  But this isn't the story of a loss.  This is the story of a visit, some warm memories and a recipe. 

Not really a recipe.  It's hard to explain.  If you can make a proper Pizza Rustica out of this, I would like some of the leftovers.  I intend to try to make this.  I promised her I would but we never got really brave enough to try.

Now that she's gone, and we know where to get the ingredients here in the Sixth Borough of South Florida, we have no excuses.

This started years ago with a different family visit.  We would go from our "Wonder Years" house and life in Cherry Hill, New Jersey for a road trip to Woodhaven, Queens, New York City.  Up the 295 to the NJ Turnpike, over the Goethals and Verrazano Narrows Bridges to the Belt Parkway.  We would eventually be stuck in traffic before we got off that road, then head up Jamaica Avenue to Woodhaven Blvd, to 86th street, near the park and hunt for parking.

Or so I remembered.  We would be Mom, Dad, my sister, and I.  There we would spend a couple days with the extended family.  Some bickering would eventually happen but it was all in the family.   Some would end up in the living room in front of the TV watching the strange-to-us New York TV channels with their similar but different shows, and the party would be going strong.  It never really stopped for sleep, only paused. 

Food that we learned later to call "Italian Specialties" would be brought out in massive volumes.  Lemon Ricotta Pie.  Canolis.  "The Italian Flag Plate" of Tomato slices with Basil and Mozzarella drizzled with fresh Oregano and Olive Oil from a can that was stored on a narrow shelf to on the stairs to the basement.

The oven was running before we finished breakfast and since this memory in particular was a holiday, there were multiple pans cooking early morning.  Toward the afternoon there was this savory pie that I remembered fondly and think of to this day.  Easter Pie we called it.  It was my introduction to some ingredients like Barley and some of that wonderfully sharp "Extra Sharp Provolone" that actually was a little gritty due to its processing that is very difficult to find here in South Florida despite all those New York Transplants we've got rubbing shoulders with us.

No wonder why I grew to be a 6'4" man, you just couldn't stay small on all of that food.

I was telling this story while sitting on my couch many years later to my Aunt Betty, and how much I appreciated her, the family, and our quirky way of meshing through my childhood.  Her youngest daughter, Darlene and I were only a year apart, and she had told me many times how much she liked coming down for the flip side of the coin visit to our wonder years house and wandering around because it was "So Green and Beautiful".  It just felt normal to me, where my excitement was walking down to The Avenue, Woodhaven Avenue I think, and exploring those shops and plugging my ears when that loud El train rattled overhead.

When I mentioned to Betty that I thought the recipe was lost to the ages, she started talking about the ingredients. 

I stopped her and said "Maybe we should write this down!".  I wanted to make it and I knew that this should get back to everyone some day.

While there are many recipes for this pie, this is ours.  It may be missing ingredients, the crust is pretty incomplete for example, but the list is here complete with my own misspellings and scrawled handwriting.

To help find it in the future, the picture above is repeated in text. 

Dough with Crisco and Salt.
No Yeast.

2 Pounds Rice or Barley
24 eggs plus some for brushing the top
1/2 pound Italian Cheese (Locatelli or Parmesan)
1/2 pound Prosciutto
1/2 pound Genoa or Italian Salami
1/2 pound of Boiled or Virginia Ham
1/2 pound of Provolone
1/2 pound of Mozzarella (optional)
1 pound of Ricotta (optional)
Salt and Pepper to taste
1/2 pound sausage (optional)

Make Dough into Pie Crust
Boil Rice or Barley
Add eggs
Mix in Cubed Cold Cuts
Salt and pepper
Stir Very Well
Add Top Crust or Strips
Bake 350 to 375F for 45 to 60 minutes but lean towards an hour

"And That's It!"

Mind you, her ending flourish like anything in an Old Family Recipe misses a few details.  How you cook this was in a massive pan by my memory that is about the size of my own roasting pan.  It is not a small thing either.  Measuring one that is close to my decades old memory is a bit foolhardy but the one I have here for my own roasts is 18x13x3 inches and it does not fit my oven as closely as hers did.

Also, adding eggs, two dozen of them to the rice or barley?  Better make sure they have cooled down "some" or else the heat from the cooked grains will cook the eggs for you before they even get mixed in fully.

She would layer that crust inside the pan, then pour the filling in and cover it up, crimping the sides and poking holes in the top for the steam to escape.

We're talking 6 1/2 pounds of food to go into the recipe before cooking, and the Rice and Barley (I recommend Barley) will soak up more water weight as well.

It's going to be a massive pie.  If you do make this and run over with extra filling, make a second one.  Serve it to your neighbors.  Tell them it's "Aunt Betty's Pizza Rustica from Woodhaven, NY!", make up a story and tell them that everyone up there near the Forest Hill Park knew her and loved her and shared in this pie.

Why the story?  It's not a story, it's true.

A Blonde is Roller Skating Down the Boardwalk

A blonde is roller-skating down the board-walk one day. She's just skating along in her lycra pants, smiling at everyone, listening to her Walkman.

She decides that she really needs a haircut. She skates into the first salon she sees and goes up to the hairdresser and says, "I need a haircut."

The hairdresser checks her out and says, "OK, sit down and take off your headphones."
"No way!" shouts the blonde, "If I take off my headphones, I'll die!" "
 Then I can't give you a haircut," replies the hairdresser.

So the blonde gets up and leaves and skates further down the board-walk. She sees another salon, goes in, and says to the hairdresser, "I need a haircut... but you can't take off my headphones or I'll die!"

The hairdresser looks at her a little weird, but says, "OK, no problem. Have a seat."

So the blonde sits down and the hairdresser comes up behind her, and when she isn't looking, rips the headphones off her head. Suddenly the blonde starts choking, and soon turns blue in the face, then keels over and dies right there in the salon chair. The hairdresser is a little freaked by this. The hairdresser leans over and cautiously listens into the blonde's headphones and hears...

"Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out..."

You Know You're In America When

-- A pizza can get to your house faster than an ambulance.

-- There are handicap parking places in front of a skating rink.

-- Sick people must walk to the back of the drugstore to get their prescriptions, while healthy people can buy cigarettes in the front.

-- Banks leave both vault doors open, but pens are chained to the counters.

-- Expensive cars sit in the driveways and useless junk fills garages.

-- People use voice mail to screen calls and call waiting to catch every call they might miss.

-- Drive-Up ATM machines feature Braille lettering.

So Why Is Your Dog In A Restaurant and Out Of Control?

You have a "Designer Dog".  A little bit of a thing not much larger than a Beanie
Baby or a Teddy Bear.

Maybe you have your own macho designs and have a bully breed.  Plops down next to you wherever you go.  Loyal dog who will walk through fire for you.

Could be a mid sized dog, a terrier or a collie. 
Amazing dogs of high intelligence that can do tricks, but also capable of reason and problem solving.

Great.  I don't want to hear them.

Don't get me wrong, I am a dog owner who likes taking my dog out around town.  When I heard that the restaurants in the neighboring city of Fort Lauderdale allowed dogs in their outdoor areas, I knew bedlam was about to ensue.

Typically those people who insist their dogs come with them into restaurants or other crowded places like Shopping Malls treat their dogs as a "Child Analogue".  They are trying to make a dog act like a child.   They have them in strollers - an annoying appliance in the best of times, or in a purse.  Ok, not necessarily a purse but a bag about the size I used to cram my gym gear in when I went for a workout.

Now that dog is forced to act unnaturally.  It is expected not to sniff the food as it goes by.  It is expected not to jump when the waiter five tables over drops a dish a little too loudly in front of the patron.  It is expected that it is not going to be in the way while it sits in an aisle while you step on its tail or bump into it on that little purse looking thing that you have hanging on the corner of your chair.

"Your fault" you are told when the dog snaps at you for a misstep.

Here's a better answer.  Leave the dog home.  If you can't leave the dog home, take the dog for a ride, in the car, to the dog park and actually interact with the dog.  Both of you will be better for the experience.

The hardest part of having a dog that is learning fast how to be properly behaved is
to realize that not everyone else wants a dog but a fashion accessory.  When my own dog, Rack, who's favorite thing in the world is to meet other dogs backs away from YOUR dog, I know there's a major malfunction going on here. 

If your dog is barking at another dog 20 feet away on a street or sidewalk, your dog is in need of training, and you, personally, need some of it yourself.

A "Cute Little Yorkie" on an impossibly long leash in a crowd is an accident waiting to happen.  When that cute little Yorkie gets spooked and decides to bark its fool head off, don't blame the boot when it finds the dog.

A bit severe? Perhaps, but you know what's going on in the mind of that person right now who had the altercation with your "Sweet Little Dog", right?

Person in a mall, good.  Dog in a mall, bad.
Person in a restaurant, good.  Dog in a restaurant, bad and probably unsanitary.

No, Ma'am I don't want little Frou Frou's fur in my Baked Cod.  Keep them at home.

By the way, in Wilton Manors, according to code, a Dog's Leash may be no longer than 4 feet - no exceptions.   Since the code here is typically "borrowed" from other cities and towns which is standard, I would be willing to bet that is pretty much standard as well.

So how do I judge whether the person on the other end of the leash is balanced?

Look at the dog.  If that dog growls, jumps, barks, shows teeth - the person is at fault.  They put the animal in the place where there is a potential to harm - dog or person.  That Person is therefore at fault if the dog decides to bite.

They are also the first to tell YOU that you don't have a right to be there.

Um, you're kidding me, right?

When Wilton Manors allowed dogs in outdoor sections of restaurants, it was done with the proviso that if the dog is acting up, it will be removed and banned from the business.  Any damage that is caused to the premises will be the responsibility of the dog owner.

However, any damage to anyone else, two legged or four, caused by the dog renders the business liable, as well as the owner.  The business itself can be banned from allowing dogs on premises.

There's a simple solution.  Keep your little fluffy furkid at home.  If you're calling it your child, or your furkid, or anything else similar, you're the problem and not the solution.  You are denying your dog's natural born right - to be a dog.

While I strongly believe pets are family and should be treated with the same rights within reason as you or I, I have a right not to be molested in public by someone who doesn't understand that it is not appropriate behavior to tie your little white dog to a bar stool and go get a beer.

Keep them at home, they won't miss you that much.  If you think they do, then keep yourself there too or take them to a dog park.  There are too many unbalanced creatures in society as it is.

Two legged or Four.

Train your pets, love and enjoy them, and keep them from harm.  But please, leave them home.  I'm tired of correcting your dogs.