I love Easter Monday and I have actively celebtrated it for the better part of 20 years, and I think it should be a national holiday (even though I still would not be paid for it). Better known among Polonia as 'Dyngus Day'. I offer up the following as my reference material:

1. Food. Glorious handmade Polish food, exquisitely prepared and offered.

2. Muzak. Polkas, Obereks, and all things involving squeezboxes and band leaders.

3. Squirtguns, Pussy Willows, and all things related.

I have never met an Easter Monday celebration that I did not like. With the sole exception of Chopin's in 2000 who decided to NOT allow squirtguns into their facilities.

This year I will be heading to Mickey's Hall on Fillmore near St. Stans, and then heading to the Polish Nook in the Falls to see Walt Ostanek and his squeezebox.

I will also be sponsoring a petition to bring back the 'Sunday Night Polka Party' on WBFO 88.7 as that program really needs to come back.

This Easter Monday, please be safe, don't drink and drive, and enjoy yourself at least one good Polka song!

Naz Drovnya!

Big Stashu

So this is what our 'justice' system has come to. Throwing little old ladies into the Holding Center for 15 days for feeding deer.

Feeding deer. Not actually calling them over and hand feeding them, but just dropping corn kernels on the ground for the deer to find.

That's 15 days in an unsanitary, unsafe, and overcrowded jail, for feeding deer. Her last stay in jail was just one night, but 15 days is another thing altogether.

What a clear and present menace to society she is! Walking around Stieglmaier (sic) park with her little wagon, and dropping corn kernels on the ground. A person acting that dangerous clearly needs to be locked up.

I am going to write my State Senator and see if we can't come up with a more appropriate punishment, say chopping off both her hands so that she will be physically unable to feed deer in the future. Or perhaps they can ban her from living within 1,500 yards of deer or their excrement. Or better yet, argue that she is a mass murderer by her contribution to deer deaths, and send her to Dannemora Correctional Facility to be put to death.

Puh....lease.

If the ignorant justices in Cheektowaga were remotely aware of the fact that the NYS legislature has a bill under current consideration to repeal the ban on feeding deer, they might have exercised judicial discretion and taken that into consideration. Anita was proven guilty of a violation (not a misdemeanor nor felony) that carries as punishment NO mandatory minimum sentence.

So why did they lock her up? Well it is fairly simple. Retribution, plain and simple. Retribution is not justice, contrary to what many people think. She appealed her case to higher authorities than the dolts running the Cheektowaga legal dog and pony show, and they were pissed because of this. So when she lost her appeal and was remanded back to their kangaroo court for final sentencing, they HAD to lock her up for the full maximum term, or they would look to be soft on deer crime, as the deer lobby very heavily these days in Albany.

Why anyone that has committed a non-violent crime and has no violent tendencies deserves to be locked up is beyond me. There are plenty of ways to punish non-violent criminals that do not involve incarceration at taxpayer and (more importantly) human expense.

One day, reason and common sense will hopefully invade the 'justice' system and design it in a more rational manner. Fyodor Dostoyevsky said that "The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons".

Civilization indeed.

Never once in the 35-1/2 years in my existence have I ever deliberately gone shopping on the day after Thanksgiving, let alone pre-plan my precise early morning consumer offensive on the local retail establishments. I normally park my kiester on the couch and watch football, and laugh at those who battle other zealous shoppers for parking spaces, shopping carts, and the newest hippest 'must-have' gifties for the holiday season.

So what gives? Am I getting soft in my old age? Some bizarre chemical imbalance?

I should be so lucky. No ladies and gents, my motivation to go to bed far too early tonight in order to get up far too early tomorrow to shop is quite simple, now that I reflect upon things.

DVD's. Digital Video Discs. These are my Achilles heel. You see, I am obsessed with movies. OBSESSED. Two years ago I would have given you many reasons why VHS tapes were superior to DVD's. My viewpoint dramatically changed when my curmudgeonly self actually watched 'Easy Rider' on DVD at my buddy's house.

Easy Rider is one of the best movies ever made, if not the best. Great music, wonderful imagery, talented young actors, and of course the whole counter-culture vibe going on. It is one thing to watch this movie on VHS, and entirely another thing to watch it on DVD. The DVD offers up some priceless commentary by Dennis Hopper, which adds so much more meaning to the movie. Who would have ever guessed that during the shooting of this great movie the cast and crew went through (i.e. smoked) an entire kilogram of marijuana? Enquiring movie minds want to know priceless facts such as this.

I am unabashedly and unapologetically addicted to DVD movies. And all the great sales tomorrow on many of my desired DVD's is what will be motivating my to break my long-standing tradition of not shopping the day after Thanksgiving.

Accordingly, I will arise tomorrow morning at the ungodly hour of 4 a.m., take a shower, and then hit the road. If all goes well, I will be home by 10 a.m. fully loaded down with oodles and oodles of movies, and then I will go into seclusion for the next three days while I watch them all and commit to memory the bonus features and commentary.

Happy Holidays to one and all! And to all a good night!

I am a bread connoisseur. I love all things about bread. Organic milled flour, unique starters, and stone baking ovens to name a few.

My favorite local bakery of all time was Flour Power on Elmwood, where the current location of Spot Coffee and New World Record is now.

The best money I have ever spent is getting a true 5-pound loaf of French sourdough bread here overnight from the bakery. I will be doing this in the near future again.

So in my quest to find a local bakery who could offer up an equal experience for a 5-pound French sourdough Miche bread, I found Panera Bread in Amherst.

Upon entering this fine establishment, I was enthralled at their display. I thought that 'yes, I found a store who can give me true French sourdough'.

Negative. I asked for a 'miche' which means a full 5 pound loaf of bread, and initially I thought I did receive just that. The display 'miche' loaf was truly artisan, and was full size.

However, the weak ass loaf that I received was a half loaf, and not even sourdough.

Panera Bread, I love your store and your facilities, but PLEASE offer up a true sourdough French bread.

My current lease is up in March of 2006, and I really am thinking about moving back into Buffalo proper, maybe in the University Heights district or somewhere on Delaware Avenue.

Don't get me wrong, I love North Tonawanda on many levels. My Great Grandpa came over from the Old Country (Russia) and he landed here in NT and found good paying work in the lumber industry. I wish I could have met him, although he died just after I was born.

Here in NT we have glorious bicycle paths, endless boating access and docks, and pretty much everything that a single man could ask for.

So what inspired me to consider moving into Buffalo proper? Glad you asked, friend!

I met a girl on the Buffalo Craigslist. No, really! Anyway, to make the long story tolerable, we met at The Spot on Elmwood for coffee, and later we adjourned to the adjacent New World Record.

That was the defining moment for me. I asked myself why I was living in North Tonawanda when my heart and interests clearly were lying in Buffalo. And, more importantly, why was I responding to a Craigslist personal ad to begin with?

So this is my current quest. I will be saving up first and last month's rent, along with security deposit, and next January I will be shopping for nice bachelor apartments.

Go me, oh to live on Sugar Mountain, and most importantly peace on earth!

Geoffrey

I am normally very good about keeping my email Inbox free of spam, but for the last couple of days I have had NO incoming email. We are talking zip, zero, nada. The actual equation in the most base mathematical format is as follows:

Total incoming email for me = the derivative of a constant

Normally I am good for a couple of emalis promising to make my manhood larger or introducing me to the newest work at home opportunity that guarantees me a six figure plus income stuffing envelopes, but the current Inbox atmosphere leads me to believe that something else might be amiss.

I checked my email account settings and saw no problems. Tested the network settings and everything came out, in the words of the prophet David Byrne, 'same as it ever was'.

So what's the problem?

I suspect my email Inbox has been hijacked by jack-booted thugs who like to break wind on purpose. Real nasty, foul, and biohazard level wind, at that. You know the type. Those people who slam down four to six pickled eggs before heading home after a long night of drinking Genny Cream Ale Pounders, or worse yet, draft pints! These cowards are not the typical comedic 'pull my finger' types. These scum really want you to become an inhaler of their foul flatus. They break wind as a status symbol, and they have no respect for common decency or any sense of restraint.

These smelly upstarts figger (sic) that if they can pollute one's Inbox with their frequent methaneous anal discharges that they can take over your entire cosmos, which is in fact the opposite of the truth.

Damn you, Inbox farter! Although I do not like spam I do rely at times upon it to keep me company, so please break your disgusting and polluting wind elsewhere.

Kind Regards,

Shakey

Author's Note: This is a very fragmented and confused essay, mixed with selected lyrics from what could possibly be the greatest song ever played on the Dr. Demento show, 'Existential Blues'. My essay begins the paragraph, and the lyric in quotes that follows the paragraph is from the song. Enjoy!

I think that second to Monday, Wednesday is the worst day of the work week. It is really more of a dichotomy when I think about it. When you arrive at the office on a Wednesday morning raring to go, you soon realize that you are not even halfway through the work week, yet this is actually the third day. But when you finish dining on your neatly packed lunch during the noon lunch hour, you gradually begin to realize that you are indeed past the so-called 'hump' day of thw work week, and each hour that ticks down from here on in means you are ever so closer to that glorious time away from your current professional drudgery, which is affectionately known as the weekend. 'Hey man, what are you really into, huh?'

The weekend. From the time the proverbial whistle blows on Friday afternoon, you are granted two full days of pure Libertarian indulgence and indeed hedonism until Monday morning. Is there anything more glorious than that? 'You ask so many questions, what answers should I choose?'

Actually yes there is. Many European countries have a four day work week, and I think this concept would work wonders here. But with GWB babysitting us for the next three plus years, it is doubtful such a schedule would ever be implemented. 'And I'm sinking in the quagmire of illusions and Thoreau.'

To loosely quote Wimpy from the Popeye cartoons of days long past, 'I would gladly work a ten hour day four days a week if you would give me three consecutive days off today.' Imagine that scenario, and having the time off to enjoy yourself or with your family. Sure you would have a more hectic schedule during those four days, but having three consecutive days off each week would really be wonderful to say the least. 'A little short man with a big red nose, Toking a bottle of Yukon Jack'

Poppies....poppies......

Anyway (ahem!) question things. Be weird wherever you can. Because quite frankly you just don't know when you will be pulled from this great game of life, and sent either out to pasture or out to stud. 'Is this really Butte, Montana, or just existential blues?'

I sent those comments in an email to Janet Ostrow at Premier Gourmet back in Sping 2004, and next thing I know they appeared prominently in their Summer 2004 catalog. it was a dream come true to see my humble praise in print!

Those words still ring true for me now, and I have been in love with this great store ever since I discovered this gourmet treasure over 20 years ago. Where else can you shop in Buffalo and see such things as Global knives (my brand!) All-Clad cookware, sushi supplies, Indian clay bakeware, coupled with a friendly, courteous staff that intimately know their product lines and actually let you browse the store without constantly pestering you?

Saturday late mornings/early afternoons is the best time to wander the aisles and browse to your heart's content. Sample the free food tastings, watch Peter roast the coffee beans, and try to figure out which of the mustards is the absolute hottest one. Then you can look down at your watch and suddenly become aware of the fact that you just spent several hours in the store and have not bought a thing! Rush around like a lunatic while you collect the items on your list, and then checkout. On the way out you are faced with a critical decision. Do you turn left and head into Premier Liquor to taste some wine? Or do you turn right and have a bite to eat at the Premier Gourmet Cafe'? So many decisions.......

All in all, if you haven't ever been, you surely need to go. You will not be disappointed.

I have been reflecting a lot these days on times long past, and one special girl from my high school days comes instantaneously to my mind. I have not been able to find her via Classmates or other such inane websites, so I figgered why not try CL and see what the fates have in store for my query?

She was my first true love, even though we never dated. We both attended AP Chemistry in our senior year, and we used to poke major fun at the teacher (Mr. Howell, I love and respect you, and am very saddened that you passed on, but by god sir, how you needed to get rid of your not even passable toupee! That terrible creation looked like a raw beaver pelt plopped directly on top of your head! One of the lab projects should have been to Bunsen burner to death that fucking toupee!) while still maintaining our professional student bearing. I had a major case of roseacea (sic) in high school, and she did not make fun of this hugely embarassing condition of mine like others did. In fact she thought it cute that I got even redder in the face when I was around her (duh!). She really liked a certain multi-colored sweater that I had, and I made a point to wear it whenever we had AP Chemistry together. In her admiring of said sweater, she used to touch it (and me in the process, mind you) and I would get very excited when she did this. Such excitement being manifested in such ways as having my stomach do gymnastic flips, profuse yet largely unseen sweating, wobbly legs, and a dry throat that tends to 'crack' one's young developing male voice.

Without question there was chemistry between us, apart from the AP course of the same name we were currently sharing at the time.

However, romantic things between her and I were apparently not to be, as I asked her to be my prom date and she did not accept. But when she told me of her non-acceptance I did not get the impression that it was 'her' turning me down, but a larger entity entirely. It seemed to me that she was having troubles at home, and that these troubles were serious. I sensed this because I am a pretty good judge of character and I seem to have a keen sense of larger things when I speak with people.

Yet when I tried to compel her to expound on her rejection, she abruptly dropped the subject.

So I ended up doing one of those convenient prom 'exchanges' (you take me to your prom, I'll take you to mine type deal) with a girl I worked at Tops with from Immaculata Academy. The whole time we were together I kept thinking of who I wanted to be with me at that point, and it certainly was not the girl from Immaculata.

Our relationship largely remained the same until we graduated from high school and I never laid eyes on her again as I had no idea where she went afterwards. But I never forgot her, and I never will. I know I have been out of high school for 17 years, but some things just never fade from one's memory, and my memory of her will transcend time immemorial.

Her name at the time was Mary Radich. We went to Iroquois High School in Elma, NY and we graduated in 1988. She was probably 5 feet 10 inches tall, with green eyes and beautiful dark brown hair. And she was my first true love.

I doubt anything will come of this post regarding my actual making contact again with her, but that is not the point. I do not pine for her, I would like to know how she is doing as she simply dropped off the radar screens after graduation. She is the sole positive thing I can point out during my whole nightmarish fucking existence known as High School in the late 1980's.

This post is to thank her for being the wonderful person that she was to me then, and also to allow me to get a whole lot off my chest.

Wherever Mary Radich from Iroquois High School is these days, I wish her well and that I hope she knows that she made a profound impact on me as a person and my life.

She was and is a wonderful person. And she was my first true love.

In Peace,

Geoff

I am a big flavored vodka fan. I not only enjoy the standard commercial offerings but I make my own custom vodka flavored infusions. With the annual arrival of the California pomegranate this week, I will be making a new 100 proof infusion that incorporates that tasty and healthy fruit.

But I digress. Unbeknowst to many vodka drinkers, many of the commerical flavored vodka offerings have sugar added to them in order to enhance the flavor, and last week I found and tasted the most wonderful flavored vodka I ever had the pleasure of drinking.

It was as if a fresh and juicy McIntosh apple compressed itself into my tall shooter glass, and iced itself to a delicious 32 degrees Fahrenheit. There was no artificial sweet taste due to added sugar, and the vodka proof remained where it should be, at 80 proof.

My mind was literally blown. I drink vodka Russian style (in a tall shooter glass, vodka bottle is stored in the freezer) and good traditional vodka shots only take second place to a good 420 session.

www.frisvodka.com

I do not work for them, but I might as well. They do not offer many flavors, but the ones they do offer are just delicious. Lime and Apple, with the original unflavored vodka.

From Denmark with love......