Saturday, March 7, 2009

We're All In This Together - HSM3/Senior Year: Movie Night at Casa Trovato

Opening scene: We’re staring into the worried eyes – and sweatied brow – of Troy Bolton. The Wildcats are down by nearly 20 points and the team just can’t get their heads in the game. Cut to locker room scene: Pep talk by Coach Bolton (Troy’s daddy). Pep talk by Troy. Then a Wildcat Call to Arms by Chad Danforth. Back to court: GAYEST. DANCE SCENE. EVER. And then, in a moment of clarity, Troy looks to the stands and from a sea of red-shirted East High Wildcats, Gabriella Montez rises, in her virginal white dress. Their eyes meet. Troy knows what to do. They shoot. They score.

Carlo and I know we’re in for 2 hours of artificially-sweetened, cancer-causing Red No. 2-colored, bubble-gum scented, tummy-turning, diarrhea-inducing schlock. And there’s nothing we can do about it.

And here’s the sad thing: In the summer of 2007, when Disney premiered HSM 2 on TV – the whole family (including Carlo and I) were TOTALLY stoked about it. We actually turned down not one, but TWO invitations to view the movie at other people’s homes, preferring to hunker down in our own living room and watch it together in privacy, so we could enjoy it among our own. Although Carlo had made a bunch of homemade pizzas, our mainstay that night was devouring that whiter-than-white, holier-than-thou, cottoned-candy crap with double-fisted pleasure. The next day, in fact, I bought Maggie & Paolo the soundtrack (Sharpay’s “Fabulous” track is actually quite catchy) – and they weren’t even at the store with me – I just BOUGHT IT. I themed Maggie’s 7th Birthday Party around HSM 1 & 2, including an HSM trivia game, where I was the enthusiastic host. The kids had a blast (as did the adults).

But since then, we’ve tired of HSM. We grew weary after Vanessa Hudgens’ nudies became public. Weary of Zac Efron not coming out (come on, already!). Weary of seeing Ashley Tisdale in every fucking show Disney airs. Weary when HSM 3 came to the theaters in October 2008. And weary enough that today, March 7, 2009, my husband – at my kid’s constant demand – marched into a video store and picked up a few boxes of Twizzlers, Junior Mints, Sour Patch Kids and a copy of HSM3: Senior Year.

If you’ve not yet watched this movie and were thinking about renting it, save your $4, as it was absolutely fucking terrible. If you’ve not yet watched this movie, have disregarded my warning and are still thinking of renting it: stop reading now. I’m going to load the remainder of this blog with spoilers. And here they are:

If you saw HSM 1 or 2, you’ve seen HSM3. If you’ve seen Grease, Saturday Night Fever, Footloose or the “Thriller” video, you’ve already experienced all of the choreography HSM3 had to offer. The Creative Department at Disney was either collectively on vacation while this movie was planned or, they upped their anti-depression meds and simply phoned in ‘ambivalence’ during production. I mean, I didn’t expect a complicated plot. Really, I didn’t. And I didn’t expect any real character growth (again, I really didn’t). But for the love of Bob Fosse, couldn’t someone have come up with some new moves? Troy Bolton’s final solo act is almost a step-for-step re-enactment of Kevin Bacon’s famous solo romp thru the mill. Cut loose, Disney. Your target audience may not know Footloose, but the bastards shelling out for movie tickets or video rental DO.

Disney’s Art Department was TOTALLY on the ball – in the typical, Fantasia/Every-Day-is-Acid-Day-at-Disney kind of way. The second scene takes us to the celebration of the end of the successful Wildcat basketball season – a party at Troy’s place, replete with 3-story-sized Wildcat mascots, a ginormous trampoline, enough Christmas lights to make Clark Griswold look like a rank amateur and a tree house – oh! a tree house that the Swiss Family Robinson could only hope to time-share. [Note: This tree house, by my estimate, had about an 8-1/2 foot high cathedral ceiling and full-electrical capabilities. I might have seen a plasma near its 1st bay window, just to the left of the Corbusier chaise.] It was a raging party – without any alcohol, of course – where all social groups co-mingled in blissful harmony and where – in the magical tree house -- Gabriella and Troy promised themselves to each other – no matter how far apart their colleges would take them.

Seriously, did this ever happen at YOUR high school? It sure as hell never happened at mine, or at least, I wasn’t ever a part of one of these events. I had a friend in grade school – her mom would watch me after school until my mom came home from work – and she had a tree house of sorts. It was made of rotted, warped plywood scraps, loosely held together by rusty nails and was absolutely unsafe. [Note: My mother really should have paid somebody else to watch me (and I use the word ‘watch,’ loosely). This woman had 5 kids of her own to manage and was letting anyone juggle knives if they felt up to it. I almost killed myself on one of their mini-bikes one day. We were completely unsupervised and I can be damn lucky I still have my right leg.] Anyway…someone – somehow – managed to cram one of those little plastic kitchens up into this mobile home on a branch and I remember eating barely ripe crab apples (covered in pesticide – you could actually see the film of poison on them) and making sugar-less Kool-Aid (aka bitter red water) with her in that hovering house of death. No cathedral ceilings for us. And I don’t EVER remember going to a raging house party with party lights and a trampoline and social cliques living together in perfect harmony. I was a band fag. I hung with them. And by hung out, I mean we made out on the bus on the way home from away games or band competitions, then stayed at the home of a same-gender band fag and talked about relationships and Duran Duran, or our relationship with Duran Duran, if we had no real relationship of our own of which to speak.

I’m not going to dissect this flopper of a film scene-by scene, but I’ll give you the less-than-60-second overview: there’s another show, all the regulars are in it , with the added excitement of a scholarship-wielding Julliard recruiter attending the performance; overacting, overacting, overacting; re-do of cafeteria dance scene; re-do of gazebo/garden on the roof scene; overacting; Chad and Troy do gay dance in junkyard; re-do of Gabriella and Troy being too cute scene; re-do of Gabriella being on her own scene; re-do of the isn’t-Kelsey-quirky-and-cute-and-underrated scene; overacting, Sharpay has a nemesis scene (an original scene, actually) overacting, overacting, Chad continues to carry a basketball with him everywhere scene(s); overacting; final show; graduation; marquis… go refill drink and try to forget it ever happened.

I will say that, like Grease, HSM3 was chock full of sexual innuendo. Sharpay’s debut outfit was a rockin’ pink sequined mini skirt with pink leather fuck-me boots. Lots of the musical scenes piled on as much T&A as the Disney Censor Board would permit (including one scene where the girls, fronted by the lead-girl, Ryan Evans, were all dressed as pink-trimmed, pussy-cats…mmm hmmm).

HSM3: Senior Year just didn’t cut it for me. Or us. My daughter did cry at the end (but I’m certain they were forced tears) and my son was moved –just once – to get up and dance (gay dance scene at junkyard, and no, that doesn’t mean anything!), but we found we just didn’t care if they graduated, got scholarships, went to the same colleges, contracted life-threatening sexually transmitted diseases, made a brief but lucrative living making soft-core porn, opened a falafel stand outside of East High…. we’ve lost interest in the gang from East High. Lack of script (I bet this blog has more words in it than the entire script to that movie!), lame-ass characters, and unimaginative choreography all worked together to make the Wildcat’s senior year suck ass. And I think even they knew it.

Top 10 Most Influential Albums

A Facebook (and REAL) friend asked me to list and post the 15 most influential albums of my life. I struggled to find just 10, but by the end of the exercise managed to unearth some beautiful memories of family, friends and growing up. These aren't necessarily the 10 albums I'd take to the desert island (altho, some make that list too) -- these are the albums that had a connection to something - or some time - in my life. Enjoy!

1. Ohio Players & KISS (album titles unknown):
I know few – if any – actual songs on either of these albums, but as a kid, I couldn’t help but look thru my mom and stepfather’s record collection (no one owned movies back then and these two people weren’t killing time reading books). The Ohio Players’ inside spread had this artsy nude portrait of a beautiful black woman – I couldn’t stop looking at it. That’s when I knew I was gay.* Similar but different: my stepfather’s contribution to the album collection in our house included a bunch of KISS albums, all of which I also couldn’t stop looking at. Gene Simmons scared the shit out of me, but still….I KEPT LOOKING. I had nightmares about that crazy man spitting blood and fire and trying to kill me until I was almost in double-digits. Odd influences, I know, but influences nonetheless.

2. George Michael, Faith
During my high school years, I had a job at Zayre (which was bought out by Ames at some point, if “Zayre” isn’t striking any familiar chords with you). One summer, the Zayre management team caught on that I was slightly OCD, of German decent and perfectly okay with doing just about anything for my $3.65 hourly wage. Without abusing the child-labor laws, they worked my ass hard – including scheduling me until 10 pm one night and then summoning me back to the store at 6:30 am the next day (which seemed like a lot back then). Ever independent, I neglected to tell my family that I’d be walking to work that morning – in the dark – so that I could get to work on time. I remember putting on my walkman (of the cassette variety) and singing my heart out from 8th Street all the way down to Fourth & Packer to this album, particularly “Father Figure.” I was alone, it was dark and I had to get soft lines organized…

My father, my actual father figure, was less than pleased when he woke up that morning to find that I had left the house in the dark.

3. Steely Dan, Katy Lied
I’m kind of randomly picking this album above all Steely Dan albums because as I was growing up, Steely Dan always seemed to be on the radio in the car, on our stereo at home – everywhere, all the time. I had no idea that it was The Dan that brought us “Peg” or “Ricki Don’t Lose That Number,” until I started dating Charlie the summer before my sophomore year at Penn State. Charlie is one of the 5 audiophiles** I know. This guy just LOVES music – all kinds of music. And he doesn’t just listen to it like the rest of us – he devours it; critiques it; consumes it. Charlie was also a real romantic – he’d plan picnic dates, buy all the stuff, prepare it and all I’d have to do was show up (Take a lesson, Carlo). So – I think it was on one of our first outings, he picked me up in his Nissan truck and asked if I liked Steely. “I don’t know…” was my reply. Then the tape went in the dashboard and I’ve never been the same. I didn’t just know Steely, I knew almost every word to every song.

Flash forward a few years. I became addicted to Steely – saw them once with Charlie, and once with Jef (Jef is the dork I dated after Charlie. Jef was not an audiophile; he grew up listening to John Denver albums on his parent’s farm. Jef [and I’m not misspelling that – it was just one ‘f’] had a ponytail, flat feet and owned the SECOND album of every cock-rock hair band of the early 90s. Jef and Kip Winger are the only two assholes in the world that owned Winger’s second album). Anyway…as things with Jef were getting rocky during my final semester at PSU, I started creating my wish list of qualities the next guy would have, including what music he’d like, but more specifically (and embarrassingly), “next guy” would: dance with me in some random place to Steely Dan’s “Katy Lied.” Enter Carlo.

I don’t know that Carlo and I have ever danced to “Katy Lied,” but on our second date, we ended up in his room and he asked me if I liked Steely Dan. He could have proposed then and I would have said yes (technically, he could have proposed on our first date and I would have said yes, but this Steely Dan thing was totally cool – and right off the list!).

Steely Dan seems to have been the background music to my entire life. Even when Maggie was born – I didn’t know kid songs, so for the first few weeks of her life, that little baby was lulled to sleep by me singing “Everyone’s Gone to the Movies” (which is SO not a kid-friendly song!). Charlie was a great friend and great boyfriend – I’ll always be thankful he brought the Dan to the front for me. And even more thankful that Carlo liked ‘em too.

4. Jane’s Addiction – Ritual de lo Habitual
I bought this CD at that record store on College Avenue at PSU –you had to go up one or two flights of narrow stairs to get to the store. I think I must have missed the original release because I have the white cover – the original was far more controversial, so they ended up re-releasing with nothing more than a white cover with the band and album name printed on it. Jane’s Addiction means college to me. It was one of the first CDs I owned. I had this shitty portable CD player that I plugged into my equally shitty stereo. But I cranked Jane’s Addiction so that no one in Stone Hall could avoid them. “I am skin and bones. I am pointy nose. But it mutha fuckin makes me try….” I hear you, Perry. I hear you. And now, so does everyone else…

5. Live – Throwing Copper
I don’t remember when I got this, but I also don’t remember ever NOT having it. I’ll guess it was sometime in my later college years but this album, to me, was what was right about rock and roll. Ed Kowalczyk gets anger. He gets how powerful the word mutherfucker can be. This isn’t just on my ‘influential’ list, it’s TOTALLY on my desert island list, too.

6. Barenaked Ladies - Maybe You Should Drive
I want to say that Andrew introduced me to Barenaked Ladies (he’ll play a key role in many of the following albums I mention in this list), but if he wasn’t the one who turned me on to them, he certainly supported me in my love for them. This album reminds me of a really amazingly horrifying transition in my life: from hillbilly to big city gal. It reminds me of Jen and Nik and Andrew supporting me during my “If-Carlo-doesn’t-love-me-I’ll-wither-up-and-die” time. I can’t listen to that album objectively anymore – it is perfect in every way and everyone should know that. I smell Celotex and Holsum Bakery and fresh cut grass and the Susquehanna River when I hear it.

7. Talking Heads – Little Creatures
Never was a Heads fan – they always (in my opinion) took time away from Duran Duran on MTV back in the day. I knew “Burning Down the House” just because it got some play in one of those 80s movies, but I saw no reason for fussing over the Talking Heads. So…late 90s, I find myself in Italy with Carlo and his older brother, Arturo. The three of us spent a lot of time together touring the country in one of the tiniest cars ever. Arturo was the driver and as driver, he also selected music, much to my chagrin. But hey – I was in Italy for the first time, who gives a fuck what’s on the radio? Arturo had, I think, two Talking Heads tapes with him (Little Creatures and Speaking in Tongues) and he played them over and over and over, I had no choice but to learn to like them. After 10 days of Talking Heads, one of the first purchases I made on upon my return to US soil was Little Creatures. I never hear “Stay up Late” and not think about flying thru the hills of Sutri on our way to Rome and laughing our assess off at those traffic policeman with those silly "STOP" paddles. I’ve been an enthusiastic fan, ever since (thanks for that killer box set, Andrew).

8. Beastie Boys – Ill Communication
I have no idea how the Beasties entered into my life. It might have been the influence of an architect I was working with – she was just damn cool and irreverent and anti-corporate and I admired that in her. So, somehow, Ill Communication found it’s way into my collection. I liked it. And forgot about it. And then, one year, for reasons unclear, Kristin and I were carpooling to DG and I had Ill Communication in the car. The result? Two white bitches from PA rapping our balls off – from Track 1 thru “Get It Together.” We were happy, badass account executives by the time we got to work that day.

9. Goldfrapp – Seventh Tree
A year ago, I was not good. I had (of my own doing) gone from something corporate to housewife and after a few months, things were wearing me down. I had two sick kids on opposite ends of the couch, puking their brains out, and I hadn’t taken a breath of fresh air in three days. One night in mid-February, I ended up at Andrew and Franks, unshowered, crying and feeling like I was totally at the end of my rope. Kwee was there (and this was my first real Kwee experience). While I'm talking about my unhappiness, Kwee and Andrew and Frank keep making random interjections about Goldfrapp’s new album and how different it is from all previous Goldfrapp albums. And in my head: Who the fuck is Goldfrapp? Acknowledging the unhappiest point of my life to date started here, with Seventh Tree, and Kwee and Andrew and Frank. All of them also helped get me to a higher point in my life, so for that, I’ll be forever thankful.***

10. Gossip – Standing in the Way of Control
A few weeks after thrusting myself back into Andrew and Frank’s lives with a vengeance, I got a tattoo (March 10, 2008). There was a period of three or four days immediately following where I was so powered by the post-tattoo adrenaline that I was bouncing off the walls. Fortunately, Andrew and Frank sent me home with a copy of Standing in the Way of Control, so I bounced with purpose. This album makes me want to clean, run and get another tattoo (sometimes all at the same time). Thru all of the weirdness that my life was for a few months (see Goldfrapp-Seventh Tree entry above), this CD always managed to bring me back to the top.

* I’m not gay. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. But she was one hot black woman, so it’s totally possible that she is the reason some other women are gay. But not me. Straight, straight, straight.

** Other audiophiles I know: Frank, Andrew, Brendon and ….hmmm…maybe I only know 4 audiophiles. There is the dad of a friend of my daughter’s that I think is an audiophile, but we’re not BFFs, so, maybe I shouldn’t include him on this list. Does Lane Kim count? She’s a total audiophile.

***Frank, I like Black Cherry more than Seventh Tree, mostly cause it’s so damn nasty. But Seventh Tree will always be about that first night I came back into your lives. I love you all.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Food for Thought: 37 Must Know Facts about Tracy's Diet

1. I do eat. I get frustrated that people – including complete strangers – feel inclined to tell me to eat more (more than what? How does a complete stranger know how much I do/n’t eat?) or that I’m too skinny (do I tell people they’re too fat? Too stupid? Too unattractive? No. No. No.). I eat plenty. Not always 3 squares a day, but I can put it down. Ask anyone who really knows me. (And just so you know, asking "How do you stay so thin?" is WILDLY different from telling me I'm TOO skinny). I've got stories for y'all sometime...

2. I enjoy both cooking and baking. And I’m good at both.

3. My favorite summertime meal (both to prepare and to eat): Cherry Cola Ribs, Midwest Potato Salad, Red Beet Eggs & Corn on the Cobb. And I'll probably make two or three desserts to finish up a 'light' meal like this...

4. Pizza: An East Coast transplant, I still don’t understand why everyone in the Midwest thinks Chicago-Style pizza is so good. I find it disgusting. I’d take a ginormous slice of NY pizza any day. Unless I’m in Italy, and then I want the real stuff.

5. My favorite flavor of ice cream is coffee. Unless I’m in Italy, and then it’s a triple scoop of strawberry, lemon and pink grapefruit. Chocolate ice cream has always been disgusting to me – I remember refusing it as a 4-year old at birthday parties.

6. Up until about 5 weeks ago, avocados made me gag. Now, I eat one daily for lunch.

7. I love Jack Daniels over 3 ice cubes. Heaven.

8. With the exception of tobiko, I can’t stand roe / caviar. I’ve tried to like it – I really have – but I fail to see why others love it so and why anyone would pay good cash for that salty, fishy shit.

9. One of my most memorable meals ever was my first trip to Italy with my husband and his brother. We spent a freezing cold day in the mountain-top town of Arezzo, drove recklessly thru the streets of Sutri and found a small family restaurant that was open and warm. I had rabbit pappardelle, sausage and salad -- it was sublime. For dessert, we went back to our condo and ate the pastries we purchased in Arezzo in front of the fire.

10. After reading “Fast Food Nation” several years ago, I made a new rule that the family (in particular, the kids) were not to have fast food. This rule is only really challenged when we drive back to PA in the summer (11 hours on the road - what can you do?). I’m proud that they don’t whine and complain to go to McDonald's or Burger King.

11. That said, I often break the no fast food rule, particularly when I’m feeling anxious or upset. A kids meal is all I need, but then they always include that damn toy – evidence of my betrayal. I hide the toys in the ‘secret’ compartment under the front passenger seat of my car because I started feeling guilty about telling my kids that friends of mine gave me the toys to give to them. I put the unwrapped toys from my car collection in the bags we take to the Salvation Army or put them in my daughter’s school’s PTA closet for ‘prizes’ at BINGO.

12. KFC mashed potatoes and gravy are divine. I could eat my weight of those bastards any day. Go on…challenge me. KFC in general is a weakness, even tho it usually trashes my stomach before I’ve finished the meal and I can guarantee shitting my brains out within 2 hours of consuming it.

13. Arugula is my favorite leafy green thing. I eat it – in bed – with a block of good parmesan cheese that I peel with a veggie peeler to get those thin little curls of cheese. Carlo finds this to be a strange food to eat in bed, but he’s joined me on one or two occasions.

14. I spent 3 days in January 2008 making sausage with my husband and father in law. Stuffing the sausage into hog casings is hard and pornographic work.

15. I DO NOT share my desserts. It doesn’t matter if it is a Tapas restaurant or if you don’t think you can eat an entire dessert. I can. Don’t fuck with me on this one. Find a new buddy to eat with if you can’t abide by this rule. And let me be clear: one bite IS sharing.

16. I’m almost OCD in my dessert ordering. Crème brulee (or panna cotta) or flan. Carlo HATES that I won’t ever order anything new. I don’t know why he cares because even if I did stray from my eggy custard delights, I wouldn’t share it with him anyway.

17. I find water to be the most boring beverage on earth. I’m only good at drinking it if it is in a huge red wine glass and with a giant lemon wedge.

18. I love eating raw potatoes.

19. I think cooked spinach tastes like bile. It ranks right up there with lima beans in my book of things that are evil.

20. Next to whiskey, coffee is my favorite beverage. Particularly Dunkin Donuts coffee. I think Starbucks coffee tastes like burned ass and I’m perplexed at America’s dedication to the slop.

21. My first date with Carlo was at a Chi-Chi’s in State College. I don’t remember what I ate, but I remember knowing before the entrée came out that this was the guy I had to marry.

22. My mother is the worst cook in the world. I joke that I am still skinny from not eating for the first 17 years of my life while she was in charge of the meals. I’m also convinced that if it weren’t for her just wanting me to go the hell to bed, I’d still be chewing on a pork chop she made one night in the late 70s while we lived in the apartment on Race Street. (* See note below)

23. I think I became interested in cooking for two reasons: 1) Carlo is Italian, and those crazy wops LOVE to eat. 2) I never had an Easy Bake Oven when I was little.

24. Thanksgiving dinner is my favorite holiday meal to prepare. When I was gainfully employed, I’d take two or three days off before the big day to cook and prepare. One year, I made 5 desserts, including a trio of bite-sized yummies. Even if someone else hosts on Thanksgiving Day, I usually end up making my own dinner for my family that weekend – it’s never Thanksgiving unless MY house smells like stuffing and gravy.

25. I adore food movies, and “Eat, Drink, Man, Woman” is among my favorite of this genre. So is “Big Night,” not just because they totally nailed the Italian obsession with fresh, delicious (and entirely too much) food, but also because the movie has one of the best endings of all film history. Rent it now if you don’t know what I’m talking about.

26. I keep 5 martini glasses in the door of my freezer, just in case.

27. I was 26 years old before I had sushi. We didn’t know how to order and ended up ordering $80 worth of raw fish. It was not a good experience. The second experience was significantly better and I’ve been a sushi junkie ever since.

28. At a wedding reception right after graduating college, I accidentally ate two cubes of butter, having mistaken them for cheese cubes. As soon as I realized it was butter (this is the second cube), I almost threw up. Carlo and I still laugh that it took me two cubes to come to this shocking conclusion.

29. About three weeks ago, my daughter served me a toasted bagel covered in Crisco (she saw a silver wrapped package in the fridge door and assumed it was cream cheese). I haven’t had a bagel since.

30. Watching Sex & The City always makes me hungry for s’ghetti and meatballs (there’s an episode where Miranda and Carrie are eating pasta at an outside café at night). Watching Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle usually ends with Carlo leaving the house to get us a Sack of 10. Watching Gilmore Girls makes me crave a good hamburger and diner fries, preferably served on Milo Ventimiglia's naked torso.

31. I get angry when people ruin desserts by including coconut or pineapple in them. Yes – I said ANGRY.

32. I work hard not to use public restrooms in restaurants. Almost everytime I do – no matter how fancy the restaurant is – I gag.

33. I puked in two empty pint glasses on our table at the Ten Cat. I’ve never gone back.

34. All of those fancy fondant cakes you may have seen on my Facebook page – I made them all and I’m self-taught. I will give some props to Gale Gand and Duff (the Ace of Cakes guy), since I spent a lot of time watching them bake on Food Network.

35. I defer all sandwich-making to my husband. It’s not that I can’t make a good sandwich, I’m just lazy. For a few years, I think he bought the “you make them so much better than I do” excuse. But he’s caught on, and now just does it so I don’t bitch and complain about having to do everything AND make sandwiches.

36. Butterscotch TastyKakes make me think of Pappy.

37. There is but one way to eat french fries: Covered in vinegar, salt and with a side of ketchup. And there is but one french fry -- from The Alamo at Knoebel's.

*Note: My mother's cooking skills have improved greatly over the years, and she even tries out new recipes. Two years ago, for Christmas, she phoned me and requested a Rachel Ray cookbook -- I thought she had dialed the wrong number! So let's just edit this to read: She was the worst cook in the world...

Spinning Yarn: A True Story

Last night, my husband, Carlo, and I were unable to secure a babysitter and had to cancel our date with friends. In an attempt to redeem what was left of a difficult day of schlepping kids to ice skating lessons, getting rid of the Christmas tree (yes, we did this on January 31st) and scrubbing cat pee out of my son's room, we decided to tag team in the kitchen and make risotto, which left our 5-year old son, Paolo, to his own devices, as 8-year old Maggie was actually entertaining herself with her Barbies in the newly cleaned toy room. While in the final 5-minutes of the dish, a ball of yarn rolls into the kitchen. Paolo is 4 paces behind it and smiling. Carlo picks up the ball & tells Paolo to wind it back up, it's mommy's and he's not to play with it. And we go back to the risotto, because how difficult could that instruction be?

Five minutes later, something catches Carlo's eye and he starts to freak out - Paolo has decided to become Spiderman and use my yarn (which is attached to a new project, by the way) as his web. He's got a good 5 inches of yarn twisted and knotted TIGHTLY around his left arm, but it doesn't end there. We live in a century-old, vintage 6 flat -- our condo is 100' long from stem to stern -- and Paolo has rolled the yarn (which I've violently ripped from his arm) throughout all but 2 rooms in our house.

It's around chairs, under beds and wrapped around the waste can and heater in the big bathroom. It skirted through the tongues of some shoes in our closet and then stretched all the way back up front, where it was tangled in Barbie's townhouse AND Hannah Montana's backstage locker.

I actually called the 5-year old "Asshole." To his face. That's how crazy mad I was. And again -- all this yarn was attached to a knitting needle -- this was an IN PROGRESS ball of yarn (and I had already torn the project apart three times that day).

It took us a full 15-minutes (and by us, I mean Carlo because I was in the back putting Paolo into jammies and threatening no dinner (and he loves risotto. it's one of the 5 meals he eats)). All the while, yelling at how hateful a thing this was. By now, he is crying his eyes out -- he even has those little shakes because Carlo and I are both so. damn. angry. It went something like this:

Me: Paolo! Why did you do this?
Paolo: I don't know Mommy.
Me: No dinner for you! I'm too furious to even look at you.
Paolo: No rizzotto?
Me: No!
Paolo: I'm sowwy, Mommy.
Me: It was so rude. I'm furious.
Paolo: I know it was wude. I don't know why I did it...

And so on, and so on.

Once Carlo salvaged the yarn, we warmed up the risotto (and it was good) and called Paolo to the table. Three bites into the meal, I burst into tears for getting so freaked out about a ball of yarn. Paolo ended up sitting on my lap while we cried and ate our risotto together, while Carlo and Maggie sat across the table, looking at us like we were insane.

I went to bed last night STILL feeling bad about calling him an asshole (who does that???) and worried that I damaged him permanently. And what happens next? That little asshole woke up this morning like nothing ever happened and has already picked three fights with his sister, pummeled the cat with stuffed toys (the same cat that deliberately uses Paolo's bedroom as a litterbox) and jammed a wadded up tissue up his nose so far that Carlo couldn't even see it. Worry not -- we got it out.