Happy Holidays!

Wishing you a wonderful holiday season. 

xoxo ~Harry & Jo

:)

Smoke if you got 'em...

Mom, who always enjoys a juicy piece of gossip, tells me:

"Did you hear about that trush, Miley Cyrus? She's been smoking bombs."

Now, that's talent.

Worrywart

Mom sees danger in all things. Give her half a second and she will inevitably come up with precisely why and how something or some situation is unsafe. She is what one calls a "worrywart."

Take this recent conversation for example. Mom was was aware I'd be going to a place that had a flight of steep steps. Naturally, she had some advice for me.

Mom: Be careful going up and down those steps.

I just stared, silently, at her. If I hadn't learned to climb a flight of stairs by this point in my life, there was no help for me. Catching on, she responded:

Mom: Well, I think about those things. I know you don't like that. But I can't help it. I'm a little crazy.

My thoughts exactly.

Overheard from the Living Room

Dad to Mom: You know, it's getting harder and harder to share your company. 

Ain't love grand? ;)

10-Second Delay

11/28/10.

At a restaurant -- well, that's stretching it -- at Olive Garden with mom and dad. Dad's on a 10-second delay the entire night, which (as you can imagine) complicated the ordering process.

Dad: What are the soups?
Waitress: Chicken Gnocchi or Zuppa Toscana.
Dad: I'll have the Chicken Toscana.
Waitress: It's either Chicken Gnocchi or Zuppa Toscana. One's with chicken and one's with sausage.
Dad: Right, Chicken Toscana.
Waitress: Zuppa Toscana?
Dad: Yeah.

 So, the soup comes to the table. Dad is perplexed.

Dad: This isn't creamy.
Me: Nope, cause you got the Toscana.
Dad: I wanted what you have.
Me: It's good. Eat it.
Dad: Phew... this is spicy!

The waitress comes back to the table.

Waitress: How is everything?
Dad: Boy, this soup is spicy. Do you have a crying towel?
Waitress (confused): Yeah, it is a spicy soup.

Crying towel. Not a Kleenex. Not a tissue. A "crying towel" -- which is apparently a real thing where he comes from. Who knew?

Open to Debate

There's been some debate on just how my dad proposed to my mom. I doubt I'll ever get the real story. Heck, I doubt either of them actually knows the real story.

My mom says it went down like this:

Mom: "I dunno. He just said, 'So you think one day you might wanna get married?' And, I said, 'Yeah."
Me: How romantic. [beat] Did he have a ring?
Mom: Not at the time. We were just talking in the car. He gave me the ring a little while later. In my mom's kitchen. Just pushed the ring across the table to me.
Me: Again, how romantic.
Mom: We were supposed to get married in April, but he was saying how he didn't wanna be alone at Christmas. And, I said, 'What, alone? You're gonna be with my family.' So, that's why we got married after Thanksgiving.

Dad, however, claims he knew nothing about April and this was the first he's heard of it.

So, they can't get their stories straight. Something must be working... 52 years later... tomorrow.

Harry and Jo, November 29th, 1958. 

:)

Bells will be ringing...

Today, upon hearing that Prince William proposed to Kate Middleton, I was instantly transported to nearly 30 years prior. 


July 29, 1981. 

My mom woke me up at the crack of dawn and said:

You have to watch this. This is history. 

And together, in awe, we watched the royal wedding of Prince Charles to Diana Spencer take place.

Thanks, Mom, for the history lesson. Can't wait for the next royal wedding. :)

Calling Gloria

As it's hurricane season, it's only fitting I share a story about Hurricane Gloria. Long Islanders will recall Hurricane Gloria as the bad-ass storm front that whipped island dwellers into a frothy mix for a few days back in the 80s.

I was just a pre-teen when it all went down, and (without going into gory detail) was experiencing one of my first "times of the month."

Some time during the storm, I ran out of what I needed to get by. So, when the eye of the storm was upon us, my dad and I rushed out to the local 7-11. When we parked, I told my dad I was too embarrassed to go in and buy what I needed.

Now, while he was not jumping for joy -- he bucked up like a good soldier and came to my rescue. Ahh, what fathers won't do for their daughters.

The mouth wants what it wants...

So, Mom breaks into a bag of cheese-flavored corn puffs and makes the following declaration:

Mom: I don't even like these. They have a bitter taste.

Grabs another handful and continues to chomp, chomp, chomp...

Me: So, why are you eating them?
Mom: I dunno. My mouth wants to eat.

Not "Because I'm hungry." Not "Because I'm in the mood for something crunchy." Nope. Because "my mouth wants to eat." Priceless.

Nice Schmice

To entice people to eat, Mom always inserts the word "nice" before the food item she's pushing.

Mom: You want a nice apple? Have a nice apple.
Me: What's so nice about it?

Take my mom, please.

Early 1970s. 

The scene of the crime: The Colony Hill.

Mom and Dad are there to see Henny Youngman perform. But the sound wasn't so great in the auditorium, so they didn't quite get every word. Much like her run in with Joey Bishop, Mom managed to get a few words in with the well-known comic as he was exiting the ballroom.

Mom: "Oh, Hi Henny! Too bad the sound wasn't so great. But don't worry about it -- I know all your jokes.

Henny, taken aback, makes a pointing gesture to my mom and says: "Get her."

And, that was the extent of the relationship my mom had with Mr. Youngman.

Hangin' with One-Fifth of the Rat Pack

1973. 

A long, long time ago, the place to be (and be seen) on Long Island was The Colony Hill. In it's heyday, the Colony booked in some pretty famous headliners, among them Henny Youngman and Joey Bishop.

Mom and Dad apparently dragged me to one such Joey Bishop performance. (What the hell did I know? I was all of 6 months old at the time.) The headliners were known to mingle with the audience after their performances, so naturally, Mom was all over this.

She managed to pull Joey Bishop aside and tell him:

"My daughter fell asleep during your show."

Bishop was taken aback. Picking up on that, Mom quickly did some damage control:

"Oh, she's just a baby!"

It should have ended there. But to add insult to injury, Mom added:

"By the way, say hi to Dean and Frank for me. I love them so much."

Right, like the first thing Bishop was gonna do when he got back to Vegas was make a B-line to Sinatra and Martin and say: "Hey, some lady on Long Island says 'Hi!'"

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Charlie Swayze and Patrick Sheen

9/12/10.

Dad is forever confusing one actor for another. It's a gift. For instance, just yesterday, he was watching some movie on TV and...

Dad: Hey, isn't that Charlie Sheen?
Me: No, that's Patrick Swayze.
Dad: They look a lot alike.
Me: No, they look nothing alike.
Dad: What are you talking about?
Me: Look, Patrick Swayze looks like Patrick Swayze and Charlie Sheen looks like Charlie Sheen. Case closed.

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The Unexplained

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a sucker for anything paranormal. If there's a documentary on TV about ghosts, UFOs, yeti -- whatever -- I'm gonna watch it.

One day, I'm watching Supernatural Science on Chiller. The topic? Loch Ness.

Dad comes into the room.

"What's this? [beat] Oh, Loch Ness? Eff that. How many times I've seen pictures of that and been fooled every damn time."

And with that, he departs. No doubt to watch something sensible, like Benny Hill.

That's deep.

One Thanksgiving, we'd all gathered in the living room to digest the big feast. The conversation turned to the war in Iraq. Our relatives shared their opinions and things they'd heard on the nightly news and in various newspapers. All the while, my mom remained silent, taking it all in. Then the conversation stopped momentarily, as conversations do, everyone taking a second or two to ruminate.

Contemplatively, mom breaks the silence with:

"War is hell."

It was delivered in such a matter-of-fact, brass-tax tone, and whether is was right or wrong everyone burst into laughter.

Perez Hilton, Meet Your Competition

9/5/10.

During a conversation, which can be labeled anything but deep, Mom says:

You know, I got some news for Madonna: She looks old now.

To which I responded: Are you going to deliver this news personally?

Junk in the trunk

9/5/10

Dad's sitting in a restaurant, distracted by the Yankees game showing on one of the large TVs hanging above the bar. Contemplative, he says:

"Look at that big ass on Alex Rodriguez. Jeez. He's got the ass of a putan."

[Beat]

"Wait, they all have big asses. Must be the TV."

He then continues to eat his pizza, leaving me to conclude that Mets' fans are more complicated than I originally thought.

That's one way to put it...

Recently, I was complaining to my mom about how my shoulder was sore, especially right near the blade, and how I thought it was due to computer use. Her response?

"You know, you gotta get off that mouse for a while."

Sound advice.

My Baby Goes to Rio...

Last month.

Mom calls me at work.

"Hey, Peter Allen is having that Tent Sale again."

Is he now? That's pretty remarkable, considering how he's dead and all.

BTW: This is what she really meant: Peter Andrews.

Thinly Veiled Threat

Whenever Mom or I get on Dad's case about one thing or another, he'll retaliate with his standard threat:

"I'm gonna go get a furnished room!"

He's never made good on this. Not once.

Damn Beavers

Recently, while watching E! News, Mom mutters:

"I hate that 'bleeping' Beaver kid."

Yeah, me too.

Before Janet Jackson, there was...

Circa Mid-1990s.

Dad is making breakfast. And, he's experiencing a wardrobe malfunction.

Let's face it: He's never been able to find the right belt/pants combination. Frustrated by his drooping pants, he struggles -- spatula in hand -- to lift them belly-high. As he's doing so, he mutters under his breath:

"Why do my pants... ugh... WHY do my pants... keep..."

And then, as if he's trying out for some Broadway musical, he belts out Ira Gershwin-like:

"WHYYYYYY do my PANTSSSSS keep FALLINGGGGGG DOWWWWWWN!

I really wish I had that on audio for ya. It seriously was priceless. But, do your best to try and imagine the vocal and melody.

Well, ain't that a son of a bitch?

All these years, I thought I was born at 10:20am. Today my mom informs me I was actually born at 10:32. 

Guess that makes me 12 minutes younger.

There's no business like show business

My mom watches Turner Classic Movies like other people watch the nightly news or soap operas. It's probably the only channel number she has memorized. Chalk it up to nostalgia.

Sometimes, I'll get a voice mail. The caller will stay on the line for a few seconds, say nothing...then hang up.

I know it's my mom because I can hear the unmistakable overly dramatic soundtrack of say "Laura" or "Double Indemnity" playing loudly in the background.

He's a regular Emeril Lagasse

Somewhat frantic phone call from dad, went like this:

Dad: "You know those round things you make food on?"
Me: "... plates?"
Dad: "No -- you know... Pepperidge Farm makes them."
Me: "Are you talking about the Deli Flats?"
Dad: "Yeah, yeah. Don't eat them. They're green molded."

What mystifies me about this whole conversation was that he remembered the brand "Pepperidge Farm," but not the word "bread."

Wow.

Take two of these, and call me in the morning.

Complaining about my allergies to mom...

Me: I've tried everything.
Mom: That pill from your doctor?
Me: Yep.
Mom: Your nose spray?
Me: Yep.
Mom: [beat] Isn't there anything else you can sniff up?

I think that would cause an entirely new problem.

...and to all a good night.

My dad has many pre-bedtime rituals. One of them includes announcing:

Dad: "I'm going to lay myself flat."

I've never heard anyone else say this, nor do I know why he feels the need to state it this way -- but he's never varied the phrase. It's never: "I'm gonna curl myself up in a ball" or "Hit the sheets." Nope. It's ALWAYS "I'm going to lay myself flat."

Ponderous.

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I do, Muumuu?

What is it about Italian women of a certain age and muumuus? (For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the unflattering and seriously questionable fashion choice, click here.)

My mom has owned some form of muumuu for as long as I can remember. These garments generally surface as warm weather approaches, but are known to make random appearances throughout the year.

One recent shopping spree took us to a local flea market.

Mom: "Oh, good. I can get a new muumuu."
Me: "You know, just because you're Italian doesn't mean you have to wear the uniform."
Mom: "I like them. They're so soft and comfortable."
Me: "...and extremely flammable."
Mom: "I don't smoke."
Me: "Yeah, but you cook."

[silence]

Mom: "They're cheap and I'm getting one."
Me: "Why do they have such loud, ugly prints? Can't you find a solid one?"
Mom: "What do you care? You're not wearing it."
Me: "Yeah, but I gotta look at it -- and that's worse."
Mom: [beat] "They only come in prints."
Me: "Fine, but I'm helping you pick one out."

So, I found one that was the least hideous on the eyes: A lilac-and-white polka-dotted number for a whopping 13 bucks -- eight dollars extra than the variety of disastrous ones she could have purchased.

The entire ride home was about that eight dollars. It's not that mom's cheap -- she just likes a good deal. And, I guess she's right -- no one should have to pay more than $5 for something that friggin' ugly.

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Sleeping Beauty

Under normal circumstances, when someone takes a nap they tend to wake up refreshed and well-rested. Not mom. If she sleeps a smidge more than an average nap, she wakes up grumpy.

After one such nap, she lumbered into the living room and hunkered down into a side chair -- with a totally disgusted look on her face.

Mom: "That little nap I took put me in a mood."

Hand to God, that's what she said.

She may not look the type...

5/30/10.

Mom may not look the type, and she'll deny it if pressed to confess, but she has a mouth like a sailor who just pulled into port.

Case in point...

Memorial Day Weekend. Coming back from an outdoor fair, mom notices the roads are virtually free of cars.

Mom: Isn't it nice when it's like this? [beat] 'Cause all the bastards are nowhere to be found.

But, you have to read "bastards" as "bear-steads." It's so much more colorful and expressive in her New York accent.

Topical Reference

5/30/10.

While walking through a train station-side fair on a very hot day, mom stopped at a booth and bought a pink baseball hat to shelter her head from the sun.

Dad, with a shit-eating-grin on his face, walks up to me, pointing over his shoulder at mom and says:

"Did ya see Pinky Tuscadero over there?"

;)

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Healthy Eating Tips from Harry

5/13/10.

You know how dads always mean well by passing along "helpful" information? Except, the information isn't always helpful so much as it's totally confusing. The following conversation nearly drove me insane:

Dad: What'd you have for lunch?
Me: Salad.
Dad: A Chicken Caesar Salad?
Me: No.
Dad: You should have Chicken Caesar Salad.
Me: It's high in calories.
Dad: No it's not.
Me: Yes, it is. Because of the dressing and the cheese.
Dad: So, use another dressing.
Me: Then it's not a Chicken Caesar Salad.
Dad: Yes it is.
Me: The Caesar Dressing is what makes it a Chicken Caesar Salad.
Dad: Well, you can't just call it a Chicken Salad, because a Chicken Salad has mayo in it.
Me: Obviously.
Dad: So have a Ranch Chicken Salad.
Me: You're just not getting that it's the dressing that makes the salad unhealthy.
Dad: Whatever.

You're welcome.

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Kicking It Old School

Late 1990s.

During a conversation, mom gene-spliced two famous rappers:

Mom: "Who's this Puffy Dog?"
Me: "Do you mean Sean 'Puffy' Combs or Snoop Doggy Dog?
Mom: I don't know.
Me: Neither do I.

My Kingdom for a Fortress of Solitude

Late 1970s/Early 1980s.

When I was growing up, Wonder Woman was all the rage. Every little girl (and big girl) wanted to be Linda Carter. 

When I was a kid, merchandising wasn't nearly as hardcore as it is today -- but there were a few must-have items you just couldn't live without. For me, it was the Wonder Woman bathing suit. It was the real deal -- looked just like the costume Linda Carter wore on the show (well, without the giant D-sized cups). It came with gold cuffs, and I'm pretty sure there was also a lasso -- though I could be embellishing on my memory. Plus, it even had the option of waterproof boots. That's where my mom drew the line.

My mother wouldn’t buy me the boots because she said I’d “slip in the pool.” 

So what if I was going to “slip in the pool;" where was I really gonna go? What kind of damage was I gonna do? It wasn't like I was gonna get hurt or anything. Now, if she had said: "You’ll run around after getting out of the pool and slip on the deck," then I could have agreed... 

I still want those boots.


 
For argument's sake, I also couldn’t have the following:

• A Lite Brite: "Too many little pieces."
• A Big Wheel: "You'll break your head open."
• A pogo stick: See Big Wheel
• A trampoline: See Big Wheel and pogo stick
• A Slip N Slide: "You'll slip and fall and break your ass."

"Watch your ass." - WEAR IT!

Introducing the YOU HADDA BE THERE Merchandise Store at Zazzle.com. 

New merchandise is being added on a frequent basis, so please bookmark us and visit often!


Wear the t-shirt inspired by the "Well-meant Advice" Post:

"Watch your ass." Tshirts from Zazzle.com

+

Watch Out for the Crazies - STICK IT!

Introducing the YOU HADDA BE THERE Merchandise Store at Zazzle.com. 

New merchandise is being added on a frequent basis, so please bookmark us and visit often!

Grab the magnet inspired by the "Watch Out for the Crazies" post:

Watch out for the crazies. magnets from Zazzle.com

+

Don't Let Your Meat Loaf - WEAR IT!

Introducing the YOU HADDA BE THERE Merchandise Store at Zazzle.com. 

New merchandise is being added on a frequent basis, so please bookmark us and visit often!

Wear the t-shirt inspired by the "Meatloaf" post.

Don't let your meat loaf. t shirts from Zazzle.com

+

Watch Out for the Crazies -- WEAR IT!

Introducing the YOU HADDA BE THERE Merchandise Store at Zazzle.com. 

New merchandise is being added on a frequent basis, so please bookmark us and visit often!

Wear the t-shirt inspired by the "Watch Out for the Crazies" post:

Watch out for the crazies shirt from Zazzle.com

+

The Stiller/Lewis Connection

April 2010.

Many a conversation with Mom goes like this:

Mom: I was looking through your Entertainment Weekly and saw a picture of that guy whose father is on that show...
Me: What show?
Mom: You know. The one with the funny father.
Me: Mom. What show...?
Mom: You know the one... It’s on channel 9.
Me: King of Queens?
Mom: Yeah, his son.
Me: Ben Stiller. Right.
Mom: What happened to him? He looks terrible now.
Me: Yeah, he let himself go.
Mom: He looks like Larry’s friend.
Me: Larry’s friend?
Mom: Yeah, you know. Larry’s friend on his show.
Me: Mom!
Mom: Oh, you know... The one who’s always complaining!
Me: Oh, Larry David.
Mom: Yeah, his friend.
Me: Richard Lewis.
Mom: Yeah.
Me: Yeah, he kinda does look Richard Lewis.

The Wizard of Weird

Today.

For some reason, I was talking with my mom about how I had to miss a Tori Amos concert because I had to recover from surgery. To relate, and make me feel better, she said:

"Oh, I know how you feel; I missed Judy Garland because my dress was too tight."

Feel free to ponder, discuss and ruminate. I sure am.

Well-meant advice

Countless times, and for many reasons, my mother has told me to:

"Watch my ass."

The meaning of this: To be careful.

Of course, if I watched my ass, there's no telling what amount of trouble I'd get into. But, God love her, she means well.

Keeping Up with the Kominskys

3/30/10.

Watching TV with dad. A commercial comes on featuring two or three women in their mid-20s with long, dark hair.

Dad: Hey, are those the Kominskys?
Me: Who?
Dad: The Kominsikys...you know...
Me: Dad, do you mean the Kardashians?
Dad: Yeah! Yeah...
Me: No, that's not the Kardashians. And, why do you even care if they were?

I never got a straight answer. Suffice to say, Keeping Up with the Kominskys would be a very different show.

Wolf Blitzer in Residence

My dad is rarely seen without a newspaper tucked under his arm. He thinks the Internet is stupid and tolerates TV as a news source, but overall prefers the good old-fashioned daily newspaper as his main go-to for information.

Someone will walk into the room my dad is sitting in, reading said newspaper, and be treated to a recitation of that day's events--whether they like it or not. I know I'm in for it when I hear:

Dad: Do you believe this?

or

Dad: Would ya get a load of this?

He'll do the same thing when he's watching TV and someone walks in:

Dad: Can you believe this?
Me: How can I, when I don't know what THIS is? 

Handling Telemarketers 101

I'm sure you've been on the line with a telemarketer and ended being strong-armed into a lengthy conversation you just can't seem to get out of. It's an unfortunate fact of life. Well, fret not, there are ways to combat the pesky telemarketer.

For instance: Take this tip from my mom the next time you should find yourself in such a situation:

Mom: Hello?
Telemarketer: Yes, can I speak to Harry D _________?
Mom: Who's this?
Telemarketer: This is Blank from Blanky Blank.
Mom: Oh, he's not home right now.
Telemarketer: When is a better time for me to reach him?
Mom: Oh, I don't know. I'm just here to take care of the cats.

Click.

Completely Stuffed

Conversations with mom and dad are often of the "fill in the blank" variety. Case in point:

Mom: Did I tell you so-and-so went to NYC to see the stuffed people?
Me: The stuffed people? What on earth are you talking about?
Mom: You know, the stuffed people that look like famous people...
Me: Mom, do you mean Madame Tussauds Wax Museum?
Mom: Yeah... Yeah. 

And, just today, this one with dad:

Dad: So now we won't be able to see the show with what's his name.
Me: Who?
Dad: The guy who interviews people.
Me: Dad...
Dad: You know, what's his name. The comedian.
Me: Bill Maher?
Dad: Yeah!

It scares me more than just a little that I knew who he was talking about with just a single guess.

You gotta be in it, to win it.

One night, I overheard Mom and Pop arguing over the lottery drawing. It went like this:

Dad: Lemme write down the numbers quick!
Mom: Oooh, Harry! Get a pen!
Announcer on TV: Tonight's winning lotto numbers are 11...
Mom: 11. Did you get that?
Dad: Yeah, shh...
Announcer: 19...
Mom: 19.
Dad: Shh!
Announcer: 25...
Mom: 25.
Dad: Jesus, Jo! Would ya be quiet? I'm trying to write down the numbers!
Mom: I'm helping!
Dad: You're not helping! I can hardly hear what the woman on TV is saying!
Mom: Oh, fine. [beat] Didja get 'em all?
Dad: Yeaaaaaahhhhh

Calling Card

This is the shit my dad does just to let me know he's been there. It's a calling card, so to speak.

 

Wind-up toys, in this case a pair of parakeets, 

wedged into a package of recently purchased muffins. 

He could leave a note... But this is far more endearing, I suppose.

*

DeBeep

2/23/10. 10:30am.
Phone call from Dad.

Dad: I'm calling from the cell phone. I can't seem to make any calls on the house phone.
Me: What's wrong with it. 

Mom is now on the other extension.

Dad: I don't know. It's making a weird beeping sound -- debeep... debeep... debeep... debeep... debeep... debeeep...

Mom and I bust out laughing.

Mom: I was wondering when that was going to stop.
Me: I know, he made that sound for a really long time.
Mom and Me: [laughing]
Dad: Look, I didn't get on this phone to be ridiculed. [hangs up.]

Debeep.

She wants it her way...

1980s.

One day, Mom took me to KFC for lunch. I was at the age when everything mortified me to epic levels of embarassment. Such is being a pre-teen.

She stepped to the counter and placed her order, with me at her side.

Mom: Uh, yeah. Gimme some of those McNugget things.
Me: [cringing] Mommmm, that's McDonald's. Not KFC.
Mom: Oh, it's the same thing. [beat] And two cokes...
Cashier: No coke. We have Pepsi.
Mom: Whatever, it's the same thing.

Truth be told: She's right.

"It looks like a big Tylenol."

Summer 1996.

Republic Airport might as well have been in the backyard -- that's how close it was to my home. People in the neighborhood often lodged complaints if a plane basically appeared to be landing on their front lawns. But I digress...

Case in point: Summer of 1996. Mom and I were in the kitchen chatting. We heard the plane coming before we actually saw it. There it was, coming in over the trees looking as if it was going to land on the roof, a huge plane -- seemingly too big to be able to land at Republic. Dad ran in from outside, where he'd been gardening.

Dad: Did you see that thing?
Mom: YES! I'm calling them now.
Dad: Did you see what airline?
Mom: No, it was blue and white. I couldn't make out the writing.
Me: It was huuuuuuuge. Can that thing even land here?
Dad: Unbelievable.

Mom picked up the phone and began to voice her concern, in her inimitable fashion.

Mom: Yes. I want to complain about a plane that just landed. I don't know what airline it was, but it was big, white and blue. It practically landed in our backyard, it was so low. How can you fly such large planes into this airport?

Dad and I were rehashing the situation when one of us came up with the bright idea of driving over to Republic to have a better look. Next thing I know, all three of us were in the car, driving the short distance to the airport.

We got to the intersection where the turnoff to the airport entrance was and noticed that the road was blocked off by a ton of police cars. Immediately thereafter we noticed a government motorcade zipped by.

Me: What the hell? Is this some kind of dignitary?
Dad: Must be.

The police let us pass after the motorcade disappeared and we turned by the airport only to see... gulp ... Airforce 2 parked on the tarmac. The area was flooded with a bevy of Al Gore supporters.

Mom: Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I just complained about Airforce 2.

When we got home, the first thing my mom did was phone the airport hotline back.

Mom: Hi... I just made a complaint about a low-flying plane. I want to take that back. I'm a registered Democrat.