Letters from the Witch

But Was it Mint?

2008-03-02T11:57:00.000-05:00

The funeral home wake.

Conjures up images of a monochromatic widow gracefully blotting the tears as she sits cross ankled before a coffin, doesn't it?

Ah- I see that you're not an Italian American in New York.

We mourn our dead via parade of Prada, Gucci, MCM and the requisite Fendi purses, riding high on the forearms of our women (broads). Impeccable hair and cosmetics (make up like a putana), leather skirts to silk wrap dresses rule.

This is no place for the LL Bean set (them Jersey broads).

This is a New York (New Yawk) Italian wake.

Stock brokers (bro-kiz), attorneys (shyster law-yiz), physicians ( doc-tiz), PA's (secretaries at cousin Tony's collision shop) and mobsters (doin' some work wit some guys down dare in Flaw-i-duh) - matters not which path we've chosen, here we find ourselves together again.

The Italian American wake uniform checklist:

___ Large gold medal bearing the image of Padre Pio or Jesus?
___ Is it on a thick gold chain?
___ Is the medal more than three inches in diameter?
___ Is the medal placed directly under the knot of your silk tie?
___ Is your suit shinier than your hair?
___ Does your wife (tomato) have this year's prada on her arm and feet?

Not checked all five? Then you'd best not show your face inside the funeral home.

People will look at you funny.

Test your Italian American wake knowledge.

The clack, clackity, clack noise is coming from:
a. The widow's stiletto heels
b. The widow's chewing gum
c. The faulty air conditioning installed by Louie Ducts

The casket cost fifteen thousand dollars which is known as:
a. fifteen large
b. fifteen grand
c. fifteen bills

The only funeral limousine generally accepted in the NY Italian American community:
a. Cadillac ( Caddy)
b. Lincoln ( Lin-kin)
c. other

OK, that last one was a trick question. Linkins and Caddies are the only way to transport one's dead, so long as the auto in question is mint.

Boning, revisited

2008-02-29T15:21:00.003-05:00

"I have something for you back in my hotel room. Walk with me."

The poor Devil followed nervously, struggling to make smalltalk as we entered my suite.

I offered up the small Victoria Secret bag dangling from my index finger.

"I'll try it on for you, if you like."

"No... uh... no, you shouldn't, we shouldn't...."

Poor Devil. Cheeks flush, his eyes shot between the bag and the bed.

"Just open it."

His one hand crumpled passed the pink tissue paper, the other sleeved the sweat now forming on his brow. Just to make things extra difficult for him, I moved a bit closer.

"Go ahead..." I sirened as I let my hair down.

His hands trembled as he eyed the unrecognizable rumple of sheer black fabric.

Camisole? Stockings? He stood frozen as I tussled my hair.

Now freed from it's wrappings, the resilient dressmaker's wire sprang my gift back into it's intended shape.

He gasped.

You'd think he'd never seen a Witch's hat before....

12.25.06

2006-12-24T14:00:00.000-05:00

"Aren't we forgetting
the real meaning of Christmas?
You know - the birth of Santa..."

-Bart Simpson

The Stocking Solution

2006-12-05T17:02:00.000-05:00

It's not right he thought.

Born to privilege, he'd never known personal hardship, couldn't bear to think of his neighbor's plight into newfound poverty. On the rough streets, the three teenaged daughters now faced a life of hard, menial labor, perhaps falling victim to the crime and prostitution which plagued their town.

But how does one spare the pride of an honest father struggling to raise his daughters?

It's not right he thought.

That night he prayed.

He awoke with a far fetched but perfectly feasible solution. He wrapped a small fortune in currency into one of his socks, and set out into the dark of night. Standing before the neighbor's house, he took careful aim.

Arm cocked back, he flung his stocking solution into the poor father's chimney. The sock would smolder away in the remnants of the fire's embers, leaving the miracle of coins to be found in the morning's ashes. The family would be saved, the father's pride intact, their faith in God invigorated.

Through prayer and devotion to his Christian faith, Nicholas went on to perform many more miracles. His spirit of selfless giving has moved millions of people throughout the ages.

December 6th
The Feast Day of Saint Nicholas

Today

2006-12-01T14:47:00.000-05:00

Today is World Aids Day.

No Sparks Between Us

2006-09-12T16:48:00.000-05:00

"Is the flame supposed to be this low, Witch?" Father Ben called to me from over his shoulder as he tended the grill.

"I left it on high. Check the setting".

"It's on high..."

I went beside Ben, basking in the warm glow of the pathetic flames sputtering beneath the raw meat.

"I have another tank of propane in the pool shed. Do the honors"?

"I'll carry if you know how to attach that thing" bargained my less than handy friend.

"Relax - I've done this hundreds of times" I assured.

It was a lie - I'd changed a BBQ propane tank maybe five times. Do I go to hell for lying to a priest?

No. Apparently Roman Catholicism offers karmic retribution - the instant variety.

"Uh Witch, what's that hissing noise?".

"Fuck... we're not out of gas - that's a leak".

"Ben! Don't move".

One little spark and that steady stream of gas I feel against my pant leg is going to explode.

I fumbled to slide a plastic cuff over the leak and disengage the tank.

"Witch.... WITCH...W I T C H ...."

Whew.

It was over. The gas leak had been contained, but we were left standing in a cloud of highly flammable gas.

"No sparks between us Ben - we've got to hold steady for a moment while this dissipates".

"No sparks, Witch" he smiled nervously.

There never were any sparks between us, that's why we're friends.

Warning Pain

2006-09-03T07:30:00.000-05:00

Supper in suburban New Jersey, or as the locals would say - Joisey. This Brooklyn girl was pleasantly surprised with Nova Terra, gives it three and a half brooms up.

I'd review it in greater depth if only I'd not been so terribly distracted by the dinner conversation.

Shortly after ordering our meals, my companions chose to air their emotional woes. Of the seven at my table, I was the only one not taking antidepressants. Unhappy marriage, career related stress, as a smoking cessation aide - all advocated medication as a tool to avoid feeling unhappiness.

Shockingly, all but one obtained their prescriptions from a single visit to a MD.

Huh?

I made the foolish mistake of asking why one would want to mask temporary emotional pain. Was it not a necessary part of life?

When one touches a hot stove, pain tells us to pull the hand away. Is emotional pain not the same? Sure, the mind is complicated, but simplistically speaking, doesn't pain = warning?

Just a Blog

2006-09-02T20:09:00.000-05:00

Dear Anonymous Commenter,

One needn't write a lengthy note to explain away one's commenting follies - quit taking it so seriously.

It's just a blog.

I'm off to tend to all the other stuff my life's filled with, you do the same.

:-)

Until next time,

_/\_

Proxy Server Follies

2006-09-01T15:13:00.000-05:00

From ding dong the Witch is dead to who's riding the Witch, anonymous comments form the peanut gallery left me shaking my head. One brilliant blurb accuses this Witch of being her own anonymous commenter.

O tay...

Shouldn't one at least try to make some attempt to disguise one's self from my site's meter?

Now on to the good stuff. Everyone who's visited Hemingway's house on Key West this summer say "me"....

Witch Rides Again

2006-08-17T07:08:00.000-05:00

Forgive my absence, but summer ain't flying season.

I trust you've all been well and up to no good?

My Third Annoying Hand

2006-06-08T21:32:00.000-05:00

"Hey Witch, isn't that priest your friend Ben?"

I peek up from my piano.

"Holy crow, it is".

"Geez - where'd he go".

Ben's pretty stealthy for a guy who carries the weight of the world around.

Moments later, a third hand appeared on my piano's keyboard - an uber-masculine, hairy knuckled, crucifix ringed hand attached to a black suit.

"I didn't know that penguins could play piano" I whisper dryly as Ben fudges a bass line.

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound" he recites rhythmically "That saved a wretch like me. Witch, you do know that's not Catholicism, don't you?

"I've never liked that song" I struggle to keep composure, not to raise my voice "especially as I am playing something completely different".

"As Catholics," Ben whispered "we do not believe in the complete dissolution of the spirit, of God. This song does, hence it isn't Catholic".

I fumble some notes.

"Thanks for telling me this right fucking now, Ben".

Apparently, one should not use cuss words to shoo away a devilishly vindictive, practical jokester priest.

"mmm MMMMMMMM mmmm mmm" he hums his deliberate attempt to throw me off.

Gotta love Ben.

the Other 45

2006-06-01T10:35:00.000-05:00

``When you stop a terrorist, they have a map of New York City in their pocket,''said Mayor Michael Bloomberg. ``They don't have a map of any of the other ... 45 places.''

Where's Witch?

2006-05-29T11:31:00.000-05:00

Took these yesterday - any idea where?

Met or Woo?

2006-05-27T06:37:00.000-05:00

Dear Mossback Chaperone Moms,

Why each morning, do you swarm to clog Rockefeller Center, vying for a second on morning television? For hours you stand in the freezing rain or sweltering heat for your once in a lifetime chance to command a global audience. Must have one heck of an urgent message to share.

What say ye?

You're bellowing woooooooo.

Woooo? Sweeties, please....

Is this not a drunkard's rally cry to promote beer consumption? You're chaperoning little Brittany's class trip to the Big Apple and this is the best you could come up with in the city which offers the Met and the other Met?

On behalf of mothers worldwide, I'm embarrassed for you

the Jealous Girlfriend

2006-05-21T17:02:00.000-05:00

Dear Jealous Girlfriend,

This morning, you whined of being 2 stone overweight, broke, and unhappily single. I encouraged you to quit being lazy and change all that displeases you. You whined more, saying that I wouldn't understand, as I've lead a charmed life, everything magically falls in my lap.

Sweetie please....

Remember all those nights in college which I spent studying while you hit the bars?

How about our first jobs - you left at 5:00 on the button while I quit around 10:00.

I cleaned my apartment while you hired a service.

I went out with good men, regardless of appearance, finance, or religion. You waited for a billionaire Roman Catholic George Clooney.

I ran about town on foot to buy fresh, healthful ingredients for my supper while you had a pizza delivered.

Charmed life with fortune falling into my lap? Sweetie please....

the Drowsy Chaperone

2006-04-28T06:54:00.000-05:00

Broadway bound? Witch highly recommends this.

Earth Day

2006-04-22T15:43:00.000-05:00

Enter your zip code on the EPA site to see just how fucked up your bit o'earth is.

Central Venice,
Easter Sunday

Sinistra

2006-04-11T16:23:00.000-05:00

Funny how sinistra, the Italian word for left,
cognates sinister...

Liberal Italia has long been cleaved. Will the election results change anything?

Only Work In Brooklyn?

2006-03-22T13:57:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's true.

A stash of cold-war era crackers, water, blankets and medical supplies have been discovered under the Brooklyn bridge. Local reporters can been seen sampling the sub-span fare on the evening news.

Do you remember duck-n-cover? Nuclear fallout drills? Students believing that crouching under a desk would protect against nuclear holocaust?

Hmmm, why then all this fuss over Iran's nuke-a-bilities? Apparently, one need only duck and eat crackers to survive a nuclear strike - or does that only work in Brooklyn?

Bushy Brown Devil

2006-02-19T09:05:00.000-05:00

This morning on NBC's Meet the Press, Tim the tater-tot shakes it out with Sec. Michael Chertoff.

Funny thing, my personal Lucifer once told me that Chertoff translates to devil in Russian.

Flag for Valentine's Day

2006-02-14T16:16:00.000-05:00

Soldiers are no longer allowed to be married.

No wife. No kids. No home life to worry about.

Sound a bit harsh? Father Valentine thought so too.

In the days of Claudius II, this Roman Catholic priest defied the nuptial ban and continued to wed soldiers to their sweethearts. This defiance in the name of love cost Father Valentine his freedom and ultimately, his head.

Yesterday, my cousin attended the funeral for the 25 yr old soldier who was to stand as best man for her July wedding. Last year, the poor guy had married his high school sweetheart, built a house, and was deployed a few months after. The next time his wife would see him would be in a sealed casket, courtesy of a roadside bomb in Iraq. She will receive $500k military death benefit, insurance for life, and a neatly folded flag.

I wonder if the widow is aware of the history behind Saint Valentine's day?

....ain't I?

2006-02-08T16:34:00.000-05:00

A lot can happen in one month.

... and it did.

Fr.Ben has left the Roman Catholic Church.

The Blonde Witch has reunited with her husband, but with one dark twist.

George has lost the weight of almost one full Witch.

As for this Witch? Well, I'm here ain't I?

Witch's Epiphany

2006-01-06T15:01:00.000-05:00

La Befana answered her door, broom in hand.

There stood the three wise men on their way to find the Christ child. Befana hastily declined their invitation to join them, as she had too much housework at hand.

Realizing her opportunity missed, she chased after them in vain.

La Strega Befana, or Befana the Witch is Italy's answer to Santa Claus. Each January 6th, she leaves gifts in recognition of the feast of the Three Kings, her sweet lamentation of her foolish decision.

Elation

2005-12-25T20:14:00.000-05:00

Luxury gifts, a gourmet feast, the most expensive champagne in the store.... yes, all quite pleasant.

Nothing compares to the elation of having one's family near.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and a brilliant New Year to all.

_/\_

the Strike

2005-12-15T17:03:00.000-05:00

NYC faces a MTA strike at midnight tonight.

Local news is flashing images of disgruntled MTA workers complaining how they can't afford this or that. Sweeties please....

A transit strike on the week before Christmas is not right.

The way I see it, if you want more money, go get another job. That's how it works for the rest of us - what makes you guys so special?

MTA work - accept it or leave it. Don't hold the city hostage.