Archive for February, 2013

As defined by Urban
Your Bitch of a Sister
“Man, my Bitchster is calling again! I’m just going to keep blowing her bitch-ass off.”

Question: If you were a male product of the testosterone-driven USA “Black American Revolution” (“civil rights movement”) which included you being sympathetic to the causes of Martin Luther King, Jr, SNNC, The Black Panthers, H. Rap Brown and Angela Davis et al, could you fathom a “female” member of your family who is fifteen years your junior calling the NYPD on you here in the “twenty-teens” [2013] because [she basically resents that] you temporarily moved back to help your common Mother and yourself move forward over something stupid like sharing the TV or mum’s car?

My radio mentor, the late Sonny Taylor, had a saying:
“As you are so once was I;
As I am so you shall BE.”

I left living at “home” twenty-nine years ago,
And changed as a person via the crusades of my life.
Only to have to return to
A stark contrasting and alien city planet,
That only glimmers of the one that used to know
Who I was back then,
I now only look forward to marrying my intended wife.

To how I adjusted my focuses positively during that time!
I am not going back just because you are selfish,
I had the calling to come back to the “home” you claim as yours.
So you think I am pissing on your area?
Our grow-up house is not yours yet
Until/unless Mum passes from
This physical world and legally before one of us!

I once was similar to you.
Then by living on college campus before turning twenty-one,
I learned to share unselfishly of myself and music.
I was once an anal fanatic like you are;
I shed that via travel and career-change-culture reality.
Experience taught me to stop watching, waiting …

Millionaires play money games;
Why do you do the same for no reason?
I am your older brother by fifteen years.
With no game for bullshit and you not realize it?
Instead, you inject family pain – YOU…the idiot!
All for nothing!
No physical affront or bloody assault;
You are just a witch!
We know you chant demons and occult;
Calling police while in an argument about a TV;
Selfishly you are the “Bitchster” I knew you would be
Nobody believed me.
You, the personality deviant who insultingly
Put two U.S. pennies,
Inside a Christmas card to me back in 2009!

Break out from your sexually confused misery,
Please do not take it out on me.
I didn’t birth a you, “change-of-life baby”.
But our parents taught me to change your diapers!
Get a job and a boyfriend!
Finally have sex with a man and maybe your breasts grow.
Wear some lipstick and be a lady!
Become fulfilled and popular so you can see,
Some of, “As I am, so you shall be.”
Before it is too late.

You,”It” instigated a heated argument over brief TV-watching;
A naive tattle-tale Snitch “PHD”,
Negative conclusions about me to-boot!
You never cared to hang with me to “know” me,
Shut-up for a change.

Now hospitals dun our family for non-treatment;
For over sixteen-hundred dollars!
For what?
Asking me stupid questions for one hour??
You created this situation!
You should pay the traitorous bill!
Why are you a reactionary snitch-bitch?
Even your Mother does not understand,
Your haircut as a man.

The last and only time I was in handcuffs,
Was freakin’ sexually!

A pleasure you surely do not understand.
Now you will never meet my best friend – my betrothed;
I’ll not let you poison my first, last and only love.
You Evil, satin/pagan worshiping witchster!
Stay away from me;
The next time I will call the cops on YOU!
Now you try to actively cut me out of Mother’s estate??
You a paranoid schitzo!
Get over yourself.

Definitely your father’s son you are.
If his incest upon you was not physical,
Incest was surely mental on you and it shows!
What a Bitch begot from such a nice mother
You are a terrorist within a small “family”.
And every day which passes without your contrition.
Solidifies you as traitor’s very definition.

~ February 19, 2013



Pickhitt: I predicted this in my first poetry book, “Sad Face King” on page 141! And: Apparently today’s NYPD would rather err on the side of gang-raping our constitutional rights upon misinformation and emotional gossip from a misguided sibling instead of walking away, “no-harm-no foul”-style. Very sad and troubling.

Sureshot: This could have easily turned into a “Ferguson/Trevon Martin/Eric Garner situation right there in my mother’s living room as the NYPD ganged me, handcuffing me for NOTHING. I am “Italian” like the mob in that what happens in the family, stays in the family. Yet the “sister from hell” violated that unwritten law on many occasions in the past two years.
This post is dedicated to all of the older brothers and siblings who have been disrespected and traumatized mentally by a younger sibling.

“Rank has its privileges.” ~ The Major

Hey, look, I don’t go searching for these things, they just attack my former terrestrial music radio Disc Jockey musical mind! (A terrible affliction to endure without the ability to “climax” available to distract me, lol) And so in-keeping with the theme of this “holiday” weekend in the USA which is a bastardization of Abraham Lincoln’s Birthday (February 12th), “Ash Wednesday” (February 13th), Valentine’s Day (February 14th) and George Washington’s birthday (February 22nd), the “father of our country” [for those of us who were BORN here in the States], we have “President’s Day”!

Those of you who were not born here, please go back and take the new Achilliad “Citizenship Test” because I have noticed many of you newbies wandering aimlessly around – especially in New York City, lately.

Answer to question one: The official name of Monday’s day off is “George Washington’s Birthday.” There really is no such thing as “President’s Day”. Presidents’ Day was first established in 1885 to honor the February 22nd birthday of our first president (the man on the dollar bill note), George Washington.

The holiday is still officially known by the federal government as Washington’s Birthday.

In 1879, President Rutherford B. Hayes signed a bill into law making Washington’s birthday a holiday. In 1971, the date of his holiday, February 22nd, was screwed-up with the passage of the Uniform Monday Holiday Act.

In some U.S. states, the holiday honors George Washington, while in others it honors both George Washington and the February 12th birth-date of Abraham Lincoln. As a grade-school pupil, I loved February because we had two separate holidays for these great Presidents.

Question 2:  “Are we really “united” states?

Riddle Question: What did Casanova say to his betrothed when she asked him what he was going to give her for Valentine’s Day?
Answer: “Candy, girl!”

And here is a song that comes to mind  as a Valentine:

“I’ve been a-searchin’ all this wide world Now finally I’ve found my
Candy girl Candy girl
I found me a girl (Candy girl) She sets my heart a-whirl (Candy girl) With huggin’ and kissin’ and lovin’ (Huggin’, kissin’)
(She’s mine) Mine (Mine) Mine Whoa oh oh (Candy girl)
We get along so well (Candy girl) I know just why I fell (Candy girl) She’s thrillin’, oh, chillin’ (Thrillin’, chillin’) Yes, she’s so divine
(She’s mine) Mine (Mine) Mine Whoa oh oh (Candy girl)
When we’re out together Everyone knows the way we feel We both seem to glow with the glow of a love And it’s plain to see, our love is real
I’m happy as can be (Candy girl) She vows eternally (Candy girl To hold me and love me (Hold me, love me) Until the end of time
(She’s mine) Mine (Mine) Mine Whoa oh oh
Candy girl Candy girl Candy girl …”

(Formerly dedicated to my Ukrainian Inna, before she disappeared on me in 2015…a tale for another blog)


PickHitt: When Lincoln, Ash Wednesday, Valentine’s and George Washington holidays combine like they do every few years, there has GOT to be a party!  Your song dedications are invited in “comments”!! February is very busy for the shortest month of the calendar year, isn’t it?


It is not every day that a man survives to become sixty years old in these days and times. Ok, maybe it is “everyday”, but not for me. It is once in a lifetime and I never thought I’d be this age! lol
In-fact, one could argue that it is increasingly rare for we, the single Baby Boomers to do so. So, as part of my “big six-oh” [60] birthday “me time” hideaway, I wanted to do something significant since my fiancée`, Inna and I are still financially separated by the Atlantic ocean and part of this mission was to distract myself from that briefly and satisfy a “pasta attack” (craving/yearning) that I’d endured for a couple of months.
I went online and searched the neighborhood where my “secret” weekend room was located and I found Saggio Restaurant, 829 W 181st Street, New York, NY 10033 (212) 795-3080. From the “Google maps” analysis, it looked to be an about five to seven block walk away and so I decided to find it the next day, a Sunday, January 20th. Isn’t the internet “wonderful” for making us even lazier about finding places?! In this case, it was a laptop convenience!

It was a sunny and blustery day as I struck out on foot with Saggio in my sights. I walked north on St. Nicholas Avenue until 181st Street, where I turned left to walk west, up growing hills. New York City is amazing because of how the complexion of the neighborhoods can change almost block-by-block. I walked from a mostly Dominican hood into a new Russian and then Italian area by the time I found Saggio and heard all of the languages along the way (which is my “deal” these days – linguistics).
The adventure was in the discovery in an area that I’d never hunted in by foot before! When I finally found the numerical address of Saggio, I was pleasantly satisfied that I found a place that not “everybody” would know about; truly in-keeping with my sixtieth “hideaway” theme.
Saggio has an outer door shield against the cold this season. I can only imagine that they probably have outdoor “café” tables with umbrellas during the warmer months. Once inside, the bar is on the right as I was greeted by the seating femme maitre d’. I declined her choice of table, preferring the “window seat” near the 181st Street entrance I had walked to and from which I could see the majestic Manhattan stanchion of the George Washington bridge that I saw from the street.
It was only moments until I was greeted by “Emily” my smiling and attentive authentic Italian waitress, who even brought me the lunch specials on the big black chalkboard as well as the regular table menu for dinner! She really fit the mold for this setting and in-fact she suggested that I do this review when I mentioned my past experience as a food critic!
I was torn between the steamed Mussels and a Pasta dish called “Rigatoni grandma’s recipe of slow cooked ragu with meatballs and Italian sausage”. I chose the latter with a side of sautéed spinach (“yum in garlic, olive oil and butter!) and a glass of their house red vino, but let Emily know that when we return, she’ll already know I am having the Mussels next time! The sauce was not as “Marinara” as I would make, but authentic; the meatballs and sausage just what I craved that early afternoon and I savored every bit amongst private thoughts and plans I have for the rest of my days and to incorporate my lady who has awaited [my] kiss for longer than many would overseas I think. “Yes, we will dine here…” I thought with confidence.
No overpowering music, just enough din and friendly patrons and service made my Saggio choice an excellent one that will make this anniversary all the more memorable.

upon leaving, a second look back and thoughts of you

upon leaving, a second look back and thoughts of you

I used to review restaurants and produce them in audio as part of my chores manning the “Awl Nyte Flyte” radio show on WFTQ AM, Worcester, MA thirty years ago. If I were still in that capacity, I would give Saggio four out of five stars only because I had to ask for bread to mop-up the great pasta sauce left after all the pasta, sausage and meatballs were gone.
Check out Saggio Italian restaurant, between Lafayette and Cabrini Boulevard. Please note that they have an extra-tasty and unique brunch menu! I made a mental note to definitely return here – it is that intimate…and special a place.