Historelli's Social Club

Gone Fishin'

2008-08-11T16:03:00.005-04:00

For the 7 of you who are still reading this blog, you may have noticed, that i am on hiatus. I'm getting married in less than two weeks, plus Polish girl and i have just closed on a house. So i am very busy, with a little bit of busy added on top of that.

This blog is on hold for now and hopefully one day... five, six years from now, I'll get it back up and running again. My mind is still humming and i still have blog entries dancing around my head. Unfortunately, i do not have the time to sit down and write them out in neat blog prose.

till we meet again,
Historelli

Working with a Master

2008-05-05T13:02:00.020-04:00

This past weekend, Nik Social and I (with several others) aided in the eventual release of a gargoyle. We were guided by master carver Franco Minervini, who showed us how to work limestone on a model of a humanoid griffin. The actual gargoyle sits atop the National Cathedral in Washington, where Master Minervini worked during the late 1980s.

Stone carving is the reverse of molding because instead of putting material together to create a figure, you must take bits and pieces away to free a form. Besides the difference in technique, working stone is much more profound and permanent compared to clay or even paint. Not only in the sense that the finished piece will most likely outlast the artist by centuries, but also for the reason that the actual activity of shaping stone is primeval and ancient. Even a beginner (with any sense of geology) can understand the connection. Stone is eternal; working it forces you to contemplate millennia. Furthermore, stone is rough and until coaxed properly, unyielding. A novice will swell his hands, scrape his knuckles and breathe in dust before continuing. And yet, the finished product can be as refined and polished as the finest impressionist painting.

I wasn’t sure what I would find before taking this stone carving workshop, I did know that I wanted to better comprehend the craft and how it relates to my own roots. Master Minervini stems from the city of Molfetta, where my parents were also born and were 95% of my known ancestors come from. Minervini’s teacher at the National Cathedral was the late great carver, Vincent Palumbo, a fifth generation master whose family also ran shops in Molfetta. Anyone whose been to Molfetta or even seen a picture of the place would not be surprised by the genesis of stone carvers the city initiates. Comprised of sun-scorched limestone buildings, Molfetta shines with a brightness that beautifully contrasts with the deep blue Adriatic and the surrounding olive groves. Years ago, its inhabitants fished the sea, farmed the land or worked the stone. All of my ancestors survived via these trades, and I believe it is essential to experience these fundamentals in order to be healthy and fulfilled, especially in today’s world of text messaging and reality shows.

A little bit of that old-world essence was at hand this past weekend. Working with master Minervini caused limestone dust to fill the air, which then combined with a distant aroma of cooking. I thought to myself, this smells familiar. Shortly after, Nik turned to me quizzically, and said: “It’s weird, but right now it almost smells like Molfetta.”

Nobody Puts Cosmo in the Corner...

2008-03-06T12:24:00.017-05:00

There was this cigar bar lounge called “Retailers,” where I spent entirely way too much time in during my early to mid-twenties. My crew knew all the names of the more sizzling waitresses and they reciprocated our suave by giving us lots of free drinks and more importantly allowing us to stay later than the supposed 4 am closing hour. Several evenings ended with navigations through morning rush hour after episodes of drinking through snifters and swivels.

One particular night, my floral friend Cosmo pulled me away from the blond waitress I was working on and asked me if this “guy” he was talking to… "was really him.” Curious, I walked over to the bar, pressed my face into his visage, and came to the conclusion that I was indeed staring at dancer extraordinaire: Patrick Swayze. I turned to Cosmo and replied. “Yeah, that’s him.” Cosmo responded by purchasing shots of the most expensive of tequilas.

Now, Johnny Castle was already half-zooted. Apparently, an altercation with his wife had caused him to go on a bender and by the time he got to us, he had already assembled an entourage of young girls, Asian men and one very insecure Italian restaurateur who acted like he was the actor’s keeper.

Cosmo continuously poured drinks for his new celebrity friend, even forcing Swayze to call his mother up in Jersey and tell her that her son was really a good guy. Since it was on the wrong side of 4 am, I don’t think mama Cosmo appreciated the gesture. The rest of the night is sort of blurry to me. As I sat in a corner table with my lady friend, Cosmo assaulted the Italian guy, imploring him to “go home.” Then, he took some curtains down and wore them as a cape. Mr. Chiapas, who was still wet behind the ears at the time, over-appreciated Mr. Swayze with several bear hugs and even put his scarf around the actor’s neck and pulled it back and forth, kinda like a burlesque dancer would do….

Now, I do not encourage swooning over celebrities, especially ones that were part of the epic drama “Roadhouse.” However, if you ever have the chance to sit back and relax while your friends chase down and manhandle a famous actor, I strongly suggest you appreciate the situation. Unfortunately, Mr. Swayze may not be long for this world, so I would like to thank him now for a very funny night.

Yellow Eyes

2008-02-11T16:01:00.001-05:00

I love birds. I don’t know why exactly. Maybe because when I was growing up the faraway places I saw on National Geographic were too out of reach, so I settled for more suburban game. When you’re a kid interested in lions, tigers and monkey-eating eagles, it’s not easy to do field research. Luckily, I grew up with a big back yard, with lots bugs and birds. Not the same as the ones shown on TV, but good enough. I spent a lot of time out there learning the names of those bugs & birds and even began to understand what eats what and all the other laws of nature afforded to a kid during summertime.

The bird thing has never gone away. Just like baked ziti, pin-striped uniforms and green-eyed girls, I’ve never lost my affinity for flying creatures. Whenever I need to reclaim clarity, I take a brief birding tour and put things back into perspective. It doesn’t hurt that most birds are out of human range. When babbling brooks and warbling warblers replace cell phones and honking horns, it’s easier to reach a Zen like state.

Bird watching is somewhat about lists. Birders will go out of their way to seek out rare species or seasonal birds that only appear once a year during migration. I too am guilty of this practice. Last week, a Eurasian subspecies of teal was spotted in the Meadowlands and I wandered toward the sighting with the hopes of checking it off on my life list. The Eurasian Teal differs only slightly from our own Green-winged teal, but since it is a variation of the “regular” native teal, crazed birders need to go see it and check it off their lists.

However, I know that the list thing is superficial and it was another bird that helped me realize this. After checking the Eurasian teal off my list,” (btw, a teal is a type of duck) I turned up the path and flushed a pair of decent sized long-eared owls.

Now, there are a few things you should experience before the worms eat you. One of those things is to stand face to face with a wild owl. After withstanding the bright yellow-eyed glare of this creature, I fully understand why owls are patrons of Halloween and also the symbol for wisdom. If you move, an owl will follow you with its gaze and if you blink, it is so quiet you won’t even know it flew away. I literally froze in my tracks. Needless to say, the owl won the stare down and I went home to ponder my thoughts, not really worried about much.

Searching for Halloween

2007-10-28T12:57:00.000-04:00

Let us recap. According to the previous three-part epic, atmosphere dictates mood and as a result, any scary environment can create monsters. Moreover, (if you remember a similar HSC post from October), there is a difference between real fear and the nonsense type of panic that the television feeds us everyday.

Therefore, if certain places are haunted, (that is…if the actual essence of certain air is uniquely and unremittingly putrid, something disgusting will eventually show up) and within these authentically scary places lurk true monsters, those who acknowledge this formula should surely experience the core spirit of the holiday. But even if this is true, is it wise to do so?

During Halloween, we explore spooky scenes and give candy to dirty little children who show up to our door begging all in the merriment of the unknown, which in its different forms can scare anyone. Not the type of “scared” that puts butterflies in your stomach before the start of new job or the trepidation that chills the bones upon the realization that a child-molester like Curt Schilling will win another World Series. This type of fear is more ancient. Perhaps it is a primeval peculiarity we claim to want relief from, but in reality just want a chance to tap into its source of ogreish orgasm. We have all felt it but only a few of us have the penchant ability to turnkey it into something tangible. I am curious about those who can truly translate Halloween.

A few weeks back, Polish Girl and I paid homage to the home and grave of Washington Irving, America’s first celebrity writer and creator of such characters like the Headless Horseman and Rip Van Winkle. Originally from Manhattan, Irving spent some of his childhood in the Tarrytown/Sleepy Hallow sections of Westchester County and the atmosphere of the place stuck with him for the rest of his life. In fact, when Irving wrote the Legend of Sleepy Hollow he was actually living in Spain but the reminder of his days in New York resonated so soundly within his memory, he was able to cite specific locations and characters with little difficulty. When visiting his home today (now an historic landmark known as Sunnyside) it is impossible not to get a taste of this specter. It doesn’t hurt that pumpkins and headless horsemen adorn the entire town, a smart form of marketing by local residents trying to cash in on their most famous son. Of course, the people of Tarrytown did not invent the ghosts Irving wrote about, since the original Dutch settlers only recognized what the Indians they encountered knew for centuries; something is not quite right about that area near Sleepy Hollow. Maybe it took a different mind (like Irving’s) to dissect what others realized but never had the ability to highlight. On the other hand, maybe those before Irving were just too frightened to do so.

Interestingly, the frequency of ghosts is not something solely attributable to Sleepy Hollow or even New Orleans, a place I recently visited that seems securely penetrated by the allure of goblins. The truth is that we are all surrounded by the unfamiliar and nameless, but either we are unable or just reluctant to obverse it.

For example, my loyal readers like F. White, the Chiapas crew, Nik Social, Frank A. and Mr. & Mrs. Moe Green all live in a very very haunted town. Evil has been enveloping its residents for decades. In 1870, their home, then known as Union Township was home to a sweet German woman until a bout of hallucinations caused her to attempt suicide and eventually land her in the Insane Asylum. Nearly 50 years later, this quiet little town located in the Meadowlands again made headlines when it’s Health Inspector gunned down a former mayor. Later, the Health Inspector slit his wrists and died in the bathroom of his home on Willow Ave. I wonder if his ghost still haunts that street... The crazies from this town seem to have ventured northward, even infiltrating the territory of Sister Lucy and her family. According to reports from 1924, a man named Solaski swallowed a chain of gold then went insane after the necessary stomach surgery. After the operation, he escaped from Hackensack Hospital and then beat down a bunch of police officers from the neighboring town. They shot him seven times but he still lived. I wonder if his energy is still running wild in that area…

My other readers may feel safe at this time but they aren’t… Across the river from the aforementioned place in the meadowlands, fellow blogger Ricky may have to deal with flying ghostly body parts. In 1929, a 20-year old bootlegger watched for police while his friends made some illegal booze. Although, I’m not sure if they made any good hooch, they did succeed in blowing up their house. Authorities found the lookout guy in pieces nearly two blocks away!
Meanwhile, Gus lives practically next door to the final resting place of Jennie Bosschieter, a young pretty mill girl who was drugged, assaulted then murdered by four wealthy businessmen from Paterson. I wonder if anyone or anything still visits her grave? Hmm… who did I leave out…. AO needs to watch out for the ghosts of runaway slaves and cousin Marge should not go to Rite Aid late at night because she may encounter the phantom of 17-year old Christine Hervish. Someone smashed her jaw then murdered her near that present location almost 85 years ago.

*Note: when reading the newspaper articles, click on the image to enlarge the print

The Shorehouse - Fin

2007-10-05T13:17:00.000-04:00

The bedroom furnishings were simple, consisting of a bed, a dresser and a nightstand. Since the fittings were dusty and old we stopped short of unpacking our cloths and accessories, opting instead to leave everything in bags atop of the furniture. Regardless of grime, it was a far better decision to remain temporary and offer no sense of permanence to this house. Perhaps, the original owner of the yellow suitcase thought this realm as a comfort, only to remain here past comfortable. That considered I resigned myself to the opinion that our bags would remain virtually unpacked and our stay a brief testament of our wits.

In the daytime, two long windows provided ample light to this room denying the most mischievous shadow even a limited existence. However, upon nightfall, every creature or passerby of the outside world cast the most ominous silhouettes upon the walls. A tree swaying gently in the late summer breeze depicted itself as a colossal hobgoblin with outstretched arms trying to reach inside the window. Visions of ghouls, hunchbacked and racing hurriedly on the street below, emanated from the outlines of teenagers escaping to the beach. Street cars, driving past with their lights ablaze caused the most fantastic carousel of illumination upon the walls. The light would first hit the far wall, stretch out against the ceiling and then finally fade upon that wretched hole in the corner where the cursed suitcase lay hidden. Jealously, I glanced at Barbara who was asleep and tranquil in all her snuggery. How could she sleep with all the surrounding madness? At this moment we risk abduction, but still she slumbers! I closed my eyes in hope for composure. Slowly, my breath became less erratic and my quickened pulse subdued. Realizing the responsibilities of the morning, I reluctantly reached over to the nightstand, fumbled through some medicines and swallowed half a hand of Acetamophin.

It was breezy out on Grandma’s balcony, but not enough that I needed a jacket. Plus it was too much fun out here to worry about being cold. Peering down onto the noisy street filled with tiny European cars was great entertainment, especially since I was miles away from all my friends and action figures. I didn’t even notice the green shutters open but sure enough there was Great Aunt Chiara smiling at me, confounded that I was outside without something covering my shoulders. “It’s not nice to be out here this time of year, now blows the 'Sirocco,'" she said. “It’s a bad wind that comes over the ocean and from the Sahara, it could make you sick, and it’s dangerous, go inside. You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here.”

A sharp rush of pain slammed into my head. Something crashed upon me causing such sudden discomfort that I cried out in agony, gasping for air as I sat up in bed. I reached my bandage-hand to my aching face and tried to make sense of what just happened. Someone punched me! I looked at Barbara, but she was tucked-in so securely, it would have taken her several minutes just to unwrap. She couldn’t have slapped me and then returned to sleep so swiftly. Thoroughly shaken, I felt my surely-wounded scalp and sensed for blood, but I was unconvinced if it stemmed from my head or hand. Slowly the intensity of the headache receded but still my eyes fought to accommodate the mouth-gaping stare into the darkness. At this hour, barely a car drove by to offer some light into the bedroom, and even the breeze was fugitive. In fact, the sea air was not salty and fresh but instead thick and foul, filled with sand and the fetid presence of kelpies.

The unmistakable sound of scratching nails on floorboard greeted me next. At times it came from my right side and then switched to across the room near the door. I scanned the landscape to no avail. There was nowhere to focus my attention. Then I heard the door of the storage room creak open. Luckily, the slow hum of a motorcycle was approaching the house. With any providence, the driver would direct his high beam squarely upon that miserable spot in the wall. First shadows appeared, then a flicker of a shine. The room lit dimly enough to provide the scene of a clawed hand dexterously closing the door of the suitcase chamber. I was astonished! How did that raccoon get back into the house, and how as I going to get it out of this room? If I woke Barbara up, she would freak out. I would have to sweat this one out alone. Again I waited, this time for the sounds behind the storage room. The creature scratched and jostled about, until stopping suddenly. It had noticed me. I was inching cautiously in its direction with the idea of trapping its exit with the night table. Unfortunately, this lively spirit realized my intention and now fixed its reddish gaze solidly upon my stance, causing me to freeze in terror. Not from fear of rabies or the scratching out of my eyes, but because of how my visitor chose to greet me. Instead of growling or hissing a warning, this beast of torment gurgled out a clear, discernible and human laugh.

The Shorehouse Pt. II

2007-10-01T12:23:00.000-04:00

I am not sure how Barbara dealt with sleeping here. And alone for two nights! An antechamber provided privacy to the actual bedroom but also ensured our isolation from the rest of the house. If an entity first started in this room and worked its way downstairs, three to four shouts would be necessary before help arrived. If atrocities were first occurring elsewhere in the house, those of us in this bedroom would be the last to know.

Even though further cut-off from its sister chambers, this bedroom still shared the bizarre habit of left-behind décor. When procuring a rental apartment of such age, it is an accepted that many came before you and many others will follow. Proper maintenance however, should ensure that remnants of previous visitors are far and few between. What was unsettling about this bedroom was that several personal effects remained within eyeshot of any vulnerable sleeper using the room. Particularly of interest were the objects found in a storage cubicle carved out of the low portion of the far wall. There was only half of a lock attached to half of a door so it was easy to peer inside the dark crevice. Still, there was not enough light to view the exact insides. I tugged on the handle and after much exertion the door jarred open, scraping my hand during the violent action. The hollow was full of mostly falling debris from the infrastructure but also strewn with bits of newspaper and other detritus insulation.

The focal point was not this mess but rather a single yellow suitcase made slightly ajar by an overflow of clothing inside. Cautious to reach my bloodied hand into such a dusty hole, I warily rifled through the garments with a rolled up magazine. Beneath the final layer of flannel was a letter handwritten on both sides of loose-leaf sheet. The characters were finite and effeminate, telling the story of a Barbara and how foolish she felt about expressing her love for Douglas. Now, this was not my Barbara, but another more historic Barbara from perhaps forty years ago. This ancient Barbara read like a jealous girl that went around in scripted circles before finally realizing upon the fact that her “Doug,” had fallen for another woman. Olden Barbara lamented that the length of cold weather and time spent away from the shore convinced Douglas to stray away from her and toward an unlucky someone named “Jeane.” She wrote, “Am I a fool to hope you still love me Doug? If it was because of Jeane, can I now be less of a fool, now that she is gone? I paid her a visit last Sunday before the infection took her. I am sorry that I was not able to ask her about my foolishness before she left, but do not blame yourself or God. Neither of you are to blame.”

Satisfied that I received all that I could from this letter, I went to place it down back inside the suitcase. But before the paper fell into the bag the lid shut upon my already injured hand with such force that the sound of pinging metal resonated through the air. Wounded, I pulled my hand quickly away and slammed the door of this awkward closet shut. Right after, my Barbara arrived into the room finding me dirtied, on the floor and wincing with pain. “Stop poking around and get to bed, we have to wake up early tomorrow,” she said. “And open that window, it smells like a stuffy hospital in here.”

more soon...

The Shorehouse

2007-09-26T11:35:00.001-04:00

I haven’t even told Barbara this part of the story but there were definitely some strange happenings at the old shore house from last weekend. Clearly, atmosphere dictates occurrence, I am now a true believer of that. The more you think of a place as haunted the more things will appear.

Situated a mere block away from the beach, Uncle Vince ascertained the house to be “at least late 1800’s.” The creaking floorboards and low doorways confirmed his findings. What was strange to me was the mish-mash of artifacts left behind by either the actual owners or the last renters. Beheaded dolls, yellowed photos, letters, suitcases filled with clothes, even someone’s math homework from 1973. It was as if there was a horrible murder some thirty-odd years ago and everyone fled in terror. The address remaining shuttered until some wretched real estate agent looking for a quick turnover put it on the market.

The house had three floors, mostly bedrooms intertwined with water closets and stairways. As with many all old-estates, it consisted of equal parts of either inhabited or empty quarters. The most vacant territory belonged to the basement. In its entirety, the lowest level was a massive one, encompassing the grand circumference of the house. No open space since partitions separated corridors and walkways, each cavity decorated with doors to nowhere, freestanding walls, and boxes upon boxes of decrepit utensils. I tried to link the artifacts or make sense of the architecture but I was thoroughly ineffective in deciphering the purpose of these rooms. Adding to my anxiety was the sense that the basement was tired of my presence. My eyes strained against any attempts to soak up the surroundings as my brain fought all urges to retreat. Finally, the gusts of antique vapors made progress impossible and by the time Barbara called for me to return to the top of the stairs, I was already in step toward her voice.

The day passed into nightfall away from the house with a fish supper followed by fine conversations about things passed and things upcoming. The setting was a homely yet extremely comfortable eatery, complete with clanging silverware and delicious comfort food. While at the restaurant, our peculiar accommodations did not raise itself within the dinner’s vernacular. Why speak about the obvious? Especially since we all knew returning there was inevitable, and we were certain that any doubtful specters would remerge factual once lights were out.

Great fanfare greeted our arrival home. A raccoon had scaled the roof tiles and made headway into the master bedroom via a balcony entrance. Chocolates had enticed the creature indoors and it would have nested there if Uncle Vince didn’t scare it away. Drunk on sweets the animal actually remained on the outside terrace floor until it slept off its intoxication. The lure of our own nightcaps downstairs drew us away from the scene and eventually the crowd sat contently watching TV while sipping an Apulian white. Curious how comforting the television can be. The flickering backlight pulsing away any apprehensions as the night ended. Unfortunately, it is improper to fall asleep on the couch so I forced myself to the lodgings of the top floor. By Mauro Magarelli

To be continued...

The Island of Tears

2007-07-20T01:47:00.000-04:00

One of the benefits of my job is that I get to visit cool historical locations while still on the clock. Recently I took a trip to Ellis Island, which at one time was the main point of entry for immigrants coming in the USA. Mostly located in New Jersey, with the original landmass still belonging to New York, Ellis Island is one of our greatest landmarks because it is the quintessential location for the American immigrant story. I am in accordance with the idea that American social history has its roots in three basic chronological, yet distinctive themes: the annihilation of the Indians, the enslavement of Africans and the (forced) assimilation of mostly European immigrants. War, religion, & politics, although related are not directly connected to these three themes. Money and economic necessity are what killed the Indians, enslaved blacks and overworked immigrants. War, politics, and religion all came second.

For me, Ellis Island is a church. Not only did all four of my great-grandfathers pass through (only one stayed permanently), but also my dad worked as a master plasterer during the restoration of the late 1980s. Since I have a friend who is employed at the monument, I was able to get into the Great Hall a few minutes before the first ferry full of tourists arrive. It was a privilege to soak in this rare instance of silence in this usually, very noisy space. Echoes travel largely in this building. If you ever visit, clap you hands or shout and you will be amazed how long the sound resonates. While still quiet, I tried to imagine how the place looked when great-grandpa Vincenzo first arrived in 1906 or how great-uncle Sergio must have felt when he returned to the USA in 1913, leaving forever behind his home country and a buried wife. Of course, I never met these people, but I do recall my dad speaking proudly of his repair work done in the Great Hall. An immigrant himself, he understood the significance of the building, a fact evident in the big grin depicted on his “Ellis Island Preservation Project” security ID tag.

Besides the grandeur of the Great Hall, one of the most profound things encountered at Ellis Island are the patches of graffiti uncovered during the restoration project. Apparently, while cleaning and removing excess paint & plaster, workers discovered several examples of graffiti written in more than a dozen languages. Most of the graffiti consists of names and dates. For example, on one pole, Giuseppe and Achille Cecchini declare that they were there in May of 1901. Moreover, these penmanship ghosts tell no lies. Upon returning home, I looked up their manifest at http://www.ellisisland.org/, and sure enough, Achille and his son Giuseppe Cecchini from Montegallo, Italy arrived in America on May 15, 1901. I wonder if Giuseppe and Achille ended up staying in America or if maybe, the new world was too much for them to handle. I’d like to think that their descendants chance upon the graffiti one day, and it brings a smile to their faces.

Apparently, the other two-thirds of Ellis Island’s (not yet restored) buildings contain several hundred other examples of Immigrant graffiti. Especially in the dormitories and quarantine wards that housed afflicted immigrants as prisoners for months at a time. There, they must have had lots of time to think about what words to scratch out in the walls. Luckily, my contact enabled me to visit some of the other deserted buildings on Ellis Island, usually off-limits to most visitors. There, amongst the abandoned structures you get a clear sense of how lonely it must have been for immigrants separated from their families for reasons they did not understand.

On the other hand, and this scenario was explained by my friend and tour guide, many immigrants experienced levels of kindness that were alien in their own oppressed homelands. In the last derelict quarantine room I visited, I again attempted to recreate the past. I imagined how difficult it must have been for sick immigrants to acknowledge the tending physicians as helpful authorities, and not just another group of scary uniformed officials. I’m sure that the giant shining lady statue, clearly visible through the window, gave them a sense of hope.

Eagles in Hackensack

2007-03-05T12:16:00.000-05:00

For the past month I’ve been observing at least 4 Bald Eagles soaring above the suburban sprawl that strangles the Hackensack River. The sight of a soaring Eagle will turn even the most hardened insipid parisophile into a nature-loving bird watcher. If the image of this majestic bird does not move you; you most likely spend too much time indoors watching TV and you need some immediate spiritual cleansing.

The image of a high-ceilinged Bald Eagle is not only an enlightening experience but also a rare “visual” example that sometimes legislation works. The end of Slavery and Women’s Suffrage are probably the most concrete proof of this phenomenon, but in recent history, law effectiveness is not as clearly evident. One exception was the passage of the Endangered Species Act (ESA) of 1973. This piece of law originated in 1966 but did not develop teeth until President Nixon asked Congress to reassess the law in 1972.

More than 30 years has passed since then and for many, the passage of ESA has been a great American success story. Populations of Whooping Cranes, Peregrine Falcons, Gray Wolves, Gray Whales and countless other species have increased. In some cases, some of these animals would have faced near certain doom if the federal government had not stepped in and prevented their destruction. For example, in 1941 there were only 21 surviving Whooping Cranes in the wild, today that number has nearly reached 450 birds.

Without going into the intricacies of the ESA, I’ll explain why this law has been effective. It not only obviously prohibits the hunting or eating of endangered animals (think of that Brando/Broderick movie the Freshman), but also prevents the destruction of critical habitat. That second part of the law is why it’s very unpopular in today’s world of McMansions and Sprawl-Marts. Proponents of the pseudo-religious theory of “Wise Use” have recently grown loud in political circles, especially during the last six years. The stats don’t lie. During the four year term of Bush the First, 30 species were listed while his son, (Bush the lesser) has only sanctioned 16 listings in 6+ years. Basically, Anti-environmentalists believe that conserving land goes against their contrived American dream of ownership by stymieing economic growth. Of course, this notion is complete and utter nonsense, since the very core of that argument preaches success only through destruction. As if Americans are too stupid to make a buck without slashing & burning.

One of the best success stories of the ESA has been the recovery of Bald Eagle populations. In 1982, there was only one pair of Bald Eagles nesting in New Jersey, today there are nearly 60. Some may credit the banning of pesticides, particularly the usage of DDT as the real reason for the Eagles resurgence. Of course, the end of DDT halted the execution of eagles, but the ESA enabled their numbers to recover, and subsequently fly over otherwise unnoticed environments like the Hackensack River.

Hopefully, these birds will stick around long enough for people to realize that our blighted waterways are not just stagnant puddles, (visible only when driving to the mall) but actually very complex and diverse environments worth noticing and preserving.

Apartment Wolves on the Increase

2007-02-12T23:57:00.001-05:00

By Scipio Scherza

Part of the American dream is to provide oneself with a stoop, a roof, three to four walls and preferably cable television. Unfortunately today’s crippling housing market is forcing many to fall short of these aspirations. High market prices combined with debilitating taxes cause many to rent for long periods of time instead of opting to buy. Consequently, these leasers face many additional challenges besides the inability to successfully mortgage a property. Although the full psychological effect of credit failure is still up for debate, several studies have shown that the renter’s incapacity to permanently nail things to apartment walls often creates a sense of societal instability resulting in night terrors, bedroom shame and on rare occasion, omelet renderings.

Of course, social awkwardness is the most apparent consequence of leasing a home. However, there is a more tragic factor that often slips between the fat meaty fingers of our media outlets. The less documented but increasingly more common: Apartment Wolf Attack. According to a recent poll survey conducted by (FUAWA) Floridians against Unnecessary Apartment Wolf Attacks, one out of every eight apartments in the Sunshine State is infested with wolves. “We are reaching epidemic proportions here in south Florida, possibly pandemic or at least endemic,” said C. Russell, FUAWA’s acting president and talent coordinator. Just last month, FUAWA’s founder and former president L. Lob was attacked and mangled when a pack of rabid wolves became enraged by her shiny beaded necklace, apparently a specific behavior pattern solely attributed to the Floridian subspecies.

While most citizens are overtly aroused by the sudden impact of canine violence, the local authorities seem reluctant to admit the importance of such episodes. “One baby gets eaten by an Apartment Wolf and all of sudden the liberals start crying…wo…,” stated county selectman, K.K. Lardner.” According to housing authority records, Lardner may be low-balling the figures. From 1827 to 1843, more than 300 wolf-related incidents were rumored to have taken place in Florida’s panhandle. Since then, figures have exponentially gone unpublished but undoubtedly still coordinate with FUAWA’s 12.5 % wolf frequency per household.

“We will get the selectman to acknowledge this wolf problem,” said Russell. “Even if every old lady and baby has to get eaten to prove our point.” Sadly, its already too late for little Allison L., who was tragically wolf-handled while attempting to hug an intruding dingo that had settled under her easy bake oven. Selectman Lardner responded to this recent incident by asking realtors to decrease the scheduled number of open houses for their wolf-infested properties. “Maybe our real estate brokers can focus less on wolf properties and more on dwellings infested by reptilian entities or poltergeists,” said the Selectman. He also proposed tax abatements for all those already affected. “Additionally, for families with more than 3 wolves, we would like to offer 15% rebate on their leasing fees,” said Lardner.

More Christmas Ghosts

2006-12-24T12:52:00.000-05:00

This season is not just a time for anticipating gifts; apparently, other unworldly visitors besides Santa Claus come about on the night before Christmas. This blog stems from a recent conversation with a frequent poster to this site, who is apparently is aware of this phenomenon.

From the “Book of Christmas” (1986) Time-Life Books:

"Christmas Eve was a time for human feasting – and for something else. In Scandinavia, people said, the ghosts of the dead returned in the night to visit the home they had loved. Their descendants welcomed them: After the meal of the living was finished, food was left for the dead. Then the living retired, so their ancestors might come into warmth and the light to make their old Christmas revels once more."

Merry Christmas! …and remember to leave extra cookies out, not just for Santa but also for all the other nightly visitors.

Keeping Christmas Well

2006-12-18T16:29:00.000-05:00

For many past Christmas seasons, I have argued that the best character in Charles Dickens “A Christmas Carol,” is neither Scrooge nor Tiny Tim but rather “Ole Fezziwig.” I’ve come to this conclusion partly because he has the best name in book, but also for the reason that he symbolizes the story’s truest example of good-heartedness.

Ole Fezziwig always kept Christmas well, and he did it without a visitation by three ghosts. My favorite character makes only a brief appearance within the story, when the Ghost of Christmas Past allows Scrooge a glimpse from a happier time. Affirming that he was not always a curmudgeon, Scrooge exclaims, "Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again!"
Fezziwig was the owner of a warehouse where young Ebenezer was an apprentice, and every Christmas the jolly old man would shut his business down and throw a party for his employees. Often urging an increasingly-dour young Scrooge to cease work and join the festivities. Upon reliving this happy scene from his youth, Scrooge became entranced, even forgetting that the events before him were merely apparitions.

The ghost, sensing Scrooges rebirth of Christmas cheer, questions the importance of Fezziwig’s holiday festivities: (excerpts from the original)

"A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.""Small!" echoed Scrooge.The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said,"Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?""It isn't that," said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. "It isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count 'em up: what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune."

The beauty of Fezziwig was that he required no rehab to become a good man. Unlike all the enlightened people from our generation, Fezziwig did not need an after-school special to curb his steroid use; or a bout of alcoholism that resulted in becoming born again; or a “behind the music” drug addiction that without intervention would undoubtedly result in death. Of course we don’t know what “ole Fezziwig” was like when he was young. He could have been a messed-up pimp addicted to absinthe, but for the purposes of the story he is just a character that knew how to keep Christmas well. He was just a good guy with no sinister means to his ends.

I understand that the main character of Dickens’ story is not Fezziwig but Scrooge, and I understand that the moral of the story is about Scrooge’s ability to turn over a new leaf right before the brink of destruction. And I agree that Scrooge’s transformation is better than average because so many of the lost see the ghosts of their pasts and yet do nothing to change for the good. However, my point (or my question in actuality) is “who is nobler? The prodigal son who returns home after years of spitefully hurting people or the jolly rich man that spent a lifetime enabling many others to celebrate life.

Finally realizing the great sadness and devastation caused by ignorance and want, Ebenezer makes the lives of his nephew and Crachit’s family much better. But what of the years lost? What of the decades of cruelty and unkind words? In other words, Scrooge touched a few during the last phase of his life, but Fezziwig affected hundreds through a lifetime of kindness.

In the end, I guess Scrooge became the star because it's cooler to be a reformed scumbag rather than someone who does not need ghostly attention.

I Give Him all the Credit

2006-11-20T02:09:00.000-05:00

Editor’s Note: Yesterday marked my father’s birthday and also the fifth anniversary of his death. Several years ago my cousin MJS asked me to write a web-essay about Italian-American heritage, specifically for his website dedicated to young people and their link to the southern Italian region of Puglia. That essay helped me formulate my initial feelings about my father’s death and I feel that it deserves a second (although slightly edited) posting today. Most of the things that I write about in Historelli’s Social Club, I write about because of my father. He first enlightened me to the world of history, birds, sports, genealogy, geography, culture and countless other fascinating subjects. Therefore, it is only right to commemorate a man that although never formally educated, was never ignorant. I am extremely grateful that he was my father and I credit him for teaching me many things.

FROM 2002

Last fall, I didn’t cover the fig trees. Not because I’m a bad gardener or irresponsible but because they were my father’s fig trees, and with him gone I saw no reason to make sure they survived the winter. A sudden heart attack had taken my father away from us, and the last thing on my mind were fig trees.

Spring eventually came and the fresh warm weather inspired me to finally go outside. Fortunately, the winter was mild and the fig trees suffered little. In fact, even the wild arugula, known as “la ràuche” in the Molfettese dialect, survived the frost. Back in the garden, the first thing I noticed was that everything stood frozen just as my father had left it. Last year’s fallen leaves had not been raked but his small shovel, not put away for winter storage, stuck out of the dirt. It was hard to pull that little shovel out of its resting place because of what it reminded me of, but I realized I had to clean up. At least, rake the leaves and cut the grass to keep everything neat.

The first step was to tidy up the shed, which my father built entirely by hand with a little help from his son. There, I found his seed cache. Inside an old Alitalia carry-on were several little baggies clearly marked with the year that each crop had been harvested. One baggie in particular, labeled, ”pomodori con pizzoli 2001” (tomatoes with a point, 2001) caught my eye, because it was one of many bags labeled in the same manner but listed with different years, some as early as the 1980s. What made these seeds so special? What would make him save them so carefully in an old Alitalia bag? The answer came from my mother. She explained that my father had gotten the seeds from “u lúeche du núnne” (her father’s orchard back in Molfetta).

These were seeds from a cherished memory, like my father, my grandfather was gone, and his “lúeche,” where we all spent that one great summer, no longer existed. Now, although De Niro and Pacino have never starred in a movie about this, the true test of Italian manhood is whether or not you can grow tomatoes from the seed and by hand. If I didn’t plant these seeds, I would break the chain that my father and several other fathers’ before him, had propagated for decades. Plus, I didn’t want to let my father down, so I planted the seeds.

Surprisingly, the years I spent as a little boy following pops around the yard had paid off. Subconsciously, I knew how to do this. I remember he used to say in Molfettese, “Quénne u terréine sté càlte, tútte se cresce” (when the dirt is warm, everything will grow). So just like my father did every year, I planted the tomatoes seeds inside an old fish tank filled with dirt. After that, I continued working in the yard, and the garden began to take shape. I weeded; removed loose rocks from the soil, and most importantly “só zàppate ue terréine.” (I aerated the terrain with a hoe).

Through the several Saturdays that I spent tending the garden, I began to enjoy my time outside. I came to understand what my father was doing out there every summer. While I was in the yard, my mind cleared and I found my own little Zen. Worrisome thoughts about work faded, the piling bills were less troublesome, and the reminders of that relationship gone badly with that girl from Queens were non-existent. The stress disappeared, and I accomplished this all while surrounded by the memory of my hero, my father.

Suddenly, I felt that I truly knew what heritage was. Heritage is not blind pride. I cannot be proud just for being Italian, because I did nothing to achieve that. It would be like me being proud that I had brown eyes or that I was tall (I’m 6 foot 3 inches tall). Constantino Panunzio, a sociologist who emigrated from Molfetta to the United States in the late 1890s, gave several examples to why it was detrimental to come to America with blind arrogance about how superior one's culture is. In his 1922 book, “The Soul of an Immigrant,” he writes, “In my early residence here, I used to often boast of the fact that I was descended from such a line of people as ours. My listeners would look at me in a blank and uninterested manner, offering no comment or praise.” What Panunzio learned, was that in America a person’s worth was more relevant than the worth of his ancestors. Yet he understood that despite the lack of understanding expressed by “his listeners,” he was still able to utilize his background (he referred frequently to his southern Italian soul) in a beneficial manner. The acknowledgement of his heritage is what helped him succeed.

Heritage is a good thing, it strengthens virtue, keeps families tight and provides a better understanding of who you are. If you respect your background and perpetuate its true essence, you can lean on tradition to help you pass difficult periods in your life. That is one of the evolutionary benefits of celebrating one’s ethnicity. I’ve often looked at my heritage for answers and there are countless examples of Italian enlightenment, specifically those referring to loss. I’ll close with Horace, the son of a slave and the great Roman poet who coined the phrase “Carpe Diem,” (Seize the day), In his Satires I, he clearly explains the worth of a father:

If my character is flawed by a few minor faults, but is otherwise decent and moral, if you can point out only a few scattered blemishes on an otherwise immaculate surface, if no one can accuse me of greed, or of prurience, or of profligacy, if I live a virtuous life, free of defilement (pardon, for a moment, my self-praise), and if I am to my friends a good friend, my father deserves all the credit... As it is now, he deserves from me unstinting gratitude and praise. I could never be ashamed of such a father, nor do I feel any need, as many people do, to apologize for being a freedman's son.

Shame on All of You!

2006-11-14T00:13:00.000-05:00

Vultur Victor!

2006-11-13T11:05:00.000-05:00

The Final results are in and the Vultures are officially the champions of the 2006 Historelli Scavenger Hunt Challenge. The Vultures defeated the Snapshot Vulture Killers by a mere four points with a score of 105 to 101, while the ChoppoBlancos were not far behind with 83 points. Initially thought to be only a one-point victory, it was brought to my attention (by game participant Marjorie) that the results for challenge #6 were not justly tabulated, and the Vultures never received the additional three bonus points I had promised to the first team that correctly solved the “Pressed Beef” puzzle. Viewed as underdogs, the Vultures showed their innards by continuously submitting photographs to every challenge, visiting 23 municipalities and using the internet to solve difficult challenges.

We can call the vultures the champions only because they defeated the most formidable opponent. The Snapshot Vulture Killers (SVK) kept this challenge a close race not just by participating, but by wholeheartedly competing. The SVK’s brought the game to a new level, especially in the “distant newspaper” and the “ancient porno” categories. They were able to obtain a Playboy magazine from 1969 and a recent newspaper from the Tampa, Florida area. In both those challenges they annihilated the competition. However, the greatest shining moment for the SVK came when team captain Nik Social duped the Vultures into “revealing” more than was necessary for the competition. For his efforts, and his ability to exhibit great cunning, the game master has awarded Nik Social with the honorary title of “STORELLIUS MAXIMUS,” the highest honor given to single participants of the Historelli Scavenger Hunt. Bravo! Nik Social…Take a bow.

Additional highlights included the superb photography submitted by the Choppoblancos, who would have been atop of the standings had they not suffered technical difficulties during the beginning phase of the game. Their submission for the “The Cask of Amontillado,” challenge was deemed picture of the game, and the Choppoblancos were awarded a bottle of fine vintage for their creativity. Additional kudos to Karl Rove and his interpretation of the “Pressed Beef Challenge,” which was awarded 5 points for the image of the “beefy Guido,” defined as both corny & cheesy.

Also, a very special thanks to Polish Girl for putting together and organizing the awards ceremony and after party. I would also like to thank her for putting up with the Gamemaster’s quirkiness, without her support the game would never have existed.

I already have some ideas in mind for the next challenge (tentatively scheduled for 2007) so keep posted to this blog for further information. In the meantime, you'll have to pass the time by actually reading of few of these blog entries.

The Game Master

FORGERIES & COUNTERFEITS!

2006-11-11T14:13:00.000-05:00

It has been brought to my attention that a forgery utilizing the sacred Historelli stamp has been circulating amongst the members of the Vultures. (See image) The gamemaster is displeased that his beloved trademark has been used in such a dubious manner, However, he laughs at the Vultures for falling for such a clever trick. Kudos to the "whomever" thought up of this trickery.

Since i require retribution for the use of my trademark, i will award the vultures 2 additional points for displaying their birthday suits in their submitted photos. If the other two teams also want additional points, they too must submit "birthday suit" shots...

The gamemaster has spoken!!!

Challenge 6 Points Revoked!!!

2006-11-11T12:03:00.000-05:00

Upon further review the points given to two teams for the Challenge 6 (See Below) will be revoked because the photographs submitted did not follow the exact instructions. TRY AGAIN

Challenge 6 – PRESSED BEEF, CORN & CHEESE (Hard - 5 points):A picture of “inedible” Beef, Corn & Cheese “pressed” together

Stipulations: Since this image will be difficult to accomplish, only one team member is required to be in the image

Bonus points· 2 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

EXTRA BONUS: The team that gets this challenge exactly will be awarded an extra 3 points!!!

Challenges to be posted at 10pm !!!!

2006-11-10T16:49:00.001-05:00

Challenges to be posted at 10pm !!!!

Maybe a Snafu

2006-11-10T11:17:00.000-05:00

Participants!! PLEASE READ AND RESPOND

Upon review, i'm realizing that only half of the 22 challenges can effectively be accomplished during an overnight run beginning at Midnight. I'm considering an earlier start time.

Perhaps 10 pm. What is everyone's feeling on the matter. I would need a unanimous decision to go forth with this new resolution.

Also... Registration fees are due ASAP

The Scavenger Hunt is on!

2006-11-10T10:29:00.000-05:00

Historelli’s Seven Deadly Sins Scavenger Hunt Challenge

FOR A PRINTABLE VERSION CLICK HERE

Sin I (Lust)
Lust can mean several things, a lust for sex, lust for money or even a bloodlust. This challenge encompasses all of man’s perversions from giant underwear to war profiteering.

Challenge 1 - THE TANK (Easy-1 point):
A picture of a real life gigantic military tank, one used in a previous war not one that you can fill with liquid.
Stipulations: To exhibit size & ratio, team participants must be depicted atop a tank.
Bonus points
v 1 bonus point will be awarded if all team members are in the image
v 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 2 – THE WEARING OF THE UNDERWEAR (Medium-3 points)
A picture of three team members inside a single pair of giant underwear
Stipulations: An actual tag (name brand or washing instructions) must also be visible in order to prove that the garment is actually underwear and not just a giant bed sheet
1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 3 – ANCIENT PORNOGRAPHY (Hard-5 points):
An image of team members reading a copy of an antiquated porno magazine that was published before the year 2000.
Stipulations: Two to three images are required. The first image must depict team members & the front cover of the porno-mag (with a legible date clearly visible). The second image must depict team members flipping through the magazine in order to prove that it is an actual magazine & not just a computer print out.
Bonus points: -
1 bonus point will awarded for magazines from the 1980s,
2 bonus points for magazines from the 1970s,
3 bonus points for magazines from the 1960s and
5 bonus points for any magazines earlier than 1960
1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Sin II (Gluttony)
Simply put, it’s bad to eat too much. Even though this sin also refers to many types of self indulgences, it’s mostly about overdoing it with food & drink.

Challenge 4 - THE CAR BOMB (Easy-1 point):
A picture of team members enjoying an Irish Car Bomb (no actual explosives necessary!)
Stipulations: There are different “parts” to an Irish Car Bomb; all various aspects of an “Irish Car Bomb” should be visible in the image
Bonus points
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 5 - THE WEINER MISSION (Medium - 3 points):
A picture of team members enjoying Hot Texas Wieners (the food, not cowboy genitalia)
Stipulations: Besides submitting a photo that shows participants enjoying a Hot Texas Weiner, team members should also photograph a menu or signage that clearly defines the wiener as a “Hot Texas Wiener”
Bonus points
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 6 – PRESSED BEEF, CORN & CHEESE (Hard - 5 points):
A picture of “inedible” Beef, Corn & Cheese “pressed” together
Stipulations: Since this image will be difficult to accomplish, only one team member is required to be in the image
Bonus points
· 2 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Sin III (Greed)
Stop being selfish and you will defeat greed. Live beyond your means and corporate greed will swallow you. Be unaware and corporate greed will get you anyways.

Challenge 7 – THE GREEDY RED DOT (Easy - 1 point):
A picture of team members with this giant red dot (pictured to the right)
Stipulations: Team members must be photographed with the giant red dot in the background (the red dot should be much larger than a human)Bonus points
v 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 8 – THE INDUSTRIALIST’S SMOKESTACK (Medium - 3 points):
A picture of members in front of or in the vicinity of a smokestack
Stipulations: In this image the top of the smokestack must be visible along with the game participants.
Bonus points
v 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 9 – THE SEARCH FOR CHEAP GAS (Hard - 5 points):
A picture of team members at a gas station that sells cheap gas
Stipulations: Team member(s) must be photographed with a gas station sign that advertises cheap gas (regular not supreme). If participants find cheaper gas while the game is still in progress, they may re-submit to this challenge
A Take-all-the-points challenge!
v The team which submits an image of the lowest price for unleaded gas (regular gas) will be awarded ALL the points for this challenge.

Sin IV (Sloth)
There is no laziness allowed in this challenge! Sleepiness has plagued mankind of centuries, although eventually we all succumb to sleep’s cousin: Death.

Challenge 10 – THE BUM’S BED (Easy - 1 point):
A picture of ALL team members asleep on an outdoor park bench
Stipulations: It must be evident that the park bench is outdoors & ALL members must be piled upon each other for the photo to count
Bonus points
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 11 – THE TRAVELERS LOG (Medium - 3 points):
A picture of team members next to various “Welcome to” borough signs, the type that often marks the border between two municipalities. For example: “Welcome to Rutherford, the Borough of Trees.”
Stipulations: Team member(s) must be photographed near the sign.
Accrued Points
· 1 point per municipality. Duplicate signs referring to the same borough, city, township, village or hamlet will not be counted twice.

Challenge 12 – THE BONEYARD (Hard - 5 points):
Participants must locate & photograph an old tombstone, at least from the 1800s
Stipulations: Team member(s) must be photographed near the tombstone. The name of the cemetery must also be submitted for verification purposes
Bonus Points
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly
· 3 bonus points for the team that submits the oldest tombstone

Sin V (Wrath)
Anger, hatred & ferocity are nothing new, the ancients dealt with this sin way before we starting believing in it. The natural world uses it as law and only the saints can control it.

Challenge 13 – THE SAVAGE ANIMAL (Easy - 1 points):
Team members must be photographed feeding a live animal (no humans)
Stipulations: Nothing fancy, just a team member, food & and an animal
Bonus Points:
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly
· 1 bonus point will be awarded for each animal that is not a dog or cat.

Challenge 14 – THE WRATH OF THE ANCIENTS (Medium - 3 points):
Team members must be photographed near an outdoor Latin inscription or classical Roman (or Greek style) architecture.
Stipulations: Team member(s) must be photographed near some type of Latin script. A high-resolution image may be necessary to ensure legibility. LATIN WRITTEN ON MONEY DOES NOT COUNT FOR THIS CHALLENGE!
Bonus Points
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 15 – ILLUMINATING THE SAINTS (Hard - 5 points):
Team members must be photographed while illuminating a true saint
Stipulations: Someone who is simply a good person is not necessarily a saint. All saints photographed must be named and recognized by an organized institution.
Bonus Points
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Sin VI (Envy)
Jealousy incites some nasty behavior; it’s the origin of everyday spitefulness, the gossipy media and even sometimes… murder.

Challenge 16 – BEWARE THE GREEN FACES (Easy- 1 point):
Team members must be photograph with someone or something with a green face.
Stipulations: For this challenge, the only definition of face means something with eyes, a nose & a mouth. Human, animal & inanimate are all accepted.
Bonus Points
1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 17 – FORTUNATO’S ENVY (Medium - 3 points):
Montresor & Fortunato meet at the carnival and Montresor, wanting to kill him, baits Fortunato by telling him of a Spanish sherry that he has obtained. Fortunato joins Montresor in a visit to the catacombs of the latter's palazzo and, drunk from the festivities of the carnival, allows himself to be chained to the wall. Montresor then buries him alive by encasing his body in bricks. The story ends with Montresor leaving the catacombs, satisfied with the fact that he has killed the man who he hates
Stipulations: Find a copy of this story and photograph not only the book (with a team member holding it) but also team members acting out a scene from its pages.
Bonus Points:
1 bonus point for the team that finds the oldest copy written edition of this short story. (The date of publication is found at the bottom of the first couple of pages, usually near the name of the publishing house)
1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 18 – FETCHING THE DISTANT PAPER (Hard - 5 points):
Team members must be photograph with a long distance newspaper
Stipulations: The photograph must include a team member & a newspaper with a legible date from Nov. 11, 2006. Foreign Newspapers do not count, only USA papers.
Bonus Points:
A Take-all-the-points challenge!
The team that submits an image of a newspaper with the furthest editorial office from the Game Master’s location — will win all the points for this challenge. (For example, a newspaper published in Newark will be better than a newspaper published in Hackensack, the exact distance will be measured by Google Maps)

Sin VII (Pride)
We are constantly looking at ourselves in the mirror, putting make up on and sometimes believing that the heavens are purposely shaped by our little insignificant lives

Challenge 19 – The Arrogant Clown (Easy- 1 point):
Team members must be photograph with an actual real life clown
Stipulations: This image must include team members and a real life “alive” human clown wearing make up, no paper fake clowns are accepted.
Bonus Points:
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 20 – Infinity Visages (Medium- 3 points):
The face of the team captain must appear an infinite amount of times within one photograph
Stipulations: Do NOT doctor this image with software; it must be captured using only low technology.
Bonus Points:
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly

Challenge 21 – The Zodiac Pantheon (Hard- 5 points):
Team members must be photograph with an actual real life sign of the Zodiac
Stipulations: The twelve signs of the Zodiac all have symbolic icons that they are associated with. Aires is a Ram, Gemini are twins. Find an alive version of one of these specific Zodiac Symbols and photograph it with a team member in the shot. (This challenge cannot be combined with any previous “alive” challenges within this competition)
Bonus Points:
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to the team that first submits this challenge correctly
· 1 bonus point will be awarded to each “additional” Zodiac image submitted.

The Final Challenge
Worth 5 Points

Important Technical Concerns

2006-11-08T23:27:00.000-05:00

Here are some important technical concerns regarding the upcoming Scavenger Hunt.

Printing directly off of the blog will probably not work very well. In order to get a crisp printed version of the 22 challenges it would be good if you have Adobe Acrobat (PDF). If you don't have it all you have to do is download the free reader (CLICK HERE FOR THE FREE READER) I will provide a printable copy of the challenges
Please send your pictures in a standard JPEG format. Most likely your photo software already does this for you (If you are unsure about JPEG format, I suggest you send a practice photo ASAP).
Send all images to Historelli@comcast.net. (This will be the gamemaster's email address)

The High Jinks Continue….

2006-11-05T21:34:00.000-05:00

Earlier this evening it was reported that the SVK left a "Sicilian Message" to the members of the Vultures. Allegedly leaving a "horse head” right where Vulture team leaders Sister Lucy & Marjorie could find it.

In retaliation, the vultures paid a visit to SVK headquarters with a cursed knight of armor. I assume that the SVK are now “cursed.”

I wonder how all this tomfoolery will eventually reach the choppoblancos

New Rules & Updates for the HSH

2006-11-03T10:47:00.000-05:00

After meditating on the various questions & concerns regarding the scavenger hunt I have come to these resolutions.

1) The Registration fee will be $15 per participant, to be paid to me at the earliest convenience. Since it’s illegal to gamble, all registration fees will be donated to various charitable organizations based on the scavenging abilities of the aforementioned “organizations.”

2) The number of team members will remain at 4.

However…

a. If there are a few stragglers who do not have a team to play with, the registered teams may draft an additional player within a specialized registration window open only 24 hours before game-time. (Prior to this open window, perspective participants should focus on creating their own teams instead of joining an already existing team)

b. Teams of 4 may only draft one additional participant. The number of players per team shall not exceed 5 players.

3) The scavenger hunt will feature 7 different themes with three degrees of difficulty for each theme, totaling to a combined sum of 21 separate challenges. There will be a yet to be determined amount of bonus challenges. (Previously, I announced that each team must decide on whether or not they would attempt an easy, medium or hard challenge, I have now changed that rule and will require that each team attempt to accomplish all 21 of the challenges)

4) Since no team captains have been submitted, I have arbitrarily decided the following people are the team captains. (change it if you desire)

a. S.V.K – Nik Social
b. Vultures- Sister Lucy
c. ChoppoBlancos – Mrs. Chiapas

Please continue posting your questions & concerns

The Gamemaster

The Hunt gets Personal

2006-11-01T12:14:00.000-05:00

There have been accusations that the S.V.Ks have gone way beyond the line of appropriate behavior. Threats have been recorded; insinuations have been insinuated and so forth… However, were the SVK provoked? The following image depicts the unfortunate end of a beloved cartoon character, apparently sent to the home of a S.V.K. member. The image (displayed above left) was first broadcast on Al-Jazeera and then sent to the Game master in an apparent attempt to clarify the situation.

In other news, most participants have NOT weighed in on the previous questions asked by the Game master. Do you we want teams limited to 4 or 5 members? Yes or No?

Also, teams must submit the names of their team captains. It is essential for certain aspects of the quest.

Thank you and be well,
GM

Scavenger Hunt Queries

2006-10-31T12:21:00.000-05:00

Please post your concerns and questions about the Scavenger Hunt Here:

I have just received a question about how many participants each team can have. I initially slated 4-5 for the number of players-per-team, but then I settle upon 4 players per team. I think the number can go as high as 5, but anything higher displeases the Gamemaster (who has recently been accused of taking this game too seriously). Therefore, i pose this and other questions to participants.

How many players per team*
How much should the registration fee be, $10, $15...more?
Is the gamemaster taking this scavenger hunt too seriously?

*Only Registered players will be allowed onto the grounds of the final challenge, teams that associate with unauthorized individuals will be penalized several points.

Willing Suspension of Disbelief

2006-10-31T11:06:00.000-05:00

Back when I was a sophomore in college and on the verge of flunking out of school, one concept lifted me out of the doldrums of academic failure: The willing suspension of disbelief. This doctrine is perfect for today.

Like most of my classmates I sledged around in high school clinging on to my high C average (although I always got A’s in History). When college time came the same theme carried me through my first two years. Ironically, it was at this point, the nadir of my book learning that I “had” to pick a major. I could no longer go on coasting, my clown of an advisor informed me. So I flipped through the college catalogue and realized that there was nothing that I wanted to devote my life to. Psychology was bullshit, Sociology was just like Psychology, but with 48% more bullshit and majoring in History or English meant I was most likely doomed to teach 11-year olds.

Then, one day while I was walking to my car in one of the far-off parking lots, (I went to a commuter college) I ran into Oprah Winfrey who was guest lecturing a class for the Woman’s History Department. Sensing I was depressed, Oprah reached out and initiated a conversation. We talked about career choices, the job market and eventually the direction of my life. She said, “Son, don’t fret, you’ll know what to major in when the time is right.”

Oprah was very prescient in that parking lot, because later on I had an illuminating breakthrough regarding my dilemma. I had a 2pm start for my intro to Anthropology class, and we were going to discuss vision quests and divination amongst various cultures. The professor initiated the lecture by playing a Native American drum circle, when we heard the shaman blow his bird-bone whistle; it meant he was calling the Great Spirit. Luckily, our teacher supplied us all with ample portions of psilocybin mushrooms, so that we could fully understand when the Shaman spoke.

After about 10 minutes I was traveling westward on a worn lunar plain, known contemporarily as the Fra Mauro crater. As I passed the remnants of the Apollo 14 mission, I met a giant Nordic looking woman who told me that I should major in the subject I was currently engaging in. “Anthropology,” I asked “that doesn’t sound like doctor or lawyer.” “Yes,” she replied, “but Gwyneth Paltrow and Tea Leoni both majored in Anthropology. Now go forth and do what I’ve told you.”

The Anthropology instructor woke us from our drug-induced slumber by firing off a few rounds into the air. Class was over but not before she assigned us a 13-page paper about utilizing the emic rules of behavior. Remember she said “the Shaman is really calling the Great Spirit, it is legit.”

I carried these lessons for many years, and last night they resurfaced in my memory. Around 12:30am, sirens and roaring fire trucks startled me right before I was about to doze off. Annoyed and now restless, I allowed myself a glass of water to calm my nerves. Before resettling a premonition demanded I check the back of the house. Quickly, I poked my head through the Venetian blinds, flicked on the light and locked eyes with a monstrous hairy creature wearing men’s pajama bottoms. The animal froze for a second then fled. In its arms, an object, best described as “corpselike.”

The Hunt Unfolds

2006-10-27T14:53:00.000-04:00

The teams are starting to form and thus far I believe we have a total of 13 definite contestants with an additional 7 players waiting for to be confirmed.

A few teams have already been registered...They include...

Name: The Vultures

Members: Sister Lucy, anti-Charlie Brown, Marjorine & Officer Peez

Team Color: Black

Team Captain: Pending

Name: The ChoppoBlancos

Members: Chiapas, Mrs. Chiapas, K. Rove & the Armenian Diva

Team Color: Off-White

Team Captain: Pending

Name: The Snapshot Vulture Killers

Members: Nik Social, Bambolina, Staci Ru.

Team Color: Ice Cold White

Team Captain: Pending

Name: Team Nopants (This team is pending confirmation)

Members: Kevin Weirdopants, the future Mrs. Weirdopants, Krussel

Team Color: Flesh

Captain: Pending

Please continue registering your teams and other pertinent information

- the Gamemaster

Historelli Scavenger Hunt: 2006 Photo Challenge

2006-10-26T12:48:00.000-04:00

UPDATE: Tentative Date for Scavenger Hunt will be Fri-Sat (Nov. 10-11)

What you will need?
· A working digital camera (multiple cameras may also be used) & a computer
· The ability to email a digital image to the game-master (me)
· Warm clothes
· People Skills
· At least $10 expense account
· A working automobile or valid bus pass

The Gist of It…
This contest is a “photo” scavenger hunt. In other words, the challenges will be to take a picture of a certain person, place or thing and then email it to the game master. Some challenges will be obvious (For example: take a picture of a yellow apple), while other challenges will be more intricate (For example: take a picture of something yellow that you can eat) Rest assured that none of the challenges will be as easy as finding a piece of fruit and some of them will be in riddle form. Update: All photos must contain a least one team member within the shot (Particapants are asked to wear matching t-shirts to exhibit team spirt!) The final challenge will require everyone to meet at a yet to be revealed location somewhere in Northern Jersey. At the ending location, a physical object will be brought to the game master.

Point System
· There will be 7 basic categories with a 3-level point systems for each category
o (5 points for hard, 3 points for medium, 1 point for easy).
· If your team is first in submitting a challenge, you will receive additional points
o 3 bonus points for each “first” submission.
· You can only submit one entry per category,
o You must decide whether to go for the hard, medium or easy challenge
o There will also be other opportunities for bonus points.
· MOST POINTS WINS!!
*NOTE...Cheaters will be executed. I can tell when somethings been photoshopped, and if i can't my NASA engineers have the software that can.

Who can participate?
To eliminate the cuckoo-bananas factor, I have to know who you are before you are allowed to participate. There must be at most only 3 degrees of separation between participants and myself. Your friend’s cousin’s girlfriend can participate, however Johnny Weirdopants who finds this site via Google cannot play along. Participants will be grouped up into teams of 4 or 5, depending on how many people actually want to do this.

NOTE* Of course, none of the challenges will force you to do anything illegal but you cannot have a fear of cemeteries or other spooky locales. I take no responsibility for anyone who does something harmful to other people or themselves. You are also not allowed to hurt or maim wildlife or property.

The Prizes
There will be a mystery prize. If everyone wants to contribute $5 to play, I will throw that money into a pot and the winning team will take all.

When will this be?
Once I figure out how many people will participate, I will throw out a few dates out there (via email) and then decide on a game date. Most likely this will be a 24 hour challenge, so the questions will be posted midnight the night before and the quest will finish midnight the next day.

If you are interested leave a message on this blog...

The Guns of Lower Manhattan

2006-08-23T11:42:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, imaginary phenomenon is much more profound than tangible objects. I realized this last week when Polish Girl and I briefly explored Lake Seneca, one of New York State’s Finger Lakes.

We did the wine tasting, hit a local restaurant and then took a short walk behind our B&B to explore a pond and some abandoned vineyards. While searching for Cedar Waxwings, I heard a popping, booming noise in the distance, which for me sounded like a truck hitting an overpass. I checked out my panoramic view, realized that there were no trucks to be found for miles and exclaimed “that’s weird, that sounded like a truck,” PG quickly gave me a dirty look since loud trucks had kept her awake the previous night because our quaint little B&B happened to be near a somewhat busy road. Although it was odd, the noise soon faded from memory and I dismissed the occurrence

Once I was back in jersey, I decided to research the Finger Lakes region at the Historelli Secret Archives. While perusing some literature in the lower catacomb room, (Patrons can locate the catacomb room between the black arts vault and the section on 80’s glam rock) I came upon a strange trend that has been apparently occurring in the Finger Lakes region for centuries. According to tradition, the “Guns of the Seneca” are loud mysterious booming sounds that occur in Seneca Lake and nearby Cayuga Lake. The Iroquois told the first white settlers that the noise was created by the advancing Great Spirit finishing the creation of the earth. Modern science buffs theorize that the reverberations are caused by the release of trapped gasses produced by decaying lake vegetation.

Regardless of why or how, the Guns of Seneca exist. People hear them and I think I even heard them. It is an effective phenomenon and could help the people of lower Manhattan find the ethereal memory that they are having such a hard time tapping in to. Apparently, New York City’s landed gentry are fumbling over each other at the old WTC site and at this rate nothing memorable will be built at the planned memorial.

It puzzles me that such consideration was given to Larry Silverstein, the 104-year old developer who profited immensely from the destruction of the WTC. In Dec. 2004, he was awarded more than 5 billion dollars in insurance money because the collapse of the Twin Towers was considered two events instead of one. Since he initially bid 3.2 billion dollars only seven weeks before 9/11, Silverstein made nearly a 2 billion dollar profit after crashing planes caused people to jump hundreds of feet to their death. It also puzzles me that such reverence is given to the countless politicians who are doing a constant two step shuffle in order to get their names and face on anything 9/11 memorial related. I’m sick of Bloomberg and Pataki vomiting their stamp of approval during photo ops.

So I suggest that instead of building a new huge freedom tower or a cascading waterfall memorial, we build nothing. Or better yet, the rest of nothing. I understand the ideal that if we don’t build huge the “terrorists will win,” but I say lets step back and analyze this for a minute. Labeled an eyesore to the New Yorkers who really loved the art deco style of the Empire State & Chrysler buildings, the twin towers also demolished one of New York’s oldest sections and actually lost money for years because they were never filled to capacity. And what about the proposed designs for the new freedom tower and surrounding memorial. Ugh! How uninspiring, disgusting and although I’m not an architect, apparently unattainable. Daniel Libeskind’s design for the new Freedom Tower looks like a giant standup vacuum cleaner, (which shouldn’t be a surprise since his earlier works look like tumors that have attached themselves to the surrounding infrastructure) and according to recent reports, Michael Arad’s “Reflecting Absence” memorial simply won’t work. Arad has arranged for large stone walls that would block street traffic from the solemnity of two reflecting pools. In a sense he is creating a crypt, which although appropriate for the location, would mostly likely become a harbor for that fish smell that penetrates lower Manhattan.

Therefore, we either hire an Italian sculptor (because Italians know a little bit about sculpting) to build a nice classically-American inspired monument, (i.e. lady liberty, an eagle, Derek Jeter, or a Native American, etc...) Or we build nothing. No more towers, no more avant-garde reflecting pool that isn’t worth its artistic weight in shit. Nothing politically correct which exhibits all cultures and complaints. Nothing.

But a good kind of nothing.

I propose the “fallow field” memorial to the WTC. I say we seal off the two twin-tower footprints with large panes of really thick glass and we the let the acreage return to forest. We let no one inside, we let no one get credit for its design, and most importantly we let no one profit from this highly valuable piece of cemetery. At first it will be all weeds & pigeons, but after about 100 years we may have giant stands of oak or pine and maybe even Pale Male’s descendants will nest there.

Of course this type of memorial may not be effective enough for those among us who are numb and soulless and require flashy lights to take them back to a time of immense tragedy. So as a reminder of Sept. 11, we can recreate the “Guns of Seneca” at the former WTC. Every once in awhile, maybe once month or maybe just once every five years but never on a schedule, a random low booming sound will emit from the twin tower footprints. The sound will remind us that the Great Spirit is advancing and finishing his work.

Buon Compleanno! “Tata Cherrare”

2006-05-26T01:54:00.000-04:00

This coming Saturday will mark the 166th birthday of Corrado Gadaleta, my maternal great-great-grandfather and also the man whose image decorates the upper right hand corner of this blog. (Special thanks to cousin Angelo from Australia for emailing me a copy of this long lost photo) Yes, that Amish looking guy is actually genetically related to me and I hope to one day have a full white beard as he does in this photo. (Which reminds me... JJ, did you ever get that DNA testing kit?)

Corrado's immediate descendants affectionately knew my great-great grandpa as "Tata Cherrare," the usage of "Tata" being an archaic yet affectionate equivalent to today's usage of "Papa." According to tradition, "Tata Cherrare" was known for his prophetic proclamations. He would state that, "one day there will be people who fly," and "one day there will be carriages without horses." Apparently these prophecies occurred long before planes and automobiles made their first appearance in his hometown of Molfetta, an ancient seaport located in Apulia, the heel of Italy's boot.

Born in 1840, Corrado was the son of Stefano, a contadino farmer and Maria De Bari a housewife and seamstress by trade. During his lifetime, Corrado lived to see the unification of Italy, the outbreak of several cholera epidemics, the First World War and the mass emigration of thousands of his countrymen. All the while, he had nine kids (that I know of) with two wives. His first wife, Margherita Capellutti, died at the age of 42 while his second wife, Rosa Ragno, lived on long enough to adopt the nickname "Non Nonn'e," an endearing yet antiquated name used for Grandma, translated literally to English as "grandma granny."

"Tata Cherrare" initially supported his large family by working as a contadino, as his father did, but according to records I dug up from the local Mormon Church (FYI, I'm not a member of the LDS, but for some reason the Mormons have everybody's family records in their vast archives), he eventually went on to work as Ortolano, or green grocer. Being an ortolano was usually a step up because it meant you owned a piece of land to grow & sell your own olives, figs and almonds instead of working for slave wages as a tenant farmer for the local aristocrat. Based on the trickle of information I have gathered, Great-Great Grandpa Corrado died in 1919 and probably left his sliver of land to his eldest living son Cosmo, who eventually spent some time in the US with his brother Giovanni (my great-grandfather).

People of "Tata Cherrare's" generation are historically important because they represent the forgotten characters of the Italian-American immigration story. Basically, these 19th century Italians stayed behind while their sons and daughters ventured to the U.S., Argentina, Australia, Venezuela, South Africa, Canada and various other places in search of better life. Yet without us even knowing it, their old school values have been handed down to through the generations, albeit diluted because of the adversity of assimilation.

For example, I've inadvertently been taught a stoic and pragmatic philosophy from my parents best defined by a "what can we do" attitude. It was shown to me at an early age that I should always know my place; I should never trust strangers; and more often than not, you lose more than you win...so deal with it. Sometimes these tidbits of ancient knowledge are even less straight forward, making no sense and offering little insight. For example my father always warned me "not to drink too cold" and the only time I ever received an education about the birds and bees was when he proclaimed "Do what you have to do.... but make sure you do what you have to do!"

You see, both my parents gathered this folksy knowledge from their parents, and they learned it from their parents and so on... and so on. So when you follow the lineage back and realize that this old school philosophy stems from a people who were poor, worked the land hard with few rewards and most of the time died young, you can understand the simplicity of its genesis. Of course, that doesn't mean you have to follow it, but regardless if you rebel against them or not, the old school teachings are still relevant factors to what makes up your opinion of life and those around you.

To say, my parents or grandparents came from the "old country" without understanding where that old country was and what it was all about does a great disservice to anyone who is worried about self-discovery or how their own worldview was formed. In other words, it's important to know where you came from in order to know where you are going.

The Magic Woodpecker

2006-05-22T23:34:00.000-04:00

Growing up some of my favorite books were Peterson Field Guides. This series catered to all my ecological nerdy needs, including identification tips with color plates, Latin species names, and nifty distribution maps which differentiated between breeding areas and wintering grounds. Of course, my favorite edition was the Peterson Field Guide to Eastern Birds, illustrated by Roger Tory Peterson, one of the founding naturalists of the 20th century “Environmental Movement.”

Besides being a great artist and ornithologist, Roger Tory Peterson was also one of the few people to verifiably see an Ivory-Billed Woodpecker alive during the 20th century. And his references to the species, with its cautionary “presumably extinct” distribution, endeared many aspiring naturalists to this ancient bird. You see, many other field guides resisted listing this species, because for them the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker was not “presumably extinct,” but just extinct.

For us bird lovers, the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker (also known as the “Lord God” Bird because its large size would cause witnesses to scream “Lord God!”) stayed within the pages of our field guides. We could mark all of our other sightings, but we knew full well that we could not put a check next to the Ivory-billed because in recent decades it had been more myth than reality. However, a small band of adventurers rejected that notion and have actively sought out the bird while the rest of us (with Peterson field guides in hand) secretly cheered them on.

For years the quest for viable Ivorybill sighting was futile. Appearances in Florida, Louisiana and Texas proved unfounded and it seemed that even the smaller Cuban subspecies had followed the path to extinction like its avian cousins the Passenger Pigeon and the Great Auk. Then in February 2004, a group of professional birders rediscovered the lost species at the Cache River National Wildlife Refuge in eastern Arkansas. One researcher in a kayak even accidentally captured a fleeting image of a possible Ivorybill ghosting through a flooded cypress swamp. This video combined with other reliable accounts enabled researchers to claim that the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker was in fact not extinct, but still clinging on to life in the Deep South.

However, since the initial good news came from Arkansas, further expeditions have failed to prove that the birds live on. Just recently an expert team from Cornell University (America’s greatest bird college) announced that this past winter’s search (you can’t search for Ivorybills in dense summertime forests) had ended without concrete proof of its continued existence and that future expeditions would be significantly scaled back. Disbelievers concluded that there were never any Ivorybills in Arkansas and that the sightings are just misidentified Pileated Woodpeckers, which look somewhat similar. Detractors also argued that the whole process was a waste of time and money and that the million dollars spent (both private & public money) could have gone to better use since the Iraqi War had cut most government funding for environmental causes. Other non-environmentally minded opponents declared that it was shocking to spend a million dollars on a woodpecker in the first place. These shortsighted simpletons argued that the money would be better spent feeding the poor, as if our tax dollars are ever honorably encumbered for that purpose.

I feel we need to search for the Ivory Billed Woodpeckers, not just because it symbolizes the lost American Wilderness but also because its natures way of giving us a second chance. Additionally, we need to save the species on the sole fact that it is a magic bird. Native Americans knew this and allowed only important tribe members to wear its feathers, we need to acknowledge their ancient reverence to this species. It is not by coincidence that no matter how hard we try; modern man cannot destroy the allure of the most enchanted bird of the American swamp.

For those who believe that this money be better spent, I argue that government spending is often squandered on much lesser causes. And... there are countless untalented people employed by Wall Street, the political world, and the real estate market that earn millions in unwarranted paychecks. Why can’t a PhD scientist simply earn a living (they are not getting rich in this line of work) after a lifetime of study and hard work? Searches for the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker and other like-minded endeavors give hope to the little boys and girls who dream about becoming naturalists, archaeologists, musicians, writers and professors rather than cubicle whores. Soon, I will be searching for new gainful employment and in order to maintain sanity I need to believe that a life’s work can be based on ideas and causes that are worthy of a life. The search for the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker gives me hope that I will not become a cubicle whore.

Damn Tree Huggers with their Arbor Day!

2006-04-28T01:32:00.001-04:00

Besides Saint Swithun's day, Arbor Day is definitely my favorite holiday. I know in a recent post, I ranted and raved about how great Earth Day is, but in all honesty Arbor Day holds a much more special place in my heart. As a co-worker of mine recently stated, “Arbor Day is the best kind of holiday, you don’t have to buy anything for anyone, you don’t have to send a card, you just have to plant a tree or at least look at or think about a tree.” Of course thinking about trees is important and we should all turn toward a tree at least five times a day and think about it, but if we really want to celebrate Arbor Day, we should try to plant one.

Now according to tradition, Arbor Day was started in Nebraska by a bunch of fellers that loved their grassland home, but missed trees and the beneficial effects of having them on their property. They knew that trees supply wood, work as windbreakers and keep soil from eroding, so they got together and started a tree planting holiday. This "tree love" quickly spread across the nation and today is generally celebrated on the last Friday of April. Arbor Day, and likeminded initiatives have most likely aided the reforestation of America, which suffered a great deal of tree-loss during the 19th century. Go to your local library and try to find pictures of your community as it looked shortly after the Civil War. These picture are generally rare, but they often share a common factor…there are no trees. (the pic on the left is of Garrett Mountain in Paterson, NJ, notice how high up the tree line is) Basically, firewood was the main source of fuel during the 19th century and most people chopped down whatever was growing nearby. As a result, virtually no “Virgin Forest” exists in the Eastern U.S., with only a few stands existing out west. So in other words, the advent of Arbor Day has arrested the spread of national tree loss and we can’t stop now! However, we need to be more decisive about what we plant.

Ornamental trees are fine, they are pretty to look at and sometimes they produce good fruit and God knows I’ve spent many-an-hour caressing and lovingly swooning over my fig trees, because I know come September I will enjoy many tasty figs. But if we really want to celebrate Arbor Day, we should go forth and plant some trees that really need our help. For example, the American Chestnut Tree has been in bad shape for about a century and is need of assistance.

Back in the day, the American Chestnut Tree was one of the most abundant, magnificent and useful trees of the great American woodland. Some old growth trees were 10-feet wide and 100 feet tall and offered an abundance of food, not only for woodland critters but also for many rural Americans who would store chestnuts for additional winter sustenance. Then the chestnut blight (a fungal infection) came in 1904 and single-handedly destroyed the American Chestnut population within 40 years. Today, the chestnut trees you see are actually specimens of the less magnificent Chinese Chestnut Tree. An imported culprit that most likely caused the demise of its American cousins by spreading the blight, which they are obviously immune to.

However, there is hope! American Chestnut Trees still exist in juvenile forms because it usually takes a good 10 years before the blight attacks them, and several full grown American Chestnut Trees have also been raised out west where the blight is not active. So I suggest that you go forth and purchase American Chestnut Trees from the several nurseries, tree foundations and growers that supply this specific species to the public. After you purchase the tree, you must plant it because it will die if you leave it on your living room floor. Then, you’ll need to monitor your new tree and report its overall health to the tree authorities, especially if your specimen does NOT develop the blight. As we speak several official tree scientists are working on cross-breeding programs and blight-immunity research with the hope to one day return this arboreal giant to our American forests. Maybe your magic touch will help this process along.

Now if you live in Northern New Jersey and chestnut trees are not your forte, there are other species that are in need of your help, especially if you live in the Meadowlands region.

About 1000 years ago, the last great glaciers retreated and subsequently flooded the area we now know as the Meadowlands. As a result, great stands of Atlantic White Cedar flourished in this new swampy environment. Other studies have placed the arrival of the Meadowland cedar forest at around the year 1400. But by all accounts, it is understood that when the first Dutch settlers came to the area they would have seen the Hackensack River basin covered with 90- foot-tall Atlantic White Cedar instead of the waves of common reed grass and garbarge dumps we are confronted with today.

So what happened to our ancient Meadowlands forests?

Well the Dutch and English used much of it for lumber, firewood and building materials and there is a report from 1791 that most of the Hackensack River’s White Cedar Forest was burned in order to rid the area of Pirate hiding places. But the final nail in the coffin was the building of the Oradell Dam which although provides us with tasty drinking water, also caused the rising of salt tides into the previously "fresher" Hackensack River, subsequently killing off the remaining groves of cedars.

Today, some White Cedar stumps can be found throughout the edges of the NJ turnpike and several have been pulled out of the muck for display purposes, like this specimen shown here from Dekorte Park in Lyndhurst.

Top Photo of Tree, Fence and River by Historelli (River Edge, Summer, 2003)

Bottom Photo of White Cedar Stump by Historelli (Dekorte Park, Lyndhurst Oct. 2004)

Stick Your Hand into the Earth

2006-04-25T01:11:00.000-04:00

I’ve dug myself a nice hole! Not in the “I’m in trouble” sense of the word(s), but in the actual, literal definition of the phrase. I’ve dug myself an actual dirt opening. Its about 3 feet deep and about 6 feet across and it will house my newly acquired grove of bamboo shoots gifted to me by Mr. Chiapas. He said that if I can save them I can have them and I’m happy to report that I’ve noticed lots of “new green” shoots on the plants. So project “Vietnam in Jersey,” seems to be headed toward success.

Digging a new hole in the dirt is how I celebrated this recently passed “Earth Day” weekend. Earth Day was created in the early seventies by Earthians who wanted to celebrate their shared air, trees, birds, slugs, grass, rocks, sand, oil, worms and most importantly the actually earth. “Earth” defined as terra, soil, terrain, loam, mud…etc.

To many unfortunate souls out there, Earth Day is mostly a “non-event." They’ll see some news clips of President Bush riding his bike through the redwood forest or they’ll go to a music festival and take home some pamphlets about how the rain forest is vanishing. The next day they’re back in their cubicle, unconcerned about the surrounding globe, and most regrettably, uniformed. So therefore, I guess Earth Day has failed them.

I’m not going to proselytize about how the sky is falling. Everybody knows about water pollution, smog, famine caused by drought, and of course how the glaciers are melting because of global warming. And some of us even know about how Bush and his GOP lackeys are trying to gut the Endangered Species Act because they claim it doesn’t work. Although, I just think they want to eat endangered animals, like in that movie with Marlon Brando and Matthew Broderick…what was that flick called? Once, I went to a Republican friend’s house for breakfast, and I would have sworn that he tried to serve me a Condor Egg Omelet.

So I will not opine about Bush and how he thinks Jesus personally gave him the earth so he could purge it of its resources. However, I will preach about how we don’t even know our own “local environment.” Do you ever ask yourself these following questions?

Was that vine always growing out of that patch of dirt I pass everyday?
How many legs did that bug have before I squashed it?
Where did this strange red bird come from?
Why do bears eat my garbage?
Why did I suddenly develop asthma?

If you questioned your surroundings more, you might even realize how global warming is affecting the flora and fauna that live around you. Here in North Jersey, lilac plants bloom earlier; black vultures are now common way north of their former range; and if we ever get hit with a Katrina-like storm, most of “down the shore” will be underwater. And if you are still naively unaware or foolishly unconcerned about how an altered environment changes human health, come take a look at the 3-inch scar across my girlfriend’s neck caused by carcinogenic pollutants.

So, I implore you to go outside, dig a hole and stick your hand down into the dirt, even get your shirt dirty if you have to. Then pull the dirt out of the earth and look at it, smell it, even pick through it to see if you find and creepy crawlers. If you do find something, go to www.enature.com and see if you can identify what you've found, then try to find a way to incorporate that little creature into your daily routine. And realize that if it prematurely perishes, you will too.en by Mauro Magerelli

So Maybe Judas Wasn’t a Punk After All.

2006-04-07T13:32:00.000-04:00

According to a recently released translation of 1700-year-old Coptic manuscript, Judas Iscariot, that rascally 13th apostle, was not cajoled by the devil into giving Jesus up, but instead turned traitor because Jesus told him to do so. In other words, it was all part of JC’s plan and Judas was just the catalyst.

Although this “recent revelation” gives some beef to the debate, the idea that Judas was just playing the part of a necessary betrayer is far from new. In Martin Scorsese’s “The Last Temptation of Christ,” Judas (awkwardly played by Harvey Keitel) flirts with this theme when he awakens Jesus out of a Satan inspired daze. In the rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, (My favorite portrayal by the way because it showcases the apostles with a cool rock-gospel, 70’s-funk soundtrack and Carl Anderson had some great pipes), featured Judas as the main albeit tragic character of the story who eventually acknowledges his role as “the traitor that Jesus required.” And in Leonardo Da Vinci’s famed painting, “The Last Supper,” the artist allegedly places an overturned salt container in front of Judas, perhaps to symbolize the spilling of salt as bad luck, but because the painting is deteriorating, I can’t make out any salt container. However, in that same painting… it is clear that Judas and Jesus are both reaching for the same piece of bread, possibly signifying that they both had the same goal in the forthcoming days...hmmmmmmmmm?

Anyways, why all of sudden did this missing manuscript from the bible come about?

Two reasons.

First, there are hundreds of secret, hidden manuscripts that depict alternate bible stories, but since they are not part of the official biblical canon, they are not acknowledged as “official texts.” Known as the “Gnostic Texts,” these forbidden works consist of stories that vary somewhat from the versions we were taught in catechism (For you non-Catholics, the Gnostic version differ from the accounts taught to you by Charlie Brown, Mickey Mouse and Mel Gibson) For example, in the Gospel of Thomas, Jesus is never referred to as “master” or “lord” and in the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, Jesus favors his favorite lady apostle over the others, much to the chagrin of Peter.

The second reason this gospel according to Judas just came about was because although it was kind of known about since its first rediscovery in 1970, it has now been re-re discovered just in time for Easter and the upcoming “Da Vinci” code movie.

My own opinion is that these alternate versions are probably just as historically viable and important as the “official” four gospels. Although one must consider that some versions were written after other versions and in a sense are just rip-offs of the originals. Kind of like how Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” was originally published in 1843 and since then there have been umpteen alternate versions, including that one from Family Ties, when Alex P. Keaton plays the role of Scrooge, and then Mallory has to name all her children after him…anyways, you get my point.

Of course, naysayers and detractors will say… “Who cares about Judas? What does it matter in today’s world?”

I would respond by saying that just like how the study of Latin and Greek helps us better understand the English language, analyzing biblical stories (along with Greek & Roman philosophies) helps us better understand themes of morality, good vs. evil, drama & tragedy. Basically, all the concepts of our “Western” tradition come from earlier (and mostly more profound) sources

In other words, all those gripping storylines about treachery we love to watch on TV, originally come ancient stories. And this is true all across the board, including the doctor from Grey’s Anatomy who sleeps around, Johnny Damon coming to the Yankees and every gangster movie ever screen tested. Even our own egotistical personal dramas and gossipfilled social circles stem from these old stories. In a sense, we’re all just a bunch of Judases looking for vindication from our betrayals, so we might as well learn how the original Judas played the hand he was dealt.

Barbara is!!!! Barbara is!!! I can't wait to see you babe!

The Mysterious Treasure of Chiapas

2006-03-20T23:18:00.000-05:00

I’d like to think that one of my many hats is that of a researcher/archivist/phlebotomist/ investigator/historian guy. Sort of like a wannabe Indian Jones but without the Nazis and only a few snakes. So every once in awhile, I like to dust off my master’s degree and try to help people with their historical mysteries.

Recently, my grammar school chum, Mikey “Chiapas en Fuego” came to me with an unusual discovery he found while doing some demolition work in old Kingsland. Apparently, while he was smashing down a part of a wall, Chiapas came upon an unusual cache of items, which may have been purposely hidden. Amongst the items were a few photos, newspaper clippings, Eastern European money and some religious iconography. Possibly these items were used as insulation fodder, but methinks that they once might have had some important significance to someone.

The newspapers, a mixture of local NJ editions and a German-language weekly published in New York, date from the late 1930s and are practically falling apart. Whoever was clipping the papers was fond of Polo, and they apparently liked German players since most of the images featured Deutsch sounding surnames. By the way, Polo is that sport that Prince Charles plays with horses and the balls and hammer-like sticks. I’m not sure how it was back in the 1930s, but today I believe you have to be a rich aristocrat to partake in that sport.

Along with the newspaper clippings, is a religious image of a young woman experiencing “the calling,” assumingly to become a nun or some other type of life-long servitude to the lord. Her expression is one of inspiration as she looks upward holding her hands to her face. In the background, a Madonna like figure is shadowing behind, perhaps influencing her spiritual decisions. And rounding off the collection is some money from the early 1950s. A crinkly greenish 25 “Leva” note from Bulgaria.

What the hell is this all about? ...Wait, that’s not all Chiapas found.

The most interesting aspect of this discovery are a set of black & white 8 X 10 photos depicting various outdoor scenes that are very broad and unidentifiable in nature. An empty dining hall, a backyard in disrepair, trees, buildings of a tennis club, and a man in a long coat surveying the scene of a wrecked waterfront. Nothing is written on the backs of photos and I cannot recognize any of the landscapes. Assuming that these photos are contemporary with the other findings, they are most likely to be 50 to 60 years old.

Now, lets look forward to the year 2076. Most of us will be dead; some of us will not have learned our life lessons yet and still be hanging around…But dead or alive, by the year 2076, we all would have left some artifact... some evidence that would slightly define our existence. Just like Mr. Polo weirdo money guy.

What do you think you’ll leave behind? What will future man accidentally find of yours?

Will it be some receipt from Wal-Mart; a discarded piece of evidence chronicling the purchase of a DVD you never watched. Or maybe a photo of some girl/guy you met at a random bar. Even though you never spoke or saw that person again, the photo remained and now both your images will share many extra lifetimes together. Perhaps, one day someone will come upon that secret $20 you hid for a rainy day, but went unspent because “you can’t take it with you.” Hopefully, future man will buy something nice.

Don't Forget to Stop and Look up!

2006-03-13T21:17:00.000-05:00

Back in the day, it was bad sign when the moon started behaving oddly. Lunar eclipses foreshadowed decline, death, and decay and sometimes in that exact order.

History is filled with stories of lunar omens…

In “Parallel Lives,” the Greek Historian Plutarch describes how a lunar eclipse caused horror and panic amongst a group of Macedonian warriors waiting to fight the Romans. For the Macedonians, the lunar episode meant the “eclipse” of their King and consequently their war effort. During the Byzantine Empire, it was believed that the city of Constantinople would never fall while the moon was waxing. Luck would have it that when the Turkish Sultan Mohammed II, laid siege upon the great city in 1453, a lunar eclipse occurred and demoralized the defending soldiers. And everybody knows that tale about how Christopher Columbus allegedly fooled the natives into believing that “God” would hide the moon if the Indians did not provide his crew with food.

Today, we all know that a lunar eclipse is when a Full Moon passes through the Earth’s shadow. At least most of us know this; I’m sure there are a few bible thumpers in Kansas that think God is angry at the Bravo channel and is hiding the moon out of spite.

Well, whether you believe in omens or not, take time out tomorrow and check out this rare celestial occurrence as it unfolds in our night sky. At exactly 6:47 Eastern Standard Time the eastern United States will get a good view of a Penumbral Eclipse of the Moon. (My apologies to Melissa of the Mountains if she’s reading, cause although I’m sure the stars are nice & bright out there, this eclipse will be better viewed back in Jersey).

Now it won’t be that dazzling, because a ”Penumbral” eclipse only means that the moon will pass through a portion of the Earth’s shadow and not the entire globe But I’m sure it will still look a little weird, since the moon will become somewhat
noticeably darker.

Plus, it may make us all act a little wacky because we are made up of water and the moon does effect the tides. According to astrological mumbo jumbo nonsense, Penumbral Eclipses supposedely make women go extra crazy, especially if they are Geminis, Virgos, Sagittarius’ or Pisces.

So don’t forget to look up at 6:47 Eastern Standard Time on Tuesday, March 14, 2006 to check out the Penumbral eclipse of the Moon!

The Tropical Fauna of New Jersey

2006-03-10T15:19:00.000-05:00

Today’s weather seductively prohibited me from staying inside, so during a very inappropriately long lunch break, I decided to venture out in search of a little known oasis of tropical fauna: Edgewater’s Monk Parakeets.

About 12 inches long, these mostly lime green & white parrots are featured in today’s Bergen Record, mainly because legislation has recently been drafted to remove the bird from the State’s List of Potentially Dangerous Species. This list includes any exotic animal deemed as a fatal threat or a potential agricultural pest. Besides the Monk Parakeet, the list also includes baboons, cobras and alligators.

Well, the reason that the Monk or Quaker Parakeet is listed on New Jersey’s Most Wanted, is because they like to build their nest in warm places including atop toasty utility poles. PSE&G views these round bundles of twigs, leaves and other ephemera as a potential fire hazard, so in the middle of the night they go and tear them down. This problem is not solely endemic to Edgewater; monk parakeet populations are prevalent in Brooklyn, Connecticut, Chicago and Florida. Recently, much of Connecticut’s population was devastated by PSE&G workmen.

So how did they get here? Legend states that back in the early 1970s, hundreds of parakeets escaped when a cargo shipment destined for the pet trade busted open on JFK’s airport tarmac. Another version purports that an 18-wheeler filled with the birds flipped over, thus letting loose its feathery content. Others speculate that these colonies are simply congregations of pet birds that have been released or simple escaped over the years.

Regardless of how they got here, they are truly a sight to see. At first I was unsure where the birds were exactly, somewhere near Veteran’s Park and route 5, I was told. As I neared the destination, I had not spotted a single bird but knew I was close because the squawking and clicking was extremely loud. Sure enough, right across the park amidst a somewhat busy street was a colony of about 30-40 birds, flying, flopping and squawking loudly the whole time.

To most, these birds may seem out of place. These loud fluorescent birds just don’t seem to fit into North Jersey’s Pizzeria and Hair Salon laden scenery. Therefore, some may say, it’s good that PSE&G gets rid of them, especially if they cause fires in utility poles (NOTE-parakeet induced fires have never been proven- ed.). However, before we came to New Jersey, and built all those Pizzerias and Beauty Salons, a distant cousin of the Monk Parakeet lived here for centuries.

The Carolina Parakeet was green and bright yellow and the only native parrot to live in the continental United States, venturing as far north as the Great Lakes region and as far east as New Jersey. Just like the Monk Parakeet, the Carolina traveled in large flocks, although they allegedly also descended onto orchards and ate up bushels of valuable crops. Because of the birds voracious appetites, pissed off farmers shot up most of them to smithereens, the remaining populations could not sustain themselves after the destruction of their woodland habitat. (Lots of firewood was needed in the wood-burning stove days). New Jersey’s Carolina Parakeet population was probably long gone by the time of the Civil War, while the last captive bird died in a Cincinnati zoo in 1918. Sightings of remaining wild birds were reported in the swamps of Florida during the 1920s, but no substantial proof exists of further encounters.

So maybe, nature is re-adjusting itself by allowing these transports from South America to thrive and flourish here in cold New Jersey. So next time your in Edgewater, near River Road and Route 5... check these birds out

The above photo is a Monk Parakeet from Edgewater, the bottom image is of a stuffed Carolina Parakeet specimen

A Better Cup of Coffee

2006-03-06T01:43:00.000-05:00

Recently, I have attempted to give my coffee soaked organs a slight break, although I found this difficult because I am very much a caffeine connoisseur. I love a juicy cup-o-Joe to break up the workday or a nice espresso after an 11-course Italian dinner.

This of course does not make me unique, all over the world people are slurping down some form of nature’s magic brown elixir. My favorite are those who self-medicate themselves at Dunkin Donuts by ordering a small coffee with a shot of espresso and nine sugars!

However, the increase in consumer demand has subsequently caused a surge in production. Coffee is big business and the many Juan Valdez’s of the world are being exploited in the name of big business. And…, besides the exploitation caused by the sale of non-fair trade coffee beans, the mass production of coffee is highly destructive to the environment. And that is my concern for today; I’ll leave the fight for worker equality for another day.

You see in its natural state, coffee is grown in the shade of the rainforest, but about 35 years ago farmers needed a faster and cheaper way to make more coffee. So many abandoned their traditional husbandry methods and began using chemically created hybrids that were sun-tolerant. Then, many of these coffee farmers clear-cut massive stands of forest and planted their new sun-friendly strains in artificially created open-air environments.

This conversion from shade-grown coffee to sun-grown coffee has “resulted in the massive deforestationof Latin America," which has continued non-stop since the 1970s. In recent years, there are fewer orioles and warblers flying around in the states, basically because clear-cutting has rendered much of their wintering grounds unusable. Additionally, the process of growing sun-loving coffee necessitates the use of fertilizers, pesticides and whole bunch of other nasty chemicals that pollute the environment. (By the way, purchasing these additional fertilizers further pauperizes Juan Valdez).

Luckily, there is something we can do to help. This past Christmas a very lovely Polish girl bought me a couple of bags of shade grown coffee and I plan to continue purchasing similar varieties. Companies like Thanksgiving Coffee (see pic) offer the consumer coffee beans grown on shade grown farms which limit the use of pesticides and offer a safe harbor to hundreds of migratory songbirds.

Now, for the many metro sexual gourmands who don’t care about songbirds or the destruction of the rainforest but still love ordering triple-mochachinos with a dollop of whip cream and a dash of raspberry, I implore you to lay aside your selfishness and at least try shade grown coffee. You see, shade-grown coffee not only saves the environment and benefits poor farmers, it also taste better. When you grow coffee beans in the full sun that need globs of pesticides to make it flourish, you create a cup of coffee with a highly distorted flavor.

Where Were You 60,000 Years ago?

2006-03-03T00:48:00.000-05:00

As some of you might know, genealogy is definitely a favorite amongst my many “Nerdy” hobbies. I’ve spent many an hour matching surnames, combing through indices and deciphering archaic Italian text, all in the hopes of piecing together who my predecessors were and how they lived.

So far, I’ve had a lot of success. I’ve been able to trace the “Historelli” line as far back as the 1760s and have gained a better understanding of why I find myself in America and why it makes sense for me to be more “liberal” in my political views (A future blog will explain why my ancestors told me to vote mostly Donkey from now on…)

Although, tracing my family lines as far back as the 1700s is pretty impressive, I’m still kinda hoping that one day I might be able to go back even further. And now, thanks to the even more powerful nerds at National Geographic, my dreams of finding older ancestors may come true.

National Geographic, IBM, a geneticist guy, and some rich philanthropic backing have launched the Genographic Project… “A five-year effort to understand the human journey-where we came from and how we got to where we live today.”

Basically, for about $100, these wacky scientists will send you a home DNA testing kit that will help you decipher your “deepest roots.” All you have to do is swab some cheek saliva on a Q-tip, send it in, and then wait a few weeks for the results.

Don’t worry now…, these aren’t "evil" scientists. They will not send your DNA to that old girlfriend whose been dying to submit your ass to a paternity test. They will simply look for “genetic markers” hidden in your DNA and see if they find any similarities to the DNA already stored in their genetic World Bank. Although, most of our DNA gets jumbled when we receive it from our parents, some forms get handed to us untouched. Particularly, Mitochondrial DNA, which passes from mother to daughter, and Y-chromosomes, which passes from father to son.

According to the Genographic people, participants will receive information from their genetic Neolithic past, meaning who their ancestors were from 60,000 to about 4,000 years ago. As the project progresses and more definitive information is stored within the Genographic Project databanks, more precise (and more historically recent) information will be available to their clients. Theoretically, some genetic markers will be able to reveal roots to specific villages in Europe or to specific indigenous tribes whose populations have remained static for centuries.

To learn more about this project, visit:

The National Geographic Genographic Project’s Website