The Way You Make Me Feel

Thursday's the big day? Asshole? What's wrong with me? I just I just want the holiday to get here sooner. I'm sitting here waiting for box Spring, mattress and something else to be delivered. I'm at the mercy of these you know, the people who come with the trucks with your shit, and it's so I'm waiting. I'm waiting. So I'm landlocked all day. I got to split at like six point thirty for Rocos game. Great game last night really really brought me back. I'm going to do a

show on that at some point. But going to his high school game last night, watching all the boys play and hearing the squeaks of the sneaker and in the gym and fans cheering, and man, it just shocked me right back to high school. And I love anything that puts me in that mood. When I tell Dagavino a couple of days ago that Roccos season began, uh, He's just like, oh, Bro, I'm gonna miss that. You're going

I missed that so much. My son Law was a terrific basketball player, developed a really good outside shot and really made a difference in a lot of games. And I don't know how many years ago, let's say three years ago. He's playing high school ball and his school was good, and they went up against Sierra Canyon, who at the time had Lebron James son, Bronnie, who is now a pro, even though he's not nearly ready for that,

but whatever. And I'll tell you I took Rocco to the game and we sat with Mike obviously, and his son had a good game, and you know, Lebron's son did, okay. Lebron came to the game, he was there, a lot of people went up to him. We didn't bother him, but I think that was a real seminal moment for Rocco to see that how great high school ball can be. You know, this is COVID, right before COVID hit, and

things were just moving along so fast. We were playing little league football, going undefeated and banged the rug got pulled out from under us. I say us, but really got pulled out from under So many kids, so many kids, high school, little league, no prom, no grudge, no flirting with the pretty girl next door, no flirting with Sue

Andino like daddy did. What a goddamn shame. And these kids are going to come out into society without ever knowing the feeling of some of those wonderful moments in life. But that's why I told you from day one, doctor Fauci's a fucking liar, phony bastard, and nobody should listen to it. I remember being the only person at grocery stores and department stores who would raise a stink with

some of the rules. I remember waiting online at Ralph's, which is our big supermarket chain out here, and I got, what the fuck is? It was a line out the door at Ralphs with like thirty people long. I was going to get ice cream for the wife and kids, and I'm like, what the hell? I gotta wait because this is where the ice cream is, and asking Ramas is closed because of COVID, So I'll wait. The line's

going very slow. You enter in one door only when people exit the other door thirty yards away, and I'm waiting. Two people leave, two people in the three people leave. That kind of shit. Once we get in, there's arrows pointing what you guys, remember, arrows pointing which way to go, little stickers on the ground noting six foot and you can. And I'm the only person going, what is this nonsense? These masks don't do a fucking thing. I'm six feet away from you, but I can be three feet away

from the cashia. Does this make any sense to anybody? How stupid this is? And if I bag my own groceries, I'm two feet from m but you don't count. No one just sat down and figured out this nonsense of how ridiculous it was. I did, and I was always the loud guy. I went in to a weed store the other day to get some gummies to go to sleep. Right. I like this brand. I feel it's called now hide Hyde. They're good goo gum used to go to sleep. I never take anything during the day that's not my thing.

But I like nine thirty nine o'clock at night, get ready for bed. I love it. He used to go out at ten thirty eleven o'clock. Now at nine, I'm ready. Even at eight o'clock, I'm ready. Anyhow, I'm at the weed store and I'm about to cook for the kids. So I'm like, I'm a little bit of rush. You know, here's the first hint. Never go into a weed store if you're in a rush. People who like marijuana are never in a rush. So I get there, there's a guy in front of me waiting. I give the guy

my license. I'm ready to go. He says, okay, you just gotta wait until two people exit. I'm looking into the place where people are shot. There's three people in there. I said, what's the problem. Why can't I can't get it? Walk in and make it four people? Well, we only have two bud tenders. Bud tenders, not bartenders, bud tenders. I said, yeah, yeah, there's only two of them, and there are three people in there, and they're okay, So can I go in there and brow? Actually I know

what I want. Yeah, I have to wait till one person leaves. You got to One person leaves and he's looking over his shoulder at the bud tender says, I said, guy, what are we doing? He goes, Dude, while are you coming to a weed store? You're in a hurry. You know you're getting marijuana. I said, look, give a fuck what I'm getting. I could be in a hurry and still enjoy a gummy at night. That's wrong with you? I said, you don't have any kids, you don't cook dinner,

so what the fuck do you know? I'm like, am I going to get bounced out of this marijuana store? So I shut my mouth, did my business and left. But I can't. The patience I have is as thin as the salami. I like when I own a boar's head salami. I like, I tell the girl, I like it thin. I want to see through it like stained glass. Okay, today's a little bit of a different show. I'm going to do a couple of things that we normally do, but I want to read you a couple of things.

I know you guys, like the the hate mail, having a hate mail for you that I think you're like. You'll you'll you'll find out that a lot of my hate mail come from came from Michael Jackson fans because I broke that story, and boyd they come down on me and I honestly scientology, Michael Jackson and the Pope. Those three entities you can't fuck with or you get you get hate mail. I mean, I don't know what it's like now, but back then people wrote letters in it.

It's pretty crazy. But I meanhow the crazy thing today and nothing that my Patreon listeners didn't know. I told you this a long time ago, years ago. I told you this that Wendy Williams her mental health condition is so bad it's gotten worse. They say that. According to a recent filing from her legal guardian that was submitted to a New York court earlier this month. UH this woman, the guardian, Sabrina Morrissey, who I believe is her niece,

says that Wendy's become cognitively impaired and permanently incapacitated. And look that they're obviously blaming it all on the onset of this dementia, and she's become cognitively impaired and permanently incapacitated. The guardian unsuccessfully also tried to stop that four part documentary that series. What about the Wendy Williams series that really showed her in an awful light and showed people exactly where she is right now, how vulnerable and how sick,

and she's crying over her finances. She's hiding bottles of Vodkol over a room. And of course as the filming rap they start to say, oh, she's been diagnosed from frontough temporal dementia and ephasia to Bruce Willis illness, and that affects her memory loss and causes her the rack to act erradically. You know some of these things they're

saying about Wendy, I don't know. Basically, this chit Morrissey is pissed off because she says, Wehndy only got eighty two thousand dollars from that series and the producers made she thinks millions. I don't believe it was millions, but they did better than eighty two grand. But this Morrissey has asked the judge that he needs to readat some sensitive information out of the case about Wendy's health and her finances. I don't know what she's looking to do.

I think this whole thing comes down to that she's mad that she didn't get enough money. I don't think she has Wendy's best interests at heart. I know Wendy's got a new lawyer who seems to be on the up and up and looks to be the kind of guy that's gonna protect her from these assholes. But listen to me. Here's the thing. This guardian is suing because she's mad she didn't get her share, not because Wendy

was cheated. That's not what she cares about. And by the way, this guardian is but under court order since twenty twenty two, which means that she probably signed off on the deal. Actually I know she did, and if that's the case, then the lawsuit doesn't mean anything. You can wipe your ass with it. But I want to submit something that no one has brought up. And you know, I like throwing out these far flung ideas or angles I have because they often come out to be true.

But I'm just gonna throw something out here. I'm not saying this is the cause of her dementia or that this might even help her, But can we please have a surgeon remove wen these triple H breast implants? Can we do that, they're probably leaking poison all throughout our body. And I know not many. I know women who had their breast implants taken out and felt like they didn't know what was wrong with them. They thought they had

lime disease. They thought they had issues with their you know, not being able to what's the word, you know, just issues with warding off illnesses and diseases. They just didn't know what was wrong. They felt sick forever. They took their breast implants out, or they had a doctor do it, and they felt remarkably better. I don't like seeing women take their breast implants out. I don't like that. I like prest implants, and I just do if you have

a pair of naturally beautiful breast and forget implants. But if you don't, and you want to look better and you want to feel sexy, then have about it. I hate when they take him out, But in this case, Wendy's so sick, why keep him in? I didn't like there's a man after her. I mean, I don't mean that in a chauvinistic way, but she's sitting around with these big fun bands on her chest. They can't be feeling good. I say take him out, take him out. Oh,

by the way, some good news. I love hearing things like this. Remember that little spoiled actress Rachel Zegler talked about her last week. She plays snow White, right, the one who complained about snow White, saying that Prince Charming was a stalker and snow White would never have kissed him.

She even said during a press chunk at that the original cartoon came out in nineteen thirty seven, and very evidently so because it's a big story, a big focus on her love story with a guy who literally stalks her. So we didn't We're not gonna do that this time. Okay, snow White's not going to be saved by the Prince. She's not going to be dreaming about true love. I know. Okay, stupid little girl, we all know. But you guys will

be glad to hear that. I have a source who told me that she's not too nice to her crew on the Romeo and Juliet project, and they all hate coming to work, and they all love the nights when her understudy takes over. Good happy to hear that, girl. I don't want to say the word of hate. She's a very misguided, dumb, little spoiled actress who has no idea that she doesn't know shit about the world yet.

And yet the way we treat these people in Hollywood, the way their agents treat them, they tend to think they do and they don't, and it just makes me fucking insane. They're absolutely little nobody's. If you make the studio some money, then suddenly they do whatever you want. Hate mail time here we go. Hey, this one from a woman named Tracy Hanks out of New York. Don't have the year here, probably nineteen ninety three or four. She opens the letter with something I'm not called too often,

but she addressed me as dear racist Fastard. Michael Jackson's camp Sony Music and Michael zillions of loyal and supportive fans around the world should thank all these scumbags, the lying money grubbing handlers, the race, this white media, and each and every lying low life who attempted but failed miserably to bring down that kingnap hop and he brought

himself down. Should It's it's damn poetic justice that the false accusations all the mediaized that millions of dollars spent by the sleazy tabloids tablets didn't spend a dime idiot have made Michael Jackson the ultimate victim and given his career the boost it's needed to elevate the Kingdom Pop to a higher level. Didn't know Michael needed a boost? Okay, any doubted all that Michael Jackson's next record won't go sky high and his concerts instant sellouts around the world,

creating mass hysteria. Your trip to Las Vegas for the Jackson Family Honors was a huge disappointment for you, wasn't it. Yeah, it was. You went there desperately hoping that the crowd would rejet Michael, but instead you had to endure a LoveFest between michael Is loving and adoring fans. What other entertainment on this planet gets an eight and a half minute thunderous elevation Only the King of Pop, who's truly loved for sweet, loving, caring, kind soul and the fact

that he did old boys testicles. Well, scumbag Benza, you haven't seen anything yet because that love fest she can't even spell her words fbss lovefests. That LoveFest in Las Vegas just a small fraction of what is awaiting Michael

Jackson from his loyal public around the world. Last paragraph, after the parading, After the parading of you races hate mongers on TV and radio to smear Michael Jackson, the public still loves and supports Michael, believing in his tole lticens, the only thing you you rack Bags accomplish is the exposure of your wickedness. Now every time you're seen or heard by the public, you're without credibility, and your evil and wicked ways or revealed, you are much scorned and pitied.

You stupid fuck Tracy Hanks New York? Do you have Do you feel that way about any celebrity that you talked this way? I believe you're the worst type of media person you and people like you not even gonna call you a journalist because by no means to even come close, you're a hypocrite. Pal. You're write about Michael Jackson as if you are on some type of moral mission.

But the fact remains that the parents of Jordan Chandler are as responsible as Michael for whatever happened or didn't that, And as far as I'm concerned, being thirteen to fourteen years old does not automatically indicate you are an innocent read your own paper boy and me calling you a hypocrite. I seem to remember that you have a what that this person know? I didn't have a daughter in the nineties. I didn't even see this sentence. I seem to remember,

you have a daughter. How much would you take for her? What's your number? Like? Don't have a daughter. I never saw this before. I'm sure it means less than nothing to you or your bosses, But as long as you write for the Daily News, I'm not buying it anymore. That's my small but important to me commercial response. Well, I'm sure the News didn't know what to do after they lost your fifty cents a day, but thanks for

doing all you could. Speaking of the Daily News, I do want to sometimes I feel like I'm just I don't want to get high up my own thoughts and I don't want to, you know, read these things and act like guys, aren't I great? No, I'm not, clearly, But I want to bring attention to you because there was a time in my career where it was really it was about the blow. I'm talking ninety five. Things were just popping, and you know, even I didn't know

what the hell was going on. Two periodicals were doing covering stories on me, one with the New York comes Over, a paper we call the Salmon Colored Weekly. He came out once a week. It was a good paper about New York's city, journalism, real estate. It really it really hit some big television, the media. It was a great newspaper for a once a week. By they were doing a cover story in me. New York Magazine was doing a cover story in me. But they were both different

types of people. You know. New York Magazine, as you know, got me in so much trouble, got me beat up by Chuck Zeno, got my car burned to the point where I couldn't use it. It was burned, my underwear was stolen. I mean a lot of things happened to me. Uh. And this person, Nick palm Garden, was trying to interview me for The New York Observer. I was giving him such shit, like I have it on tape. You've better

not fuck me with this article. I swear to God, I'll cooperate, but if you say anything wrong, I'm gonna fucking you know. I talked to him like I thought, who the hell I thought I was at one point, I tell him I'm not a I'm not a writer. I'm a fighter who can write. And I was just pulling shit out of my ass. Turns out this guy I wanted to do a nice piece on me. It was New York Magazine. That didn't hurt me, but that was glossy, that was a cooler periodical. You see, the

fame was getting to my fucking head. There was an old publicist named cy Preston. He is to tug like this Benza Preston here, and he'd give you these old items. He Syde Preston used to give items to Walter Winchell. That's how old he was. And he knew all about New York and he represented so many people by the time he knew me. He was representing the woman who sang chock full of Nuts as the heavenly coffee on the commercial for the chalk Ful of Nuts coffee brand.

He had a restaurant called Nirvana, which was an Indian restaurant uptown, and he just had like four or five clients and you have to put them in the column once in a while, but sometimes Syde Preston had something good. So I was really messed up. Back then, and I set to side. Do me a favor. I'm not going to get up early enough to get the New York to get the Observer comes out like three o'clock, four o'clock in the morning. Can you do me a favor. I was sick in bed, My back was bad. I said,

get the paper. SI, call me in the morning and read it to me. You got it? So he calls me, Hello, Preston here. I said, sorry, is it good or not? Is it good? It's a blow job, kid, They love you. He starts reading it. But here's the way they begin this article again. I'm not trying to act like, ah, not cool, just want to let you know what was swimming in my head for a while and now it

really did affect me in a bad way. At night, aj Ben's a hunts for items at Scores, Flowers, Lemons, Spy, Mirage and other nightclubs where he might run into a supermodel, Baldwin brother or a New York nick Oh. It's a tough life for this thirty four year old wise guy from benson Hurst, Brooklyn, but this is what he must do to stay on top of things. As gossip reporter for the Daily News, and they go about what I

do for a living, blah blah blah. But unlike others who work in the gossip trade, mister Benza isn't content to serve as a mere chronicler. He wants his own piece of the action. He wants to be a star. Strangely enough, it looks like his wish is coming true. And they talk about the fact that I got the talk show AJ after hours. I'm in ransom. You know, he's pumped for the part. AJ was playing it cool as he waited for it, you know, just they were really blowing me up. I like how they ended it.

I'm not reading the whole thing. It's long, and it's just, you know, I'm not trying to act like this is nothing special, but this is the way things are gun in the nineties. And I just yes, and I did say that. I say bow my stupid here and there. But the way they end this is really sweet and they got me. They really figured it out. It's a

nice article. Benza stands upart because he's a guy for the Burroughs who's crossed the river into a world of glitter and Judy bound to share with the cousins back home. He often appears part by. He often appears slightly owed by celebrities, which some of his colleagues find endearing, others final little silly, although it might look like an act.

By all accounts, as Persona is authentic. The change, the tough talk out of Martin Scorsese movies, the concern over male pattern boulders, and above all, the obsession with hot babes and the men who have made their names for themselves in part by pursuing those women, Warren Batty and Jack Nicholson Rain and mister Benz's stud pantheon. He cares little for duty free airesses, but relishes his scooped that Vendall left Ford Bottles and that are doing so might

result on her joining him for intimate breakfast. Okay, whatever, This is where it gets ridiculous, and okay, here it goes. I can't the irony question. His stick is that he's cut the fact that this guy is analyzing me. Is a guy named Neil Gabler who's chronicled a lot of journalists. He's written books. He wrote a big book, The Definitive Book on Walter Winchell. This guy says this about me.

His stick is that he's kind of low rent. Whereas most gossip columnists ultimately identify with the people about whom they gossip rather than with their readers. The notion of retro's sleeves can be very appealing. That's something he could sell. Lionizing Hugh Hefter and Robert Evans is almost a form of irony. And then he goes on and this is nice. It is indeed irony that mister Benson pulls it off

without a wink to his readers. In the Downtown column on mister Hefter, the columnists called the Playboy magnet the king of all non committal men and proudly reported on his own nude swim in the man's grotto. So what if he made an error when he wrote that mister Hefta's six year old son was the first child. Never mind that Christy Hefter, the publisher's daughter, is forty three.

The main thing is he needed to get across was the fact that he Aj Benzon from Brooklyn was having lunch with hef True Playboy spokeswoman Cindy Rakowitz, who was present at the Hefter lunch, explained the way that Christy oversize Aj got a little too carried away with the whole mansion thing, which is kind of cute, I think. And then the final paragraph, mister Benson finds himself in the odd position of making a living by getting carried

away in the land of celebrities. He's a fan with a column, a stand in for every Tony Manaro, stuck on the wrong side of the river. So if he seems to gush now and then, just remember, it's because he's almost there. It's this. If this TV thing goes through, if the movie roll pans out, he just might end up a bona fide celebrity himself. In the same day, New York Magazine comes out, and right away I see

he looks like I call Chuck Zito a rat. It was also I never told you this, but the dream the writer came to my apartment on Madison Avenue, and I had my three Yorkies back then, Marcella, Mercedes and Cheesrat, and they were all cute, and I got their haircuts every you know, five weeks or so. They had barets in their hair. I kept my Yorkies nice and gay,

so to speak. This girl couldn't believe I had three Yorkies, right and Chezray, being the only male, when his mother or grandmother was in heat, he would react as animals sometimes do, and he would try to mount or he would mount them. Nothing ever happened, but you know that's what happens to a male dog when the female's at heat. And I said to this girl in jest, just this is why Linda says, He said, don't let a reporter follow you. You have no idea the way you talk.

She's gonna remember things and write things down and it's gonna startle you. Ah, what do you know, Linda, Well, she was right. So we're hanging out of my living room and Cheesrae's trying to mount his mother. And I said to the girl, you see, you see I was assholes moved a little bit right there. Look at his ass She said, I'm not looking at it. I said, just look at his asshole. Do you see I would just open and close really quick. She goes yeah. I said, that's the way I feel when I see a really

plea girl that I want to sleep with. It was something I said in jess as a funny little throwaway line, and it got in the story like it began a paragraph a paragraph when aj bens and sees the girl he really liked to go to bed with his asshole puckers, I'm like, what the didn't you? Yeah, that's what happens. But I didn't listen to Linda. I said, Linda, this is my shot for people to know who the fuck I am. I'm taking it. I'm glad I took it, but I definitely took some shots on the chin, that's

for sure. And finally, I want to read something again to you. You guys tell me to read hate mail and stuff like that, and I won't read. Have a beautiful letter from my aunt Anna, my mother's sister, who was so beautiful, and I wanted to read it, and I will at one point because it's so wonderful to have somebody like that in your corner when you're young, when you're really starting out and you're just trying to find your way, trying to punch holes through some wall,

trying to find the right person, the right contact. Is this person going to publish this story? Then? Can I move on to the next person, the next editor? Who can that person introduce me to? That's your twenties. Your twenties are all about finding the right person who can hear you, see you, recognize your talent, move you forward, contact somebody else. Just get shit rolling. And well I'll read it. Because Mayan Anna, my mother's sister. She was

a wonderful woman. I took her to see Jimmy Rozzelli at Westbury Music Fair and we love that she loved went backstage, Jimmy hogged her and kissed her. This is what a moment for her. So she sends me this letter, and we did this. My aunt Anna and I wrote to each other quite a bit, My dear a j

and this is mayn Anna. He used to sit me on her lap, and when we put on records where the singer only spoke Italian, Jimmy Rosselli, Josefie di Stefano, uh, some Louis Prima albums, and Anna was always the one who sat me on her lap and translated the words with such passion, you know, just the way she spoke about Jimmy Roselli talking about there's a song Any sings called tatsa cafe a cup of coffee, And in this song he talks about how a woman is like a

cup of coffee, a cup of espress. So you don't know. You have to stir her for the sugar to come up to the top. You have to stir the sugar up so she becomes as sweet as she is. You know you have to do things for her. Did she just translate these things to a little boy? I didn't know what the hell they meant? Beautiful? So she writes to me, my dear AJ, just a few lines to try to express what I feel right now. I'm trying

to keep a steady hand. Why because I called Nunu, my sister, to ask what happened to the pictures we took at Jimmy Roselli's show. She forgot and the role wasn't developed yet. But she told me about Ron Howard complimenting about you and the fact that you got the part. Wow, what's one of my favorite actors? That Mel Gibson is so handsome and so great and oh my god, what if you outshine him? Oh shit, you never know. It's in the books. You're going far. You can't miss because

you got it all so gofrid. I screamed so loud and so hard that I lost my voice. Otherwise I would have called you you aren't home now, Neu new told me you're in Florida with the Trumps. I know Donald Trump gave most of his information to Linda Stacy. He must like the hot copy column to invite you to his to get some gossip. I must admit. While now and I spoke, I kept seeing visions of my baby sister. That's my mother and your dad's reaction on what's going on in your life? How proud, how show

off you they would feel about their boy. I could go on and on, but I think you know how I feel, as well as everyone in my family, that everything is going on so well for you. God bless you, AJ. You deserve it all. Always to proudly sign your aunt Anna. Ps I just anam was like five pss per leta ps I just spoke to Aunt Jenny. Are you ready for this? Who would think my god son can go so far and so well known? Did you see him

on heraldo yesterday? He was good and so handsome. That's my mother's other sister, Jenny oh Man, She says to me, ajps again on January fifteenth, nineteen eighty three. So I'm three, isn't a cop I have this letter from your mother? Quote, Dear Anna, here's AJ's essay, I hope you like it. I love it because it's so true. He's an acting class that chose him for three plays. He made out great this term with a three point six grade point average. He wants to act now since they told him he's

very good at it. Then there was a letter on December of eighty two. Lily has worked on this without a single day of vacation. I wrote about my mother working so hard without ever ever having a vacation, never going out to dinner, nothing. She loved that. And finally, January twenty fifth, nineteen eighty three, attached on how Low Can You Go? Was a story I wrote. Quote the ending of the note she wrote to me. Your mother said today in school newsday was going to take pictures

of the play AJ's in in February. You know, I believe even to hear after Ah, this is Maynanna. And I know Lily is out there rooting for her favorite son. She used to brag about how good you were at acting. Now the world can see it. She's proven right. Do you agree these old ladies there's such classics they just don't have. They didn't exist anymore. And Ali used to live across the alley from us in Brooklyn. We were

sixteen twenty six. She was the dext building and with a little kitchen and a window that opened up to the alleyway, but across the alley was an Atta's kitchen and her husband, uncle Dick, and her daughters Reenie and Terry, and her son Richard who became my godfather, the great artist Richard Mantia, and we would talk to each other through the alley across the windows, and all the Italian

women with the windows up looking down the street. Those were the first gossip columnists because they knew all about their neighborhood, whether they're on the stoop or just looking out the window. That was the first Facebook, that was the first Instagram, and that was certainly the first gossip page. And they not really around much anymore. It's sad, but

eventually we struggled. We put a string up and some pulleys from one window to the next, and this way an Ana can say, Lily, do you have a CANOPIEZ Lily, you know you have a bag of lentils, And we'd put things in a bag and zipping across the alley on a rope system. No one had money. But why do I remember those days as being so fantastic. There was a boy at the game last night who had a Godzilla toy. He was about three years old. This toy was half the sizement, and I had the same

toy as a kid. Godzilla was my favorite monster and I remember it. There aren't more than i'd say ten memories I have of living in brit when I was swry. I was three, three years old under but I remember getting ice cream from the stoop, eating a cream sickle with Rosalie and some of the football players. I remember the TV had like a blue tint to it, and whenever I would go to bed, I would see that blue light under the bed, under the doorway, you know

what I mean. They would kind of refract into the room a little bit. And finally, I told my sisters one day, I remember when my toys were kept. They were like where I said. I had a drawer full of all my favorite monster's King Kong, god Zellow wolf Man. It was in the kitchen in a bureau the bottom draw and my sister's went, oh my god, how can you remember that? I just do. But I saw that kid last night and I said, oh my god, that is that's the same toll I had stop me from

crying and stop the kid from crying too. Finally, and this show on a I don't want you to be sad about it, but I'm speaking about my mother right now, my mother's sister. I talk about my dad incessantly. In fact, I never say dad. I say father all the time, because he was a father to me. It's different than a dad. The word father is more representative of who he was to me. And as you know, he is a favorite of mine and I take a lot, took a lot from him, and he was obviously very important.

My mother, you know, is an angel, but I didn't include her in as many shows as I do with my dad. So I wanted to read something I read about my mother before she died. It's tough. I might sniffle here and there, but I think it's good, especially with Thanksgiving a day away. I think those of you who hear this and have mothers of your own, and if this could make you call them or get closer to them during the holidays, that I feel like it's

worth it. So I wrote this at Newsday at night in between taking high school scores over the phone while my mother was dying, and it begins. Your mother can't walk anymore. The merciless tumor is pressed against the nerve and her hip, causing paralysis and her right leg. Your mother danced a beautiful peabody with your uncle Nikki at their niece's wedding last summer. Good then you took a picture. At sixty eight, she told you she was still had

better looking legs than her daughter's, and she was always right. Now, she doesn't say these things too much. Your mother's hands shake, her voice quivers, and even simple breathing seems an effort. Sometimes at times, you feel that doctors cut out dignity along with her kidney. Last January, she was a diaper, has no hair in her head, and hasn't looked in the mirror close to a year. One day, a nurse told her she looked pretty, and your mother cried. Your

mother tells you that story, and you cry. Your mother doesn't call you anymore, doesn't want to be a burden. You scold her and tell her she never is any trouble and you'll always be there for her. You pour her favorite cream soda, switch on TV, and turn the pillow to the cool side. You are her hero. You go back to work. The nurses says she's not eating her meals. At least she knows she hasn't lost her sanity.

Your mother has come home to die. The final round will be fought on her home field, with the lights on her family around her, away from the blue and white sea of her hospital bed. She's wearing her wig today, looking for a piece of the dignity she lost a long time ago. But she does look pretty today. Pretty is that young girl that used to sweep your father into her arms. Your mother lay sick and dying in a hostile One day, she came home from work with

an upset stomach. She hasn't been back since. She winces, she gasps, she moans, and squeezes her eyes shut. Sometimes she's lucky and sleeps some. Otherwise she's up, eyes fixed at the ceiling, awake in her own stool, and urin like a dirty baby with nothing to do but crow older. Your mother's slept all day today, but you came and watched her for a while, her mouth wide open, an untouched tray of food to her side. When you watched her, you could have sworn. You saw her face twitch with pain.

You couldn't do anything. You tell yourself that if anything else but death, anything had cause her that much pain and anguish. You've killed that thing with your bare hands. You grab it, shake and punch it, kick the teeth from its sinister smirk. But there can be no physical fight to an invisible opponent. There's no match there. You read her a note instead, until you'll come by later. Your mother wants to die. Long ago she decided to put down her fist and invite death into a quiet,

sanitary room. And that's where death stays now, perched upon the headboard of her bed, behind her door, leaning on one elbow, right there next to her. One gloomy day, death sweeps down on her, wipes its feet in her doorway, and stays awhile. It's got no rush to leave, it's got no trains to catch. That doesn't fight fair. But your mother is not running from the fight. That's it. I didn't cry. Well. Let that be a lesson to all of you. You've got moms out there, and maybe

you're not doing enough. Maybe she doesn't know what she's meant to you, and which still means so don't make this holiday about a fucking turkey or a ham or my case, stuff shells and chicken cutlet parmesan. Make it about your mama period. Make it about your mamma. I'll talk to this tomorrow