19 September 2004
Even Littler Charlie
Pucci names baby after grampa, Walker boiling


Giving a look reminiscent of her old man, Charlie Pucci lays down to bowl of cereal and the news.



image courtesy of "C"
Congratulations are in order on the newest member of the Pucci clan, baby Charlie. At just over two months, Charlie couldn't be doing better, but Mark said things were a little shaky at the beginning. Pucci thought Charlie was jinxed from day zero when he got behind Formula 1 pilot Pierre Deluia from 9th Street to the delivery room, more than tripling their arrival time. Pierre, whose patented left-to-right swerve has curtailed Ashtabula emergency vehicles for half a century, said he was oblivious to the hurry Pucci was in, but asked if his father would be able to do a paneling job on Harmon Road. Taking everything in stride, PAT gave the baby a dribble bottle as a gag gift and said he's just happy they named the baby Charlie. No doubt the name has confused who many Neighborhood guys have always referred to as Little Charlie, Chaz from Columbus Street. But that isn't the only confusion over the name. Sources tell Martinis that naming the baby Charlie has also infuriated Lonnie Walker, who says the name was intended for her second child sometime in the future. Walker, who bears no blood relation to any member of the St. Angelo family, said her "grampa" Charlie's name was promised to her when she "took all of the St. Angelo brothers and sisters for ice cream." Lonnie refused comment on the approximate date and circumstances of the ice cream run.
Mortified
Neighborhood attacked with calls from Mortster
On the lighter side of the news, Lyndon Avenue telephone assassin, Mort, has soured her relations in East Ashtabula with a rash of harassing phone calls to members of the Neighborhood's inner circle. Over the past year, a total of 21 latenight calls have been placed to several EA residents, including Martini. Occurring almost exclusively between 3 and 5am, Mort's tele-diatribes have taken potshots at everything from surnames to tennis shoes, often making people pretty nervous. In one instance, Mort had an entire household taking suppositories after she referred to their street as a bunch of lazy "shitbags." Last Saturday, police were called to the east side where Mort and a Tequila-soaked accomplice showed up at an elderly couple's front door and rubbed steaming-hot burritos on their trousers. Regretfully, and despite her recently stepped-up ties to the Neighborhood, Mort's guest pass was revoked on Friday. The Mortster may apply for renewal as early as next year, but must appear before the Board. As if that weren't enough, Saturday night Mort ended up at Cocks n Jocks where she was degraded, then sat on by know-it-all, bully beautician, Amy Spence.
Dear Martini
Dear Martini
I have two children and live in the city. I'm a little concerned about what exactly kids are doing with their minds these days. I grew up in Ashtabula. When my husband and I were young, we smoked some marijuana; it wasn't the easiest thing to come by, and we had to keep it quiet. These days, kids are snorting boat cleaner in front of their grandmother, then telling her to go F herself. In my day, when you called a girl a slut, it meant she was easy. Today it means the girl's laid ten guys in one night, three at the same time, and all while on muscle relaxers. Call me old fashioned. My children are a far cry from that, but I don't want to see either end up on hard drugs or in jail . . . or have a lifelong myopic focus on Ashtabula's favorite pastime of vindictive storytelling. At the same time, I don't want to keep them on such a short leash that they miss all the good times I had when I was younger. We raise them to pass on the values that we think are important, but how do we keep them from being sucked inside Vortex, OH?
Very Sincerely
Clueless Mom in Bula

Dear Clueless
I appreciate your candor in the matter. The only effective way to guide your children is to offer them that same kind of sincerity. Your kids wanna know about smoking weed? Tell em you spilled more weed rolling up than they'll ever smoke. Then tell em that what you think is funny is all the goofs in town who walk around glassy-eyed on laundry detergent. Throw in a couple horror stories for good measure. Win your kids over. The odds are, they won't finish high school without trying alcohol or marijuana. Let's keep it at that.
Your daughter won't graduate without trying sex either. But it doesn't have to be with the entire Dragons offensive line. Forbidding her to do this or that may not work. You make it a crime to chew gum in class, the students may chew more if they think it's a dumb rule. Explain to her that enjoying sex is like enjoying candy; too much and you don't even like it anymore. And when you catch her and her friends spinning a little too much yarn, bust into the middle of their catty chatty and tell em your "best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw Ferris pass out at 31 Flavors last night." Tell em gossip's to make you laugh . . . or fart uncontrollably.

Sincerely
Martini
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