THE AMERICAN CLASS STRUGGLE HAS A FACE*

*Or, as one YouTube comedian observed,

 

"We finally have someone who can replace all those Christopher Columbus statues."

And his name is LUIGI NICHOLAS MANGIONE.

Unless you've been missing in action or  hiding under a rock, Luigi Mangione is the alleged killer of United Healthcare CEO, Brian Thompson.

Because I am Italian-American, I will admit that there is some bias on my part. However, as a dear friend once told me (after sharing a story about a Jamican landowner's daughter who, after her father's death, returned all the stolen land to the Jamaican people) "She was even more radical than you are, if that's possible."

I have ALWAYS been "radical" ~ meaning, I have very deep and strong feelings about all matters near and dear to my heart. Animals are #1 on my list. 'Underdogs' (no pun intended) #2. The elderly and/or most vulnerable members of society? Very close behind. You get the picture. I cannot (and will not) tolerate injustice of any kind. Hurt something or someone I love? I feel sorry for you. You may knock me down, but pray that I do not get back up because I will come at you with every fiber and cell of my being.

That said, I believe that Luigi Mangione has spoken for the vast majority of us by doing what he did. No, I don't condone murder (usually) BUT I also do not condone greedy corporations who derive obscene profits from inflicting pain and suffering and yes, death, on innocent people who simply want the health coverage they paid for every month for years on end. As a matter of fact, I loathe them.

I just feel very sorry for Luigi because he is now sitting in a cold solitary cell, by himself, and is the recipient of all kinds of nasty, hateful comments and wishes by people who just.don't.get.it. People who were born with the proverbial silver spoon in their mouths, and/or the self-righteous assholes among us (particularly those who voted for Donald Trump) and their holier-than-thou delusions that they are somehow 'better' than the rest of us.

You know, the rest of us who can barely afford to pay the rent or buy groceries or go on exotic vacations...which, these days, is most of us. As squeezed as we are today though, many of us found the money, albeit small amounts, to contribute to Luigi's defense fund. Since GoFundMe refused to accept that premise, a new start-up group has. And they are: https://www.givesendgo.com. They also provided an address for those who would like to write to Luigi:

Smart Communications/PADOC

Luigi Mangione QQ7787

SCI Huntingdon

PO Box 33028

St. Petersburg, FL 33733

You can safely bet that he will be receiving more mail than Santa Claus. And I will be among the writers.

Luigi did not have to do this. He was born into a wealthy family, given the best education money can buy, and had a future that was blindingly bright. But, as he stated in his 'manifesto' (as the stupid press is calling it and forgive the length, but I think it's important for Luigi to be well-represented these days) as follows:

The Allopathic Complex and Its Consequences

Luigi Mangione's last words

Dec 09, 2024

The second amendment means I am my own chief executive and commander in chief of my own military. I authorize my own act of self-defense in response to a hostile entity making war on me and my family.

Nelson Mandela says no form of viooence can be excused. Camus says it’s all the same, whether you live or die or have a cup of coffee. MLK says violence never brings permanent peace. Gandhi says that non-violence is the mightiest power available to mankind.

That’s who they tell you are heroes. That’s who our revolutionaries are.

Yet is that not capitalistic? Non-violence keeps the system working at full speed ahead.

What did it get us. Look in the mirror.

They want us to be non-violent, so that they can grow fat off the blood they take from us.

The only way out is through. Not all of us will make it. Each of us is our own chief executive. You have to decide what you will tolerate.

In Gladiator 1 Maximus cuts into the military tattoo that identifies him as part of the roman legion. His friend asks “Is that the sign of your god?” As Maximus carves deeper into his own flesh, as his own blood drips down his skin, Maximus smiles and nods yes. The tattoo represents the emperor, who is god. The god emperor has made himself part of Maximus’s own flesh. The only way to destroy the emperor is to destroy himself. Maximus smiles through the pain because he knows it is worth it.

These might be my last words. I don’t know when they will come for me. I will resist them at any cost. That’s why I smile through the pain.

They diagnosed my mother with severe neuropathy when she was forty-one years old. She said it started ten years before that with burning sensations in her feet and occasional sharp stabbing pains. At first the pain would last a few moments, then fade to tingling, then numbness, then fade to nothing a few days later.

The first time the pain came she ignored it. Then it came a couple times a year and she ignored it. Then every couple months. Then a couple times a month. Then a couple times a week. At that point by the time the tingling faded to numbness, the pain would start, and the discomfort was constant. At that point even going from the couch to the kitchen to make her own lunch became a major endeavor

She started with ibuprofen, until the stomach aches and acid reflux made her switch to acetaminophen. Then the headaches and barely sleeping made her switch back to ibuprofen.

The first doctor said it was psychosomatic. Nothing was wrong. She needed to relax, destress, sleep more.

The second doctor said it was a compressed nerve in her spine. She needed back surgery. It would cost $180,000. Recovery would be six months minimum before walking again. Twelve months for full potential recovery, and she would never lift more than ten pounds of weight again.

The third doctor performed a Nerve Conduction Study, Electromyography, MRI, and blood tests. Each test cost $800 to $1200. She hit the $6000 deductible of her UnitedHealthcare plan in October. Then the doctor went on vacation, and my mother wasn’t able to resume tests until January when her deductible reset.

The tests showed severe neuropathy. The $180,000 surgery would have had no effect.

They prescribed opioids for the pain. At first the pain relief was worth the price of constant mental fog and constipation. She didn’t tell me about that until later. All I remember is we took a trip for the first time in years, when she drove me to Monterey to go to the aquarium. I saw an otter in real life, swimming on its back. We left at 7am and listened to Green Day on the four-hour car ride. Over time, the opioids stopped working. They made her MORE sensitive to pain, and she felt withdrawal symptoms after just two or three hours.

Then gabapentin. By now the pain was so bad she couldn’t exercise, which compounded the weight gain from the slowed metabolic rate and hormonal shifts. And it barely helped the pain, and made her so fatigued she would go an entire day without getting out of bed.

Then Corticosteroids. Which didn’t even work.

The pain was so bad I would hear my mother wake up in the night screaming in pain. I would run into her room, asking if she’s OK. Eventually I stopped getting up. She’d yell out anguished shrieks of wordless pain or the word “fuck” stretched and distended to its limits. I’d turn over and go back to sleep.

All of this while they bled us dry with follow-up appointment after follow-up appointment, specialist consultations, and more imagine scans. Each appointment was promised to be fully covered, until the insurance claims were delayed and denied. Allopathic medicine did nothing to help my mother’s suffering. Yet it is the foundation of our entire society.

My mother told me that on a good day the nerve pain was like her legs were immersed in ice water. On a bad day it felt like her legs were clamped in a machine shop vice, screwed down to where the cranks stopped turning, then crushed further until her ankle bones sprintered and cracked to accommodate the tightening clamp. She had more bad days than good.

My mother crawled to the bathroom on her hands and knees. I slept in the living room to create more distance from her cries in the night. I still woke up, and still went back to sleep.

Back then I thought there was nothing I could do.

The high copays made consistent treatment impossible. New treatments were denied as “not medically necessary.” Old treatments didn’t work, and still put us out for thousands of dollars.

UnitedHealthcare limited specialist consultations to twice a year.

Then they refused to cover advanced imaging, which the specialists required for an appointment.

Prior authorizations took weeks, then months.

UnitedHealthcare constantly changed their claim filing procedure. They said my mother’s doctor needed to fax his notes. Then UnitedHealthcare said they did not save faxed patient correspondence, and required a hardcopy of the doctor’s typed notes to be mailed. Then they said they never received the notes. They were unable to approve the claim until they had received and filed the notes.

They promised coverage, and broke their word to my mother.

With every delay, my anger surged. With every denial, I wanted to throw the doctor through the glass wall of their hospital waiting room.

But it wasn’t them. It wasn’t the doctors, the receptionists, administrators, pharmacists, imaging technicians, or anyone we ever met. It was UnitedHealthcare.

People are dying. Evil has become institutionalized. Corporations make billions of dollars off the pain, suffering, death, and anguished cries in the night of millions of Americans.

We entered into an agreement for healthcare with a legally binding contract that promised care commensurate with our insurance payments and medical needs. Then UnitedHealthcare changes the rules to suit their own profits. They think they make the rules, and think that because it’s legal that no one can punish them.

They think there’s no one out there who will stop them.

Now my own chronic back pain wakes me in the night, screaming in pain. I sought out another type of healing that showed me the real antidote to what ails us.

I bide my time, saving the last of my strength to strike my final blows. All extractors must be forced to swallow the bitter pain they deal out to millions.

As our own chief executives, it’s our obligation to make our own lives better. First and foremost, we must seek to improve our own circumstances and defend ourselves. As we do so, our actions have ripple effects that can improve the lives of others.

Rules exist between two individuals, in a network that covers the entire earth. Some of these rules are written down. Some of these rules emerge from natural respect between two individuals. Some of these rules are defined in physical laws, like the properties of gravity, magnetism or the potential energy stored in the chemical bonds of potassium nitrate.

No single document better encapsulates the belief that all people are equal in fundamental worth and moral status and the frameworks for fostering collective well-being than the US constitution.

Writing a rule down makes it into a law. I don’t give a fuck about the law. Law means nothing. What does matter is following the guidance of our own logic and what we learn from those before us to maximize our own well-being, which will then maximize the well-being of our loved ones and community.

That’s where UnitedHealthcare went wrong. They violated their contract with my mother, with me, and tens of millions of other Americans. This threat to my own health, my family’s health, and the health of our country’s people requires me to respond with an act of war.

END

After his experience with his own mother and family members, I guess Luigi Mangione just about had enough. Are these the words of a cold-blooded killer? Or an intelligent, sensitive, well-educated and extremely intelligent young man who saw the American 'system' for what it really is, got fed up, and acted upon his feelings?

Regardless of how you or I feel, again I will say, he has spoken for the vast majority of us by doing what he did.

And, just to aggravate the Fox News bitches who are aghast at his popularity and horrified that women are responding to his extremely good looks, YES, he is movie-star handsome, so fuck you too.

So, all of this leads to America and end-stage capitalism. And the monster, Reagan, who started this entire shitstorm of greed by allowing "trickle-down economics" (yeah, that worked well, didn't it?) and deregulating every fucking safeguard that we, the American people once had, so they could suck us dry of every drop of blood. 

Fast-forward to 2008 when the economy cratered so badly, we, the people, and our tax money had to bail them out. "Too big to fail"?? I don't recall giving my permission to save those mercenary motherfuckers, do you? That is probably the one thing I will never forgive President Obama for doing...not holding them accountable, and allowing them to go on. Business as usual in greedy capitalist America, right?

Tell me, WHO the hell is worth $10 million for doing a job? WHO is worth billions of dollars in bonuses for, what, increasing their company's profits? What about those "little people" who work their asses off and get little to no thanks? Tell me about them!

And so, here we are in 2024, with a dead healthcare CEO, and in my opinion, an American HERO in prison for it. Luigi, as far as I'm concerned, YOU should have been on the cover of TIME, not that bloated, despicable Fatso McLardAss president-elect! 

And, for your information, the picture below was taken in Venice, Italy. So you are famous around the world. Deservedly so, I might add.

BASTA! And may God bless you, Luigi Nicholas Mangione.

 

AN AMERICAN DISGRACE

Once upon a time, there used to be a country called "The United States of America." By no means, was it ever "perfect" although some American citizens prefer to think it was.

No, this country was founded by egocentric, wealthy, White Anglo-Saxon Protestants who believed in slavery, the removal (genocide) of all Native Americans (who were here first) and their own white "supremacy." Coupled with the belief of the original Puritans who arrived here via Plymouth Rock in 1630, who adhered to the credence that their group, within the Church of England, should eliminate all practices and ceremonies not based on the Bible. They wanted to create a model of reformed Protestantism in the New World. 

Not quite a great start for what would come to be known as "the greatest country in the world."

Every single thing that was good and worthwhile for the so-called "common folk" had to be fought for, and fought hard. And took many, many years to achieve. The elimination of the Native American tribes across the land was happening, simultaneously with the Southern landowners who chose to fight a Civil War to hold onto their slave labor and retain their wealth. Countless human beings died for these "causes." But hey! As Bob Dylan observed, "You're better than them, you were born with white skin..." (Only A Pawn In Their Game.)

And then came the Robber Barons who, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, managed to acquire obscene riches thanks to little or no government regulation, no income tax, taking advantage of the poor working class, and creating the unequal distribution of wealth because of the huge divide between the "haves" and "have nots." These men ~ the Vanderbilts, the Rockefellers, Andrew Carnegie, J.P. Morgan, et. al., cared little to nothing about the people who kept them in business. They were strictly in it for the money. Period.

When the 20th century began to unfold, people were beginning to wake up. Women fought long and hard for the vote. Workers formed unions, and began demanding fair wages, safer working conditions, the elimination of child labor, family-friendly hours and work environments, etc. And decades later, after two world wars where soldiers were still segregated, people of color slowly began demanding the respect and equality they were rightfully entitled to. In this country? Sadly, that fight will never end. The South continues to fight their own ignorant civil war, continues to believe that they will "rise again." And fly their Confederate flags proudly.

After World War II, America began to slowly clean itself up. Conditions were improving for the "have nots" and the world looked at the USA with admiration. But it didn't take long for us to gain the term "the ugly American" when traveling abroad. Arrogance and false pride gave rise to that particular term.

I grew up in the 1950s, right after World War II ended. Born in 1946, the vanguard year of "baby boomers," I remember the pride I felt being American, and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in school. America had regained some sort of innocence in those years, and some reasons to feel proud. We had a president who was a highly-regarded general during the war ~ Dwight D. Eisenhower ~ and we looked upon him with love, respect, almost like a grandfather. Jobs were plentiful, well-paying, and people could still maintain a one-job family, including a new home in the suburbs and a car!

Then John F. Kennedy was elected in 1960, and Camelot was born. Young, vibrant, none of us were yet aware of Joseph P. Kennedy's nefarious dealings and resemblance to the earlier Robber Barons. JFK was "our" president, as he said during his inauguration speech, "born in this century" and we loved him, and his entire family.

We were not yet quite as embroiled in the Vietnam war as we would be later on, and President Kennedy planned to withdraw American troops and get us out of a place we never belonged. For that, and so many other reasons, the powers-that-be in government, big business, and yes, organized crime, felt that he was a threat, and decided to get rid of him...by arranging an assassination that would shock the entire country, and the world. And so, on November 22, 1963, Camelot died, along with our young and beloved president.

As I recall, things began to slide downhill from that point on. Nixon, the monstrous Reagan, Bush I and II, we never again had a president we could be proud of...until Barack Obama. Even so, the afore-mentioned "huge divide" has been reestablished, allowing billionaires to not have to pay taxes, and dumping it all on the working class. Once again. "Everything old is new again."

And then America truly went from the sublime to the ridiculous (and worse.) We elected a "man" who represents the absolute worst in any human being. In a nutshell:

A man who said "When you're a celebrity, you can do anything. You can grab women by their pussy." And even worse statements from this lowest possible form of life.

And after deliberately inciting a riot on January 6, 2021, causing his brainwashed devotees to storm the Capitol in Washington, DC, this man was elected President of the United States again, on November 5, 2024.

Still think America is to be admired? I don't. I find myself wishing that my grandparents never emigrated from Italy all those years ago. And, quite honestly, if I were younger and had more money? I would move to another country, just to not be here for the next four horrible, miserable years.

I no longer recognize the country to which I pledged my allegiance. I no longer recognize it because of the the hatred, bigotry, xenophobia, abject racism and ugliness all rearing their ugly heads because one "man" gave his permission to do so. A man who called southern neo-Nazis "very fine people." A man who cheats, lies, steals, rapes, and was best friends with a pedophile.

THIS is who Americans voted into the Oval office. Not once, but TWICE. Upon reading some comments from other countries, America is now pitied, laughed at, and scorned, deservedly so. If this human excrement can be elected to the highest office in the land, what else is there to do? 

To say that I am angry, disgusted, and disillusioned more than ever before in my entire life is putting it mildly. I am furious and hope that every single moron who voted this Frankenstein back into office will read this and understand how truly ignorant and short-sighted they are.

SHAME ON YOU! AND SHAME ON AMERICA! 

November 5, 2024 will officially go down as the blackest, most horrifying day in the history of this country. 

And for those who continue to say "God bless America"? For what?? Tell me, for what?? These sad days, it feels like the exact opposite.

   

 

BEWARE OF NORTON LIFELOCK!!!

This is a short story about a disreputable, despicable company by the name of NORTON LIFELOCK.

They deducted over $250.00 from my account WITHOUT my knowledge or permission. I had my credit card company dispute the charge which, of course, was immediately rejected by Norton Lifelock.

What's funny is that I retained said company about a year ago because my account was hacked, and I wanted to be sure it would not happen again. Oh no! 

But it DID happen again, this time by NORTON LIFELOCK! No amount of time on the telephone and/or online could reach these CROOKS. Be prepared to waste at least two hours of your life just playing verbal volleyball with their "reps" who can barely speak English, much less understand it, and who, in all likelihood, receive a big, fat bonus from NORTON LIFELOCK if they manage to hold onto a customer who wants OUT.

I warned them that I have a blog which is pretty well-read, and that I would be exposing their nefarious business practices to the world. And, as if by wizardry, here it is!

NORTON LIFELOCK, is it really worth $250+ to be exposed by an innocent FORMER customer? I told your reps, over and over and OVER again, that this would be happening, but you've trained them well, haven't you?

There is a saying in Italian that goes something like this:

"ILL-GOTTEN MONEY WILL ALWAYS  BE SPENT ON MEDICINE."

Yes, I'm Italian, and I grew up in a very tough Italian neighborhood in the Bronx. We don't take kindly to disrespect, nor crooks.

When, in exasperation, I told one of your reps to DROP DEAD, she responded that they do not deal with "profanity." Profanity?? DROP DEAD is NOT profane, but you can guess what I'm really hurling your miserable way. Here you go...try Google translate to figure it out, you miserable mother******s.

VAFFANCULO DOVE VIVI E RESPIRI!!

Summer of Love, Summer of Sadness

 

It was the Summer of Love, and I was in my room ironing all the cute 'mod' outfits I'd be wearing to work that week. I was working for the Captain Kangaroo Show, so it was a fun time in my life.

"It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty, Delta day..." came on the radio, and I turned up the volume because I loved 'Ode to Billy Joe' and wanted to hear it properly.

My parents were in the kitchen with my father's sister, Aunt Helen, having coffee and talking. Suddenly, the door to my room burst open, and my father immediately went to the radio and turned down the volume. He stalked out without a word, and I instantly went to the radio and turned the volume up, even louder than it was before. I was older now, and tired of adhering to his bullshit rules & regulations.

Back he came, like a bolt of lightning, and turned the radio completely off. Then he said, "If you do that again, that radio and YOU will be in the back yard. Do you understand me??" (We lived on the third floor...)

I did, but no longer cared. The second he left, I returned to the radio and BLASTED it as loud as it could go. In what felt like a split second, he returned to my room like Raging Bull, and went CRAZY. I held the hot iron up and told him to not come near me, that I'd smash it in his face. Didn't matter. Within seconds, I was down on the floor, him kicking and punching me until he was out of breath.

He flung the radio across the room, shattering it, and left me, bruised and as broken as that radio, on the floor. Aunt Helen and my mother tried to intervene ~ he just threw them aside like they were rag dolls.

I could never again hear one of my favorite songs of the Sixties without conjuring up that awful memory. I didn't know how I was going to work the next day, but I managed to pull on opaque stockings to camouflage the ugly bruises on my legs, and went to the office, on the verge of tears the entire day.

"Today, Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge..."

A CHRISTMAS STORY

It was my 4th grade Christmas play. My classmates and I had been working on it since the beginning of school in September, and I could hardly wait till Christmas!

At long last, the day arrived. That morning, I was in the kitchen with my parents and, once again, asked them if they could come to see my play.

My mother said irritably, "Paula, it's Christmas week, and you know I have to work. Don't bother Daddy about it either; he has to do all the shopping and doesn't have time to come to your play!" My father just sat there in silence.

I was crestfallen, still not accustomed to their lack of interest and indifference to whatever went on in my life. I stifled my tears the best I could, knowing it would make them angry, and went to school a sad little girl, but still excited about the play.

We had made large candles out of construction paper, and were all dressed in white, wire hangers covered with white crepe paper and formed into "halos," feathery wings on our backs. At the conclusion of the play, we gathered at the front of the stage, then separated into two columns, leaving the stage from both sides, singing and walking up the side aisles to the entrance of the auditorium. At that point, we merged together and, holding our candles in front of us, walked down the center aisle, each column close to the auditorium seats, left and right. I knew that most of my classmates' parents were there, and tried hard not to cry.

As I reached the center of the aisle, something caught my eye. I looked over to see my father sitting there, smiling at me. I will never forget the sheer joy I felt that he had taken the time to be there for me. The earlier stifled tears flowed freely, and happily this time.

When I arrived home from school later that day, he teased me about the song "Joy To The World." Our teacher did not want a "ch" sound and instructed  us to sing "And heaven and na-ture sing." We laughed about it, and he would remind me of it every single Christmas to come.

I don't remember if there were any more Christmas plays after that one. It didn't matter...because I will never forget how grateful I was that my father had made the effort to be there for me, putting aside his own hectic schedule to make time for his youngest daughter. The love I felt for him that day was overwhelming. 

And to this day, I remember that Christmas play, and how loved my father made me feel.

AN UNPRESIDENTED LOOK INTO THE DIARY OF AN ORANGE FRUITCAKE

Dear Diary,

Well, my only true friend, here I am, alone in this tacky big house painted all white (did they ever hear of GOLD??) surrounded by boring and stupid people, and I have no clue as to who they are, what they do, or if they understand that I AM THE KING OF THE UNIVERSE, A-HA! A-HA!  

All those people (and PAPERWORK...who knew it would be so complicated?) are why I like to watch television all day long, snacking on whatever isn't nailed down (and don't you be cruel and say anything about my fat ass, or weight!) and reveling in the thought that I, DONALD TRUMP, am now PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, and can do ANYTHING I want to.

Lemme tell you, I got you ALL and BIGLY too. The biggest scam anybody has ever played in the history of  the United States, just like Robert DeNiro said, that rat fuck. And fuck HIM too, because I WON. And it was YUUUUGE!! HA. HA. HA. HA. HA. (Funny!)

And as for tough guy DeNiro, if he thinks he can still punch me in the face now that I am the SUPREME COMMANDER, well Bobby...hope you like stripes, you overrated big mouth! (Sad.)

Well, Dear Diary, someone is bothering me and interrupting my CNN obsession (FAKE NEWS, FAKE NEWS!!) so I hafta to and see what it is THIS time. Are Bannon and my lame-ass son-in-law fist-fighting yet? Is that little mental case Spicey having it out with the press again, is Kellyanne still in the ladies room with 500 pounds of make-up and a prayer book? Do I have to drop another trillion-ton bomb to get the FBI off my back about the Russkis? TSK! So ANNOYING.

Think I'll have some chocolate cake, it's only 5,000 calories per slice. I'll work it off when I go golfing in exactly 4 days, 18 hours, and 12 minutes from now...

ABOUT THAT OFFER WE COULDN'T REFUSE...

...it is now 43 years later, and we still can't refuse. Doesn't matter how many times I've already seen "The Godfather," each and every time it is aired, I'm glued to the story, never tiring of it.

In my opinion, one of the greatest movies ever made (second only to the sequel "The Godfather Part II" and Robert DeNiro's incredible resurrection of the young Vito Corleone) ~ it continues to draw us in with its powerful message of family values tangled up in bloodshed, violence, and that mysterious force understood best by those of Italian descent: respect.

Having grown up where and when I did ~ Little Italy of the Bronx in the Fifties/early Sixties ~ where the characters of the movie were real-life people, that underlying message of respect was the very first thing every kid learned.

Respect! Immediately recognized and understood. We knew enough to not venture near (or look into) the many "social clubs" sprinkled throughout the neighborhood. The unspoken (and unnecessary) message of store windows painted black, doors slightly ajar on summer days, we knew better than to bother them. Whatever went on behind those doors and windows was not our business to know, but we all felt safer having them among us. They kept the neighborhood secure, protected and intact and we were grateful to them for that.

Many of us were on the receiving end of their largess. I never questioned my extensive wardrobe as a young woman, all those beautiful dresses that "fell off the back of a truck," thanks to my uncles who worked in the garment district. And since some of my uncles also worked in the jukebox business, I had the greatest record collection any kid could ever hope for. What, me worry? Not a chance! "The guys" were our very own version of Robin Hood and we loved them for it.

Watching the movie over and over again also brings forth bittersweet memories...of impossibly large family gatherings, a shared and deeply missed camaraderie of food, love, laughter and music. Invited outsiders were more often than not overwhelmed by the sheer volume of it all.

So, the 'offer that I [personally] can't refuse' is the chance to revisit "The Godfather" and to cherish the memories that come with it...minus the guns, but definitely with the cannoli!