Let me start by introducing myself. My name is Paul Mazzarella and my nickname is “Muzzy.” I come from a long lines of Muzzy’s as my father is also known as “Muzzy” and so is his brother Angelo, which made for much confusion at the dinner table.
I have just completed two novels within the past 8 months and just self-published my debut novel “Promissory Notes.” My official book launch/signing is Wednesday Feb. 20th between 7-9 pm at the Spirit of ’76 Bookstore in Marblehead MA. By all means please stop by if you can make it. My second novel is titled “The Knockoff Bag” I am currently in the laborious process of seeking representation from a literary agent with the fervent hope they can land a book deal with a major publisher. It’s an uphill battle. I’m told the success rate is less than 1%. However, I remain very optimisitic, even as the rejection responses begin to trickle in. If there are no bites, I will enthusiastically self-publish “The Knockoff Bag” by the spring as I feel the book, as well as my creativity, needs an audience sooner than later. I will begin writing my 3rd novel within the next few weeks and I can’t wait!
Enough with the self-promotion. I have decided to begin writing a blog about life in general to expand my audience and share some of my thoughts and experiences. I’d like to believe, perhaps foolishly, that I can add a different perspective, as well as a tiny slice of humor to people’s lives. I welcome any comments. Agree with me, add to what I’m saying, or put me in my place. I’m always trying to learn something! The more of you the merrier! Here goes!
I just can’t help but think that in 15 years I may still be a struggling writer while a washed-up Honey Boo Boo, at age 20 or so, severely diabetic and weighing 250 pounds, will have a best seller out depicting her sad life. Mark my words, there will be a chapter in there about an unidentified male family member who sexually abused her. Of course, if it were to be true that would be atrocious. We live in a sick society. But people make stuff up all the time for personal monetary gain. Let me say it would be suspicious if she ever went down that road.
Look at all the celebrity tell all books out there. The more outrageous they are, the more skeptical eyebrows they raise,the more they’ll sell. What cracks me up is the most scandalous chapters are displayed all over the news when the book first comes out. Then the “author” goes on Katie Couric, let’s say, and rehashes their ordeal. How many times have you seen Katie, feigning sympathy, leaning toward them with her spray-tanned legs crossed oohing and ahhing at their every word. And let’s not get into why 50-something Katie isn’t wearing any nylons while it’s 15 degrees outside. Why buy the book when you already know the juiciest part. It’s not like there is any mystery.
Catherine-Zeta-Jones was on Ellen the other day. She is a beautiful, highly intelligent woman with a great sense of humor. Ellen asked her out of genuine concern how her husband, Michael Douglas, was doing with his cancer battle. It was nice to hear that he has overcome his illness as I am a big fan.The audience clapped loudly and I found myself clapping along with them, as my mom passed away from cancer, and it’s a dreadful disease. But then I got completely turned off. Catherine babbled on about their 25 year age difference and how God was testing them. And then she said the standard line that is all too common with celebrities, “If we could make a difference in one person’s life by them seeing what we went through.” First of all honey, get a grip. People don’t need you and your hubby to shine light in their lives as they struggle to pay medical bills not covered by insurance from doctors most likely with lesser qualifications than the phalanx of doctors your husband had at his disposal. Hmmm, there’s that 25 year age difference. This is shockingly just the beginning Ms. Jones. I wonder what malady Michael will get next that’s plastered all over the news so he can help others struggle with the same affliction. I know my hemorrhoids would feel better if I knew Michael Douglas had them also!
The other day I went to Home Depot. Every time I go there I find it very intimidating as I’m not a handy person and have zero knowledge on how to do any DIY project. I’m not ashamed to say I feel more comnfortable in Yankee Candle. There are just too many tools and sharp objects in Home Depot that could cause me to lose an eye or a finger. I’m so clumsy that I’m afraid to touch anything. As a matter of fact, I should wear protective eye-goggles in the store, and keep my hands in my pockets.
My wife usually leads the charge into the store with a list of items we need and she does all the talking with any of the helpful clerks while I stand meekly behind her counting the seconds until we can get out of there. My mission on this lonesome trip was to get paint primer for my ceiling. I asked the courteous lady behind the paint counter what I should get and she suggested since I was going over a small area to get a spray can because it would be less of a hassle and so much faster. She walked me to the next aisle to find the can I needed. Alas, the can wasn’t where it was supposed to be. On her computer, it had shown there were 2 cans left in inventory. She whispered to me the cans had to be somewhere in the store and that customers sometimes pick items up from shelves and then decide they don’t want them and instead of walking back to where they found it, they just put it back on any shelf in the store. Hmmmm, that wouldn’t be something you or I would ever do would it? I would have never thought of that.
But here’s where I started to panic. She walked back to the register and started to reach for the intercom mike. All I could think of was an army of orange-aproned people scouring every shelf in the cavernous store looking for a spray can of paint. That could take hours! I just had to get out of there! “Please, I will just get a small can of paint and buy a brush,” I blurted out before she could summon the hunters and gatherers. As I began to hyper-ventilate, she sensed I needed to leave and instantly found my needed items. I scurried to the checkout counter and it was one of those new-fangled self-check thingamajigs. I scanned the paint through with no problem. Then the tiny sponge brush wouldn’t ring up. Once, twice, three times. Thankfully, a nice register clerk had been eye-balling me and manually rung it through. Yes, it’s easy to spot my helpless mug because I’m such a fish out of water in these kind of stores.
I was surprised how easy it was to paint the small area of the ceiling and I didn’t get any paint on the floor or the walls. I was so proud of myself but that was about to be short-lived. Apparently, turpentine or some other heavy solvent is needed to get oil-based paint off of skin as both of my hands were covered in paint. I only had regular soap and Fantastik and neither would work. It took me over a half-hour to get the paint off as I resorted to scrubbing my skin hard with Brillo. Needless to say, my hands look mighty raw and rough now. Just like the hands of those macho contactors, carpenters, and plumbers that frequent Home Depot.
To add a little local flavor, I watched the premiere of the new reality show “Southie Rules” the other night. I predict it will not make it for the full season. It doesn’t have that train wreck draw that “Jersey Shore” had. The people are rough on the eyes if you know what I mean and the situations are way too contrived. Basically, it’s terrible untrained actors acting more so than reality. Oh yes, there is a theme I’m sure which will keep getting played of the old-time residents of South Boston feeling invaded by the surging population of young professionals coming to live there and it’s an old tired one at that. Okay folks, it’s because of these people your hell-hole of a house is now valued at $750,000 instead of the $400,000 it should be. If you don’t like it sell the house and leave. Buy a house in the burbs for $400,000 and use the extra $350,000 to learn the English language, laser off those tatoo’s, and go to the orthodontist. I turned the channel after 9 minutes. Watching that show felt like getting on a crowded elevator on the 40th floor and the sweaty person next to you begins sneezing for the entire ride down.
Please pay close attention to all the Super Bowl party tips we are getting bombarded with. It’s very important to know which chip works best with which dip or else your party could turn out to be as much a dud as the game usually is. I’m serious. All it takes is one tweet about your poor chip selection and next year no one will come to your party as the media would leave you to believe. In a way, I’m glad the Patriots didn’t make it this year so we can be spared the additional ridiculous onslaught from the local media.
It’s funny how fast the businesses around Boston took down their phony useless “Go Pats” signs and banners. Like I would shop somewhere just because of the sign. And don’t believe the horse crap they do it because it instills community spirit because they leave the Christmas decorations up well after the holidays. But leaving the Pats paraphernalia up stirs too many negative emotions. It’s much too traumatic and it’s bad for business which leads to a ‘take ‘em down or else the customers won’t come in’ mentality. Please don’t put the signs up anymore. Stop pandering!
Cheer up New Englanders. Losing the AFC Championship Game is but a mere footnote in history. However, losing the Super Bowl is much worse. The Buffalo Bills lost 4 years in a row. That’s what they are known for rather than the tough accomplishment of making it to the big dance 4 years in a row. Poster boy Tom Brady’s legacy would take a hit if he had lost a 3rd Super Bowl. Not so much after the Ravens loss. Remember how hard last year’s Super Bowl loss hurt for weeks. Until next time!