Thursday, September 1, 2016

"Welcome to Spit Toon's Saloon, where the humor's wry, the wine dry, and our tears the cry of laughter."



In a matter of seconds, in a previous century, an immigration officer at Ellis Island shortened the family name of my grandfather from Tonacchio to Toon and — voilá — I lost a part of me before I was me. And that is why I have always believed that I have been dancing to a different tune all my life.

To me, Toon does not sound quite as lyrical as Tonacchio. The oon sound seems to emit a hint of a whine or a groan.This may all be due, in part or entirety, to my tin ear. But whatever the reason, I have lived my life on a taut trampoline of bouncing memories from which I catch the melodies in the symphonic fugue of the family Toon. I call these melodies “Spit Tunes,” and I try to orchestrate them into my life.

The word is that the best way to enjoy them is to kindle a fire in a comfortable nook in your i-pad, some wine sip, and between the covers slip.