Saturday, October 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.

Hi, I'm Clink, the mascot of the saloon.
One of my duties is to about this book croon.
So, just between you and me
 and as someone who has barked up more than one wrong tree, 
here's the way this book I see: 
As the great American novel it may fall short,
but as a very novel novel it's great sport.