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Dedicated to my canine (and swine) fellows...creepy Halloween greetings from your mayor!

Purple skies over NYC

It is always a little sad when trees start to change their colors into warm red and orange shades, and it gets harder to see girls' big toes roaming freely in their flip flops. But I still appreciate the little things that come with the new season: like those crunchy little leaves that I can chew on as I watch squirrels fighting for their nuts; or my minion feeding me freshly picked apples from Upstate, and all other sort of forage that appeals to a half-a-cow, half-a-horse bulldog like myself.

My humble servant likes to think that fall time equals more freedom to eat carbs (an awful lot of carbs) with no regrets: she can always bundle up in looser sweaters and pretend to hide her extra pounds in a charming wanna-be hipstery outfit.

So that it is why yesterday night she allowed herself to pizza pizza. The real kind, the one with fresh melted mozzarella cheese on top of a crispy, thin and wooden-flavored dough. This is the style from the capital of Italy, Rome. You can find it at ViaVai, this tiny place across the street from Casinelli pasta, just around the corner from the Ditmars train station. I usually pee on the corner of another quite good pizza place, Tufino, but that is a whole different type of pizza pizza, still cooked in a real wooden brick oven, but in a Napoleatan fluffy style.
She came back to my alcove completely wasted (unacceptable, but that is how those proletarians spend their spare time; a distracting frill I may allow on week-ends from my position of power). The grape that did the trick: an Insolia from Sicily,  white, chilly and slightly sweet.

Along with obnoxious drunkenness, she also brought home some little bytes of pizza edges, as crunchy as my much loved leaf chips. Man, those are a few of my favorite things.

Welcome fellow Astorians!

Good day to you, dear fellow Astorians!

My name is Luca and I am a cheerful English bulldog, your old time paw pal and, as I am eager to announce, your future Mayor.

This blog is intended to document all the major woofs during my electoral campaign.

I may warn you right away: do not expect me to be as innocent as a puppy, or politically correct as a husky with two different colored eyes. Surely, what you can expect from me is that I will never be as arrogant as that Frenchy bulldog that once harassed me out of the blue (no cheese strings attached). And I will not pretend to always have the last pee like my Eastern European poodle neighbor. I will simply be your loyal farter.

Opinions expressed are my own, but you can certainly blame my humble minion for any grammar mistake or faulty sentence.

In fact, my thick foreign accented caregiver has been recently entrusted with  new responsibilities: she will put her opposable thumb to work in ways that will complement poop picking and schmutz cleaning. She will accompany me through this wonderful journey, as I visit well-established  local cafes, restaurants, stores, bistrots or simply bless flashy openings with a pee on the corner.

Because social media are never too social and big data never big enough for 55 pounds of love and fur, the only legitimate way I get to know my electorate is the old fashion one: Go to the People!

But now, enough of politics. Let' s talk paws and Astoria.