Here’s our newest dorky thing (OK, it’s actually a “me” thing with Stevel trying to make me understand that it’s gotten old):

This weekend’s hotel was next to an abandoned Italian restaurant (there’s a lot of abandoned stuff—mostly from the 60s—in Palm Springs; land is plentiful and cheap, so there’s no need to demolish, I guess). It looked like it had been a ritzy place, and we determined that in its hey-day, it had been a likely gangster joint. Stevel decided the head gangster was named “Johnny Pasta.” From there, we named the entire crime-family. Joey Marinara. Penne Ramone. Noodles, the muscle. Noodles’ brother, Capers. Etc.

And here’s where Stevel thinks it’s getting old (but he’s wrong). I am compelled frequently since our return to use my two gangster voices. This first one, you must say in a high-pitched tone, thick New York accent:

“You ain’t never heard o’ Johnny Pasta?! You better not cross Johnny!”

Then, you say this one, which is the voice of Johnny—the boss—himself:

“Noodles. Show these gentlemen the door.”

Tell me you don’t find this irresistible.