Monday, February 10, 2020

Another Weird Opening, Another Show

Oy, this thing is heavy.

It's true, your loyal SJG scratched my keppy multiple times throughout the hostless Academy Awards, and it wasn't just because I needed a good shampoo. When I wasn't scratching my keppy, I was either hiding behind one of Andy and Allison's plush pillows or openly cringing. There were many moments I just didn't get. The opening number, for instance. Sorry/not sorry.
I love Janelle Monáe, I do, and I'd kill for an outfit covered in flowers, and yes, absolutely, the lack of diversity continues to be a total and complete shandalabra, and yet, I confess, I still didn't get the combo celebration/buzz kill, the name-checking of movies that didn't get nominated. Maybe next year, the Academy nominations will be more inclusive. And what about the Grammy-like return of this guy?
I didn't get that, either. It was kinda fun to see the audience rock out to Eminem, but it made no sense.
My favorite moment of the evening, other than a few heartfelt speeches, the win for "Hair Love," and the jubilant and historic "Parasite" landslide (I was rooting for "1917"), was the Diane Keaton/Keanu Reeves "Something's Gotta Give" reunion.
But let's face it, watching the Oscars, at least for me, has always been more about the people I get to watch and judge it with, than the show itself, dating back to the first time my folks plopped me down on the sofa and said, "No talking during the show, wait for the commercials," a rule I've been ignoring for quite some time now.

Friday, February 7, 2020

A Visit To Goop

I have a little time to kill before Carla's Search Heartache book signing at Diesel, so I wander into the Goop Lab, following orders. "You have to go to Goop," Carla says, and she's never led me astray, well, except for the Vegan Debacle. Listen, she's allowed one time in, what, 39 years of friendship. Two steps in, I spot the candle I think is the candle, the scandalous one "with a funny, gorgeous, sexy and beautifully unexpected scent."
Alas, it isn't that candle, it's the Uma Pure Calm candle. Always in the market for calm, I pick it up, letting the notes of "uplifting rose and soothing sandalwood" and the promise of "balance, well-being and positivity" waft over my personage. Sigh. The promise remains unfulfilled. In this moment, I know what I have to do, immediately if not sooner. Text my brother. I have a strong sense he's already at the Brentwood Mart, for it is our inheritance to arrive early and eat a snack beforehand. You never know when the next meal is coming. Although on this particular night, we do know. We're meeting our cousin Andy at Farm Shop, for an overpriced meal.

Our brother-sister text exchange goes something like this:
"Oh my god, are you here yet?"
"Of course, I'm here. Duh."
"Meet me at Goop."
"Goop?"
"Gwyneth's store."
"Where is it?"
"I'll go outside and wave."
"I'll be there before you can say Shakespeare in Love."

"Shakespeare in... oh hi, honey." Big hugs, and we enter the New Age Shrine to Gwynnie and all things lifestyle-beauty-female empowerment-god-knows-what-else, much as we once prowled Party-Smarty in Westwood, looking for fake vomit, the latest Mad Libs, and other nonsense. In advance, I know nothing at Goop's cheap, but when has that ever stopped me before? I want that candle, so I can say, "Hey, bitches, that's right, I got that candle," which doesn't reflect well on me, but screw it, and in this scenario, John is my enabler. On a weekly, if not daily basis, via text and email, we encourage each other to Spend! Spend! Spend! A lovely salesgal greets us. I lean in, conspiratorially:
SJG: "Where is it?"
Salesgal: "Where's what?"
SJG: "You know..."
John: "She's looking for the Va-Jay-Jay candle."
Salesgal: "You mean This Smells Like My Vagina."
SJG: "Yeah, that one."
Salesgal: "So sorry. It's completely sold out."
SJG: "How sad."
Salesgal: "Everybody wants one."
John: "Can you blame them?"
SJG: "I was ready to shell out $75."
Salesgal: "Guess who bought 10?"
John: "Liza?"
Salesgal: "Elton John."
SJG: "That's... wow... Elton John?"
Salesgal: "We're back ordered for three months. Can I put your name on a waiting list?"
John: "Go for it, Toots."
SJG: "I prefer to suffer in silence. But thank you, anyway."

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

That's Not On The Menu

"Did I hear that correctly?"

Let's just say that a belated b'day celebration with the lovely Carla created beacoup de confusion in our crowded keppies when we went here over the weekend:
Ladurée in Beverly Hills 

Our "authentic French experience" went something like this:
"I feel terrible."
"Don't feel terrible."
"Should we leave?"
"Don't be silly."
"Let's leave."
"I don't want to leave. It's so pretty here."
"It really is."
"Plus we look good in here."
"We really do."
"I should always surround myself in pastel."
"So you don't mind staying?"
"Not at all."
"They should've told me when I made the reservation."
"They wanted it to be a surprise."
"It wasn't like this the last time I was here."
"When was that?"
"Two years ago."
"Ask the waitress what the @#$% happened."
"Excuse me, when did this place go vegan? Not that there's anything wrong with that."
"No, of course not."
"Five months ago."
"But why?"
"Corporate decision."
"What about Beverly Hills screamed vegan?"
"Honestly? I have no idea. Please don't tell the manager I said that."
"So are you saying the macarons -- ?"
"Vegan."
"What's the filling made of?"
"Cashew."
"Oy vey."
"I was dying for an omelette."
"You can still have an omelette."
"Made of?"
"Not eggs."
"I'll have the French toast."
"You'll love it."
"What about the Not Egg spinach omelette?"
"It's my favorite."
"But will I love it?"
"You won't know the difference."
"What's it made of?"
"Tofu."
"I'll know the difference."
"If it doesn't work for you, tell the manager, Thierry, the French guy in the suit."
"Wowza."
"I know, right? Isn't he hot? Please don't tell him I said that."
"We would never."
"Speak for yourself, Carla. I might, depending on the omelette."

Friday, January 31, 2020

Beware The Guacamole

The Super Bowl's on Sunday
Line your snacks up for half-time
In terms of guacamole
Pick your seasons and your rhyme
It's easy to make homemade
Not that store-bought is a crime
Be careful what you shop for
If you want that dip sublime
Be sure to wear your glasses
To read what's between the lime
And tell the mild from spicy
Or the heat will start to climb
The jalapeño pepper
Might reset your body's clime
Don't forget to ask your host 
How hot's that guac, Wisenheim?
Don't you scorch your 'lil tongue off
And get stuck in pantomime

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

You Must Remember This

"Tell me again so I don't forget." 

These days, the memory is a bit iffy. There's just too much to keep track of before the expectant parents move into a very old, but incredibly charming house that needs a lot of love, what with all the people coming and going to fix things, change things, make things better. The only way the rapidly aging enablers, that would be longtime hubby and myself, can keep things straight is to communicate as only we know how:
"Honey?"
"Yes, my devoted first wife of 40 years?"
"Not to correct you, darling, but..."
"That's never stopped you before."
"It's 39.5 years."
"Shouldn't we round it up to 40, dearest?"
"Let's not. That will only confuse me."
"Very well. In any event, what were you going to say? And can you say it, swiftly? I don't wish to be late for my job. The network falls apart without me."
"I was going to remind you to do something very important."
"You've got my full attention."
"Do I?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you're looking at your phone."
"I can pay attention and look at my phone."
"That's hilarious."
"I'm putting the phone down."
"I was going to remind you to... oh, dear God in heaven, I can't eff'n remember what the eff I was going to remind you to do."
"Well, when you remember, text me."
"If I text you, will you actually read it?"
"Don't I always?"
"Only when I remind you to read it."
"Then call me first, remind me to read it, and I shall do so, immediately."
"Excellent plan, honey."
"Kiss kiss, see you later."
"Not if I see you first."

Thursday, January 23, 2020

Imaginary Support Animal Barred From Flight

(Sherman Oaks) A short Jewish rapidly-aging goddess threw an epic hissy fit when she learned that airlines no longer would be required to accommodate imaginary emotional support animals under new federal rules proposed Wednesday. "I've been bringing my imaginary emotional support guinea pig Stuart Little on every flight I've been on since I was a little girl growing up in the humble village of Westwood," she told reporters gathered in her palatial kitchen. "Look, Stuart Little was a mouse in the book, I get it, tell me something I don't know, but in my world, I made him a guinea pig. Why? I'll tell why. Because I needed a sense of power, capiche? I hope that's cool with you there in the back. Save some kugel for the others. Stuart Little was everything to me. Imagine my shock and surprise when I got him a buddy, King Saul, named during my biblical phase, and Stuart not only gave birth, but plotzed on the same day. I don't think I've ever gotten over it. This explains why I take Stuart with me as my spirit animal, my emotional rock, on flights to keep me calm. The one time I left him home, I started doing the hora up and down the aisle, involuntarily, on a turbulent flight to Kansas and spent a little time in airport jail. I don't like to talk about it. So they can't take him/her or should I say them, away from me." At this juncture in the press conference, the same kugel-hogger/reporter raised his hand. "Not to upset you further, but there's nothing in the rules about banning imaginary emotional support animals." "Say what now?" "They're trying to block the poorly-behaved live ones, the peacocks, snacks, pigs and turkeys that people try to pass off as emotional support animals to avoid paying the fee to transport them." "So you're saying I misread the rules?" "Yes." "Oh well. That's very different. Never mind."

Tuesday, January 21, 2020

The Other Side

Dear SJG,
I just found out that my best friend Azalea has moved to the other side. I'm so shocked I could plotz, but I've got a lot on my plate. Azalea and I have always been on the same side. She didn't even give me a heads up. I'm hurt, betrayed and altogether confused. How should I handle this? I've known Azalea since I shared my cream cheese and olive sandwich with her in second grade.
Sincerely,
Verklempt in Valencia
Dear Verklempt,
Listen, sometimes friends move to the other side and forget to leave a forwarding address. Try not to take it personally. I'm kidding. Sure, Azalea might've mentioned it, but maybe she knew you'd get mad so she took the easy way out. The good news is you have choices. You can beg her to come back. You can let her go. You can try to see things her way. You can bring her a nice coffee cake from Gelson's and let the crumbs fall where they may.
You're Welcome,
The SJG