Friday, March 23, 2018

Dream State: Celebrity Edition

"Why am I in your dream?"

Every now and then, a famous Hollywood type pops into my dreams, uninvited. Why this happens remains a mystery. I mean, how many times does as a gal have to tell her publicist, "Hey, no celeb pops-ins without a formal invite and my written consent?" The SJG Deep Dream State is a scary place, a topsy turvy exploration of my psyche, a troublesome peek at the mishegas that defines your humble blogger. Enter at your own risk. So, last night, or maybe early this morning, the multi-talented Jason Bateman dropped in for a visit. All I know is this: Jason Bateman's directing a movie,  and using my dream for one of his locations. And I'm acting as his assistant. This I know because in the dream, I tell him, "I'm your assistant." And he says, "Great. Keep me company." And I say, "Oh, I plan to." We get along swimmingly, so much so that at one point, I say to J.B, "Oh my god, I have to tell you the famous asparagus joke."
And J.B. says, "There's a famous asparagus joke?" "Yes, there is," I say, "and I'm going to tell you it right now." "I'm listening," he says. Well, now things go completely off script. I can't tell the joke right to save my tush: "There's a gathering, and everyone wants to know what's for dinner, and when they find out it's asparagus, they start yelling and throwing things and wait, that's not how the joke goes." "And action!" yells J.B. Then: "Keep going, I have to know how this joke ends." "Okay, well, I need to start over." "That's cool." "Okay, so.... so..."
And then, darnie-poo, I woke up and never got to tell Jason Bateman the famous asparagus joke, courtesy of the late Steve Landesberg, but it goes something like this: "You wanna know why the suicide rate is so high in Sweden? The husband comes home from work and says, 'What's for dinner, snookums? Asparagus?! Not again?' " Then you point your finger at your head and make the sound of a gun going off.  Ka-boom.
That's the famous asparagus joke (not again!). I'm pretty sure Jason Bateman would've laughed his keppy off in my dream if I'd told it, correctly. But now we'll never know, will we? As for the meaning of my Jason Bateman dream, your guess is as good as mine, but I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Thursday, March 22, 2018

My Umbrella, Myself

In my car, there's always an umbrella. The matter of where remains challenging. Sometimes it's under the driver's seat. Sometimes it's under the passenger's seat. Or maybe it's in my trunk. Or hiding under the mat. Or lounging in the back seat. The point is, when I need that free-floating umbrella, a fleeting need, a SoCal rarity, I can't find it, not at first. And then, when at last I do find it, in some hard to reach automotive vicinity, after I've stretched weirdly and strained my neck and mangled my funny bone and the majority of my aging anatomy, I grab it and perform the awkward open-umbrella/half-way-in-half-way-out-the-door maneuver, and inevitably, 99 percent of the time, the coveted bumbershoot refuses to open, or only half-opens, or opens but then won't close once I reach my exciting destination. So there's that. What with the occasional rains of the past two weeks, I've now busted two umbrellas.
One umbrella, I really loved. It lasted longer than any umbrella. I had it for many years. It was pretty and floral and portable. I got it at Brighton in the mall as a bonus for spending over $100. It went everywhere with me. Sherman Oaks. West L.A. New York City. You could say it was a Broadway Brollie, not to mention, an art lover, to boot. Until...  during a light drizzle, as I was walking Sir Blakey, it failed me. I'm still not over it. But out of necessity, I had to move on, as one does after a loss. I found an ugly, ka-ka portable in the back of the closet and threw it in the car. Yesterday, it wouldn't open, no matter how much I swore at it.
So, onward to the next umbrella, the pricier London Fog. Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Soul Searching With Seuss

Dear SJG,
I know you are, but what am I?
Soul Searching in Sylmar

Dear Soul Searching
You are you. I hope that clarifies things.
You're Welcome,

Dear SJG,
What kind of cockamamie answer is that?
Soul Searching In Sylmar

Dear Soul Searching,
Sheesh! You want me to spell it out for you?
You're Welcome,

Dear SJG,
If it's not too much trouble.
Soul Searching in Sylmar

Dear Soul Searching,
When it comes to matters of personal identity, the whole "who am I, what's it to ya" gestalt, I turn to my favorite shrink, my personal maven on all things nonsensical, none other than Dr. Seuss: "Today you are YOU, that is TRUER than true. There is NO ONE alive who is YOUER than YOU!" God willing you find that illuminating. Otherwise, I got nothing.
You're Welcome,

Dear SJG,
It's a start.
Soul Searching in Sylmar

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Moderately Hopeful

You may not know this about me, for it's a fairly recent development, and just between us, the results have been iffy, so far, but in the past two seconds, I put on different glasses. They aren't terribly fashionable, these computer glasses, and as everyone knows, the SJG is all about the fashion. In fact, I'd be happy if no one but Sir Blakey and longtime hubby, who adores me, flat hair and all, ever sees me in these particular specs. Still, in terms of visionary improvement, I remain moderately hopeful. Of course, moderate hopefulness is my main modus-O these days. I just can't seem to muster full-on hopefulness, what with the state o' the world. But thanks to the following sales spiel, maybe I'll get there some day.
"They'll help with eye strain," the nice optometrist said.
"Will they help with life strain?" I asked her.
"Blunt, but honest. Go on. Woo me."
"There's an anti-reflective coating."
"To stop me from reflecting on things I'd rather not reflect on?"
"No. To eliminate reflections of light on your lenses that can cause eye strain."
"Again with the eye strain. What else you got?"
"Anti-glare treatment."
"To stop me from -- "
"I have another customer waiting."
"How much for the game-changing computer glasses?"
"More than your insurance will pay for."

Monday, March 19, 2018

We Meet Again

When Facebook friends bump into each other, it's a whole thing. A celebration of sorts. And what better place to have such a nice, unexpected encounter than my personal homeland of Gelson's. The happy face-to-face happened in front of the yogurt section. Don't worry, we were both wearing sweaters.
"Oh my God."
"I see you on Facebook."
"I see you on Facebook."
"But here you are, in person."
"It's so good to see you."
"You too."
"How are you?"
"Good. How are you?"
"That's good."
"I'm so sorry about your daddy."
"How long has it been?"
"Three years."
"Four for me."
"It's weird to be an orphan."
"So weird. But you're okay?"
"I'm okay. You?"
"I've put myself up for adoption."
(Pause for laughter.)
"Well... I should probably..."
"Me, too."
"It was nice to see you."
"It was nice to see you."
"Take care."
"You, too."

Sunday, March 18, 2018

The Coffee Pot Stops For No One

A Short Jewish coffee thief was spotted this morning in the kitchen of a home in Sherman Oaks, stealing a cup of java before the coffee had even finished brewing. "She does this every morning," said an anonymous hubby. "Why she can't wait till the coffee's done, like normal people, I can't tell you." The anonymous hubby described how the impatient coffee thief manages this daily crime: The coffee maker has barely started up and there she is, complaining about a sinus headache, wielding her coffee mug and mumbling, "Coffee, need coffee, must have coffee."
Oh, and it's not just any mug, according to the anonymous hubby. "It must be a pretty one. She hates the plain beige mug. She says it doesn't work for her. She needs the nice one with the green glaze." He went on to say that the Short Jewish coffee thief honestly thinks the coffee will stop brewing long enough for her to snatch her first morning jolt of caffeine. But it just keeps brewin', it just keeps brewin' along. The coffee pot stops for no one, not even the Short Jewish coffee thief, despite what the owner's manual says.

Saturday, March 17, 2018

The Luck of the SJG

In my Jewish Overthinking Course, self-taught for the past, oh, 60 years, but who's counting, I've spent many hours reviewing the topic of luck, the bounty of it, or the lack thereof, in this bumper sticker called Life. On this top o' the morning to ya, everybody's Irish kind of day, a discussion of luck seems appropriate, don't you agree? Of course you do. Or as we used to say as kids, "Do, too!"