Wednesday, December 11, 2019

A Letter From The Hanukkah Hipster

Dear Magnolia,
Hey, little dudette, it's Hanukkah in a minute and the grownups in charge paid me some sweet coin to write you a hipster Hanukkah letter. My main gig's distributing awesome menorahs to the chillest boys and girls. I'm pretty stoked, although it's more intense than I expected. I kinda thought I was applying to a start-up where I'd get to play ping pong and come up with marketing stuff. Take it from me, Magnolia, adulting is hard. But before I load the candle holders in the jeep, I wanted to give you props for your semi-stellar behavior this year.
Magnolia and her menorah 
There were some blips along the way, I'm not gonna lie, but nothing too major. You managed to keep Callie, the goldfish you scored at the Purim Carnaval, alive for an entire year, so Mazel T on that. Back in July, you went a whole week without kicking your little bro' in the cronuts. Keep up the good work. And on Mitzvah Day, I hear you handed out free bagels. The part about dipping them in glitter isn't cool, Magnolia. Might be time to up your game, little dudette. Go out there and spin your dreidel for good. For eight days, eat your latkes, Magnolia, light some candles, and above all, be chill. 

-- The Hanukkah Hipster xo 

Monday, December 9, 2019

Group Kvetch

It's easy to get caught up in the endless annoyances of the holiday season, don't you agree? There's just so much to bitch about, such as, why must people be so.... what's the word I'm searching for? Aw, yes. Human. Why can't they be more canine, like The Royal Rescue Pup of Questionable Lineage and love and accept everyone equally and never steal a parking spot, as long as they get a treat in return? If humans were more canine, there'd be nothing to complain about. Sadly, Darwin never told us how to make humans evolve into doggies, which is too bad. So, as we enter this angsty, costly, stressful time of year,  let's keep a sense of all things whine-worthy and count our kvetches, daily.
Pre-Kvetch Caffeination 

Let it out, people. Let. It. Out. How? I'm so glad you asked. Please join your loyal SJG for a special Group Kvetch live from Sherman Oaks, starting at 11 a.m. today. It's all part of Let's Kvetch America, my personal mission to help everyone unleash all their holiday howls so God forbid, you shouldn't end up in a padded cell.

Saturday, December 7, 2019

The Boss of Me

Dear SJG,
What are the benefits and disadvantages of being self-employed?
Thanks,
Asking For A Friend
Dear Asking,
I've been "self-employed" since I popped out in the backseat of my daddy's Oldsmobile. I had to support the entire family. I really don't like to discuss it. But I will discuss this. The benefits of self-employment are huge. You get to parade around in your schlepwear all day. You can make coffee the way you like it - hot, like that rumored temper of yours. You don't have to worry about anyone stealing your sandwich, unless your spouse steals it and takes it to work, which in some area codes is grounds for divorce. You're your own boss, so you can be as bitchy as you want and make up your own rules. And break them. You don't have to get nervous when you interview yourself. Plus, you get to avoid other humans. But don't get too excited. There are a few downsides, too. You have to deal with that huffy, hormonally-challenged boss. You spend a lot of time looking for work that, which may be sporadic at best, meaning, pay and medical benefits can be iffy. You may get tired of yourself. But then you can take a nap. So that's another win.
You're Welcome,
The SJG

Thursday, December 5, 2019

Miracle On Fairfax Avenue

Santastein is coming to town.

Tonight on SJG-TV, why not enjoy "Miracle On Fairfax Avenue": When Kvetch Krinkle learns that the schmendrick assigned to play Santastein in Canter's Annual Latke Parade is completely fershnikit, he rats him out to fetching single mom/deli manager Doris Plotnick. "So, quit your kvetching," Doris says, "and take his place." "Gimme a slice of that chocolate chip babka and I'll do it." She throws in some rugelach and off he goes to the parade. Naturally, he's so good at playing Santastein that Canter's hires him to boost business and they sell more lox than all the other delis on Fairfax.
But then, some conflict! When Sheila, Doris' daughter, hears Kvetch Krinkle speaking Hebrew to the Israeli bus boy, Hungarian to the dishwasher and German to the cashier, she's convinced this multi-lingual mensch is the true Santastein. "Mama, he's real!" Sheila says. "He's not real," Doris says. "He's real!" "It's a costume." "The beard is real!" "It's fake." "I hate you, Mommy." "You don't mean that." "I do, too!" Doris grounds her for life. The next day, she orders Krinkle to tell Sheila he's not the real Santastein. "Sorry, Toots, no can do." "Why not?" "I'm the real deal." "Ha ha, very funny." "I'm not kidding around." "There's no such thing as Santastein. He's just made up to make Christmas-deprived Jews feel better."
"Well, that's a jaded interpretation." "So will you tell her the truth?" "That I'm real? I'd be delighted to." "But you're just a fairytale." "A fairytale, huh? You wanna see my birth certificate?" "It couldn't hurt." "If only I could show it to you. Too bad I left it too close to the menorah one year and bye bye, birth certificate." "Oh, please. You expect me to believe that?" "Why not?" "You're fired, Kvetch." "I'm not going anywhere. This is my job." "Not anymore." Cue the plot complications! Krinkle refuses to leave. Doris calls the cops. Krinkle's taken away in cuffs and put on trial to prove he's the sanest and realest Santastein on Fairfax. Meanwhile, business at Canter's dries up faster than an overcooked Hanukkah brisket. Enter Freddy Finkelstein, a nice lawyer who takes Krinkle's case pro bono, proves he's real and in his spare time, wins over Doris. Oh, and guess who marries Doris and Freddy and nine months later performs the briss? Yep. Kvetch Krinkle. Aka, The Real Santastein. (SJG-TV, starting around 9-ish.)

Monday, December 2, 2019

Everybody's A Critic

So this photo approximates the look on the gastro doctor's face, after he told me the best news possible, post-procedure: "Everything's fine." "Phew. Then why so glum? Is there an issue?" "Well," he said, sighing, "your prep wasn't the best." "Excuse me, you're giving my prep a bad review?" "Not bad. Let's just say, it could've been better." "I did everything on the stupid list. Was I supposed to do more?" "It's not a personal judgment." "Ha! If you're grading me on a curve, what do I get?" "B-." "What?!" "Fine. Stop badgering me. B." "I'll take it." "See you in five years." "The report says ten years." "Five would be better."

Sunday, December 1, 2019

I Got The Blues

Oh baby, sweet baby, can't you see why I'm so blue
Gotta drink 64 ounces of Gatorade blue 
The doc, he said, sip it, sip it up now till it's gone 
I said doc why you gotta do me, do me this wrong 
Gonna take me three long hours to get that potion down
Come mornin' I'll lay empty in my hospital gown 
Rid of all that Miralax that forced me toilet-side
Thinkin' what's in store for me, I'm sad for my backside

Friday, November 29, 2019

Something Exciting

Look at this nice bunch of people. Are you looking? In this group, at our table, we have the SJG and longtime hubby Howie toward the back, and next to me, my wonderful brother John, devoted and delightful; next to John, Andy's sister Amy, gourmet cook extraordinaire, and then, front and center, we have my fabulous cuzzie Andy; his glamorous wife Allison, one table over toward the back, and at our table, their children, Levi the actor, Willa, the singer/songwriter, and Lucas, the future doctor, who, après turkey, told us about the upcoming workshop he's taking, a memorable moment whereby med students get up close and personal peeks at peeps who get paid to show their... well, I'm too refined to tell you, but I'll drop a hint: their nether regions. Or, if you prefer a more nautical term, Down Below. 

I'm fairly certain Lucas regrets telling us about this hands-on workshop, but listen, he opened the door and we walked in. Of course, we had many great suggestions, far too raunchy to mention here, and a few of us wondered how this modeling assignment passed us by. One of us may have said, "Why didn't my agent send me out for this job?" Not to be a prick or a total putz, but I'll leave the rest of the discussion to your imagination. Now then, also in this photo: at our table, my Aunt Elly, Andy's mom, and behind Allison at the other table, her mom Bonnie, her brother Jeff and (next to Lucas at our table) his wife Bonnie -- who came up with this seating arrangement? Then, back to the other table, Owen, Jeff's son, and Owen's two adorable sons, and by now, aren't you impressed that I even remember any of this? And, finally, toward the front, we have the children I birthed, Billy and Scotty, and Scotty's lovely girlfriend Meghan, and of course, my gorgeous daughter-in-law Chloé. 
Now look closer. Closer. Zoom right in on the French gal and her happy hubby. Something big is going on. Something exciting. Something that takes a while to hatch. More to come in May, kina hora. Specifically, a baby girl. Yep, your SJG is going to be a Grammala, the role I was born to play. I know, I know, I saved the best for last.