Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Oscar Goes Young

The news that James Franco and Anne Hathaway are hosting this year's Oscars makes me all kinds of cranky.  Like most things in life, the SJG takes this news as a personal affront, an insult to my very being.  They may as well post a billboard on Sunset: "Oscar Goes Young.  Deal With It, Bitches."  This is such an obvious appeal to edgier Generation Text, who know Franco more for "Pineapple Express" than "127 Hours," and Hathaway more for "The Devil Wears Prada" than "Rachel Getting Married."  True, they are both talented and super nice to look at it.  James Franco is funny when he's not acting all weird and spacey.  Anne Hathaway can sing, as she proved in that opening number when Hugh Jackman hosted the Oscars.  So fine, this may turn out to be the most inspired pairing since that Rob Lowe-Snow White duet in the '80s.  We shall see.  I'm just so glad they didn't pick Chelsea Handler. 

Monday, November 29, 2010

Don't Call Him Shirley

Dr. Rumack: Can you fly this plane, and land it?
Ted Striker: Surely you can’t be serious.
Rumack: I am serious… and don’t call me Shirley.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

We Won't Be Fooled Again

The old dishwasher heads out the back door, in disgust: 
"I've had it with you slobs."

The new dishwasher, installed by
hubby, settles in: "I've got this."
There was flooding in the streets
With our buckets at our feet
And the towels that we stockpile were all gone
And the thing that spurred us on
Up and quit, is was all wrong
On Turkey Day it broke and sang its song
We tip our hats to the new generation
Efficiency, the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up our Visa and pay
Just like yesterday
Then we'll get on our knees and pray
We don't get fooled again
The change, it had to come
We knew it all along
The dishwasher got way too old, that's all
And the new one looks just the same
And history ain't changed
We won't get fooled again
Won't get fooled again
No, no!
Meet the new dish
Same as the old dish
Only better
(apologies to The Who)

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Who Said What?

Here's a fun game.  Match who said what at my house on Thanksgiving.  Win bupkis.
1. "@#*$!  It's still leaking."
a. Hubby
b. SJG
c. Roto Rooter
d. Robo Cop
2. "Where's my eff'n wine glass?"
a. Grandpa Benjy
b. Grandpa Skippy
c. Scotty the Youngest
d. SJG
3. "These goddamn bitch-ass matches."
a. Hunky firefighter
b. Cousin Amy
c. Uncle John
d. Billy the Eldest
4. "Please don't call it, 'that burnt bird.'"
a. Big Bird
b. Ornithology Society of Sherman Oaks
c. Tweety Bird
d. SJG
5. "I called it bird meat."
a. Felix the Cat
b. Tony the Tiger
c. Billy the Eldest
d. Uncle Dan
6. "I lost my eff'n wine glass again."
a. Hubby
b. Scotty
c. SJG
d. Billy
7. "If you hadn't told us about the turkey or the dishwasher, we never would've known."
a. Grandma Char
b. Martha Stewart
c. Cousin Andy
d. Aunt Elly
8. "But that's my schtick.  Neurotic, needy and self-deprecating."
a. Joan Rivers
b. Phyllis Diller
c. SJG
d. Cher
9. "Gluten-free pumpkin pie?"
a. Allison
b. Aunt Marion
c. Scotty
d. Grandpa Benjy
10. "I've had enough of you people."
a. Hubby
b. SJG
c. Lucas
d. all of the above
(Answers:  Oh, hell no.)

Friday, November 26, 2010

I Blame Martha

What do you have to say for yourself?
It's always good to warn your guests that maybe things didn't go according to plan.  That way, they know not to expect much.  Rather than say, "Wait till you taste the turkey, mmm good," I like to issue a warning.  "Come on in, I almost destroyed the turkey." "Love your scarf.  I almost burned down the house."  "Your coat is so soft!  How do you feel about charbroiled turkey?"  I blame Martha Stewart.  Her stupid cheesecloth method didn't work, mainly because I didn't follow directions, but that's beside the point.  I watched her do it on the Today Show, and she said nothing about making sure you use lots of layers of cheesecloth.  Or, if she did, I sure as hell didn't hear her.  So I set the oven at 450, I put in the turkeys, smothered in butter and sherry-drenched stupid cheesecloth, and when the birds turned, what's the word I'm looking for, black, and the house filled with smoke, and hubby gave me one of his famous looks (he has two looks, pissed, and really pissed), I thought, uh, holy sh*t, what up with that?  In panic mode,  I called Amy, my spiritual turkey guide. "Amy?  Is it supposed to be black?" She said yes, the cheesecloth is indeed supposed to be black.  "So the turkey isn't really black, it's just the cheesecloth, right?"  A long pause on the other end.  "Well, yeah, but maybe you should check under the cheesecloth."  "Okay, hang on.  Oh, no.  Oh, God.  I think I eff'd up.  Gotta go."  I turned the oven down to 325, I took off the stupid cheesecloth, I wrapped my birds in foil and prayed.  Then I went to turn on the dishwasher and it broke.  Yes, water poured out.  It was the great flood of Sherman Oaks.  Then hubby started swearing.  I ran to get the bucket and towels.  Many hours of testy behavior followed.  At some point, the guests arrived and claimed that the turkey was wonderful.  Of course, they'd all been drinking.  They could've been eating tree bark.  What did they know?  Tomorrow, the new dishwasher arrives.  Hubby plans to install it himself.  I plan to be out of town.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Thanksgiving Means Thanks Living

The SJG obsessively checks the turkeys

Table for 10

Tables for 10 more
We have two expressions at this time of year:  "Bring out the first turkey!" (Alka Seltzer), and "Thanksgiving means thanks living," (my mother's rabbi in Chicago).  Oh, and one more thing:  "Why so chintzy with the wine?  Fill 'er up."  This year, I'm cooking my cuzzie-caterer Amy's (http://www.amysculinaryadventures.com/) take on Martha Stewart's Turkey 101.  Martha bastes with melted butter and wine, but Amy bastes with melted butter and Harvey's Bristol Creme Sherry. Amy says it's downright upright, and I believe her, as it involves cheesecloth, starting the bird at a high temperature (which makes the SJG very very nervous) and basting, basting, basting, every freakin' half hour.  My house smells so good, it's obscene.  I've got the Macy's Parade on, I've got a nice hubby anticipating various televised sporting events, I've got two sons asleep upstairs, I've got an eight-year-old dog named Dusty that thinks he's still a puppy.  I've got my health.  What more could a short Jewish gal want?

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

The Dessert Maven

"A 22 year old will do anything to infuse alcohol
 into his dessert." - Billy Schneider
Billy's Chocolate Rum Balls for Thanksgiving
(unless they get eaten before Thursday)
Ingredients: 3 1/4 cups crushed vanilla wafers
3/4 cup confectioners' sugar
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 1/2 cups chopped walnuts
3 tablespoons light corn syrup 1/2 cup rum
Directions: In a large bowl, stir together the crushed vanilla wafers, 3/4 cup confectioners' sugar, cocoa, and nuts. Blend in corn syrup and rum. Shape into 1 inch balls, and roll in additional confectioners' sugar. Store in an airtight container for several days to develop the flavor. (Refrigeration optional.)  Roll again in confectioners' sugar before serving.
"You have ruined the surprise, and humiliated
me for the last time, Mother." - anonymous son

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

The First Turkey

My table should look so good
My favorite Alka Seltzer commercial of all time takes place at Thanksgiving.  A big family gathers around a dining room table with every known side dish in the universe.  Guests sit there, anticipating the feast, and a voice announces, "Bring out the first turkey." A man turns to camera, his stomach aching in advance of the marathon binge, and says, "The FIRST turkey?"  It's not Thanksgiving if my brother John doesn't say, "Bring out the first turkey." We do this routine every year.  It's mandatory.  On Thursday, it's my turn to host Thanksgiving, and of course, I'll be making two turkeys.  Twenty people, all champion fressers, expect to eat, and I better deliver, or trust me, they'll talk about me all year. "Interesting Thanksgiving.  No turkey.  Remind me never to go back there again."  I wouldn't dare disappoint these people.  I'd like to be included in their wills.  So I'll make the turkeys, the yams, the cranberry sauce, and they'll bring the supporting players:  gravy and stuffing, creamed spinach and mashed potatoes, pies made of pumpkin and pecan, cakes made of cheese, rum balls, cookies, and who knows what else.  God willing, this year, no one will trip on a chair (kina hora).  God willing, this year, no one will run naked through the house.  (They made me sign an affidavit, a few years back.)  God willing, my turkeys will behave in the oven, turn brown, be tender, moist and delish.  But no matter what goes down in the kitchen, the SJG is grateful.  For what?  So much.  List available upon request. 

Sunday, November 21, 2010


"Alternative to Body Scanners at Airports:  The Israelis are developing an airport security device that eliminates the privacy concerns that come with full-body scanners at the airports. It's a booth you can step into that will not X-ray you, but will detonate any explosive device you may have on you. They see this as a win-win for everyone, with none of the whining about racial profiling. It also would eliminate the costs of long and expensive trials. Justice would be swift. Case closed! You're in the airport terminal and you hear a muffled explosion. Shortly thereafter an announcement comes over the PA system:  Attention standby passengers — we now have a seat available on flight number ____. Shalom."
-- Posted on http://www.freerepublic.com/ by Ooh-Ah, sent to me by my dad

Friday, November 19, 2010

Marital Advice for William & Kate

Flowers from William and Kate
Dear SJG,
We are delighted to be working with you as our newly-anointed personal Jewish consultant. As you can imagine, not everyone is thrilled with the news of our conversion to your faith.  Perhaps you could offer us some early marital advice, as we gear up for all the pomp and circumstance, the yada yada yada, of our impending nuptials. We look forward to meeting you and can't wait to see what hat you've picked out for our engagement brunch.  Per your suggestion, we've ordered a nice spread from Nate n' Als.  Lox is rather expensive.  Who knew?
Prince William and his Kateness

Dear Will and Kate,
You guys are spoiling me!  The flowers are beyond gorgeous!  Thanks ever so much.  I completely kvelled when I received them.  I'm so honored to be working with you as your personal maven on all things Jewish, I could plotz. All the media attention, however, is a tad overwhelming.  Paparazzi staked out in front of my home night and day.  Oy gevalt.  Seriously, how do you people deal?  Per your request, I've carefully selected material that you may find helpful.  The enclosed video features a pent-up fellow named Sam Kinison, alev ha sholem. Take his views on marriage with a major grain of salt.  The SJG first encountered this meshuggah comic in the living room of close friends in the early '80s, before anyone knew about him.  He was hired to rant at a bunch of Jews, as part of a birthday celebration. He stood there in his dirty raincoat, giving such a geschrei at the top of his lungs, we were scared sh*tless. A few months later, he showed up on "SNL" and we felt like such big machers. 
Much love to you and yours,
the SJG
P.S.  Did you get the ruggelach I sent? 

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Where Did I Go Wrong?

At dinner, I mention that Eva Longoria just dumped Tony Parker's ass for cheating.  The employed son reflects on this turn of events, as only he can:  "It makes no sense that these guys are married.  They're in a different @#$%'n city every night and they're famous and rich.  If I were in the NBA, I'd live it up from my 20s to my 30s, then once I retired, I'd settle down."  I'm so glad we cleared that up.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Don't Forget Your Tiara

Which hat should I wear?
Quote of the day:  "Forget all the technicalities, Consultant.  You're going to need a fabulous hat.  Start looking, SJG." This comes from my dear friend Cathy Hamilton http://www.boomergirl.com/, a nice Catholic girl from Kansas, who was just a little surprised to learn of the royal couple's plans to convert to Judaism.  Buckingham Palace prefers to stay mum, but the SJG knows what's up.  I have spies everywhere, people. Remember that.  Meanwhile, the search for a fine chapeau to wear to the royal wedding commences.  The fact that I look silly in hats is besides the point.  My friend Romalyn suggests a tiara adorned with diamonds and emeralds, to match my sparkly green eyes.  I do believe I could rock that look, even if, technicalities aside, a tiara is more accessory than hat.  I'm thinking tiara for the royal ball, Aretha Franklin inauguration hat for the royal wedding.  What are your thoughts?
This might work

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

I'll Bring The Chuppah

He'll look good in a yarmulke
"The Prince of Wales is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince William to Miss Catherine Middleton," the statement from Clarence House read.  In addition, the Prince confirmed that his son and future daughter-in-law have decided to convert to Judaism.  "It may have something to do with the yarmulke," Prince Charles speculated.  "It does a wonderful job hiding the male-pattern baldness that the eldest has inherited from the royal genes."  To help with the conversion, Prince William has reportedly hired the well-respected, much-in-demand Short Jewish Gal of Sherman Oaks, as his personal consultant.  The SJG will supply the rabbi, along with a slew of Yiddish terms, lessons on Guilt and How To Use It, and will teach Catherine how to cook a nice kugel.  "I'm honored to be included in this exciting occasion," the SJG said earlier today.  "I've already picked out the perfect chuppah for the happy couple.  What to wear to the wedding?  That's a whole other issue."  Buckingham Palace said the Queen is "absolutely delighted" for the couple.  "The Queen is a big fan of bagels and blintzes and has been known to enjoy a slice or two of challah with her afternoon tea.  She would like to take this opportunity to say mazel tov to her grandson and his lovely wife-to-be, and hopes they will understand that she will be otherwise engaged on their wedding day, watching reruns of 'Benny Hill.'"

Monday, November 15, 2010

Put That Back!

An overhead view of my house
Sometimes I call it the Bermuda Triangle, other times, the Black Hole.  I have many names for this dark and mysterious locale.  It is alien, insatiable, Houdini-like.  A freakin' force of nature, magnetically-powered.  A saber-toothed con artist.  A steamroller baby.  A churning urn of burning funk.  Demanding as hell.  It wants what it wants, when it wants it.  On any given day, it might consume:  house keys, car keys, neighbors' keys.  On any given day, it might feast on the following: cameras, camera cords, camera cases.  On any given day, it might devour the most random snacks imaginable: a favorite sweater, a favorite CD, a favorite book.  Hardback or paper.  It isn't picky.  Try looking for any of the above.  Go ahead.  Take a shot.  I promise you this: You won't find it.  It's gone.  Forever.  It's up and left the building.  The document I meant to get notorized?  See ya.  The locket with my mother's photo?  Nowhere.  Cash, credit cards, coupons for half-off?  Fugetaboutit.  Things I hold dear.  Things I don't give a crap about, but would like to know where they went, anyway?  So long, sister.  Sayonara.  The Bermuda Triangle.  The Black Hole.  The thing with many labels. The kitchen.  The dining room table.  The garage.  The office.  The hall closet.  The upstairs closet.  Any closet.  Any room.  Pick one, any one.  Put something there, on a counter or a chair, on a hanger or in a drawer, and kiss it adios.  The tickets to that show next week?  Good luck with that.  The only photo of me with my eyes open?  Don't get too attached.  Sometimes, the universe likes to eff with me.  Haha, SJG.  You won't find it there, there or there.  Enough with the hide and seek.  I'm onto you.  Put it back where it belongs.  Put it back, pretty please.  No questions asked.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Sometimes My Mind Wanders

The evidence is in.  The way to be happy is to do the exact opposite of what I do.  Follow these simple rules and you're good.  Do what I do (overthink, obsess, linger in the past, rinse and repeat) and you may as well pack it in.  But as long as you don't let your mind wander into dark terrain; as long as you don't dwell on the negative  (this sucks, that sucks, what doesn't suck?); as long as you contemplate your pipik for five to ten minutes daily(breathe out, breathe in, ommmmm); as long as you don't multi-task (kibbitz, text, polka, reupholster, juggle, simultaneously) you'll be so much happier than the SJG.  So listen to me, peeps.  Live in the moment.  Stay put.  Don't trespass.  Don't mosey off into your unhappy place.  Don't do what I do.  Do the exact opposite, and you'll be fine.

Friday, November 12, 2010

A Phone Call from West L.A.

What month is it?
Dad:  I called up Scotty this morning and sang to him.  I think I woke him up.
Me:  Why did you sing to him?
Dad:  It's his birthday.
Me:  What?  No, it isn't. 
Dad.  It isn't?
Me:  His birthday's on the 17th. 
Dad:  Why didn't he tell me?
Me:  He probably wasn't awake. 
Dad:  What a sweet kid. He didn't want to make his old grandfather feel dumb.
Me:  So you sang to him, the whole routine?  Even "I'll take it from here boys?"
Dad: I went through the entire song.  It was one of my better performances.
Me:  How could I forget his birthday's next week? 
Dad:  I already sent the check, too.
Me:  Oh, Daddy. 

I hang up and go over to the calendar on the fridge.  Something's not right, but I can't figure out what.  I'm usually on top of things, b'day-wise.  I'm all about b'days, in fact.  Cake and candles and gifts.  The SJG goes all out.  So I stare and stare and then it hits me.  Aw... well, that explains it.  I call up my dad and laugh hysterically for several minutes.  It's just me laughing, and then he's laughing.  We're both laughing like crazy people. 

Me:  So guess what?
Dad:  What?
Me:  Scotty's birthday isn't next week.  It's next month.
Dad:  I sang the whole song.  Why didn't he tell me?
Me:  He probably wasn't awake.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Read This, You'll Feel Better

Jewish Proverbs, courtesy of my brother Peter, who lives in North Carolina (Go figure!)
If the rich could hire other people to die for them, the poor could make a wonderful living.
The wise man, even when he holds his tongue, says more than the fool when he speaks.
What you don't see with your eyes, don't invent with your mouth.
A hero is someone who can keep his mouth shut when he is right.
One old friend is better than two new ones.
One of life's greatest mysteries is how the boy who wasn't good enough to marry your daughter can be the father of the smartest grandchild in the world.
A wise man hears one word and understands two.
Golda Meir-isms:  "Don't be so humble - you are not that great." "Pessimism is a luxury that a Jew can never allow himself."
Albert Einstein: "Any intelligent fool can make things bigger and more complex. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction." "Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving."
Woody Allen:  "I don't want to become immortal through my work. I want to become immortal through not dying."
SJG family motto: "Life is life."

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Say It Isn't So

I'd be lost without it
As if the news this morning isn't troubling enough -- a cruise ship stuck in the ocean, people forced to eat spam, spam, spam, spam, wonderful spam, glorious spam -- do I really need this update courtesy of those buzz-killing sadists at Gizmodo? "According to the Cocoa Research Association, we're consuming more chocolate than we're producing cocoa. Which means, eventually, we're going to run out. In 20 years chocolate will be like caviar. It will become so rare and so expensive that the average Joe just won't be able to afford it." Let's just say this item doesn't go over too well in the home of the SJG.  Panic pretty much breaks out in the kitchen.  Various people require immediate sedation. The eldest, a chocolate fiend since the age of one, spins out of control and must be slapped, repeatedly, and told to snap out it.  "If they run out of chocolate," he says, "I'll be so heated.  I'll hoard it.  I'll eff'n freeze it.  I'll do whatever it takes.  I'll stop at nothing." "You've got me convinced," I say, licking chocolate crumbs off the counter.  Hubby remains calm and composed.  He's already come up with a solution.  "I'll start an ETF."  "WTF's an ETF?" I ask, for I am an inquisitive gal.  "Exchange Traded Fund."  "Tell me more," I say, regretting the day I made him take all the leftover Halloween candy to work.  He goes on, eloquently, my very own walking Wikipedia.  "An exchange-traded fund is an investment fund traded on stock exchanges." "You watch too much CNBC, Dad," says the eldest, as he stockpiles Malamars and Milanos in the front closet. "You won't be saying that after my ETF for chocolate takes off," hubby says.  "So we'll be rich?" I conclude.  "Maybe," says hubby.  Maybe is good enough for me.  "What the hell are you waiting for?  Get busy!" "I'm on it," he says, "right after I take a shower."  "Without chocolate, who I am?" I ask.  But no one answers.  See that.  Already, my  identity's in jeopardy.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Dear SJG

BYOT:  Bring Your Own Turkey
Dear SJG,
It's my turn to have Thanksgiving at my palatial retreat.   Two years ago, hubby's aunt took a big fat tumble and blamed it on an innocent folding chair. Is it tacky to post a sign at the door that says, "Management Not Responsible for Your Klutziness"?
Lawsuit Pending

Dear Lawsuit,
It would be tacky if you didn't post the sign.  As an extra precaution, you should force your guests to sign a waiver before entering.  You can never be too careful when allowing relatives to roam freely through your elegantly-appointed home.  You never know what sort of trouble these people might get into. 
You're welcome,

Dear SJG,
My 89-year-old father asked what he could bring for Thanksgiving.  I told him, "Two turkeys, homemade cranberry sauce, cream spinach, a platter of noshies and four desserts, nothing too fancy.  He started laughing and hung up.  Should I call him back, or wait for him to show up with the food?
Lazy in Sherman Oaks

Dear Lazy,
You'll be waiting a long time. 
You're welcome,

Monday, November 8, 2010

Save This!

I wake at 7, but it's really 8.
I lunch at 12, but it's really 1.
I dine at 6, but it's really 7.
I sleep at 11, but it's really 12.
I'm an hour more eff'd up than usual.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

That Should Be Illegal

Hubby has generously allowed me to list some of his favorite rants.  The following five items should be illegal, are already illegal but lazily enforced, or may become illegal.
1. Reckless Use of Windshield Wiper Fluid
"People who use their windshield wiping fluid while stopped at a stop sign are completely oblivious to the fact that the windows of people behind them are getting filthy from the spray onto their clean car.  It should be illegal." (The SJG is guilty of this crime.  Feel free to make a citizen's arrest.)
2. Gross Negligence of the Express Line
"How difficult is it to have your payment method ready to go when you're standing in the 10 items or less line at the market?  The whole point of the line is to get in and get out quickly.  It defeats the whole purpose if you take 10 eff'n minutes to find your wallet.  It should be illegal."  (The SJG would never stoop this low.  I'm always ready to spend.)
3. Turn Signal Denial
"Radical lane changes without any warning can kill people.  Don't make me guess what you're about to do.  How hard is it to use your turn signal?  It's already illegal but no one seems to care."  (The SJG is a big proponent of the turn signal.  Sometimes I use it when I'm not changing lanes, just to 'eff with folks.)
4.  Commercial Volume Abuse
"The wild volume differential between show content and commercials is about to become illegal.  They've passed a law to level the loudness between the two, but it hasn't gone into effect yet."  (The SJG hates this volume abuse even more than hubby.  I'm throwing a very quiet party when it becomes reality.  You're all invited.)
5.  Reservation Cluster #$%*
"To accept a reservation at a popular restaurant, and then ignore it, making you wait anywhere between half an hour to 45 five minutes is the worst offense of all.  Dinner should be free if they make you wait that long.  The whole point of a reservation is to reserve a time.  If you can't control the table turnover, your restaurant skills are questionable.  It should be illegal to make people wait."  (This is hubby's number one pet peeve.  The SJG is happy to sit at the bar and judge people as they walk by.)

Saturday, November 6, 2010

A Dance To Jill

So sad to hear that Jill Clayburgh has died of leukemia at 66.  She was wonderful in everything she did, including personal favorites "An Unmarried Woman" and "Starting Over."  "I guess people look at me and they think I'm a ladylike character," she said in an interview in 1982.  "But it's not what I do best.  I do best with characters who are coming apart at the seams."  No wonder she was so relatable to women everywhere.  Here she is, dancing in her underwear, something I've been known to do myself.  But then, hasn't everyone?

Friday, November 5, 2010

Look Out, Hipsters

Requirements include thick skin
The college boy's status on FB:  "Literature Major with a focus on Creative Writing, hmmmm I like the sound of that."  The ex-college boy's reaction to his brother's potential major:  "He'll be surrounded by a bunch of pretentious pricks and hipsters."  The college boy's reaction to his brother:  "Haha I don't really care who I'm surrounded by, after looking at all the majors that is the one that appeals to me the most."  Do I correct him:  whom I'm surrounded by?  No.  I may be a former English major, but all I say is:  "Do it."  This is not how I reacted when the eldest declared his major, Environmental Studies, a few years back. "Not the obvious choice for you.  But go for it."  He pulled it off, despite all the math, did well and is now employed... in show biz and dreams of writing and producing "hilarious, edgy sh*t." As for the youngest, I may suggest that he toughen up, immediately if not sooner.  He's a gentle soul, a romantic, a lover of rap-style poetry. The boy wears his heart on his sleeve.  Creative writing?  He needs to develop extra-thick skin, something he doesn't come by, naturally, from the SJG genetic package.  Overly-sensitive to criticism?  That would be me.  Known to weep profusely at random intervals?  Me.  Hubby, on the other hand, arrived on this planet, not giving a @#*& what anyone thinks.  I hope the college boy has some of Dad's kick-ass attitude stored away.  Some of that "you're wrong and I'm right" demeanor.  So go forth and write, young man.  Do it.  Give it everything you've got.  And take no prisoners, while you're at it.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

A Job I Wouldn't Want

Please help me, SJG
There are many jobs I wouldn't want (grave digger, Zamboni driver, roofer, Sarah Palin's moose-finder), but of all the employment opportunities I'd have to decline with a great big "No Thankie!" the one that sounds the most hellacious:  Charlie Sheen's sober coach.  If a call came in this morning,  "Is this the notorious SJG?" to which I'd have to answer, "Who wants to know?" If the caller said, "This is Charlie Sheen's agent,"  I'd say, "Condolences."  If the caller said, "We hear you're very good with drunks," I'd say, "I've been known to calm down a few intoxicated relatives at Passover."  If the caller dangled this before me, "How would you like to work one-on-one with Charlie and slap some sense into his sorry ass?" I'd say, "How much?"  If the caller said, "Six figures to watch Charlie 24/7.  You see him reach for a drink or a pill, you grab it out of his hand and wrestle him to the ground, lock him in a closet, do whatever you have to do."  At this stage of the job offer, I'd be entitled to ask, "How are the benefits? My pet insurance is about to run out."  If the caller said, "The benefits kick in if you survive the first 48 hours with Mr. Crazy." "It's tempting," I'd say, "but I'm thinking no."  If the caller resorted to begging, "Seven figures, a penthouse at the Plaza, a personal masseuse at your beck and call, and all the Prada that fits you, alterations included," I'd still have to say, "I'm flattered, really, I am.  I mean, a gig like this doesn't come along that often.  Pass-a-rooni, nonetheless.  I wish you the best of luck.  I hear Lindsay Lohan's sober coach is available."

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Rabbi, Interrupted

All week, the Today Show has been running a series called "Is Civility Dead?" This morning's segment dealt with please and thank you, as in, why don't people say it anymore?  (Because their a-holes.)  Mid-way through the piece, Matt Lauer brought out a reverend and a rabbi to discuss this nationwide shortage of manners.  Rabbi Matthew Gewirtz had barely opened his mouth when NBC News suddenly cut him off with an "important" election update.  Did I really need yet another reminder of what went down?  No.  So thanks for ruining my morning, NBC.  Thanks for interrupting a rabbi.  Of all people!  It doesn't get any ruder than that.  Shame on you, NBC.  Bad network! Go to your room and don't come out until you've hand-written an apology to the nice rabbi.  And one to the SJG, as well. 

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Costume Change

Do you have this in a bigger size?
At the gym, my good friend Angelina (not her real name) and I do a Halloween post-mortem.  "Did you find the school girl costume for your daughter?" I ask her. Angelina, a psychologist, an expert on the behavior of young people, rolls her eyes.  "She wound up borrowing a French maid's costume from her friend.  This is after I wasted twenty minutes at that Halloween store on Riverside, trying to find the school girl costume.  Everything costs likes $70.  So I'm on the cell phone, walking up and down the aisles, describing the stuff and she's crying hysterically on the other end.  I start yelling at her to make up her mind, I've got to get to my hair appointment. Then my husband gets on the phone and makes it worse.  Now I'm yelling at him and my daughter is still crying in the background, like this is the most important thing ever.  It feels like everyone's looking at me, and I'm worried I'll run into someone who knows me. 'Oh look, there's Dr. Jolie (so not her last name), the school psychologist, yelling like a lunatic.'"  Of course, I'm laughing my ass off during her sad tale.  It's easier with sons.  Their only goal at Halloween is to look like an idiot.  "So how was your Halloween?" Angelina asks me.  "Fine.  Not too many trick-or-treaters.  My son went to a party and lost the funny black wig we always wear on Halloween.  We've had it for years.  We've all worn it at some point.  It's a family hair-loom.  Get it?" Now I'm laughing at my own pun.  If I don't, who will?  Angelina smiles.  "That's cheesy enough to put in your blog." Done.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Some Are, Some Aren't

I'm Don Johnson and I'm not Jewish

Thanks to my friends Margit and Carolyn for passing this funnyordie video on.  Enjoy!