Wednesday, June 30, 2010
It's so important to accessorize
Sometimes I dangle it around my wrist. Sometimes I hold it casually between my fingers. But no matter how hard I try to turn it into a chic accessory, a bag full of doggy do just doesn't work with the rest of my ensemble. And yet, every day I face the same dilemma when I walk Dusty. What to do with the poo?
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 7:41 AM
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
I feel bad about my lawn. Truly, I do. If you saw my lawn, you’d feel bad about it, too. You might not say anything, because you’re too nice, but you’d be thinking bad things about my lawn, I just know it. Before water restrictions, my lawn used to be pretty and green, but now it has ugly brown age spots and dead patches. My lawn looks thirsty and depressed all the time. If my lawn could talk, it would say that twice a week just isn’t enough. My lawn has needs, too, you know. It wants what it can’t have – more water. But if I give it more water, I’ll be fined by the DWP. So I must suffer.
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 8:25 AM
Sunday, June 27, 2010
There's no rhyme to explain
How I dread you! How I dread you!
Every day I complain.
Make it stop, now! Make it stop, now!
I am going insane.
I can't take it! I can't take it!
A hater, I remain.
When's it over? When's it over?
Will the horns ever quit?
Crazy making! Crazy making!
England just played like sh*t!
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 10:18 AM
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 9:48 AM
Thursday, June 24, 2010
For you, a few excerpts from "Zen Judaism" by David Bader:
If there is no self, whose arthritis is this?Be here now. Be someplace else later. Is that so complicated?
Drink tea and nourish life; with the first sip, joy; with the second sip, satisfaction; with the third sip, peace; with the fourth, a Danish.
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 12:55 PM
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The humidity-coiffed SJG at Sardi's
This morning, I woke up to the bummer news that "Next Fall," nominated for two Tonys (Best Play, Best Director), will shut its doors at the Helen Hayes on July 4th. I've had the great honor of seeing my dear friend Connie Ray and the gifted cast perform "Next Fall," just for me (and maybe a few others) on two joyous occasions: once off-Broadway, and once on.
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 9:56 AM
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 11:32 AM
Monday, June 21, 2010
I'm Back. Hire me.
On Mother's Day, I received accolades. On Father's Day, the Hallmark moment dimmed, the praise, the glory, went that-away. I stared into my bagel of cream cheese and lox and asked, "Why, bagel? Why must my favorite cuzzy and his stunning wife, a gal I adore on such a level, I actually call her Sis (no more, Sista!) bring that up again?" My bagel remained tight-lipped, I'm sorry to say.
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 10:16 AM
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Bragging Rights: A poster from "Our Man Flint," the hilarious James Bond spoof, co-written by the one, the only, Mr. Ben Starr. Happy Father's Day, Dad. Thanks for making me laugh for over five decades! Enjoy the clip; double click on screen for the full image.
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 10:05 AM
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 9:59 AM
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Today the youngest graduates from
pre high school. The dress code for this occasion carries a serious mandate, repeated often via scary bulletins sent home and lengthy recorded messages: No. Tennis. Shoes. In case you missed that: No. Tennis. Shoes. Don't even think about it. When it comes to appropriate graduate footwear, a pair of Vans could undue years of hard work in an instant. "Anyone caught wearing tennis shoes to graduation will not be allowed to participate in the ceremony!" So sayeth the sternest assistant principal on the planet. This guy means business.
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 8:54 AM
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Never sick, eh?
I thought we were all clapped out after the eldest's graduation, but last night, hubby and I clapped our way through Senior Awards Night. We applauded mostly for other people's offspring, and it left me some-what bitter, watching all the uber-smarties parade by, the highly-accomplished, the freaks of nature with perfect attendance records since fourth grade.
Monday, June 14, 2010
In Front: SJG & Billy
In Back: My Bro' John & Tim
The theme of the past few days: Why, it was all about getting naked, of course. Getting raw with our emotions. Getting nostalgic over, well, everything. Exposing our hearts and souls, not to mention our tender shoulders and necks and any other available skin to the harsh rays of the Santa Cruz sun. We slathered on the SPF 50. We did our best to pay attention to the lengthy speeches. We hydrated like crazy and managed not to plotz from the heat. The SJG even wore a hat. I never wear a hat. I look dumb in hats. Always have, always will. And yet somehow, for my son's college graduation, I kinda pulled it off. Wasn't I just a tad fetching in my straw hat?
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 9:32 AM
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Where do these go?
Space your kids four years apart, and prepare for a grand collision of milestones. The older one graduates college on the same day the younger one goes to prom. The younger one graduates high school on the same day the older one packs up his apartment to come home. It's too much for my brain, my heart, my closets. Could someone (other than hubby) please tell me how an apartment full of furniture and stuff could possibly fit in a house already stuffed to capacity? Not to worry. Hubby has it all worked out, like some freaky mathematical equation. It's all about angles and stacking and taking things apart... things that took hellish hours to put together.
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 9:52 AM
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
This morning I stepped on the scale and assumed that a truly hideous error had occurred. The amount of tonnage flashing back at me, digitally, struck me as just plain cruel, not to mention, grossly inaccurate. There's no way that a large vegetarian burrito, margarita, guacamole and chips could have done that much damage to such a petite gal. I'm thinking of suing: Baja Fresh or the manufacturer of the scale? I can't decide.
Porky in Sherman Oaks
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 8:59 AM
Monday, June 7, 2010
Done. Now What?
Don't cry, sweetie. Let go of my leg. I'll be back soon, I promise. I always come back. See, here I am. How'd it go? Did you have fun? You made that picture for me? I love it. I love you. Take a cookie. One cookie. Okay, two. Take a nap. Take a bath. Sleep tight. She's a nice teacher. It's a nice school. Look at the playground. You'll like it here. I'll be back soon. Stop screaming. Stop crying. Get out of the car. Don't forget your lunch. Don't forget your homework. Don't talk in class. Don't forget to pee. Don't throw that at me. Come back here. Go to your room. Go play outside. Go back and say you're sorry. Did you have to make that face when they took the photo? Did you finish your homework? Did you brush your teeth? Did you remember to say thank you?
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 9:47 AM
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 12:14 PM
Friday, June 4, 2010
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 8:23 AM
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 10:32 AM
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The stylist will see you now
All week, the "Today Show" is running an on-going segment about hair, and what we gals go through to make it look nice. To this day, I still cringe when I think about the most harrowing haircut I ever received. My mom had heard about some big deal hairdresser who worked out of his house. Movie stars made up most of his clientele. She was lucky to get me an appointment, she said. At 15, I wore my baby-fine brown hair like every other girl at school: Long and parted in the middle. But Mom had a new style in mind for me, one she kept to herself for the time being.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
A gift that keeps on giving
A few days before she went into the hospital, and right before her voice gave out for good, we talked on the phone, pretending everything was normal. Somehow she remained slightly optimistic, based on what, I’ll never know. In what would be our last conversation, she told me her long-time manicurist had come by the condo that afternoon. She wanted her acrylic nails removed.
Posted by Carol Starr Schneider at 10:01 AM