If There's A Will...

Lew Weitzman

He got a full house at the DGA.  He would've liked that.  He would've asked if there were any seat fillers hired for the event.

Every sweet story, shared by his sons, his brother, his lifelong friends, involved his legendary quips and puns.

It was non-stop fun just to be around him. On the phone.  In person. He made you laugh.  He couldn't help it.

A few of his famous Lew-isms:

"If there's a will, I want to be in it."
"I'm alright for a man of my height."
"It's so quiet you can hear an option drop."
"I don't have to do this for a living.  I have two chinchillas in heat."
"My heart will be pounding until we speak again."

Mine, too.  If only.

My Ingratitude List

It's important in life to take a moment and reflect on all the things I'm not grateful for, otherwise, I might get too happy, and that would be too foreign for the SJG.  I wouldn't know what to do with all that happiness.  I might spontaneously combust.  And so, here's just a partial list of what I'm not grateful for, not grateful in any way, not even a little bit:
1.  The sinus headache I woke up with this morning.
2.  The complete a-hole who cut me off on Ventura the other day.
3.  The parking ticket I haven't gotten yet, but will get at some point.
4.  The woman in Zumba who invaded my personal Zumba space.
5.  The trash truck on Beverly Glen that made me late for my lunch date.
6.  The nurse who measured me yesterday and told me I was shrinking.
7.  The dry chicken I served my family for dinner.
8.  The unknown callers who act like they know me.
9.  The people who talk and/or text during movies.
10. The people who will annoy me today.

The Royal Boychick

The SJG, aka William and Kate's spiritual and cultural guide to all things Jewish,  can now reveal that I received one of the first phone calls announcing the birth of the royal baby.  The conversation went something like this:  "Hello, SJG, it's Prince Wills.  How's ba you?" "Good, good.  And you?"  "Fantastic!  Kate just popped out an eight pound boychick."  "Mazel tov, I'm kvelling on your behalf."  "I am, as well.  In between sips of tea!" "So, when's the briss?"  "Soon."  "Am I invited?" "Most likely." "I'm sensing a problem."  "You're very perceptive."  "Tell me something I don't know.  Spill it, Wills.  What's wrong?  I'll keep it hush hush."  "We still haven't announced that we converted."

Advanced Displacement

The first time the SJG heard the expression "gifted," the eldest was in kindergarten.  The "gifted" buzz was suddenly a thing.  Is your child gifted?  Has your child been tested?  Is your child highly gifted, moderately gifted, semi-gifted, or, God forbid, NOT gifted?  Oy vey. Such a shanda to be un-gifted.  Everything was about gifted this, gifted that. Seemingly overnight, "gifted" meant something big.  You wanted your kid to be academically gifted.  Your kid, on the other, didn't give a sh*t about being gifted.  Unless it meant toys and Game Boys and other fun stuff coming his way.  That was the only gifted he cared about.  The gifted ones only got more homework.  Congratulations, brainy ones! Guess who never gets to go outside and play ever again?  You!

A gathering of the Highly Un-Gifted

Where did this gifted business come from, anyway?  I can't tell you.  I'd probably have to go back to school to find out.  I don't want to go back to school.  In school, I was never pegged gifted.  In school, I was put in remedial math just for getting a "C."  So, don't talk to me about gifted. Occasionally, I landed by accident in an advanced class.  Someone in the front office messed up, and there I was in Advanced Sitting, surrounded by smarties.  I felt out of place, but I did my best to sit in an advanced way.  Advanced was a big thing, back then.  In college, the SJG took Advanced Kvetching.  I excelled.  I took Advanced Worrying.  I aced it.  I took Advanced Denial.  I failed that one.  These days, I'm into a different type of advanced.  Advanced Bone-Creaking.  Advanced Nasal Difficulties.   Advanced Where-Did-I-Put-My-Phone.  When it comes to advanced, at this stage of the game, I'm plenty gifted.

Back Story

When the SJG was a little gal, my dad convinced me he was a very strong man, stronger than Tarzan.

Stronger than Jack LaLanne.

When the SJG was a little gal, my dad convinced me he could move the house all on his own.  He'd say, "Watch this, Daddy's going to make the house move."  He'd push against the wall and grunt.

And I'd totally buy it.  I was four.

Then one day, before remote controls made magical things happen, let's call it the early '60s, my dad got out of the car and went to open the heavy wooden garage door.   The little SJG figured he wasn't just going to move the house, he was going to lift it right off its foundation.  How many daddies could do that?  Mid-lift, his back went out.   He was frozen in pain.  "Go get your mother," he said.  "Hurry." So I ran and got my mother.  "Daddy got stuck moving the house," I told her.

It took me a while to question the whole house-moving scenario.

The other day, I finally broached the subject.  "Dad, when did I stop believing you could move the house?"  "On your 45 birthday."  "How did I take it?"  "Not well.  You're still not over it."

Eating For Two

I'm so nervous for the Duchess, I've been noshing on her behalf.  An extra bite of bagel. A slice of nice coffee cake.  A double scoop of Abe & Moshe's Toffee Tonnage.  No wonder the scale's creeping up.  I'm eating for two.  That's the kind of gal I am. When I worry, I go all out. I'm not just worried about my own people.  I'm worried about Kate's mishpocha, too.  What they must be going through!  I can just hear the phone messages Kate's ignoring:  "Hello, dear, it's Mummy.  Any contractions?  Can we move this thing along?  All the attention.  It's a bit tiresome, don't you think?  Kiss kiss!"  "Hi!  It's Queen Liz.  What up with my royal great grandbaby?  How much longer must I wait?  It's terribly unbecoming.  I command you to speed it up.  Ta!"  All the silly, unsolicited advice Kate must be getting. "Schlep, Duchess, schlep! Schlep around the palace.  Schlepping always gets labor started." "Have some chicken soup, Duchess.  It couldn't hurt."  "Have some royal sex. Sex always brings on labor."  Kate and the SJG, we have so much in common.  Before the royal eldest was born, I, too, had millions dying to know when I was ready to pop.  I'd step outside the royal townhouse and find myself surrounded by paparazzi as I waddled toward the garage.  I was not amused.  "Please, no more photos.  I look like a beached whale."  Kate, on the other hand, looks remarkably glamorous and fetching.  She's camera-ready at all times.  Me?  Not so much.  Still, I feel for her.  I do.  Which is why I'm eating for two.  So, please, Kate, be a love and hurry it up.  I can barely zip my jeans.

Where's Your Messiah Now?

It starts out innocently enough.  A well-meaning attempt to impersonate a famous dead movie star.  The other day, the youngest started the ball rolling, with his version of Conan O'Brien's version of Jimmy Cagney.   I picked it up from there, with my version of Billy Crystal's version of Edward G. Robinson saying, "Where's your messiah now?"  I said it about 180 times for the next three hours.  Then hubby got home and took it from there.  All last night, it was, "Where's your messiah now?" "Where's your Moses now, see?" By this morning, I had to find it on YouTube, hopefully putting an end to the madness.  Here's the link, too, for the smart phonies: http://youtu.be/D0Qcv3YV4aA
(Again with the technical difficulties...)