Happy Leftovers!

                                                                      Anne Taintor

Groomer Gal

Showering is such a lonely business. You stand there in your birthday suit, as warm water cascades down upon you, soothing your tired neck, washing all your cares away. Your mind starts to wander, and soon you’re under a Hawaiian waterfall with Brad Pitt and Angie’s somewhere in Germany or France or Zimbabwe with all those kids. It’s just you and Brad getting friendly. And then you remember that promise you made to stay environmentally faithful. This shower is supposed to be green, remember? Make it fast. There’s no time to linger with Brad. Scrub up, rinse off and get out. You’re done in five minutes. Hang on, you say, as you towel off. What about that old bumper sticker from the Sixties? You know the one: Save water, shower with a friend.

Home Entertainment

Sometimes the best home entertainment arrives, not via satellite dish, but courtesy of Mother Nature herself. “Come here,” my husband says. “You gotta see this.” I barely look up from the newspaper. I assume he wants to show me something sports-related on TV.  Unless it’s something spectacular, like the removal of Ann Coulter’s vocal cords live on “The View,” I’m sticking with Doonesbury. But no, the man insists I put down the funnies and join him by the window. “Don’t make any sudden moves,” he tells me. I tiptoe over. “This better be good.” Happily, the scene that unfolds doesn’t disappoint. It lives up to our expectations, and then some. It’s educational, enlightening and uplifting. The bushy-tailed star takes center stage on the patio, and it’s obvious he’s got mad skills. He doesn’t have to dig too deeply to find his motivation. Someone’s been stealing his walnuts, chomping ’em down whole. And guess what? He’s heated. It’s payback time.

Dream On

Anne Taintor, Chronicle Books

Common Scents

I got the call while I was outside watering my bone-dry begonias. Naturally, I was honored, not to mention surprised. When a top perfumery asks to bottle your scent, it’s nothing to sneeze at.  Every celebrity on the planet has a signature fragrance, from the Olson Twins, Britney and Paris, to J. Lo, Gwyneth and Beyonce. It’s about time a major non-celeb such as myself got a crack at that multi-billion dollar market.  I’m still not sure how the folks at Odeurs Unlimited got wind of me, but clearly they smelled a winner from afar.  “I would like so much to spend zi day with you,” declared Madame Pheromone, Senior V.P. of Toiletry.  "You want to come here?” I gasped, imagining the hellish hours of housework ahead of me.  “Mais oui,” she answered Frenchly. “How else can I collect your essence?”

Switched At Birth?

The Doctor Will See You Now

                                            Freudian Cigar

The other day, I went to a memorial for a dear family friend, held at the Silent Movie Theater on Fairfax.  The man was a beloved Hollywood publicist and the turnout was huge.  I grew up with his daughters and hadn't seen them in ages.  They're both in the biz.  One of them is a prominent casting agent I've had the pleasure of working with in the past.  When I walked up to give her a consoling hug, she got a funny look on her face. "Carol, are you still writing?"  I nodded.  Of course, I'm still writing. What else am I qualified to do? "Why do you ask?" I said.  "Well, I heard you'd become a therapist." My husband and I started to laugh.  "Only for my immediate family and friends," I said. "Who told you I was a therapist?"  "My sister heard about a therapist named Carol Schneider." "Huh," I said.  "I wonder what I'm charging."

Short Jewish Gal Spotted In Sherman Oaks

For the past three years, I've been blogging on the wonderful BoomerGirl.com as the Showbiz Kid, thanks to my dear friend Cathy Hamilton. You can find her hilarious take over at BoomerGirlDiary.blogspot.com.

I'll now be known as Short Jewish Gal, only because Show Biz Kid is taken, and anyway, who cares, because, let's face it, Short Jewish Gal describes me best. Sure, I've grown up in Show Biz, I've worked in Show Biz, and I have many deep thoughts on Show Biz. But in my heart, I'm an S.J.G. and always will be.

So, please hang in there with me as I figure this blogging thing out on my own. Cathy Hamilton promises to hold my hand, all the way from her perch in Lawrence, Kansas.

Here I am with eldest son Billy, who towers over me.  On a good day, I'm barely 5'2."