Requesting Quiet

Two words:  Shut up! 

Butterfly Girl Be Gone!

                        Ba-bye, Quirky Girl! Scream on, elsewhere!

Kina hora:  A magical phrase to ward off the evil eye or to show one's praises are genuine and not tainted by envy.   Example:  "I haven't had a cold/parking ticket/jury duty summons in five years, kina hora."  Without the kina hora, trust me, you'll have that cold/parking ticket/jury duty summons by mid-day, tomorrow.  Kina hora is one of the few universal laws I believe in, completely. 

Man! I Feel Like Shania!

"Twangy."  "Lose the robe."  "Sassy!"  "Yo!"  So said the judges regarding my living room performance of "Man!  I Feel Like A Woman."  Next week, I'll rethink the outfit. Tuesday night, the remaining sixers worked their inner Shania nicely, with the dudes channeling the country-pop goddess more effectively, I thought, than the ladies.  Shania proved an excellent mentor, instructing them to, "interpret the songs as if you wrote them."  Well said!

Woman Gives Birth to Labrador

Rest, you've had a long day 

No question, this was my easiest pregnancy. There was no morning sickness. No heartburn. No weight gain. No elastic waist bands or built-in pouches to conceal my bulging belly.  And talk about an easy labor. No contractions.  No cries of “Get this thing outta me now!” No need for an epidural.  All hubby and I had to do was throw wads of money at a strange woman with lipstick-stained teeth, and the bundle of joy landed right in my lap.

My, People Come & Go So Quickly Here

Growing up, my favorite Americal Idol was Dorothy Gale of Kansas.  I wanted to be her. I wanted her hair, her ruby slippers and her little dog Toto. I wanted to dance with the Scarecrow and comfort the Cowardly Lion.  I admired Dorothy's courage and chutzpah and the ballsy way she handled that Wicked Witch of the West. The fact that Dorothy took her down with a bucket of water gave me hope.  It gave me reason to believe that maybe, if you met your fears head on, just like Dorothy did, if you didn’t back down, you just might melt a few demons of your own some day.

To Be Or Not To Be Mel Brooks

                                                About time!

Mel Brooks, comedian, actor and producer who gave the world "Blazing Saddles," "Young Frankenstein" and "The Producers," not to mention "Spaceballs," a personal fav, finally got a star Friday on the Hollywood Walk of Fame -- the 2,406th star, in case anyone's counting -- during a nice ceremony in front of the Egyptian Theatre. His son, Max, and best friend, Carl Reiner, attended.  A mere lad of  83, Brooks has won Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony awards, and is working on a musical version of "Blazing Saddles."  Mazel tov.  Here's the hilarious "Hitler Rap," promoting "To Be Or Not To Be," a great movie you should rent and enjoy, immediately, if not sooner.

Ten Things I Won't Be Doing This Weekend

Keep away, he's mine

1. Touring tattoo parlors with Michelle "Bombshell" McGee
2. Studying Kate Gosselin's Best Dance Moves
3. Letting Stacy London of "What Not to Wear" into my closet
4. Feuding with Lindsay Lohan, Michael Lohan, any Lohan
5. Visiting Jesse James in rehab
6. Shopping on Melrose with Lady Gaga
7. Shaving off Brad Pitt's scraggly beard
8. Stalking Matthew Fox, due to restraining order
9. Teaching Heather Locklear how to drive
10. Parading the 'hood in that Dior gown Jen Aniston loaned me

Idol Gives & Takes Tim

"Idol Gives Back":  Alternate snooze/sob fest.  There, I said it.  The show ran long, longer and longest ever; two-and-a-half hours of much too muchness.  Somewhere in the first hour, my brain blurred, my lids dropped and off I went for one of several naps.  I'd done some pre-show net searching.  I'd Googled, "Who gets eliminated," for I'm not a big fan of suspense.  I'm more of a "just tell me now and get it over with" kind of gal.  When preggers, did I want to know the baby's sex?  Yes, please, even though, sans ultrasound, I could've told you I'd be making boychicks and residing in a Barbie-free zone.  It was my destiny. 

Inspire This!

Last night, Alicia Keys told her starstruck mentees to,"Bring out the inspiration and truth and find what they're made of."  This was no easy task, and not all delivered. Some did, some didn't, some gave it their best, some cheesed it up, some wore butterflies, and one supremely talented gal cried cuz Dad was in the audience, and that made me cry, but then, I weep if you look at me the wrong way.  Unlike Adam Lambert, who gave the Idols actual guidance, Alicia K, a gorgeous gal with lustrous hair I would love to adorn my keppie, if only for a day -- too much to ask?  an afternoon then -- gave them so little to go on, she could have texted it:  "Feel the words."  "Connect."  Only Big Mike got a taste of honesty:  "That fell a little short," she said.  "Bring people on a ride." And speaking of this week's theme (we were, weren't we) guess who was in the audience? A TRUE AMERICAN IDOL. That's right, people. Captain Sully! 

Home Again

                                The Coachella Boys (Scotty & Billy)

Monday afternoon, the Volvo unloaded two tired looking dudes who resemble the collective gene pool, but not each other.  The question heard on the grounds of Coachella:  You're brothers?!  You don't look anything alike.  Oh, but they do.  They share the same sick sense of humor, the same love of bodily noises, the same love of music, or why else would they have ventured to the desert?

I Can Explain

I didn't expect to see him on Sunday.  Had I known he'd be sitting there, eating humus and pita in that odd little dive on Ventura Boulevard, I would've worn the other pair.  I know how he gets.  He's the jealous type; always has been.  Suspicious of others in his line of work.  The wind kicked up, and I thought, "Oh no, not him.  Not today."  I moved quickly toward my car, but he saw me anyway.  Got up from the table, left his lady there, and came outside to greet me with a hug and biting sideways glance.  "So," he said, "how are you? Why haven't you stopped by?" "I've been sick," I said.  "Ah," he said, eyeballing me again.  I started to sweat.  "Come in, have a seat, have some food."  "I can't," I said, looking for an out.  "I'm due home."  He shrugged.  He knew what that meant.  "How is he?"  "Good.  Except -- " I stopped myself.  "Except what?" he asked.  "His glasses are lopsided."  "He needs to come in and see me."  "He will."  "When?" "Soon."  "9:30 Tuesday is good for me."  "It's not good for him."  "Tell him to call me."  "I will." 

The Most Epic Breakfast Burrito

Here's what we know, Coachella-wise:  On Saturday, the Schneider boys ordered breakfast burritos from room service that cost more than the combined cost of their bar mitzvahs.  The burritos took their sweet time arriving at the private villa, however, and the delay brought forth much displeasure.  As the minutes ticked by, the longed-for breakfast burritos took on new and colorful descriptions: "those @#$%'n burritos," "those stupid-ass @#$%'n burritos" and post-consumption, "those were some tasty @#$%'n burritos."  Once we got them off the burrito topic, we learned that on Friday night, Jay-Z was "hot" but Beyonce was "hotter."  The eldest caught a glimpse of the bootilicious one in the wings and has yet to recover. 

Opening Act: Denial!

The sons are at Coachella, a haven for music, halter tops, flip flops, burnt shoulders and noses and please-don't-tell-me-what-else.  When it comes to this grand desert festival, attended annually by one, if not both, of the boys, I would prefer not to know more than necessary.  Did you arrive in one piece?  Check.  Are you still in one piece?  Check.  Are you having fun?  Check.  Spare me the details, I'm begging you. 

Nice Save

This just in, courtesy of AOL's Popeater:  Overwhelmed by the stress and pressure of being on 'American Idol,' contestant Crystal Bowersox threatened to walk off the show. 'Idol' host Ryan Seacrest stepped in and had a quick heart-to-heart with her in the show's parking lot, TMZ reports. Sources claim Bowersox told him she couldn't handle the competition and didn't like all the media attention and threatened to move back to Ohio to be with her family.Luckily, Seacrest convinced the 'Idol' hopeful to stick it out. He pushed the fact that if she won she'd get a recording contract and become a millionaire. Guess that was enough to make her stay. According to TMZ, Seacrest told her, "The greatest thing I ever did was make enough money so I could buy my mom a house. You can buy your mom a house."

Caught In The Slammin' Door

So it's Andrew going home.  I called that twice, did I not?  I got it right, finally.  The bromance between Andrew and Lee ended in huggies and tears.  Andrew had such promise, but when you peak with "Straight Up," there's nowhere to go but down.  Yet, fret not, fans.  He'll reunite with Lee D. on the Idol tour, he'll make some coin.  It's all good.  Katie's well-deserved dismissal surprised me, in that I thought Aaron was the one getting the cowboy boot, or possibly Siobhan, but I threw Katie in there as a tentative back-up.  Give me a few points for that, at least.  Even the SJG gets it wrong now and then, people.  Much like the Elephant Man, I.  Am.  A.  Human.  Being. 

Lawdy! It's Elvis Night

True, there wasn't a whole lotta shakin' goin' on for Elvis night on "A.I.", but was that such a bad thing?  It was more Acoustic Elvis than Vegas Elvis, which was fine by me.  No unseemly bulges.  No greasy, fatty fried performances.  Yet there was grit and a little heat and much to enjoy:  The cast of "Glee" in the front row.  Nice product placement.  Adam Lambert, the only "Idol" grad to ever mentor.  Oh, didn't he do a stella, stella for star job sizing up the talent?  He thought they needed to wake up, have a little coffee, show some energy.  He was honest, constructive and concise. And then there was Ryan, hyper, overly animated, overly caffeinated Ry-Ry, blurting such oddities.  "My tongue isn't as talented as yours," Ryan told Adam, appropos of nothing.  That's just wrong on so many levels, the SJG will leave it at that. 

Diva Scholarship Application

Dear DIVA Scholarship Applicant,

Congratulations on your decision to apply for our DIVA scholarship, following your recent bout of bronchitis.  The DIVA Board of Directors heard it through the grapevine that you, the Short Jewish Gal, failed to milk your illness for all that it was worth.  Rather than make endless demands for chicken soup, foot massages, violin concertos, hair extensions, makeup and good lighting, you chose to suffer alone on the sofa, sipping tea and watching "Julie and Julia" over and over till your eyes sealed shut.  According to your husband, aka Hubby, Mr. "Just Back From Vegas," the worst that you got, during the course of your cough-centric sickness, was "a little edgy." 

Guilty of Showering

I’m guilty of something so heinous, so environmentally incorrect, that I deserve to be verbally spanked in public. Later today, I will venture into the nearest town square – I have no idea where it is, but I’ll find it – and await my tongue lashing. I fully expect a team of skinny blonde, eco-minded celebs to carpool over in a luxury hybrid and dole out my sentence. The truth is, and it hurts to admit this, believe me, it does, but… I take showers that last more than two minutes!  But wait, I’ve got more to confess. Unlike Jennifer Aniston, I brush my teeth at the sink! (I turn the water off, I swear.) 

You Don't Have To Be Jewish

Every Sunday, and I do mean every Sunday of my childhood, my grandparents came over and the family sat in the den, sipped Coke, ate pretzels and listened to comedy albums.  Sometimes Nicols and May, sometimes Allan Sherman.  Our favorite was, "You Don't Have To Be Jewish."  One-liners from this album punctuate my life.  "When you've got money, you can travel."  "Does that mean you're not coming?"  "We shouldn't mix in."  Here's a classic: "The Reading of the Will." 

The Picasso from back of the store, and everything!

The Big Mike Save

Thank you.  Thank you very much.

Last night's revival meeting on "Idol" once again reaffirmed why this show still cracks the SJG up in more ways than one.  It's the unexpected that keeps this sleep-deprived resident of Sherman Oaks coming back, year after freakin' year.  No one in the universe, not even Nostradamus himself, who, as history proves, predicted the whole "American Idol" phenomenon, could've prognosticated the mega switcheroonie that went down Wednesday eve.  I thought Andrew was a goner.  I said it.  I called it.  I prepared for the event.  I gave myself an up-do for the send-off.  I tattooed the side of my neck.  If that's not dedication, I don't know what is, my friends. 

The Hotness, The Bagpipes, The Didgeridoo

The Top Niners took on Lennon & McCartney Tuesday night, and surprised the judges, and more importantly, the SJG, with some excellent song stylings, some soulful licks, some wacky instrumental choices, and one particular up-do' that disturbed me, deeply.  That said, it was a fun and entertaining evening, not a major stinker in the bunch.  Let's break it down, shall we?  Alright, if you insist.

I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write My Cough A Letter

Who is that masked cougher?

Last night, in the middle of yet another 3 a.m. bark-a-thon, which I can only hope woke up the party boys next door, I sat my cough down and gave it a good talking to, and it went something like this:

Me:  Hey, cough, are you listening?
Cough:  Hack, hack.
Me:  Do you know how many times you've embarrassed me in the past 32 years?
Cough:  You mean 52?
Me:  Whatever.

Hat Trick

Take One Fiddler on the Roof, Call Me in the Morning

It couldn't hurt

Whenever I suffer a nasty bronchial bout, as is this case right now, my doctor puts me on these cute little gems called predisnone.  Maybe you've tried them yourself.  If so, I hope you're still married.  Prednisone is the leading cause of marital discord in America today, for the simple reason that it makes you certifiably mischuga in every way.  Alas, it's the only medicine capable of calming the bark-a-thon inside my chest.  The side-effects are legendary in my home.  Forget the flatulence, the day-long jitters, the ability to move furniture with my mind.  That's the fun part.  It's the emotional component that sends my people running in terror.  Even the pharmacy knows to put the following warning on the bottle:  "FYI:  This pill turns you into a hateful bitch."

Chia Head: SJG Limited Edition

I finally got that full head of foliage

Spring has sprung. Don't deny it. It has, too. Maybe not in your neck of the woods, but over here in Sherman Oaks, I'm so full of spring, so overly-pollinated, that with proper watering, I could be my own Chia Head. Given my personal pollen count, grass and flowers would bloom from my scalp, I'm sure of it.  A couple spritzes of Miracle Gro would bring forth the daisies, but then I'd sneeze even more, and I'm already doing enough of that as it is, so I'll stick with hair spray.  Sneezing and wheezing eat up most of my day, and I'm not talking dainty little girly-girl sneezes.  My sneezes are thunderous. They're a force to be reckoned with, I promise you. My sneezes echo and roar and knock down passersby. I scare old ladies and children with my stereophonic ACHOOs. One look at my red nose, my watery eyes and dark circles and folks run the other way in fear.  Of course, not everyone bolts on my behalf.  Hubby tells me I've never looked lovelier. This explains why I married him; he tells it like it is, even when it's not true. 

Idol Predictions

It's Agatha Christie time on "Idol."  And then there were three.  A.I. keeps losing the ladies. What's up with that?  Way back when, Season Nine belonged to the femmes, but they're getting bumped off in favor of some less talented dudes. I'll tell you this much:  it's making the SJG wicked nervous.  But then, so many things do.  List available upon request.