A Window Into Sex...

                                     ... and the City 2
On my recent trip to NYC, I got all farklempt when I discovered the "SATC 2" window displays at Bergdorf Goodman.  I snapped a few digital shots to capture the moment of anticipation.  Oh, I couldn't wait to see the movie, even though, based on the previews, I had a strong hunch that this desert adventure, complete with camels and burkas, would turn out sucky.  But that's never stopped me before.

Whatchoo Talkin' 'Bout, Willis?

What stays with me:  The look of delight on my grandmother's face when she met Gary Coleman back stage, after a taping of "Diff'rent Strokes," the show my dad (Ben Starr) wrote and produced for many years.  The short Russian lady smiled shyly in Gary's presence.  She couldn't get over how cute he was, how talented and sweet. 

Onward!

I'm over it now.  I'm okay with it.  I gave it a day.  I pouted some.  I milked it.  I commiserated with my friends.  We asked each other:  Why?  Why didn't she win?  In the end, it comes down to this: Crystal's fanbase skews older than Lee's.  Much older.  As a group, we're not great at text-messaging and calling in. Voting-wise, we're remiss.  Still.  We know what we like, and we like Crystal. 

2 % Reduced Idol

Oh, I am bummed this morning.  I was bummed last night.  How long will this inner bummage linger?  Much like the Reduced Fat Milk in my fridge, the disappointment will expire at some point in the near future.  Still.  Two-percent separated Lee D. and Mamasox.  Two percent, people. That's not much, but it was enough to hand the crown to the most unassuming, not-quite-there-yet Idol winner ever.  I blame Simon for this twisty outcome.

Give MamaSox The Crown, Or I'll Pout

Lee vs. Crystal.  Crystal vs. Lee.  Based on last night's stellar butt-whomping, Crystal deserves the Season 9 Idol crown.  Will she get it?  Will her dreads get tangled in the jewels?  Dude, I hope so.  Yet it's impossible to tell.  For the past few weeks, the judges have clearly favored Lee.  Simon and Randy even predicted he'd win in separate interviews, but that was before Crystal worked her magic Tuesday night.

Ten Ways To Make Idol Better

1. Replace Simon Cowell with, who else, the SJG.
2. Hold auditions for Cowell's replacement. 
3. Don't replace Simon Cowell. 
4. Include on-line auditions.
5. Let viewers select who goes to Hollywood.
6. Let viewers select the top 24. 
7. Ban man ponytails!
8. Eliminate lip-synched group sings.
9. Eliminate random guest performances. 
10. Replace Simon Cowell with me.

Lost: The Final Sobfest

Vincent on "Lost"

Vincent's lookalike 

NYC: Part Deux

Note to NYC:  What part of "please don't rain while I'm in town" didn't you understand?  I thought I made myself perfectly clear.  Note to self:  quit bragging about Dad's uncanny ability to control the weather.  A little humilty, please.  Despite the downpour on Tuesday, I walk and walk and walk.  I negotiate my way, I maneuver my brollie, never once sending a fellow pedestrian into the gutter, although I'm tempted.

SJG Hearts NYC, Part I

   Home!  Home from a long week in NYC.  Home to find the home in one piece, after we boldly left the youngest to fend for himself.  No signs of "Risky Business"-type activities.  No cracks in the giant crystal globe on the mantel.  Nothing overtly suspicious, but I'm so jet-lagged, I'm not sure I'd notice.  This morning I made coffee without the most important ingredient:  the coffee.  Appearing on the Broadway stage really knocked the @#$% outta me.

Bow Wow Wow

Now and then, Dusty packs his things and says, "I'm outta here."  I'm not sure what sets him off.  We give him everything he wants.  We treat him like royalty.  We dress him in fashionable clothes.  We buy him the finest squeaky toys.  Unlike our actual children, who must earn their keep, we spoil him rotten.  But sometimes, it's just not enough. 

How Sweet It Is

Last night, hubby and I went to the Hollywood Bowl to see JT and Carole K: the Troubadour Reunion.  It was a very last minute thing.  Two pricy tickets were ours for the taking, and unlike 99 percent of the time, we said, oh, hell, yes, we'll go!  How ... what's the word... spontaneous of us, how out of character.  I picked up dinner, and off we went on a bus full of old farts, a motley crew who marched on board carrying blankets and thermoses and cushy seatpads, as if going to football game in the dead of winter.  No parking hassles.  No waiting for hours to retrieve our vehicle after the show, which is hubby's definition of purgatory.  None of that.  Just wine, salads, box seats (excuse me for bragging), crisp night air, and, once the concert began, a lump in my throat for the duration.  James Taylor was my first, you see. 

The Chosen Ones

Only a few things surprised the SJG last night.   Fantasia's wacky hairstylin'.  Daughtry's whirly sideburns.  Bon Jovi's failure to call me.  The top three?  Muchly what I expected.  I've liked these three from the beginning.  True, the Hotness has been inconsistent, but he's talented and dreamy and pleasing on the eyes.  He'll get the boot next week, I betcha.  He's past due. 

In Your Face

Movie night on the Idol stage.  Oscar-winner/R&B singer Jamie Foxx came back a-mentorin' (by popular demand?) and got in the faces of the final four. They freaked in his presence, and I don't blame 'em.  Squirm cental.  Dude planted his punim directly in Lee's air space. Always helpful.  Jamie told the Hotness to seduce him.  Jamie intimidated Crystal and humbled Big Mike, which is no small feat.  Props for that.  Jamie gave out T-shirts, too.  Contestant or artist?  Artist or contestant?  Yawnsville.  Even so, I'd like one of each, por favor, in petite.

Must You Sing?

The Hills are alive with the sound of me, me, me

Warning to all with sensitive ears:  I'm a compulsive singer.  Throughout the day, and often into the night, I sing, sing, sing.  Do I have a good voice?  Let me think about that.  Survey says:  No!  Does that stop me?  'Course not.  I make up ditties about my dog and family, substituting names depending on my mood.  My people are so used to it, they often accompany me.  I'll be in the kitchen, pouring myself coffee, and break out one of my original show tunes, prompted by nothing in particular:  "He's the Dusty man of luvin'."  From upstairs, hubby #1 will chime in: "He's the Dusty man of love."  The fact the I'm singing about a dog, and not a man, matters not.  Logic never factors into my song selection, which would probably irk the @#$% out of Simon Cowell, but in the home of the SJG, it's the message that counts.  At the core, it's all about the love.  If I'm feeling the love, I've got to sing about it.  I must!  I can't help myself.  There's a musical interlude perfect for everything occasion. 

Say Yes

Mystery solved. Saturday night, Scotty served Mariel Chinese food, followed by a giant fortune cookie that asked, "Prom?" She laughed and thought it was cute and said yes, and then they devoured the cookie. 

All About Me Day!

Today I expect breakfast in bed

Long stem roses and eau de toilette

Today I expect oodles of praise

Trophies, accolades, block-long parades

Today I expect Hallmark moments

Best Mom, Best Wife, Best Person Alive

Today I expect gifts, kisses, hugs

Tributes to my maternal prowess

Today I expect to say this line: 

If it's not one thing, it's your mother

Hubby Explains The Wall Street WTF Just Happened

This morning, I ask hubby, who watches CNBC all day --"Not all day," he corrects me -- to explain in simple terms the Wall Street Plunge from Hell.  Here's his response: "Apparently, and I'm no expert, it looks like a large negative trade was made by mistake, billions instead of millions, which triggered (long pause here) sophisticated computer algorithms (duh!) to protect the down side from huge loses.  (I've stopped listening at this point.)  The New York Stock Exchange slowed its trading down by design and the trading computers bypassed that exchange and went to other exchanges to execute the stop-losses... #$%@, what's it called?  Stop limits.  So there was a downward spiral as everyone was rushing to protect their positions.  P&G went from the mid-60s to the high-30s in about a minute, which is not a normal trading range by any measure.  (At this point, I've gone to the market, walked the dog, repainted the house and started a load of laundry.)  Basically, the machines took over and caused the problem."  Well.  Thanks for clearing that up, honey.

Let's Go To Prom

Prom?

In ancient times, a dude would turn to a dudette, and ask, "Wanna go to prom, baby?"  She'd either say, "Hell, yes!" or, "Get out of my face!"  In the case of the SJG, future hubby -- we go back aways -- asked me, I said yes, and off I went to find a gown.  My mom took me to Robinson's or maybe Bullocks and we picked out a boring floral dress, long and slightly hippy-ish, with zero sex appeal.  It was the mid-70s.  One of a kind, it wasn't.  I spotted the same dress on someone else, two seconds in the door.  Oh, the horror.  Hubby rented a brown tuxedo.  The rest of the evening remains a total blur.  No limos, no hotel suites, no drunken after-parties.  The high point for me was breakfast at Ship's the next morning, where we saw another prom couple, Danny and Leslie, sharing eggs and bacon.  We all felt so grown up, so done with high school. 

Gonesville

Out you go, Aaron

"Casey or Aaron:  Gonesville."  So said my friend Penny, the Rock n' Roll Grandma, in agreement with my half-accurate bottom two prediction yesterday.  Greedy former journalist that I am, I told her I was stealing her "gonesville" and making it my own, and she generously handed over my new favorite word.  Shout out to Penny!  So, yes, the high school boy is gonesville, but the cowboy had a nice long ride, didn't he?

Sing the Words, Bro

When it comes to Sinatra, you gotsta swing, or it don't mean a thing, and last night, the top five went Idoling along, with or without the necessary swagger n' groove.  Two stood out, one exposed a supersized sunflower tat, one lacked the requisite coolness, and one, oh man, did one ever sport the most hideous freakin' ponytail the SJG has ever seen. 

Kvell-Time

Check me out!  I'm the stunning redhead next to Elton John

This morning, I call up Connie Ray in New York, and share some exciting news.  "Did you hear?"  "Hear what?"  "The news, silly."  "Oh?  Is there big news today?"  "Uh, yeah.  The show I'm starring in on Broadway got two Tony nominations!" "That's fantastic.  You must be excited."  "Excited.  Honored.  This is major kvell-time."  "Kvell-time?"

The Weatherman

Stop That

My dad controls the weather. He's had this ability since WWII, when, as a navigator, he'd make it rain so they wouldn't have to fly treacherous missions over Germany.  How did he do it?  It's top secret, of course, not the sort of thing you'd want to share with the enemy, but I know this much:  frantic hand gestures, communal foot stomping and his own mental powers played a big part in the miracle.  After the war, he discovered that this gift works in reverse, too.  He can make it not rain.   He can make the clouds go away and the sun come out.  And, he can do it on short notice.

Roller Babies

I'm in the mood for babies, babies and more babies.  I can't birth 'em anymore, but I can snuggle them, can't I? The other day, oh, did I cuddle the most adorable newbie, a gorgeous gal named Kate.  Fresh on the planet, baby girl, aka Kateness, fell in love with me, immediately.

Don't Jump Off Any Rides

Don't forget to signal

Today, the youngest heads off to Disneyland with his lovely girlfriend, to celebrate their three month anniversary.  If that's not adorable, I don't know what is, do you?  It will be the first time he's driving to the happiest place on earth, and let's just say his sense of direction is still evolving.  The concept of east, west, north and south remains fuzzy.  It's more about "I turn left, then what?" than actual street names.  For example, I might say, "Turn on Magnolia," and get a blank stare.  "Magnolia?"  "The street you drive every day."  "Oh, that Magnolia."  You can probably understand why his excursion feels to us like a road trip to Russia, by way of the North Pole.  We're sure he'll get to Walt's place, we just hope it's not the one in Orlando.