Big Foot

One of these feet is not like the other

I stop by to say hi to my neighbor Mindy, as she puts some last minute Halloween decorations up.  "Ew, spooky," I say, re: the giant spider web hanging by the front door. "You want to know spooky?" Mindy asks, adjusting the witch's hat on her head.  "Bring it," says the SJG. "So the other day I look down at my feet."  "Calluses?" I ask.  "No."  Mindy is a dance teacher.  It must be dance-related.  "Bunions?" "Will you let me tell the story?"  "Who's stopping you?" "So I look down at my feet and I notice that my right foot is suddenly like an inch longer than my left foot." "What the eff?" I say.  "I know, right?" "But why?" "I have no idea.  Hormones?"  "Hormones, or lack of hormones?"  I ask, looking down at my dainty size sixes.  "I've never heard of feet growing out of freakin' nowhere.  During pregnancy, maybe.  But not long, long after."  Mindy gives me a look.  "You had to add an extra long? Long, long after?" "It's a fitting metaphor for your situation, don't you think?"  "I think I'm sorry I brought it up."  "Too late to take it back now.  So what the hell is going on with you?"  Mindy shrugs.  For some reason, she seems annoyed. "All I know is, one day, my feet are the same size.  The next day, one is significantly longer."  At this point, I'm laughing.  I can't help myself.  This is the weird sh*t I adore.  I'm wondering if it's time to contact Ripley's Believe It Or Not, or the Guiness people.  There could be some money in this for me.  Mindy reaches over to smack me, but I'm too quick.  She clips the skeleton, instead. "You think it's funny?"  "It's hilarious."  "You wouldn't think so if it happened to you."  "But it hasn't."  "Imagine going into your closet and putting on your favorite shoes and the right one doesn't fit anymore.  Not so funny, is it?"  "Not funny if it happens to me, but funny, really funny, if it happens to you."  "You've got a sick sense of humor, SJG."  "This is new information?"  "I've always suspected it, but to see you in action up close, it's pretty disturbing." "Aren't you glad I stopped by?" "Not really.  Happy Halloween, sicko," Mindy says.  "Happy Halloween, Big Foot."

Step Away From The Chocolate

Step away from the chocolate, SJG.  So what if it's sitting there, all pretty, in a big seductive bowl by the front door, whispering naughty things, taunting you:  "SJG... SJG...  Unwrap me...  Take a bite... I dare ya."  Gobble too many M&M's, peanut or plain, what's the diff, and you know the results, girlfriend.  Scarf down another Reeses Peanut Butter anything, and Monday morning, the city council will have to approve an expansion plan in the region of your tush.  Don't do it.  Fight it.  Be strong.  (But it's so delish.)  You don't need that candy.  (But I do.)  You're better than that Kit Kat Bar.  (No, I'm not.)  You're Good n' Plenty without a Hershey's Kiss. (Oh, shut it.)  This Halloween will be different.  The college boy won't be bringing home a pillow case full of sinful treats.  The recently-employed will be handing out candy, whether he likes it or not.  This Halloween is a new beginning.  Step away from the chocolate.  Step your ass far away.  The next town over ought to do it.  The next county.  The next universe.  Candy is evil.  Remember that.  Say it with me now, people.  Candy is... oh never mind.  You heard me the first time.

My Son, The Zombie Golfer

Bad day at the golf course

Cheap Shot

This morning, as the recently-employed son prepared to leave for a long day of staring at a computer screen, he caught the last few seconds of a "Today Show" Halloween segment.  The premise: Why spend a lot of money on costumes when you can do it yourself for bupkis?  The topic resonated with the eldest.  Only last night, he'd stopped by Goodwill to amass various items for his own cheapo costume.  He plans to go to work tomorrow as a Dead Golfer with a bloody tee sticking out of his cheek.  And he came up with that on his own.  Watching the Cheapest Family in America decked out in their hellacious cheapery, he no doubt recalled the time back in elementary school, when he got corralled into appearing on a similar, do-it-yourself Halloween segment on a local show.  He was covered from head to toe in balloons.  Yes, he was the original Balloon Boy, waddling out on stage, so traumatized that he gave up any theatrical aspirations right then and there.

Regrets, I've Had A Few

Last night at dance class:
Helen:  Look at Lynne!  Her hair's standing straight up like a troll doll.
Lynne:  I don't look like a troll doll. 
SJG:  You look like Pebbles.
Lynne:  I loved Pebbles.
Helen:  I loved troll dolls.
SJG: I had a mini troll on top of my pencil.
Helen: I wanted to be a troll.
SJG: I wanted to be Barbie. I wanted those legs. 

Yidle-Diddle-Didle-Didle Man

Here's to Joseph Stein, who wrote the master-piece "Fiddler on the Roof."  He died at the age of 98 in NYC.  I saw Hershel Bernandi as Tevye with my family when I was just a short Jewish kid.  "Fiddler" takes place in Tsarist Russia, 1905, and has always felt like a tribute to my grandparents, who grew up during those turbulent times and later fled to America. 

The Literary SJG

People often stop me on the street and ask me, not where I got my hair cut or bought my diamond-studded stilettos or learned how to strut my stuff like a Vegas showgirl.  These are secrets I'd rather not share.  The SJG must keep a few things to herself, or spoil the magic.  I must keep the mystery that is me alive.  What people want to know, and maybe you're one of them, is what the hell I'm reading these days, for I'm always reading something.

This Halloween, I'm Dressing Up As...

Cousin Eddie

Call me strange (you wouldn’t be the first), but every Halloween, the SJG looks forward to scaring the sewage out of little children. One look at my freaky punim and the kiddies wonder if that bite-size Snickers is really worth the fright. Every year I try to top myself. On October 31st, neighbors expect to find me with gobs of blood dripping down my cheeks, courtesy of the knife embedded in my face. Sure, some years I mix it up. I might have a fork jutting out of my forehead. Or a chainsaw through my gut.

Mother & Son

Elaine May & Mike Nichols

It's true, I'm missing the college boy up in Santa Cruz.  I'm trying hard not to call him, trying to disengage, trying not to nag, something he excused me of doing the other day.  Rather them book him on a guilt trip, I'm watching this classic skit with Mike Nichols and Elaine May.  Enjoy. 

Back In Therapy

 

Tell me your problems, SJG. 

"Don't you wish he could be our therapist?" my friend asks. "Oh, hell, yes.  It would be wonderful." "I'd give anything just to sit in the same room and stare at him." "I know.  That hair.  Those eyes.  The accent.  It would be a challenge to put a declarative sentence together in his presence."  "We wouldn't have to talk, we could just stare and drool."

Short Jewish Doggy

Your slippers, m'lady.  They taste divine!

Today's guest blog is written by the Short Jewish Doggy, Dusty Schneider, aka "Mr. Innocent."  I demanded a formal apology, and here's the mixed result:
Dear SJG, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for destroying your slippers while you were on the phone.  But it's really not my fault.  It's yours.  Have you not yet figured out that when you're on the phone, I pull all sorts of crap to get your attention?  This isn't new behavior.  I've been doing it for eight years now.  I grab whatever I can find and run through the house.  A pillow, a dish towel, a sock, a spatula, an oven mitt.  I'm not picky.  I grab, therefore I am.

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Here's another gem, courtesy of my dad, the birthday boychick:  "The Singing Anesthesiologists,"a talented group of goyim.  Enjoy.

Hold The Back Page

Air Force Lieutenants Bill Cox, Ben Starr and
Jack Renchor (Molesworth, England 1944)

I asked my dad what it feels like to be 89 years old: "What comes to mind immediately is:  will I get to be 90? I think I’ll go for it. Then, hey, people have lived to be 114. Now we’re talkin’. Maybe I can reach 115. The oldest person in the world!  I’d get my picture in the papers and probably guest on SNL. But that’s not the real reason I want to be that old. The real reason is that at 115, my social security check each month would be about forty thousand bucks. That’s what I call livin’!"  Happy Birthday, Daddy.  You amaze me.

SJG: Princess Edition



For me?

The other morning, my brother John stops by and makes me a princess crown out of balloons, mainly because I tell him he has to, or I'll cry.  He's always making princess crowns for other little girls.  It's my turn now.  I ask why he makes balloon crowns. "I'm a professional balloon artist.  It's what I do."  I should mention this is not a skill that runs in the family.  I can't even blow up a balloon.

Casting Call: Javier as Yonni

Javier as Yonni

Best Story Ever.  Lifted from Popeater:  "For the past 69 days, Yonni Barrios, one of the thirty-three trapped miners in Chile, has played the part of doctor, monitoring his peer’s health while being stuck 2,000 feet underground. However, when he’s at sea level he fulfills the role of real-life playboy. 

Oh, Yonni!

Friends, family, and international media swarmed the site once survivors began to ascend from their home for the past two and a half months. Barrios had an extra visitor, Susana Valenzuela, his mistress who had the pleasure of meeting his wife, Marta Salinas, for the first time.  The two were introduced when Mrs. Salinas overheard Ms. Valenzuela shouting her husband’s name in to the mining hole. Needless to say, or stay, Salinas didn’t stick around to welcome her adulterous husband. Although she's grateful for his health, she was later quoted saying, '…I am a decent woman. Things are clear: it’s her or me.' Valenzuela, who’s been canoodling with Barrios for five years, is convinced she'll win this battle, claiming the two are soul mates.  Ironically, Barrios dug his own hole. When asked whom he wished to see upon arrival from The Phoenix, Barrios listed his wife and his home wrecker. That karma, it gets you every time."  We now know his wife didn't show.  In the movie version, it's a no-brainer who should play Yonni, the "Miner of Two Loves":  Javier Bardem.

Animal Attraction

A while back, my neighbor Cheryl and I were out in the 'hood, walking our identical labs Scout and Dusty.  Since the moment they met, our dogs have only had eyes for each other.  The way they sniff each other's tushies brings courtship to a whole new level.  So, as we walked along that day, our dogs cozying up like an old married couple, we noticed a third party in our midst.  Behind us, a car slowed down to get a closer look at two hot ladies, engaged in pithy conversation.  Our natural beauty and grace, our stylish strutting, our runway-worthy street attire, well, clearly, it was too much for the dude.  How could he not slow down and take in our magnificence?  Seriously.  What sane man wouldn't do the same, under the circumstances?

That's Not Good

What the college boy posts on Facebook yesterday: "So I'm just chilling in Urban Outfitters with Mariel, humming along to "Sun Hands" by Local Natives, when an old man in a Toyota comes crashing through the window and shatters the back of the store. Pretty sure I almost sh*t myself."  This is the type of stuff I'm privy to, since the youngest re-friended me.  

Enter at your own risk

I call him up. "Are you both okay?" "Yeah. Just a little shook up." "Was anyone hurt?" "I don't think so. People were screaming. The old guy was in shock. There are ambulances and firetrucks here."  "So you take her out to get her mind off things-" "And a car crashes into the store." "The universe has a sick sense of humor, hun." "Sure seems like it, Mama Bear."

If He Were A Rich Man...

He could live here.

"If I had the loot, I'd buy it right now," the newly-employed said, upon hearing that the Season 7 "Entourage" Tuscan villa just went on the market, and it's only a smidge under $6 mill.  Such a deal.  The thought of occupying the 9,000-square-foot ultimate bachelor hang, where Vinnie Chase and Johnny Drama ran wild, sparked a few grand ideas.  "It would be eff'n sick.  It would be ridiculous."  Yes, it would be sick, not to mention ridiculous, if hubby and I got our privacy back after 22 years of nonstop parental glee.  Hey, it's only money.  You can't take it with you.  Let's do this!  Please send your generous donations today.  And hurry!  Someone might grab the villa before we get a chance to make an offer.  You don't want to live with that kind of guilt, now do you?  Of course not.  So act now.  Don't be stingy.  It's for a good cause. The eldest needs his own space, and so do we.

Prestigious Internship Available

I need this gal, immediately

Today my friend Mick sends me an email, asking for my blintz casserole recipe, something I've apparently bragged about, but who can remember?  I tell him no problem, let me find it and I'll get back to you soon.  Translation:  after I comb through drawers and cabinets and weird hiding places.  It's my mother's recipe, written on old stationery in her beloved scrawl.  You'd think I would've framed it, or at least put it in a safe place.  But that would be too easy.  The recipe could be anywhere:  Stuck inside a cookbook.  Stuck between other recipes.  Stuck to the bottom of a drawer.  If only I could remember it by heart, like they do on "Top Chef."  I've made it 832 times.  I'm sure I could round it off to the nearest blintz:

Let's Do A Header

Does anyone know how to do a header? 

Sunday afternoon.  A call from Santa Cruz.  "How do I do a header?" asks the college boy.  "A what?"  "A header and a footer?"  "Have you joined the intramural gymnastics team?" "Put Billy on."  "Billy!"  "Let me talk to him," says hubby.  "Be nice."  "Scott, what's the problem?"  "I need to do a header and a footer for my essay."  "When it's due?"  "Tomorrow."  "Why do you always wait till the last second?"  "Can I talk to Billy?"  "Bill!"  Billy gets on the phone.  "Hey, Scotty Boy.  You want to do a header, not a footer."  "Keep talking."  "It's really easy.  Go to view, header, footer."  "But you said I don't want to do a footer."

Yabba Dabba Doo

Happy 50th to the Flintstones!  The modern stone age family!
From the town of Bedrock, they're a page right out of history!

What Are You Doing?

That about sums it up

It's Just A Jump To The Left

I'm the one in the back

This morning, I went downstairs to make the newly-employed a nice breakfast, an egg, some buttered toast, a little juice, followed by a nice lunch to bring to work, a tuna sandwich, some Nacho Cheese Doritos.  How cute is that?  As I put a napkin inside the brown bag, a napkin I knew he wouldn't use, but what sort of mother makes her boy lunch and doesn't give him a napkin, just in case he spills, the oddest sensation came over me.   It was astounding. Right there in the kitchen, I started dancing, which, in and of itself, isn't usual.  For the SJG, dancing occurs daily, at random intervals.  But this particular jig felt different.  I had no control over the moves.  A higher authority instructed me:  "It's just a jump to the left. And then a step to the right. With your hands on your hips. You bring your knees in tight.  But it's the pelvic thrust. That really drives you insane. Let's do the Time Warp again. Let's do the Time Warp again."