Baseball In Heaven

Wait.... Nobody brought a ball? Now what are
we going to do for all eternity?"

There were two old guys, Abe and Sol, sitting on a bench in a park feeding pigeons and talking about baseball, just like they did every day. Abe turns to Sol and says, "Do you think there's baseball in heaven?" Sol thinks about it for a minute and replies, "I dunno, Abe. But let's make a deal.  If I die first, I will come back and tell you, and if you die first, you come back and tell me if there is baseball in heaven." They shake on it and sadly, a few months later, poor Abe passes on.  One day soon afterward, Sol is sitting there feeding the pigeons by himself when he hears a voice whisper, "Sol... Sol." Sol responds, "Abe!  Is that you?" "Yes, it is, Sol," whispers the spirit of Abe.  Sol, still amazed, asks, "So, is there baseball in heaven?" "Well," says Abe, "I got good news and I got bad news."  "Gimme the good news first," says Sol. Abe says, "Well... there is baseball in heaven."  Sol says, "That's great!  What news could be bad enough to ruin that?" Abe sighs and whispers. "You're pitching on Friday."
(courtesy at www.jokes.com)

Oh, Please

Don't go!

Oh, please. You can't be serious. The "Breaking Bad" finale and the start of "Homeland" all on one night?  Don't the scheduling gods know that's too much wonderful for one SJG?  The agony of one of my all-time favorite shows ending... the ecstasy of one of my all-time favorite shows rebooting.  I may need a sedative.  Every Sunday, we gather. We eat, we watch. The nice sons I gave birth to, the hubby I married a while back, we obsess over the ending of "Breaking Bad." "How's it going to end?" we ask each other.  "Some people are going to die."  That's the best we can do.  Personally, I think Walter White is going to still be alive. We already know he's going to die soon. We don't need to see it.  I think his unforgiving family will survive, too.  I think Walter White will take down the White Supremacists. I think he'll poison Lydia with the ricin. I think Jesse and Walter will face each other, a la "High Noon," and let each other go. They'll end the same way they started this ride... with nothing.  Who knows?  Maybe I'm a little bit right.  Maybe not.  Either way, I'm going to survive this ordeal, more or less in tact. At least, that's the goal.

Welcome back!

Toasted Onion Bagel Generation

The magazine for chronic worriers

Toasted Onion Bagel Generation:  Burnt-out reassurers caught between the smoked salmon of aging parents who can't accept that anything is wrong with them, and the emerging young adults who can't accept that there's nothing wrong with them that a healthy schmear  of give-yourself-a-chance couldn't cure.

Stainmaker, Stainmaker

Embarrassing photo of SJG by ex-friend Eric Schotz

Stainmaker, stainmaker
Stainmaker, stainmaker
Stainmaker, stainmaker
The blouse is soiled by the oil you splattered

Stainmaker, stainmaker
Stainmaker, stainmaker
Stainmaker, stainmaker

Your friends saw the spots, your trust is shattered

Stainmaker, stainmaker
Stainmaker, stainmaker
Stainmaker, stainmaker
Make stains, more stains, make them really matter

Stainmaker, stainmaker
Stainmaker, stainmaker
Stainmaker, stainmaker
The blouse is soiled by the oil you splattered
It's been soiled, soiled, by the oil you splattered
Stainmaker, your friends watched the oil splatter
(apologies to Traffic)

Sitting...Sitting...Sitting

These days, all I'm doing is sitting... sitting... sitting.  I'm sitting so much that I managed to work this non-activity into the script I'm currently re-writing.... re-writing...re-writing:  "Sitting is bad for you," a minor character says.  Not to judge.  No character is minor if he or she gets to talk.  If he or she doesn't get to talk, I consider them non-speaking and lose no sleep over the lines they don't get to say.  I stared at that line yesterday and thought, "True that.  Enough with the sitting." And yet, what is the alternative for the SJG? Standing? Standing is better for you, unless you stand so much that your feet hurt and your entire body rebels, in which case you sit down again and look what just happened there. You're back to where you started.  But something positive has come from all this sitting.  I've come up with an exciting assortment of "sitting is bad for you" discount merchandise.

Rather than rewrite my rewrite, I'm sitting on my butt, thinking up how to market my anti-sitting stance.  I realize it might not sit well with the chair makers of the world.  But I might bring the mattress makers around.  "Sitting is bad for you.  So lie down and sleep already. Dreaming is better."  I could market my "sitting is bad for you" philosophy to the shoe makers of the world, too.  "Stop sitting, you lazy bitch.  Put on some nice shoes and walk around." I know, I know.  It's not quite there.  But I'm 44 percent positive I'm onto something here. Maybe there's an edgy TV series on the horizon.  "Sitting Bad."  A humble blogger/sporadically employed TV writer gets tired of sitting, stands up, infuses her kugel with illegal substances and....  Okay fine, it's not quite there yet.  Still, I could be sitting on a pile of money.  I could be sitting on a dream.  Maybe all this sitting is good for me, after all.  Did I ever think of that?

Best Update Ever

I'm so excited about my new update, I had to share it with you, my favorite people on this silly planet.  I'm working so much more efficiently now.  I'm easier to read and can perform normal everyday tasks much faster.  I can fold the laundry and put it away in under four minutes.  I can grocery shop, cook a gourmet dinner and clean up in six minutes.  I look younger, too, thanks to the new app that came with the upgrade.  I'm now instantly refreshed and permanently photo-shopped.  I appear in tastefully-applied makeup at all times.  I look brighter and wrinkle-free, 10 pounds thinner and two inches taller.  There's no humble way to put this.  I look freakin' awesome.  And the best part is, I didn't even have to stand in line to make this miracle happen.  All I had to do was plug myself into the nearest socket, enter my privacy code (K - V - E - T - C - H) and execute a quick, relatively painless download into my brain -- I won't lie, it tingled a bit -- and within 20 minutes, hello SJG OS7!  This upgraded gal has it together.  All  my worry bugs, fears, anxiety, neuroses, and self-doubt have been sent off to the OyCloud forever.  Ba-bye mishegas! Adios dysfunction!  Shalom leftover childhood issues!  See you never again, God willing. I can hardly wait for the next update.  There's always room for improvement.

Reading Material

There must be a New Yorker in there somewhere.

The SJG household always has the finest, most intellectual reading material strategically placed in various locales, should an actual intellectual stop by.  Not that we know any, but just in case, it's nice to be prepared.  Sometimes, however, we slip a bit.  Hence the copy of InTouch, visible on the kitchen counter.  I have no idea how it got there.  I blame hubby.  I came home to find the college boy immersed in Hollywood hearsay, instead of his Statistics book.  "Why are you reading InTouch, my son?"  "It's full of fascinating stories that may help me in the future, Mother."  "How so?"  "They're all cautionary tales.  If I learn from other people's mistakes, there's a good chance I won't wind up like any of the wealthy, lovesick degenerates  oft-depicted in this magazine."  "How perceptive of you, my son."  "Thank you, Mother. Did you know that Lamar Odom blames the Kardashians for all his problems?" "Colored me shocked." "And see this Norwegian woman in the photo?"  "My, she's quite the looker." "She says she auditioned to be Tom Cruise's wife." "Did you know I auditioned to be your mother?" "No, I didn't, Mother." "It's true.  I had several callbacks.  I really had to fight hard for this part."  "Tell me more, Mother.""I had to dance and sing, perform a back flip off a moving car, and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in under 30 seconds." "I'm so glad you got the job, Mother."  "Me, too.  It's the role of a lifetime.  I've been playing your mother since 1991." "And you haven't aged at all, Mother."  "Thank you for noticing, my son."  "You're welcome.  Now, where's that PB&J?" "Coming right up, my son.  Coming right up."

Harsh!

"How much will it cost to make her stop dancing?"

The reviews of last night's Emmys are in, and they're a little harsh: "How the Short Jewish Booty Shaker managed to distract host Neil Patrick Harris long enough to storm the stage and perform her so-called 'best' Bar Mitzvah Party dance moves is still under investigation. Audience members stared in disbelief as the SJG twerked the hora to the musical stylings of Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back.'  Thankfully, security hauled her away mid-twerk, and barred her from the Nokia for life.  Chances of a repeat SJG epic shanda next year are slim, according to sources, 'although we can't make any promises.  She's a sneaky one, that SJG.  Once she wants to dance, there's no stopping her.  Next time, we'll have an extra large SJG Tranquilizer on hand, just in case."

At The Outdoor Wedding

At the outdoor wedding:  Fake leaves on the ground signal the start of fall. A late-afternoon chill.  A pretty pashmina wrapped around the SJG.
At the outdoor wedding:  Champagne and spanakopita. Quinoa and grilled vegetables. Cupcakes and "Billie Jean."
At the outdoor wedding:  Live Flamenco music. A guitarist, a singer, a dancer stomping on a wooden board. A lot of Ole!  

At the outdoor wedding:  Celebration in the air. The men who'd been together 40 years finally said "I do." A victory, legal and otherwise, in Altadena.

Mazel tov!

Good Call

The phone rings this morning at 7:15.  My heart jumps.  Who's calling me?
"Hello?"
"Is it too early to tell you how brilliant you are?"
"It's never too early to tell me how brilliant I am."
"The cell phone was exactly where you said it would be.  Charging on the bathroom counter."
"I'm so glad, Daddy."

Strange times call for comfort movies.  As the coffee brews and I wait for my first jolt of java, I decide to test hubby's SJG Expertise.  The man has only known me since 8th grade.  But does he really know me?  Let's find out.
"You have one guess what movie I watched last night to cheer me up and put my brain on pause."
"One guess?"
"One."
"'While You Were Sleeping'?"
Good call, hubby.  Good call.

The Oy Vey Dial

There's the Drunk Dial.  There's the Butt Dial.  And now, direct from Sherman Oaks, there's the Oy Vey Dial. What is the Oy Vey Dial? I'm so glad you asked. You know how I hate to dole out unwanted info. The Oy Vey Dial is something the SJG is famous for committing. The Oy Vey Dial is inspired, not by booze, not by iPhone, but by worry and panic and conclusion-jumping.  Worry, panic and conclusion-jumping:  a lethal combo platter.  Step away from this combo, people, and order something less anxiety-producing. Order a nice scoop of wait-and-see, a side dish of WebMD-doesn't-make-you-a-doctor, an extra helping of calm-the-eff-down.  Take a page from Joe Friday.  Just the facts, ma'am. Not the speculation.  Not the scary assumptions.  Just the facts. Otherwise, and I say this with authority, you will make the Oy Vey Dial and regret it.  You will realize later, hmm, maybe I shouldn't have called so-and-so. Maybe I shouldn't have conveyed that doomsday message. Maybe I should've taken a deep breath and counted to 10 before spreading tsouris throughout the Westside and parts of North Carolina. Maybe next time, and believe me, there will be a next time, I'll think twice before I overreact. Maybe.  Then again, what if my Oy Vey is justified?

What, Me Worry?

So much to worry about, I thought I'd find some quotes on worry to guide me, but then I worried I wouldn't find the right ones.  But guess what?  I did.  So, that's one less thing to worry about.

"Do not worry about your difficulties in Mathematics.  I can assure you mine are still greater."
Albert Einstein

I will say this later to the college son, as he heads off to Statistics.  In this way, I will annoy him, or  make him smile.

"I never worry about diets.  The only carrots that interest me are the number you get in a diamond."
Mae West

I will say this to myself later, when I bypass the scale, slip on my diamond-studded sandals, and wandered off to my favorite place:  The Land of Avoidance.

Gigglers Unite

When I was a little SJG, my mother used to say, "Did you take your silly pill today?"  She would say it when I giggled with a friend, or when I made her giggle.  There was nothing more fun than making my mom giggle.  Her giggle was infectious.  Someone should've bottled that giggle and sold it door to door.  Gloria's Giggles.  Along with a nice bottle of Silly Pills.  Giggles and silliness.  What the world needs now.

Lost In Space

Don't let go, Sandy B.

Dear SJG,
Those images of Sandra Bullock dangling from a space ship are making me very nervous.  When did she become an astronaut?
Sincerely,
A Little Confused

Dear Confused,
According to my unreliable sources, Sandy B. joined the space program a few years back.  She's very rich and can do whatever she wants.  How nice for her.
You're welcome,
the SJG

Dear SJG,
I woke up this morning feeling worried, agitated and ootsie.   I tried to channel my happy place, but it's been torn down and replaced by Starbucks.  Can you suggest a new locale?
Sincerely,
Angsty

Dear Angsty,
Gelson's.
You're welcome,
the SJG

Harsh

Where's The Fun In That?

It used to be fun to get mail. There was the promise of an actual hand-written letter, maybe a post card from some exotic locale. The last time I received an actual hand-written letter or post card was... I have no idea. I think I still had braces.  Not so fun getting mail anymore. I open the mail box, only to find bills and catalogues and, God willing, nothing that says Jury Duty. I live in fear of Jury Duty. I've done it.  I don't want to do it again.  And now that I've put it out there, I'll probably be summoned by the end of the week.  Why can't I keep my fears to myself? Sometimes I over share. I'm a giver.

It used to be fun to get email. BF (before Facebook), there was the promise of communication with long-lost friends. BT (before texting), there was the promise of communication with a college son. "Hi, Mom. I miss you.  Send socks." These days, my early morning email is full of BS (bupkis supremo). Cheryl's Gift Baskets. ModCloth.  Concert Vault. Amazon. Not to mention exciting growth opportunities, financial and otherwise.  Schlong Enlargement.  Really?  Delete.  Delete.  Delete.

It used to be fun to answer the phone.  There was the promise of an actual friend calling to check in, maybe a son calling to say, "Hi, Mom, I'm coming by to give you flowers and read you a poem I wrote about the wonder that is you."  These days, I thank God for caller i.d. I can see who's calling to bother me, and it's usually no one I know. It's someone other than a son wanting money, someone I don't know trying to guilt me into giving.  This is a variety of guilt I don't need.  So please, all you greedy anonymous emailers and cold callers, leave the SJG alone. Don't ask me for anything, and I won't give you anything, not even a credit card, and that way, no one gets disappointed.

Such Is Life

Atonement, people.  Atonement.  This is no laughing matter.  Atonement is serious business.  No matter what religion we are or aren't, no matter what we believe or disbelieve, there's so much to atone for, it never stops.  After all, we're human, and humans eff up on a daily basis.  We drop, we spill, we trip, we give dirty looks to strangers, we curse idiot drivers who should have their licenses revoked, we speak ill of others, we gossip, because what could be more fun than that, we make small mistakes, big mistakes, monumental mistakes.  We judge, we pre-judge, we misjudge.  We say the wrong thing.  Such is life on planet Earth.

As a nice instructor at my health club likes to say, the only perfect people are dead people.  Still, some of us want to be perfect, anyway.  This is a no-win situation, one that keeps us coming back, year after year.  Today, as I sit in temple, I will atone for being human, as opposed to canine, which would complicate my life even more.  

Say You're Sorry

A few years back, one of my neighbors used to call during the High Holidays and leave a long rambling recorded apology.  It went something like this:  "Hi, this is Ed from across the street, the one you always ignore.  Perhaps I've offended you somehow.  I don't know what I did, but I thought I'd apologize, and then you can call me and apologize for ignoring me, like your some big epis, and then we'll be even.  If I've upset you in some way, I'm sorry.  If I've been an inattentive neighbor, I'm sorry, even though I think I've been a pretty great neighbor.  Remember that time I took out your trash cans?  No thank you note, no gift.  That's okay.  It's Yom Kippur.  Time to let old grudges go.  Speaking of which, I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me for whatever the hell I did to piss you off, although for the life of me, I can't figure it out.  I'm a terrific person, even if you don't think so.  Just thought I'd open up a dialogue.  I wish you and your family a gut yuntif.  Don't be a stranger."

Clearly, Ed expected me to call back, but I never did.  This year, I'm going to atone in temple for not leaving the following long rambling record apology:  "Uh, yeah, hi, Ed.  It's Carol.  Just because I drove by you that one time without waving hello doesn't mean I intentionally ignored you.  I was trying not to run over a squirrel.  Still, let me take this time to apologize to you, from the depths of my being, for not killing the squirrel so I could greet you, manually, and not hurt your feelings.  If we're being honest here, I never asked you to take out our trash.  You did that all on your own for that Unsolicited Mitzvah Day you inflicted on the entire neighborhood.  I'm still trying to locate our trash cans.  Where did you take them, Ed?  Give them back.  It would be a blessing if you'd lose my number. Gut yuntif to you and yours."

Commercial Break

While watching a football commercial:
Hubby:  "I'm so glad I'm not a professional football player."
Me:  "Was that ever an option?"
Hubby:  "No.  I was too slow, too short and have a very low pain threshold.  And the shoulder pads are so '80s."

Injury On Aisle 4

"Are you alright, ma'am?"
"No.  Look at my toe.  It's bleeding."
"What happened?"
"That jar of peanut butter jumped off the shelf and attacked me."
"I wasn't aware that jars of peanut butter could jump."

"Maybe the jar didn't jump.  Maybe the jar fell.  Either way, it shattered and a sliver of glass sliced my big toe.  My pedicure is ruined.  I may never Zumba again."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you really?"
"Yes."
"How sorry?"
"Very."
"I'll take your word for it."
"Would you like to file a report?"
"I'd like a band aid first, before my toe falls off."
"I've never heard of a toe falling off from a sliver of glass."
"There's a first time for everything."
"Would you like me to get the manager?"
"First get me a band aid.  Aisle 6."
"I know what aisle they're on."
"Do you really?"
"Yes.  Would you like one with antibiotic ointment, one that's see-through, one with Winnie the Pooh, one with -- "
"I don't care.  Just hurry up.  My toe is starting to detach."
"Here's a nice Hello Kitty band aid."
"Purr-fect.  See what I did there?"
"Uh huh.  Keep the box.  It's on the house."
"It's the least you can do."
"You still want to file a report?"
"I never said I did."

Retail Therapy

"I'm feeling neglected."
"You say that every year at the exact same time."
"For months now, you walk right past me, you never talk to me."
"What you like me to say?"
"You could ask me how I'm doing."
"How are you?"
"Not so good."
"Why not?"
"I'm feel so unloved."
"Don't cry.  I love you."
"You loved me when you bought me, sure.  I was young and unwrinkled.  But now, you take me for granted.  You assume I'll always be here."
"You're a sweater.  Where else would you be?"
"Out to dinner, or a movie.  I'd settle for anywhere.  If I have to spend another day in this closet, I'll lose my mind."
"You're surrounded by friends."
"Friends?  The long-sleeves never talk to me.  They're my competition.  You put on a long-sleeve, you might not need me."
"What about the T-shirts?"
"The T-shirts are mean.  They talk about me behind my back.  They say I'm too heavy for summer."
"They've got a point."
"But summer's over."
"Only by the calendar.  It's still 98 degrees out there."
"I don't care, I can handle it."
"I can't.  I'm sorry.  I'm melting."
"A blast of AC never hurt."
"I'm melting with the AC on."
"Poor you."
"Just be patient.  I'm sure at some point, it'll cool down and you'll come on a nice walk with me, or maybe to the market.  Would you like that?"
"You know I would."
"Feel better?"
"No.  But don't mind me.  You go and have a good time.  I'll just sit here in the dark."

A Dog Walks Into...

... a mattress store.  He tells the manager, "I'm looking for a nice memory foam bed." The manager says, "You've come to the right place." The dog says, "How much does a nice memory foam bed cost?" "It depends.  There's a huge range in price."  The dog says, "The wife's got me on a short leash.  Can you give me a ruff estimate?" "Expensive. Really expensive.  Crazy expensive." "How much for the nice bubble wrap?"  "Nothing."  "I'll take it."

High Holiday Seating

Scalper:  "You need tickets?  I have fabulous seats, right down front. The cantor will be practically spitting all over you."  Larry:  "Really?  How much?"  Scalper:  "Give me $600 for two."  Larry: "I'll give you $300 for the pair." (Curb Your Enthusiasm)

High Holiday SEATING REQUEST FORM

During the last holiday season, many individuals expressed concern over the seating arrangements in the synagogue. In order for us to place you in a seat which will best suit you, we ask you to complete the following questionnaire and return it to the synagogue office as soon as possible.
1. I would prefer to sit in the... (Check one:)
___ Talking section
___ No talking section
2. If talking, which category do you prefer? (Indicate order of interest:)
___ Stock market
___ Sports
___ Medicine
___ General gossip
___ Specific gossip (choose:)
___ The rabbi
___ The cantor
___ The cantor's voice
___ Fashion news
___ What others are wearing
___ Why they look awful
___ Your neighbors
___ Your relatives
___ Your neighbors' relatives

___ Other:_______________________________
3. Which of the following would you like to be near for free professional advice?
__ Doctor
__ Dentist
__ Nutritionist
__ Psychiatrist
__ Child psychiatrist
__ Podiatrist
__ Chiropractor
__ Stockbroker
__ Accountant
__ Lawyer
__ Criminal
__ Civil
__ Real estate agent
__ Architect
__ Plumber
__ Golf pro [tentative; we're still trying to find a Jewish One]
__ Other:____________________________
4. I want a seat located (Indicate order of priority:)
__ On the aisle
__ Near the exit
__ Near the window
__ Near the bathroom
__ Near my in-laws
__ As far away from my in-laws as possible
__ As far away from my ex-in-laws as possible
__ Near the pulpit
__ Near the Kiddush table
__ Where no one on the bimah can see/hear me talking during services
__ Where no one will notice me sleeping during services
__ Where I can sleep during the rabbi's sermon [additional charge]
5. Please do not place me anywhere near the following people:(Limit of six; if you require more space, you may wish to consider joining another congregation.)
_________________________
_________________________
_________________________
_________________________
_________________________
_________________________
Your name:________________________________
Building fund pledge: $________________________
Happy Rosh Hashanah!
Seating Request courtesy of:  
http://www.aish.com/j/j/51477417.html

Please Don't Question My Logic

Bugler

In looking back over the massive ouevre of silly blogs the SJG has amassed, the thousands, you heard me, thousands of thoughts I've posted for fun, not to mention, to justify my own existence -- Hello world?  This is me, a Short Jew in Sherman Oaks.  Is anyone out there listening? -- I realize, humbly, for this is a time for humility and different sizes of Spanx, depending on how much I overeat, there are certain topics I revisit over and over.  And over.  Thank you for not throwing that in my face, kind peeps, on a daily basis.  I've always liked you the best.  Anywho, according to own obsessive calculations, I've written about the wonders and joys, the magic that is kugel, at least 278 times since I started this blog in 2009.  Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating.  But the fact remains, I'm a kugel worshipper.  And yet, I've only found one word that rhymes perfectly with kugel:  Google.  Today, I've thought of a brand new word that rhymes so beautifully with kugel, I just had to toot about it:  Bugle.  Yes, bugle rhymes with kugel.

Kugeler

Why didn't I think of this before?  Let me consult the assortment of mental health professionals who keep me going, and get back to you.  I can tell you this:  I mention bugle and kugel in the same breath because a bugle originated from animal horns, and a shofar is made of a ram's horn, and tonight is the first night of Rosh Hashanah, and Rosh Hashanah is a time when people eat too much kugel before, during (you never know who's sneaked in a slice in shul) and after the sound of the shofar, and clearly, the shofar is a cousin of the bugle.  Whether the shofar and the bugle are still talking, or whether they're pretending they're not related, I can't tell you.  But there you have it.  The bugle-kugel connection.  Please don't question my logic.  I know exactly what I mean.

Fetch

Okay, so sue me, I've shared this classic joke with you before, only last time it was about Morty and the Vet, and this time it's Morris and his neighbor.  That's Jewish humor for you.  Change the names, change the circumstances.  Either way, it still works:

Morris gets a new dog and can't wait to show him off to his neighbor. So when the neighbor comes over, Morris calls the dog into the house, bragging about how smart he is. The dog quickly comes running and stands looking up at his master, tail wagging furiously, mouth open, tongue hanging out, eyes bright with anticipation.

Morris points to the newspaper on the couch and commands, "FETCH!" Immediately, the dog climbs onto the couch and sits down. His tail wagging stops and the doggie-smile disappears. Looking balefully up at his master, he says in a whiny voice, "You think this is easy wagging my tail all the time? Oy! It hurts from so much wagging! And you think that designer dog food you're feeding me is good? You try it. It's dreck! Too salty! And what do you care? You just push me out the door to take a squirt twice a day. I can't even remember the last time you took me out for a good walk."

The neighbor is amazed. "What the hell is that? Your dog is sitting there talking!!"

"Oh, I know," Morris says. "He's young, and I'm still training him. He thought I said KVETCH!"  http://www.jewishpath.org/rs3page2.html

A Visit With Dino

Dino: Hey, lady!  Do I look all blurry to you?  'Cause you look blurry to me!
SJG:  These days, everything's a little blurry to me, Dino.  I've got a floater in the middle of my eye.
Dino: You sure you're not drunk?
SJG:  I had a few sips of Manischewitz for courage. Does that count?
Dino: You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.