Exactly

"Allow me to introduce myself: I’m another person in the room."

Today, in between thinking about the late, great Valerie Harper, I'll go three blocks, maybe four if you count the parking lot, to the ArcLight. It'll be a small posse, the old marrieds, the young marrieds and the youngest son. We plan to spend quality time with these guys.

Yes, I know, we're a little late to the party, the only time we're late for anything. Long gone are the days when longtime hubby and the SJG rush out to see a movie. I'd go so far as to say we don't rush out to do much, unless, of course, we discover we're out of coffee. Caffeine is worthy of a rush. A movie, not so much. I never thought I'd be this lax when it comes to entertainment, but there you have it. Your humble, rapidly aging blogger will get there when I get there, and only if I feel like it. Does this mean I'm not living life to the fullest? Nah-uh. I'm living life at the pace that suits me, a pace that often requires a nap. In this way, I'm a lot like Rhoda.

Growing Older

I hope this beautiful poem has the same effect 
on you as it did on me. 

 
Walk with me by the water... 

 Sh*t... I forgot the words....

Here Come The Sunglasses

I never go anywhere without my sunglasses.

Shortly after my tragic sandal mishap and delightful deli lunch with the one and only JP, I proceeded across the street to Eye-Yai-Yai, the pricey optical boutique where my mishpocha shells out cash like it's growing out of our tushies. My mission: the fixing of my bent sunglasses. It went something like this:
"Hi, Ray, can you fix these please?"
"You didn't buy them here."
"No, but you turned them into sunglasses."
"After the cataract surgery?"
"I'm so touched you remembered."
"First, I must tell you, if the frames break, I'm not responsible."
"Who is?"
"Not me."
"Fair enough."
"So, what happened to them?"
"I don't know. All I did was take them out, put them on, take them off and put them back."
"You stepped on them."
"No, I didn't."
"You stepped on them."
"I didn't."

Really?

"You sat on them."
"Ray, do I look like someone who'd sit on her sunglasses?"
"You slept on them."
"Slept on my sunglasses?"
"You did something very bad to them."
"Are you going to fix them?"
"I hope I can. But if they break --"
"Got it."

This is a nice look for me. 

"Here they are, good as new."
"Thanks. You've done a real mitzvah."
"Before you go, can I tell you about a wonderful deal we're having?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"You buy a new pair, you get the other one for free."
"Define free."
"They have to be transitional lenses, and you have to buy by Saturday."
"I'll think about it."
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
"Maybe."
"In the meantime, try not to sit on your sunglasses."
"Oy vey, Ray."
"We're open till 6."

A Serious Shoe Emergency

Sandalabra!

There's 911 for life-threatening emergencies. There's 411 for info emergencies. Sadly, there's no number to call for yesterday's epic shoe emergency. Sure, I knew my sandals were old. I may have bought them in the last decade. Or the one before. Honestly, without the necessary shopping receipts, the DNA, if you will, I had no idea. I put on the ancient platforms and off I went to Studio City to meet my friend Judd at the deli, where every sandwich is a work of Art. I parked on a side street, I walked half a block, maybe less, and oy to the vey, just like that, my right sandal broke, as in came apart, a shocking crime with many eye witnesses. 

"Ohmygawd, ohmygawd," said a stylish young gal, shielding her eyes. 

"Whoa, dude, look at that," said a tattooed guy, pointing at the evidence.

"I can't look, it's too awful," said a workman schlepping equipment into a van. 

"Oh, dear God in heaven! Are you okay? Do you want me to call someone?" said no one. 

All I could do was laugh at my misfortune and seek a quick solution. I still had a few minutes before meeting Judd. I knew what I had to do.

"Help, I have a shoe emergency," I told the sales gal in the shop around the corner. 

She stared in wonder. "That's... wow... that's..."

"I know, it really is. I need sandals, STAT!"

"We're out of sandals. We're into fall now."

"Fall? But... okay, whatever, give me something for fall. And make it snappy!"

"What size are you?"

"Six."

The sales gal behind the counter weighed in. "Try these in a five-and-a-half."

"My whole life, salespeople have been trying to talk me into five-and-a-half. I'm a six. A six, I tell ya!"

"But they run big."

"Gimme a six, and step on it. This is a crisis, capiche? I got four minutes to get to the deli."

Fifty bucks later, adorned in my new slip-on sneakers, just like the 14 other slip-on sneakers in my closet, only much cheaper, and I now have the blisters to prove it, I entered Art's, and there was Judd, sitting in a booth, the picture of serenity, flipping through a book and sipping lemonade. As I told him how I lost my sole on the sidewalk, he nodded wisely, reached into his magical brain and pulled out a quote from the Robert Stone novel, "Dog Soldiers" (later used in the movie version, "Who'll Stop The Rain"). The gist of it: In the I Ching, the Chinese symbol for crisis is the same as opportunity. "You know me so well," I said. "It was indeed a crisis and I took the opportunity to buy a new pair of shoes." "Of course, you did," he said. "Otherwise, I would've hobbled into Art's all lopsided and ridiculous. I can't do that here, of all places. They'd never let me back in." "Probably not. Bagel chip?" "Maybe later."

A Whole Lotta Lattes

Who needs this?

So fine, Starbucks just announced the return of its popular Pumpkin Spice Latte, boasting of fall flavors, steamed milk, plenty sugar, and pumpkin puree. All I can say to that is ick. You heard me. Ick. When I think of pumpkin, I think of Sir Blakey, the Royal Rescue Pup of Questionable Stomach Issues. We put a nice schmear of pumpkin on everything our doggy eats to keep those issues at bay. The thought of making our coffee taste like pumpkin? No thankie.

When you can have this?

Naturally, this got me ruminating. Why not come up with my own eff'n latte, full of Jewish angst and a hefty jolt to get you out the door early? Why early? I'll tell you why. Because Jews arrive early and leave early, that's why. It's an ancestral trait stemming from all that running, fleeing, escaping, you get the idea. All of this has served as "inspo" for a variety of luscious lattes, available soon at the SJG Drive-Thru, reflecting the afore-mentioned historic fight-or-flight instinct, deliciously. Options will include:

The SJG Poppy Seed Latte. These nutty poppy seeds are used in everything from sweet rolls and cakes to strudel and hamantaschen and may get stuck in your teeth for decades if you forget to floss. A year-round taste of Purim? Yes, please.

The SJG Caraway Latte. Slightly bitter, much like your humble blogger after countless career disappointments, this amazing creation will remind you of your favorite Jewish rye, braised cabbage and soup. It's not just a coffee treat, it's a yummy side dish, too.

The SJG Dill Latte. Fresh and robust, this is the Ashkenazi-esque latte you've been craving. Not only will the vibe remind you of the best dill pickles ever, it will also do double duty as a medicinal cure for all your digestive problems and infections, and work as a magic weapon, defending you against witchcraft and whatnot. You're welcome.

How dare you? 

Please Hold

"Dr. Shlabotnik's office. Do you mind if we put you on hold?"
"Yes, I mind. I mind so much."
"We'll be with you shortly."
"We both know that's a big fat -- "
Cue: Recorded message with New Age Musak
"Dr. Shlabotnik cares about what's going on up there, down there, and mid-pupik, or if prefer, pipik. Why get all those much-needed aesthetic procedures done separately when you can take advantage of Triple G (GoingGoingGone), a revolutionary, non-invasive miracle treatment. With just a couple of swipes, Dr. Shlabotnik, a board certified mensch, can make all your anatomical flaws vanish faster than the last latke on the plate. Sure, Triple G is costly. Yes, you may have to substantially reduce your children's inheritance, but who do you think is to blame for all this atrophy, anyway? As for pain, you may experience a bissel, but that's the price pay for -- "
"Dr. Shlabotnik's office. Sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help you?"
"I wanted to ask Dr. Shlabotnik a very important -- "
"Please hold."

via GIPHY

Don't Go

On Tuesday, a lot of public schoolers schlepped back to school. In August yet. This seems cruel on many levels. Why are they schlepping back to school so early? The SJG can't tell you. It has something to do with something. Maybe the parents got together and held a secret meeting. "We can't take another second of summer vacation. They're driving us insane. Take them back early, please. Take them back, we're begging you." Maybe the powers-that-be said, "Okay, calm down, already." This much I do know: I get a nervous tummy just thinking about going back to school, something I haven't done in a very long time. Once the nice people handed me a degree -- "Here, take this piece of parchment, good luck, there's the door, English Major" -- I thought my nervous school girl days were over. There was no reason to get anxious about going back to school ever again. I was 21.What did I know? That I'd have two little nervous boys of my own one day? Little boys I'd have to schlep back to school? No, I didn't know that.

"We do all our own parenting."

Here's what back to school meant for the little nervous school boys. The eldest starting preschool. That didn't go well. He hung on to my leg until the teacher had to pry him off. He screamed hysterically as I left. I cried all the way home. The eldest starting kindergarten. That didn't go well, either. I had to drag him out of the car and force him into the classroom, while he screamed hysterically and swore at me. I cried all the way home. Who do you think taught him those words, anyway? The Mother of the Year Committee ignored me that year, too. The youngest at preschool. That didn't go well. A bad case of separation anxiety. On my end. The youngest starting kindergarten. That didn't go well, either. For an entire year. I let him wear sweatpants and a hockey jersey every day. One more fight over what he was going to wear and I would've been carted off somewhere. Where, I can't tell you. But I might still be there. Every year, for years and years, another Back to School nervous tummy. Another visit to Staples for school supplies. And then, the inevitable readjustment. Okay, gang. We're back. We're in school again.  Let's make the best of it. We're all in this together.

Now & Then

Hmmm.. these two look vaguely familiar. So young, so full of collagen. It's 1975. The high school boyfriend and his short gal celebrating his grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary. This photo captures the moment right after his brother spilled mustard down my long skirt. Not that I hold a grudge.

Oh, and here were are in June, 2019 in France. Only 11 more anniversaries till we reach our 50th, kina hora, poo poo. It's been a wonderful, hilarious, crazy carnival ride, full of mostly ups, some downs, and plenty spillage. Tears of joy and sorrow. Tipped over glasses of wine and cups of coffee. No splotches of mustard, thank God. Trust me, that stuff never comes out.

Happy 39th, longtime hubby. You're my "E" ticket in life.

Misbehavin' In Montreal

Outside the restaurant we didn't know was vegan till we sat down. I loved the Oat "Milk" Latte. I may have been the only one.

Of course, it's possible everyone else in this photo (l.t. hubby, Ned, Helen, Maddy and Jeff) was still smarting over the previous night's SJG Tipsy Ted Talk in the Uber ride home from the bar where we had at least 30 years on the other patrons. The topic: Renting Bikes. 

Barbie: Lifesize SJG Edition

Casual SJG Barbie!

The discovery of a full-on Barbie Expo in Montreal (at a shopping center yet!) transported your humble blogger into Total Nirvana. As I've told you 82 times, the SJG adored playing with Barbies as a child. My only two regrets in life: Trading in the Original Barbie for one with bendable legs, and giving away my entire collection when I got "too old." What was I thinking? Beats the kaka out of me. So, to stumble upon the most extraordinary display of Dior, Armani and other fashionista Barbies spanning decades and defining The Evolution of Fashion, well, I was over the moon. It was one small Barbie step for me, one giant leap for Barbie-kind. (See what I did there?)

Goddess of Spring, Night on the Town

A Wedding In Montreal

The long marrieds, en route to wedding

When you're invited to Montreal, you go, especially if two young lovebirds who met in college are getting hitched, and the groom is the son of Eric and Linda, friends you've known since forever, junior high to be exact.

Mazel tov to the newly-married Gabrielle & Zach Schotz

And so, you pack up your fancy dress, your sparkly sandals, your finery, you write a million notes to yourself so you don't forget your happy pills (again), like you did in June for the French wedding, you make sure longtime hubby has all his tuxedo-style fixings, the bow tie, the cuff links, etc., and off you go to LAX. On the plane, you struggle to find a movie you want to watch, and when you find it, you hope you get to see the whole thing. But you don't, because 10 minutes before the ending of "Isn't It Romantic?" (much funnier than expected) the system goes down. But don't cry for me, Blog-o-Rina, I got to see the ending on the way back. Isn't That Fantastic?

True Or False

1. I invented Super Sticky Post-Its.

2. I sew my own clothes.

3. I like to kugel.

This One Time...

Over the many years I've been schlepping back and forth on Burbank, my go-to Valley shortcut between Sepulveda and Reseda Boulevards (as long as it's not too traffic-jammed, flooded or seismically-challenged) I've seen some things: Half-Naked Joggers. Buff Bike-Riders. Righteous Skateboarders. Jesus Impersonators. Cash-Seekers. Saxophonists Who Play Real Good For Free (But Welcome A Hand-Out). Film Crews. Turn-Signal Neglecters. Radical Lane Changers. Speed Limit Violators. Handcuffed Criminals Face Down In The Street. You know, the usual L.A. stuff, worthy of a quick glance.

The Tail of The Ex-Allergist

Here I am, all faptized, or if you prefer, dolled up, walking Sir Blakey in the Sherman Oaks countryside. I'm sorry, what's that? There's no lake in Sherman Oaks? And this elegant lady in pearls and chapeau looks nothing like me? And the dog doesn't resemble the Royal Rescue Pup on any level? How dare you! Have you had your eyes checked? This is me. And my -- okay fine, you're right. This photo is simply meant to tickle your imagination and nothing more. Sheesh. Get your mind out of the gutter. I want you should think of your SJG all decked out in finery while dog-walking, as opposed to my daily schlepwear. I'm trying to upgrade my profile after a round of stinging anonymous rebukes, a la, "Isn't it time for a wardrobe redo?" "Isn't Sir Blakey embarrassed to be seen with you?" "When's the last time you washed your hair?" You know, the kind of garden variety shaming to which I don't respond well.

Scenes From A Bark Mitzvah

True, my brother John may have gone a little overboard with the Bark Mitzvah. Take this temple backdrop, for starters. Doesn't it look authentic? Just say yes.

Muzzle Tov!

You may or may not have read about it in the Temple Beth Bow Wow bulletin. Then again, you may have discontinued your membership to this particular canine synagogue. I'm not here to judge, but seriously, what's wrong with you? Either way, here's the big news. Today is Lucky Starr's Bark Mitzvah. That's right, bitches. Today my brother John's adorable rescue pup turns 13. This in itself is a miracle. Lucky earned his name many moons ago, when a nice gal performed a death-defying mitzvah. Zooming down the freeway, she spotted this sweet little boychick running for his life. So she did something altogether crazy. She opened her car door, risking bodily harm and then some, scooped him up and brought him to the animal shelter.

Tonight's TV Highlights

SERIES
My Mother's An Alien (Or Not)
The season finale opens with a dramatic flashback to 1958, when aliens kidnap a short Jewish baby in the parking lot of a Los Angeles hospital, raise her on Mars till they grow tired of her whining, and plop her down in Westwood at the age of seven to figure out her true ancestry. Is she Russian Jewish? Alien Jewish? Westwood Jewish? It's all revealed tonight in a very special episode. 9 p.m. SJG-TV

Channeling Babs

It's not often that the SJG hears longtime hubby channeling Babs. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I've never heard him channeling Babs. It's not that he's anti-Streisand, per se, which would the ultimate shanda, in my opinion. It's just that he's more of a Steely Dan kinda guy. If this morning, I'd heard him singing, "Are you reelin' in the years? Stowin' away the time?" I wouldn't have gone into shock and needed a hunky paramedic to give me a jumpstart. But when he climbed in the car and broke into "People," I thought a dashing extraterrestrial who adored musical theater had snatched his soul in a midnight raid. And yet, a few seconds into his rather lovely rendition, I noticed he'd changed the lyrics without permission from ASCAP.  It went something like this:

"People! People who don't need people...

are the luckiest people that I know." 

My Fashion Statement

I wear my Aztec fanny pack

Around my aging waist
I found it on a clothing rack 

Abandoned in great haste 

I love my Aztec fanny pack

It makes me feel so free

Despite the fashion that it lacks
It's beautiful to me 

I love my Aztec fanny pack

A treasure trove of schlock 

Another fine '80s throwback

Not something you should mock 

I wear my Aztec fanny pack

And you should wear one, too
It's right there in your Zodiac
To thine own self be true

My Aging Goddess Routine

(Sherman Oaks) The SJG is, in her own words, "An Aging Goddess." Over lukewarm coffee on the veranda of her palatial estate, she shared some of her secrets with a reporter from The Daily Punim. "You want to know why I look this good? I'll tell you. I owe it all to Grandma Shorty. She had the dewiest complexion and the smoothest skin, all thanks to paper towels. You heard me. Paper towels. And maybe a bissel soap and water. That was her entire beauty routine. Soap. Water. Paper towels. So I've followed her routine, religiously, with maybe one or two variations. Just between us, Grandma Shorty knew bupkis about sunscreen.

Sing A Song Of Long Ago

"Dayton, Ohio" by Randy Newman has been playing in my head on a continuous loop. It's impossible to process what happened over the weekend. This song of long ago has helped me hit pause for a moment. I hope it helps you, too.

Sing a song of long ago
When things were green and movin' slow
And people'd stop to say hello
Or they'd say "hi" to you
"Would you like to come over for tea
With the missus and me?"
It's a real nice way
To spend the day
In Dayton, Ohio
On a lazy Sunday afternoon in 1903

Sing a song of long ago
When things could grow
And days flowed quietly
The air was clean and you could see
And folks were nice to you
"Would you like to come over for tea
With the missus and me?"
It's a real nice way
To spend the day
In Dayton, Ohio
On a lazy Sunday afternoon in 1903

Happy National Meshugganah Day!

Let's face it, throughout the year, there are so many important days worth celebrating, it's hard to pick a favorite. Do you go with National Mustard Day? National Lipstick Day? National Split Ends Days? Personally, I like to celebrate them all. But today may be the most special of all. Did you know it's National Meshugganah Day? Well, it is. Would I ever mislead you? Of course not. I've spent the last 61 years trying to get this day recognized, and finally, today's the day. Whether you spell it with two g's and two n's, without or without an h at the end, it doesn't matter. This is the moment to go out there and embrace your inner Mad Hatter. But how, you wonder? How to observe National Meshugganah Day properly? Lucky for you, the SJG is here to offer some options. Start by grabbing a bunch of crazies, the wackier the better, the unbalanced peeps you adore, and make it a day-long party.

Think of all the fun games you can play: Pin The Blame On The Gene Pool. Steal The Xanax. Simon Says You're Adopted. Keppy Toss. Capture The Neurosis. Musical Disorders. Trapped In The Bouncy Castle of Despair. Oh dear God, the list goes on and on.

No how matter you celebrate National Meshugganah Day, make it count. And if you get carried away, don't panic. SJG Bail Bonds is available 24-7.

Short Listed

I might as well just come right out and tell you. I'm a short list maker. This goes with the territory of me being me. If I were tall, I'd probably make nice tall lists and feel super organized all the time. Instead, I make short lists, and when I find them hidden in the oddest places, shoeboxes that once held my beloved clogs, address books from my misspent youth, the scribbled info tends to be revelatory in nature. Like this list I recently unearthed of five inspirational rock n' roll bands I worshipped in the days after I was ousted from the synagogue for "utter silliness." These rock gods got me through that difficult time, and launched me into puberty. What I would've done just to meet one of these musical mensches! I get an attack of shpilkes just saying their names:

1. Shlomo & The Heartburns
2. The Matzoh Breakers
3. The Kosher Grape Stompers
4. The Circumcizers
5. The Bitter Herbs

Oh Shlomo! Even today you make me sigh.