Happy Feet

Here's hoping we can come together. In the meantime, Steve Martin gets Happy Feet. Let's join his silly dance. Let's shout and hug it out. And remember this today:  Thanks God it's over!

A Good Thing To Say Today

Oy.  Say it with me now.  Oy.  Add a Vey now.  Vey.  Put them together.  Say it loud and clear:  Oy Vey.  Add an explanation mark.  Oy Vey!  There, do you feel better?  The SJG always feels better when I say an Oy, followed by a Vey.  It's one of the great expressions of my lifetime.  Oy vey!  There are variations, of course.  Growing up, I heard a lot of Oy Veysmere.  I heard plenty of Oy Gevalts, too. Personally, I prefer a nice Oy Vey!  Oy vey sums it all up, whatever it is.  If you're tired and frustrated, give an Oy Vey and you'll feel a little less so. If you're worried, give an Oy Vey and your worry drops down a notch.  If you're pissed off, disgusted, had it up to here, give an Oy Vey and you can deal with life again.  If today isn't an Oy Vey kind of day, I don't know what is.  It'll go one way or another.  It'll be a barrage of tallies and inaccuracies, of guesses and geshreis.  It'll be a nail-biter for sure.  What it won't be is a slam dunk, a landslide, an easy call.  It'll be a very long night of Oy Vey.  So, please.  Say it with me now.  Oy Vey!  There, do you feel better?  I'm so glad I could help.

The Origin of Cheese

... courtesy of the 2,000 year old man.

Tap, Tap, Smash

Much like the bowl of tempting Halloween candy, much like the maniacal squirrel bent on destroying the yard, the lil birdy who drives the SJG cray-cray is back.  I know, I know.   It's not the same lil birdy from last year, the tiny guy that perched, semi-permanently, upon the window, and issued the following query:  "Are you my mother?"  That lil birdy finally got the message and went bye bye.  And now another lil birdy, maybe a baby brother, maybe a cousin, has returned to drive me cray-cray.  Tap, tap, smash.  Tap, tap, smash.  Seriously?  So tell me.  Is it the SJG's karma to deal with annoying creatures that come in fun size?  Is there a lesson to be learned here?  One about tolerance?  Am I supposed to accept that life is just one cosmic test after another?  That I should just deal with it? That it could be worse?  Much, much worse?  That maybe the SJG should just chill, for a change, as the young people say?  Okay, maybe I'll try it.  I'll try chillin'.  Maybe later.  After I flip the bird.

Message In A Telethon

Lots of good-looking celeb rockers n' wailers came out last night for NBC's Hurricane Sandy Telethon.   Every performance gave the SJG chills, especially this one.  Double click for full Mary J. effect:

Goin' Nuts

Every year, the same conversation with Filiberto, the devoted gardener of the SJG.  Filiberto's been schlepping with us, house to house, for a while now.  He knows what ticks me off.  "Filiberto, the squirrel's back.  He's destroying the lawn."  "It's not a squirrel.  It's a raccoon."  "Filiberto, we have the same discussion every year.  I say squirrel, you say raccoon."  "A squirrel couldn't do all this damage."  "You're right.  This time, we have two squirrels.  The big guy, and his protege.  He's teaching him how to destroy our lawn."  "It's a raccoon," Filiberto says, stomping on the dirt with his big dude gardener boots.  "Filiberto, you're doing the Dance of the Squirrels.  I haven't seen that since last year."  "It's the Dance of the Raccoons," he says. Squirrel or raccoon, what's the diff? The SJG is still ticked off. What do do?  What.  To.  Do?

Ice Ice, Baby

Best Costume:  Vanilla Ice You know it's a light turnout when the best dressed trick-or-treater shows up first thing in the morning looking like his idol Vanilla Ice.  The SJG handed the first born a candy bar and sent him on his way to work.  Halloween.  Done.  Next holiday.