When In Doubt...

Eat a bagel.

My dad had many guiding principles he loved to share.  One of his favorites: "If they put food in front of you, eat."  Toward the end of his life, his taste buds started to play tricks on him.  His beloved food just didn't taste the same.  The salad I always brought him for lunch was suddenly "dull and without personality."  It was yet another conspiracy he blamed on anti-Semitism.  Even deli had lost its luster. But on this Memorial Day, we'll honor the WWII vet's love of bagels and lox.While others barbecue, we'll brunch and drink a toast on his behalf: "To the man who made us laugh and taught us to love a good onion bagel, above all." Some life lessons you never forget, and this is one of them.

All You Need Is...

LOVE!

Much like people, there are all kinds of weddings.  Big, small, fancy, casual.  Church weddings.  Temple weddings.  Hotel weddings. Outdoor weddings.  In the long run, the size and the setting are secondary. Underlying the event is love. You need love at a wedding, and lots of it.  You need love on the faces of everyone present.  You need love in the air.  Wherever you get married, you need love and lots of it.  Which brings us to today:  A second wedding.  A bride who lost her first husband gets another chance at happiness.  A groom gets to wed the love of his life.  It's his second time around, too. The "I do's" will be quick.  It's all about the dancing.  A celebration of crazy, unpredictable life and love, hope and new beginnings.  So, if I may take this moment to say:  Mazel tov to the lovebirds.  Mazel tov and then some.   Wishing you both all the joy you deserve, times ten. Personally, I can't wait to kick up my heels.  Let's get this party started. It's long overdue.

Who Moved My Cart?

(Sherman Oaks) A short kvetchy gal showed considerable self-control at Gelson's the other day, when she parked her cart, as opposed to her carcass, at the cashier's station and left for two seconds to collect a bag of beloved Lifesaver Pep-O-Mints. During her brief absence, a bad person sidelined her cart and stole her spot.  "You moved my cart," the SJG said to the "perp" in question. "I asked the checker if the cart belonged to anybody," the woman said, smugly.  Whereupon the SJG pondered what to do next:

1. Bitch slap her.
2. Recite the SJG Bill of Rights, a lengthy treatise that tends to run out of steam at the 20-minute mark.
 3. Say nothing and hightail it to another line where she felt the love.

In a surprise decision, one that exhibited growth and maturity, the SJG picked number 3.  She ignored the insensitive cart-mover, even when she called after her, "Hey! It's fine! Take your spot back! It's no big deal!"

In the universe of the SJG, everything is a big deal.   Everything.  But sometimes it's just better to walk away.

The Laws of Kina Hora (Poo Poo Poo)

Kina hora - may the evil eye stay away, often preceded or followed by the act of spitting.  Example: "Oy, how could you tell cousin Rhoda you were up for the role of Yenta in 'Fiddler,' before you've even heard whether you got a call back! Aren't you afraid you're gonna put a kina hora on it?" http://rachaelsage.com/musings/yiddish

If there's one thing the SJG believes in, it's the laws of kina hora.  I say it many times a day.  It's the "knock on wood" that defines my existence.  This week alone I've said the following:  "God willing, you'll get a nice job and it will all work out, kina hora poo poo poo." (to the future San Franciscan.)  "Thank God the accident wasn't worse and you weren't hurt, kina hora poo poo poo." (to the youngest who got rear-ended on Monday.)

How things backfire:  The other day, I gloated about the rebuilding of SJG Lane and now, all work has stopped.  I forgot to say "kina hora."  See what happens when you tamper with the laws of kina hora?  They bite you in the tuchus.

And so, on the rarest of rare occasions when the planets align and something good might actually happen for me, professionally, I am scared to put a kina hora on it.  I keep quiet.  I share with a few friends, I tell my family, and that's it... until it becomes real.  This is how my father raised me, with plenty of proof to back up his claim.  I refer you to the hundreds of clippings from Variety he shoved in a plastic bag for safekeeping, just so I could wade through them decades later and figure out why exactly he saved them.  Somewhere on the page, I'd find a mention.  "Ben Starr jets to New York."  "Ben Starr is back from New York."  Along with this exciting news, would be mention of some project.  "So and so has optioned Ben Starr's 'Quote Unquote'... to be produced on Broadway."  That didn't happen.  See?  Epic kina hora.  In print yet!

When Hallmark Channel put my 4th of July romantic comedy into development, I said 800 kina horas daily.  TV projects fall through a lot.  I refer you to my entire career.  Things go into development and out of development every time an executive passes gas.  (Did I just say that?  Oh well, it was nice being briefly employed.)  There's the outline stage, which lasts for many months.  Then there's the first draft stage, the second draft stage, and the I've-lost-count-what-draft-this-is stage.  At any moment, the whole thing could implode and then where are you?  Nowhere good, that's where.  The more people you tell, the more people want to know how it's going, and then you have to own up to yet another letdown.  "Yeah, that didn't work out."

But miracle of miracles, this time, it did work out, and considering the crazy year I've had, getting to work on a fun TV movie with nice people was a gift that kept me sane.  And now, the movie I called "Oh Say You Can See?" will air June 28th as "When Sparks Fly."  God willing, you'll remember to record it in your language of choice, and you'll like it... kina hora poo poo poo.

Christopher Jacot and Meghan Markle
watch the fireworks in "When Sparks Fly"

Don't Go

Dear SJG,
Why does my eldest son keep threatening to move to San Francisco? Doesn't he know that if he goes, I'm going with him?  I'm pretty happy right where I am.  What about my needs?  And have you checked rents in the Bay Area?  They're in the stratosphere.  I'm afraid we'll have to share a studio.  That's too small.  I need a lot of room to kvetch.  What happens to all that nice furniture hubby and I bought for his current apartment?  It won't fit in a dinky-ass bachelor pad.  Hell, it won't fit in a U-haul.  What's so terrible about living in one city per lifetime?  Why do my children have to grow up?  What can I do to stop this insanity? Oh, and can you recommend a decent mover, just in case my plan to sabotage his dreams goes south?
Thanks,
Suffering In Sherman Oaks

Dear Suffering,
There are many things you can do to discourage him from moving, including, but not limited to, cutting him out of the will.  Withholding his inheritance until he understands the severity of his actions may be your best tactic.  Of course, this may have a few unhappy consequences. A lifetime of resentment comes to mind.  Unreturned phone calls.  No more adorable emoji-cons texted back and forth 18 times a day. Depriving you of grandchildren.  If you're uncomfortable threatening him, monetarily, then you could remind him it's always chilly in San Francisco, even in the summer.  He might catch a cold if he moves up there.  When all else fails, I hear Two Shleppers And A Big Truck will get the job done for a reasonable rate.
You're Welcome,
SJG

The End of Envy

Victory!

For nearly 14 years now, we've been keeping our extreme envy in check. In private, we've longed for a street that was as smooth as a baby's butt.  We've longed for asphalt that didn't threaten to swallow us whole.  We've dreamt of a street free of potholes and bumpy terrain, a street that didn't require off-road vehicles and a certificate from the Bob Bondurant School of Defensive Driving.  It's taken courage and navigational fortitude, not to mention a heap of mazel, just to make it down our lumpy-ass street without throwing our cars out of alignment. Oh, how we've suffered.  Hubby became a pothole vigilante.  He'd go out there and cover the holes himself.  Every few months, he'd badger the folks over at Street Maintenance.  "Yeah, your street's in failed condition," they'd tell him.  "Your street's been in the repair queue for 30 years."

Everyone needs a cause, and ours was looking like a lost one.  But then, a miracle, my friends.  All that kvetching has finally paid off. This week the epic rebuilding, the asphalt makeover of SJG Lane, has begun. There are "no parking" signs and trucks and manly men with hard hats and fluorescent vests outside right now, contributing to noise pollution. It's music to my ears.  On Monday, I thought we were having an earthquake.  But no, it was just some dude operating heavy machinery, ripping up the roughest road in history. Soon... three weeks from now, maybe four... our street will be smoother than yours.  Will I lord it over you? Will I brag?  Will I do my best to make you feel bad about the crappy condition of your street?  Oh, hell yes.  That's how the SJG rolls. I like to spread the envy.  What's mine is yours.

Sorry, We're Closed

In observance of National Devil's Food Cake Day, several important agencies that oversee the SJG will be closed, including the Supreme Court of Dysfunction, the Office of Enabling, the Library of Guilt, the Complaint Department and the Bank of Obsession.  The Post Office that delivers the SJG's daily dose of common household neurosis will also be closed. On a happy note, the Collection of Canine Poopy Deposits will remain open.

Happy National Devil's Food Cake Day to you and yours!