Did I Mention I'm In London?

I say, look who I ran into, bench-side. None other than FDR and Winston Churchill. I hope they didn't mind me barging into their conversation. 

One of several forbidden shots I snapped at "Audrey Hepburn: Portraits of an Icon," just before a National Portrait Gallery guard scolded me and threatened to boot me out of the U.K., knickers-first. 

Oh, look, oopsie-daisies, here's another illegally-taken photo that could get me beheaded. The Three Faces of Audrey Hepburn. I'm such a rebel. 

At Hatchard's (booksellers since 1797) I found this great Nora Ephron quote: "When I buy a new book, I always read the last part first, that way in case I die before I finish, I know how it ends. That, my friend, is a dark side." I do the same thing every time I read a magazine. 

At Fortum and Mason, a British institution of overpriced noshables, I got extremely befuddled and had to be sedated with a bon bon, due to my utter confusion over what floor I happened to be on. "Pardon me," I said, Britishly. "Where might the loo be, m'lady?" "It's on the first floor," said the employee I interrupted mid-transaction. "So it's on this floor?" "No, this is the ground floor." "Oh. So, where's the first floor?" "It's one floor up." "Oh." This exchange continued for several minutes more, and did nothing to improve the way Brits view Americans, I'm afraid. And I lived here once. I should remember this stuff. But then, I'm so jet-lagged, I couldn't tell matzoh from McVittie's. 

Fancy Meeting You Here

So. Who whispered this in the National Portrait Gallery? "Hello. Woody - eff'n Allen!" That would be me, alerting the menfolk. First I noticed Soon Yi. Then Woody. It was a moment. Woody with the schleppy hat, carrying his wife's handbag. Why should he be any different? And there was no confusing him with anyone else. Especially after Soon Yi said, loudly, "Woody! This way!"

Later, at the Grenadier Pub, one of the places to see before you plotz (according to that book everybody gets whether they want it or not, as in, "Happy Birthday, you're going to die at some point, so here are some places you'll probably never visit) we did our best to obey the sign: "It is house policy that all customers should be suitably dressed. Person wearing overalls or soiled clothes will not be served."

Pip Pip Cheerio

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single schlep to the airport." - the SJG

Eating Champ Crashes Contest

I like the red ones

(Sherman Oaks) Arrested at a pre-July 4th M&M-eating event, the SJG was freed Saturday morning after a night in jail, looking a little bloated. The galactically-known blogger, in a pink T-shirt that said, "Free The SJG!", was released by a Van Nuys judge after she pleaded "not that guilty." A contract dispute had kept the SJG out of Hershey's Annual Pre-4th of July Backyard M&M Eating Contest, but she showed up anyway. "For starters, the event was held in my own eff'n backyard. I was there as a spectator, just to cheer on my competitors," she said, bitterly.

Meant To Be

Was it beschert that the SJG should find myself trailing this swanky-swank Mercedes Benz as I waited for the light to change? Why yes, I believe it was, in fact, meant to be that on a day full of oy vey, the mold inspection, oy vey, the plumbing and re-piping, oy vey, the impending demolition of the bamboo flooring, that destiny should direct me to this moment on Ventura Boulevard. A gentle reminder that I'm exactly where I'm meant to be... that all is good and well... that I should count my blessings and remember these are First World Problems... that I should get my keppy out of my tuchas... that I should maintain my perspective on this not great, but not so terrible situation. After all, it could be worse. The destruction of my homestead could've started right away, but the chaos can wait till we return with British accents. In terms of my sanity, if that's not beschert, what is?

Oh, Bother

Oh, to be Pooh... to hide my head in a pot of honey, rather than deal with the impending destruction of my glorious bamboo flooring, courtesy of the Mold Detectives, arriving shortly. What's that? Didn't we deal with this exact eff'n situation a year-and-a-half ago? Why yes, indeed, we did. Good memory, you. Only now, it's much worse. As ye olde Alfred Lord Tennyson said, "Ours not to reason why, ours but to do and kvetch." Let's face it. The universe has a sick, not to mention cruel, sense of humor. To throw the SJG household into upheaval just days before my London departure? That's just wrong. Thus ends my Thursday morning blog. I must find a nice ceramic container that fits my overwhelmed keppy.

It Wants What It Wants

Sometimes I call it the Bermuda Triangle, other times, the Black Hole. I have many names for this dark and mysterious locale. It is alien, insatiable, Houdini-like. A freakin' force of nature, magnetically-powered. A saber-toothed con artist. A steamroller baby. A churning urn of burning funk. Demanding as hell. It wants what it wants, when it wants it. On any given day, it might consume: house keys, car keys, neighbors' keys. On any given day, it might feast on the following: cameras, camera cords, camera cases. On any given day, it might devour the most random snacks imaginable: a favorite sweater, a favorite CD, a favorite book. Hardback or paper. It isn't picky. Try looking for any of the above. Go ahead. Take a shot. I promise you this: You won't find it. It's gone.  Forever. It's up and left the building.

The document I meant to get notorized? See ya. The locket with my mother's photo? Nowhere. Cash, credit cards, coupons for half-off? Fugetaboutit. Things I hold dear. Things I don't give a crap about, but would like to know where they went, anyway? So long, sister. Sayonara. The Bermuda Triangle. The Black Hole. The thing with many labels. The kitchen. The dining room table. The garage. The office. The hall closet. The upstairs closet. Any closet. Any room. Pick one, any one. Put something there, on a counter or a chair, on a hanger or in a drawer, and kiss it adios. The tickets to that show next week? Good luck with that. The only photo of me with my eyes open? Don't get too attached. Sometimes, the universe likes to eff with me. Haha, SJG. You won't find it there, there or there. Enough with the hide and seek. I'm onto you. Put it back where it belongs. Put it back, pretty please. No questions asked.