Let's Play Telephone

As a kid, playing telephone was big fun. The first person in line whispered something silly, like banana, into the ear of the next person, who then whispered what she heard, and so on, until the last person in line said the word out loud. Somehow banana had transformed into Bad-Ass Anna. Maybe I'm remembering that wrong. Anyway, aside from the inherent hilarity, the point of the game, at least in my mind, was that people are terrible listeners and should pay more attention, or things can spin out of control faster than a rogue dreidel.

Take yesterday, for instance. Hubby's brother called the parents to check in, then called hubby: "Mom's taking Dad to the hospital." Then hubby called me. "My dad's in the hospital." "Why?" "His back." "Have you talked to your mom?" "I can't get her on the phone." Whereupon my reporter skills, mostly dormant since the '80s, rebooted. "Call the emergency room." "Why?" "It's the only way to find out what's going on." "Let's wait. I'm sure she'll call at some point." Hours went by with no updates. I filled in the blanks with worry and reckless Googling. Finally, I reached my mother-in-law at home: "What's going on?" "We just got back from the doctor." "The doctor? Not the hospital?" "Just the doctor." "Oh, thank God, we were so worried." "Sorry." "It's not your fault. There was some... confusion on our end. How is he?" "His back hurts. He'll have an x-ray next week." In terms of updates, not too terrible. We'll take doctor visit over hospital, any day of the week.

The New Weather Gal

The SJG predicts a headache

In a shocking budgetary move, local TV station KSJG has replaced long-time weather gal Windy Weinberger with none other than the blustery station owner herself, the SJG.  Asked why she canned the popular weather gal's ass, the SJG turned testier than usual. "Who needs a meteorologist?  My head is a better barometer of weather patterns than anything Windy Weinberger can steal off the Weather Channel.  I could've had my sinuses reconstructed twice for what I spent hiring her away from KBCH.  All last week, the intense pressure on my left side indicated a sharp increase in temperatures by the weekend.  Was I wrong, Angelenos?  The fact that this morning, my throbbing head deeply resents motion of any kind means it drizzled last night and actual rain may or may not be on its way at some point. Trust me, people.  My head knows best.  So keep your brollies near by, and keep the hatemail to a minimum. Windy Weinberger has already landed a new gig at sister station WSJG, only because my head can't be in two places at once."

How Jews Celebrate Columbus Day

Dear SJG,
What do Jews eat on Columbus Day? Are there any restrictions I should know about? I'm having a few over for dinner tonight to celebrate this important holiday. I'd hate to offend them. They're the only people still talking to me.
Thanks,
People Pleaser

Dear Pleaser,
To Jews, Columbus Day is just another holiday to question and feel guilty about. They have no idea if it's a real thing, a made-up thing, a good thing, a bad thing. Where's the proof? If it's not in the Torah, why should we care? For all we know, the real hero of this bubbe meise is Mordechai, the Santa Maria's tailor and the only one brave enough to ask, "Did anyone bring some Dramamine? I'm feeling a little queasy." And yet, according to my friend Laurie Wiener Morgan, a maven on so many things I've lost count, Mordechai may not have been the only Jew on board. Supposedly, Columbus schlepped a number of Jews who were escaping the Spanish Inquisition. So, inviting members of the tribe to break bread on Columbus Day is a smart move on your part. If you want to score extra points, don't forget the party favors.  Matching T-shirts that say, "They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat," across the front will go far. After that, all you have to do is serve something delicious and stay away from politics.
You're welcome,
The SJG

Thank You For That

As everyone knows, or doesn't know, but should know, not that I judge, the reward for doing a mitzvah is to do another mitzvah. You do a good deed, go do another one. Not to be confused with pay it forward. That's when someone hands you money and instead of spending it on yourself, you spend it on the son who needs a new pair of Air Jordans. Why should he go without? What's that? I've mixed up the concept of pay it forward with the concept of enabling your children? So sorry. Let me circle back to my point: What's the reward for doing half a mitzvah? For that's all I did yesterday. Half a mitzvah. It wasn't a full mitzvah. Or was it? You decide:

Saturday afternoon, I took myself to the movies. This wasn't the original plan. But then, when do original plans ever come to fruition? We make plans and the Big Guy busts a gut laughing. The plan was for hubby and the SJG to go to the picture show. That was the plan, alright. Seats for two, please. On the aisle? Right this way. Pay online and hit print. Then came the phone call from the Big Shot friend who had another kind of ticket to dangle before hubby. Tix to the Dodger Game. Hmm... I wonder which one he picked? So, fine, I went by myself to see "The Intern." I sat there in the dark. I enjoyed the movie. I disappeared into Nancy Meyers Land. I didn't have to shush anyone. My definition of nirvana. And then I left. This is where the half a mitzvah comes in. As I moved toward the parking structure, trying not to faint from the 100 degree October heat, a gal came up to me. There was desperation in her eyes, a look I know all too well.

Long Distance

"Papa, can you hear me?"

That moment when you reach for the phone and dial Daddy.

Sheesh, you don't have to rub it in. 

Fall Fashion Tips

"I can't believe she left the house looking like that." 

"She's taken schlumpy to a new level."

Exciting developments in the wardrobe of the SJG. The summer schlep-wear has been replaced by the fall schlep-wear. Slightly-stained tank tops I should be ashamed to wear out of the house, or even in the house, have given way to aging Gap T-shirts I should've tossed or cut up into rags. Unflattering drawstring shorts have been callously shoved aside by faded sweatpants that do my figure no favors. The secret to looking this schlumpy? If I tell you, I'll have to kill you, and at this point, my criminal record is more-or-less clean. The main thing is, don't think of your personal lack of style in negative terms. Think of your crappy-ass clothes as casual wear that's seen better days. Today's fashion tips: Stay comfy, my friends. Rotate the schlep-wear so you don't bore your family. Keep them guessing what you might blindly throw on your body this morning. Never look at yourself in the mirror. Never. But if you accidentally catch a glimpse of yourself, keep the screaming to a minimum. You don't want to scare the dog. And remember, by the weekend, the temperatures will climb back up into the '90s. Welcome back, drawstring shorts. Come to mama.

Here Comes The Boom

Every night at 7, we watch "Jeopardy!" just to make sure our brains are still working. Between hubby and the youngest and the SJG, we manage to get maybe 5 questions right. It isn't a lot, but it's enough to remind us that we've retained some information along the way. These days, "Jeopardy!" is our drug of choice, our big obsession, thanks, in great part, to 23-year-old paralegal Matt Jackson, the son of a liberal Jewish mother and a conservative Christian father. This guy just keeps winning. And winning. Eight nights in a row, so far. He's got a scary stare and an unsettling smile he only flashes at the beginning and end of the show. It's hypnotic and deeply disturbing. And when he gets a tough answer right, he smacks his fist and says, "Boom." Tonight, kina hora, he'll win again. And, God willing, again.