Press Mute

Shall I praise thine lovely ability to mute?

Thou giveth me serenity sweeter than fruit.

My need to stifle tyrants is far too acute.

So long as such men can fabricate and dispute,

This humble remote silencer I shall salute.

Not Your Rabbi's Daughter Jeans

(Sherman Oaks) Just in time for Rosh Hashanah, the SJG announces a wonderful new line of High Holiday Apparel: Not Your Rabbi's Daughter Jeans. Before she hurried off to temple, the self-appointed fashion maven took a brief moment to hawk her latest trend-setting project. "It hit me like a ton of frozen honey cake, this idea for Not Your Rabbi's Daughter Jeans, Not Your Rabbi's Daughter Shabbat Shalom Sweater Set, and Not Your Rabbi's Daughter High Holiday Dress. I mean, is this the greatest clothing concept ever? Am I onto something, or what? So much better than Not Your Daughter's Jeans, don't you think? It goes without saying that Not Your Son's Jeans wouldn't be a big selling point. Of course, I could design another line, Not Your Daughter-In-Law's Jeans, for those moments when you're not in shul, counting your blessings, atoning and elbowing the portly fella sitting next to you, pondering how to tell him, in the most Rosh Hashanah way, 'Hey, you, enough with the manspreading, you're not on the subway.' " (9-21-17)

The Mystery of The Three Zucchini

The SJG-TV fall season kicks off tonight with "The Mystery of The Three Zucchini." What's it about? Be patient, we're about to tell you: The world's most beloved detective, Herbie Shapiro, returns in a stylish, diabolically silly new mystery series set in Sherman Oaks, north of the boulevard. Herbie comes home after a so-so lunch at that corner deli with the "B-" rating, to find his annoying neighbor Shirley Schlepstein at his doorstep, agitated over the three zucchini that wound up in her eco-friendly grocery bag. "Dear God in heaven, Herbie, can you solve this case pronto? I didn't put them in my cart, I can tell you that, and yet, I paid for them. It's just wrong on many levels." "How is this my problem?" he asks. "It's not, but I need you to take care of it. I'm too busy prepping my Rosh Hashanah dinner for 18. Have you priced brisket lately? Talk about a crime," says Shirley. Trouble arises when Herbie, busy with other cases, refuses to investigate, telling Shirley that some things in life, you must handle on your own. She flips him off and marches away in a rage. Then she feels badly and comes back to apologize, only to find that Herbie Shapiro is gone! In his place, a ransom note carved into... dun-dun-duuuun... a zucchini! Oy vey, so many mysteries to untangle: Who put the eff'n zucchini in Shirley's cart in the first place? Is Herbie dead or alive or just hiding from Shirley Schlepstein because she's so annoying? Is there really an explosive device planted in the ransom zucchini? Could it blow up the whole neighborhood, God forbid? Tune in tonight at 8 p.m. to find out. 

Twenty Years

Already, she knew I had difficult hair.

Twenty years. How can it be? She's missed so much. Bar mitzvahs. Graduations. Her eldest grandson's wedding. How she would've loved that. The big parties were her favorite. Getting dressed up. Putting on her face. There was no denying her sense of style. Twenty years. It doesn't seem possible, and yet, there you have it. Last night, when I took off my earrings, I noticed they were mismatched. All day, I walked around, wearing one earring from one pair, and one earring from another pair. Silly me. That's the kind of thing I would have called her up to share. We would've laughed so hard. She had the best laugh ever. Today, in her honor, I'll do what any mamala should do. I'll put on my face. I'll take care of others, and if I find a moment, I'll take care of myself, too. "Don't be so hard on yourself," she said, a closing remark, before she went off to that big beauty shop in the sky, with orange toenails yet. Orange. Her least favorite color. The only color her longtime nail gal had in her pocket when she made a house call to say goodbye. She wanted to do her toes one last time. We had a good laugh about the color choice, our final laugh, in fact. And as my mother faded away in her hospital bed at UCLA, one thing was abundantly clear. She wasn't happy about those orange toenails. Not happy at all. She kept looking at her toes, then looking up at me, as if to say, "Can you believe it? I'm going out with orange toenails. I hate orange." Not long after she died, she came to me in a dream, dressed entirely in orange, and imparted this message: "Be careful what color you wear when you die. That's the color you'll be stuck with for eternity." I'll keep it in mind, Mom. Promise.

 How she loved to take care of others. 

Mysteries of The Universe: Parking Edition

My most vivid girlhood fright came when I was 16; I agreed to let my father teach me how to parallel park. It did not end well.

Oh, the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of finding a parking spot! Oh, the little parking permits, the little bastards that unhinge good fortune once the clock strikes six, and the pricey ticket that follows!

The absolute yearning of one human being for one well-defined space, large enough to fit one's humble vehicle without getting dinged, is one of life's major challenges.

The problem of parking, that is to say the reconciling of our failures to find adequate automotive lodging, with the bounty of luck inherent in the quest, will always remain one of the most disturbing mysteries for both our hearts and our keppies.

Nothing Succeeds Like Excess

"Oh, look, Granny, it's the SJG, here to see our cinematic effort."
"Initials are so middle class."
"If you prefer, you can address her as the Short Jewish Gal."
"Edith, have I met her before?"
"No, I don't think so."
"What a relief."
"But I suspect you might like her."
"I doubt that, my dear. I have plenty of friends I don't like."
"Be nice, Granny. She's an American blogger of international repute. Isn't that exciting?"
"At my age, one must ration one's excitement."

via GIPHY

Helpful Mindfulness Reminders

Lately the SJG is all about the mindfulness. Every day I get helpful mindfulness reminders from one of the 82 apps I've accidentally downloaded and am now getting charged for until one of the millennials I've given birth to untangles the mess. In the meantime, I'm attaining a level of life-changing faux calm like you wouldn't believe. Here are just a few examples of the wise words that may or may not pop up on my iPhone, urging me to focus on what's really important:

"Feelings come and go like real estate pamphlets left on your doorstep. Some blow away in the wind. Some get caught in escrow."

"Look past your mishegas, so you may drink the sweet Mogen David of this moment."

"Remember to breathe, deeply and often, or sure as day follows night, you'll plotz and then where will you be?"