See This

"Crazy, Stupid, Love"

The past three weekends, hubby and I have gone on some kind of drunken rom-com movie bender.  We've seen "Horrible Bosses" (three-a-half bagels), "Friends With Benefits"  (three bagels) and "Crazy, Stupid, Love" (four bagels, with cream cheese and lox).  We relate best to the Steve Carell-Julianne Moore comedy, a tale of high school sweethearts, their children and the supporting characters who, much like real life, sometimes come in and hog the spotlight.  Guess now we'll go back to our own boy-meets-girl-in-eighth-grade rom-com, complete with gooey montages and hip music tracks.

Bagel Thief On The Loose

Could it be?

"Police."  "Hi, this is the Short Jewish Gal."  "So?"  "I'd like to report a bagel burglary."  "A what?"  "Someone stole a bagel off the counter.  I was getting ready to toast it for my youngest son."  "How old is your son, ma'am?"  "19."  "19, and he can't toast a bagel for himself?"  "He's not fully domesticated and that's beside the point.  Someone stole a bagel right off the counter and vanished out the back door." "Can you describe the bagel?  Was it onion? Raisin? Sesame?  One of those 'everything' bagels, with garlic and God-knows-what?" "Nothing fancy.  Just a plain egg bagel."  "By any chance, was the thief in question your son?"  "Why would my son steal his own bagel?"  "You just said he wasn't domesticated, ma'am.  Maybe he doesn't know any better."  "He knows what he likes. He likes a nice toasted bagel."  "He's got good taste.  Anyone who eats an untoasted bagel is an animal." "I agree with you, officer."  "So, you want us to send out a unit?"  "That'd be great"  "What's your address?"  "Just look for the house in Sherman Oaks with the huge neon sign that says, 'Home of the Short Jewish Gal.'"  "Fair enough.  Any bagels left over?  I could use a nosh."  "If I had any bagels, would I be calling you?  The thief took the last one."

Don't Try This At Home

The lifelong magician took his little sis on a guided tour of Houdini's Art & Magic at the Skirball, explaining the ins and outs of the Water Torture Cell (pass), the Milk Can (no thankie) and Metamorphosis Trunk (oy gevalt), tight locales that make this lifelong claustrophobe fidgetty to even comprehend.  A companion exhibit covers Jewish Magicians of the Golden Age, with names like the Great Leon.  I'm now contemplating a name upgrade, either to the Great Short Jewish Gal, or Excello,the Short Jewish Gal.  Get your votes in early, before I head over to City Hall to make it official.  

The Handcuff King

Houdini:  Jewish Escape Artist

Today, the magician (Mr. John Starr) and his lovely assistant (the SJG) will travel to the Skirball Museum to see the Houdini Exhibit.  We'll escape the humdrum of daily life, put reality on hold, and visit the master of illusion. I spent my childhood enabling my brother's magic trick habit.  Perhaps you caught our act in the family living room?  He would conjure amazing things out of nowhere, flowers and scarves and whatnot, make milk disappear, make tiny colored balls move from this cup to that cup, astonish the audience with his sleight of hand.  And I would... what would I do?  Stand there and hand him stuff, mainly.  He still performs on request.  You should see his work with balloons. Prestidigitation, anyone?

Lights, Camera, Burgers

In-N-Out:  Serious Burger Addiction

Trying to escape intervention:  Never a good idea

The meaning of sacrifice:  I skipped dance class to film my guest-starring role in the latest short from Teach Me The Lesson Productions, "In-N-Out Intervention." I delivered my one line, "Why couldn't you just go to Burger King?" with buckets of raw emotion and maternal heartache and method acting.  I believe I nailed it.

Say What? Say What?

'Cuz I'm cool like that:  Scott D & D Mac

What happens when a nice Jewish boy starts rapping?  This.  The first video of Golden Age -- "The Cool."  Apologies for some un-PC rapper-style phrasing.  Directed by N Dub (Mr. Ned Weisman), featuring G Money (Garrett) on skateboard. (Double click for full image)

Get Thee To Burger King

All morning, I rehearsed how I'd deliver my one line in the eldest's latest short, currently filming in various Sherman Oaks locales, including freeway underpasses and dumpsters.  My one line could be interpreted so many ways.  A la Brando:  "I coulda been somebody.  I coulda gone to Burger King."  A la Hamlet: "Get thee to Burger King!" A la Hemingway:  "Oh, Jake,we could have had such a damned good time at Burger King. Isn't it pretty to think so?"  After much rehearsal in front of the mirror, I decided to deliver my one line as written (by me) in the voice I know best, that of a whining, agitated worry wart:  "Why couldn't you just go to Burger King?"  Next stop:  wardrobe.  So many options.  Go with my daily schlep-wear, or sex it up for the camera?  I'd just covered the bed with costume choices, sweatpants, tank tops and cocktail dresses, when the call came from Billy.  "We've been filming five hours.  We're not going to do your scene today."  I tried not to weep.  I was so ready to do this, so amped.  I'd found my motivation and everything.  "So you're cutting me from the movie?" "No."  "Just tell me, I can take it."  "We're not cutting you.  We'll film it next week."  "Oh, thank God."  I realized, this might be a good thing.  The delay gives me more time to rehearse, to channel my maternal angst, to do a little rewriting, turn my one line into a poignant soliloquy:  "How many times did I beg you to go to Burger King?  How many times?  I've lost count. God forbid you should listen to me.  Your mother.  The woman who gave birth to you, who spent 46 agonizing hours in labor.  But no, you had to do things your way.  You had to go to In-N-Out.  And now, look what's happened to you.  Look what's become of you, my son.  Take a good, hard look."  Better, right?