Ham and cheese rage

What a nice start to a much needed vacation.

 I didn't get my newspaper, which means I can't relax and do my crossword puzzle, and..trust me..I NEED to relax.

The show I was looking forward to is not on schedule tonight, even 'though it had been  scheduled EVERY Monday night this month.

It's a juggler instead. 

 I'd like him to juggle the thoughts going through my head right now.

All three of us over packed, and just as Evan was getting some stuff from his car, parked safely on the street, he discovered something he's never discovered on his car before: 

 A slice of  pimento-laced bologna, clinging to the driver side window. 

 Three slices of cheese were on the street near his tires.

My poor son hasn't lived home for over two years and he gets cheesed for no freaking reason.  No reason at all..

I'm assuming the birds got the bread, but who the hell throws a ham and cheese sandwich at a visitor's car?

I'm guessing it was drunken teenagers, or a bored Englishman from 1990 who rolled down his window and asked:  "Pardon me..do you have any Grey Poupon?" and once he realized there was nobody actually  in the car, he threw his sandwich in a bit of road rage.

I'm not sure if I'm entering a beloved sitcom or high drama but I'll tell you this:  I better come home with at least a bronze medal.

Kaaron has left the building

For almost forty five years now, Elvis fans around the globe claim to have seen him un-Dead--walking around in his white sequinned pantsuits, eating fried peanut butter and banana  sandwiches while popping diet pills.

Tweedledee saw Elvis ten years ago.

For  Tweedledum, it was more like twenty.

Well, tonight,WE saw" Elvis"..so you don't have to.

At one point, Jim whispered to me that "Tom Hank's make-up as Colonel Tom Parker was so bad that he looked like he was playing the Penguin in a "Batman" sequel."

To which I wanted to reply, "This movie has only been on for forty-five minutes..it is okay to say "Karen..has left the building..as I actually... you know.. leave the building?"

Jim liked the movie more than I did, but on the ride home, we talked about the movie tour we took in Hawaii with someone named Aunty Alicia, who pointed out the picturesque locations of many beloved and not so beloved movies filmed on the island.

She guided us through  "Blue Hawaii" and Elvis's properties there, and even showed a clip(while we were still on the bus) of an awful B-movie called "Dinocroc Vs. Supergator" with a plot that centered around a bus full of dumb tourists like us, but the actors in this movie only wanted to see Elvis's BEDROOM(before they got devoured by a T-Rex)

I said had I been a tourist, I wouldn't be pestering the guide with questions about where Elvis slept.  I'd want a detailed description of the commode where he supposedly sat before drawing his last breath.

I needed to know if the seat was soft and cushiony or was it hard: what was the scent of the canister of spray that was atop of the tank?

And because of my OWN obsession on that trip, I DEFINITELY would have asked if The King's Throne had  a bidet. 

The things that pre-occupy my sick mind!

I was loudly protesting when the credits rolled and spelled his middle name with the normal spelling of "Aaron", since I always thought there was only one "A", but Jim looked it up and assured me either spelling was just fine.

KAARON..and this time I mean it..has left the building.

American’t

I'm usually abuzz with pure joy and happiness on this Friday, the Friday before we leave for the best week of the year, our annual pilgrimage to Woodloch. 

I'm usually making lists of what would be disasterous if I forget to pack it.  I would  be obsessively checking and rechecking  the forecast, I would  be worrying  about who was going to get sick or who'd be attacked by a coyote or who'd win the first gold medal at a major event.

  I should be  salivating over the mud pie I was  planning on eating and I should  be remembering the feel of  the icy yet exhilarating first plunge into the lake.

It's a great mixture of anxiety and anticipation..a healthy, neurotic mixed bag  of emotion.

Did I buy enough snacks for the house/pet sitter?  Is the bathing suit I bought last summer already out of style? Will they offer "Scattegories" this trip, where I always manage to think outside the box and win my whole team a coveted  gold medal?

("Name something you open that starts  with the letter B.")

 Other teams write down "bottle" or "box" and get disqualified for matching, but because I have a touch of ADHD and overall craziness, knowing how many points I'd get for using that letter B as often as possible without matching another team's answer, I'd put something like:  "Bagel Boutiques in Bulgaria" because you KNOW that is "something than  literally CAN be opened and you're pretty confident no other team is going to submit that as an answer)

Okay..so maybe I'm  still thinking about a lot of these issues, (the "Karen..Calm Down!"  team tee shirts have never been more appropriate) but I am just crying and crying because I was stupid enough to turn on the news.

How DARE SCOTUS do this??  How DARE them, when one third of them were nominated by a CRIMINAL???  

As if yesterday's decision wasn't horrible enough....!!!

I keep hearing the voice of that clinic  receptionist in Little Rock, who spent her entire morning phoning patients and canceling appointments, telling them through her anger and tears that they just don't matter, knowing she was delivering the  horrible news against her will.

I think about the anguish on the face of my friend's grandmother when I met her in the late 1970's as she told me she has five grand daughters(my friend being one of them) but used to have six. 

(One of the six had the misfortune of getting pregnant before  1973, and dying from a botched attempt  to handle the unwanted pregnancy  herself.)

I WANT to describe that woman's pained  face to anyone reading this, but I just can't.   I can't and I won't, because I simply cannot believe it is happening again.

Writing is therapeutic, and my mountain getaway will be great escapism too,  but how will any  true American celebrate the Fourth of July, which is  only ten days away?

How can any of us display a flag when there is no freedom anymore?

We are no longer Americans..we are Ameri-CANTS, and I can't wait until this nightmare ends.

Which it might.

In November.

Supreme obscenity

Oh, my dear  God!!  To  carry?? conceal???

 What were you thinking,  you knucklehead, NEAL?

Are YOU  really fit to interpret the law?

Yes, I mean YOU, you ass, Kavanaugh!

And what about you, you fool, Coney-Barrett..

They don't let YOU think..to THEM, you're a parrot!

You sat back and watched as our building  was breached..

You all got your jobs from a creep..(twice impeached!)

and what is YOUR deal?  You jerk, Clarence Thomas?

I'll never support you..and that is a promise...

In so  many ways..you reek worse than Cheeto..

(And yes, I mean YOU, dear Samuel Alito)

And Justice John Roberts..at TIMES..you seemed..just...???

but after today I am filled with disgust

you've  leaked dreadful memos.. it's hypocrisy

You'll save the unborn..not de-mo-cra-cy..

yes, poems are made by fools like me..

who weep when we think of the late R.B.G.

to pen words like this..I gotta be brave..

..and think about Lincoln, who rolls in his grave...

you sure let me down..i mourn the old SCOTUS..

I guess I'm convinced more than ever..my vote is..

essential!!..we must join as one, and remember..

this sad horrible day when we vote in November.

"Ode to the Supreme Court" by  KLA, 6/23/22

Guess the SNL writer

I will try to curb my enthusiasm here, but what are the odds I'd be writing  not one but two posts about famous SNL writers within three weeks of each other?

I described my love for the Al Franken performance we saw locally in early June, and yesterday, I got to exchange wits with a very popular writer from the early days of SNL.

He liked my Yiddish(how we kibbutzed on the phone!) appreciated my professionalism(???!!), and most important, really seemed to eat up the custom lyrics for a parody I penned for his loved one's upcoming special event.

"I feel witty..it's a pity/(kind  of shitty!)I'm NOT.. a big hit!....I've conceded..sounds conceited..but I don't..have.."it"..(la la la la la la la la la la) I was funny..(made some money!) trust me, honey..his praise made me high!/it's exciting!/that my writing really pleased.. this guy!

Happy “fet”her’s day!

Happy Father's Day to Jim, who has taught our son to think independently and always root for the underdog, who has been a better mother than me sometimes, ( make that... MOST of the time) who has tolerated the antics of our fur  baby like only a loving, understanding father could.

I also want to wish a Happy Father's Day to a fictional character, Andre Johnson, portrayed so brilliantly by the actor who is long over due for that elusive Emmy, Anthony Anderson.

Yes,   I'm giving a shout out to a fictional character on a recently cancelled sitcom, because that sitcom is where I first learned about another very special holiday as we celebrate "Juneteenth" today.  Thanks  to that very special episode of "Black-ish", a lot of us unaware folks learned about the significance of this date, which makes  me very proud to know that it's now recognized as a national holiday.

And finally, I want to wish a..(nah..not gonna say "heavenly--that's cliche, and I avoid cliches like the plague) happy Father's Day to the man I called my Dad, who gave me my cynicism and sarcasm and my love of adorably obnoxious  dogs and spicy food and  winning home teams.

While I often saw myself as a hopelessly unattractive big ball of nothing in my formative years, my Dad would always find my princess qualities.  I can still hear his voice saying, "Sug..(short for "Sugar") you are not fat.  You are Jewish, and Jewish girls are never fat.  Jewish girls are "fet,"

I shared this description/word with my college BFF Jim, who was never repulsed by "fet"..he'd always poke my belly or grab a bare arm in the movie theater, gently patting it while referring to it as "nice fet"..something comforting and therapeutic to the touch.

He was never grossed out touching anything jiggly, nor was he turned on, because let's face it, it was never attached to  Patrick Swayze.

He'd go a little overboard back in those days...discreetly whispering "fet" as we'd stroll by strangers who'd fit in a range anywhere between Drew Barrymore and Jabba the Hutt.

I'd hear my father audibly calling me "fet" with respect and affection, and I'd hear my BFF calling me "fet" in what could pass as an overused stage whisper.

One year, I dragged him off to a summer camp for adults in the Berkshires, the place where I'd meet my husband of thirty something years just over a year later.

At first, I thought it might not have been such a hot idea to bring someone like my BFF into the woods, with all the bugs and bears and killer tomatoes.  He was used to five star hotels where the beds had high thread count sheets and the bathrooms had footed tubs with solid gold trim, now he was stuck with me in a wooded cabin that looked like it could momentarily burst into flames.

But he got his groove on, accepting that this was  going to be his home for that weekend, and the next day,  we both were enjoying  mid-afternoon naps, as the sun was pleasantly  streaming through the windows.

I was the first to wake up from the enjoyable slumber, to a chorus of the word "fet" being whispered over and over again.

Well..OK..NOBODY looks good  or  just pleasingly plump when they first wake up,m but did he have to start with me?

I heard it again and again and again:  "Fet..".."Fet".."fet!"

I told him that the joke was wearing..well..THIN..and he replies, "it's not me.  Go back to sleep.  It's a bird."

The cabin was remarkably quiet, and we heard it again this time, unmistakably and distinct.  

"FET!!"

He looks at me and says, "Oh my God..that bird is using your father's word.  That bird outside is saying "fet"!"

Which it, the bird or birds,  said forty more times that afternoon, giving us the biggest laugh we ever had in our almost fifty year friendship.

To all the other Dads out there:  Enjoy your BBQ's and your new ties, shower your kids with hugs and affection, and assure your chubby daughter that she is beautiful even if she's chubby, even if she's not even Jewish, assure her  she is nice and "fet" and she makes your world.

Happy Juneteenth to all the loving Dads out there

Unfriendship

It's always a little jolt to the system--and the ego--when you realize the reason you haven't heard anything from so-and-so for a seemingly long time isn't because so-and-so is so, SOOooooo  busy, but because so-and-so... has unfriended you!

I always take this SOOooooo personally

Was it something I said?  Or did?  Do they hate my humor? Are my blogs "blah-gs" now?? Have I turned into that Brutally Untalented Blogger("BUB") that I never read anymore?

And how come I'm ranting HERE, knowing they'll never read it since they..uh..unfriended me... on Facebook???!!

And then I realize it's probably all about my politics, but most of the people that unfriend me agree with my politics.

So..WTF???

In fact, it's those who overtly disagree with my politics that would never aggressively unfriend me on FB.  They know to just scroll by my controversial posts. 

 I'm not changing their minds and they're not changing mine.

Then you realize that someone who'd share every last detail of their personal lives with you--yep--even gory details about their finances or sex life--haven't exactly unfriended you, but all you see is generic birthday greetings or close up photos of their  flower beds or their country breakfasts.

I'd blame it on something I usually blame it on..like..bad breath??

But how would someone on Facebook know I just downed a clove of garlic?

Is it my clothes??  People always made fun of the way I dressed..is that it, even 'though nobody knows what I'm wearing, only that I'm not apologizing for the size I'm wearing?

I guess it's too many Luke stories.

Yep, that's it.

Nobody cares about my deranged poodle anymore.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it

Al Franken and a Bizarro experience

OK, so maybe he didn't do Stuart Smalley, but he was good enough, he was smart enough, and doggone it, people liked him.

People, in fact,  loved him!

Al Franken was on fire tonight in a packed theater of masked people who think like us. 

 He might not have impersonated his "Daily Affirmations" beloved SNL character, but he did a mean takeoff on Ted Cruz.  And Mitch McConnell. And Lindsey Graham.  He had us roaring and he had us thinking, and he had us all a tad resentful that he was forced to quit the senate.

I love nights like this..a great candlelit dinner  and a great show but you know what I love even more than that?

Meeting strangers who make me truly believe in an alternative universe. 

 It can't be a mere coincidence that I was seated next to an audiologist named Elizabeth, especially after we started chatting.

She told me that she is traveling for the first time post pandemic to..Seattle..where she'll then bound a Norwegian cruise to..Alaska!

JUST LIKE US..!!!

(only she's going a month earlier.)

She adds:  "I was thinking about adding a land portion, but  I have a son who is twenty-six..my only child.."

OK..she was  now getting even MORE of my undivided attention...

And she said:  "Ian, that's my son.."

 (yes, I know..the named "Ian" ..it's  derived from "John"..as is..EVAN!!!) 

..." has this dream to visit as many baseball parks as possible".

(OMG!!  She was telling MY story!!  to ME..who is actually living MY story!!))

..and so "after Alaska, we are going to Seattle so we can see a Mariner's game"

(Is she accessing my emails?  Is that possible, Alexa, since I only met her like three hours ago?)

I'm telling you, if "Elizabeth" started complaining about her occasional sciatica flare-ups or her prowess at solving "Wheel of Fortune" bonus puzzles, I would swear to you all that  I had been "punk'D"

She grew up in Bucks County PA, and now lives near the NJ shore..just like..uh..just like... ME!!!???

And my Uncle Moishe..my Uncle Moishe.. actually wanted my parents to name me..ELIZABETH!!  

(My Hebrew name is Elka, for his and my Dad's maternal grandmother)

I was waiting for her to tell me about her vicious poodle that disrupts her sleep nightly, but the house lights dimmed and the subject never came up.

But I'm not convinced it WOULDN'T have.....

Summer nights!  You gotta love 'em!!

Summer.. Beer bellies and pedicures..

June is bustin' out all over!

And I'm sure June is thinking the exact same thing about ME, or will be, when I pull out the bathing suit I bought pre-pandemic from the crammed drawer as I attempt to put it on now. 

It's technically not summer yet, but when you're on a float listening to ABBA music and squinting at the sky in that way that makes it look iridescent through the trees, and your wonderful husband made sure all the bugs died a quick, painless death in the filter, 

 and your pool is pristine, then yes, screw the calendar, June is busting out all over.

One of the best parts about summer or Summer Junior, the weeks we're in now leading up to the official launch date, is catching up on summer reading.

David Sedaris's latest, "Happy-Go-Lucky" does not disappoint.  It is hilarious and poignant and this time, a little dark.  As in..quite dark.  How does he remember so many painful details of his childhood?

How does he have so many witty siblings, who survived being on the front line with him?

(Well, Tiffany Sedaris did not survive, but that's old news)

Oh man, he makes me laugh..and cringe..and cry because I am NOT him. I want to be him.

It's the perfect beach read for anyone who still is interested in going to the beach.

Me?  I'm not so sure.

I mean, we live close enough to the Jersey Shore that I can actually smell Snooki's perfume, but  the idea of looking for parking and burning my soles just to get into water that wants to kill me is unappealing.

Plus..I always get stuck behind THAT couple.

You know who I mean.

The septuagenarians who don't go in the ocean(because if it's going to kill me, it's going to kill them) but sit for hours, burning their already crepe-like  skin under ill-fitting sunhats.

She's been cutting up fruit all morning and he's been cutting up random beachgoers, and he chides her for spending three hours dicing the  mango and watermelon and then  schlepping a fifty pound cooler across the sand, and she tells him that yes, vendors do indeed sell the same fruit salad on the boardwalk, but she saved three dollars  (and lost three hours??)by making it at home.

And he complains about all the flat chested moms or the Dads with beer bellies and as  you sit behind them, you're  dying to kick sand in their smug little faces, thinking that if the Random Cougar  doesn't think she's too old or too fat to wear that bikini, then neither should you, and if he's comfortable wearing those socks with sandals, then what business is it of yours??

And you know she's only there to show off her work out and her pedicure, and he's only there to take a nap and make fun of guys younger than he is with their  tattoos and metal detectors.

Happy summer..we've only just begun!