A sweet apolitical Thanksgiving

One of the first things they teach you when you're learning how to write is to "show", not "tell"..so..without using Instagram  pictures, let me try to "show" you what the holiday has been like so far.

First of all, I never knew there is such an animal as something called "Blackout Wednesday" until Alexa described it in a "Jeopardy!" question..hours after we experienced the concept ourselves, seeing horrendous traffic on the road, culminating  in a fender bender that had Jim screaming the F word at the top of his lungs(for the second time that day--the first was when he spilled pills all over the kitchen floor) which left us  shaken but not stirred.

Subarus are well made but still no match for a distracted driver who apparently thinks Subaru bumpers are punching bags. 

 We're fine..his BMW is not..but..there's a lot more to tell you..I mean.show you..about so let's move on as I advise everyone not to drive on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving unless it's an emergency.

Thanksgiving dinner was great as usual. 

 I used to think chaos in the kitchen in November  was just a goofy formulaic plot contrivance  that lazy sitcom writers come up with(a turkey on Joey's head, Debra Barone's frustration with her in-laws) but nope..it can get real, as my cousins dealt with a torn roasting bag, but they handled it like pros, and the oven floor was clean, and no person or appliance smoked,  and the turkey was moist and delicious, and I can't believe I just typed the words "moist" and "oven floor" in the same sentence.

I love my cousins..they're wonderful cooks and wonderful hosts and their suburban Philadelphia home is always cozy and inviting.

Conversation was neutral and  still flowed like wine, covering topics that varied from Escape Rooms to "Wicked." A little bit weather, a little bit about errands and a few ice breakers too, as I went around the table to see if I could remember  where and how each couple met.

  (I'm betting EVERYONE reading this talked about "Wicked" at their dinner table last night ..let me know if that's so)  

Alicia's sweet potato casserole is a bowl of heaven--oops..I'm "telling" instead of "showing."  It has rolled oats and tanginess and a crispy topping and it could pass for pie filling to your discerning average foodie. 

 I like to  saute crispy shredded brussels sprouts in butter with a dash of black pepper and a little sugar to carmelize, my yearly contribution to this feast, but we also had scrumptious stuffing and whipped potatoes and pineapple souffle and warm  rolls and..oops, I'm "telling" again, aren't I? 

Everyone else is posting pics of their beautiful spreads and I'm telling you about savory stuffing that is so good that it makes you grateful to be alive.

The desserts were worth every consumed calorie..Alicia's Mom, Anne,  made three homemade pies(and because some of you are reading this ONLY to get the specific food  details--apple, pecan, and pumpkin) and Alicia made delicious  brownies.  Evan's fiancee  Michelle got a warm reception from everyone while meeting the cousins for the first time--they loved her personality and her chocolate chips cookies--probably equally. 

 My white chocolate almond bark is as addicitive as crack and it's one of the reasons nobody can fit into their pants today.  (melt white chocolate chips in the microwave, stir in salted almonds and hand crushed ultra thin salted pretzels, spread on a cookie sheet and chill in the fridge for ten minutes before breaking it into pieces) 

I think I just described what everyone experienced last night, and if you added all the hilarity and camaraderie of a game like "Apples to Apples" then we're all on the exact same page.

Thanks again to our wonderful hosts, and to the  BMW driver who didn't do as much damage as he could have, and to the makers of stretch pants, and to turkey farmers, and to the dating app that sent me my awesome future daughter in law and her great wit and intelligence and chocolate chip cookies...

Yep, 2024..you've done a few crappy things to me, (and to America)  but mostly.. you've been good.  

And I'm thankful and grateful to everyone who made my night--and my year--something memorable and special.

Now go clean those soaking pans and heat up some leftovers for lunch  while everything  still tastes good.

Wicked Karen

This is what it is in a nutshell:

There has never been a bigger fan of "The Wizard of Oz" than me.

I know every line, every camera movement, every dirty double entendre in the script  and I've known about them  since the first time it appeared on TV in the 60's.  

My friends and I would reenact every scene from memory, since it was only shown once a year and there was no way to record it.

I wrote an OZ satire at summer camp and a schmaltzy, stupid version with campy, Catskill-style humor called "The Wizzellah" when I was in my twenties, where  the plot revolved around obtaining the perfect matzo ball recipe instead of the witches' broomstick.  I created  every offensive stereotype you can imagine but I  still had hours of fun  recording table reads with various casts of drunken friends  throughout a decade or two.

I even begged my exhausted Mom to have another child, when I was a bratty ten year old,  because I wanted a sister that I'd name  Dorothy.

I wanted her pigtails and gingham dresses, but I settled for coloring books, and growing up to be an adult who'd write parodies to Wizard of  Oz songs instead.

Having said all that, I was beyond excited to hear that some brilliant superfans and producers  were combining my two greatest loves in life besides salsa and chips:  Producers were making a MUSICAL with an OZ theme.

I learned every lyric to "Popular" and "Defying Gravity" because I could never get a ticket to the sold out Broadway show and in 2017..I finally got to see it..in all its spectacular glory--on the Lonson stage.

And I was..well..mad. 

 Irrationally, inexplicably mad.

"They messed with perfection!" I told Jim in my faux British accent that I picked up during our two day stay in the U.K..

He loved the show, especially seeing it in London, and he couldn't understand my objection.

"I just want Glinda to be Glinda and the Wicked Witch to be something my brothers called me when they were mad at me,!" I screamed.  "I didn't want..nor did I need.. nor does any fan need..a backstory!"

"But those sets??  And those flying monkeys?" Jim was practically begging me to be reasonable.

"I don't care!"..I don't care about Elphaba! If they have to mess with the Wicked Witch of the West's character, then make her into a disgruntled housewife named Cora who can't sell enough Maxwell House Coffee"

Which brings us to tonight, where we saw the film version, where I could hear the lyrics more clearly  than I could when they were sung on  the London stage, where I tried to predict which clip they'll show when the film and Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo get their Oscar  nominations and...

I still felt the same way, even after loving the movie. 

 Even after recommending it.

This was very science-fictiony, very "Star Wars" meets "Harry Potter" and all I wanted was to hear a girl on a farm singing "Over the Rainbow"..and wondering why her parents abandoned her.

 Why her dog grabbed a hot dog from a strange man in a trailer park.

I would have loved this movie had it been stand alone..it's awesome.

But I just don't want a prequel...It ruined my dream.

And more important, it ruined Dorothy's dream.

Elphaba isn't supposed to be someone's college roommate..she's nasty old Miss Gulch who rides a bike and keeps kidnapped cairn terriers in baskets! 

She's supposed to be some over zealous vindictive nutjob who'd vote for Matt Gaetz if she lived in the real world. 

..I don't want to know that she, Elphaba,  fought for animal rights!

I just wanted her to be..a witch.

And I always thought, for the record, that Glinda was the real witch anyway. 

 A vindictive sociopath who could have sent Dorothy home immediately and avoided giving her aunt, thinking she was kidnapped by a trailer park hot dog vendor,  a near heart attack just by telling her to rub her shoes together to get back to Kansas..

The original movie was just about crazy  women fighting over shoes..something Carrie Bradshaw did in every other episode of "Sex and the City."

Hey..I dream about all kinds of scary shit nightly...but that doesn't mean I want a BACKSTORY on all the characters of my nightmares.

Why, just the other night, I dreamt that Donald Trump had been reelcted to the White House...

OK, I'll be nice.  

If you're an Oz purist, you'll feel like me and say, hey..why did they have to mess with perfection and  why did they  DOCTOR Oz??

(Nah..you wouldn't say that..you're not an idiot like me)

If you just want a super entertaining , magical night at the movies, then go see "Wicked." 

If you only had a brain, you wouldn't overthink about the plot.

If you only had a heart, you'd see this is a beautiful movie, even to someone who's never read the book by L. Frank Baum.

If you only had courage, you would have voted for Kamala Harris and you..

OK..I'll stop.

Go see "Wicked."

It's going to be quite popular at the Box Office.

Jim was wrong

The 2023 Academy Awards weren’t particularly exciting for me. 

I hated the quirky movie that was destined to sweep and it did.

(“Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.”) 

I was resigned that my least favorite nominee for Best Picture was going to win, so I saved all my finger crossing for the Best Actor award, handed out near the end of the broadcast.

All five of the gentlemen nominated were first timers: all deserving of the gold.

Every single predictor of the Oscars said the award was Austin  Butler’s to lose. 

He was astonishing as “Elvis “ but I had my heart set on someone else. 

For Brendan Fraser  in his unforgettable performance  as “The Whale.”

All experts said Butler was one hundred percent going to win, except my husband, who is never wrong when it comes to his gut feelings.

As the show progressed, none of my favorites were getting any love from the Academy, but Jim  kept assuring me.   

“Don’t believe anything you’ve read about Austin  Butler.. Brendan is going to win “

I was so nervous all night.. I can’t explain why I had so much invested in something as frivolous as an award show.. but Jim never wavered with his prediction.

Even after hearing the line, “and the Oscar goes to..” while movie fans all over the globe shouted to their screens, “Austin Butler!”   , my husband correctly guessed that the next name viewers would hear would be Brendan Fraser’s.

He was right, of course, and as we left the parking lot of the wonderful Thai restaurant where we had just celebrated our anniversary dinner, I ask him, “ are you BRENDAN sure that Kamala’s got this?” 

And he assured me he was. 

It was more than his instincts here. 

It was late breaking polls and Allan Lichtman and witnessing  Trump’s rapid mental decline over the last few weeks, and watching her incredible wisdom and leadership before our very eyes.

Jim was wrong.

The predictions were wrong.

The world was very very wronged.

There are no consequences when the Academy of Motion  Pictures gets it wrong or if voting doesn’t go the way you wanted it to.

Today, the consequences are global, terrifying, and inevitable. 

The tears have not stopped flowing.

They are not happy tears like they were two and a half years ago, shed during an upset at an awards show.

These are the tears of the terrified.

You knew it was a snake..

OK, I promised I was going to stop after Election Day, I promised.

 It's like promising you're going to have just one more sour cream and onion potato chip and then you have twenty.

This will be my last political post.

(I think)

I'm stealing this old chestnut and putting my own spin on it.

In 2016, I witnessed a young girl grab a snake that was standing in front of her on the ground.  She picked it up, petted it, fed it some warm milk and a freshly killed  rodent, wrapped it in a cozy blanket, and then it bit her.  As I drove her to the hospital, where she desperately needed a life saving  antidote, I asked her what the snake said before she received the potentially fatal bite.   "He said, " she  replied, "you knew I was a snake when you first picked me up."

Flash forward to 2024: 

I see the same girl and the same snake and the same thing happened again. 

There was only one thing to say to her.

  "Find your own way to the hospital," I say. "You made the conscious decision to pick up that effin' snake."

Lucky 35

"We are not going back!" scream all my Facebook friends who have already voted or are about to, clever folks saying things like, "I love the smell of victory in the morning!"

"We are NOT going back to "The Handmaids Tale" say all my feminist friends who have already posted photos of themselves in the scarlet robes and white lampshades on their heads, even those who never read the book or watched the Emmy-winning series.

"We are not going back  to 1939!" say my bold friends after the MSG debacle, who must  know the Hitler comparison is a controversial one. 

"We ARE going back!" I scream, and before you unfriend me or egg my car, let me add, "to this date.. in 1989."

It was thirty five years ago today that I woke up filled with love and optimism. Jim was in the bedroom next door, in the house of a member of our wedding party, who had loud, drunken guests who stayed downstairs 'til after midnight, not that I would have slept a wink anyway.

My BFF Rochelle, my beautiful Matron of Honor who'd change into her gorgeous deep maroon  gown in a few hours, dropped me off at Temple Beth Ami, where I'd be getting ready to make the second most important decision of my life. 

 (The first was made at the voting booth a few days ago)

My mother was already there, crying, knowing that my brother Steven would be walking me down the aisle that my college friend Jim had decorated so beautifully, knowing that it was something my Dad should have been doing.

(Walking me down the aisle..not decorating it, God no!  Every pew would have been decorated with memorabilia from the Philadelphia Flyers)

Jim and I were huddled off into a side room, to sign the certificate that recognized our union under Jewish law. I heard the hush outside..the hush of the gathering crowd, and the sounds of Jeanette DiMeo's magnificent voice, as she sang "One Hand, One Heart"(from West Side Story) and "The Last Time I Felt Like This" (From "Same Time, Next Year) and her stunningly beautiful original piece, "Sparks."

Her voice dimmed, the crowd quieted, and  my friend Jim was ready to cue the music and the choreography  as the processional began on that aisle he had just decorated so beautifully. The rabbi began his walk, followed by Jim's brother Bill, the Best Man, followed by a teary Jim and his parents. I was behind the partition but witnessed everything..all my bridesmaids and Jim's groomsmen.  My brother Bruce walked my  sobbing mom, with my nephew Scott between them, the ring bearer who clutched the pillow so tightly to his chest that one didn't even know it was a  pillow. The music swelled and Rochelle walked solo as my Matron of Honor, the bestest best friend in the world, who has been even "bestier" these last few weeks.  The congregation broke into laughter then, as my flower girl Stephanie began to walk. She wasn't even two yet(and now she's the mother of four!) and even 'though she was well-rehearsed, she got a little addled and wound up in front of the bima, tightly clutching a single flower..but with grit and determination.

The laughter turned into tears as Steven escorted me next, to the most beautiful song of all from that gorgeous music selected  by my friend Jim , the magnficent score from "Out of Africa,"

The song was called, "You Are Karen"...and I was. I was Karen, who would be moments away from being Karen Levson-Amster.

Lots happened after Jim broke the glass and the crowd shouted "mazel tov!" at the reception,  but that's a blog for another time.

Even 'though I woke up today to a sinkful or his breakfast dishes, and a sweet bag of candy and a card signed, " Crab Sandwich"--an inside joke-- my heart is full and my optimism is high.

We will officially l celebrate a month from now, on a cruise, and we'll celebrate every day until Michelle and Evan get married, and they can capture their  memories like I did here.

Thanks for all the good wishes and indulging me as I travel back in time.

But let's hope America gives us the best anniversary gift ever, a mere twelve hours from now.

Thanks for making my world, Jim Amster!

Halloween freak out

The only thing the trick-or-treaters left were

the Starbursts, which is essentially strawberry sealing wax.

(Yeah..like that's going to stop me from devouring them anyway)

The branch  hanging ghost with the guttural laugh and the spooky arm movements  used to scare Luke into behaving like a good poodle: like he  just had an exorcism,  now.. he has no reaction at all. Literally, zombies could invade our property and he'd go right back to his nap. 

 This is the reality of owning an aging dog, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that he still wants to chase rabbits and bark at strangers and hump your comforters.

My morning routine, the only reason I get up in the morning, will no longer be available come February.

 I do not WANT to do my cryptograms and mind-sharpening puzzles on a digital  screen, I want the scent of the newspaper and the blobs caused by leaky streamlined pens as I do the LA TIMES crossword the old fashioned way--with cockiness and frustration.

Weeks ago, I uncovered a very valuable 8mm film after it had gone missing for four decades, and it's the only film the tech company in Arizona hasn't converted to be easily viewed on line..  Yes, it may eventually be recovered and yes, it was lost anyway, what does it matter if it disintegrated in the lab and won't ever  be found again?   I still got to see tons of videos of a younger, slimmer, cuter me...and evidence of what a horrible photographer was when I tried to take a film of my senior class trip in 1973.  

Nope..that didn't conquer the blues.

 The only thing that still rings true from the past is that I'm still a shitty photographer.

The solicitations were on a constant loop...I  already donated!!  I change predictions more than I change my underwear!  I'm euphoric one day and terrified the next.  Leave me alone, callers!!  You know better than to telephone  me, and you must know where I stand by now.  I'm either going to be exhaling on Wednesday morning, or I'll be  setting up for a shiva in my house of mourning.  Stop flooding my landline and my email!

I was just about to scream at the top of my lungs, "Calgon..Take Me Away!" when I discovered that if I brush my bangs off of my forehead in a different direction than I usually do, and clip the hair while it's still damp, I can kill that cowlick!

But if the best thing that happened to me in the last twenty-four hours was finding out how to  temporarily tame a cowlick, then Calgon..my bags are still packed.

I'm ready to go.