Category Archives: humor

Synagogue Retreat at the Norman Bates Motel

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Ok, this is a long, random recounting, so bear with me.

My sister thinks that her trip on a Greyhound bus to a casino — where, no joke, a medical conference and training were being held — brought her very close to the common denominator of humanity. She emailed me that when she got to the bus gate at Port Authority, the woman in front of her on line just started talking to her.  The woman was traveling back from Florida to Providence. She had to go to Florida to get her mother’s ashes, which were in the shopping bag that she showed to my sister in case she wanted to see. (I wish my sister knew how to use the camera feature on her cell phone. A picture would have really made the moment.)  The woman had spent 3 days on a bus and needed to smoke a cigarette, had trouble in her childhood but has now straightened out, etc.

Dear SOB (sister of blogger), welcome to my world.  It is good that you experience your birthright — i.e., Mom’s magnetism for the strange, creepy and absurd.

Well, I am at a synagogue retreat. It was a rustic experience. Lots of rules — you need to observe the Sabbath and subscribe to the Jewish dietary restrictions — not on the quantity but on the depth to which the culinary arts must sink in order to conform to Kosher laws. Alcohol is Kosher, for which many people gave thanks to G-d. Also, no coffee Saturday morning because it is the Sabbath and one cannot use electricity or fire. Really? Really? Does anyone want really want to deal with me de-caffeinated? Also tonight someone by accident started making coffee before the end of the Sabbath.  Before we could descend on the heavenly libation, the moshkiach (the Kosher police) told the kitchen workers that they had to dump out the coffee. Wastefulness CAN’T be kosher.

There are many blessings that are new to me. The place has helpful plaques to assist in mastering them. I took a picture of the blessing after one eliminates in the bathroom, thanking G-d for the creation of certain cavities in the body. Really? My orthodox grandmother said this prayer? Even when she had indigestion? This must be an invention of those “too cool for shul” types. I am not kidding. Look at the picture.

Ever trying to make lemonade out of lemons, I have decided that we would learn this prayer and recite it every time our father discusses his irregularity.  Maybe we could teach it to him.  Clearly, I am going on the slow boat the Hell.

The place was kind of like that.  As you enter, there is a sign saying, “We are blessed by your presence”.  Ok, someone should be holding judgment until we leave.  There should even be a sign flashed for a specific few (like me), “We are blessed by your leaving.”

“Blessed by your presence”?  Trying to create holy, kumbaya, religious space and energy at crash-landing impact, after braving hellish Friday night traffic.  I thought to sing, “someone’s kumbaya-ing my Lord,” but I didn’t want to say kumbaya to that.  This is getting to crazy, with the aggressive, reverse Kumbaya on the Sabbath.  Slow boat.  Nah, I am taking the express train to Hell.

As you may have surmised, we couldn’t do much documentation on the Sabbath because that required use of electricity or batteries, so I had to take pictures in secret and I couldn’t blog.  Now that was harsh.  As my own little rage against the machine, I turned on my iPod just BEFORE I left the premises to go on my run.  Ah, the little subversities. But, as usual I digress.

Friday night, after blessing the group with our presence (or so the sign said), we proceeded to our promised charming two bedroom cabin.  The advertising was so wrong it should be a felony.  So one civil crime justifies a religious crime — desecration of the Sabbath — to take these pictures:

Is this a charming two-bedroom cabin? Type that into wikipedia and I bet that you won’t see a picture of this.  Really??  This is a three-bed cabin.  Ooops, there must have been a mistake.  No?  No mistake, this is the very finest that the camp has to offer?  In the county in Connecticut with the highest per capita income?  Really?  Really?  I am in a mood most foul and approach the rabbis about the relative merits of, say, a Ritz Carlton.  Not so my friends can get business, but it is a base level that to which we should become accustomed.

But at least the turn-down service left conflict-free chocolate on the beds:

But the real kicker is that in the light of day on Saturday, I realized that I had parked my rented super-huge, gas-guzzling monstrosity here:

Ok, I am a convert:  There, but for the Grace of G-d, go I.

~ the Blogger

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Dear Brother-in-Law,

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Yes, we were impressed with your preparation of all those vegetables for SOB (sister of blogger) [see yesterday’s blog].  I know she was working in the hospital this weekend and you, the dutiful husband, prepared dinner for her again tonight instead of your both coming over for Sunday night family dinner.  (Remind SOB that she scored so big when she met you.)

Because we want you to feel included, I am sending a picture of the food you could’ve had if you had come to dinner tonight.  This is not a competition.  No sirree.  It is just that we missed you and we wanted you to know what you left on the table, so to speak.  I made sure that we didn’t clear away the main course before dessert so you could see the full array:  wild salmon, rice, and roasted asparagus.  Followed by a delicious fruit selection of strawberries, melon and grapes.  There was even ice cream if asked.  Ok, this is a competition.  And POB (partner of blogger) outdid herself.

So, maybe next time.  We did miss having everyone together but FOB (father of blogger) and COB (cousin of blogger) rounded out our dinner table.  (And ate your portions.)

Mwa, mwa (big kisses) to you and SOB,

~Blogger-in-law

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“Youthful” moments at the gym

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Why, at the gym on a Saturday morning, are cartoons playing on two the TVs?

My son watched these cartoons as a 4 year-old.  4 year-olds are not allowed to work out in a gym.

So, let’s be like Glenn Beck and just go with that.  Hmmmm.  Then, we are a nation of tall, strong, vibrant 4 year-olds.  4 year-olds so strong and impressive that they look like they are between 25 and 55.  That’s why we don’t need universal health care because our youth, if left alone, will thrive.  Ok, I have freaked myself out enough.

Setting Glenn Beck aside, does the scene I describe say something about the mental and emotional ages of my fellow Upper Westsiders?  Actually, the networks had news shows on until 10, when the cartoons start. But it is 11am and no one has asked to change the channels.  In a place where people routinely quarrel about the stations on the big screens, this is indeed odd.

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Notes from Aboveground

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I am on the Acela from Boston to NY. I came to Boston for a business lunch and am now going home. It is what you do to build business.

You might think that the “Quiet Car” sign is self-explanatory. It is not. I think we’ve diluted the meaning of our words so much that no one believes signs without adjectives. “Free gift”: when was a gift something other than free? Or does “free gift” reflect the cynicism in our society that nothing is without strings? But then why do people fall for too-good-to-be-true scams? But I digress (of course).

Back to the Quiet Car. So maybe we need signs like: “Quiet-like-a-church-mouse Car” or “No kidding: no cell phones or whispering-at-the-top-of-your-lungs Quiet Car”?

Why is ok to expect a call and then leave the Quiet Car as you are yelling, “hello? hello? hello?”

I might have to take a real chill pill to deal. Another reason why it is dangerous to unleash me on the populace.

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A Night at the Museum

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Last Thursday, I had the honor and pleasure of attending a celebration of the Iranian/Persian New Year at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  As we walked into dinner in the magnificently lit Temple of Dendur, I was overwhelmed by the beauty, power and the antiquity of the objects in the room.

Of course, most of the night I was thinking that I looked and felt like sausage stuffed in taffeta. I have this great dress; it looks so beautiful on someone else. Unfortunately, I was wearing it. I wore the dress a year ago and, well, I learned that strapless doesn’t work on me. Let’s just say I have too much to expect a poor little dress to hold up.  Since last year’s event was my sister’s wedding, there are plenty of photos about which I will be embarrassed for decades to come.

I had straps sewn into the dress for this dinner to avoid flashing anyone and possibly forcing them to recoil in horror and into the shallow moat surrounding the Temple.  Still, a little too much cleavage. Next time, I will wear a nun’s habit.

I also couldn’t see because my black purse is small and I had to choose between my blackberry and my glasses.  My blackberry won.  Now, I can’t wait to go back to the Museum and read about the history and customs of the Persian New Year, without the kaleidoscope effect that happens when your vision is blurred and mascara is creeping into your eyes.

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You are what you eat

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If you are what you eat, then here is a picture of my brother-in-law.

He probably has a cholesterol problem.  So, let’s keep this “sweets thing” to once a week, shall we?

We want you around for a loooooong time.

Mwa.

~Blogger

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A New York moment

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Ok, no one is going to believe this. But I think it is clear already that I attract the bizarre and inane like mosquitoes to carcasses. But POB (partner of blogger) is my witness. (And she agrees that I have a certain magnetism that I might want to have reversed.)

A woman is walking ahead of us on our street on this beautiful spring day. She is shouting into the phone. I look over because my attention is drawn to the noise. At that moment I notice:

that toilet paper is making a paper tail from her pants.

She feels something flying around at just about the same time and looks around as she is grabbing the toilet paper.

Our eyes meet for what seems an eternity. I think of Gilda Radnor doing a 1970s Roseanna Roseannadanna (Saturday Night Live) skit about Princess Lee Radzwill (Jackie O’s sister) with toilet stuck to her shoe. Except in this case, IT WASN’T STUCK TO HER SHOE!!

I am also shell-shocked.

She keeps yelling into the phone as she grabs at the toilet paper and her slightly horrified look dissipates.

Another New York moment.

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When my son is an Olympian

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On Sunday night, we gathered for the usual family dinner.  This time, we ate out, courtesy of Dad who stuck a crowbar in his wallet and sprung for the bill.  It was my (older) sister’s 50th birthday.  It was literally the least he could do.  I did the least I could do as well by merely showing up.  At least our son made a card.

Our son mentioned he would rather be watching the closing ceremonies of the Olympics.  Ok, he doesn’t get the tact award.  My cousin asked our son about what he saw and learned from watching the Olympics.  He said that every night, he and I went over the sports that were too dangerous for him to try.  My cousin asked what sport he could try and he answered, “curling”.  My cousin leaned over and asked me in a sidebar, “how long do these prohibitions last?” to which I responded quite emphatically, “until I am DEAD!!”

Bottom line, my son will never make the skeleton or the luge team, as if they are sports anyway.  They are kamikaze runs.  Have you noticed that the winter sports are REALLY dangerous?  Just ask any insurance agent whether some of these athletes can get life insurance.  Ok, maybe Lloyd’s of London will insure these athletes.  But then again, Lloyd’s insured the Argentine fleet against the British navy in that not-so-recent unpleasantness over the Falkland Islands.  (Remind me why those islands mattered enough to risk lives?)  Then again, Lloyd’s behavior seems quaint in the wake of the global economic collapse created by a few 25 year-old derivatives traders and short sellers.  But I digress.

Curling isn’t really an option, either.  It looks like “extreme housekeeping” with those hot iron and the brooms.  And my son, a chip off the ol’ block that he is, knows gornischt (nothing) about housekeeping.

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Why Airlines Should be Punished

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I recently flew to and from California.  Years ago, the quality of ticket I purchased would have been in the “leisure traveler” section.  Soon that name was too grand and the designation became “coach”.  From there, it tumbled further down the slippery slope into “economy” class which meant no one cared if you had an aisle seat right next to the stinky bathroom.  This trip has confirmed that the tumble has gone into free-fall and the proper designation is “cattle-car” class. 

On the way there, parents separated from their children reached across strangers to hand their drooling children some bribe to try to stay quiet.  Then the parents put on their Bose headphones — you know the ones that block out all sounds.  Excuse me, but don’t you think that we — the poor strangers subjected to your whining progeny– deserve the headphones and you deserve to hear your children? 

And I can’t forget the guy who pretended we were seated in first class by expanding his elbows not only into my personal space but in my very rib cage.  (Really?  Did you really not feel some resistance to your expansion, you creepy man?)  I pulled down the tray table, put my pillow on it and then did a face plant into the pillow, so Mr. Strange-as-G-d-makes-us can elbow away.

On the way back, I took the red-eye and I was tired and aggravated.  Already one guy held up an entire line of people to get his laptop out of his bag.  And it was not my imagination — the seats were smaller.  I am a little person and I felt like I was busting out of the seat.  Also, someone (or more persons) took all of the space in my overhead bin.  I was seated in the bulkhead so I had to stow everything.  While the idiot man getting his computer held everyone up, I noticed someone adding a satchel to the luggage in my overhead bin.  When I got to my row, I took the satchel and handed it back to the guy and said, “this is not going to work, I have no seats in front to stuff my bag under.”  He took it and didn’t put up a fight.

And WHAT is with people not turning off their smart phones when asked?  I was about to lunge at this young woman whose tweeting was obviously so profound and important that she could risk endangering us all.  My colleague seated next to me stopped me so that I would not be arrested and carried off the plane in restraining gear.

And, $3 for earphones?  Soon we are going to have to pay to use the restrooms. 

Airplanes today are just gross and need to be upgraded for humane use. 

Ok, I remember flying Air Myanmar.  The planes seemed like demo models because they had indentations where the oxygen mask and the flight attendant button ought to have been.  Also the seats flopped back and forth on take-off and landing.  I sat next to a Buddhist monk so I felt safe.  My friend was in a row with only one seat; the rest of the row was penned-in for some yaks who were also welcomed aboard in that way that only a repressive regime can welcome a visitor (“Good luck, if you have it”).

So, airplanes today aren’t the most inhumane I’ve experienced but I am going to save my pennies and investigate private plane service.  I bet it costs about the same as first class, which isn’t even first class anymore.

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Olympians — inside and out

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A friend told me that the Olympic Committee ordered 70,000 (yes seventy thousand) condoms for the Olympic village this time around.  Why? Because 50,000 weren’t enough the last time.

It is a two week event.   That is 5,000 condoms per day.  Don’t the athletes need to rest before and after their events?  Or is this another (untelevised) event?

Beats curling, I guess.

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