Some Random Things

I have many random things to report. So here goes:

• I am in San Francisco at the moment. Shlomo and I escaped for one last long weekend this year. It has been bittersweet. My dad is in the hospital with fluid on his heart and lungs. My parents insisted we go ahead and make the trip. It has been a great trip, but I keep worrying about my dad. I talk to my mom or brother about 15 times a day. I am going to see my dad on Tuesday.
  
• I am a bit nervous about our Segway ride in the morning. I don't know why. I have ridden them before. I guess I am just sad that I won't have Loco or Gilda with me. We all know it is my dream to ride around on a Segway with them on my shoulder.
  
• Possums, Dame Edna is one funny dude. We saw her last night. All I have to say… one funny dude.
  
• I saw the Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill in person. It was the thing I wanted to do most on this trip. I did not know if we would see them or not. We took a cab to the top of Telegraph Hill and saw them within seconds of getting out of the car. It was so exciting for a couple of bird nerds. If you have not seen the documentary, rent it. Mark Bittner's story is so sweet and amazing. Triple love it. And, I loved it before I had parrots.
  
• We have eaten so much on this trip…Dungeness crab, sourdough bread, Peking duck…this is a great food city.
  
• If you do not know the music of Darlene Love, look her up. We saw her cabaret tonight with Melba Moore. Both were good. Darlene was fantastic.
  
• I made all A's this semester. Yay me.
  
• People are stupid. I don't know why I feel the need to share that, but I do.
  
• Shlomo can get on my nerves like stink on shit. But, for the most part, he is the sweetest person I know. He is also Dennis the Menace, but that is another post. By the way, there is enough material in any given day that I can make that post at anytime.
  
• Lots of hills in San Francisco. Lots of hills.
  
• Very sad about Eartha Kitt. We saw her on my birthday in July. She was amazing. It is a tremendous loss.
  
• I have been reading up a storm sense I finished the terror known as finals. I know…it's ironic. My break from studying is reading. I have read a couple of parrot memoirs, Carrie Fisher's memoirs, and now I am reading the sequel to Friday Night Knitting Club. I plan to follow it up with either Wuthering Heights or Passage to India. Either way, I hope to read both over my break. Since I will be on a plane three times in the next three days, I should get a lot read. If you don't have a Kindle and read a lot, get one. It makes reading while traveling so much easier. (Thanks Shlomo! It was a great anniversary present back in August.)
  
• Isn't it funny that two Jews bought a sculpture of St. Francis on our trip? It's for the back yard. It reminded us of the monk that was at the next table on our first date. And the sculpture was holding a bird. It will look so great in our backyard. What can I say? We are art fiends.
  
• Shlomo is upset that I limited his sweetness to "for the most part." Seriously. Learn to take a compliment, Shlomo.
  

I guess that is about it for the moment. I will keep you posted as to my dad's progress. I had three drinks at the cabaret, so I am a little drunk. If I have been rambling, I apologize.

How Did I Get So Old?

I have often had this picture of retirement where I would sit by the fireplace reading some great novel and considering its impacts and ramifications with the dogs at my feet. Well, today, as I write my final essays for that wonderful (and by wonderful, I mean great class—awful teacher) Greek Tragedy In Translation class I have taken this semester, I realized that I have pretty much done exactly that all day.

So far, I have examined the three Theban plays by Sophocles (Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Colonus, and Antigone) and looked at how they could possibly be viewed as a blessing rather than a tragedy. Is it me or is that totally a stupid essay question. Let's see…a man kills his father, marries his mother, discovers this fact, blinds himself, goes to exile and ruins the lives of all his children/siblings. Yep, that is definitely a blessing. Totally a blessing. Not a stretch at all to make that answer happen. Now, I am getting ready to show what Aeschylus had in mind in the Oresteia. By the way, if you know the answer to that, please post it in the comments. That would help me a great deal.

So back to the old part. Yeah. Did I mention I have classical music playing. Just a little Yo-Yo Ma or Itzhak Perlman as background noise. Seriously, I might as well be smoking a pipe. Gross. If it weren't for Gilda's occasional squawks, this dreary day would totally be peaceful. Just as I imagined my twilight years. Surely, these aren't my twilight years. I have to make it at least another forty to take care of Gilda and Loco. Shit. What if these are my twilight years and God decided not to be vengeful and give them to me to enjoy? Wow. This entry just took a morbid turn. I did not see that coming.

For the sake of sanity (or insanity as the case may be), I will assume I have not entered my twilight years. God is not that vengeful. There is no way Shlomo could handle the upkeep on our menagerie by himself. After all, I think we are just a baby goat away from having our own petting zoo.

Finallly...

In two and a half hours, I have a final in my baroque art class. I should be frantically studying. I am not for some reason. I think I might have studied out. I have plenty of time to go through my notes one more time. I should probably be nervous, but I really am not. I wrote the take-home essays. I know the slides. I have studied for the in-class essays. It is what it is at this point. I hate that saying. It is what it is. It IS a stupid saying.

Anyway, I seem to have devoted my entire weekend to the final. Well almost the entire weekend. I hesitate to tell you this, but if you are a regular reader, you know the questionable state of sanity that Shlomo and I share. There might have been a new addition to our menagerie on Saturday. She might look something like this.



Her name is Gilda (after Rita Hayworth's most famous role). That is not her, but a photo I found of the species online. She is a Solomon Eclectus. She is a bit bigger than Loco. She has her loud baby squawk at the moment (she is only three months old), but they assured us she will give that up. Like caiques, eclectus are known to be quieter parrot species. She is beautiful, but still awkward in the same way a puppy is. Loco either loves her or wants to kill her. We cannot tell. I am guessing the latter, but that should change over time.

We made a list of pros and cons to getting her. We had made a similar list for Loco. In both instances, the cons won. In both instances, we seem to have ignored the lists.

We know we are nuts. But, she is a beauty. I cannot wait for my finals to be over, so I can devote my winter break to training her and playing with Loco and helping them bond. I know you cannot force that, but I will try my darnedest.

I always swore I would not be one of those lonely old men surrounded by cats. As her lifespan is 30-50 years, I think I successfully insured that won't happen. Loco should be around another 30-40 years as well, so I guess I will be that lonely old man with his birds. Oh well, Shlomo and I already refer to ourselves as the "Birdmen of Brugghen Street."

An Unwelcome Guest

Okay, people. I will be straight with you. Well, in my case, I guess I will be gay with you. It's crunch time. The semester is winding down. I have a ton of things to do. You know what that means. Procrastination has the ability to lead to blog entries a plenty.

I had a visit from a friend last night…a friend I like to call "stomach virus." Yeah, he is an unwelcome guest. Strangely enough, Shlomo had been suffering from a little cough all day and I suggested he take a Nyquil before going to bed. All was well. Two hours later, all hell broke loose in my digestive tract. It was to the point I was worried about becoming dehydrated. Shlomo was in a drug-induced coma. I had this image of my having to take a cab to the emergency room. Fortunately, that image did not come to fruition.

To further complicate things, I had a presentation to make in my class tonight. I debated trying to get out of it. But, I am either too proud or too stupid to approach my professor about such things. So, stomach gurgling I went to class. As I sat there waiting to present my lovely schpiel about Medea, I suddenly had this image of my going Poughkeepsie in my pants right in the middle of telling how Medea was somewhat admirable in her defiance of her gender role and not allowing herself to be the victim. Fortunately, I was not Charlotte York Goldenblatt on a Mexican vacation.

So now, I am facing a weekend filled with research on Rembrandt and his work in the Jewish ghetto. I hope my stomach holds up.

Someone Is Eating Dog Food

Yesterday was THE event of the year for my tribe in Houston. By tribe, I mean gay people. That’s right. Madonna played Minute Maid Park. Shlomo and I were there with about 70 thousand other people. It was fantastic. At 50, Madge is still at the top of her game.

To celebrate, Shlomo and I hosted a little soiree for our nearest and dearest prior to the show. I coined it, “Martinis, Mojitos, and Madonna.” Bascially, it meant I spent the day in the kitchen while Shlomo sat on his butt. Okay, that’s not entirely true. Actually, he did a lot to help. Mainly, he ran to the grocery store everytime I forgot something. By the way, when making mojitos, don’t forget to buy mint. Seriously.

He also straightened the house. By “straightened,” I mean he “gayed it up.” You know, he fluffed the pillows, lit the candles, replaced the lavender in the sachets in the undergarment drawers. Okay, the last one is not true, but it just went with the comedy rule of three.

So, after the party and the concert (which started two hours late), we saved the cleaning up part of the party until tonight. Suffice it to say, the place was a mess. Plates, glasses, cocktail napkins…they were everywhere. Anywho, Shlomo and I are in the kitchen cleaning. The dogs are on their pillows. Loco is on his perch. Well, we thought Loco was on his perch. I looked over. Loco was eating out of the dog food bowl. Seriously, he got down and walked through the living room, the dining room, past the dry bar, and into the kitchen. He then helped himself to some Science Diet Senior.

Let me just say that we had only an hour before spent over $60 at Petsmart on food and toys for Loco. He is not deprived. I now regularly buy fresh vegetables for him…not me. He does not need to eat dog food. But it is kind of like when I go to the grocery store and buy $100 worth of groceries and then go through a drive-thru on the way home. Sometimes, you just want to eat stuff you don’t really need…like those truffles I ate earlier. That, however, is another story.

Hang Ten

Hello, Possums! What a morning. I have a paper that I need to be working on today (as it is due tomorrow) so that means that I obviously had to make time for a blog entry.

I woke up with a headache this morning. It hurts real, real bad, y'all. I wanted to blame Shlomo. He had to get up early to catch a flight to Florida. When he gets up early, I get up early. He thinks I lay in bed all day and then move to the sofa to eat bonbons. He is mostly wrong. I never eat bonbons. Seriously, we all know I work way more now than I ever did as an accountant. (Remember all those blog posts? Yeah...hard at work then!)

Anywho, the head. Ouch. I thought I would be funny. I was sitting at the dining room table surfing the web and watching the Today show trying to wake up. My new little Prada sunglasses were sitting there. I put them on. I felt better. Then, it hit me. I made a jumbo-sized martini last night and drank it all before bed. Holy olives! I am totally hung over. I cannot remember the last time I was hung over. I don't get hung over.

Wait, I do remember the last time I was hung over. It was the day after my 30th birthday. That involved my share (I was with a friend) of two bottles of wine, a bottle of champagne, and a couple of martinis. It also involved a trip I barely remember to the Virgin Records store in San Francisco. Cds were procured. They are not necessarily cds that I am proud to own. I blame my drunken state. I just remember that my former friend fell in the street that night. I thought it was funny then. Now that we are really no longer friends, I think it is freakin' hysterical.

So, as you go about your day...think of me...sitting here deconstructing the Great Gatsby in my prescription Prada bifocals. Yeah...they're less cool when they are bifocals...aren't they? What can I say? I am so not cool. Oh, and please pardon my Dame Edna moment at the beginning. I love her. What can I say? I always love the LOLs (little old ladies).

And for the record, so I don't bring shame on my family. It was a big martini...probably the size of 2 or 3 if a normal person made them. I am not that much of a lightweight. Given my lack of attendance at the gym, it could be argued that I am in no way a lightweight.

To Quote Barbra

Happy days are here again.
The skies above are clear again.
Let's sing a song of cheer again.
Happy days are here again.


Congratulations, Mr. President.

They're Alive! They're Alive!

Oh happy day! For weeks, Shlomo and I have been worried sick about our friends/restaurant acquaintances the Molay, Molay, Molays. We finally decided that they had moved, or worse...had been forced to have face transplants and were living under the witness protection program due to some unseemly event they had witnessed in our neighborhood or at Neiman Marcus. Hey, those pushy perfume girls sometimes have it coming...all I'm sayin'. Alas, they are alive. Alive, I tell you. Alive. And, with the same faces.

We had gone to a little seafood dinner. We were almost finished, when Shlomo said, "Look, is that the Molay, Molay, Molays?" I had just played a similar game to throw one of my fried shrimp on his plate because I did not want it and was convinced that this was some sort of retribution on his part. I did not even really look and said that it was not. Ah distraction, such a great method to get rid of unwanted food.

Then, a few minutes later, I looked. It was them. We finished our dinner and went over to say hello. There was hugging involved. Actual hugging. They have been fine and we sort of, almost made plans to get together. And, no one had had a face transplant. Turns out, that worry was for naught.

Parenthetically, I know I have been posting sporadically lately. Sadly, I don't really see a change in that until the semester is over. However, my four readers are very important to me. So, check back. Sometimes, procrastination in writing a paper can cause me to do some very odd things.

Quick Updates

I am neck-deep in some Greek Tragedy and thought I would escape for a few minutes with some quick updates.

For those of you who have expressed concern about the Farg, thanks. We are waiting for a consult with the doggie oncologist. Sadly, it has to wait until this Greek Tragedy paper is written. Because if it is not written by 5:30 on Thursday, it will be a Texas tragedy.

Today, I got back my first test in my art history class. Not to brag, but I made an "A"...the only problem is I now have to keep it up. No rest for the weary.

How is it that Cloris Leachman is still dancing and Toni Braxton was voted off? It scares me as to what Americans are capable of doing. What does this mean for Barack Obama? Fingers crossed that it means absolutely nothing for Barack Obama.

Three words: Liza with a Z. Okay, that's three words and a letter. Still, December 5, the Palace Theatre, Shlomo, Liza, and me. Yippee. Liza, Judy, Barbra, Bette...these are names I shan't forget. Judy died before I was born and on December 6, I will have seen the other three perform live. I don't think you can be gayer than that.

Remember in college how you would stay up late studying, drinking caffeine, and watching bad tv. Shlomo's been out of town this week. I have resorted to that pattern. Stop the madness.

Cupcakes are good. Oh, and all the ice cream came out of Shlomo's shirt. But, how do you get frosting off the "Q" key on the laptop?

David Sedaris is hysterical. I have read his books for years, but I heard him speak last night. I laughed real real hard, y'all. It's too bad Shlomo was in Orlando and missed it. But, DD accompanied me. I am sure if anyone saw us together, gossip will be all over Houston. Like I care.

Okay, back to the Greek Tragedies. Life was simpler then when people were just sleeping with their mother, burying their sister alive, and killing their own children. Good times.

You Scream! I Scream!

I should preface this story by saying that I have spent at least 10 years looking for the perfect white shirt. I have only been successful twice. Once was about three years ago in New York. The second was a couple of weeks ago in Chicago. What makes the perfect white shirt, you ask? It has to be fitted but loose. It needs to have some sort of tone-on-tone stripe or slight pattern. It needs to not require an undershirt. It needs to have French cuffs. It needs to not have a button-down collar (although, I don't think that ever happens with French-cuffed shirts). As you can see, I am very specific yet vague in my desires.

A couple of months ago, I even scored one of these so-called perfect shirts for Shlomo. It was very difficult for me. I was currently without the perfect shirt and they did not have my size. I was a big person about it. I was happy for him to have it. Really, I was. Seriously, I was. Okay, I was a teensy bit envious. Okay, I was seething with jealousy.

Well, it remains to be seen if he still has said shirt. Tonight after dinner, we went to a special little creamery we like to call Baskin Robbins. It had been a rough day and I needed a little chocolate fudge on a sugar cone. I like to think of it as my cone of happiness. Shlomo got his semi-usual jamoca almond fudge.

We adjourned to the out of doors to enjoy our happiness in a cone. About two minutes passed. I was telling a story that could only be described as riveting. I looked over. Shlomo's scoop rolled off his cone and down his oh-so-perfect shirt. Miraculously, he caught the scoop in his hand. Well, he really kind of trapped it with his hand and cuff and stomach. He placed it on his cone and continued eating. We both laughed hysterically.

Riveting story continued for another two minutes or so. Shlomo had repeat performance of his act. This time, he did not catch it. However, he did manage to deflect it onto my jeans. They are my fat jeans that I usually only wear on airplanes, but not so funny. He thought so. I did not.

Perfect ending to my perfect day. I neglected telling this part earlier so as not to distract from the charm of my story. However, the results of Fargo's third biopsy came back today. I had dismissed the third biopsy because two had been benign. However, this one showed a malignancy. We do not have a prognosis yet. But, I know how it is going to end. I don't know when it is going to end. But, I now know how. It's sad. That's right...I am ending on a total down note.

Hi. My Name is Zoolander

Okay, it really is not. It is still Anshel Streisand. However, I feel like a zookeeper these days. Let me just say it has been some crazy times at our little zoo lately.

First of all, with the exception of three fish, we all made it through the hurricane fine. I thought the rough times were over. I thought wrong.

Fargo, our ten-year-old terrier had a mass the size of a baseball appear on the side of her neck overnight about two weeks ago. The vet thought it might be cancer. I assumed it was cancer. I was devastated. We were supposed to leave town two days later to go see the lovely and talented Anna Mae Bullock...aka...Tina Turner.

We boarded her at the vet. They were going to take the tumor out the day we left. I am walking down the street in Chicago and the vet called. They had opened her up, but left the tumor. They had no idea what it was. Instead, they did a biopsy. I did not take this as good news.

The results came back after we returned. It was non-cancerous. They removed the benign, fatty tumor this week. She should be fine. Bless her heart, though. She has now been in one of those cone collars for two weeks. She has one more week to go before the stitches removal.

Then, there is Loco. This past Sunday, Shlomo claimed he did not feel well. He was on the bed watching tv on the second floor. I was in the kitchen on the first floor lovingly preparing a home-made dinner. Loco was locked in his cage on the second floor. I am chopping and stirring and all of a sudden a little green parrot with an orange head hops across the kitchen floor. He was all proud of himself. I walked him back upstairs. One of the food doors on his cage was wide open. Little Loco Houdini Streisand had somehow managed to escape.

I stood back and observed from a place where he could not see me. The food doors have a little latch that swings around at the top. It is a very simple mechanism to secure the door. LHS was sticking his beak through the slight opening, spinning the latch around, and then pushing the door open at just the right time. Let me just say, I am pretty sure that takes more motor skills than I have.

Now, we use masking tape to secure all the latches on his cage. I am sure it is a temporary solution. I have a feeling that Loco Ono will somehow manage to pull off the tape and continue his antics.

And, have I mentioned that our pug, Lulu, has now developed a love of snow peas? Yeah, Loco drops them on the floor and Lucinda Luciana Esmerelda is happy to pick them up and devour them for herself. I even offered one from the fridge as a treat the other day. She happily took it.

That's pretty much the excitement of my life...that and a couple of tests and a couple of papers. If you have any questions about The Great Gatsby, The Odyssey, Caravaggio, Bernini, Antigone, or Medea just ask. I feel like I know them pretty well these days. I have fall break on Monday and Tuesday. I will be spending them in the library. What can I say? The fun and glamour never ends when your name is Anschel Streisand.

I'm Alright, It's Okay

First of all, let me say to my fellow Jews who read this blog, L' Shanah Tovah! I think there are two of you. Happy new year. As the President of my Temple so eloquently put it in his remarks at the Rosh Hoshanah services, "May you find health and choose happiness in the coming year." For those of you who do not know, Shlomo is in his last year as President of the Temple and as "First Lady," I am his official speechwriter. The remarks of the President were nothing less than brilliant.

Anyhoo, what a few weeks it has been. Twelve days without power. I don't really know what else to say about that. Twelve. Days. Without. Power. It was hell. It was hell for me. It was hell for Shlomo. It was hell for our pets. It was hell for all of Houston and Galveston. Shlomo and I were very lucky. It could have been much worse.

So now, things are supposed to be back on track. We have a long-planned weekend in Chicago starting tomorrow to see one Ms. Tina Turner. It was supposed to be relaxing, but it has been pretty stressful so far.

First of all, one of my beloved pups (who I will call Fargo because that is her name) is having surgery tomorrow. Yesterday, Shlomo and I noticed a mass on her neck about the size of a fist that seemed to have come from nowhere. I took her to the vet. They did a needle biopsy and drew blood. They cannot really figure out what it is. Tomorrow, they are either draining it or taking it out.

Second, Lulu (again...shockingly...real name) has scratched a very large place on her neck more than likely related to her flea/tick treatment. The place is about the size of a silver dollar. So, basically, I looked like a dog abuser when I took her into be boarded. Fortunately, they know that while I have a mistrust of certain breeds (seriously who can trust an Afghan hound?...they are just too floopy...that may or may not be an actual word), I am no dog abuser. Shlomo? We have doubts about. (Just kidding, Sweetie!)

Third, the creepy bird store is closed. That is where we normally board Loco. Now, Zilla and her very responsible husband have to care for Loco in addition to the finches and fish this weekend. On a brighter note, Loco will get to stay in the comfort of his home. However, he proved to be quite the resilient little traveler.

All in all, it is adding quite a bit of stress to my week. Oh, and did I mention I have my first test next week? Yeah, a bit nervous about that. Okay, not going to lie. I am a lot nervous about that.

So, that's the update. I am trying not to stress myself out. Easy, breezy. I guess I will just take one thing at a time. Then, it will be a cinch, Judi Dench.

Ike is an Evil Man

Day 11...still no power. Nervous breakdown about to ensue. I am trying real hard people to keep it together. I don't know if it is going to happen.

Classes resume today. I guess that is good. I am not sure how I will study with no power, but missing for a week and a half is enough.

I would go buy myself something to cheer myself up, but what would I do with it?

On a brighter note, the speech I had to write for Shlomo is done.

If you can read this (because you have power), just know that I hate you until mine is restored. Harsh...I know. But, desperate times call for desperate measures.

I Now Hate Ike

Still no power. We do have hot water. Thank you to the builder for putting in a gas water heater.

I hate this. I have nothing to say. All I want is to watch tv. On a brighter note, no classes.

That's about all I have to say on the subject.

I Do Not Like Ike

No power. No ice. No hot water. Peanut butter. Tuna fish. To quote those two divine divas Barbra Streisand and Donna Summer, "Enough is enough is enough is enough."

Today, Shlomo and I fled to San Antonio. Right now, we are holed up in a luxe hotel room with the dogs and the parrot. We are only here for a couple of nights. The finches will be fine. The fish are what they are. Without aeration or filtration, there is only so much we can do.

I had the best fried oysters in the world (they are served over squid-ink pasta with a dab of hollandaise) at our favorite restaurant here. And, there was a Grand Marnier souffle for dessert.

Enough about food. I felt a little like the Beverly Hillbillies as we walked the dogs through the lobby while carrying a parrot in a tropical print carrying case. Just as I called it, Loco squawked in the middle of the lobby. So far, though, we have avoided the embarassment of one of the dogs leaving a little brown present in a very public place. Mark my words: it will happen.

We are exhausted and ready to turn in for the night. So, I will leave you with the biggest irony of the day. We had been without power, air conditioning, and tv for a while. We drove over three hours to get here. We get in our room and I turn on the tv to see none other than What's Love Got To Do With It on Lifetime...television for women and gay men. Of course, it was a scene where Ike beat the hell out of Tina. I now know just how she felt.

Slightly Less Calm

When I last left you in the saga known as Hurricane Ike, it was very calm before the storm. Now, it is slightly less calm, but it will get much worse. Curfews are being issued. People are supposed to be taking shelter. Our stupid neighbors are partying on their driveways. I am trying not to judge. Okay, I am judging. They are IDIOTS.

Shlomo often accuses me of just using this blog to report things that he does which do not portray him in the best light. Well, I will offer up one on myself. Today, we taped an "X" on all of our windows. It may or may not help them not break during the storm. There are conflicting reports.

Anyhoo, we discovered that the window in the garage had not been taped. Shlomo was looking for the tape. I was focused on my computer screen composing a journal entry about Loco. (I try not to subject you fine folks to that!) Shlomo is tearing up the house looking for the tape. Tearing up the house was not a difficult task...the house is pretty much trashed from the moving of all the stuff.

Finally, I got up to help him search. I went to the kitchen thinking it was probably on the counter somewhere between the vanilla cake and peanut butter cookies that I had purchased as part of our emergency rations. Maybe it was under the Snickers bars or behind the peanut M&Ms. It could be anywhere.

Then I hear, "Anshel, you dumbass. It was right beside you!"

Me in disbelief: "WTF?"

Shlomo: "Yep, it was on the end table...just the other side of your iced tea."

So, there you have it. I am not perfect. I am not always at my best. Oh well. Hopefully, I will be able to keep you posted, but if we lose power, I obviously will not. If that was a run-on sentence, I apologize. Sometimes, there are more important things than grammar. I cannot believe I said that.

Calm

Here we sit. Before the storm. Things outside have been secured. Non-perishable foods have been purchased. Shlomo came home from Florida a day early.

Our plan is to ride it out. Hopefully, it will make landfall east of us so we will be on the cleaner side of the storm. If not, it could get ugly.

We were supposed to meet my mother in Austin this weekend for the UT/Arkansas game. It was postponed. Oh well...

In the meantime, we (and the zoo) are ready to ride it out.

I will leave you with one last thought. I called Shlomo to see if there were any particular non-perishable foods he wanted me to pick up at that local shopping horror called the supermarket. His response, "Eggs."

Me: "Huh?!?!?!"

Him: "Yeah, I might want to make some egg salad."

I don't think he understands non-perishable. It's all about picking battles, people. Pick your battles.

Down to Business

Sadly, the long weekend is drawing to a close. As excited as I am about school and my new endeavors, I am still kind of sad that Labor Day is almost over. Shlomo and I felt we had been on the go so much recently that we intentionally made ourselves take some downtime. We saw a couple of movies (Brideshead Revisited and Vicky Christina Barcelona), watched one on dvd (the original The Women), and just took it easy.

We actually cooked most of our meals. And, I have to tell you about these mashed potatoes I made. They were a recreation of some we had at the Joe's Stone Crab (that Miami institution) location in Las Vegas. You make your usual mashed potatoes. The real kind...not from a box. Add a little sour cream and parmesan in the mixing. Place in a baking dish. Top with some grated cheddar, some more grated parmesan, and some Panko (Japanese breadcrumbs). Pop under the broiler until golden brown. Simple pimple. They were delish. And, if serving for a group, it totally takes the pressure off keeping the mashed potatoes warm because they come straight from the broiler.

Okay, maybe I have too much time on my hands. I am sharing recipes and I found the time to make homemade chocolate chip cookies this weekend. Yeah. I am a total lard.

So, now I am back to the wonderful world of Literary Criticism and Greek Tragedy tomorrow. At some time before tomorrow night, I am going on a little trip...or should I say Odyssey. Oh well, until then, I am off to eat another cookie and watch Gossip Girl.

Happy Labor Day.

Belly Shirt and Hot Pants? Not the Way to Go.

As of 6:45 this evening, I will have completed my first week of classes. All is well. I am certain I made the right decision to go back to school. However, I will just say that graduate school is a lot of work.

It could be that I am taking it too seriously. It could also be that I am not. So, I think I will continue to devote my entire days to my studies. Baroque art...fun. Literary criticism...we actually dissected Little Red Riding Hood in class. Greek Tragedy in Tranlsation? Oy vey. I spent 2 hours today taking notes on the introduction to Enuma Elish (the ancient Greek version of the creation of the universe). It only took me an hour to read it then. Hopefully, the other translations will be more straightforward. Kicking my A. Today, anyway.

So that's it. That's my life. I am looking forward to the long weekend. Oh, next week will be a test. I plan to add cooking dinner to my daily schedule. We will have to see how that goes.

Back to School

Well, in just three short hours, I will be back in class...for the first time in more than a decade. I am excited, anxious, enthusiastic, and (pardon the expression) scared shitless. For real. I cannot poo. I know. TMI.

What do we think the kids are wearing to class these days? Do we think it is still hot pants and a belly shirt like it was in my day? Okay, that was my tribute to Jack McFarland. Let's face it. I steal most of my good lines from somewhere. My guess is I will be sporting shorts and a polo shirt of some sort.

So, today I start the study of Baroque Art. Tomorrow, I have Greek Tragedy in Translation and Literary Criticism. In the meantime, I am entertaining myself with a rerun of Dharma and Greg. I wonder what happened to them.

Well, I guess I should go change out of my belly shirt and hot pants and get ready for class. I don't know why, but that makes me laugh.

So Far, So Good

Here he is! We are still obsessed with little Loco Ono.

Where Have You Been?

Okay, a better question might be "Where have I been?" I have not taken my retirement too seriously and extended it to the blog. I was not eaten by Loco...or Lulu...or Fargo...or any of the other beasts in our menagerie. Shlomo and I took a little trip through New England until yesterday.

We started in NYC where we saw Hair in Central Park. Loved it! We then went through the Berkshires to Williamstown, Mass to the theatre festival there. So damn good. Then, we sauntered up through Vermont and New Hampshire on our way to Cape Cod. We had a great time. We ate some great food. We saw some very large whales. We bought some art.

Now I am back. But, I will be honest. Mama Streisand is coming to visit, so I will probably be blogging sporadically until school starts on the 25th. Then, it should pick up again. I will need something to do to aid my procrastination. Let's not kid ourselves. Procrastination will happen. If you knew me then, remember how clean my apartment was in college. That was procrastination, my friends. P-R-O-C-R-A-S-T-I-N-A-T-I-O-N.

So I am off to face the unpacking and laundry that I did not do today. And, I have some shipments to track. Oh yeah, Slomo and I were totally out of control with our purchases. So, keep checking back. I will eventually get in my semi-regular routine of posting again.

Three More Days...

All I can say is that this week has got to be the longest of my life. The minutes seem like hours. The days seem like decades. Seriously, it has got to end soon. It's kind of like this....

Tick.














Tock.
















Tick.




















Tock.

It should be like this: Tick. Tock. Note the lack of time between them.

I should also point out that I have pretty much abandoned my reading list for 2008. In just a month, I will have reading lists given to me. That has to be my focus. But, I honestly cannot wait for that. I am such a loser.

Oh, and why do I not believe that Ryan Seacrest was really bitten by a shark? I think he was sipping from Paula Abdul's soda can if you know what I am saying... Sad, that Seacrest is all I have to entertain myself with today.

I will confess this, though. I have been totally sucked into to Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood. Oy vey!

Loco for Loco

So the weekend...yeah...nothing that exciting. Temple on Friday night, dinner with friends on Saturday, dinner with a couple of the kids on Sunday...I promise we did more than eat. Here's a quick recap:

Aside from some half-assed attempts at household chores, the weekend pretty much consisted of watching Loco.

• "Oh, look he's eating a piece of broccoli."
• "Wow! He is going to town on that baby carrot!"
• "Ooh...he's hanging upside down!"
• "Hey! He just pooed on me!" Yeah. That one got a little old.

So, if we weren't obsessively holding him, playing with him, or watching him, we were shopping for him. Let me just say, parrots ain't cheap. Carrier: check! Toys: check! Feet toys for bottom of cage: check! Books (for us to read about him): check! Pinata: Check (Seriously...filled with bird treats and it's not even his birthday)!

Yeah! We are total nerds where little Loco Ono is concerned. By the way, Shlomo does not like that nickname. Everyone else (namely me!) does.

One last litte Loco Ono story and then I will stop for a while. On Sunday morning, Shlomo went to the Hot Bagel Shop around the corner to pick up our breakfast. I was doing my part to get ready at home. Okay, I was fixing myself a coke (don't judge) and putting plates and napkins on the table. Loco was on his perch downstairs. The dogs were in their crates (so as to prevent the begging).

So, I am fixing the coke, which evidently takes longer to tell about than do. All of a sudden, I hear Fargo barking like crazy in her crate. It's really unlike her. I go into the living room to see what is the matter. There is Loco off his perch and walking across the floor. Fargo evidently deemed herself to be the hall monitor. I thought she hated the bird. I prefer to tell myself that she was looking out for Loco's safety and not trying to get him in trouble. It was probably the latter.

Well, that's the big excitement of the weekend. I will get into the wireless printer installation, or lack thereof, later. Now, I am off to go watch Loco eat some Cheerios. Does it get any more fun than that?

What's One More?

First of all, the name is Loco. That’s right…Loco it is, because Loco we are. But, I have to say that if all nights with little Loco the parrot are like the first night, we are going to be just fine. He is relatively quiet. I view this as a good sign. It is better he get quiet when stressed rather than start squawking. There have been a few chirps/squawks, but they are really not bad.

Not that this blog is turning in the The Parrot Diaries, but here were some of the adventures of the first night. Oh, and ignore the extra bullet points. Slight problem with blogger.com. Oy vey!

• Large birdcages are hard to move up the stairs. If you are doing so, make sure you are the one ahead of/above the birdcage. It hurts when they fall on your face. You are talking to someone who learned this lesson the hard way. And, I like to think Shlomo is the one who is not smart. He got me there. But, at least there are no bruises or permanent imprint of the bars of the cage. (Note to Shlomo: when we are halfway up the stairs carrying some heavy object and we have been working 10 minutes to get to that point, there is no need to say, “You’re gonna have to help me now.” Yeah, I was helping…a lot. I was not picking daisies. Everytime you paused, all the weight fell on me.)
• Creepy bird store…while creepy…is actually pretty good. They have a much better selection of most things for birds than your typical Petco/Petsmart. Again, lesson learned the hard way as we visited two Petcos and a Petsmart before finding the perch stand we wanted.
• If you are going to a salad bar at the grocery store to get some chopped fresh fruit and vegetables for your new parrot, make sure the grocery store has a salad bar before you go. We finally found some prepackaged broccoli florets and baby carrots mix. I guess it will do.
• Bird toys ain’t cheap. No need to expand on that.
• Don’t joke with your hairdresser that the day after your last day of work you want to bleach your hair white with one electic blue streak. I kind of think she viewed it as a “Challenge Extended” proposition. Yes, I always wanted blue hair as a kid, but I don’t think I have the courage to pull it off. I know that is not related to Loco, but it did happen last night.

So, I guess I am now one step closer to my dream of riding around on a Segway with my parrot perched on my shoulder. Now, all I need is the Segway and to teach Loco to perch on my shoulder. He is fine with the finger, but still skittish on the shoulder. He will get used to it.

Two Weeks and a Parrot

Well, it is official. The word is out. I will be joining the ranks of the gainfully unemployed on August 2. I am so excited about grad school, though. I am also scared to death. I have to study again. I hope I remember how.

On a brighter note, I went to Target the other day and bought some school supplies. I might have overdone it a bit, but I learned a long time ago that when they have orange notebooks, you better stock up. I think I wound up with eight notebooks…and a thousand note cards…and highlighters…and a rubber band ball (cause it looked fun)…and some other accoutrements.

But, I will share that Shlomo and I are on the horns of a dilemma. He blames me. I blame him. This is how it started.

We went to the creepy (I am not lying…it is) bird store on Saturday to pick up some supplies for the finches. We got what we needed and actually bought a couple of finches to replace a couple that we had lost. It happens. Circle of Life. So glad Elton John explained that one to me.

So, we get home. We put the new birds in the aviary. All is well. We are talking about the birds at the store. Blah. Blah. Blah. Then, Shlomo says, “I wonder when we will break down and get a parrot.”

WWWWWWWHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTT? Shut up. In 7th grade, I was obsessed with parrots. I always swore I would have one as a grown up. In many ways, I am still that awkward 12 year-old. Behind the row of finch cages at creepy bird store is a row of parrot cages. I had spent a large portion of our time there bonding with a little white-bellied caique. He/she looks like this.



So, now the debate is do we get him or not. On the one hand, I think it would be great. I have always been a bird lover. I think he is super cute. I have named him Gilda (red hair like Rita Hayworth in my favorite movie and it might be a girl the only way to know is a DNA test).

On the other hand, I realize what a pain a parrot can be. This is a quieter type, but I am sure there is still some squawking. They are messy. This I knew from the parakeets and cockatiels I had growing up and it has been reinforced by the finches.

But, I will have some time to devote to it and its socialization. It would be nice to get it while we are relatively young since they live 30 years. You read that right, people, 30 years. And, I just picture it sitting on its perch bobbing up and down as I blast “Play That Funky Music White Boy!”

We just don’t know what to do. This morning, before we fell asleep at 1:00 a.m., we had decided to do it. When we woke up, we both had second thoughts. Now, we have had second thoughts about the second thoughts. We already have a zoo. What is one more creature? And, did I mention that everywhere I turn today I see a parrot? In the newspaper, on the TV, everywhere. Oh yeah, and on all those caique sites I keep checking out.

I think it is important to not rush into a decision. It is a big commitment. We need to take it very seriously. I will let you know when Gilda comes home.


***************************U P D A T E *****************************


Zilla and I were leaving for lunch. We were going to Barnes and Noble after a quick stop at Petco and Petsmart to look at cages. I know. I am bad. We are driving out of the parking garage when my phone rang. It was Shlomo.

He was at the creepy bird store. He had held Gilda. He had picked out a cage for Gilda. He thought we were foolish to get Gilda. But, was there anyway that I could drive down to the creepy bird store to see Gilda and see the cage? It was then that I knew. She was ours.

Zilla made the sacrifice. She said she did not mind. I know the place gives here the heebie-geebies. We walk in the door and there is Shlomo with Gilda perched on his finger. I know that this is probably not a good analogy to use in a bird store, but he had a "cat that ate the canary" grin on his face.I held Gilda. I looked at the cage. We got food, toys, a playstand, all the necessities. Gilda comes to her new home this evening.

There is one problem, however. They had had the DNA testing done. Gilda is a boy. Now, we have to come up with a name for him. My list right now consists of: Loco (because we are), Tango, Tamale, Rio, Guapo, etc. If you have a suggestion, leave it in the comments section. Hopefully, we will have a name by nightfall.

Shhhhhh! Don't Tell!

I’ve got a secret. If you talk to me often, you probably already know it. But I am guessing there are at least two of you out there who do not. I cannot decide if I am ready to share or not. But I guess I will. I am quitting my job!

I have been there before. I have found another job and left my current one. This time is different. I don’t have another job. Instead, I am going to “grad school” to study Art History and English. It should be quite the change for this accountant who has viewed his job with an overwhelming sense of dread for the past 13 years.

But here’s the kicker: they don’t know (with the exception of Zilla) at my office, yet. I am giving my two weeks notice on Monday. I don’t think they suspect. So, you have to keep it under your hat.

Can you believe it? No more debits. No more credits. No more out of balance. No more reports no one will ever really look at.

I can barely contain my glee. That does not mean that I am not also terrified. I will actually have to study. What if I cannot tell the difference between the Baroque artists? What if I just don’t get the symbolism that Mark Twain was including just to make it not so simple? And Faulkner? I can’t even say Yoknapatawpha County. Let's not even get into all those Greek tragedies I will be studying in my first semester. I guess if it is a mistake, I can take my inspiration for a dramatic death spiral from them. Just kidding. I am in no way suicidal.

Relax. Relate. Release. I just have to keep telling myself that I am a reasonably intelligent person and I will be disciplined and devote the time to my studies that they deserve. I realize that I am very fortunate to be in this position. The world is my oyster. Really, it's more like the University of St. Thomas is my oyster. And, that is okay. I have the support of Shlomo. And, as Phoebe Buffay would say, “He’s my lobster.” And, that my friends, is a lot of shellfish.

Now, if I only knew what I was going to do when I finish this program in a couple of years…

If You're Going to San Francisco

It is no secret that I love to travel. Shlomo also loves to travel, so it works out well for us. Shlomo also travels a lot for business. I have had jobs where I did that. It was great at the time. However, after a few years, I was ready to be home more often. It was then that I moved from Arkansas to Houston for a job that required no travel. Houston provided many opportunities to do the things I enjoyed on the road (theatre, museums, great shopping) so it worked out well. However, there are certain times when I do envy Shlomo’s trips.

This morning was a prime example. I had gotten up early at home so I would be dressed when the contractor showed up (that is another matter entirely). I did not rush to the office, though. I spent an hour or so surfing the web, watching the Today show, and basically getting in a better mood.

I drove to the office and was greeted by the menial tasks that awaited me. My office…how shall I put this…is the pits. It is not attractive. Gray walls. I don’t look good in gray. So, I am doing a task that a monkey could literally do and I get a call from Shlomo.

“Hey. I just wanted to catch up. I am having breakfast on the 46th floor of the hotel with a panoramic view of San Francisco. I can see the Golden Gate Bridge, and Alcatraz, and Coit tower….blah, blah, blah.” I love San Francisco. I could not hide my jealousy.

In a very bitchy moment, I might have said something to the effect of “Yeah, well I have a panoramic view of gray walls. And I can see a stack of paper on my desk. So there.”

If I were nice, I would tell Shlomo to swing by the little ice cream shop where they have the best spumoni ice cream/gelato that I have ever had. He would love it. I don’t think I am that nice. Shlomo, that is what you get. I will tell you about it when we go to SF together.

I know. I am petty. I am fine with that. But look at it this way. This is Shlomo’s view.





This is my view:

So, if you are going to San Francisco, wear some flowers in your hair if you want. Just don't call and tell me about it when I am in a bad mood. And Shlomo, if you are reading this and you decide to wear some flowers in your hair, get a picture. That I do want to see!

A Sure Bette!

So this past weekend, Shlomo and I ventured forth on an overnight adventure. On Saturday morning we packed our bags and hopped a plane for Sin City to see the one and only Divine Miss M herself.

You have to understand, I have long had (as I think every gay man has) a huge admiration and affection for Bette Midler. I have seen every movie of hers (with the exception of Jinxed…which even she says to avoid), I have seen her live twice before this weekend, and I have been known to crank her cds with the top down during my convertible-owning days. The latter is not so fun in a Jeep Cherokee.

She inspired me to go green with her campaign to clean up New York. I hope the others she inspired were more successful. I made it about a month. But still…

Anyhoo, Shlomo and I had waited months for this. We purchased our tickets six months ago. Yes, we had to change them once as her performance schedule was adjusted, but we did so happily. Ironically, we wound up with even better seats.

We get to Vegas. I walk in the hotel room and at that moment I realized that—quelle horror—I had my favorite shirt, but no cufflinks. Now, for those of you who know me well and see me everyday, you know that cufflinks are my signature item. I love them. I have probably 30 pairs. I have new ones. I have vintage ones. I have serious ones. I have fun ones. I have expensive ones. I have cheap ones. I love them all for various reasons.

Strangely, Shlomo, who has in the past few months tried to co-opt my signature look, forgot his as well. So what are a couple of broads in this situation to do? Roll up their sleeves and ignore the French (okay Freedom for you Republicans…although I cannot imagine a Republican would read my blog more than once) cuffs? Uh, no. We both ventured into the Forum Shops of Caesar’s Palace and scored us each a pair. He found a great pair at Pink (purple and sparkly…go Shlomo!) and I scored a lovely jade pair that are a fairly famous design made to look like a bean. Shlomo says they look like jade butts.

I felt a bit guilty. It seemed like a splurge. Then, I reminded myself: this is Vegas. What happens here, usually stays here. These will go home with me forever. Then, as fate would have it, I won enough on the slots and those poker machines for Caesar’s Palace to buy me a new shirt to go with them. It was from Banana and not Armani, but still. It was basically free.

I proudly wore my new links that did not really match my favorite shirt, but were okay and went to see the “Peoples’ Diva” as she is now calling herself. I have to say that she has lost none of her charms since I last saw her about four years ago. 90 minutes (the Las Vegas time limit for shows) of song, dance, and non-stop, over-the-top bawdy energy.

Sadly, I must report that there was no Bette doll to join Cher at home on my desk. But fear not, we did not leave without a terrific souvenir...er, souvenirs…Bette T-shirts, Bette playing cards, Bathhouse Betty soap, oh, and a sparkly ukulele signed by Miss M herself. So, got Divine?

Help Me With My Mission

I love Shlomo. I don’t want to gush for the world to read (and by world, I mean about 10 people who look at this thing). He is kind. He is sweet (to most people). He gives so much of his time to volunteerism. But, one of the things I love best about him is that he is often the creator of some great malapropisms.

A prime example of this ability occurred at dinner the other evening. We went to one of our favorite dives to feast on fried chicken. I know, I know…we need to watch our weight. But we had not had this meal in over a month and it is one of our favorites. If we ever take you there, it will be one of your favorites too.

Being a traditional old school restaurant, the waitresses wear very traditional uniforms. You know the type: white blouse, black pinafore over it, engraved name badge, comfortable shoes.

So we were talking to our waitress who I will call Sherry (because that’s her name). We asked if she enjoyed her vacation. (We don’t know her that well. The restaurant closes for two weeks every summer.) We moved on to how hot the weather is.

She then mentioned that her uniform was miserable and she preferred the old ones which had sleeves that hit about “here.” She put the side of her hand on her forearm to demonstrate a three-quarter length sleeve.

“Oh, arm-capris,” Shlomo chimed in. Arm-capris. I guess in his little, non-fashion-dominated world, it would make sense that if Capri pants hit mid-calf, that three-quarter length sleeves which hit mid-forearm would be arm-capris. Sherry and I could not contain our laughter.

So now I have a new mission. It is my goal to have “arm-capris” become a phrase that is sweeping the American vernacular. I will have to always point out the ACs to Shlomo. However, I don’t think I even want to start explaining “manpris” to him. Oy vey.

And the other thing I love most about Shlomo is his ability to crack himself up to the point that he literally faints. But that, my dear reader, is a blog for another day.

With Friends Like These...

Remember that ad about not growing old gracefully, but fighting it every step of the way… Yeah, I saw my age grow by one over the weekend. I have to tell you, 34 seems much older than 33. I don’t know why. It just does.

So, today we are at lunch and the ever-youthful Zilla (who is 25) says, “So how is the big 3-4?”

I turned up my nose and said, “Old.”

No sympathy from her. Her response: “What? Did you throw your back out sneezing again?”

I am sorry. That was completely unnecessary. Yes, I have sneezed and thrown out my back before. But, people in their 20s are not allowed to criticize those of us who are practically middle-aged. It is just wrong. Wait until I break a hip while going to get the paper. She will feel bad then.

Well, I guess that is all for today’s rant. I am going to go look for a good moisturizer online and figure out how much hair I would actually have left if I plucked all the grays. Getting older, while I guess it is better than the alternative, is not fun.

Do we think one of those machines that Susan Lucci hawks for Guthy-Renker would work to give me a more youthful appearance? If it would not work, do we think it would hurt Zilla if I threw it at her? Seriously, that was just mean. Does she not know I can only dish it out?

What's In a Name?

I will start this by saying simply that I love Nicole. I was always on Team Kidman. However, I do feel that I need to address a certain something: Sunday Rose Kidman Urban. WTF?

First of all, I realize that I had a dog named Friday. I loved him dearly. The name fit him. But, he was a dog. He was named Friday because I got him on a Friday. SRKU was born on a Monday. A Monday! And they named her Sunday.

I am all for unusual names…especially if the kid will not have to spell their name but none of their friends have it. But, I have to tell you, the jury is out on this one for me. Unless, she has some really great story about Keith giving her roses on a Sunday and they were the most meaningful thing for her, I think they could have done better.

Whatever happened to the normal celebrity baby names like Lourdes and Rocco and Apple?

The Heiress

My entire life I have had this sneaking suspicion that somehow, somewhere I was destined to be rich. Either my birthparents had struck it rich after giving me up for adoption and were trying to track me down, or their was a mix-up at the hospital and I belonged to some rich family, or there was some long-lost relative with a bunch of oil wells who had just kicked the bucket. Well, let me clear these suspicions up for everyone (including myself). I am not adopted. There was no mix-up at the hospital. I was born in a rural hospital in a small town and was the only baby in the nursery at the time. There could be some oilwells with my name on them somewhere, but I doubt it.

However, yesterday...my ship came in so to speak. Six years ago this past April, my grandfather passed away. It was sad. We were close. It was a short battle with cancer. But, we were all at peace with it. My grandmother had struggled with cancer for 9 years. He had been through that with her every step of the way. We all (including him) were thankful that he did not have to repeat her fight.

Then, on April 28, 2008--six years to the day after his death--my brother and I both received papers in the mail concerning his 401k equivalent. Our hopes were up...but I knew for them not to be. Yes, it would be nice to have some extra thousands lying around. I am sure I could put them to use. If nothing else, our art collection could expand further. Or, two words: tummy tuck.

Both of us filled out the papers and sent them in the next day. I waited a couple of weeks and heard nothing. I called the number that I found online. I found out that it would take 30 days to process to determine if we were in fact beneficiaries. Not so patiently, I waited. I checked the mail religiously. I compared notes with my brother once a week or so. Nothing.

After the 30 days, I called. Turns out, they had just started the investigation the day before. It would be another 30-45 days from that point. Clearly, this was a government operation. They could not tell me if I had been listed as a beneficiary or what the balance of the account was. I had to wait some more. However, I decided that I would call every Wednesday until I heard something.

Then, yesterday the envelope I was waiting for was in the mail. Shlomo found it. He was filled with anxious delight as he waited for me to get home and open it.

I tore through the very thick and very securely sealed envelope. There it was...that magical notification. I was in fact a beneficiary on his account. I am entitled to 12.5% of an account with a vested balance of $36.21. That's right...my share (as well as my brother's) comes to $4.52 before taxes. $4.53 if they round it up. All my life I have waited for this moment and it's four measly bucks.

So, the next time I get my soy chai tea latte at Starbucks, it is on my grandfather. I love being an heir.

And We'll Have Fun, Fun, Fun

So it’s once again been a while since I posted something. There is a reason for that. Absolutely nothing is going on. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Weekend: totally dull.

Okay, there were two highlights. One, was watching Shlomo with his plate of beef ribs. By “plate” I mean a platter the size of my torso. Note to my faithful readers (okay, reader): if something is actually called the “Big Daddy” on the menu, you should not order it. It is going to be way too much food. I’ll put it this way, I ordered half of a chicken. I looked like a dainty eater by comparison.

The other highlight is really more of a lowlight. One of our finches—Elliot Gouldian—had a near-death experience. Here’s how it went down: we were cleaning the birdcage. It’s a necessary, but odious chore. We usually procrastinate doing it way longer than we should. Well, finches are not social animals. So, they get a little frightened when we mess with their habitat.

Elliot Gouldian managed to get his foot hung in one of the nests. Stuck foot resulted in hanging upside down. I had to free him. In the process, his toenail tore off…below the quick. Gushing blood followed. For us, that would not be such a big thing. However, finches are so small that this can result in them bleeding to death. I have read numerous articles on the subject. I am not really proud of that fact, but I am not making this up.

I caught him. Put some flour on the toenail to help coagulation (wow…maybe I learned more in 10th grade biology than I thought) and stop the bleeding. Then, I held him upside down and applied a gentle pressure. It is now the following day and he seems to be doing fine. He is in the sick cage, but I think will return to frolick with the others by the end of the week.

However, I discovered something about myself in this process. Evidently, I could totally be in Emergency Vets on Animal Planet. I did not get queasy. I was totally there to care for my injured pet. Who knew I had that in me? If only, I could see through a microscope, I could have totally been a doctor. And, not just a tree surgeon. Tree surgeons: not really doctors. Although, pretty much as expensive.

So that was my exciting weekend: Shlomo’s gigundo platter of ribs and an injured bird. Don’t everyone form a line to trade places with me at once. You, too, can achieve this level of excitement in your life if you try really hard.

Wild Wednesday Night

It’s official. Shlomo and I are the two most boring people I know. It’s just Wednesday, but it has been a hectic week. He had a dinner on Monday night for work. I met a friend for dinner and then proceeded to try on every pair of jeans in Saks Fifth Avenue. And by the way, when did it become okay to charge so much for a pair of jeans? And, when did I decide it was okay to pay it? Oh yeah, I think it was the minute that my friend and the salesguy were agreeing how good they made my butt look.

Then, last night we were at the Temple as a couple of our friends were honored as Congregants of the Year. It was a great honor for them, but a very long evening. Here’s the deal. By the time you have done enough to be Congregant of the Year, it takes way too much time to tell about all you have done. They both have amazing accomplishments. I am glad we were there. I was thrilled to be part of the evening. I would have been more thrilled had I been able to eat more of the meal than just potatoes and vegetables. I don’t eat beef so the brisket was out. And, I am allergic to cranberries which were added to the salad. But, Whataburger did provide a nice Whatachicken on the way home.

So tonight…our first free night…what did we do? We went to our local shopping horror…I mean mall…to see the tailor to have my jeans and some of Shlomo’s pants hemmed. Then, we stuffed our face with some of the best seafood (crab cocktail and fried shrimp) I have ever had. Now, I am pounding away on my laptop and Shlomo is continuing his obsession with Spider Solitaire. I guess it does beat the fights we used to have over Rummy or Uno each night. It is calmer since we gave that up.

So, anyway, I guess I am going to have to find something for us to mix it up. I think our matching laptops might be the end of conversation. I guess I could pick a fight, but I usually leave that to Shlomo. Go ahead, Shlomo. Post your comment. I know you think nothing is ever your fault. You are wrong. Love you.

What's Your Sign?

I learned something very important about Shlomo last night. When having a book signed by its author, it is important that I include his name. Here’s the deal. Last night, Cissy Davis (aka Debra Winger) was interviewed and had a book signing here. Shlomo and I attended.

I will just take a moment to say how great Debra Winger was. She was entertaining, forthright, and pretty much took no prisoners. And, I have to say, she looks great!

So, we sit through her interview. She takes a few questions from the audience. I laughed. I cried. It became woven into the fabric of my life. We proceed to the lobby for refreshments and book signage. I had bought two books prior to the event…one for me…one for my cousin who is also a big fan.

Some lady is passing out post-its for you to write the name that you would like for Debra to make her inscription to. I did one that said, “To Anshel” and one that said, “To Cousin.” Shlomo saw this. He started in…how could I do that…he always includes me…blah…blah…blah…remember how great the Peter Max book is where he did “To Anshel and Shlomo” and then drew hearts containing “A + S.”

I did not think it was that big of a deal. So, I added “and Shlomo” to the post-it.

So, we wait in line. I finally get up to Debra. She looks up and smiles. I say, “For the record, I am not the high-maintenance individual who insisted on both names.” I point to Shlomo.

Debra laughs and says, “Oh, instead of buying two books.”

Anshel: “Oh no, I bought two books, but the other is for my cousin who cannot make it.”

She smiled and said, “In that case, I will definitely do it.”

Then, the woman who was her escort who happened to know Shlomo said, “I cannot believe you would say that about him.”

I looked at her and said, “Honey, you don’t have to live with him.”

We all laughed. The escort said, “Good point.” Debra was signing away.

She signed the book and turned it for me to see. “To Anshel and Shlomo…Love, Debra Winger.” I cracked up. Literally…I laughed out loud. I showed it to Shlomo. He could barely make out his tiny name. She smiled. Shlomo feigned anger at me.

I looked at that three-time Academy Award nominated actress and said, “You just made my whole week!” She laughed with a mischievous glint in her eyes and we went on our way.

So, if you see a Debra Winger movie at your local cinema, I urge you to go. I love her. And, she said that after her hiatus, she wants to act more. May we all be so lucky!

Bitching, Moaning, Whining, and Complaining

It’s time I tell you about something that has proven to be the bane of my existence. It seems to wreak havoc with my life on a daily basis. I have tried everything to rid myself of this problem. I have even turned (reluctantly) to booze and pills. Okay, mostly just pills prescribed by a doctor…but still…. However, there is no escape. I have to admit the control it has over my life. That’s right. I admit it. It controls me. I am talking about my stomach.

I am not talking about its size. Although, on any given day its girth could deserve its own zip code. I am talking about its continual state of upheaval…constant churning…incessant rolling…unending gurgling. Frankly, it has reached the point that I do not know what to do.

Those who know me remember the three years where I could not eat anything with enriched, bleached flower without throwing up. Yeah. That was back before I was a Jew. Communion on Christmas Eve…that was fun. One little wafer cause regurgitation in the church parking lot. I am not saying that my digestive system’s physical rejection of the symbolic body of Christ had anything to do with my conversion. But, looking back it was a symbolic gesture that could not be ignored. And, did you know that Twizzlers contain flour. I learned that after I ate a package from the vending machine. Good times…

You might think that a simple trip to the doctor would cure my ills. Dr. Feelgood has not been a great help. I have consulted with two different gastroenterologists. I am on a prescription that helps to a degree. I can now eat flour. But, I still have to be careful. I cannot overload my body with flour, fried foods, fruit, vegetables, chocolate, peppermints, spicy foods, or pretty much anything that I actually like to eat.

And that is part of the problem. I love to eat. Yesterday was a prime example. I spent the entire day (when not arguing with Shlomo) yearning for some good fried chicken. I got it and it was delicious. This morning, however, I woke up in severe pain in my abdominal region.

I pointed out to Shlomo that my friend Rhea (first name Di) would be visiting soon. I am sure Tally can relate. I went about my business of getting ready. Then, I had to make a mad dash to the powder room. I don’t get it. It’s not like I had been drinking water in an under-developed country.

So there you have it. The next time you are happily going through life eating whatever you want, just think of me. How do I spell relief? R-O-L-A-I-D-S. Always have. Always will. In fact, always have them nearby.

Sorry Shlomo...

Sometimes Shlomo feels that I use this blog as a way to personally attack him. I don’t think he understands that I can both laugh at and with him at the same time. He should not worry. Personally, I find many of the things that I post about him endearing. It is especially endearing to know that my Phi Beta Kappa from Georgetown can be an idiot.

For example, yesterday, he had a sudden headache develop that he convinced himself was a stroke. All I am saying is this: if it had been a stroke he would probably exhibit more signs than just a headache. He took Advil and it got better for a while. He did say about thirty minutes later that his arm and leg felt numb for about 15 seconds, but he was pretty sure it was psychosomatic. Personally, I find his hypochondria to be cute…annoying on occasion, but mostly cute. And, I must admit...I was concerned, but skeptical.

However, my favorite thing he said this weekend went something like this. I might not have the words exactly right, but they are close.

Shlomo: “You know your blog.”

Anshel: “Yes, I am familiar.”

Shlomo: “What does ‘PC’ stand for? Politically incorrect?”

Anshel: “Are you serious?”

Shlomo: “Yes. What does it stand for?”

Anshel: “What is the name of the blog?”

Shlomo: “PC is for Pop Culture.”

Anshel: “There is your answer.”

Shlomo: “What?”

Anshel: “It’s pop culture. Dumbass.”

I should also report that for a long time, my calling Shlomo “Dumbass” was not well-received. I explained to him that in my family, it was a term of affection. He never really bought that until the first time we were at my parents’ house. We had been there about five minutes. My mom did something. My dad looked at her and said, “Way to go, Dumbass.” Shlomo laughed out loud. He later begged me to explain to my mother why he laughed and that he did not think she was a dumbass. I still don’t think it is his favorite thing when I call him that, but now I do think he knows it comes from a place of love.

Look at Me, Mister...I'm Still a Star

Last night Shlomo and I returned to the place of my former glory where I made my stage debut in The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee to see The Drowsy Chaperone. It was a terrific show. I had seen it on Broadway a few years ago with my mother and it lost none of its charm.

However, that is not the exciting thing to report. I was feeling a little low about my celebrity status. In fact, I was afraid I had dropped off the D-List in a manner that can only be described as an Erin Moran. (Seriously, I know Joanie loved Chachi, but whatever happened to her!?!?)

Then, it happened. Two of my fans recognized me. By fans, I mean two old guys who had to be in their 80s. I had been to the restroom (the fact that the show had no intermission scared me…it did not matter that I had been 10 minutes earlier in the restaurant). I was making my way back to my seat. Then, they stopped me.

“Excuse me, what words did you have to spell?”

Me, beaming with pride, “My first word was Mexicans. I got it right. My second word was the made-up “psermounkell” which is a short speech delivered by a pastor. Everyone knows that would never happen.”

They laughed. I returned to my seat and longed for my sunglasses which I had left in my car to shield me from their admiring gaze. It is not easy having adoring fans.

Tuesday Riddle...

November 16, 2008






7:30 p.m.







Minute Maid Park






Houston, TX






What two people in the world have these things in common?








Me







And













Madonna!
Enough said.

Leaving Las Vegas

I did not want to report this until we were back, but Shlomo and I have been in Vegas for the past few days. He had a convention. I came out as it was winding down. The trip can be described in one word: Cher!

On Wednesday night, Shlomo and I took in her extravaganza. She was either in good voice or lip synched well. I don’t care. The costumes were (there’s no other word) fabulous. By the way, there were 12 costumes in 90 minutes. The dancers and acrobats were amazing.

I might have gotten a little caught up in the moment. I always do. I bought a vintage-looking T-shirt. But more importantly, I bought this.

I particularly like how the box is fogged over her nether-region. She wore the life-sized version (which was not much bigger) during the show .

The backstory on the Cher Barbie is this. I was never allowed to have a Barbie growing up. My dad thought it might make me gay. There are no other words that come to mind than, “Ha ha, Stupid!” It had been a lifelong quest that was not fulfilled. In fact, I considered not owning a Barbie doll one of the greatest tragedies of my life.

So, we saw the dolls before the show started. I pointed them out to Shlomo and said I wanted one. He rolled his eyes and said something to the effect of, “No way.” In my usual witty and condescending manner, I replied that I understood as it would be harder to get a three-top table at dinner following the show. Cher would need her own seat. It was my own little Jack McFarland moment.

So we went to the show. Oh, if I could turn back time. I believe it was incredible. That half-breed is the ultimate dark lady.

The show ends. There is thunderous ovation. Shlomo and I make a beeline for Spago. Imagine my disbelief when they sat the two of us at a three-top table. I ordered my chicken sausage pizza and a bellini and dashed back to the store. It’s odd being joined for dinner by a celebrity.

So all was well. Shlomo and I enjoyed the rest of our stay. We went to the airport this morning. As I am going through security, I hear the guy looking at the machine say, “Whose doll is this?” Shlomo cuts his eyes at me. It’s literally the two of us and some old couple.

Proudly, I say, “She is mine?”

The guy erupts in laughter. “Is that a Barbie?”

I say, “Show some respect. It’s Cher. You might think I would be embarrassed or ashamed, but I am not. She’s fabulous. And, I could say it is for my niece, but I don't have a niece.” With that, I gathered my things and headed to the gate. Viva Las Vegas.


******************************U P D A T E******************************


I just found out that this was at one time available but is not longer being offered by Mattel.

She is even more fabulous than the 80s Cher. The half-breed getup was my favorite costume during the show. Thanks to some savvy ebay shopping, she will arrive in 4-6 days.

I've Got a Headache This Big

Well, I am "sick" today. At least, that is what my boss thinks. Migraines are the worst. Now, it could not in any way be related to the fact that Shlomo is in Vegas and the security alarm people are in the house working on our alarm or that the landscapers are coming this afternoon to determine what they are to next destroy. I mean plant. Plant next. They plant not destroy. Yeah right. Just ask our Star Jasmine...or what is left of it.



Anyway, I am not at the office. That is never a bad thing.



It was a very relaxing weekend. Shlomo left Saturday afternoon for his convention. I went almost immediately to my favorite local shopping horror...I mean mall. I managed to finish my shopping for his birthday presents. I will update all he received after June 10. What do you get the guy who has everything? Well, I answered that question...however, I just cannot share until after his birthday. He does read this blog.



That's about all I have to offer. I will save my camel-riding adventure from yesterday for another time.

Hats Off to Her!

So, here I sit. It’s Tuesday. I am bored out of my mind at work. I really have nothing to talk about. So, I guess I will focus on the most important topics of all: sex and fashion.

Like many girls and gay men, I too am eagerly anticipating the arrival of Sex and the City: The Movie (as I officially call it) at the end of the month. It has been a long time since I sipped fresh cosmos with Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte. And, let’s face it: Patricia Field did the best job of outfitting the gals for that series that anyone has ever done.

As many of you know, the movie premiered this week in London. It makes perfect sense. It’s set in New York. New York is an integral part of the story. It should premiere in London.

So, SJP showed up at the premiere in this:


I totally get it. I think it is beyond fabulous. Every year, I love to see the pictures from Royal Ascot of all the Ladies (capitalized because I am pretty sure all of them have titles) in their fancy hats. It is part of the British culture. And, I am a firm believer of when in Rome (or in this case London), do as the Romans (British).

Furthermore (wow…sounds pompous), I also like to think that I know where she took her inspiration. Roller Wilson, my favorite artist, has been doing stuff like that for years. Just see below…

Since I've Been Gone...

Okay, so it has been a while since I posted an entry. Here is why: all my words for a couple of weeks were taken up by Shlomo’s brilliant speech that I wrote and he delivered last Friday. I plan to take the weekend off, and then be back next week with more updates from my exciting life and observations on the culture known as pop.

Calgon, Take Me Away!

There is no nice way to say it. This week is kicking my butt. First, I will focus on the good news: Shlomo’s speech is ready. For the most part, it has passed the muster of those whose muster it needed to pass. I am relieved that my part of that (you know, the writing, editing, and pretty much making sure it is smart and entertaining) is done.

Then, yesterday was a day that will live in infamy. That’s right. In my world, it could be up there with Pearl Harbor. Not the day it was bombed. The day the movie was released. That day will live in infamy too. Talk about bad.

So, work…yeah, work…oh, how I love thee. I have been working on this freakin’ spreadsheet for four days. That’s four whole days. Not counting the six days I worked setting it up before these additions were deemed necessary. Yep. I am sick of it. It now appears to be over. Hopefully, it won’t resurface.

So, let’s review the home situation. Shlomo had to go to California yesterday for meetings today. That left me with the house to myself. Did I mention that our house is a combination of construction zone and disaster area? We had a simple little project that we wanted: just some lights in the built-in shelves in the living room. We thought it would make everything appear so much nicer and not be that much effort. Yeah…we thought wrong. There is literally nothing left in our living room. Everything is pushed against a wall and covered with plastic. Our floor? Yep, the beautiful antique Persian rug has been replaced with some padded brown paper thing. Oh. So. Lovely.

So my usual plan of “Shlomo is out of town and I will watch shows I have DVRed that he does not follow” was not really going to happen. TV…not in living room. Comfy yet attractive chair? Against the wall covered with plastic. No problem. I will go lay on the bed and watch my shows. Oh yeah, did I mention that the satellite receiver is out of order in the bedroom?

Brainstorm…I can still watch a DVD in the bedroom. It pains me very much to tell you this next part. About a week and a half ago, we had four baby birds that made it to the point of fledging. That’s right, the adult birds were good enough parents that they raised them to the point that they actually left the nest. (My parents are still trying to achieve this with my brother. Yes, he has his own house and a wife. But, he would move back in if given any excuse.) All was well. Until yesterday. I found that one of the babies did not make it. Note: if you are my rabbi and are reading this, a condolence note will not be necessary. I refuse to believe the babies are going to make it until they actually make it and have their adult feathers. I grew up on a farm. I know these things happen. (Cue Elton John singing “Circle of Life” here.)

So Shlomo is gone and I need to dispose of the remains. Not that it happens often (it has only happened one other time), but it is his job. Somehow, I made myself do it. I would love to say that there was a burial…and a ceremony of some sort….some kind words about how life is precious. Yeah. There was a soft cloth and the outside trash can. Call me harsh. That’s all I could bring myself to do.

So, house is a wreck. Dogs are stirring because of the house wreckage. They just do not know how to deal with the disruption to their environment. I can relate. I am watching Juno on DVD. Things are good. I pause it to take a potty break and cannot get the stupid DVD to work again. I try completely restarting the system. Nothing.

By this time, it is getting kind of late, so I decide to let Calgon take me away. And, away it took me. Whoever it was that decided one should not take a bubble bath every day should be shot. It was the best part of my day until…my cell phone decided to join me in the tub. Splish. Splash.

I grabbed it immediately, got out, and dried off. I dried it as best I could and took it apart so the pieces could dry individually. My hope was that it would work again this morning. Well, evidently hopes are for sissies. It does not work. I called the fine folks at T-Mobile to report the problem. I have insurance on the darn thing, surely it covered stupidity and clumsiness. Yeah…it does. I have to talk to a claims adjuster (for a phone!) and then I should have a new one in 48 hours. I know that does not seem like a long time. But it is. 48 hours without a cell phone for me is like 48 years of my dad’s life without those white Reeboks from 1987 that he always wears. I love that phone. Oh, and if you come across a pair of the classic white leather Reeboks with green writing in a size 9, let me know where. Father’s day is coming up.

So there it is. I think we have all learned an important lesson. Sometimes Calgon (or in this case Elemis Muscle Soak…hey…I walked three miles yesterday...it was justified) can take you away and you forget about all your stresses and problems. Other times, Calgon only adds to your problems. Thanks, Calgon. You are a friend.

Procrastination is the Key

Well, here I sit. Shlomo's speech is to be given on Friday. I made a big deal about how he was allowed to make no plans for anything today. It was all about speech-writing and doing things I needed to be in a speech-writing frame of mind. It is now 5:00. Let's review what I have done and not done.

Done:

• Mani/pedi. Short nails are a necessity for typing on the laptop.
• Greasy grilled chicken patty melt for lunch. Nourishment is the key to attack that hard-to-write speech.
• Changed the sheets on the bed. Hey, it's Sunday. It's that time of week.
• Visited an antique store where both a vase and a small urn were procured. I am pretty sure Shlomo agreed to this only because he felt I would be home writing shortly thereafter.
• Watched last week's Desperate Housewives and Brothers and Sisters so I will be caught up when the new episodes air tonight.
• Made plans to watch both Desperate Housewives and Brothers and Sisters tonight.
• Instructed Shlomo that we would be having dinner at our favorite Indian restaurant.
• Laundry. Hey, I had to wash the napkins from last night's dinner party. You do not want those stains to set in. That would be a nightmare.
• Finished the book I was reading. I cannot have an unfinished project like that before I begin to write. It was only about 30 pages.
• This blog entry...although that probably goes without saying.

Not Done:

• Finishing the speech. I have been working on it. I am about 40 percent there. I think the hardest part is done. But, why do I have to put myself through the hours of semi-useless crap (okay, mostly fun stuff) to make myself write this darn thing? Seriously, there must be something wrong with me.

********************************UPDATE*********************************

It is now midnight. I have a usable first draft for Shlomo's speech. But, more importantly, how good was Desperate Housewives tonight? Can Gabrielle be bitchier about Carlos's blindness. I know it is mean, but it is also funny. And, all my friends know that funny and mean is my favorite combination. Unless it is directed at me. I can only dish it out.

Where have you been?

Okay, I know…I have been bad. It’s been over a week since I have blogged. I would make up some excuse, but you won’t believe it. So, I will be honest. I have just been busy…busy with some fun stuff (a trip to New York)…busy with some not fun stuff (anything that has happened at the office)…busy in the morning (a 2:30 a.m. CST wake-up call to fly home on Tuesday)…busy in the evening (Itzhak Perlman concert)…basically, I have been busy all over this land. So, in the words of Bette Davis, “Fasten your seatbelt. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

Let’s start with New York, shall we? I heart NY. Seriously, Shlomo and I love to go there. We go as often as we can. This time we went to see some shows, shop, and attend a Passover seder. Of course, we shopped too much. But that is a whole other issue.

We saw five shows. That is a lot. In four days. On Saturday, we did double duty. The first one we saw was Dangerous Liaisons (or as they spell it Les Liaisons Dangereuses) with Laura Linney, Ben Daniels, and Mamie Gummer. You might have heard of Miss Gummer’s mother/clone. Her name is Meryl Streep. While La Streep was not in attendance as I had hoped she would be, I can report that the play was fantastic. The acting was great. The costumes were beautiful. And, the scenery was even a bit innovative.

Saturday afternoon: Gypsy. We had an unfair advantage. We had seen it last year in its limited run at City Center. Patti Lupone did not disappoint. Being in the third row was not so bad, either. She was swell. She was great. Everything’s coming up Rose. When the Tonys roll around in June, let there be no doubt. It’s Mama’s turn. Interesting tidbits from the show: Clive Owen was a few rows behind us. Two words: Hubba hubba! And, Jeanne Cooper (Katherine Chancellor on the Young and the Restless) was across the aisle. She is an icon in my life. I have watched Y&R my entire life. She looks just like you would think she would.

On Saturday evening, we saw a cute comedy called Boeing Boeing. Christine Baranski plays the French maid. She did not disappoint. The show was long. It was easy to figure out. But, it was well-acted and fun.

On Sunday, we took a trip to South Pacific. In a word: Beautiful. Amazingly beautiful. A 30-piece orchestra, a full-sized airplane on stage, and beautiful singing voices by the entire cast…Bali Hai has never been so lush. In another year, I would have to pull for Kelli O’Hara’s Nelly Forbush to win the Tony, but we all know…it’s Mama’s turn. Side note: Jimmy Fallon sat across the aisle from us. I hope his plans to succeed Conan work out well for him. He seemed quite nice.

Then, on Monday night, we saw the new musical, A Catered Affair. I will say this…Luke Duke actually belongs on Broadway. I think he knows this. It was a haunting story about love, grief, repression, and family dynamics. It is very serious, but not a total downer. Faith Prince makes you ache as a mother who lost her son in the Korean war. And Harvey Fierstein is Harvey Fierstein…in all his glory.

Among all that, we still found time to shop, eat, sleep, and go to a museum. This time we went to the fairly recently opened Neue Galerie. It specializes in Austrian and German art and has an amazing collection of the works of Gustav Klimt. It’s small, intimate, and not to be missed. It was established by the Lauder Family. That’s Lauder as in Estee Lauder. My mother loves her perfumes.

As for the shopping, I will say this. Shlomo and I do not live in New York. While we go a couple of times a year, we don’t go that often. How is it that two different salespeople knew us at Barneys New York, New York? ( I like to call it that. They are all Barneys New York…even the one in Dallas.) Are we that unforgettable? I guess so. But, I am known for my vintage cufflink obsession and BNYNY usually has a great selection. A pair was procured. There were no celebrity sightings there this time. But we did see Cliff Claven in Bergdorff Goodman.

So, after the fun and excitement, it was back to a not-so-fun week at the office. Seriously, accounting is so glamorous. NOT. I don’t really care why our depreciation expense increased and I don’t think anyone else should either. That’s all I am saying about that. Oh, and Shlomo’s speech is still looming. I have started it. It will get done. I know what he needs to say. I just have to make him say it. That is what the weekend is for. Speaking of, have a great weekend. I will try to do better and blog more next week.

If you build it...

So, in a little over two weeks, Shlomo is supposed to deliver a 15 minute speech. As his official speech writer, I am supposed to write said speech. I am all about positive thinking and hope that it gets there, but this is what I have so far…





























That’s right. I have nothing. Nada. Zip. I know it will change, but so far, it is not looking so good. Maybe inspiration will strike. Maybe it won’t. But, I am starting to get a tad bit nervous.

Additionally, we have a very busy couple of weeks ahead. We have something almost every night. So, be sending positive writing thoughts my way. Otherwise, it will be 15 minutes of quoting Dirty Dancing, Ferris Bueller, and making fun of people. While that might be fun, I don’t think it is really appropriate.

In the meantime, how good is Kristi Yamaguchi!?!?! Say what you will, she is in a completely different caliber than the other contestants on Dancing With The Stars.

Orange ya glad?

So do you ever have one of those days where you are not really planning to do anything and are looking forward to the rest, and then somehow it goes horribly wrong. That was the case this past weekend. Saturday was going to be a relaxing day where we just ran a couple of errands. We left the house at 11:00 a.m. and returned at…get this…5:00 p.m. We had tickets to a play that night and I still needed to do some prep work and make birthday cupcakes for a dinner party we were having on Sunday.

I am still not sure where the six hours went. Although, we did add a canary to our menagerie. His name is Bob Dylan. He is a “crested” canary so it looks like he has this funky brown hairdo. That is where he got his name. So far, the other birds are scared of him. Yes, he is a little bigger than they are, but at our specialty bird store, they said it would be fine to mix him in with the finches. After all, a canary is a type of finch. So far, if he flies to an area of the cage where the other birds are, they flee.

I feel bad. I am the one who wanted him. Shlomo did not. He thought he was too big. I have a feeling this will result in my having two antique birdcages to clean. But, he’s orange and I love him. Did you hear that? He’s orange…except for a few brown feathers on his wing and the mop-top hairdo. And, he supposedly will have a beautiful, melodious song.

Okay, enough of the bird drama. I brought it on myself. But, he’s orange and I love him. I know I said that already. But, he’s orange. He matches both the leather sofa in my sitting room (which he is in no way near) and the mixer in my kitchen (again, no way near). Did I mention that he’s orange?

We had my 10-year-old cousin for the day on Sunday. She is such a nerd, but pretty funny. In fact, she very much reminds me of a ten-year-old me. We both have an ability to become obsessed with things. If you were a little bird (like say, the orange Bob Dylan), you might have heard the following interchange:

Anshel: “Oh, I forgot I have a dermatologist appointment on Wednesday.”

Margaux (pronounced with a long, drawn-out “O”): “I hate ologists.”

Anyway, we went to the gardens of Bayou Bend with which she is obsessed (it was our third trip!) and to the Pompeii exhibit at Museum of Fine Arts. Then, her parents and brother came down and I prepared dinner for the six of us. Any excuse I can find to use those new dishes.

Oh, and Margaux’s mother called this morning. Margaux had been to the orthodontist. Maggie has now added “odontists” to the list of things she hates. Braces in July. I can’t say that I blame her. I wonder if she can get orange braces.