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.