Balki was a Sheepherder

When I was in sixth grade, my favorite tv show was Perfect Strangers. Balki Bartokomos cracked me up with his strong accent and malapropisms (like when he wanted to wash his face of the whole mess!). I could say, "Don't be ridi-kyu-los" with the best of them. My brother and I even mastered Balki and Larry's dance of joy. My brother is probably slightly embarassed by this now.

Anyway, this week I came across a small butchering of the English language that I had to share. When Shlomo and I were in Israel earlier this year, we bought a painting (affectionately dubbed "Lambo") that now hangs over our mantle in the living room. Well, over the weekend, the man from the gallery sent us an email with a link to their new website...just in case we were interested in anything else. Yeah, we're not. We're tapped out at the moment. Anywho, the categories on the website were as follows: Gallery Artists, Other Artists, Sculpturers.

Sculpturers? Bless their little non-English speaking hearts. Part of me wants to email them to correct it because blatant grammatical errors drive me crazy. But, another part of me thinks it is kind of sweet and wants them to leave it so I can just look at it and smile on occasion.

Smooth Move!

I know I have questionable decorating taste sometimes. I try to reign it in and maintain a tasteful decor. However, sometimes the laugh is worth it to me. If you can have something unexpected that makes you smile, I say go for it.

Well, that was the case over the weekend. We were in a store and I found something. Shlomo was not convinced (and is probably still not), but the thought of hanging this in the little toilet room that is part of our master bathroom made me laugh out loud. I spent way too much money on it, but it has found its new home.

So now, everytime I am in that tiny room because nature has called, I look at this and grin at the irony.

Post This!

So it's been a while since I have complained about something being en route. I am sure you have all enjoyed the break from my kvetching. However, that time is now over.

About a week ago, I placed an order at my favorite marketplace for a semi-trashy book and a glorious old movie. Obsessively and diligently, I have tracked the progress of the package on the shipper's website. Yesterday, it was "delivered."

Last night, said delivery was nowhere to be found. I looked and looked and looked. Not in a tree. Not by the sea. Not by the door. Not on the floor. Dr. Seuss moment aside, you get the picture.

This morning (I had to wait until then because our home computer is kaput at the moment), I notified Amazon.com of the problem. I finally found customer service on their website. You had the choice of submitting an email or calling. Rather than being placed on hold for an eternity, I opted to send an email.

Good for them. They are shipping new copies. However, they failed to notify me of this. I only found out when I went to their website to get the phone number to call. I was a bit miffed. They could have sent me an email or called. Also, I was going to change the address and have it shipped to Shlomo's office instead of our home. We will see how this plays out.

In the meantime, I have to content myself looking at this. It's the soft copy of the almost life-sized French movie poster we are having framed. Ah Rita, they don't make 'em like that anymore.

My weekly thoughts...

• So, I did my tax return this morning. It was good. Got a nice refund. It will arrive in about 10 days. Spent said refund (plus some more) on a painting this afternoon. We are out of control with the love of art. I think it is bordering on addiction the likes of which only Peggy Guggenheim has known. I have decided that we need to start offering docent tours of the house. Anyone interested in this non-paid position can apply in the comments section. Here is a photo of the latest addition.

• Shlomo Cher-alike and I have finally caught up on Project Runway. I am so pulling for that little Christian fella. This was amazing. I love avant-garde fashions. That explains my khakis and blue shirt today.

• Heath Ledger. Sad. Tragic. Heath Ledger. However, am I the only one sick of the news coverage? It's all that is on. And by the way, Pat O'Brien on Larry King, he was not a "legendary" actor. He was a good actor. A talented actor. Cary Grant and John Wayne were "legendary." Paul Newman is "legendary." Clearly, you need the scripted dialog of the Insider Entertainment Extra show you are on. End scene.


• I try not to complain about it, but work is really not fun this week. We are expected to stay late every night this week to close the books for year-end. My part is basically done. Still, I am expected to be here late to show I am a team player. Important discovery about myself: I may not be a team player. I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing. Why is it wrong to want to come in, do my job, go home, and enjoy my life?


• Dirty t-shirt of the week. It made Shlomo and I laugh out loud at our favorite new icehouse. Beaver's...Just South of Hooter's. I know, right?


• I have discovered the reason I got a blackberry. It's not just so I can give Shlomo Cher-alike a taste of his own medicine. Also, M-Dawg and I can email each other complaints about our boss/company without it being on the work servers. Sweet!

Cher and Cher-alike

On the street where we live, it was once lined with adorable little bungalows. There are still a few left. We don’t live in one of those. As the area has been gentrified, builders and developers have bought the bungalows, leveled them, and replaced them with multi-story townhomes in their place. Usually, they can fit two townhomes per lot. We live in one of the townhomes. In my homage to Madeline, I like to think of it as the fairly-new house in Houston that is covered with vines.

One of the problems with this situation is the lack of parking. It’s simple. You tear down a single-family home with one driveway and replace it with two homes in the same space with two driveways, street parking disappears. Shlomo and I learned this firsthand over the weekend.

Next door to our townhouse, a home we affectionately termed the Alamo was recently destroyed and replaced with the usual pair. Between our driveway and theirs is a small flower bed. Well, on Sunday, some brilliant individual decided that it was enough room for a parking place on the street. It was not. They took up half our driveway.

Shlomo and I were off to run a couple of errands. He was driving my car. With my bad back, it was easier for me to climb up into my SUV than to squat into his car. I hate to drive anyway, so the stage was set.

We are backing out of the garage. It’s a tight squeeze, but success. Shlomo rolled down the window, folded out the rear-view mirror (that’s how tight the squeeze is), and resumed the backing motion. Carefully, he avoided the parked car. We’re backing. We’re backing. We’re in the street. We’re backing. We’re backing. Crunch.

In our attempt to avoid the car parked on our side of the street, Shlomo bumped the car parked on the other side of the street. Shlomo gets out to survey the damage. He reports that there is none. I find this hard to believe. I get out. Their car looked fine. Then, on mine, I found a scratch on the corner of the back bumper. I will say, however, that the layer of protective dirt I keep on my car seemed to have served me well.

Once again, I examined their car. There it was. Right by their driver’s door was a similar scratch. Shlomo felt terrible. He was mad at the person who had poorly parked their car by our driveway, but most of all he was mad at himself. Shockingly, I really was not upset at all.

We ran our errands and at my suggestion, took my car to be washed to see how bad the damage truly was. It was indeed very minor. However, while waiting at the car wash, I was enjoying one of my favorite intellectual publications. You might have heard of it…it’s called In Touch. Lo and behold, Cher had found herself in a similar situation not to long ago. Like Shlomo, she backed into a parked car. Again like Shlomo, she left a note so she could take care of the damage. That is when it hit me. Shlomo earned his new nickname, Cher-alike.

It is funny to me how I did not really get upset over this. Lord knows, I have had plenty of parking mistakes in my day. I swear the car I drove in college was a magnet for shopping carts in the Wal-Mart parking lot. However, it could be that I was not upset because I realized what was really important. I can use this to my advantage for months. “Yeah, Shlomo, remember when you wrecked my car that I had had for five months? I want Indian for dinner. Deal with it.” Oh, collision. How sweet it is going to be.

My Wild Weekend

Given the glorious state of my back, it was pretty calm around our digs. I was pretty much okay if I was standing, lying, or strung out on vicodin. If I could somehow manage to combine the last two, it was as good as it gets.

Let's start with Friday night. Shlomo and I actually went to services at the Temple. Our shabbat was full of shalom. We followed services with a delicious dinner and went home where we enjoyed the greatest movie ever made (and also fulfilled part of my quest to be their number one Fanadu), Xanadu. Yeah. The musical on Broadway was fantastic because it knew it was based on the worst movie ever made. The movie evidently did not realize this. Now, I know why Olivia Newton-John did not have a bigger film career. Yikes.

Saturday was pretty quiet. Shlomo went to a lecture at the Temple. I remained in bed watching HGTV and trying to do a complete turnover of the movies we had rented from Netflix. (For those unfamiliar, you keep a list of movies on their website. They send you three at once. You return one to them, they send a new one to you.) Vicodin and La Vie En Rose with its subtitled French were probably not the best combination. However, Marion Cotillard was brilliant. Hopefully, she will be getting an early phone call in the morning letting her know that the Academy has recognized her work.

Shlomo returned. I drug myself from the confines of the bedroom and we went to a couple of antiques stores and some art galleries. We weren't really looking for anything. As a result, we did not find anything. So unlike us.

With all my strenuous activity for the day, I decided to reward myself with a little Mexican meal at our favorite old-school establishment, Felix's. I know there is probably lard in that queso, but I don't care. It's the closest thing I have found to heaven on a tortilla.

So we were winding down for the night (at 6:45) and decided to stop by the Cookie Jar for a little treat to have later. We walk in and there they are...the Mole, Mole, Moles! They immediately jumped from the table and introduced themselves. We all agreed that it was ridiculous that as often as we see each other, we don't know each other's names. We talked about getting together soon (which should not be that hard as we tend to keep exactly the same schedule, evidently). And now, they are our new BFFs. As a result, you will never again hear me refer to them as the Mole, Mole, Moles. You just can't do that to your besties.

Later, I will share how Shlomo is growing closer to becoming his idol, Cher. I just don't have time at the moment. Can you believe they actually expect me to work?

Owww! Chi Chi, Mama!

Not since the terrible foot pain from the unfortunate incident with Banana Republic loafers of last week have I known such pain. It's my back. It literally does not bend. Standing, I am good. Lying down, no problem. Sitting? Not so much. I pulled a muscle in the lower left back yesterday. And how did this brilliant injury happen? Bar fight? Nope. Straining to reach a kitten trapped in a tree? Not so much. Rugby? Not on your life. It's quite simple. I sneezed.

That's right. This whole incident can be blamed on my chronic sinusitis. If I could, you know, breathe like a normal person, this would not have happened. But this is how it played out.

Yesterday, I had to escape the horrendous year-end-close-the-books process at work. So for lunch, I went to my happy place. That's right. I copped a squat in one of those big, comfy chairs at Barnes and Noble. I had a stack of magazines and thought in just one little lunch hour I would catch up on Britney's shenanigans, see what is going on in the world of modern art, and plan a future bathroom remodel. That is productivity, my friends.

Then, I sensed it coming. I thought nothing of it. I sneeze all the time. If I were a dwarf, I would be Sneezy. That's how often it happens. "Eh, eh, eh, ah, choo!" When I sneezed, I was sitting with the stack of magazines in my lap. Involuntarily, I kind of lunged forward. That's when it happened. I felt a slight pull.

It was okay. I was okay. I am a manly man. Then, six hours transpired. The muscles tightened. I could not bend. I made an emergency massage appointment (and was shockingly able to be worked in) and spent the rest of the night alternating ice pack and hot bath. I felt okay.

Then, morning came. I woke up in exactly the same amount of pain I was in at dinner last night...only without the fried dill pickles and barbecue wings (I know picture of healthy eating!). On a brighter note, none of my co-workers have to worry that I will make any sudden movements if a cake happened to be served in the workplace. Mmmmm, cake.

Just Fluffy

I know I have gained a few pounds. It's hard to ignore. What can I say? Shlomo and I love to eat. However, some things have been happening recently that I don't appreciate. Three times over the weekend, I ordered coke in a restaurant. I know it's bad for me, but it's my main vice and I don't need a lecture. In each instance, when it came time for the refill, the waiter/waitress asked, "Was this diet coke?" This not-so-subtle hint did not sit well with me. In fact, I had to have a cupcake to cheer myself. Oh, well...

Smelling Salts, Pronto!

There is something you should know about Shlomo. Sometimes, he can crack himself up to the point that he faints. Please notice that I said crack himself up. Usually, these are not things that anyone else would find funny...only him. So, it is with great trepidation that I relay his latest episode.

A couple of months ago, we went to this little Cuban restaurant around the corner from our house. This restaurant has great sentimental attachment in my life because that is where we went on our first date. The food is not great, but the sangria is good. Anyway, I digress. It was a slow night. The only other patrons were a couple and their three-year-old daughter. You have never seen such devoted parents. It was clear their world revolved around their little girl, and it should. She was adorable dancing in her little kimono. The mother even joined in.

Something else you should know about Shlomo and me is that we are not the nicest people in the world. If we do not know your name and you come up in conversation, we will give you a nickname. There is a lady we call "Jugsy." It should be self-explanatory as to how she got her name. Well, when we left, we were talking about what a nice family they seemed to be. We had not talked to them, but had simply observed them from afar. We coined them, "The Mole, Mole, Moles." By the way, that has the Spanish pronunciation. It's mo-lay, not like the little rodent burrowing through a field or back yard. Anyway, I will let you guess where the name came from. It could be the father's complexion. It might not be, but it is.

The next morning, we went to brunch at a little bakery/sandwich shop also by the house and guess who was there? That's right...the Mole, Mole, Moles! This time, we exchanged pleasantries. Okay, I accused them of stalking us. They were nice. We were nice. All was well. A couple of weeks later, once again at brunch, there they were again. The Mole, Mole, Moles were everywhere. We exchanged pleasantries and went on our way.

Yesterday, we went back to the same place for brunch. It was a running joke. "Oh, there are the Mole, Mole, Moles." If Shlomo said it once, he said it 15 times. We were only there for about 30 minutes, so I am sure you can imagine that it did not get annoying in the least. He claimed victory in that I looked once to see if it was really them. We finished brunch, and were off to run our errands.

About six blocks away, we are stuck at a stop light. I look out the window, and there is a cute family on bicycles...two adults with the father pulling a child in a cart. Shlomo, never one to let a joke die, proclaims, "Oh look, it's the Mole, Mole, Moles!" Imagine his surprise when it actually was them. I rolled down my window and said, "Hey, we missed you at brunch!" We all laughed. The light changed. Shlomo punched it.

As he punched it, the hysterical fit of laughter began. He could not stop. I know what this means... moment of unconsciousness soon to follow. There were a couple of problems with this scenario:

1. Shlomo was driving.
2. I was the passenger.
3. It was a busy street, there was quite a bit of traffic.
4. He was driving my car!

I tried to calm his laughter. This only made it worse. I then started screaming, "Slow down, slow down. Pull over." Finally, he regained his composure. However, it was a good 30 seconds later. All was well, no innocent lives (mainly mine) were lost.

However, no Shlomo and I truly face a dilemma. Next time we bump into the Mole, Mole, Moles, do we exchange names or do we forever leave them as the Mole, Mole, Moles? It has created such a memorable story for us, I hate to give it up.

Stupid things I do...and Lessons I Learn

We all do less than smart things from time to time. At least, I tell myself we all do. Somehow, that makes me feel better. I guess it is entirely possible that only Shlomo and I do stupid things. I would say in that case it is mostly Shlomo and I am sure he would say, "likewise." However, I thought I would share a few lessons that I have learned in my recent past.

• For the holidays, we bought my fourteen-year-old cousin Van Halen tickets. He is obsessed with 80s "hair" bands and wears a band t-shirt every day to school. I knew he really wanted to go to the concert, and it was on a school night, and there was no way his parents would take him. Since his birth, I have always tried to be the cool cousin. Tickets were procured. Calendar was marked. Slight problem: the tickets did not arrive prior to the gift-giving day. I decided that I would make a card to give him. I went to the local craft store and bought some supplies...stickers...fancy papers...the typical stuff. The card looked fantastic. It was a tri-fold design where the first flap declared "Boys Night Out." The second page had the date and listed the participants (each on a drum of the drum set sticker). The third page declared "Van Halen" with the "V" made of two guitar stickers with actual strings. The cousin opened the card and this is how it played out. Concert tickets: $200. Crafty supplies to fashion a custom card: $35. Look on 14-year-old's face when he opens an envelope to find no money: priceless. Look on his face after he goes back and reads the card: more priceless. Needless to say, he was thrilled. It might have even been his favorite gift. Lesson I learned: 14-year-old boys really don't care how crafty you are. I would have been better off to spend my $35 on other things.
• Earlier this week, I found shopping nirvana in Banana Republic. By nirvana, I mean major sales. I got two pairs of pants, a cashmere scarf, and a new pair of shoes all for less than $200. I was pretty proud of myself. The pants I desperately needed (because I have advanced to lard-ass sizes), the scarf I will wear the heck out of every time it is cold or even better when it is cold in New York and I am there, and the shoes were over 70% off. I got all this for about the price of the shoes if they had been their regular price. It seemed too good to be true. Well, that's because it was. The shoes not just hurt...they kill my feet. I honestly think it would hurt less to cut my feet off. So help me, I cannot wait to get home and take them off. Forever. It might be bad enough that I go buy another new pair of shoes at lunch. The amazing thing is they did not hurt my feet at all in the store. I will never buy loafers again. I am lace-ups from now on. Unless of course, the loafers are by Tod's. For some reason, the $350 loafers don't hurt my feet. Go figure. Not to force my religious beliefs on you, but please pray for a major Tod's sale in NYC in late February.

That's about it. I am sure there are other lessons I have learned recently, but I can't really think of them at the moment. Oh yeah, I just thought of one. Sometimes, television writers do not really need to stand by their principles quite so much. Yeah, I know they probably get screwed by the big corporations when they pen a script that is downloaded a million times on the internet and they get nothing for it. However, they need to focus on what is really important. What is really important is for me to know what happens next on Grey's Anatomy. Last night was it. There are no more new episodes. That settles it, people. Let's get this strike resolved. Just look what Sally Field caused with Norma Rae. Thanks, Gidget!

You know how they say dogs resemble their owners...

Shlomo called to voice his disbelief that I shouted across the parking lot at the doughnut shop. Yes, I am normally a very passive person...unless it comes to food. Clearly, Shlomo needs to be reminded of the time he dipped his naan in the sauce of my chicken tikka masala before I had a bite. I always get the first bite of my food. It's just a rule. You can take my place in the movie line, I say nothing. Hit my car, I feel sorry for you. Take my food or postpone my getting to eat it, stand back. Our dog Fargo is exactly the same way.

OMG. I am just like Fargo. She is the most passive, docile animal until you put food in front of her. Then, watch out. Lulu the pug is constantly irritating someone. She is constantly bossing Fargo around or trying to usurp any postive attention that Fargo receives...until dinner is served. Then, Fargo eats from whichever bowl she wants when she wants. Lulu knows to stand back and let her have her space. After the chicken tikka masala incident, Shlomo, too, learned this lesson. It's as plain as day, I am Fargo. Slomo is Lulu. As Shlomo often cannot stand Lulu. I don't think this analogy will make him very happy. However, it does not make it less true.

Random Acts of Unkindness (Okay, Some Kindness...and Some Gossip)

• Occasionally, okay every other day, I stop at a local doughnut shop on the way to work for breakfast. They are usually pretty busy and have an informal system of taking the next person in line. Yesterday, however, when they said, "Next in line," the guy behind me ordered. I was clearly there first. Being the passive agressive person that I am, I let it slide. But, I did yell to him across the parking lot as I was getting in my car, "You were not next in line, Asshole!" He greeted me with a blank smirk as I had called him on his bad behavior.
• It is possible that I am enjoying the Xanadu original cast recording a little too much. This morning, I had to remind myself that I was in a Jeep not a roller disco. But, wouldn't it be cool if I replaced the overhead light with a mirror ball? What can I say? I have always had boogie fever.
• Hillary won in New Hampshire. Politics aside, I do find it fantastic that we are living in a time where two of the strongest candidates for President are a woman and an African-American.
• Nikki Kidman is knocked up. Good for her.
• Poor Britney, you know it is bad when even Mr. Blackwell is proclaiming, "Leave Britney alone!"
• Sordid Lives! Sordid Lives! Sordid Lives!
• I have become obsessed with Brick Blocker on my new phone. If I don't break my high score in a game, I think I need to play again. This is not a good thing.
• Shlomo is battling day 18 (okay, probably more like day 4) of a sinus infection. I self-diagnosed myself that I was getting it and started an antibiotic that I had sitting around from the trip to Israel (in case I got sick while I was there). My medical school training is starting to pay off. By "training" I mean watching General Hospital for 20 years.

Moment of Silence

I want everyone to join me in mourning the lack of a Golden Globes telecast. It's the best awards show. Everyone gets schnockered. You never know what will happen. My nightly prayers will now consist of the following:

Dear God,
Please bring about peace, health, and contentment not just to Shlomo and myself, but to the whole world. Also, could you please make sure that the Oscar telecast happens this year.
Amen.

Highlight of the Day

You know it is a slow week, when the release and subsequent purchase of this makes the highlight list. We saw it in December and loved it. Seriously. Who would have thought that one of the worst movies ever made could result in 86 minutes of Broadway fun? Shlomo and I might have gone over the edge a bit, but we also bought the poster signed by the cast. It benefited Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS, so it wasn't all bad. We were just being charitable, not sycophants. Right?

Anyway, if you have the means, I highly recommend picking up a copy for yourself. The cast's take on those classic numbers like "Magic" and "Evil Woman" are not to be missed. It may be a place where nobody dared to go. But, it is the love we came to know. They call it XANADU!

Movie Updates

If you see one movie this holiday season, make it National Treasure 2. Just kidding. Okay, my Larry King moment aside, I say make it Juno. Ellen Page is amazing. Also, Jennifer Garner and Allison Janney deliver fantastic performances...and you have to mention the Bleek--Michael Cera. Loved it. Triple-loved it. Please let Ellen Page get a nomination! Pretty please! Also, please don't let her pull a Britney or a Lindsay!


Sweeney Todd is still bloody brilliant. It has really stayed with me. I say attend the tale of Sweeney Todd. Be prepared for a lot of blood, but Tim Burton's take on Stephen Sondheim's masterpiece is simply amazing. While I will not be devastated if it does not, I say it deserves Best Picture this year. There are plenty of movies that will probably be nominated that I have not seen, but they don't get better than this.

I can also report that in The Savages, Laura Linney, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, and the underrated Phillip Bosco give very nuanced performances. Simply, they are amazing to watch. However, to me, the story seemed a bit slow.

Charlie Wilson's War is enjoyable. Kudos to Julia Roberts for having a bikini-ready body after three babies. It is really amazing what a couple of people can do in the world if you have the right couple of people.

Finally, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is a very interesting movie. It is completely original. Told from the perspective of a stroke victim who can only communicate by blinking one eye, it is a captivating film. Julian Schnabel directs with stunning visual images. While the action is slow (the guy is completely paralyzed, after all), it is a simply amazing story.

That's about all of my movie updates at the moment. Next on the list is this. The book was incredible and I am anxious to see how this three-person character study translates to film.

Jewdolf with your nose so bright...

It's bad. That's not strong enough. It's horrible. It's awful. I don't know what else to say about it. Last night, I over-exfoliated my nose. I had had this place on there for several months. Was it a pimple? Probably not. Was it skin cancer? I hope not. Anywho, I had been ignoring it until last night when I attacked said place with the "invigorating face scrub" that I was conned into buying in Bloomingdales in December. (Side note: never let them put some machine that magnifies your skin onto a television screen for all who walk by to see. Especially if it is a busy shopping time like, oh say, December!)

Suffice it to say, the spot which was hardly noticeable before now looks something like this:
I guess I have learned my lesson. Number one: leave well enough alone. Number two: it is probably not the fault of the guy in Bloomingdales. I should have said no and kept walking. Number three: I am a great artist on the computer. If you are lucky, I will continue my work in Paintbrush and share with you my creative output.