Fill Her Up

A man goes to his doctor and says, “Doctor I don’t feel so good, and everyone around me is extremely disagreeable.” The doctor gives him some medication and tells him to return in a month. A month later, the man returns, and the doctor asks him, ”How do you feel now?” The man replies, “I still don’t feel so good, but everyone around me is getting much nicer.” 

Some people approach life with a half empty glass, while others have a glass that is half full.  I’m just glad to have a glass. 

A woman who moved to my neighborhood from Australia told me that she didn’t like Australians.  I told her, “I have met several Australians and I like them very much.” She replied, “They have to behave when they aren’t in their own country.” Then I traveled to Australia and discovered that Australians are very pleasant people---even on their own turf.  I said to one man in Sydney, “Why are you Australians so friendly?” He replied, “Because we live so far away from everyone that we have to be nice when you come to visit.” 

The same woman who didn’t like Australians moved to Florida when she first came up from “Down Under”, and she also didn’t like Floridians.  Then she moved to my neighborhood where she really hated everyone. People were glad when she moved away because she took herself with her. 

I’ll admit it. I am a people person. I like most people. For a few years, my son lived in Wisconsin. I like people from Wisconsin. The ones I have met are upbeat kind and friendly. It must be that entire delicious cholesterol-producing dairy that makes them mellow.  I also like Canadians. They are sensible and calm and laugh a lot, because their banks managed to stay out of trouble while ours were emptying our glasses as well as our wallets. I even like New Yorkers. 

My son used to live in New York City. He warned me about New Yorkers: “Look, Mom, this time when you come to New York and we ride the subway, please don’t talk to people. It’s New York. You get on the subway. You get off the subway. You don’t talk to people. People in New York don’t talk. Don’t even make eye contact! You think I’m kidding? There was an article in the Times about a corpse that rode the train at rush hour. The guy rode for 45 minutes and 20 stops before anyone told the police.”  I replied, “Obviously, no one made eye contact with him.”  

Naturally, I didn’t take his advice. Some people along the way have put a few chips into my glass, but no one has broken it yet. 

Esther Blumenfeld (optimist but no fool)

So What's New?

I don’t understand people who never read newspapers. One of my greatest pleasures is rising early in the morning, grabbing a cup of coffee and perusing my daily paper. I start with the weather and the comics, browse sports, read the editorials in depth, and then I study both national and local news.

 Some people tell me that newspapers are passé, and that they get their news off of their computers. I do that too, but AOL news is very different from what I get from my morning paper. I must admit that some of the story headers are enticing, but here are some actual headlines I copied off of my computer. Here’s all the news not fit to print:

   “Liven up your potato salad.”

 “Toupee rumors false.”

 I didn’t read those stories, but I hope that the chef’s toupee didn’t fall into the potato salad.

    “Age women shouldn’t wear bikinis.”

 With some women that age is never!

   “Lady Gaga wears penis shoes.”

 “Attractive use for using old cans.”

 Perhaps, the story could have been combined, if she had strapped on a couple of tins of “heavenly original” Chock Full O’Nuts.” 

 Then AOL gave us some investigative journalism:

   “How does your mop stack up?”

   “5 cupcake mistakes you are making.”

 “Depressing news about beer.”

   “5 signs your husband may be a psychopath.”

 Obviously, some husbands already depressed about their beer become more psychopathic with each cupcake blunder. Some other stories seem to be related to one another:

   “Best diet if you’re short on time.”

   “Pillows look good enough to eat.”

   “Reason fruit is exploding in China.”

 Makes sense to me. If you are in a rush in the morning, just take a bite out of your pillow, eat a piece of exploding fruit and you are on your way to losing that excess weight starting with your head.

 I almost read the story, “Starbucks sued over dwarf firing,” because I didn’t know that Starbucks kept cannons on their patios. Then I saw:

 “Dad faints during birth.” He was probably only expecting the removal of a gallstone.

 I turned off my computer when I finally read:

 “Rapture rumors prove false.”

 Oh, heck, I have to empty the dishwasher after all.

 Esther Blumenfeld (“Runner forgets one crucial step.” Lace up your shoes, Dummy!)

Pass The Popcorn

When I was a little girl, Saturday mornings at the movies were reserved for the kids. Tickets were cheap, and it gave parents a safe place to dump their children for a couple of hours. The movies featured young actors who could cure any problem by saying, “Let’s put on a show!” or a heroic collie, who would always rescue something---anything--- including a drowning turtle. After the main feature, we were treated to violent cartoons. 

I heard very little of the dialogue in those movies, because the audience screamed throughout the show, and I spent much of the time ducking flying popcorn and spitballs. But I guess it was great fun because I kept going back for more of the same. 

When I was a teenager, I would visit my grandparents in Buffalo, New York and they would treat me to German language matinees. This was a moving experience because my Grandfather could never find a seat that suited him. We would find a seat, sit down, listen to Grandpa grumble, and then stand up, step on some people’s feet and begin the search all over again. I never saw any of the movies. That was okay with me, because I couldn’t understand them anyway. However, I did learn some choice German expressions from the audience. 

Now that I am a grown-up, I love going to the movies by myself. I can pick what I want to see, go when I want to go, and sit where I want to sit.  Movies are a delicious escape from reality. Anyway, they should be. I once went to a matinee and was the only person in the theatre. When two women walked into the theatre, I told them, “This is a private showing.” They turned around and started to leave. It almost worked. Turns out that they were nice, quiet women and we all enjoyed the show. However, sometimes even the best picture attracts the worst audience.  So, after the blaring “Coming Attractions” I will remove the Kleenex from my ears and offer some rules for the boors among us: 

l. Action does not mean kicking the back of my seat.

2. Sound mixing does not mean you can keep saying, “What did he say?” during the movie.

3. Music should come from the sound speakers not from your cell phone.

4. Live Action does not mean you should comb your long hair and hang it over the seat and into my lap. If I wanted a blanket, I would have brought one.

5. A Short subject is not your big toe sticking into my face over the back of my seat.

6. Snack means popcorn or candy, not a garlic and onion sandwich hauled out of your purse. 

 All these things make me zusammenzucken. 

Esther Blumenfeld (Grandpa was right!)

At The Monster Ball

After hiking for several miles in the mountains, I came home, flopped down on the sofa, turned on my television set, and promptly fell asleep---only to be rudely awakened by the dance pop performer, Lady Gaga on her “Monster Ball” tour. I opened my eyes just as Audrey from the Little Shop of Horrors ate her costume. 

Undaunted, the blonde 25-year-old shot electric sparks out of her bosoms---both of them---and the audience at Madison Square Garden ate it up. Lady Gaga then did a lot of growling, shouting and screaming, before she and her boy dance troop greeted onlookers with a bit of on stage crotch grabbing.  I don’t know why they can’t shake hands like everyone else. 

I blinked twice before another costume was yanked off of Lady Gaga, and saw either stage blood or spilled tomato juice all over her belly. The singer then lay down on the stage with her leg up in the air, and belted out another song, as she bounced up and down simulating sex with one of the gyrating dancers. After the simulation, she leapt up and ordered the audience to “jump”. Everyone did and it looked a lot like an old Jane Fonda exercise video. I doubt if Lady Gaga felt the burn, because now she was wearing tin foil.

Once more, someone unwrapped her and revealed a see-through concoction held together with band-aids.  Maybe she had scratched herself with those long black fingernails.  

The young woman has lots of energy and jumps extremely well as she belts out those loud and angry songs. I suddenly became nostalgic for Madonna---the singer---not the holy one. Madonna is equally outrageous but does it with a sense of humor. Anyway, I think she’s funny. Maybe Lady Gaga is so upset because her feet hurt. When I was a kid, I used to clomp around the backyard on wooden stilts. She uses them for shoes. 

Lady Gaga’s excuse for her mystifying behavior is:

            “I’m beautiful in my way. I’m on the right track, baby. I was born this way. I was born to be brave.” 

Well, Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, I believe you. You definitely were born to be brave. 

Esther Blumenfeld (missing The Beatles)

Meet Me At The Office

Computers are an excellent way to communicate factual information, but when exchanging creative ideas, I have found that face-to-face conversation (which involves eye contact, laughter and an inordinate amount of flailing of arms) is the most productive way to work with a writing partner. 

When my friend, Lynne Alpern and I decided to collaborate on OH, LORD, I SOUND JUST LIKE MAMA, we encountered a major problem. Our sons were in nursery school and that only gave us 4 hours of meeting time. We didn’t live close to each other, and working at home involved too many interruptions. One writer we knew was blessed with 4 children. She worked in a closet in her home, but no closet was big enough for the two of us. Consequently, we had to find a workspace. McDonalds was the perfect solution. The coffee was cheap, the music was soft and the restroom was clean. So, for a year, we worked on our book, sitting at the same little corner table at our McDonald’s office. If someone had the nerve to take our space before we arrived, we’d glare at him until he left. 

I knew we had it made the day the phone rang and the manager shouted, “Writers, there’s a call for you!” Then one day when we arrived at the office, we noticed a big change. The old manager was gone. If the new manager said, “Good Morning,” we didn’t hear him, because the place rocked with music so loud that it made our table jump. The next day, we dressed up in fancy clothes and moved to our new office---a remote corner in the lobby of the elegant JW Marriott Hotel. 

The coffee bar was more expensive, but the restroom had linen towels. Since we dressed properly and carried brief cases, people assumed that we were guests at the hotel, and no one bothered us. Unfortunately, our cover was blown the day that Atlanta Magazine ran an article and a photo of us at the office. 

Happily, the boys were promoted to full-day kindergarten, and our book was far enough along that we could finally work at home. Of course, there was the day that we had to compare notes in order to meet a deadline. Surreptitiously, we moved a toilet paper display at Kroger’s in order to sit on their shelf, but that’s another story. 

Esther Blumenfeld  (knock before entering the closet)