say cheese.....

today's observation is really an expose`, about two of the greatest hoaxes, that i believe, have ever been perpetrated on the american people. (the key phrase is "i believe". you can believe what you like.)

i love coffee.

oh, not like some. i don't drink twenty cups a day or anything, i drink about two cups. and i don't do caffeine (gave it up about 15 years ago. back then, everyone i knew that was older, that got sick and went to a doctor, was told pretty much the same things. give up caffeine, give up salt, give up smoking, and give up drinking. so i'm 3 for 4 at this point, and down to a glass of wine or two on the 4th. don't push me.) so i gave up caffeine, but still love a good cup of decaf.

growing up, when i did caffeine, we had maxwell house, chock-full-of-nuts, a&p 8:00, yuban, martinson's and others. you found one you liked (for me it was martinson's) and ran with it. for decaf drinkers, there wassanka. not a great choice but hey, it was better than no coffee.

then, in 1971 a company named starbucks opened it's first store in seattle and began to sell very nice coffee. over time, their success grew and grew until by the mid 1990's there was a starbucks on every corner of the eastern and western seaboard of this country. (maybe the midwest too. i wouldn't know, i don't go there.) they did a great deal of advertising and actually convinced the american public that their coffee was vastly superior to any other on the planet. (and maybe it is, but that's not my issue). it's come to the point where a whole segment of the general population refuses to make coffee at home anymore, and subsequently stands in line, sometimes for many minutes, to order a cup of coffee. well, to put it more precisely, a cup of half-caf, decaf, caramel, chocolate, hazelnut, latte, macchiato grande venti. (at least that's what it sounds like to me, mr. decaf), and then, get this....this is the part that kills me....they'll pay 4 or 5 dollars for it! a freakin' cup of coffee!!

i buy zabar's coffee. one zabar's. one store. new york city. i have it flown in from new york. (i know what you're thinking. who the fuck is he to dish my coffee when he's having his flown in? well i gotta tell you, if you order 4 pounds at a time the shipping is free, so there.) i pay $9/lb for great coffee. i get about 10 pots of 10 cups each from a pound. (roughly a hundred cups, for you non-math majors). so it runs about 9 cents a cup. the people on line at starbucks, waiting for the half-caf...well, you know are shelling out $4/cup so a 100 cups per pound the coffee costs $400./lb. wtf?? do the math, people. and i don't stand on line either. (ok, maybe my math is a little off, and there's a touch of hyperbole, but still).

how the american public fell for this ruse is beyond my comprehension. they've convinced america that their coffee is superior, and maybe it is, but $400/lb? and yet, alas, each starbucks i pass has a line out the door, populated with people holding $4 bills, so there's a very distinct possibility that it's just me. (i must add at this point, i especially love to watch new yorkers with their starbucks. they walk. they never drive. they walk. a cup of starbucks in one hand, the cel phone in the other hand, their briefcase in still another hand, and, of course, the cigarette in the final one. new yorkers are so great, with 4 hands and all.)

so take it or leave it. just one man's opinion.

which brings us to hoax #2.

you know how i'm always saying the cheese stands alone whenever i realize i'm the only one out of the loop? well, today i'd like to actually talk about cheese, and other cold cuts as well.

growing up we had wunderbar bologna, krakus or atalanta ham, hormel meats, land o lakes cheese, and other assorted brands. we made sandwiches. we ate them. we liked them. we survived.

boars head brand has been around since the turn of the 20th century, (around 1905), and came into wide distribution nationally by the 1970's. they started a massive advertising blitz some years back, where every third commercial on television was for boars head, and practically every other commercial on radio. it featured a guy with a voice just like burgess meredith, (who i have it on very good authority is dead), but it sounded like him, and we like him, (you remember, the penguin from the old 1960'sbatman series?), and the ads were relentless, and boars head products wormed their way into our grocery stores and our national consciousness, again, like the aforementioned starbucks, simply by repetition. like a giant brainwashing. when it finally hit all of our local publix stores, they even trained the employees to give everyone a slice of everything they cut, whether they wanted it or not. i can't tell you how many times i've gone in there to order some stuff for husband, and i'm on a diet, again, (or is it still?), and i'm handed a slice of cheese. like a guy on a diet stands around munching on cheese? god those people piss me off.

and i reached saturaton, nay, break point, just the other day, which has prompted this writing. the story goes exactly like this. i couldn't possibly make this up.

i wander into the store, take my number and wait. finally, a lovely woman, (not a kid, but a grown woman named michelle, begins.)

michelle: number 33
me: that's me.
michelle: what can i get you.
me: i'd like a pound of white american cheese, please.
michelle: would you like boars head?
me: no, the land--o-lakes is fine.
michelle: the boars head is on sale.
me: yes, but it's still costs more and i'm fine with the other. grew up with it.
michelle: well, did you know the land-o-lakes is made with powdered milk?
me: really? (clutch the pearls). i did not know that.
michelle: yes, it is.
me: (now i'm doubting myself). ok, michelle, let me taste a slice of each.

a minute later, i'm standing in front of a deli case, tasting with two hands, enjoying both cheeses (suddenly mr diet is munching cheese again, two slices at a time, and pissing off the people with higher numbers than mine, (too bad, people, should have been here earlier), and the light bulb (like you see in the cartoons) goes off over my head. and i think:

why, in the name of god and cheese, would anyone take a bucket of milk, dehydrate it to powder, take that powder to the cheese area of the plant, and add water, to make milk, so you can make cheese? the absurdity of it hit me. so i said to her:

me: michell, that doesn't make sense, if you think about it. why would they do that?
michelle: i don't know, but they do.
me: who told you that?
michelle: the boars head salesman.
me: i see.

i felt a primal scream forming in my solar plexus, so i took a deep breath and forged on.

me: i'll take a pound of the land-o-lakes white american cheese, michelle, (and just to get even, i added) and put paper between the slices please. fuck with my head, will you?)

true story.

but alas, again, as i stood there, the populace was lined up, numbers in one hand (and i half expected a starbucks in the other), waiting for the boars head lady to lead them down the garden path, some holding a slice of ham or turkey, and others munching expensive cheese.

so let this be a lesson. just because someone says something amazingly idiotic with great authority, does not necessarily make it so. and when you hear things on radio or television over and over til your head is bursting, there's probably something they're trying to sell you. and it ain't always the truth.

i'm probably the only person that this whole business would bother, but then again, one more example of the cheese stands alone.

let's eat.

we have a lot of friends. oh, not like some, where the christmas card list has 200 people on it.  as a matter of fact, i have a client that has a christmas card list with over 1600, that i manage for him.  talk about postage!!! no, we're not that popular but we're well liked in small circles and as such we get invited, and in turn invite, and often break bread with our friends.now, truth be told, husband and i are good eaters, to which our individual waistlines will attest.  there really isn't much he doesn't like.  well, salmon, for one, but only hot.  he loves lox and nova, and cold poached salmon in a lovely dill sauce, or salmon salad, (you know, like tuna fish, except for jews).  just doesn't care for it hot.  ok, that's fine.  as for me, i'm not crazy about lima beans, and scallops are also not my favorite.  although if they're in the dish, i'll certainly not pick them out.  not weird like that or anything.

digress..........

growing up, i, as all kids, i'm guessing, was a little fussy about eating.  coming from my background, with a mother who was "just a girl who can't say no" to food, to quote rogers and hammerstein, it was almost unacceptable not to eat. but my family was weird.  i really didn't like lima beans then, and i especially didn't like grandma's gefilte fish, even though i was told it was the finest in the land, and my father wouldn't eat chicken on tuesday nights, beacause he went bowling after dinner, and in the days before dawn dishwashing liquid, your hands stayed a little greasy no matter what you did, so he couldn't grip the bowling ball, so chicken on tuesdays was out.  my brother wouldn't eat beets, because it looked like they were bleeding, my sister wouldn't eat anything fried, for fear she'd end up looking like my mother, so we were quite the little group, actually.  but over the years i learned that if it wasn't burnt you could eat it.  (and even some burnt stuff as well,  you know, like the edges of the burnt cheese on a pizza crust).

back.

so i get it, that people just don't like certain things, and when husband and i entertain we take that into account.  i would never serve pulled pork to my vegetarian friends, or fish to a lot of my gay friends, that for some odd reason, won't eat fish.  (people, don't go there....).  and for the most part we're really good at dinner parties and keeping it all together, i must say.

however.

we have a couple of friends, casual acquaintences really, whom we see once in a blue moon.  a gay couple who are really darling, and we thoroughly enjoy their company.   one of them, the one that cooks when we visit them and is a very fine chef indeed, is a very good eater.  haven't scared him yet.  (unless he's so polite as to qualify as disturbed, as he's never said a bad word about our food.  well maybe not disturbed, but uncommonly accomodating.)  his partner, not so much.  i love him more than dessert, but he has, shall we say a few food quirks.  he doesn't care for, among many other things: 

1. beans of any kind.  not beans in chili.  not black beans and rice, not refried beans, minestone soup, nada.  if it's a bean, it's out.

2. raisins.  which leaves out a lot of desserts and certainly a lot of native jewish dishes.

3.  solid meat.  steak, lamb chops, pork chops, beef stew, chunks of meat.  all out.  now, hamburger, ground meat in pasta, stir fry with veggies but no solid meat, except for a chicken breast.  that somehow is ok.  so those are some limitations for the chef, but hey, we love them , and want to spend time with them.

so salads and pasta dishes are in.

digress...........

several months back, we met another lovely gay man, a single guy, handsome as all getout, and in great shape for a guy our age.  this couple about which i speak, and he, became fast friends, and it took us a while to get into that sphere, but over months, we eventually did.  he too, has, how can i put this, issues about food.  actually more issues than a magazine rack.  but alas, his are allergy borne so there's no fucking around.  can't slip the salt and pepper into the dip and not tell, even though it's bean dip and we don't tell the other one that won't eat the beans.   shhhhhh.  there are a lot of things that he'd like to eat but can't.  no condiments.  that includes, salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, chili powder, caraway, fennel, basil, thyme, rosemary, you get the idea.  there are nine more jars in my spice rack, but i'll just stop there. unlike the other friend, he'll eat solid food, like a chicken breast or a steak, it just can't be seasoned, or touch the bbq grill that has had a previous salted item on it, etc.  ok items are steamed spinach, or any steamed vegetable actually, a grilled chicken breast and a salad with a little lemon juice.  they fool him sometimes and toss a little olive oil, because let's face it, god didn't make one creature on this entire planet that's allergic to olive oil.  too cruel, even for god.  ethiopian starvation? ok. eathquakes in india?, that's fine, thank you very much, but an allergy to olive oil?  unacceptable.

back.......

so it's our turn to have the couple over, and we decide, let's invite the single guy as well, as they're all friends and it's a good mix.  i turn to husband and ask, kind of from a distance, what shall we make?  he says, gently, so as not to make me think that this is about me, how the fuck should i know?  he's a master, and i know he can do this, but i also know when i say dinner party, he sees pesto, or marinara, or rack of lamb, or moussaka, or cuban festival, and so on.    so he takes to his cookbooks, joy of cooking of course, the bible, beautiful tuscany, the italian bible, and the food and wine cookbook, just a great cookbook with lovely food pictures, and he muses for days.  well, you see the punchline coming.  for the single guy he plans a lovely poached chicken breast, simmered with carrots and onions in the cooking liquid, but no seasoning, (did someone say yum?), plain steamed spinach and salad pulled off of the big salad before it gets dressed.

that's one down.  for the rest we start with a hummus appetizer.  (oh, i forgot, somehow, garbanzo beans are excluded from the hatred of beans.  don't ask.), and some crostini with bruschetta, and some shrimp in a garlic parsely olive oil drizzle, and all is well.

the main course is lasagna, with a hazelnut pesto and light cream and cheese filling, and is served with a dressed salad (from which the single guy's  has been removed).  desserts were mostly store bought, and then coffee and after dinner liquors.  did i mention that the single guy, that doesn't eat, has the best body of  all of us?  about which i'm definitely jealous, but let's face it, i ain't eating like him.  married to my husband, a master, i am simply not eating like that, no matter what you promise i'll look like.  fuck it.  i love food too much.

so it was a good dinner party, and everyone had plenty to eat, well, almost everybody.  the spumoni, and biscotti desserts were good, for store bought.  (see earlier blog about the night that the role of the biscotti was played by the mandel bread, actually made by one the above mentioned guests.  the chef guy, married to the bean hater).

we don't host all that often, which is ok too.  everyone loves when we do, and most reciprocate in kind.  but sometimes it's just fun to go out to dinner with your loved  ones, and leave the "issues" for the chef at the restaurant. 

pass the salt, please.

can we talk? er......sing?

ok, me again. 

i did something tonight that i realized i'd never done before, and at my age, that 's impressive.

i took a few days off from the blog, because, well, if you must know, i'm a good ways through chapter one of something bigger.  i'll keep you posted, i promise, and those of you that throw feedback, will get chapter one, with a simple request, which is.....  tell me if you care enough about the characters to want to see chapter 2.  not all of you will get it, to be in my test group, just some of you.  i think you probably know who you are, don't you?  oh well.

but back to tonight's event.

we were going to cook dinner, as we almost always do on a weeknight, but husband is at the tail end of a mission, and i've been working on my business, and of course on the above mentioned chapter one, so it was a long day.  i skipped my afternoon swim and both of us were busy til way late, like 8ish.  so husband suggested, let's just go out for a bite, to one of our favorite haunts, and grab a burger. 

fine with me.

so off we go, grab a table, snag a very cute waiter, which is kind of lucky because the wait staff at that place tends to be young girls that look like they eat way too much of the barbeque menu, and it's always fun for two older gay men to get a cute young waiter.  after all, we're going to eat anyway, right?  and we order.  i'm expediting here, because i want to cut to the chase.  as we wait, he brings us the monster pitcher of beer for $5.00 special and we sit a very few minutes, and suddenly appears a handsome guy, across a crowded room, (i know, sounds like south pacific, right?) and i'm thinking he's a d.j. and they've started a new thing on wednesday nights. 

fine with me. 

so as he, i think, is spinning, i hear a very pleasant singer that i don't recognize and i'm impressed with the nice music, and we're sipping our beer, and i glance over and, gasp, clutch the pearls, he's not spinning, he's actually singing.  and it's very good.  it's billy joel's new york state of mind, which can be a tough song, and the guy nailed it.  (and i'm one who knows, remember?).  so i'm impressed and i'm thinking, how nice, they hired an entertainer while we dine. 

well, not a moment later, someone else is singing and it's also nice, so,

fine with me.

our food arrives and our attention span wanders as we plunge into burgers, brisket, bbq, and pulled pork.  as we dine, yet another person takes the stage, and with a mouthful of smoked turkey i say to husband, oh shit, we stumbled into karaoke night. 

now the confession at the top was, i did something tonight i've never done, which is, believe it or not, karaoke.  oh, i've been to restaurants where starving actors sing as they wait tables, and they're usually good, as they're really professional performers that haven't gotten their breaks yet, and i've been to gay bars where every queen that ever sucked a cock thinks she's judy garland and gets up to sing, and quite frankly, most of them are very good as well.  (all part of being a queen). so i didn't really know actual karaoke, until tonight.

so, as mentioned, the first guy was good.  and the second, darn good as well.  this karaoke might not be as bad as everyone says it is, which is,

fine with me.

then, lady number one.  a tad zaftig, in way too tight pants, sang a song i didn't recognize and some of the lower notes were kind of in tune, but her falsetto notes wandered.........not sure where to.  maybe she'll find them after she has another beer...........

less fine.

lady number two.  a pretty girl with big knockers (and in a sports bar, so she got a round of applause, replete with hooting and hollering before she even began to sing) and the crowd was kind, even though she was borderline bad.

guy number three.  a fat bald guy, who not only looked like he didn't belong on a stage, but after he began to sing, my mind wandered to dr. kevorkian, and i wondered if he still made house calls.

girl number three.  yet another chubbette who thought that standing on a chair, and then sitting on a restaurant table with one thick thigh in the air would help.  alas it didn't.

guy number four.  a toupe that made more noise than the karaoke machine.  i'm sucking down my third beer at this point, licking the barbeque sauce off my fingers.  anything to take my attention away from the "event".

not fine at all anymore.  i'm eyeing the exit signs.

girl number four.  a woman in a wheelchair, excuse me, an OLD woman in a wheelchair singing elvis' my way, too hideous for words.  the woman couldn't walk, what made her think she could sing?  she probably saw that susan hayward movie, with a song in my heart, about poor crippled jane froman, who actually could sing, and built a career on it, on stage, screen and television,  before she became crippled in an airplane crash.  all i could think of as i watched that horrible singer was let's play achille lauro, and push this bitch into the ocean before she sings again.

finally, we're done eating, and the cutie brings the check, and as i'm waiting for the return of the credit card,  guy number one takes the mike again to sing another billy joel song, and again he's terrific.  he finishes to a nice round of applause and suddenly, the rolling wonder woman is about to take the stage again, and we hurry toward the exit.  on the way out, i grab, the billy joel guy and tell him he's better than the rest, and to find a better crowd of singers to loaf with.  and with that, we were out the door and safe in the parking lot, lost in the sounds of silence. (which is probably the song the bitch in the chair was singing).

next wednesday, we're staying home.

forget about it.........

once again, remember the premise, i'm old.  but am i senile?

some say that if you ask that very question, it's proof you're not.  kind of like madness.  if you ask, am i crazy?, the answer is: no, if you were, you wouldn't think to ask, you'd just be. 

but i'm not sure about the senile question, because it happens in degrees.  you don't sleep in the buff for 60 years and then wake up one morning and say what happened to my pajamas? or suddenly walk into a starbuck's and think do i take sugar or splenda in my grande venti half-caf, decaf, chocolate mocha espresso machiato? no, i'm thinking it begins with little things.  and i think we write it off  as getting older, becoming forgetful, senior moment, that sort of thing, and that may be correct, but how do you know when you've crossed that invisible line?

we've all done certain funny things.  what did i come in here for?  that's a pretty common one.  where did i put my keys?  regular forgetfulness.  that nice republican gun-toting actor, the one that played moses in the ten commandments, what was his name?  marginal.  is that nice george w bush still president?  ok, we've crossed the line.  so i think you see where i'm going with this.  how do we know when we're not just aging, but losing it?

example:  i come home, the milk is on the counter.  hmmmm..

me:  husband, did you use the milk?
him:  yes. i had some with lunch.
me:  are you finished using it?
him:  yes, why?
me:  just curious. 

but of course i'm more than curious.  he put everything away and left the milk out.  (ok, i know what you're thinking.  big deal.  it happens.  and you're right. it does.)

my turn. 

i've been out shopping, at the grocery, and i come home, open the garage door, pull in, pick up my phone off the car seat, disconnect my itouch from the sound system in the car, take the keys, get out of the car, and walk into the house.  i put the keys away where they belong, and my toys down, and take a drink of water, walk into my office to check my email, and suddenly i remember, there are groceries in the trunk, including ice cream, i've completely forgotten.  (it happens?  senior moment?  could be.)

here's a good one.  ever done this? 

you're in the mall.  you come out of macy's, bloomie's, saks, kmart, walmart, (whatever your particular financial and shopping level is, no snobbery intended), and you're carrying packages and suddenly you stop.  where did i park?  ok, that's the first panic.  then you suddenly realize, you're not even sure you came out the same door through which you entered the mall.  from the parking lot, macy's has 4 doors.   now that sinking feeling in your stomach.  you pause, think really hard, and usually it comes to you, and you head toward your vehicle, a little frazzled.  (ever see that commercial for that item you talk into, and it will record up to 30 seconds?  i'm starting to think about getting one.  i'd speak into it and say something like this:  schmuck.  when you come out of the store all glassy-eyed from retail overkill, you're parked in blue parrot zone.  i think that would help.  you know,  i'd be one of those people that puts a tennis ball on the top of his antenna to find the car, (you've all seen that in florida),  but the 2009 honda accord builds the antenna into the windshield, so there's no rod.  i could glue a tennis ball to my back windshield, but it's not the same.  can't see it from a distance.  i might wander for hours in the hot florida sun looking for a gummy tennis ball with glue running down my window.  bad plan. 

the older i get, the more i think about this stuff, and notice things.

once there was a time, and it was for a very long time, when everything that i ever knew was lurking right in the front of my brain, (frontal lobe, i think it's called.  you know, the one they poke in a lobotomy when you actually do lose your mind and become violent), but there, just waiting to spill out onto the tip of my tongue when called upon, like the a.d.h.d. kid that i always was.  now, the distance from that front brain area to the tip of my tongue is somehow much further.  sometimes the thoughts just don't make it anymore.  long distance calling.....too far.  too much effort.

then, there are the times when jeopardy will come on the tv.

digress.......

there's no way any of you could know this, (except of course for the few of you who really do), but that nice young mormon man, who was on jeopardy for about a year and won over a million dollars, because nobody could beat him, whatshisname, (just kidding on this one, it's ken jennings), had nothing on me.  i could kick some serious jeapardy ass, like you read about.  it's a gift.  comes from being full of shit.  i know shit.  i know a lot of shit.  i know all kinds of shit.  can't explain the sponge in my head that has recalled all the trivia, minutiae, useless facts and figures and other assorted crapola that i absorbed throughout my entire life.  scary. very scary.  my loved ones will testify.  for years i was the unequaled champeen.  people would say to me all the time, you should go on that show.  probably should have. could have made some serious money, and used it on elder care for myself, right about now.  oh well.........probably would blown it anyway.....

back......

these days, when jeopardy plays, i'm still good, but clearly the brain cells have slowed down considerably.  makes me crazy, because i know the answers but i can't bring it out of the brain to the tongue like i used to. old man?  losing it?  maybe.  or maybe i should just take up a different game.  tic-tac-toe is nice.  it's a thought.  (write that down before i forget it).  i've actually taken up sudoku puzzles these days.  very logical exercises that work the brain. i'm trying to keep the juices in the synapses flowing so that my neurotransmitters will occasionally fire, enabling me to shriek  who is willa cather?, when the answer on jeopardy is she wrote oh, pioneers?  i always get that right.  or in a moment of jubilation, cry out, what is a dodecahedron?  when the answer is a solid figure having twelve plane faces. (see, some of it still works, that's the scary part.  all that shit is still in there, i just can't reach it consistently anymore.)

i guess i'll just tool along, hoping that when i walk from the kitchen to the garage, i'll remember what i went out there for, and hopefully, i'll get to the ice cream before the trunk stinks like sour milk.  but husband and i made a pact.  and i'll hold him to this.

when the day comes, that i get up out of bed, and put on my striped blue shorts, with my yellow checkered shirt and argyle socks, and the orange cardigan, (because i'm cold, wherever i go, even in the summer in florida), and check myself out in the mirror and think, hmm, this looks pretty good, he is instructed to put me down.  even if i'm not actually senile, and it's just a senior moment, or an isolated incident, i'd rather die than have anyone see me dressed like that. 

so the next time you say to yourself, what did i come in here for?, think about this blog and ask yourself, is it time for the tennis ball on the antenna?

the family way..........

don’t say i didn’t warn you way back in the beginning……
i’m old and i’m kind of strange……

sometimes i lie in bed at night and i wonder about stuff.  who doesn't?

so, last night i was lying in bed, stroking my pussy, (the cat, you ninnies, what did you think i meant?  minds out of the gutter, everyone). she’s attached to my hip. i lie, she lays. i snore, she purrs. (there’s a vaudeville act in there somewhere). so i’m lying, she’s purring, husband is reading and the conversation goes something like this:

me: do you remember lassie?
him: of course.
me: the original, i mean.
him: yes, the one with tommy rettig, who played jeff? long before jon provost played timmy? that one?
me: yes. i’ve been thinking. how come there was jeff, jan clayton as mom, and george cleveland as gramps, but no dad? and gramps? who’s grandpa was he? jeff’s? mom’s? and where was gramps' wife? all these people living on a farm, and dad and grandma were missing. lassie can find jeff when he falls into the well, but she can’t find grandma? so it was kind of a very modern family. a mom, a kid, a senile old grandpa figure and of course the dog, who was smarter than a fifth grader.
him: you think too much.
me: yeah, i know. but while i’m on the subject, remember that danny thomas show, make room for daddy? who’s uncle was uncle tonoose? danny’s? the wife’s? the kids’? (in which case it would have been danny’s brother).
him: uncle tonoose? who the fuck was he?
me: hans conried. a great character actor.
him: really? what else did he do?
me: a bunch of b movies. never mind. and while we’re on the subject, do you remember the real mccoys? that freakin’ jingle still haunts me,
     want you to meet a family, known as the real mccoys
     that’s grandpappy amos, the head of the clan
     roars like a lion but he’s gentle as a lamb
     and now there’s luke who beams with joy
     since he met kate, mrs luke mccoy.

     from west virginny they came to stay
     in southern califor-nia (this part oddly rhymes)
     old grandpappy amos and the girls and the boys
     of the family known as the real mccoys.

me: anyway, who’s grandpappy was he? there was luke and kate, and of course little luke, who i think i remember was their son, and a mexican illegal named pepino, (although nobody seemed to mind back then) and an old coot named grandpappy amos. was he luke’s daddy or his grandpa? kate’s? or was he little luke’s grandpa? in which case he’d be big luke’s pa. i was little then, so i didn’t give it much thought, but it’s goddam confusing.
him: wow, you know you’re really disturbing me.
me:  yeah, sometimes i scare myself.  moving on....how about bonanza?  do you remember that one?  three sons and a dad. dan blocker played hoss (that's western-speak for horse, which is the animal he most closely resembled, adam, played by pernell roberts who was a dark haired hottie, in chaps, (a young budding gay boy's fantasy), and of course the adorable little joe, played by michael landon, who was by far, the most handsome.  now, as i remember, ben, the dad, was married 3 times and had a son by each marriage.  one might ask, where were the wives? all dead? well, let's face it; if you had to wake up every morning and look at lorne greene you might just die as well.  but how did a face like his produce little joe?  i'm thinking the milkman's kid. (or whatever the wild west equivalent was......the well digger's kid?  the chicken feed salesman's kid?  something like that.)  but once again on tv, a dad, 3 sons, no mom, no love interest of any of the boys, and yet another illegal immigrant cleaning and cooking, this time chinese, named derisively enough, hop sing.  (what happend to skip jump, his twin brother?  probably left him in china town, or, since this took place in nevada, maybe he was busy doing construction on the hotels on what would one day be the strip, in vegas).
him:  you really think hop sing had a brother?
me:  probably. a brother, but no wife. hmmm.
him:  maybe i should have married your brother.
me: yeah, i know, but you married me, live with it. and btw, i’m not done yet. i had a sleepless night the other day. how about the beverly hillbillies? you had jed, right?
him:  you have way too much time on your hands, you know that?
me:  humor me a little longer, ok?  so, do you remember jed clampett?
him: yes, the buddy ebson character.
me: right. and ellie may who was his daughter, and jethro bodine who was his half-witted nephew by way of pearl bodine, his sister, i guess, played by bea benaderet. there was also irene ryan as granny. so let’s do this again. who’s granny was she? jed’s? ellie may’s? (in which case she’d be jed’s mother? (so why are we calling her granny?) jethro’s? (in which case she’d be jed’s aunt?) and where’s grandpa? dead out in the cement pond? so this is the family in the 60’s. jed, his daughter, the brainless nephew, (who dallied in drag, playing his own twin sister jethrine….which was coincidentally my very favorite part of the entire show), someone’s granny, and let’s not forget the mannish, bookish, lesbian named miss jane hathaway. (ellen degeneres owes her, big time).  yet another modern family.
him: i know gay marriage is not legal in florida, but is divorce? you’re one sick fuck.
me: don’t sidetrack me, i’m on a roll. how about the rifleman? chuck conners? (he helped make me gay. but that’s for another discussion). here he was, out in the wild west, strutting around in leather chaps, (there's a trend happening here, with all these hot, wifeless men in chaps, don't you think?), with a boy. the kid called him paw. (that’s how johnny crawford pronounced it). so there was lucas mccain, and mark mccain, (the boy.) where was mom? and not even a gramps in this one? WTF?? what kind of families were they representing. i mean, i was no beaver, or even a wally, or a ricky or david nelson, (christ, those families were too pure.  mom vacuumed in heels and pearls.  it's not the heels and pearls that freak me out, it's the fact that they had a mom who actually vacuumed.), but i did have a gramps and a granny. (ok, truth be told, i never called my grandmother, who came from a shtetl in russia, and fled the pogroms, crossed the ocean in steerage carrying an infant until she settled in jersey city and spawned 4 more, granny. she just somehow wasn’t the granny type, if you take my meaning.
him: I’m getting sleepy.
me:  wait, one more.  how about bachelor father?  remember that one?
him:  yes, john forsythe?
me:  that's the one.  he played this unmarried guy in his, i'm guessing late 30's, who was so rich, that even his first name was bentley. and who somehow gets custody of a niece, apparently from some dead sister, and he has to raise her all alone, never having been a dad, with no help from an adult woman.  he did have, however, i am so loathe to say this, yet another in a series of itinerant chinese housekeepers, named peter tong, played by samee tong. (i shit you not. but somehow amos and andy was the politically incorrect show, even in light of all this other crap going on.  go figure.  but one more time, it was an odd make-up of an american family.  a batchelor, a teenage girl and a chinaman.  (probably folding bentley's shirts into neat little piles).  too wierd.
him:  can the rest of this hold until i get some shut-eye?
me:  sure.  but i'm going to think about this some more.  i think the reason it's upsetting me, is that it seems that if those were the pictures of families in our formative years, then why would, say, bill o'reilly go off on jennifer aniston for wanting a baby without a dad?  she could always find a gramps or a granny, couldn't she?  i'm guessing she probably already has a chinese housekeeper AND a mexican or two strutting around the grounds of her beverly hills mansion.  or at the very least, she could certainly buy a collie.  with her money, i'm thinking she could.........seems like a pretty foolish thing to tell people what constitutes a family these days, given our colorful sordid past..........don't you think?  ok, babe, go to sleep...............

the new arrival.....

godot has left the building...........i'm done waiting.........

it never came. i had a few thoughts, as i gave up on friday, after the mail arrived, in kind of this order...........

douche bag. thief. (petty thief at that, rip me off for $71.25...what ever happened to never steal anything small?). scumbag. crack head......indulge me on this one, i'm a bit bitter....hey, that's not so easy to say.....a bit bitter....try it 3 times fast). anyway, i grieved for about 10 minutes. (hey, this has been coming for 2 weeks, i'm over it). then i launched into what i like to think of as jersey city revenge.

i left feedback on the auction site.

oh, not just any feedback, like, he done me wrong, or bad transaction, thumbs down, type of thing. no,no, no. i announced to the world at large, to whomever shall find that site, that his name was jason bodle, he lives in williamsport, pa, he banks at the woodlands bank, and i put his entire bank account number,(which was on the back of my check, that schmuck), online,for all the world to see, with a note to all other would be scammers,(you know, honor among theives) and effectively said, hey guys, here's one for you for free. have fun with it. and then i quietly moved on...........

now i feel a little better.

so plan B...........

i began to shop again online for a used one, (for you latecomers, an apple ipod touch) and realized, after talking to my tech savvy roommate, that i'll pay 1/2 price for a used one, with again, no recourse, or i could buy a new one, for around, yipes, $300. so i shopped yesterday at the apple store, in the galleria mall, and played with the toy for like, an hour, and was immediately sure i was in. oddly enough, sometimes the universe kicks in with a little help. i don't know if you've seen these vending machines in big elegant department stores (not kmart, walmart, or sears, but more macy's, bloomingdales, and saks, that actually allow you to swipe your credit card, in a vending maching, (not unlike a candy machine, you know, where a kit kat bar, or a bag of cheese doodles falls down), but for $150. an ipod nano drops into your hands, or for $300 an ipod touch does. (and for years i've been saying, what kind of a fool would do that? ahem. the cheese, once again, stands alone. now the fates stepped in, and i had a huge credit on a gift card from macy's, and a gift certificate for the galleria mall, (which can be used at macy's) and so i put them all together, with a couple more bucks and i now own.... da... da da da.....(did that sound like a trumpet fanfare?), a new 32gb apple ipod touch toy. the big mamoo.

digress...........

you've read about my love of toys. (still ironing out the kinks in the logitech universal remote. 3 keys to go and i'm home!!!!!!!!!!!!). so i've been anticipating this for awhile, if you've followed these ramblings. but sometimes, your dreams exceed your expectations....you know? it happens. too much anticipation. but sometimes reality actually does exceed your dreams........and this is one of those moments.........

back........

this toy is....... (i have no word). amazing? futuristic? indescribable? fun? tricky? difficult? eye-opening? a learning experience? all of the above? not sure i can convey my excitement.

ok, i'm not going to do their commercial. that's their job.

but i suddenly feel, (and it's only day 2), that i'm holding the entire world in the palm of my hand. my email, my banking, my friends, family, music, movies, italian lessons, french lessons, gps system, photos, you tube, kindle, CNN, bill pay, the metropolitan opera, shopping, ebay, google earth, etc, and on and on. (in the words of julia sugarbaker from designing women,
i have been a big fool!) i should have had this thing years ago.

i've decided to re-read bram stoker's dracula, and lewis carrol's alice in wonderland. hey they're free books, and they're in my hand..........backlit......easy on the eyes........

ok, i won't go on and on. i have one, i'm happy, and i just wanted to update you on:

a) toy story is complete

b) the fool on the hill did indeed get ripped off, but it led me to much greener pastures, with a new one with the latest technology, (instead of a used one, which in the long run would have left me jealous) and

c) that godot is finally finished waiting. poor thing, waiting, since 1949

one more thing.........with the toy in my hand, i can see your house from here.

say cheese and smile..................

thoughts on a colonoscopy...part 2

6/27 wednesday morning............

5:30 am. i'm awake. i need to pee, but that's about it. my insides are completely empty. i can thump my stomach and hear an echo. (you know, like when you're in the grocery, picking a watermelon and it makes that sound?)

digress...........

i've been eating watermelon as long as i can remember. summers, in belmar, new jersey, since i'm 5 years old. it's been so long, that i actually remember watermelon when seeds were not an option. it had seeds. period. you ate the fruit, you spit. (unless of course you were educated at miss muff's academy, or the marcia blaine school for girls (a jean brodie reference). there, you held the pits in your mouth and slid them delicately on to the front tip of a teaspoon and laid them down on the edge of your plate, very ladylike, as you ate your melon with a knife and fork.) i actually knew people, mostly girls, who did that. in jersey city, we just spit them out. not only that, there were often contests involving the spitting. distance contests. (well, i said it was jersey city). i rarely won. i was more like the jean brodie girls, than the spitting boys. but we've covered that already.

for most of my life, picking out a melon has been a pig-in-a-poke kind of thing for me. i had no idea what a good melon vs. a bad melon was, picking one. it's a talent, a gift, or a farm knowledge thing, but we jersey city boys didn't get that gene. (certainly got the spit gene, but not the other). then, one day, about 8 years ago, i was in a produce store trying to decide, and an old black man was loading watermelons into the big bin in the center of the aisle for customers. (oh god, another cliche`. a black man and a watermelon. (a vietnamese guy that does nails. where does it end?). i swear, the old man wasn't tap dancing too, just moving the melons. sometimes the things you see in a normal day are funnier than the walmart people). so i stopped and i asked him to pick one for me. (i realize now, how completely politically incorrect that was, but it didn't dawn on me at the time, because he was, after all, an employee, and i needed help). so he picked one up and thumped it, set it down, picked up another, thumped it, set it down and so on, until one made a sound he liked and he handed it to me. curious was i, so i asked why this one? he put the melon in my right hand and balanced it, then he took my left wrist with his hand and smacked the melon with my open palm and we both heard a particular sound. he said, that sound is what you're looking for. just like that. that simple. and i've been an excellent melon picker ever since. (again, this is not all that important, like finding a cure for cancer, but it is one of life's little lessons along the way, and i'm very happy to have learned it.)

back.........

sorry, but that was a nice reminisce about the melons.

so there i was, empty, with a very hollow feeling at 5:30 am and my procedure was not until 7:30. what to do for 2 hours? well, obviously, EATING WAS OUT!!!!!, so i showered, husband roused and showered and we both shaved and he had coffee and toast as i glowered, staring at the food. (don't forget, at this point, it's been some 30 hours since i've eaten, save for the jello, broth, and of course the vodka). but i'm more nervous than hungry.

when we were ready, we headed out to the facility where, as i recall, they were all set to put a mile of black plastic tubing with a color camera and lights, where, as my mother used to say, the sun don't shine. (hence the need for the lights). ok, people, i'm trying to be delicate here.

so after appropriate paperwork, and insurance questions, they begin to prep me.

digress again............

at the time, i had really crappy insurance,if you'll pardon the expression. i had a $2500 deductible, like i carry that much cash around with me. so i asked the insurance nurse, how much is this procedure, and she said we bill the insurance company $2000. (which obviously is coming out of my pocket considering my deductible, and she adds, but it counts towards the $2500. oh goodie. lucky me.) but it's still 2 grand. so jersey city wise ass kicks in, and i ask, how much is it if i walk in off the street with no insurance at all and want my picture taken? her answer? $600, but it doesn't count towards the deductible. WTF??? so my choice is $2000. out of pocket, or $600. out of pocket. DUH!!! let me think a minute............

i flash my credit card, and a minute later i'm out $600. suddenly i feel like i want to say, husband look! i just saved $1400. but somehow it just doesn't feel right. so i hold my tongue. (and you wonder why the health insurance industry needs a little work.)

back............

so having taken care of the distasteful money part, they proceed to prep me. they give me a little oscar de la renta gown, you know, the kind that fastens in the back? or not? and the whole world gets a gander at my derriere, like i give a rat's ass, considering what they're about to do to my derriere? oh, the indignity of it all. and again, i'm not afraid of the procedure, only of what they might find. and i'm trying not to be too upset, ($600 gone, my ass catching a breeze, and i'm starving). but i've never done this, even though they've done it a million times, and i would have been scared shitless if i had any left, so i kind of go with the flow, even though flow has left the building sometime yesterday.

they put me on a gurney, and try to soothe me with just try to relax. yeah, that'll happen. next thing i know, they're putting a needle in my arm with a drip attached and they tell me, we're going in to the procedure room now, so just try to relax. count backwards from 100, and they turned on the drip. i have to add here, that i saw one drop fall, then another, and then i started counting backwards. i must say, i was hugely proud of myself. i started counting and almost made it to 98. i kind of nodded right after 99. (i don't think the drip was quaalude, because it no longer exists on earth, more's the pity), but whatever it was, i'm not complaining. (i wonder if anyone has ever made it to 97. guess i'll never know.)

in the end, so to speak, it all went very well, no problems, they found nothing, come on back in 10 years and we'll play again, thank you very much. that sort of thing. again, to quote tangina from poltergeist, this hole is clean. but the sad truth is, i remember nothing. they told me i'd have amnesia from the drugs, and i said HA!!, an old drug pro like me? amnesia? that only happens in the movies. well, the cheese stands alone, one more time, because i truly remember reaching 99 and not much after that. husband said i spoke to the doctor at length after i came out of the anesthesia and he related the procedure, the results and more, very enthusiastically. there were no issues, polyps, or scary stuff. and i remember nothing. nada. like i wasn't there. i called the doctor's office the next day and the nurses told me all over again. (god only knows what went on in that room, because i sure don't). wish i could tell you more, but hey, sorry. (i do, however, remember just simply loving that drug.... until i hit 99. very nice indeed.) can i get a to go cup, please?

that's about it. i'm due again in about 5 years and i have a checklist before i go next time.....

1. i'm going to try to make it to 97. (99 is for wimps.)

2. i'm going to ask husband to bring a recording device to the after party, so i can hear what the doctor actually says.

3. i'm going to have better insurance. (did that already....check).

4. i'm going to have a laptop for the night before, so that while i'm on the crapper i can share. (did that already too.........check).

so, if you haven't had this procedure, and you're over 50, you ought to. if you're over 55, you must. and if you're older than that, shame on you. you've read my experience. didn't sound so bad, did it?

hey, if i can do it, you can do it............

the preceding has been a public service message......brought to you by phillips milk of magnesia

smile please...................