The Whole Goodwill Toward Men Season Is Officially Over – Don’t Get Me Started!

  

That’s right, even before the bell knolls the midnight hour tonight, signifying the new year of 2007, I’m telling you that people have gone back to their nasty little selves earlier this year. They always talk about the sales for the holiday season and its impact on the economy but no one looks at the fact that despite the Christmas stuff has been in the stores since August, the feeling of the season seems to go away faster and faster every year. The whole goodwill toward men season is officially over – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

I made the decision to eat every crappy thing that I fancy before the end of the year. Not that there’s some wacko resolution in sight to only eat vegetables and tofu on the horizon but just the same I decided to splurge on take out food that was fried and salted to death. Sure I feel like crap after I eat it but if you don’t, where’s the fun in it? Anyway, I decided to go to Panda Express where they make food that I think has so many preservatives that it might be able to survive a nuclear holocaust. I noticed that a car pulled up just about the time I did and there they were, the perfect all American family, a Mom (wearing “Mom” jeans) a Dad (buzz cut and also wearing “Mom” jeans with a sweater tucked into his pants) and a teenage daughter (whose hair was something that the not cool kids wore in the 80’s, not sure if she had bad hair or a mother that thought it looked nice because that was the last time she had gotten her own hair done in a salon instead of using the economical and so effective Flowbee she got for Christmas 1999 that she still used to cut all their hair). So I get out of my car and begin to proceed to the door of the Panda when suddenly I can’t help notice it. The entire family is taking quick glances at me and then straight ahead. Now I’m a fast walker, everyone has always told me this and I don’t disagree, it comes from a place of impatience about life but it’s really just my regular pace. Well, the three little bears start power walking to get to the door before me like nobody’s business. I mean, they are practically running with the arms pumping at their sides. They look at me and then increase their speed again. I couldn’t help myself; I walked faster just to piss them off. Finally, they reached the door ahead of me and then had the nerve to look back at me with a kind of smirk that had a big “so there” written all over it. I so badly wanted to scream, “I wasn’t trying to win you idiots, I was just trying to help you get some of that extra fat off your caboose!”

 

Now these people are the people who definitely have a fish on the back of their car so it always cracks me up when I see these types get as nasty as a lesbian wrestler wrestling her current girlfriend’s ex. I mean they get downright mean. Once inside of course they don’t know what they want, they need the price of everything repeated at least twice and the wife with her frosted short do is in need of sampling everything as if they’re in a God Damned Baskin Robbins! “There are no pink spoons here bitch!” They were buying for what seemed like a family of fourteen, no doubt there were more of these white, white, whiter than white people at home. And as they left I could hear the guy behind me ask for “Mandaranian Chicken” (It’s really Mandarin but he added letters and pronounced it like Iranian was added to the end of the word) and I laughed in spite of myself.

 

I’m sure these people got into their reasonable car with the fish and the “My child is a student, blah, blah, blah” bumper sticker and went home to feed the family who were sitting there reading the bible and wearing their “holiday” sweaters with the snowmen on them. After dinner the father probably told his son it was time to take down those lights on the house as the women folk cleaned the dishes and began to take down the tree.

 

But here’s the deal, for all the going on of the Christians about wanting to be more Christ-like and/or all the forgiveness of other’s sins I just find it hysterical that just a few mere days after Christmas that the whole thing the season is supposed to be about has already been lost; discarded if you will. And why? Sure I’ve heard people say, “Oh if everyone could be the way they are at Christmas the whole year round it would be a better world” when really what they mean is that if everyone hid their real personalities all year then we could all seem as though we were living Stepford lives and wouldn’t that be nice? Well we all know that it wouldn’t (even from the recent horrible remake of the classic film). No, I say, be who you are all year round and don’t try to put the façade on once a year because you’re not fooling anyone. You can put a wreath on your car, a giant blow up snow globe on your lawn and even give to less fortunate but underneath it all you are is just jerks who feel your better than everyone and that can’t stand the fact that someone might get into the store before you. And so, until next year…the whole goodwill toward men season is officially over – Don’t Get Me Started!

  

More On The Death Of… - Don’t Get Me Started!

 

As the year comes to a close we’re bound to lose a few more notables. Doesn’t it seem as though so many people die around the holidays? (And I’m talking about the ones from natural causes at the moment, not at the hand of a relative who really didn’t want the Chia pet they got from their brother whom they’ve hated since they were six and he killed their hamster, Silas who happened to look a little like the Chia pet) No, I’m talking about the likes of James Brown and former President Ford at the moment. What got me was the day after the big announcement about Ford the anchor on the local news back east said, “And we’ll be right back with more on the death of former President Ford.” Does that make any sense to you? I can understand, “More on the life and presidency of…” I can even understand, “More on the legacy left by…” But “More on the death…” – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

I mean, come on, what more is there to tell? They hadn’t released the cause of the death, it was basically an announcement, he could have died three days ago but they liked the idea of a Christmas death for the announcement or something but other than that, how much more could there be to tell about the death of someone? What is the obsession we all have with the way we treat a public figure’s death anyway? There are all the days of talking about the person when no one has talked about them in years. Then there’s the logo that CNN and the other news channels create and as if the logo with the picture of him with the American flag seemingly coming out of the back of his head isn’t enough, no they have to have a theme song too. It’s like going to a grade school performance and having it over produced with a budget from a Broadway musical. I’m not saying we shouldn’t honor these people but come on, is it not a bit much? And what’s the deal with everyone “lying in state”? The former president I get but having James Brown laid out at The Apollo? Can anyone explain that one to me? (Yes, that was rhetorical because no matter how you explain it to me, it won’t make sense.)

 

Thank God, Judaism affords you one last piece of decency by demanding a closed casket. I know some do open caskets now but you can bet I’m going sealed in like Janitor In A Drum when I go! There’s no need for anyone to be looking at me after I’m gone. I’d rather have a life-sized air brushed cutout of myself that people can take pictures with any day. I remember the first funeral I went to that had an open casket. Now like I said, being Jewish and having gone to only funerals of other Jewish relatives I had never given a thought to the whole open casket thing. So when a friend’s mother died, I immediately went up to her at the church and she just happened to be standing next to the casket. Imagine my surprise when mid-hug I looked down and saw her mother? I mean, you can’t get out of seeing your first dead body, made and suited up like that without even flinching your body because your friend will know as she’s hugging you, but I managed to do just that and thank God. I was shocked, she didn’t look peaceful she didn’t look anything other than like a mannequin wearing the wrong shade of foundation – beyond creepy and no thank you.

 

The other thing about the public figure deaths is how everyone goes on and on about it. I had someone begging me to drive them to New York to see James Brown laid out, thank God I was leaving that day but I can’t even begin to imagine the whole scene let alone waiting your turn to file past a body that no longer has life in it. I remember when Princess Diana died and my mother was riveted to the television, for days she could talk of nothing else. And although my mother will kill me for writing this, my mother takes celebrity deaths to a whole other level. She’s one of those people who do everything including buying the souvenir program (People magazine’s special limited edition on whoever just died). She acts as if she knew these people personally. It’s gotten to the point where she’s not even satisfied to just talk about the most recent death. At Thanksgiving this year, we’re all sitting around and I can’t even remember what we were talking about when suddenly she comes out with this gem, “Can you believe it’s another Thanksgiving without John John Kennedy?” This is true and I’ll just let you bask in this comment with no further comment from me.

 

I get it that we all have to go at some point and that when you’re in the public’s daily life you get a little more than your fair share of hoopla when you go but am I being too much of a Pollyanna when I think that we should celebrate someone’s life during their life instead of after their death? It’s like the “honorary Oscar” you get when the Academy thinks you’re about to die. They don’t give it to you when you can enjoy it they give it to you when you have six months to live. It’s like the classic gag you used to be able to buy in the back of comic books, you know, the dollar on the string. You would put the dollar on the ground and then when someone goes to pick it up you yank the string and the dollar goes flying back to you. That’s how I see those Oscars, they have retractable cords on them and they’ll be back at the Academy in no time. So in the meantime I guess we have to be thankful that we have cable so that we don’t have to watch twenty-four hour coverage of funerals. (We can always switch over and watch Notting Hill for the eight hundredth time! Is this the only movie they play anymore?) And if we want we can always switch back to see the logo, hear the theme song and hear them say, “More on the death of…” – Don’t Get Me Started!

  

Why Do The Wrong People Travel, Travel, Travel, When The Right People Stay At Home? – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

The above is from a song that Elaine Stritch does in her one woman show from a Cole Porter musical she was in, Sail Away. It sums up my experience yesterday as one of the hoards of people traveling by air from one part of the country to the other. I know that I travel more than most (for work, not exotic locations) so I’m more used to the fact that you have no control over schedules, luggage or pretty much anything else these days once you’ve passed through the metal detector, they basically own you. But it boggles my mind that some people just don’t get the fact that no matter how big of an asshole they become it’s still not going to get them to Cleveland any faster. Why do the wrong people, travel, travel, travel, when the right people stay at home? – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

I’ll admit it, for this recent trip back east I went cheap. I had a free plane ticket on Southwest that was going to expire and I just decided to go for it. Now for those of you who don’t know, Southwest is what my guy calls the “bus” airline because there’s no assigned seating so you basically have to hope you get an “A” group boarding pass which will allow you to get in the plane with the first forty-five people and pick out a better seat than the “Bs” and “Cs” – make no mistake about it, it’s not like you’re going to get to jump into the first class seats because there is no first class. Now you can check-in online 24 hours in advance so everyone in the “As” has their boarding pass printed out from their computers while the “Bs” and “Cs” look to the A line in envy.

 

So of course having an “A” is not enough. No, you have to get to the airport early so that you can be in the front of the “A” line so that you’re ahead of the 44 other “As” in the line. You move from line to line and at the end of the day, Soylent Green is made from people. At any rate, I was in the A line before boarding the plane (an hour before the flight and I was still the fifth person in line) when they made the announcement that our flight was going to be delayed because it was the last flight out to Vegas and we were going to wait for three other planes to come in that were running late to try to accommodate the people who were transferring from the other planes. Immediately I smelled a rat, this could not be true, however, in light of all the begging I heard in BWI to get people to board, maybe they were really holding to get these people to their destination. Whatever, I knew we were delayed around a half an hour but then the next announcement came. There were 60 mph winds in Vegas so we were on a hold from the travel Nazis. Now I knew that we had a five hour flight ahead of us and by the time we got there the winds would have died down but no go, we were on a two-hour delay now.

 

As I stated before, once you’re at this point, they have you and can do whatever they hell they want. But oh no, immediately it had to start. The first one was a guy in a business suit rushing to the counter. A few minutes later we hear over the speaker, “And for those of you who have connecting flights from Vegas, we will be holding those flights there for you so that you can make your connections to your final destination.” Next to me I notice a woman, probably in her fifties with dyed black hair, looking like perhaps she could have played Rocky’s mother in the seven hundred Rocky movies. Much like the Peanuts character, “Pig Pen” she had an aura of cigarette smoke about her that was not confined to her clothes and when she would speak, although she wasn’t at that moment smoking a cigarette, you could almost see the smoke issuing from her black lungs through her mouth. “Ah, this is horrible – my son is taking a flight outta Newark and meeting me there, I can’t believe this is happening. This is ridiculous, they should do something.” I calmly tried to explain to her that it was a weather thing that people didn’t think about but due to the fact Vegas is in the desert it has high winds and can get very cold. “Huh, I knows that about the cold. I looked up the weather before I packed and it’s a good thing that I did cause I was going to pack all my summers clothes and then I saw it was going to be cold there.” <I don’t understand how people think they’re going to the Bahamas and that it’s always hot in Vegas, it’s not, as I’m writing this it’s freezing outside>

 

And so the heavy audible sighing continue as they tell people not to leave the gate area because if the Air Commandant says the winds are okay for us to leave we’ll leave before the two hour wait we’re on. Some people made pals with the other people in line, some kept looking at their watches and some were humane enough to allow the person next to them to run to the bathroom and save their place in line. One of my favorite announcements was when they got on the microphone and said, “Those of you on flight 2201 to Vegas, I just wanted to give you an update. There is no update at this time. So once again, if you’re traveling with us to Vegas tonight I repeat, we have no update on the delay at this time.” This of course, made me crazy. Don’t get on the mic to say there’s no fucking update. If you get on a mic at a gate at an airport, you’d better have an update or be doing Karaoke.

 

Finally we get on the plane and the flight attendants are mad at the delay and taking it out on us. The one flight attendant looked like the drawing of Marlo Thomas from “That Girl” don’t misunderstand me here, she didn’t look like Marlo Thomas, she looked like the cartoon, all you saw were eyes, big lined lips and a flip. The other two flight attendants were the white Weather Girls (for those of you not gay or living under a rock in the 70’s, The Weather Girls were two very large black women who brought the world the now classic disco/gay anthem “It’s Raining Men”) These two women were so “hippy” (and that’s me being polite) that they had two choices, they could either walk sideways down the aisle just a scoonching as they went along or they could walk the aisle and have their hips get caught on every arm rest. More than a million times they came through, their hips leaving a path of turned over drinks and destruction.

 

Upon arriving here in Vegas, the airport, being New Year’s Eve weekend is packed so tight you’d think that it was a mosh pit. Bad enough all these people are here but they also had all of the “Vegas Characters” from the different hotels to meet the planes. There were bad showgirls with feathers, too much makeup and you could tell they would never be a showgirl in a show, just in Bernard from Topeka’s fantasy after he called for a showgirl prostitute to come to his room. There was “Caesar” from Caesar’s Palace, freezing his thighs off in his short skirt and armor. And oddly missing was one of the many zillion Elvis impersonators.

 

Now baggage claim in Vegas can either take ten minutes or a good hour and a half. To use Vegas lingo, it’s a crap shoot. But people should understand that is why the slot machines are right there and that when you see these enormous oversized luggage carousels that it may just be an indication that it may take some time for your luggage to arrive. No, everyone jockeys for position closest to the conveyor belt – and here’s a tip – don’t let your fucking kids get closest to the luggage, there are real people who need to get their luggage and go and don’t want to sit and watch little Johnny put his grubby hands on every bag going by or practically lose a leg because he’s stepped on the thing, even though you told him not to and he is now screaming and circling with the luggage attached by his foot through the handles of a fake Fendi duffle bag.

 

So people start using their “I’m-talking-a-little-louder-so-everyone-can-hear-me” voice, “What the hell. I thought this town was about service, it’s been almost fifteen minutes and I don’t see our luggage. Marge, this is ridiculous, I don’t care that we’re going to be here for a week, I told you we could have carried everything on and you could have just rinsed out our undies in the sink each night to keep us fresh!” These people find themselves righteous and funny at the same time which is odd considering they don’t possess either of those qualities.

 

All in all, I’m just asking that those of you who don’t or do travel often to understand that you have no control in an airport setting so just take a Valium and relax. Think of the classic Doris Day song, “Que Sere Sere, whatever will be will be. The future’s not ours to see, Que Sera, Sera.” Load it into your Ipod and your head and you’ll see, it will help you. And as I am now on the other side of my travels (for about a week) I have to reflect, shake my head and wonder why do the wrong people, travel, travel, travel, when the right people stay at home? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Bless The Beasts And The Ugly Children – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

I am at this moment, sitting in the Baltimore/Washington airport. Surprisingly enough, things are rather calm and it doesn’t feel quite like I need to be Molly Brown keeping everyone’s morale up in the life boats from the Titanic. I have to say that it is amazing how much luggage everyone seems to have anymore. I remember years ago I was in the show, You Can’t Take It With You and an inside joke (and one that really didn’t make any sense) written under the title of my script was, “Yes you can, if you don’t have too much luggage!” Well, apparently these people never heard of this or the phrase, “travel lightly.” I mean I saw one guy who had four suitcases – what in God’s name must he have in there? I immediately was mostly concerned that he had to buy a new piece of luggage while he was here visiting because he received so many gifts and yes, I was more than a bit bitter when my thinking went in that direction. But that’s not what is getting me the most today at the airport. No, what’s getting me are all the ugly children I’ve encountered. I’m not talking in their behavior (for once) I’m talking what we used to call, “butt ugly” from babies to tweens. Geez! Well, all I can say is bless the beasts and the ugly children – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

I’m telling you right now, these kids are so ugly I can’t even imagine what the holiday photos must look like with these ugos. I mean what do the friends and relatives of the family say? You couldn’t even say about these kids, “Wow, that’s certainly a big head. Wait until he grows into that melon!” (Because after all, isn’t that what you say when YOU encounter a kid with a big head?) The parents look “unfortunate” at best. I don’t know if this is genetics, the part of the country or what really but they aren’t what you’d call lookers either. Could it be that I’m used to the tanned attractive west coast set? I don’t really think so. I’m thinking that I just happen to have hit “ugly day” at the airport. Where ugly flies free or something. Oh God, that would make me one of the uglies…must take a Xanax immediately!

 

The parents can certainly and should certainly do better – there are enough beauty products at Wal-Mart to make even the most unattractive soul look a little better but with the babies, unless you go to the drastic measures of a baby wig, you’re stuck with what you get and I’m here to tell you that it isn’t pretty. I know what you’re thinking and yes, I’m going to be quite comfortable in hell, can’t wait to get there as a matter of fact.

 

Here’s the other thing about being in this airport. Is every flight attendant and pilot bulimic? I’ve never seen such an array of crappy food in a one block radius. There’s nothing but fried, sauced up food at every turn unless you want to get really crazy and get a salad in a small cup from McDonald’s that you shake or something. Do the “crew” not eat in the terminals? Is there a lounge where they have all organic veggies at their disposal? I think not, and thus my theory, they’re all eating the same shit I just ate but the difference is that they are puking it up by the second “leg” of the trip. (It’s possible I’ll be doing the same, even though my flight is non-stop)

 

And while I’m here at the airport, I have never in my life heard such begging for people to get to their flights. Every few seconds you hear, “Mr. White, Mr. Jim White, will you please come to gate A4, we’re really wanting to take off to Oakland.” A few moments later you hear, “Jim? Jim White? We’re still waiting for you at A4, everyone else is on board and they really want to take off. Please come to the gate.” Another minute passes, “Come on Jim, we really need to get going, won’t you please help out by coming to the gate now?” Enough already, what are gate attendants your mother now? Leave Jim’s ass right here where it belongs and let those poor sons of bitches waiting to take off just take off.

 

On the whole I like airports. I get them, unlike life there are big signs telling you where to go, what to do, you have places to eat and if you get tired of carrying your shit you can pay someone a couple of dollars to do it for you or rent a cart. Oh if life were that simple and I could get someone to carry all my mental baggage. But alas, although the airport is less than crowded today (a few mere days before the big Vegas New Year’s Eve – shocking, no?) I can’t tell you how much I wish that everyone could just board when they’re supposed to, someone could help the crew to not be bulimic and finally that someone (are you listening God?) could help all these ugly children. Bless the beasts and the ugly children – Don’t Get Me Started!

The Dreaded Generic Gift – Don’t Get Me Started! Did you ever get a gift from someone and you got the feeling that it wasn’t as much a personal choice for you as it was something that they were in a store and said, “Hmmm, there’s something that would make a nice gift for someone, don’t know who but let’s get it in case someone drops by the house with a gift for us.” This is what I call the dreaded generic gift – Don’t Get Me Started! 

My mother is the queen of having so many of these “just in case” gifts that it boggles the mind. My parents live in Vegas too and almost every weekend one of the local casinos is giving away some 1200 piece tool kit the size of a credit card or something and without fail, my mother will get these gifts and say, “Well, it was a nice gift, just in case you need to give someone something.” Now originally this would not work because most of the items had the casino’s logo on them but now the casinos can’t be bothered to spend the time and money to have their logo put on them as they’re really just a ploy to get you in the building so that the pizza set with the cutter, four plates and a large serving platter that has the word, “pizza” in a zany font ends up costing you about $1,000 instead of being free. Now all of this is well and good I suppose as long as you’re giving these “presents” to someone who is either out of state or who doesn’t know any better but these are not exactly the gifts I’m talking about. My mother’s new classic line about these items is, “And yes, Mr. Smart Ass, I checked, there’s no logo on it.”  

Now when I come back east once a year to spend Christmas with my guy and his family we visit people we used to hang around with while I’m here. Long ago I proclaimed, “I am the gift!” Because if you think I’m flying across country with a suitcase filled with gifts for everyone you’re out of your mind. (Terrorism helped this because now I can always say, “Well, I didn’t know what I would be allowed to take on the plane with me. You know, (said in a stage whisper) the terrorists (normal voice) and all. Plus, honestly and are you listening people? I just want to see the people and I don’t want them to get me a gift (especially one I’m going to have to shlep back with me on the plane).  

But invariably, I’ll get to someone’s house and after the initial meet and greet, here it comes, something from under the tree for Michael and me. Know I appreciate that people want to give me something but don’t give me a set of fragile wine glasses when you know I have to carry them on the plane with me or worse spend a fortune to get them packed and shipped. Plus, you’ve never been to my house so you have no idea if they go with anything I own. But even these are somewhat acceptable, what I hate are the gifts that could go to anyone in the world that you don’t even know. You know which ones I’m talking about. They look nice enough, the Pottery Barn pre-wrapped them so nicely but I don’t need a damn photo cube that you can record a message on and it has a clock. Who the hell ever needs this and why would anyone think that anyone would need or want an item the likes of this type of thing?

No, these are generic gifts, the ones the retailers will lead you to believe are perfect for that person on your list that is “difficult to buy for” let me go out on a limb here and say the only people difficult to buy for are the people you don’t know. I stand by this statement while others get so bent out of shape about it. If you know anything about someone, even the smallest thing, like they drink Starbucks every morning, you know what to get them. So don’t hide behind the whole, “Oooh, we didn’t know what to get you so we got you this and hope you like it but you can take it back but you have to understand that you’re just so difficult to buy for.” No, as a matter of fact, I’m not difficult to buy for you just don’t know me so please don’t embarrass both of us with the Anna Lee Christmas figurine I wouldn’t ever want or use even if I wasn’t Jewish!
More over, I would much rather have nothing than be forced to act excited over receiving a vase in the shape of a cat or some God awful thing.  

When I was a kid I can remember that we would buy gifts for another kid in our class as part of a Secret Santa thing and I also remember that if you had no idea what to get them you’d get them the famous holiday book of Life Savers. Remember those? I used to think these were the perfect generic gift because who doesn’t like Life Savers and if you don’t like one flavor, there are enough rolls in the pack so you don’t feel slighted if there are only three out of the six rolls you like to eat. Now you can’t even do this because you don’t know if someone has diabetes or is Life Saver intolerant. So the food gifts are out too.  

I know a lot of you are saying, “Christmas has been over for two days, why is he bitching about this now?” Why? Because I’m still in Delaware until tomorrow, running to meet up with old pals and when I honestly would prefer to just spend time with them, I always end up cringing thinking to myself, “How in the hell am I going to get this cordial set home with me? And who the hell am I going to pawn this off on because I don’t drink cordials and no one I know drinks cordials. Geez, what a horrible gift, I wish they hadn’t gotten me anything, honestly, I wish they hadn’t.” So what you should have learned from this is that not giving a gift is better than the dreaded generic gift – Don’t Get Me Started!

The Pork Festival – Don’t Get Me Started! 

Although my family is Jewish we were never Kosher. Almost every Sunday you could hear and smell my father frying bacon in a pan. We all love bacon and various other pork products but never in my life had I experienced so many pork products under one roof until I spent my first Christmas with Michael’s family. Thus, the Christmas breakfast would be labeled, The Pork Festival – Don’t Get Me Started! 

Michael had been around my family more than I had been around his, at the time. I never really thought about how a six foot black man must feel around a bunch of Jews who barely reached to 5’5”. But that first Christmas morning I walked into Michael’s parents and discovered I was one of only two white faces in the crowd and shorter than everyone but the kids. I’d never been in this situation before plus you have the job of trying to remember everyone’s name and get them to like you all at once. It was a daunting task. 

It was time for breakfast and I thought, “Well here’s something that will be easy and I won’t have to make conversation because it’s impolite to eat with your mouth full.” As the serving plates were handed around, I took some eggs, some bacon, some potatoes, a sausage patty but then it started, food I had no idea what it was…”Hmmm, this looks like a kielbasa with some peppers and onions, okay, and this, oh dear God, what the hell is this next?” I had never had that smell in my nose before and suddenly everyone seemed to be looking my direction to see what I was going to do with this plate of odd looking (and smelling) stuff. I passed on it and the table erupted in laughter. They called them “chitterlings” and to this day, I still don’t want to know what they are, where they come from on the pig and/or why they eat them. I have to say that not everyone at the breakfast partakes in these things. 

My mother’s family had a slaughterhouse but that was before I was born, and my father was raised on a farm so he’s told me stories but until you come face to face with every part of a pig in new formats, you just don’t get it. I felt a little intimidated by all the pork, I still do! 

It’s been years since that first Christmas at Michael’s folks but every year someone remarks (usually me) about how many pork products there are on the table at Christmas breakfast. If you go to a Jewish celebration, you may see things to eat that you don’t know about but they almost all come from a chicken, a potato or matzoh. We don’t get all that exotic nor do we use parts of animals you can’t easily recognize. So let this be a cautionary tale to those who venture to other families on holidays; you just never know what traditions and food you’re going to be exposed to when you’re not in your natural habitat. I guess some people think it’s fun to experience other cultures but in most cases I’m thinking, “What I wouldn’t give for a potato latke or some chicken soup!” So eat what you know or can recognize and beware of parts of animals you can’t explain like the dishes at The Pork Festival – Don’t Get Me Started!

‘Twas the day before Christmas
And all through my mind,
Danced a “Don’t Start Me” blog
That was written in rhyme. 

The presents still unwrapped,
There was so much to do,
‘Til I stopped and I thought,“What the fuck? I’m a Jew!” 

My hat’s off to Christians
Shopping this day on a tear
“Jimmy’s bound to love the shoe horn”
Oh right, would you care? 

Don’t make me sip egg nog
Or for me fruit cake slice
We Jews know what to eat
And can get it half price! 

And you’ll hear me exclaim,
Being more than polite,
Merry Christmas To All
What time’s my Vegas flight?!

DelaWHERE? – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

There are several reasons you should know where Delaware is, it was the first state, its motto is “The Small Wonder”, it’s where my father was born and it’s where I am right now to spend Christmas with my man and his family. DelaWHERE? – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

Now before we begin children, you need to know that I used to come to Delaware every summer with my brother to stay with our grandparents. When my parents moved back here after living in Arizona for my formative years to take care of my grandparents, I came back for a visit and stayed. Stayed for over eleven years due to the fact that I found something I wouldn’t have found anywhere else, a six foot black man who took my heart away. The good news is that my parents and my guy and I now live in Las Vegas but once a year, I make the trip to spend Christmas with my guy and his family. And so it would come to pass that this is where I am now, God help me.

 

The thing about Delaware that I was aware of when I lived here for eleven years is that these people don’t get out much. Now don’t worry your little heads that I’m going to be slamming Delaware for no reason, I have reasons. This is the land of people who are very conservative and have little to no interest in really seeing the world. As my grandmother who lived here used to say when my parents wanted to take her to Hawaii or somewhere, “I didn’t lose nothing there.” The implication of course, if you didn’t lose something somewhere there was no reason to leave home. That’s pretty much (yes, here comes the major generalization) how I’ve found the rest of the populace here.

 

These are people who shop at Talbots and think that a red scarf is, “daring”. If it doesn’t have ducks on it or come from L.L. Bean they don’t know about it and amazingly enough they don’t want to know about it. I knew I was back in Delaware when I was in my first store and some woman was talking about being “hoome” – now you need to get this accent down, you have to say the “o” in the word home, like you’re pronouncing the letter itself. So there’s an “o” in the middle of the word, “home”. And believe me when I say, they stare at me.

 

A lot of people would say that I’m imagining this but I can assure you that I’m not. I may as well have green hair or something. I remember one of my favorite stories about my parents was when my mother first met my Dad’s family. True, my father’s family lives in what we lovingly call, “lower-slower Delaware” but even northern Delaware possesses these swell qualities. Apparently someone from my father’s family said, “What’s that girl got on her eyes?” It was eye shadow. Now that was the 1950’s but little has changed. Sure there are homosexuals here and it’s not like I’m wearing a “pride” t-shirt but for some reason they can tell that I’m not one of them. This used to bother me when I lived here but now, I LOVE it. They don’t know what to do with me or how to get rid of me fast enough.

 

God help homosexuals or anyone a little different here in Delaware, it can’t be easy. See, I didn’t really care about it when I lived here because soon after I got here I met my guy and it’s been eighteen years now so something went very right. I cannot even begin to imagine going to the one gay bar here looking to meet either Mr. Right or even Mr. Right Now. So my hat and is off to the people living and loving here.

 

Here’s the disclaimer, I don’t care if you don’t like gays, Jews, etc. that’s just fine but these people have no sense of the art of subtly. They do everything but point. Their mouths drop open and they whisper to one another behind the corduroy collars of their big puffy down dark green coats and meanwhile it’s them that need the help.

 

One of my favorite things is the Delawareans who feel as though they’ve really evolved. They drive their Lexus SUV, clutch their Coach handbags and shop at the mall. What I don’t get is who told these people that they were so much better than everyone else? No one, that’s who, my theory is that they are so afraid of anyone or anything being different that they have to kill it, make fun of it or ignore it. They don’t want, God forbid, to be have anything throw them off their game. They’ve created a corner of the world that is a small town without being a small town and they don’t want anything to rock the boat. (Say it with the “o” sound, please)

 

So here I am for the next week and let’s hope I can make it through. The good news is that I found a little take out place that has WiFi and to completely send my point home, here’s what happened when I got to this little restaurant to write this blog.

Me: You have WiFi here right?

Girl Behind Counter: What?

Me: WiFi, you know a network for computers?
Girl Behind Counter: Oh, you mean the wireless thing? I don’t know what that is you said but we do have wireless here.

Point, Case, Made! DelaWHERE? – Don’t Get Me Started!

When Bad Things Happen Around The Holidays – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

Okay, we’ve all heard it or had it happen to us. Something really shitty happens and someone says, “Oh, why did it have to happen around the holidays?” Well I’m here to tell you that shitty things happen everyday and it doesn’t matter if it’s around the holidays or not, there are just shitty things happening in your life and they don’t care about the holidays. For example, this week my best friend’s mother went into the hospital and had to have major surgery so she won’t be out by Christmas. My computer has died and I have no idea whether or not I’ll be able to get the information I’ve been saving to its hard drive for the past two years. That’s right all my classic Don’t Get Me Started blogs and everything else in my life may be gone forever. The list of shitty things going on with me at the moment are too endless to list here for all of you. When bad things happen around the holidays – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

You see what I think life is really doing for us when shitty things happen around the holidays is giving us something to focus on that will take our mind off of having to go to an airport, travel, see a million people in a few days and try to get along with our fellow man when we really don’t want to at all. As well as the pressure to figure out what to get our loved ones so that they will not open our gifts and immediately think, “How much do you think I can get for this if I return it? Ooh wait, there’s that party at Tom’s this week and I’m supposed to bring a gag gift, this will do for sure.” I think that when the “bottom drops out” around the holidays, it’s sort of a blessing in disguise. You can say, “Oh, I didn’t get a chance to shop or make the usual sugar cookies because my cat has an ingrown nail and I’ve been at the vet all week. You can’t imagine what I’ve been through.” Even the slightest shitty thing is bound to get you out of a few things that you really didn’t want to do during the holidays. The best is that you can always end any excuse with the now classic phrase, “And of course, it had to happen over the holidays!” Everyone will simply bow their heads and do a slight shake signifying that they understand how awful it must be for you to have some sort of inconvenience happen to you at the most inconceivable time, “the holidays”.

 

The thing is that it doesn’t matter what time of year it is when something awful happens that makes your life stop, making you have to focus on something that you didn’t ever want to think about to begin with in the first place. But I tend to believe all of the clichés – everything happens for a reason, life doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle, that which does not kill us makes us stronger and finally, don’t take any wooden nickels.

 

So believe me when I say that I have great sympathy for anyone who is going through some rough stuff but it doesn’t heighten it or make it worse because it’s the holiday. It’s an awful thing to have a loved one in the hospital, to have a computer crash or a number of other things go wrong at any time in your life but that’s what life is really all about, isn’t it?

 

So stay safe, take your vitamins and may you not have anything go wrong during this holiday season but if something shitty should happen, remember that you can always use it as an excuse for not baking or shopping and that will certainly help to make your holiday a little brighter. Remember that sometimes when bad things happen, life is telling us something (usually, it’s telling you that now you won’t be able to make that horrible mistake of buying that fuchsia pashmina for your sister-in-law). And if that’s what happens when bad things happen around the holidays – Don’t Get Me Started!

The great thing about being Jewish and in love with a Catholic is that you know where you're going to spend every holiday.

Let Them Have Christmas - Don't Get Me Started!

And when they show the crazy airports in the news know that somewhere I'm struggling through it too, thinking to myself, "What's a nice Jewish boy doing traveling this close to Christmas?!? Oy vey!!!"

Miss U.S.Alright, Okay Enough Already – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

I suppose you’ve all heard by now that Miss U.S.A., Tara Conner is going to rehab instead of giving up the tiara, courtesy the pageant’s major contributor Donald Trump (who knows so much about beauty with that hair, please). Now like almost every other person in the world, I didn’t even know about this year’s Miss U.S.A. until she was on Project Runway. She seemed like your standard fare when she was on Runway (although I really thought that she chose the wrong dress, even though I liked Kayne’s stuff on the whole – if you want to relive any of Runway check out the Runway page on my site - http://www.somelikeitscott.com/somelikerunway.html). Anyway, the past few days have been filled with this young girl from Kentucky that we never really cared about and I say, “Miss U.S.Alright, okay enough already – Don’t Get Me Started!”

 

The stories go that the evil “big city” took her in and spit her out (or she was “spitting out a little Miss Teen U.S.A.). She was drinking before she was of age (anyone besides me remember the pictures of Drew Barrymore at 13 wasted at every club in LA now that was something to be appalled about!) and she was caught “making out” with Miss Teen U.S.A. who she shared an apartment with in New York courtesy of the pageant. Now the real question is, “What is Miss Teen doing sharing an apartment in New York without a real chaperone?” Who cares about Miss U.S.A.’s crazy activities? Is she really a role model? And if you say that she is I beg to differ with you because how can any pageant winner be a true role model without a talent portion to the competition? That’s where all the substance is, oh no, I know some of you are saying that it’s in the “super suit” swim suit and the white pumps but I beg to differ. It’s all about the jazz dancing, bad opera singing and classical instrument playing for me.

 

So yesterday morning on the Today show they had four ex-Miss U.S.A.s on to discuss the pageant, the current Miss U.S.A.’s behavior and reaction to the fact that she was staying. Their legs were crossed so tight I’m convinced they constricted the blood flow to their brains (if there was ever any evidence that they had any). First of all, is it required that you have to have a southern accent when you’re in a pageant? One talked about how great pageant life was and one was so busy telling us she was on a game show chasing the tail of Vanna White that they were of little to no help or harm. When asked about whether or not Miss U.S.A. and Miss America in this day and age could still be considered role models for young girls, the juice really started. One of them started wrinkling her nose and said, “Um, you know, I hate it when people compare Miss America and the Miss U.S.A. pageant, they are totally different. I mean, in Miss U.S.A. you can flirt and you know, it celebrates young women being young women.” Okay, once again I have to say, Miss U.S.A. has no talent portion to the competition! Oh yes, being able to flirt is sooo much more important than dancing on pointe, I think not.

 

As someone who is friends with a former Miss America contestant (yes, her local pageant people “bedazzled” everything she owned within an inch of her life) I can tell you from going to all the state preliminaries and one of the actual preliminaries when the pageant was in Atlantic City (where it belongs even though I live in Vegas where the pageant resides now) that the Miss America gals bust their ass, not only on their talent portion but really doing good deeds (and working out). Furthermore, it is a pageant that awards scholarship money. I’m sure they get an apartment and a lot of the stuff that Miss U.S.A. gets but I remember another friend who wasn’t good enough to get into Miss America (she had managed to lose every local pageant) who was granted immediate access into Miss U.S.A. without even going to one pageant.

 

But I guess what really pisses me off is when people compare the recent Miss U.S.A. scandal to the big scandal of former Miss America Vanessa Williams. Vanessa Williams was in compromising photos, she was not going around town doing a poor Britney Spears or Paris Hilton impersonation nightly. And what saved her everyone? I’ll tell you what saved her, she had a little thing I like to call, talent. And where did she showcase that talent but on Miss America and not Miss U.S.A.! So don’t cry for me, Tara Conner and give me your apologies, I don’t care enough about you. (And it’s not just because you lost Miss Universe wearing that shit colored dress Kayne made you) No one really cares about Miss U.S.A. or Miss America if you go by the ratings but I think Donald Trump knows a lot about ratings and I think that’s why the big press conference and national apology. So I hope that little Tara gets the help she needs, gets off the hooch and stops making every straight man’s fantasies come true by smooching on Miss Teen U.S.A. but more importantly, Miss U.S.Alright, okay enough already – Don’t Get Me Started!

  

Back Your Ass Up! – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

My brother, who is a VP of Information Technology for a major pet retailer, is always saying, “You should back up your computer.” Sure, the whole backing up thing made sense to me and I always meant to do it but it never happened. And then on Saturday while making copies of the holiday DVD for my guy’s family of last year’s Christmas as a gift for this Christmas, my computer started acting strange so I decided to do what every IT person will tell you to do, I rebooted. The only problem was that in that quick decision to reboot my computer I had no idea that I would change my life. When I walked back into the office room in my home, there it was, what my IT guys at work had told me about when it happened to my old work laptop, it was <dun, dun, dun> the blue screen of death. The screen was completely blue with a lot of text on it that basically translated to, “Your computer is dead, that’s right, it’s only two years old but it has ceased to exist and in its death it has taken everything vital you’ve ever thought or had information on. Goodbye cruel computer owner.” So what I’m telling all of you is back your ass up! – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

Now I have always prided myself on being bi-techual so I figured I could figure this out. At first I rebooted again – blue screen o’ death. Then I decided to try to start the computer in “safe mode” – just as I thought that it was going to start and it was all going to be okay, there it was – blue death screen. And right about then is when the panic started to set in. That feeling of dread that can only be caused by a computer with your life in it shutting its doors forever like the sarcophagus of King Tut or your car stopping in the middle of an intersection, dead. In my family, this is what we call “automotive mode” because whenever a car stopped working my father would enter this zone of complete utter devastation and constant thought about the car until it was up and running again. He could be on fire but would never know it because he was thinking, “if only I could go to the junkyard and get some parts, I know I could make it work.” Devastation, depression and general malaise follow in automotive mode and I was headed there very quickly.

 

I own a Dell so I called their support line and after forty-five minutes on hold I got someone named Dan who had such a thick Indian accent that I know that this was a name he just made up to make us Westerners feel better that we were talking to someone in another country when it came to a product we thought was made and supported in the good old US of A. I put all my hopes on Dan and his ability to fix this with a few, “hold down the ctrl key and hit the F1 key, etc.” After hitting a bunch of different buttons, I’m a little ashamed to say that I had to keep asking him to repeat what he was saying because I couldn’t understand with his accent. We kept saying to one another, “Now that is “f” as in Frank, right?” I felt like I was landing a plane or something, “Roger, C as in Charlie, D as in Dogfight, Alt and the letter S as in slit my wrists.” Finally it was time to reboot the computer. I heard myself saying to myself, “This is going to work, Scott, remain calm.” And then, there it was…ask not who the blue screen knolls for, it knolls for thee. Then Dan said those fateful words, “Okay now we’re going to reformat your hard drive. You have it all backed up, right?” Suddenly Dan seemed like a first date that you tell, “I love you” within the first three minutes and all he wants to do is get away from you. Much like the date scenario, Dan began giving me all sorts of advice about getting someone else locally to pull the data off of the computer and then trying to get back to him. He couldn’t give me a direct number but he could give me his voicemail number and then he would call me back. Yeah, right.

 

I called several computer places and they were more than willing to come to my house (because let’s face it, Carl the Computer Guy has no store or anything) and try to pull the data off, it would cost a fortune, was a one hour minimum and they didn’t know how long it would take to get all the information off of the computer, if they could, probably about three hours or so. And most of them told me that the hard drive was probably toast and would need to be replaced as well.

 

And so it came to pass that I threw myself on the mercy of my brother. I figure acknowledging that I never backed up the computer was the first step in the healing. Thanks to UPS and around $60, my computer is now on its way to my brother and I will say silent prayers that he can not only get the information off of it but that he can breathe life into it. “Life, life, give my computer life!” <If you haven’t seen Young Frankenstein see it immediately> However, how could I leave all of you without my Don’t Get Me Started blogs, I couldn’t so where there’s a will, there’s a way to bitch! But let this cautionary tale be more than a fairy’s tale to you. And whatever you do, for God’s sake, back your ass up! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Where Is Jesus? – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

Okay, I have a lot to do before Thursday when I leave to go back east to spend Christmas with my guy and his family. I mean, a lot to do and I have to work Monday through Wednesday so I’m looking at a week of trying to get everything I’ve put off or didn’t put off to get done at the last minute and then settling for what I end up actually getting accomplished. To be honest, I don’t even want to think about it at this point. However, I did come across an idea that would really help me out. See, I was thinking if Jesus came back say this morning, most likely the world would be crazed and I wouldn’t have to work the rest of the week therefore I could get a lot done. So now that I need him I have to know. Where is Jesus? – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

Now just hear me out on this one. There’s no need for him to make a big show out of it or anything and come back on his birthday, besides, by then I will have done everything I need to do. No, I need him to come back now. I need him today. Just think how everyone would be like, “Oh my God, did you see Jesus on with Matt and Meredith today? He looks great.” My thought is that with all Christians running around trying to find out where Jesus is at the moment and what he’s doing, they’ll forget about shopping and stuff which will make the stores less crowded, out of respect I won’t go to work and my flight will be less crowded because a lot of people just might see the big “J” coming back as a sign of the end of the world. As far as I see it, it’s win-win for everyone, Christians and Jews alike.

 

All the obvious reasons apply as far as the Christians go for wanting him back and maybe just maybe he’ll be able to sort out how there can be so many different kinds of Christians helping to heal their own community. As far as the Jews go, you know we’ll want Barbara Walters to interview him, “So Jesus, do you mind if I call you Jesus? What’s all this water to wine business? Could you give us all an example of it right now? You know our next segment is with Martha Stewart and she says a deep Merlot goes great for the season and matches the cranberry wreath, so I don’t know if you can be as specific as all that but is it possible to make a nice Merlot? I’ve got some Evian right here so at least you know you’re starting with a quality water.”  

 

I would love it. I’d especially love for him to go on every one of those television evangelist shows and just say, “No, I really didn’t mean that and furthermore I don’t remember talking to you personally. Hey everyone, I’m sorry to say that all the money you’ve been sending in has been going to his mistress, his gay lover and his methadone habit. No, I’ve never talked with this guy and from what I’ve seen him do, I don’t WANT to talk to this guy. Keep your money, use it to pay your gas bill and I’m just assuming that this will be this guy’s last broadcast. Look for my new show, Jesus and Friends (sort of a variety show like Carol Burnett yes, we’ve hire Bob Mackie to do all the costumes and expect some crazier magic than that Mindfreak show) starting next Sunday in this time slot.”  Come on, how great would that be, huh?

 

Of course there would be skeptics who would challenge him on Jesus Factor, “Okay you have one chance to walk on the water to be able to go on to winning the $50,000.” The possibilities are endless, think about it, The Bachelor Bethlehem featuring Jesus. There are a million more where that came from in my head but I can’t give them all away because I’m hoping to be in a development deal with Jesus and Lifetime. But getting back to the main reason why it’s such a good idea for him to come back right now, besides the obvious selfish ones I listed before it would also do a lot of people good to be able to see him and remember the reason for the season, don’t you think? So, keep your eyes peeled and keeping checking the CNN crawl at the bottom of the screen and maybe if we all clap our hands hard enough proving that we do believe in Jesus he’ll come – you know, just like keeping Tinkerbell alive with applause. Where is Jesus? – Don’t Get Me Started!   

Bite This! – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

Now I know that we all worry about the fact that the holidays are upon us and that we’re going to be eating to excess many things that we shouldn’t even be eating in the first place. So naturally the diet industry is filling every channel with tips and tricks to make it through the holiday season without looking like Violet from Willy Wonka (who turned into the largest blueberry in recorded history) and had to be “juiced” by the Oompah Loompahs. In addition, many of the cable channels have been offering their advice as well in between commercials. Well, last night I heard one that made me just lose it. The fitness and diet expert (who of course weighed 3 pounds) was giving advice and then she did it, she said, “I understand that it’s the holidays and you shouldn’t deprive yourself. What you should do is have one bite of whatever it is you want to eat, so you won’t feel deprived, one bite or two at the most.” How this bitch could say this with a straight face is beyond me. Bite This! – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

Now the problem with this woman’s suggestion is that it is steeped in about as much reality as Violet and the Oompah Loompahs. As someone who can do without desserts (once he has deprived himself and had the sugar DTs for about two days) let me tell you that even one small taste and it’s all over. It’s unrealistic to believe that anyone could just take one bite of chocolate cake, smack their lips like my cats when they eat and then walk away. Who this woman is I don’t know but I’m sure she makes a huge living giving out advice like this to people who are overweight and/or think they are overweight. This advice is ridiculous. I especially loved her “helper” on the show who was a small woman too and she would stand behind the “expert” with her plate of cake and the one forkful she was going to revel in. The expert (without looking behind her said), “Melinda, did you only have one bite?” The woman didn’t answer, she just nodded her head. Now if I were that expert and I didn’t hear a real response I would assume that Melinda was now about six forkfuls in. But the expert seemed confident her charge was doing the right thing. (Personally I think it’s because they would have to pay Melinda more money if she spoke on camera so we just hired to eat and not be heard)

 

There’s another commercial on here in Vegas right now for a doctor who has developed a revolutionary weight loss system. The commercial starts with the typical camera zooming around the world’s largest buffet made entirely of cinnamon buns, doughnuts and other assorted crappy food. The female announcer’s voice over goes something like, “Ho, ho, oh, all that food this holiday season. Some people put on up to ten pounds during this season but that doesn’t have to be you. Our revolutionary weight loss system will get you ready for bikini season early.” Now as the camera is still zooming around the food like a helicopter ride through the Grand Canyon, up pops the doctor in the right hand corner looking a little like picture in picture and as if the big glazed honey bun that is over is head is about to land on him and crush him to death in a gooey, sensational mess. He talks about how it’s easier to lose weight with a friend and if you get someone else to sign up with you then your first month is free – great way to sucker in your friends to go on a diet and get a discount for yourself. Now here’s the deal. The doctor, who is about ten inches tall on my television, is fat. That’s right, here he is talking about this revolutionary program and he’s got a 56 inch waist. He ends the commercial by saying, “And this holiday season, let the pounds go on someone else’s hips not yours! Call Today!” Never mind that this is hardly in the holiday spirit of things, giving the gift of poundage but I have to say it, physician, HEAL THYSELF!

 

This is the same reason I won’t go to a trainer that is fat. If the trainer is fat, how can they know anything about how I should train to look my best? Shouldn’t your trainer be what you aspire to look like when you become your own finished product? Yet there are a ton of these meat head guys walking around with the “trainer” shirts on who shouldn’t ought to be. Of course maybe I’m wrong maybe they just train people for those eating contests or something.

 

I get the idea behind portion control mentally, but physically I’ll eat all of anything that is in front of me. And please don’t put me at a party where all the food is laid out on a table buffet style. I’ll stand at the table and just graze until you no longer have to mow the back forty (or clean the dining room table as it were). I will chip and onion dip my way into a coma.   

 

I do appreciate that the diet industry is trying to help out obese America with putting tips on television in between us finding out that you can make almost anything with a Pillsbury Grands muffin from pizza to a homemade Cinnabon (and wouldn’t you have loved to have been in on that testing). But here’s the deal, come at us with some real tips that will help us. Not eat one bite. No one is going to eat one bite unless they are Nicole Richie who really doesn’t eat at all. I think they hook her up to an intravenous once a day and give her some sugar water and that’s about it. No wonder she got stopped for drunk driving, all she has to do with her body weight is have a thimble full of booze and she’s more of a drunk than Otis from the old Andy Griffith show! Honestly, looking at Nicole Richie is like watching Karen Carpenter, without the talent. But I digress and offend. I’ll do my best to keep going to the gym during my holiday travels and I’ll do my best to eat responsibly. But I always think of my guy when he asks for a bite of what I’m eating and likes it. He’ll say, “May I have most of that?” That’s how I feel about the food at holidays and if fitness gurus on television don’t like it, they can Bite This! – Don’t Get Me Started!

  

If You Have Children, Please Parent Responsibly – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

Here’s the disclaimer, I like kids, I really do, I was one myself once and I often still act like one. I think they’re great but the people that annoy me are the parents. Why oh why do some parents assume that because there’s no discipline or rules in their home that this is the way the rest of the world was created too? Didn’t these “parents” go to school and have to follow rules? Don’t some of these “parents” have jobs where they must follow rules of conduct? Or is it that there are too many rules everywhere else so when it comes to their brand of parenting, it’s suddenly a production number that was cut from Anything Goes? If you have children, please parent responsibly – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

I thought I timed it right. I thought I would be safe. I went to the grocery store at around 4:00pm today thinking I’d make it before all the ladies with suits on and tennis shoes would be “picking up” dinner or items to make a meal for their family (yes, professional women everywhere have now instantly been outraged). Well, on that score I was pretty successful. On first glance there were just a few older people milling about the aisles and me. Now let me say that I am someone who does not stop to read the labels of life, if I’m in a supermarket, I’m there to get food and try to talk myself out of the candy bar that is on sale at the moment at the checkout (unsuccessful on the candy bar, by the way – a Take 5 – chocolate, pretzel pieces, caramel and a million calories I’ll never have a chance of burning off). And so it would come to pass that I went down the cereal aisle because yes, I needed to buy more oatmeal to try to lower my cholesterol so that I don’t become a solid.

 

The minute I got into the aisle I saw them, two boys I’d say around eight and ten. A little pushing and a little shoving let me know in an instant that these two were brothers. (I recognized it immediately having one brother myself) The older one shouts at his mother, “Hey Ma, can we get some Captain Crunch?” The mother, very far down the aisle from her children (who are standing next to her cart) says, “No, we have cereal at home.” The older of the boys grabs a box from the shelf (be warned, this is why grocers put the kids’ cereal on bottom shelves) and goes running to his mother, who in the meantime has started talking on her cell phone. “This kind, Ma, this is the kind that we should get…can’t we have this kind?” The mother barely glances at her child and then says in a whisper as if the person on the other end of her phone can’t hear, “Put it back.”  The boy goes running back to his younger brother and their cart where he got the box. Meanwhile, a woman is pushing her cart down the aisle and stops because the boys and their cart are in her way. After putting the box back on the shelf the older brother tackles his younger brother and starts to wrestle with him, knocking into the woman’s cart. The woman says, “You boys shouldn’t be playing in the aisles. May I please get past you?” The mother, still on the cell phone comes stomping down the aisle, I was sure she was going to say something to her children who were still wrestling on the floor but oh no, she opens a mouth to the woman just trying to pass with her cart, “What did you say to my children?” The woman calmly repeated what she said and the mother says, “Look bitch, you shouldn’t tell other people’s children what to do.” The boys are looking up at their mother with a look of triumph, the mother goes back to her phone conversation and the woman after a look of disbelief finally gets past the boys, their mother and their cart.

 

I guess you get what I’m going to say before I even say it. I don’t care what you do with your children when you’re at home, that is your business. But out in the world there is a thing called, “other people” and they don’t want to tell you how to raise your children they just want to get past you and your monkeys and buy some God Damned Special K! Is that too much to ask? I think not. So do what you will but please tell me that there are still parents out there somewhere who don’t allow their children to run amok, who teach them to respect their elders and who understand that disciplining is not a four letter word (as you can plainly see, it’s a twelve letter word). So during the holiday season as well as throughout the year, if you’re going to parent, please parent responsibly – Don’t Get Me Started!

 

(If you’re reading this after sundown, Happy Hanukkah!)

If This Was My Mother Writing She’d Say It Was The Anti-Semetics At Work Again – Don’t Get Me Started!