Wednesday, March 31, 2010

I'm sure to go to Hell for this...

The night before his "BIG" day, the boys got together and gave Christ a send off that they hoped he never forgot. Since Mary Magdeline was at the beauty shop attending to her hair, the guys went out and hired Judith Priest, the second hotest piece of ass in Palestine to dance for him.   Alas, things didn't go according to plan.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Monday, March 29, 2010

Joan Crawford: Flaming Youth

This is all Felix's fault.

He started it by posting his favorite picture of Joan Crawford - a 1931 or 1933 portrait that shows a luscious La Crawford making love to the camera. 

Then TBJ posted his tribute. 

And that got me thinking - because Crawford changed with the decades and kept herself relevant to the times.  With one notable role - Crystal from The Women.  For that role, Crawford's look was reverted back to 1929's Our Modern Maidens - the movie that shocked America.  In that role, Crawford's hair was set in tight curls, kept dark and her make up played up a wild eyed flapper who, caught in a loveless marriage, breaks another marriage up, divorces and lives happily ever after.

So it seemed logical that The Women's "Crystal" looked harsh - like a flapper turned perfume salesperson.

This image above is from the movie - two cars loaded with young people out for thrills roaring down the road and up stands Crawford - wild eyed, dressed in sequins, raises her hand to egg on the revellers, the fates be damned.  She was the ulimate silent film flapper - hurry, hurry: faster!

If you get the chance, watch Our Dancing Daughters (the film she did before OMM) and then watch Our Modern Maidens.  Then watch The Women and understand Crystal just a bit better.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Spring break!

Martha Smith Standish, that doyenne of Shaker Heights, Ohio and Lake Worth, Florida society has finally wore me down and convinced me that if I "don't take a few days off for myself, who will?" 

"With your house staff, if you need groceries you have them call the market and place the order and request delivery," she smartly pointed out.  "But if you need time to rest from all the volunteer work you do, or the charity balls that you simply must attend, or even hosting those luncheons out of social obligation, it isn't like you can send Phillipe or Bessie - who does the laundry - to your place in Lake Worth for a restful weekend on your behalf."

So right you are, Mrs. Smith Standish. 

So I will see everyone on Monday.  In the meantime, Mrs. Smith Standish wants me to remind each of you to be good to those around you, including your house staff.  They are much more than the staff that maintains your home, your laundry, turns down your beds and prepares your meals; they are people, too. Try and remember that.

See you Monday!  Tah, tah! 

Monday, March 22, 2010

Sweet Smoking Jesus

As we approach the beginning of Holy Week, remember what's Holy, and what's not.

Friday, March 19, 2010

This weekend, take in a show!

What if: Obscure cultural references: Our Gang of Four

It was Chairman Spanky who called for the head of Madame Darla and her henchmen (Mickey, Alfalfa and Buckwheat) for spreading anti Little Rascals propaganda throughout the Cultural Revolution.  All four of them were caught during Alfalfa's solo during The Barber of Seville.

Tell me that you get this.  I think its hysterical.  But then again, I am over the age of 30.  Way over.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Things we should all have: Ideal's Petite Princess Dollhouse Furniture

The kitchen set is tres rare - that's because Petite Princesses do not cook - they get carry out.

The Throne Room sets are tres rare, too.  But I love the way the throne comes with its own toilet rug.

Now I would pretend that this was a present from one of my subjects.

A little Norma Desmond never hurts.

But this I adore!  Petite Princess even had its own booze cart!
Can't you hear Donna and Felix having orgasms of desire for this?  That was a silly question, wasn't it!

I know you want to play with this stuff.

Back in the 1960s, this Petite Princess was a line of dollhouse furniture for Ideal Toy Company.  I think the idea was brilliant.  The furniture was all Louis the XVI, and it had all the trappings of what Ideal thought Petite Princesses craved.  White "wood", lots of gilding, red crushed velveteen upholstery, pink, light green and light blue satin for the chaise lounge and bed, and candelabras galore.  The bathroom set had swanlike faucets!  Then there was the Liberace inspired piano, with its mirrored panel above the keyboard.  And then there was the booze cart, complete with a bottle of booze and two martini glasses - because a Petite Princess should never drink alone.  How Valley of the Dolls is that?  The only thing missing from this would have been little bottles of pills for the bathroom set.

Assembled together, in the Petite Princess French Second Empire Mansion, the whole thing looked like a whorehouse, or the home of a 1960s Jewish American Princess.  And I have been in enough of those to know what they looked like.  In Shaker, we used the derisive term "Early Van Aken" to describe these types of homes.  Heavy on the illusion of luxury, but cheesy.  And very 1960s Jewish.

PP furniture is to die for.  And its still affordable as a collectible, but prices are rising.  Trust me when I tell you to get it while you can.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Memmy and Ethel running errands, 1935

Since I seem to be pushing and pulling this blog in all sorts of directions I thought I should pay tribute to these two women, The Jones girls of Marion, Ohio.  The woman on the right is my great grandmother Memmy, a woman of mythic proportions in our family.  When all seemed lost, Memmy endured and watched out for her family.  To Memmy's side is her younger sister Ethel, my great Aunt.   Ethel was in Columbus, visiting Memmy who lived in Upper Arlington - they were very close and did everything together.  Ethel is wearing her mink, and Memmy is in her wool coat which was trimmed in mink.  But you know its early spring because Ethel is wearing light colored gloves; a harbinger of better weather.  This would have been taken a couple months before Memmy's husband passed away. 

This picture was taken by a street photographer who worked for Kresge's.  Still, I cherish this picture.  During the Great Depression these photographers would stand out in the street snapping pictures of people walking by.  Once he took your picture, he handed you a ticket.  You would go back to the store later on and pay your dime and they would hand you the picture.  Pretty neat.

I love this picture.  It was snapped on High Street in downtown Columbus outside of Kresge's, about 1935.  The angle of the feet, the facial expressions, the clothes, even the woman behind of them, I love it.  There's a story here.  I just wish I knew what it was. 

If Only: Kate Smith Cuts her final record

If wishes were CD's, drag queens all over would have new venues for song.

Monday, March 15, 2010

The Man Who Got Away With Treason

See Dick!  Dick is shooting Dick

I seldom get political but I feel the need.

If Glenn Beck is the single most dangerous person in the United States (a manic pyschotic if ever there was one) and the people who believe him are the second most dangerous people in the nation, then Dick Cheney is the third most dangerous person.  Why?

Because he has violated the United State constitution and during his time as Vice President worked for the effective overthrow of this country's most sacred principles.  He continues to lie, quite vocally, and I believe to keep the eyes of the enemy on another target other than himself.

And like all great dictators, Cheney is busy rewriting history because he is terrified that if he doesn't not one blasted person, other than his daughters and wife will stick up for him.  And with good reason.  He is a dangerous man.  And given his preference, a dark cloud of misinformation would envelop us all.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

BREAKING BLOG: This Crazy Bitch Does What?


OK, so there are a lot of things that you can do while you are driving a car, first and foremost is actually driving the car.  You know, hands at ten and two o'clock on the steering wheel, mirrors adjusted, paying attention to the road, your speed, the gages on the dash and WHOA NELLY, watch that driver in the other lane that just went left of center.  You can also pay attention to any number of distractions, like the radio, chatting on your cell phone, checking your lipstick - the list goes on and on.

Of late however, the number one thing that you shouldn't do while driving is text your bud's on your cell phone because it causes accidents.  Well texting while driving is still dangerous, but its no longer the scourge that it was.  This lady in the pictures, one Megan Mariah Barnes, was caught red handed doing something while driving that makes texting while driving look like a walk in the park.  What did she do, you ask?

She was caught shaving off her her pubic hair while driving.

You, like me, are probably wondering, why, yes WHY, would a woman who is so careless with her roots, on her head, be concerned with the "grass on the field" as it were.  And I would tell you that all good things  in due time, but that the other "cherry" in this story is her partner in crime - her ex-husband, who was in the car, steering it while Megan was tidying up her "pubic pate".  And evidently, Megan's ex is a real honey of a guy, because Megan wasn't doing the VaJayJay housekeeping for his benefit, but for her boyfriend in Key West.  Seems her ex was just lending a hand.

You can read more about this, HERE

Worth Repeating: ZAYRE you are

Taking a day or two to recharge, I invite you rediscover this post on ZAYRE

If spelling was ever my forte, it would have been when I was three. According to my mother that was when I learned to spell Z A Y R E, the first word that I learn to spell. I remember the sign, which was HUGE and I remember that I was fascinated that a word began with "Z". The letters lit up one after another and then it blinked the whole word. I imagined that giants - and that could be the only solution in my little eyes - put those letters up there. So going to ZAYRE was a very big deal in my pea picking sized childlike brain.

Hell, back then going anywhere was a big deal.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

How to wear Gorilla Fur & how to conduct yourself with the Press

Jump ahead to minute 2:14 for the latest in Gorilla hair fashion.

Jump further ahead to 7:00 for how to command a room during an interview.

Or you can watch the whole - one of the best - and most under rated screwball comedies of the 1930s: Theodora Goes Wild!

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Our Miss Brooks: Great hair and pipes to match

1978 she still had great pipes. And she had great hair for the era!

Monday, March 8, 2010

Melinda Marx: Fashion Victim, Number 1

All the people are gay, on the east side of town? Really? In Shaker Heights? Really?

But let's put her music aside, if we can, for a moment, and get out the crime scene tape, and discuss this fashion victim, and how it kills her musical number, shall we?

Let's see - its the mid sixties. A-line dresses, cut to just above the knee (if you had good legs, if not just below the knee) with a sleek silhouette and simple adornments - like a bold belt or a gold chain belt or even a long pendant, right?


Who in the Hell dressed her? Minnie Pearl? Did she get a ride to the wrong show? She's dressed for the Opry, not the Palace. OK, maybe the Corn Palace, but not the Hollywood Palace. Am I right? Bitch, you know I am.

And, she violates one of the core pillars of the cardinal rules of fashion - NEVER, ever, wear dark hose and light shoes. Especially, when one wears a white dress. She looks like she's headed for a church social or a basket weaving bee in Hooterville, not the hip and gay east side of town - not even Pixly! The girl should be singing Buckles & Bows, or something from OKLAHOMA!

Oh, bitch please - even a slob like me can see what wrong here. No wonder her career tanked.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Purging the past

Its the first weekend in March, the awnings are going back up on house next week, so you know what that means...SPRING CLEANING.

I caught a wild hare today and swept out some blogs on my recommended list because they were either not producing, or they were beginning to bore me. Naked men are a wonderful thing, butintermingled in a blog posting, they are boring.  (Semi nudes excepted.)  I added one - one on Cleveland History because I do like and care about my birthplace's history - even if going back there triggers all sorts of conflicting emotions and enough post tramtic flashbacks that keep my therapist in Mercedes Benz automobiles.

The other thing we've been doing today is throwing crap out.  I want to hire the neighbor's sons to lurk by my side door and when I fill a bag I want them to schlep it to the dumpster in the alley.  I can be more ruthless with my garbage this way.  No time to think about it or second guess, just pitch it.

And the Marion County Historical Society is getting ready for its April rummage sale - all of the things that are too nice for the dumpster but have sold at our last yard sale is being banished to Marion for their benefit.

Friday, March 5, 2010

The Shaker House

The Shaker House was a motel that wasn't in Shaker, per se, but it was on the cusp of the city's border with neighboring Warrensville Township.  Stylistically, it had nothing to do with good taste Shaker Heights.  And to my knowledge, after the opening of the motels at Chagrin Boulevard and I-271, no one we would associate with would stay here.

The Shaker House was a relic of the days before the Interstate System came to the eastside of Cleveland - back when the State and Federal Highway system reigned supreme because it was located on Route 8 - the road that connected Cleveland and Akron together.

What I do remember about the Shaker House is that the indoor swimming pool was located in the middle of the round wing on the second floor.  The bar, on the first floor had windows looking into the actual pool.  It was a bit of Weeki Wachee Springs Springs in Cleveland.  Except instead of mermaids, you had three hundred pound men trying to wave at you through the portholes.  The only times that I was in the building was when my father had to go see guests that stayed there.  And then we would sit in the bar where my father drank coffee and I got to see the people swimming in the pool through portholes around the bar.

My understanding is that the building is still there, and that its now the Village Hall for the village of Highland Hills, a municpality that incorporated in the 1990s.  I wonder if they still have the bar with the portholes?

Thursday, March 4, 2010

For Donna Lethal

And because she yearns to hear him beg for more:

(And me too!)


This is a long gone memory for me.  MUSICARNIVAL was located on Warrensville Center Road in Warrensville Heights Ohio from 1954 to the end of the 1975 season was it was dismantled.  It was the first of the post WWII Tent theatres - a fad that swept the nation for a while - that hosted traveling Broadway shows and musical revues.

Every spring the tent cover would go up, although the mast and the cable structure stayed in place year round.  The facility could hold 2,500 in the audience, the attraction being that it was "Theatre in the Round" and we all know what that means!  Second and third tier talent belting out tunes from Oklahoma to Fiddler on the Roof (Robert Goulet is TEVIA!).

While it remained popular, two things killed MUSICARNIVAL.  The first was the opening of the Frontrow Theatre in Highland Heights, which was year round facility with good freeway access.  The other was race.  Warrensville Heights was growing increasing African American by the 1970s and for a percentage of white Cleveland's in the 1970s, the riots of the 1960s weren't that far behind them that they could overlook it.  So the curatin came down on the big tent, and then the tent came down as well.

However in the ever-glow memories of a summertime's past in an innocent world gone forever, MUSICARNIVAL remains, one of the memories that I still hold dear.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Juno: Womb with a View

If you grew up in Cleveland after World War II, then you knew Juno, the most under-dressed woman in the Western Reserve.  And she existed to entertain (and educate) you as she took you through a tour of wonder that is the human body.

Juno was the resident "Ooooh, Ahhhhh" display at the Cleveland Health Museum, a mandatory field trip destination for the elementary school students in the region.  The museum was housed in the once fabulous Lyman Treadway mansion on Euclid Avenue - an impressive pile of brick and mortar that the museum people abused for years.  By the 1960s it was dingy, dirty and plain old.  But it was the first Health Museum in the U.S and we were instructed to be impressed.  And, if I remember my history correct, Juno had her "Deb" year before WWII when she was described as a marvel of technology. 

How did Juno work?  As an adult looking back, the whole expirience was a bit like going to see Gypsy Rose Lee, but without the graceful movements of most stripteases as Juno had already taken everything off.  The audience (in this case school pupils) would get shuffled into a room, the lights would get switched off, the music came up and that's when Juno got turned on.  In a clear yet seductive tone, Juno's voice-over would get started and her first words to you were "I am Juno..."   As I recall, Juno did not use contractions, speaking in a measured pace, and sound very much like she had hopped Lake Erie from Canada.  And she sounded very white.

As the voice-over spoke, Juno would light up the systems being discussed in first person, no less.  "My skeleton gives my body structure..."  and "My vascular system moves nutrient rich blood to every part of my body."  A woman in the back of the "theater" (which had been the Treadway Family's dining room) flipped switches on a panel as the recorded narrative advanced.  Each flip of the switch, turned on another organ or system in the clear plastic body.  In the days before computers, this was really cool.

Eventually the show got down and "dirty" when Juno's discussion moved to her reproductive parts.  "My reproductive organs provide an egg each month..."  Her womb with a view would light up and she would tell us that "here I will carry by growing infant until giving birth in the ninth month."  This was sure to illicite a stiff warning from the teacher to remain quiet, as if that would stop the seven and eight year boys from anticpiation of what came next: her breasts.

In my youth, as I would assume they are now, boys were obessed with breasts.  The world was different and magazines other than the National Geographic which would show women's breasts were either "naturalist" magazines or "dirty" magazines that your father hid under the mattress. (Well mine did.) None of us understood at that age what purpose they served, but we were sure it had to be something other than the mundane purpose that Juno documented. A couple of the boy students had older sisters and they told tale of walking into their sisters rooms at the wrong moments and catching a glimps of this forbidden land of hills and the valley between, so every third grade boy tittered when Juno discussed her A-Cup bosoms, because third grade boys crack up whenever anyone discusses "boobies" just as sure as girls at that age roll their eyes because boys are just...the..worst!  But boys also crack up when someone farts, which Juno never got to do.

I, of course throughout this whole spectacle, was horrified

Who cared about Juno; I wanted to know: where was the naked man?  Where was the clear plastic naked man?

In my mind, Juno should have have been dressed in a smart wool suit from Peck & Peck.  I wanted to see a naked man. Specifically, I wanted to see Robert Conrad from the Wild Wild West up their naked, and just for me alone.  I didn't know why.  I just thought it should be so.

But of course, back then you couldn't show a naked man, with skin or without, because their was something filthy and taboo about a naked man in society: his penis.  In films, it is the nude woman who was first shown in mainstream films because the male dominated civilization that we live in see's beauty (another cloaked word for "lust") in the naked female form.  But to show a man's penis? That, in the minds of the men who controlled the world, would be a perversion, as no man ever wants to see another man's penis.  Surely showing a naked man would have lead to the fall of civilization as we know it.  And this is why we had Juno instead of Julius. 

So while the girls got the low down from Juno, this let the boys at a physiological deadend since we had no room for a womb, and no desire for a bump out. If you wanted to know about what being a man was about, you were told to ask your father.  What could be so simple and so terrifying? We all know how many boys wanted to get into that awkward situation, so we taught each about sex based on rumor.  All sorts of theories flew about.  We knew women had babies, but how it got there was a mystery.

The mechanics of sex weren't nailed down until fifth grade.  That was when the Mercer School's very own living breathing version of a fetish named the "Loebster" - who was disgusting I should add - announced that in a very smug manner that "Your father...your mother....and then they...and its called #$%@ing...oh"   he said in his own digusted way of delivering news.  You just wanted to smack him.  It was bad enough that he was probably right, but his head, which was way to large for his boney little body would swell to monumental proportions whenever he was the first one with any news about anything.  He was very good at lording things over you, which is how I came to drop him on his head one day in sixth grade - but I'll save that story for later.

Anyway, this news brought a universal denial from just about everyone, because our parents had taught us that what was down there didn't really exist and that no one wanted to see yours anyway

"My parents would never do anything like that," we'd all insist.  But Loebster insisted he was right.  So I asked my friend Sharon Hicks and she said "Shut up."  So I asked her brother, Scott, who was older and in seventh grade, and Scott said it was true.  The Loebster was right.  Ewww GROSS!  I could never look at my parents again - it was just too creepy for words to think that know...gross!

Anyway, by the time naked man came to the museum and joined Juno, I was old enough to outgrow the charade that was the Cleveland Health Museum and its tired old displays.  And at the same time the naked man appeared, Juno got a make over so she would match him.  What emerged was the same old same old, but with thick black lines inside the clear plastic to deliniate muscular regions of the body.  The black lines also hid some of the more overtly explicit parts of the display.  While they were still see through naked, there was less to see through.

But you can't go there anymore.

The museum which had built an addition on the front of the Treadway Mansion in the early 1960s, tore it down and replaced it with another, larger, riot proof building in the early 1970s. This left the Treadway mansion regulated to the back portion of the enlarged building where it huddled like an embrassment to the organization.  The museum soldiered on into the 1990s, abusing the Treadway mansion's elegant design, putting nothing into it, but willingly taking from it at every opportunity..

In the late 1990s, CHM announced that they would tear down the whole thing, and from the rubble would rise a new building, bright shiny and *NEW* because *NEW* is always "more better" than old.

And this is where the Cleveland Health Museum suffered the wraith of the ghosts of the Treadway family who exacted their revenge on the organization for trashing their former, elegant property.  The big shiny new building turned out to be a giant white elephant.  Mired in debt, and unable to boost attendance, the organization folded in the early 2000s and sold the shiny new building to the Cleveland Clinic Foundation.

And Juno?  She, and the rest of what was by then called "Cleveland Healthspace" ended up at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History where she has once again been reconfigured.  Still at work iand in her seventies, Juno now has her arms are up raised in what looks to be a sign of surrender, and she is still, woefully under-dressed.

Does the name "Fit"?

As I pointed out in a previous post, my father was the youngest (and angriest) of seven children - each of whom had their own wonderful and unique personalities. The steadiest was my Uncle Maury, who once over saw the State of Ohio's reformatory system, and because of this, he was lucky enough (in a dubious sense) to win of the Fickle Finger of Fate award, on Rowan and Martin's Laugh In. Still, if I ever needed a bomb diffused, Maury would have been my choice - the man was the epitome of steady.

The most entertaining of the Aunt's and Uncle's (and their spouses) - and trust me there was never a dull moment in the family - was, however my Aunt Nan, the third of the seven children. Nan never married, and spent most of her life living with and taking care of my grandparents, and clucking over the pack of nieces and nephews that sprang forth from her brothers and sisters.

 Nicknames are often a form of endearment, or a point of derision, depending under what circumstances and who is involved.  For Jewish immigrants coming into the US in the early 20th Century, there was a pretty wide spread belief that if you were going to make it in the USA, then one had to assimilate.  And in a nation WASPs, being named Moses could be the just the thing to give one a life time of peddling things from a cart on a street corner, but after taking the name "Maurice" now you had an air of distinction about you.  For women - the name of Gettle was a ticket to a tenement, but pick a spicier name such as Jesse or even Trudy (never Gertrude) and its easier to pass through the portal of respectability and into a good marriage.

No one embraced this ideal more than our Aunt who never had children of own, but spent the better part of her life renaming the children of others. She got her start early in the renaming business in the family and eventually she was at the top - the Queen Royale of Nomeclature for all of East 144th Street.

She started with herself. 

Born "Anna" she morphed her name into Annie by 1915, and then when the roaring twenties started to growl, and she bought her first bottle of ink eradicator, Annie disappeared and "Nan" - a fiery name for the era - emerged.  Buy the time I was born she was using "Nan" formally, but to her friends, she was Nancy.  Eventually Nancy grew long in the tooth and replaced by Nanette, which appears on her grave marker.  I don't know if she ever legally changed her name, I just know that "Annie" is enumerated on her father's naturalization papers and "Nanette" appears on the grave marker.

Some of the nicknames didn't take a lot of imagination.  My brother Richard became "Rich", never Rick or Dick - just Rich.  Nan's sister Betty married a man named Louis and the two of them were inseparable, so they became "BettyNLou" - others followed in line.  My Aunt Miriam was "Mim".  Simple, but they "fit".

She used the same abstract sense while giving everyone nicknames, too.

Because I was born on Thanksgiving Day, Nan insisted on calling me "Tom Turkey" much to my dread.  Its bad enough being called Tom Turkey when you're a kid, but as a teenager, it was a curse.  Yet she never deviated.  Tom Turkey I was until she caught on that I stayed away until she she relinquished.

Some people got nicknames, others didn't.  My father "Marvin" remained Marvin for his whole life under the Nan Naming Convention.  His twin brother Sanford became Stan, Stanny and then Taffy.  "Taffy" took with my Aunt's and it stayed with him for the rest of his life.  If you asked who was bring my grandmother somewhere, Nan would say "Taffy is bringing her over."  To a stranger, it sounded like the family hired a former stripper, not a 6 foot 250 pound man to act as the family chauffeur.  

Then there is the Evelyn, Ev, Evie, Lynn controversy.  My father's youngest sister was born Evelyn.  At various points in life, she was Evelyn, Ev and Evie. I grew up calling her Aunt Evie. When I was 15 I went to  a bar mitzvah in Cleveland and was informed by my Aunt Evie that she was never Evie - she was now - always -  Lynn.  To prove this, she pointed to a gold pendent around her neck that proclaimed that she was LYNN.  This caused problem's because my cousin Dave was married to a woman named Lynn.  As far as I was concerned, Dave's Lynn got there first.  This lead to clarifications about who was attending and which would be there.  Someone would say "Oh, Lynn?" and the two women answered.

Nan also had secret names for some people.  Take my father's third wife, please.  Her name was "Betty", but since we already had a Betty in the family, and all of the cousins were old enough to drop the "Aunt" charade, "Aunt Betty" stood alone in the family, while my father's wife was either referred to as "Marvin's Betty", "Marvin's wife Betty" or "the bottle blond."

Nan, try as she might, couldn't help but see that my father's wife was a lot of trouble just waiting to happen.  As far as Nan was concerned, once the ice was broken with "Marvin's Betty", family members simply didn't need to use her name.  Instead, she became whatever needed to be done: "Could you pass me the salt?" was a perfectly simply way to address my stepmother without engaging her.  If Nan had to introduce her, she would rely upon "and in the corner is Marvin's wife" and keep moving on.  This was Nan's way of indicating that the woman in the white go-go boots and hot pants was just passing through, as it were and really wasn't really in the family. She was simply welcome until my father filed for divorce, which we all hoped would be soon.

However it was with my father's last wife that Nan rested her most exacting nickname.  Final Stepmother was and probably still is, how do you say, a woman of opinions. She and Nan went head to head the night before my father's funeral in front of the Rabbi.  Without beating around the bush, my "Stepmother" (who I nicknamed "Shark") called my mother a "bitch" and tempers flared.  Under her breath, and in extreme exasperation  my 83 year old Aunt Nan, eyes locked on the widow, uttered the word that I had wanted to say but didn't dare utter that night.  She used the "K" word.  Before the end of the night Nan did extend an invitation to Shark to go and "Gey kukken afen yam," which roughly translate into "go shit in the ocean."

On the ride home that night, emotionally exhausted and all, Nan amended her nickname for my father's widow, and instead preferred to call her the "Vildya Chia." 

"Who's Wilda Chia?" I asked

"Marvin's widow," Nan explained "It's Yiddish for "Wild Beast".  Its a better fit."

And like all good nicknames, it stuck.  Because like all good nicknames, it was all about getting a very good "fit".

Its "Ahnold Veekend in Coolumbis"

Every year in March Columbus is overrun with thousands of body builders, and tens of thousands of their groupies for something called the Arnold Sports Festival .  This means men with necks as larg as my thighs.  And they hang out in the strangest places, like Bob Evans Restaurants (which are also based here in Columbus) eating and eating and eating because they need to fuel their over developed bodies. 

The other odd thing going on is that people pay good money to see these guy oiling one and other down.  Any other weekend, and these guys were be branaded as perverts.  But on Arnold Weekend, its a beautiful thing to beheld by good strong Christian men and women who voted to oppose gay marriage in the Buckeye State.

At some point, "Ahnold" will appear and smoke a couple cigars, pat some guys on the back and go back to California.  Also at somepoint, women, with enough muscles to put your average man in the street toshame, will also appear.  Almost everyone will have bathed themselves in enough "fake-n-bake" solution to give them cancer. And that is Ahnold Weekend

Me, I'll be avoiding it.  I like my women to look like women, and I like my men to look likes guys.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Therapists notes "Patient X"

March 2, 2024

"Patient X" (henceforth simply as X) came to his session wtoday with yet another event that has resulted in yet another example of his mother's obession with him.

Apparently, Mrs. X revealed to her son, in front of his teenage friends, that she once held a "Potty Training Graduation Party" in honor of her son's ability to toilet train when a toddler.  Evidently, X had serious issues involving the movement of his bowels and refused to toilet train as Mrs. X felt her son should have.

The party - seen image below - featuring banners made from X's training pants festooning the walls, also featured food selected to resemble bodily waste and other toilet related items.  One horrific display shows an open toilet seat filled to over flowing with chocolate donut holes.  In another picture, X is seen with him mother and another playmate - of who also I have professional knowledge of - tossing yellow balls into an open toilet seat on the floor.  And for drinks, there was apple juice for everyone.

As evidence, there are plenty of photographs, widely published on X's humiliation - the pecan praline choclate drop cookies look to be yet another form of Mrs. X's excess.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Start shopping for spring!

March 1st means that now is the time to start shopping for springtime clothing!  Here's something though that I never really understood. If you are going to go all the way to the store in the first place, why just stop at the catalog department?