Tagged: Humor

I Grew Up With Mrs. Maisel

Marvelous-Mrs-Maisel-Season-2-Soundtrack

“So…P.S…. Gloria is getting shtupped by the Mike the apartment maintenance guy and that’s about as far as he’s going to fix her pipes!” Yeah, it’s true. Growing up in Queens in a 400 square foot garden apartment that’s the kind of stuff I’d hear every afternoon when my mother and her yenta friends drank coffee and puffed menthol Newports in our tight little kitchen while I was trying to do my homework.

As I watch the marvelous “Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” it dawned on me. Holy kishka! I grew up with a posse of Mrs. Maisels–repressed Jewish housewives with potty mouths and punchlines with my kitchen as their stage and each other as the toughest audience.

There was the haughty one my brother dubbed “The Duchess.” Big hair, big makeup, big mouth and owned one of the first color TVs in the apartments so her only, coddled, child, could watch the New York Rangers games in living color. “The uniforms look better in color!” is how The Duchess explained the extravagant largesse. “Who gives a shit, it’s just hockey and he’s 12!” the rough crowd responded and in unison sipped their heavily lightened and sweetened lukewarm coffee and puffed a menthol ciggy hanging from their over-glossed lips.

Another one didn’t have a nickname, or much of an act, but she was funny anyway because she doled out her lines in a breathy stream with things like “Ooohhh…fuck the PTA. Me? Bake cookies? Oooooohhh….fuck that!” Laughs, sips, puffs.

My sort-of best friend’s mom was a cross between Totie Fields and Don Rickles. Chunky, spunky and insulting. “Hey Gert!,” she’d holler at my mother. “Where’d you get this coffee! It taste like if you dipped my Murray’s schmecky in boiling water–limp and weak!” Raucous laughs, tentative sips, hearty puffs.

My mother had her sights on a showbiz career before she got married. She was a good singer and even cut a record. We had a single copy but sadly it was one of those old style brittle records, not the later unbreakable vinyl. and eventually broke into many pieces. As the host and ringleader of the Glen Oaks Village Afternoon Friar’s Club and Coffee Klatch she kept things moving with lines like “OK ladies–I gotta make dinner and  you all smell like shit!” Good natured..and knowing giggles, last, quick sips, ciggies quickly crushed followed by loud, deep, pre-emphysema coughs.

I never really did get much homework done. As they would say in the Catskills, the floorshow was very entertaining! Plus I’d attempt to figure out trig while I had my stereo on full blast and my feet were propped up on my little desk. When I once complained to my mother the noise in the next room was distracting me from my homework, my mother took a look over at the revolving turntable, cocked her ears to hear “Helter Skelter” blasting, gave me a questioning look, then smiled…and lit up a Newport, shook her head and left me with one last gut punch punchline, “Oh Edward, you’re gonna fail that test.” Humor is always based on truth. I laughed. 

P.S. My brother’s name is Joel.

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On the 8 Nights of Chanukah..Hint: No Partridges..Not Kosher

qqHanukkah oil

On the first night of Chanukah my true love gave to me..

pastrami

A sandwich of hot pastrami

 

 

On the second night of Chanukah my true love gave to me..

2 sizzling latkeslatkes

and a sandwich of hot pastrami

On the third night of Chanukah my true love gave to me..


3 types of guiltguilt

2 sizzling latkes

and a sandwich of hot pastrami

 

On the fourth night of Chanukah my true love gave to me..

rabbi_Schmanukkah_01  4 aggravations

 

3 types of guilt

2 sizzling latkes

and a sandwich of hot pastrami

On the fifth night of Chanukah my true love gave to me..

5 pouting putzes…

putz

4 aggravations

3 types of guilt

2 sizzling latkes

and a sandwich of hot pastrami

On the sixth night of Chanukah my true love gave to me..

6 cheese blintzescheeseblinz

5 pouting putzes

4 aggravations

3 types of guilt

2 sizzling latkes

and a sandwich of hot pastrami

On the seventh night of Chanukah my true love gave to me..

7 yapping yentas

yenta

6 cheese blintzes

5 pouting putzes

4 aggravations

3 types of guilt

2 sizzling latkes

and a sandwich of hot pastrami

On the eighth night of Chanukah my true love gave to me..

8 grounds for impeachment impeach-trump-pumpkin-sign

7 yapping yentas

6 cheese blintzes 

5 pouting putzes

4 aggravations

3 types of guilt

2 sizzling latkes

and a sandwich of hot pastrami

Happy Hanukkah everyone!

Happy Hanukkah Cats

Papering Over the Generational Divide

2b4b7e58395b5478af2f25a6f2bca330Earlier this week I found myself at a local community college for a business meeting. I got there early and decided to find a spot in the student center where I could go over my notes. I set up camp at a high top in the snack bar then made a choice. I had all my notes stored electronically on my tablet, but also on printed pages in a folder. Hmm..I’m in a place crawling with college students, sitting among them in a jacket and tie, so I already stuck out like a pastrami sandwich at a vegan restaurant. What the hell, I whipped out my old school file folder, spread the pages out and completed the tableau by scribbling notes with an actual pen.

It was too easy. Not 10 seconds elapsed before creatures in their teens and early 20’s started finding excuses to buzz by me. Some were blatant by craning their necks or lingering just a little too long. Others tried to play it cool straining their peripheral vision to its max as they adjusted their route between the coffee machine and their table to include a recon sortie past me.  I loved the looks that telegraphed their quandary and confusion. I imagined them asking themselves, “what the hell’s this dressed up dude doing with actual paper and a ‘analog’ writing thingy doing here? Is he a spy, a narc, terribly lost or just a creep?”

As each one walked by for a closer look at my strange activity I made sure I scribbled some notes because I knew none of them could decode what I wrote in the long-lost form called cursive. That only piqued their interest further because now they would wonder what I wrote…about them? About the school? About the awesome chicken nuggets at the grab and go snack bar? Ha! If only they had developed the skill once taught called “handwriting,” they would know I was writing, “I’ve gotta stop. I might piss my pants.”

The whole exercise was pretty entertaining if not self-serving and put me in just the frame of mind for my meeting. I headed for the conference room with a pretty incandescent smile slapped on my puss. Most of the participants were closer to my age, and as the conference got underway we gave each other inquiring looks, seemed to get the right signals…and whipped out our pads…and pens. I think the meeting went pretty well, but I’ll check my notes.

Caught With Loyalty Stuck In The Cookie Jar

blog_image_4341_9894_Cookie_Monster_Day_Comics_201710241407Oh people, when will you realize there’s a quiet controversy polarizing this nation that goes far beyond the white noise surrounding the White House and directly into the hearts, minds and bellies of anyone who has ever had to take a stand to defend a vital personal choice.

Indeed, once one has chosen an option, that’s it–there’s no turning back and that person becomes a stubborn, surly, inflexible advocate, willing to take you to task for even suggesting some sort of equivocation.

Deep in your heart you know of what I speak, because you are quietly simmering the more you think about it as your pour yourself a cool, calming glass of milk, considering the move that will define you among family and friends with the fear your choice will blow previously warm relationships permanently asunder.

oatmealcookiesI tell you this because a discussion during a recent family meal quickly escalated into harsh words and accusations of questionable loyalty. You see, I innocently remarked I could be perfectly happy eating an oatmeal-raisin cookie. But, aha! My family turned on me with the force of the Pillsbury Doughboy’s belly with the barb, “you say that, but if faced with the choice of an oatmeal-raisin or chocolate chip cookie which one would you choose? Don’t lie! We know no one REALLY prefers oatmeal-raisin. You will guiltily go for the chips!” While not under oath, my personal code did not allow me to fudge my reply as I mumbled, “mmmyeah, like the chocolate chip but ok with oatmeal-raisin….IF NO OTHER CHOICE.”

BAKERY-STYLE-CHOCOLATE-CHIP-COOKIES-9-550x550“What a wimp!,” said a family member. “Your alleged loyalty for oatmeal-raisin is totally conditional on it being the only cookie in the jar. Most sane and honest people would just as soon go cookie-less than descend to the depths of the oatmeal-based outlier.”

Feeling further pressured in this would-be CA…”Cookies Anonymous” meeting I crumbled and admitted to a dalliance with an alluring Snickerdoodle. the-best-snickerdoodle-cookie-recipe-everWas it so bad to stray, just once? But my exposure as someone who cookied-around while trying to pose as an ardent oatmeal-raisin advocate was complete.

I helplessly asked the group, “are you telling me I have to stick with one cookie and make the same choice every single time?”

“Here’s the deal,” the biggest and bulliest family member shot back. “If you’re faced with the choice of chocolate chip and oatmeal-raisin, you better pick the oatmeal -raisin. You may be the only one to save it from gathering mold at the bottom of the jar.”

But I suddenly rallied. I noticed something on the face of the family member who first launched the attack, smugly claiming to be a chocolate chip loyalist and fired my coup de grace: “What’s that on your face.??..OREO CRUMBS!” Indeed…there’s no victory for those caught in an argument half-baked.

Going Gut to Gut on Labor Day at Harbor Freight

harborfreightextOn this Labor Day during this second year of my sort-of retirement I would like to announce I sometimes like to labor with my hands–making things like Jack Daniels on the rocks or a thick steak on the grill, but sometimes I’m compelled to perform actual handiwork, building something out of wood or something electrical, yardwork and repairs with tools.

There are others like me and many of them join me in the same club–the mailing list for the bestest, most awesome store for guys with guts, too-tight t-shirts, ballcaps and an active email account. Yup it’s the Harbor Freight mailing list. harborfreightcustomersEvery single week you receive two, three, four pages of coupons that offer discounts on all sorts of stuff you may never need in your life, but crap, those coupons are like catnip for men like me who just like to buy stuff that either plugs in, spins, cuts, bangs, screws or wipes. At the top of the sheet are generally three coupons offering a free item with any purchase. The free item could be a bag of rags, a little battery-powered worklight, even an electric bug swatter in the shape of a tennis racket! labor-day-coupon2012Some are items of no actual redeeming value but you are compelled to buy and item so you can redeem the coupon for the free thing. But here’s the best part, for Labor Day, a one-day coupon offering 25 percent off anything! So off I went with my magic tickets ready to score some great deals.

I needed some cheap gardening gloves, and sure as hell, there was a coupon for $1.99 a pair. Score! My wife requested the free bag of rags. Got ’em, even though I had to fight off two guys with large wrenches in their hands, accompanied, of course, by the appropriate coupons.

25off_laborday_shortNow what would I use that awesome 25 percent coupon to buy? I don’t really need any more power tools, or an ax or even an extension ladder, lathe, plastic tie-downs, tarps, welding torch or drill bits. Ah! I just bought a new bike and there waiting for me was an industrial-strength cable and lock to secure that shiny new two-wheeler. Yes! What’s 25 percent of $10.99? Doesn’t matter. 25 percent is less than 100 percent!  I also ended up buying some attachments for my rotary tool, but there was no coupon for that. Sad face.

Bottom line? The $1.99 gloves and free bag ‘o rags I came for ended up costing me a little over 18 bucks. Bet you can guess who the real tool in the store was. But Harbor Freight, I love ya. Can’t wait for next week’s coupons. I think I really need that bug-killing tennis racket.

Playing By Baseball’s Numbers–My Personal Sabremetrics

statsWith just six weeks left in the regular Major League Baseball season I’m surrendering–surrendering to the endless babble of numbers, acronyms and abbreviations known as Sabremetrics…or as I call them….”WTFetrics”

As a lifelong fan of the national pastime I was content with knowing a batter’s average, a pitchers earned run average and other stats like how many homers a guy hit, bases he stole and runs he batted in.

I get that things have moved along and we now know esoterica that help managers, owners and players supposedly make better decisions on the field and off. Therefore, I’ve decided to go with the flow and adapt this development to my own life.

I started today at noon with my midday repast. As I lifted my ham sandwich to my piehole I asked my meal mate to take some video on their phones that I could later examine to better understand what I have designated my “Lunch angle.” Could I more effortlessly ingest my ham on rye by reducing the angle at which it enters my mouth? By  adjusting my lunch angle, I might be able to keep my mouth shut longer, thereby allowing me to listen to the gossip being offered before taking another sloppy, noisy bite. I love anything that improves cognition.

Another stat I find useful is how I measure and regulate complaining. I’ve set a hard and fast limit by establishing a firm Bitch Count. When I find myself getting too whiny, I cut myself off after four complaints within an 8-hour period. Then I engage in a self-enforced cool-down cycle by swilling two fingers of Jack Daniels on the rocks. The same goes for anyone I happen to be with. Hit the Bitch Count and you’re cut off–forced to join me for happy hour until you calm down. Could take several rounds.

The one baseball stat I find mind-numbing is OBP, or on-base percentage. Here’s now the pros figure it: On Base Percentage (aka OBP, On Base Average, OBA) is a measure of how often a batter reaches base. It is approximately equal to Times on Base/Plate appearances. The full formula is OBP = (Hits + Walks + Hit by Pitch) / (At Bats + Walks + Hit by Pitch + Sacrifice Flies)

In real life one can use a similar formula to measure a person’s inability to use tact or diplomacy or Obtuse Bile Percentage. The formula would be expressed thusly as: OBP= Swear words + Corporate slang + Inappropriate hand gestures / Text messages with angry emojis + Selfish demands + Supportive References to Sean Hannity. A perfect score of 1.000 wins the designation as PTB or Perfect Trump Boor.

My final example is the fascinating, yet polarizing stat known as the WHIF…or Wife plus Husband per Issues Fought. It’s fairly self-explanatory and is considered an important predictor of future evenings bereft of connubial connection.

That’s just a start but I’m sure by the end of the season I will have established a new benchmark for UNR  or Useless Numbers Referenced. Play ball!

Draft Day on Wall Street

nfl-draft-2017-042717-getty-ftrjpg_1erpre7c3321j1ilnqq6rs44tb phone’s been driving me crazy all weekend. Every few minutes the damn thing’s been binging with updates from the NFL draft. They scream stuff like, “Detroit picks Louie Schmeckingford of Dreck Tech as Left Nipple!” I’m happy for Mr. Schmeckingford for landing a job but truly, I don’t care. Then…bing, bing bing, bing!  “The 49ers choose Dick Wad in the fourth round as backup waterboy!” Swell. I open the story to learn that Sir Wad distinguished himself in the Big Billion Conference by breaking all sorts of speed records for water procurement for sweaty slabs of two-legged beef.

I get it. Among fans and Fantasy Football geeks, the draft is almost as important as the the day they had their overbite corrected.

Then I got to thinking that maybe I’m the one who has it all wrong. What’s the draft anyway, but companies flush with money, choosing young people to join their ranks in hopes of furthering their success.

How ingenious! Why is this process limited to sports teams? It seems like a draft is a perfect way to bolster any team.

I see it now. CNBC pre-empts regular programming for the First Corporate Talent Pool Draft.

joe-kernen-2“Hi, this is Joe Kernan with Becky Quick.  Business services firm KPMG has the first pick, earned via a trade with Pricewatershouse Cooper for two insider trading secrets.”

“Joe, KPMG has their eye on Barlow Biteme, who graduated first in his accounting class   and won acclaim for his thesis, “Don’t Jump Off the Ledger.”   quick

“Right Becky. But to land him, they’ll have to cough up a huge signing bonus, a corner office and free tanning sessions just ahead of the ‘season’ in the Hamptons.”

“Who wouldn’t pay that, Joe, for a guy who not only crunches numbers, but absolutely chews them up and spits them out just the way the CEO imagined them.”

“So true, Becky! One story going around has Biteme cooking the books so well at his college fraternity, his brothers nicknamed him ‘The Chef!’ No doubt, KPMG can’t wait to serve the SEC what Biteme whips up.”

“Right, Joe! Let’s move on to the second pick. That’s comes from Deloitte.Touche.”

“Well, Becky, those pencil pushers are counting on landing Flo Nase from Wharton.”

“For sure, Joe. She’s was known there as “The Eraser.” In fact, Nase is so adept at making poor performance metrics go away, her Theory of Imaginary Computation won the top prize at this year’s Conference of Complicits.”

“Ha! That’s amazing Becky! One source tells me one of Nase’s favorite funnies is the way she plays dumb when someone challenges one of her audits by exclaiming, ‘audit? Oh..dat!”

“No wonder she’s a top pick, Joe!”

“Indeed, Becky! Don’t you just love this? Folks, we’ll be back with second round picks in a moment, after this word from upstart Wall Street brokers Questionable Quotes.”