Thursday, November 29, 2018

Speaking of Style and Class. . .

Okay, I admit it.  This is one Orthodox Jewish woman who is crazy about Fran Drescher's The Nanny.  I know it's not politically correct - a Jewish girl who eats bacon, shrimp and lobster while pining away for her non-Jewish boss Mr. Sheffield.


Maybe it's the Yiddish, or the love Fran the Nanny showers on her charges.  Maybe it's Niles and his hilarious battle to the near-death with Miss Babcock.  I don't know.  I can't explain it or justify it.  In practice, she's not a terribly "good" Jew.  And her "mather" - oy vey.  She deserves a whole other post.


I guess what I really love about the show is the innocence of the 1990s.  There was plenty of fakatah nonsense going on then; Reagan and Iran-Contra for example.  But I have fond memories of those days and The Nanny exemplifies the height that Jews as Jews had reached on television.  Fran was never ashamed of being a Jew, never had to explain her love of her people or justify Israel. 


I miss that.  I miss not having to explain how my people aren't Nazis and why we deserve a home of our own.  Thank you Fran.  To me, the Nanny, or Franny, certainly had style and class.  And a lot of love. 

Sunday, June 24, 2018

My Son, The Barber


Mazel Tov to my amazing Yitzy for seeing this through and earning his certification from the City of Los Angeles as a barber.  This reminds me of a joke:

The mother of the first Jewish President of the United States was sitting in the front row to watch the inauguration.  A reporter came to her and asked if she was proud of her son.  Her reply: "Yes of course.  But did you know, my other son is a doctor."

Now say this with a New York accent and you've got me telling my friends how proud I am of my son.  Yitzy baby, you rock!!!

Sunday, June 17, 2018

I Knew I Parked Too Close

Several dear friends of mine have been talking up a wonderful, wholesale jewelry store in downtown Los Angeles for a long time.  I had to agree - their necklaces were gorgeous.  And inexpensive.  So I decided that since the store was located a few blocks from work, I was going to check it out.

At first, I got lost.  I kinda remembered the street name but I mean, seriously, I didn't believe it could really be that close to work so I was in the left lane when I should have been in the right lane, et al. Just to make sure, I went another 5 blocks until I decided I had indeed missed the street and doubled back.

And there it was.  A parking spot. Right in front of the store.  How is that even possible?  Okay, I took it, thanked G-d and went straight into the store.  Rows and rows of necklaces and earrings - it was paradise.  Then I remembered I hadn't paid for parking and ran out.  Having experienced downtown parking, I expected the meter to give me 3 minutes for 25 cents.  Oh no - it gave me 15 minutes for 25 cents.  I started to believe I was actually dead and this was heaven.  I had change left over.

I spent the next 30 minutes looking for the right necklace(s) and came up with three and a pair of earrings.  No point going crazy the first time out.  Then the not so sweet cashier asked me for my resale number.

My what?  I panicked.  I gave her my friend's name and business.  Nothing.  I wanted to plead with her to let me have the stuff but no, dignity first, deals second.  I called my friend, no answer.  I left the store confused, and sure that I was still very much alive and well, sans amazing necklaces on the cheap.

Well, after my dear friends got wind of my experience and called the manager, it turns out I may not need a resale number after all.  It appears the clerk was a jerk.  So I ask myself: Why did this happen?  What did I learn?  To be patient, keep my cool, accept rejection and move on?

All that and the restoration of my belief in local government's ability to get things done.  Despite the homeless crisis in downtown, on Crocker and 9th Street, downtown Los Angeles, parking is very affordable indeed!