Venice (The One Without The Gondolas)

I stepped out of my car and took in the fresh ocean breeze or anticipated one anyway. There wasn't one. And it was scorching hot. Just as I was wrapping my mind around the idea that I chose a bad day to come here, my thoughts were interrupted. A beach bum in a rasta hat and dreads that looked like they were nesting birds among other critters appeared at my side: "Hey honey, can you spare a dollar? Let's get loaded." How do you respond to that proposition? "Are you kidding me? You think we can get loaded for a buck? O.K., prove it!" But instead I just politely muttered, " No thanks." And that began my trip on the boardwalk, literally and figuratively. (no drugs were ingested, unless you consider guacamole and chips intoxicating, then... Yes)

I walked around, camera in hand, which made me stand out even more, and apparently provoked the next suitor to say "nice camera... and nice ass."
I treaded on and took some shots. (I didn't get a shot of Loaded Man, unfortunately.)

First, a couple of shots of the boardwalk..and a building.

Pipe shops, medical marijuana, mind reading, palm reading and a synogogue...Oh My!

This couple was working up a sweat on their Segways...or maybe that was just because their helmets were on too tight and it was about 90 degrees.

I really wanted to check my body energy and circulation. And there it was. A "check your body and energy circulation" booth. Now that I found out where to do it, I just had to figure out how.

Since I couldn't figure out how to check my body energy and what went where, and the beekeeping lady next to the sunglasses rack was obviously too busy with her bees to help me (see below), I decided to move on...

No Hassle? Are pipes usually a hassle? No hassle in the pipe shop? Is there usually hassling in pipe shops? Hassling pipes?

These warrior figurines were just hanging out on the boardwalk. I'm not sure why. But does there really need to be an explanation for warrior figurines?

Just like the warriors, these Venetians were also just hanging around on the boardwalk. I like to call it "the happy love corner"...there was a lot of love going around.

This bistro (I know it was a bistro from the sign) was directly across from "the happy love corner." These two should have considered going there, since they didn't look so happy here. He's tired of getting dumped over lunch, ladies. Come on, give him a break. (The bistro got an A, not all's lost.)

Freakshow? Do you really have to ask?

I don't know why this guy was so irritated when I asked him if he could read me "Green Eggs and Ham." I don't see anyone else around, Captain. I snapped the picture and ran. (He never did read to me in the end.)

His T-shirt read "Jazz is my life." Was he painting his way through Jazz school? Painting only JAZZ musicians, like the two behind him?

I hope they don't have a bicycle up there. Did they see the "No bicycles" sign?

"Honey, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. Good thing I brought the big turquoise bag filled with stuff, though."

On to Main Street...(doesn't every Main Street have a ballerina clown mascot?)

A tanning salon. "Darque Tan." Dar ke? Dar cue? Dark weh?

Then it was time to Exhale and Sit Still, so I did.

I left Venice without a single souvenir, drug, tattoo or knowing about my body energy and circulation...I might have to go back next week.

School Daze

To school or not to school? That is the question. More specifically, to start schooling at 3 -- is it really necessary?

According to my fellow mommy friends -- Bubbie included -- it is. For working parents, it seems the only way. But for a work-at-home mom, like me, I don’t see the need. Still, I caved to peer pressure and narrowed my choices to three recommended Jewish preschools.

My son and I made our way to the first contender, a traditional preschool in the East Valley. The dilapidated building looked as if it was under construction, which I choose to not hold against the school – until my husband later said he’d attended preschool there and mentioned it had looked that way for nearly three decades.

After my son joined the other children for circle time, he was the first to recite his ABCs. The teacher turned to me and asked, “If you are going to teach him at home, what is left for us to teach him?”

We exited shortly thereafter.

The second candidate was the preschool on the hill. The teachers were pleasant and the school grounds were beautiful. The views were spectacular, which I’m sure was factored into the cost of tuition. How else do you justify a two-year preschool tuition that rivals the cost of a new Prius?

So we made our way to our third choice.

The director greeted us and said she did “not have time for this.”

This? My scheduled appointment? She spoke to us as she hurried down the hall. My son and I jogged closely behind to keep up. She announced that my son would be placed in a Hebrew-speaking class. If I chose to enroll him, I explained, my preference would be to place my son in a more diverse class, especially since English is his first and, frankly, his only language. She said that there were only two other classes: a religious class and a secular one, which was filled.

When I inquired about scholarships, she was quick to say, “Not every Jewish child gets to go to a Jewish school. Even my grandkids don’t attend Jewish schools.”

This seemed to be my cue to leave.

I can’t say that the research was for nothing. It helped inform my decision to continue outings with my son. We will still visit libraries, bookstores, museums and parks together and meet up with friends for scheduled play dates. Also, the Skirball and Getty offer particularly nice views.

As a wise teacher once asked, “If you teach him at home, what’s left for us to do?”

To her I would respond, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Published in the August/September issue of Jewish Family (a publication of The Jewish Journal)

Review: Whatever Works

Woody Allen is at it again with his cynical existential bantering in his latest offbeat comedy Whatever Works, a script three decades in the making. This time Allen chooses a surrogate, Larry David (Seinfeld co-creator and creator of Curb Your Enthusiasm), to star in the film. This quirky comedy, though not one of Allen’s best, will still leave you with memorable one-liners and cynical ramblings, and even make you laugh out loud every now and then.

For full review go to Review: Whatever Works

A Vacation For This Economy

It's time once again to consider a family vacation now that summer is here.  In this economy, however, actually taking one may be another story.  That's when my thoughts start drifting toward the word "staycation."

"Where are we going this summer?" the kids ask.

"Nowhere!" you reply confidently.

Staycation: a vacation without going anywhere.  For starters, you don't have to choose an exotic location, because you are already there.  Do you know how many people travel from all over the world just to be where you are?  Not that Frommer's is putting out guides to Oak Park, but you get the idea.

Plus, what is so exotic about jet lag or second-degree sunburn, anyway? Is it worth the inexpensive lobster to be in a place where you can't even drink the water?  At home, you can drink the water right out of the tap - filtered through your refrigerator or Brita pitcher, of course.  Then there is the hassle of packing and unpacking, and choosing what to take and what to leave behind.  (Kids?)  And besides, you wouldn't want to forget that cocktail dress for formal night, leaving you a prisoner in your own cabin, would you?

Lets face it, the joy of vacationing isn't really about the location, it's just about "getting away." You can get away right in your own home.  It's simple.  First, disconnect your home phone (if you still have one), then shut off your cell phone and all other LoJack-like personal tracking devices.  Have a picnic in your backyard or on the living room floor.  You don't even have to acknowledge your neighbors.  Your time away (or astay) should be all about you.  Remember you are on staycation!

If you choose, you can even leave the comforts of your own home.  How about sightseeing?  You can cruise Hollywood in a double-decker bus and snap pictures of the outside gates of stars' homes.  If sandy beaches are more your style, a simple drive takes you to the waves and cafes of Malibu (unless you already live there, of course).  For a more eccentric atmosphere, the drum circles and incense of Venice Beach beckon.  Or just enjoy the beautiful hiking trails in the Santa Monica Mountains.

How about visiting a museum?  The California Science Center is a great place for kids and is always free, as are the Getty Center, Getty Villa and the Los Angeles Fire Department Museum. 

For authentic Mexican cuisine, a trip down the Metro Red Line is all you need.  With a $5 day pass, you can travel to the landmark Los Angeles Union Station with Olvera Street accross the way, and wander through the marketplace for Mexican souvenirs.  No one will ever know you weren't really in Mexico.

If your staycation happens to fall on the first Friday of a month, head up to the Griffith Observatory for free, to learn about astronomy and space exploration in the Leonard Nimoy Event Horizon Theater.  You can also join the monthly Star Parties there, where families can observe the stars and planets through one of the many telescopes.

End your staycation listening to live music at the City of Calabasas Free Sun Sets Summer Series concerts, the Janss Marketplace Summer Concert Series or free concerts at Warner Center Park (no need to actually go to New Orleans with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band coming to you on July 12).

When your best friend returns from her weeklong vacation abroad, wearing a surgical mask to avoid Swine Flu, you can rest assured that you did not contract Swine Flu in your own home, because swine isn't even kosher.

Published in the June/July issue of Jewish Family (a publication of The Jewish Journal)

Life Lessons Learned at the 99 Cent Only Store

I thought the man behind me in line at the 99 cent only store was going to yell at me for holding up the line when he tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me," he said, as I was trying to decide between party favors for my son's birthday party. I turned around slowly, already thinking of something witty to say about why it was taking me so long to choose between sand pails and beach balls, but he interrupted, thankfully.

He asked if I was throwing a party for my child and went on reminiscing about his children's younger years. With tears in his eyes, he explained, "they teach us more than we can ever teach them."

I told the man I agreed with him, and completed my purchase of beach balls and sand pails (I couldn't choose between the two...and the price was right.) I made my way to the car thinking about what he had said. I thought about all the things that my son has taught me.

This is what I have learned so far:

1) We are born with our personalities and spend a lifetime trying to reinvent ourselves with what is deemed appropriate at the time.

2) We are forced to say we are sorry, even when we are not.

3) We HAVE TO share, even when we don't want to.

4) We learn to lie to please others. "Let's call Auntie X to tell her how much you love that sweater she knitted for you. Of course it is a much better gift than that train set you wanted. Trains can't keep you warm."

5) We have to hide our true feelings. "Please don't yell at the waiter, because he spilled ice cold apple juice on you, Sweety. It was an accident."

6) We learn that being polite often means compromising ourselves. (No explanation needed.)

7) We NEVER get hurt. "I know you fell down, but you're O.K.! Here hold this compress over your bruised ego...I mean knee."

8) We bend the truth to protect our families. "Of course cousin Jane loves you even though she doesn't send you birthday presents or Hanukkah presents or call or visit or..."

9) First we have to get the icky things done, before we can play. Really? "Help mommy put away the toys and then we can go out and play."

10) Authority always wins. "Because mommy and daddy said so." and lastly...

11) Doing things on your own, makes you big.

These are just the few lessons that came to mind on my way to the car (It was a long walk.) My son challenges me everyday to be the best person I can be. As cliched as it sounds, it is an extremely difficult task to take on. I can only trust that what I teach him doesn't take away from who he is. I hope I'm on the right track. (From the looks of my list...not so much.) If I'm wrong, (and what parent is, really), I can only hope that, when he goes to discuss me in therapy as an adult, that his therapist goes easy on me. And to my son; I apologize in advance.

Not a Groupie

Recently, my friends have been joining "mommy groups." Groups where moms and their kids get together for weekly outings and activities.  (How is that different than the activities I already do with my son or friends?  I don't know...but I'm guessing that it just is.)  I don't belong to a mommy group.  Maybe I needed to.  I want to fit in, too.  I, too, want to swap recipes, host Tupperware parties and join multi-tiered marketing schemes.  I began to feel left out, something had to be done.

So, I did what any good mother would do, and researched the best of mommy groups out there (on the Internet, of course). 

And there it was: www.meetup.com.

Meetup.com is a group heaven.  There are hundreds of groups to choose from anywhere in the country, and not just for mommies.  I was overwhelmed.  How do you choose the perfect one? Then, I found one in my area.  "Star Trek and Space Exploration Group"...but thought that maybe I was getting off topic a little bit.  (How fun would it be to explore space?  Do they teleport themselves?)  So, I continued my search and found one that seemed to fit a little better.  I signed up for "San Fernando Valley Moms."  (Because I just knew that we already were going to have a lot in common.  We were from the same geographic location, how could we not?)

I couldn't wait to join.  I began imagining hosting my very own Tupperware party, buying scrapbooking supplies and earning my Gold Star sales executive pin in my new pyramid scheme group.  I couldn't wait...but I had to.  

I filled out the questionnaire and clicked "join."  A message appeared instantly: "awaiting reply from leader."  So, I waited and waited and waited.  No reply.  

I double checked that my "application" was complete.  Yup.  Three pages all about me, my hobbies, my likes, my dislikes, my background, my opinions, my ideas, my life story and what I ate this morning for breakfast (I thought the last one was a little much too, but answered it anyway -Lucky Charms.)

I couldn't wait to hear from "the leader." I couldn't wait to be "led."

Two days later, it came...the email I had been waiting for.  

It read:

Your request to join The San Fernando Valley Moms Meetup Group 

was declined.

The person who declined your request said:

Feel free to post your pic and re-

apply.  

A second chance?  Gold Star Executive of the month?  I decided to pass.  I'm actually glad I got rejected (I know...that's what everyone says when they get rejected).  But I REALLY mean it.  I'm just not cut out to fit into a 'certain' group...and besides, I have way too many plastic storage containers already.  

What's Going On?

People have been exceptionally nice today. Ok, what's going on? Where are the hidden cameras? Doors were being held, mothers were friendly on the playground. I broke a bowl while standing in line at a Mongolian barbeque restaurant and (get this) the guy next to me offered to pick up the broken pieces. What? I thanked him profusely and did it myself anyway. He moved me out of the way and insisted that I had my hands full already, as my son was rearing to go. Maybe he just felt that clumsy ol' me had done enough damage already. (He was being nice, regardless.)

I thanked him after we chatted for a bit about how selfish people have become. I guess we were wrong...today anyway.

What's Your Stori?

Mommyhood has recently made a comeback. This new trend in Hollywood, to become a mother, has made it o.k. for the rest of us. (Thank you Britney and Angelina.) So, on a recent trip to the bookstore, I was not surprised to find, yet another book, written by another celebrity mom. While my son was reading "Good Night Dora", I plopped myself down next to him with a copy of Mommywood, by Tori Spelling (and Hilary Liftin).

I began reading. "Ultrasound....blah blah blah". I kept reading. My mind began to wander. Back to the book. I read on. Something about fearing that her son's nose will be too big. I began skimming, hoping to find something interesting. My mind wandered again. "Should I get an iced coffee, hot coffee, tea, maybe a cookie for my son, some milk, hot or cold?" I even found myself peeking over my son's shoulder, more interested in finding out if Dora finally goes to sleep, than if baby Spelling's nose is the perfect size. (Maybe it's just me.)

My son was clearly annoyed by the fact that I was flipping the pages of his book and jumping ahead. I couldn't wait to find out what happens next. I was left with no choice but to go back to my book (or get my own copy of Good Night Dora, which was just not within arms' reach).

So, I kept skimmeading (skimming and reading), until I read something that caught my attention. Finally! Tori writes, "...I work as hard as the next person to make a home." This is the last sentence I read before I returned the book to its appropriate section: fiction.

Just for the record, from what I could tell, it was a great read and well written. Everyone should pick up a copy of "G0od Night Dora". I did.

Naked Brothers Band

My interview with Nat and Alex Wolff (Naked Brothers Band) on their musical influences, recent nomination, upcoming summer tour and more...

For full interview, go to Naked Brothers Band

The Stall of Shame

“I was with a married man at seventeen years old.”

Although I would like to take credit for this great feat (no, not really), this quote is not mine. This quote stuck out among the other quotes written on the bathroom stall at Borders.

The others included: "I slept with your ex." "I’m pretty, but I want to be beautiful." "I love hooking." There must have been at least fifty in different color inks, pencil and permanent marker. I stood in the stall, enthralled, nearly forgetting what I had come here to do.

Who were these girls writing to? An audience of women with full bladders? Were they seeking approval? If so, how would they get it? I didn’t see any w/b (write backs) or a contact number. K.I.T.? Would they be back to see if anyone had written? When I was a teen, we wrote in diaries; now, stalls must be the way.

I thought I would take the liberty of commenting on the quote that stood out for me. Because I believe strongly in not defacing public property, I decided to write here. It was hard not to pull out my permanent marker and comment on all these quotes (I carry one in my purse, in case any 5 year olds happen to want me to autograph a copy of their Highlights magazine.)

So I hurried out of the stall…and kicked off the toilet paper that was stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
Here I am. (Just to make it clear-out of the bathroom altogether.)

To the girl who slept with a married man at 17:

It is not YOU who should be proud, but him.

Let me guess, it probably went something like this. Mr. Married Man was probably in his mid to late forties with a comb over , a subtle pin-striped navy blue suit, Crest white-stripped brightened teeth, a shiny manicure and a corporate position going nowhere. It’s no wonder his wife stopped sleeping with him, tired of coming home to a guy whose only outlet was porn magazines and golf on the weekends with his buddies. His marriage was in trouble. Having been put on Viagra after his blood pressure and cholesterol meds made him lose the ability to perform, sleeping with him made his wife feel just like sleeping with grandpa (that makes for another blog). In fact, who would want to sleep him? Not even his wife, who found more of a thrill shopping with the girls and flirting with the smoothie maker at her gym after spin class.
But, nonetheless, he was smooth. He sat back in his easy chair at the Borders Café after a long day of work, with a shot of espresso in one hand and meds in the other. How could you resist?

He walked over towards you and your girlfriend and chose YOU. (Everyone always thought she was prettier; not this time.) You looked up from your iPod. It was love at first sight (for you, anyway). It was the hopes of a one nighter for Mr. Man or at least a few good hours.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure,” you giggled. Your friend left while you and Mr. Man chatted the night away over hot chocolates. Well, you chatted anyway…about finals coming up, how your mom doesn’t get you, your friends don’t get you, in fact, no one gets you. You even spoke of how hard it was to grow up without a father.
”Bingo,” he thought to himself, almost saying it out loud. There he was: Mr. Man, the father you never had.

He made you feel beautiful; grown up, in fact. He let you be yourself. He would do anything for you…to get you in the sack, of course.

One thing led to another as you left Borders in his beat-up black Porsche. He put his hand on your knee and assured you it would all be okay. You envisioned how you would introduce him to your friends and your mother. You imagined your wedding day. Where would you honeymoon? How many kids would he want? You had so many questions for him, but chose not to ask.

Before you knew it, the night was over. You gathered your things sprawled on the motel floor motel, which reeked of stale cigarette smoke. You smiled while he lay asleep. Just then, he got up in a hurry, dressed and left to pick up the bill. How thoughtful of him. He dropped you back off at your car parked outside of Borders, where it all began. Neither of you said much. I’ll call you," he muttered, and waved as he sped off. You stood there, thrilled, knowing he would soon leave his wife for you. Maybe he’d even be your date to the prom, you imagined. So many plans, so many dreams…with which you headed up to the restroom and tagged what you had done…so proud.

He called his buddies on his way home. He felt rejuvenated, knowing he still had it in him. He was now ready to work it out with the woman he loved, who waited up for him at home with a warm cooked meal.

I wish you luck and hope that the next time you feel like tagging something on the wall it is worth the mention, for your sake. In fact, maybe just keep it to yourself, so that others don’t have to feel so bad for another young girl gone wrong, not to mention destruction of property.

Sincerely (and I mean it)
-Me

Along Came A Spider

At first, I was just minding my own business, enjoying my sushi at the bar, before a couple sat down next to me. I swear I tried to focus on the California roll before me, but couldn’t. The couple next to me, the girl in particular, was so loud. I am sure the people on the other end of the bar heard what she was saying as well. I know this because they were staring. (At least I told myself this, so that I wasn’t the only one eavesdropping.)

There I was, focusing on maneuvering the sushi from my plate to my mouth with my chopsticks, when they sat down. She pulled out his stool for him and then her own.
“Oh, ok,” he mumbled sitting down. She had a puzzled look on her face as she sat down.
“I’m just not used to that. That’s all,” he said
“What? Girls being nice to you ?” she asked sarcastically.
He just sat in his stool and they both concentrated on penciling in their orders.
Ok, I was curious. I really tried not to listen again, really, and refilled my soy sauce dish.
“So?” He said uncomfortably. Obviously this was going nowhere real fast. “Tell me about yourself, what do you do?”
(Shouldn’t they have known about this through the site they met on or friend that introduced them? Back to my ginger…sorry)
“I’m a movie-goer,” she said.
Turned out he was fascinated. “Oh, you work in the industry?”
“No, I just like seeing a lot of movies.”
“I see.”
Oh boy, he was really struggling here…but not for long. It wasn’t too long before she went into details about her dog’s surgery, and I mean details. (I had to shut this part out…come on, we’re eating here!) She went on to how much she loved her dogs and how difficult it was to train her rabbit to go in the litter box. Blah blah blah. All the while, the poor guy was trying to get in a word here and there. So he finally tries..
“I’m not much of a dog person, although I love…” he was then interrupted.
As if she was reciting a monologue, she continued. “I’ve always loved dogs. In fact, I want to get more, but my roommates won’t let me. I would never get a cat, though. I hate cats.”
That’s when he interrupted, “Yeah, that what I was just going to say. I love cats. I have had mine since college and can’t live without him.”
“I guess I could learn to love them,” she joked, as if he asked her to.
She continued to look down at her food, while he did the same. The sushi chef kept passing their plates and she would take his and hand it to him.
Finally, I think he flipped. “I can get my OWN sushi. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” she said obliviously.
I was done with my sushi and was haphazardly shoving ginger in my mouth at this point. That’s where I had to draw the line. I asked for the check, and so did she, apparently.
Our checks came. I paid my bill. She did the same…”I’ll pick up the tab,” she said.
“But we’re not done.” He pleaded.
“I am.”
“OK. Thanks…I guess.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied while slapping down the cash. She jetted out.
The sushi chef came over to the poor guy. “What happened?”
“I got free sushi. Woman’s lib!”
Sometimes…there is nothing left to say.