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positive charge

Posted by cgcopy on October 13, 2017 in coloring outside the lines, really?!

“Cash or credit?” That’s the question these days.

Years ago it was, “Cash or charge?”  Somewhere along the line, “charge” changed — became “recharged,” if you will. And that’s exactly where I found myself this week — needing to recharge my laptop with a charger that had just died and had to be replaced. Stat.

Not as easy to replace as I had hoped. According to the Apple support person on the phone, my 2009 Macbook Pro is “so obsolete” that Apple no longer makes the charger for it. (Is it just me who feels bad — and guilty — when I’m told my computer is obsolete? What kind of support is that, anyway?) But find a compatible one online I did — and I am eagerly (read “bouncing off the walls”) awaiting its arrival. In the meantime, I’ve been “renting space” on B.’s PC. A perfectly nice, perfectly accommodating PC, but a PC nonetheless.

Plugging in the new charger will bring my laptop back into full health in no time at all — allowing me to be as creative as my imagination will stretch on any given day. (Trust me, sometimes that imagination gets a little too stretchy, creative-wise, and I end up either scaring myself to death or cracking myself up to the point where catching my breath isn’t happening. Being a writer can be a bit hazardous, it seems.)

Wouldn’t it be cool if everything could be recharged as easily? Like that waitress who would much rather file her nails than take your order. Or the doctor who keeps you waiting more than an hour but charges a penalty if you cancel less than 24 hours before your appointment time. Or that arrogant, selfie-obsessed guy taking his time crossing the street while you’re waiting to make a turn before the light changes.

Or the elephant in the room. Let’s call it the state of our world. And let’s imagine what a recharge could do for that.

Cash or credit? Here’s a better idea — how about checks? And balances.

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

 

 

 

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squeeze play

Posted by cgcopy on October 6, 2017 in it's life

When I was 16 and first learning how to drive, my father took me out to an empty Sears parking lot where he could teach me the ABCs of steering, accelerating, and, probably most important, braking. I passed my road test — parallel parking included — on the very first try. But that’s not to say that the road leading up to it was smooth — at least not in that Sears parking lot.

I also took Drivers Ed in school (alas, a course that is no longer being offered in most schools). The Drivers Ed cars had two brakes — one for the student driver and one for the instructor. Our family car, however, had only one (surprise, surprise). Which would explain why, when he felt I wasn’t slowing down soon enough, my father would attempt to step on the brake. Which wasn’t in front him. Hence, sometimes his right foot would slam against the floor on the passenger side during our lessons. Okay, maybe more than sometimes.

After a few Sundays my dad turned over the reins of my driving lessons to my mom, who had learned to drive with two feet — one on the gas, one on the brake — much the way New York City cab drivers drove. (Which probably explains why she was more successful at keeping her cool during our practice drive time — that and the fact that she was known to cut off a truck driver or two in her day like any good NY cabbie would.)

But not before he gave me a valuable piece of advice — one that served me well in my early days as a driver, before applying the right amount of pressure to the brake became instinctive. And that was this: squeeze your toes.

I tried it, and it really did help me to slow down gradually. It’s like a nuance versus a hit over the head — which makes sense if you consider the difference in the way my parents drove (and communicated in general).

The interesting thing about the squeeze play is that it has much broader, global implications (aside from the fact that it’s also helpful for picking a dropped pencil up off the floor). It also works when I find myself in a situation where someone is testing my patience. Taking a beat to squeeze my toes is sort of like slowing down to count to ten. Without the math. Or, when I find myself getting anxious about something (“Is this dental procedure going to hurt? Is it? Is it?”), squeezing my toes brings me back to the here and now, and lets me slow down my racing mind and put it in “calm” gear.

Sometimes life is about squeeze plays, sometimes it’s about line drives. Sometimes it’s about shortstops, sometimes it’s about stopping short.

Don’t forget to check your brakes.

 

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

 

 

 

 

 

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getting fresh

Posted by cgcopy on September 28, 2017 in coloring outside the lines, love and relationships

Throw a dart out there and you’ll find a gazillion marriage experts and a gazillion-plus articles and self-tests about the secrets to a happy marriage and how yours measures up. After two decades of marriage, I only claim to be an expert on B.’s and mine, but I do have some tips to share about how to keep a marriage, shall we say, interesting. Nope, not what you’re thinking — you’re on our own for what works for you and your partner in that area. I’m talking about some techniques that keep things fresh. Sort of. So, here we go:

Hum. Aimlessly. Or not. Extra points if you hum the song that your partner could not get out of his head when taking the bar exam years ago. If it drove him to distraction then, see what it does now (not that I’d have any experience with that one — wink.).

Move things around. Furtively. See how much fun it is to, let’s say, move a small object from the living room to, say, the bedroom and pretend that it’s always been there. Then, once you’ve got your partner believing that it has always lived in the bedroom, move it back again. And smile sweetly at the look of consternation on his face.

There’s no hear here. Pretend you can’t hear when he calls out to you to please lower the volume on the TV because he’s trying to work in the next room. Time it so that about two seconds before he walks into the living room to ask you in person, you shut the TV off completely and pretend you’ve been napping the whole time. And when he goes back inside? That’s right — turn the TV back on, this time a little louder. Repeat as necessary.

Lock the door by “accident.” Latch the can’t-be-opened-from-the-outside door lock when he steps outside to get the mail, water the plants, or take out the trash. Then head off for the shower, pretending (again) not to hear the knocking on the door that follows. Incessantly. Bonus score if you can manage to unlock the lock really quietly, then open the door a minute or so later saying (faking irritation), “What? It’s been unlocked — and now you’ve made me get out of the shower!”

Invest in the sock exchange. If you’re folding and putting away laundry, roll his socks into mismatched pairs. Great hilarity will ensue for you when he’s trying to get dressed quickly and needs to unroll lots of pairs to find a match.

Understand that there will be a price to pay for this kind of adorableness. You may need to worry about a surprise tickling episode. You may need to deal with his unexpectedly popping one ear bud in your ear so that you can hear the same song he’s listening to. And you may need to deal with his sneaking up behind you and kissing you on the cheek. In public. Causing you to jump out of your skin — and causing everyone around you to chuckle.

So forget the experts. Forget the articles and the tests. Even forget the darts.

Just remember to laugh.

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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playing doctor

Posted by cgcopy on September 25, 2017 in coloring outside the lines

imagesI’ve never met anyone who really likes going to the doctor. It’s often uncomfortable; it’s always somewhat intrusive; and it’s never as much fun as, say, going just about anywhere else. Yet so many of us are glued to TV shows that feature doctor characters as the leads. And so many of them seem to have most of these things in common — good-looking, smart, good-looking, sensitive, good-looking, sympathetic, good-looking, you get my drift.

All of this could be a ploy by the American Medical Association to make doctors so appealing that we want to visit as often as possible. More likely, it’s a prescriptive plot by the producer powers-that-be to make the field of medicine — and the men (and women) who practice it — a magnet for incredibly healthy ratings.

I’ll admit it — I’m guilty of watching many a male TV doctor operate over the years. There’s something about that combination of masculine charm, healing power, and soul-searching eyes (okay, I’m getting a little carried away here — someone call a cute doctor, stat!) that makes my heart go pit-a-pat. (“What is it, doctor? Do I need intensive care?”)

Here, then, are my favorite men in white. Appointments are recommended:

Chad Everett as Dr. Joe Gannon — Medical Center  Was there anything Dr. Gannon couldn’t cure with those amazing blue eyes?

James Brolin as Dr. Steven Kiley — Marcus Welby, MD  A motorcycle-riding MD. Enough said.

Mandy Patinkin as Dr. Jeffrey Geiger — Chicago Hope  Brilliant, arrogant, vulnerable, fascinating. And in need of much tender loving care.

Alan Alda as Dr. Hawkeye Pierce — M*A*S*H  Smart, sexy, soulful, sensitive. And funny. Very funny.

Pernell Roberts as Dr. “Trapper” John McIntyre — Trapper John, MD  Compassionate, competent, completely irresistible. (Special shout-out to Dr. Gonzo Gates, played by Gregory Harrison.)

George Clooney as Dr. Doug Ross — ER  Really? You need this choice explained?

Patrick Dempsey as Dr. Derek Shepherd — Grey’s Anatomy  Let’s just say I still haven’t gotten over McDreamy’s demise, even though it’s been a couple of seasons. Just. No. Words.

Even though they’re not real doctors, these guys walk the walk and talk the talk. Instead of the Hippocratic oath, they took a cinematic oath always to be entertaining and never to do any harm (to viewers’ expectations, advertising obligations, or network affiliations). Appointments with them are always on time and you get a full hour of their attention.

Finally, a cure for the common cold stethoscope.

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

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humor me

Posted by cgcopy on September 20, 2017 in coloring outside the lines

I like to think that I have a very good, very broad sense of humor. Sophisticated enough to enjoy the stylings of Frasier and Niles Crane (and Lilith, of course). Smart enough to appreciate the social and political satire of Jon Stewart and the sheer brilliance of Robin Williams. And — and this is the one that gets me through the day these days — silly enough to crave the physical comedy of slapstick.

Maybe it’s because I’m sometimes like a piece of walking — or tripping — slapstick myself. Maybe it’s because I grew up on I Love Lucy reruns and cannot eat a piece of chocolate without thinking of Lucy and Ethel in the candy factory. Or maybe it’s because the world is such an insanely out-of-control place right now that the absolute absurdity of slapstick is what’s required to maintain one’s sanity.

Following are just a few snapshots of slapstick that make me laugh every time I see them — until whatever I’m drinking comes out my nose. (Some purists might argue that not all fit the strict definition of slapstick — but to me, if it’s funny, it’s funny. Honk, honk.)

  • Anything Marx Brothers
  • Anything I Love Lucy (shout-out to the bread-baking episode)
  • The lobster-behind-the-refrigerator scene in Annie Hall
  • Julia Roberts’ character attempting to sit on the bed but landing on the floor, while never pausing her phone conversation, in My Best Friend’s Wedding
  • The Emma Stone / Ryan Gosling Dirty-Dancing-lift scene in Crazy, Stupid Love (she’s so adorably funny that it gets slapstick points)
  • Barbra Streisand in the roller-skating production number in Funny Girl (so funny that I fell off the couch — my own personal slapstick moment)
  • The Puttin’ on the Ritz tap-dancing scene in Young Frankenstein with Gene Wilder and Peter Boyle
  • Rowan Atkinson as the store clerk meticulously wrapping a gift for Alan Rickman’s impatient character in Love Actually
  • Carol Burnett wearing the living room drapes, curtain rod included, as Starlet O’Hara in the parody Went with the Wind

Check these out if you’re seriously in need of funny — giggles and guffaws guaranteed. And do yourself a favor. Take a break from the 24/7 news cycle and try a 24/7 laugh cycle. Or a ride on a unicycle. Or a ride on a unicorn.

Just don’t break your funny bone.

 

 

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

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sweet spot

Posted by cgcopy on September 6, 2017 in coloring outside the lines, searching for myself ... or for some chocolate

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It feels like the end of the world. It feels like we need to build an ark. It feels like we should get ready for a hailstorm of locusts. And that’s just from watching the evening news. There’s only one antidote I know of that’s up to the task of making things all better, even if it’s just for a few peaceful moments. That’s right, it’s time for chocolate to work its magic. And so, in honor of this most healing indulgence, I present an ode of appreciation.

Choco-lot of Chocolate

Lots and lots of chocolate.

Rich sweet milk or dark-a-lot.

Dipped or sprinkled, plain or nutty

Turns my willpower to putty.

Chocolate is my go-to food

My fast lane to a better mood.

Take away those fruits and veggies

But don’t deprive me of a wedge, please,

Of smooth, sweet chocolate nirvana.

Go on, give in — you know you wanna.

So whether you opt for a bar, a bonbon, or some bark, I’d suggest chocolate as part of your daily survival kit (or KitKat). There’s a reason it’s known as the “food of the gods” — it’s a superhero cloaked in a Cadbury wrapper (or naked, in the case of Godiva). Take two daily and call for a change in the morning.

Sweet.

 

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

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good news about bad boys

Posted by cgcopy on August 29, 2017 in coloring outside the lines, movies


What is it about bad boys — those characters, real or fictional, who women know are no good for them but can’t help being drawn to anyway? Is it a desire to take a walk on the wild side? A craving for the hero that no other woman can tame? A yearning to, for once, do something a little bit crazy, a little bit bad, a little bit over the line?

Case in point: Rhett Butler. A man with an impeccable reputation just wouldn’t do for Scarlett O’Hara. And while Rhett was the only man she ever really loved (once she got over the ridiculous notion of wimpy, good-boy Ashley Wilkes), even bad-girl Scarlett couldn’t hold onto her scoundrel from Charleston. Rhett’s final words to Scarlett as he left her were, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” but you kind of know that he did, she did, and we did.

Let’s push the bad meter a little more (maybe a lot more) and consider Michael Corleone (in The Godfather, Part One). The man is cold-hearted (except for his father and for Apollonia), cold-blooded (did you see the christening scene?), and coldly calculating (“Try the veal, it’s the best in the city.”) But there’s something about the character, and Al Pacino in the role, that makes women stop what they’re doing when he’s on the TV screen (for like the 100th time) and become totally entranced and unresponsive to anything else (“Honey, could you pass the popcorn? Honey? The popcorn? Earth to honey?”).

Bad boys don’t come much tougher than Ray Donovan, the ultimate fix-it guy for those who have done bad, bad,very bad things. But despite all the bloodshed, the blackmail, and the blowing away of even badder guys, Ray manages to hold on to a certain sensitivity (thanks to Liev Schreiber). I can’t help it — now that his wife is gone, Ray just kind of looks like a lost, wounded puppy (albeit a Rottweiler, but you get my point).

Then there’s Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) in Casablanca. Just one look at him (sigh) and you know that his past is criminal, his present is dangerous, and his future is shady at best. What redeems Rick is the return of Ilsa; sending her away with good-guy husband Victor Laszlo shows that the big lug has an even bigger heart. We’ll always have Paris, Rick — say a table for two at a little café?

Maybe this attraction to bad boys says more about us than about the characters themselves. Maybe the idea of riding shotgun with Frank Bullitt (Steve McQueen), of shaking a martini with James Bond (Daniel Craig, in my case), or of playing cat burglar-and-mouse on the French Riviera with John Robie (Cary Grant) — maybe these are all ways to imagine ourselves as  more exciting, more alluring, more je ne sais quoi than we may be. Or maybe it’s our imaginations doing exactly what they’re supposed to do — create the kind of irresistible scenarios that let us ask, “what if?” before getting back to our real lives, with a little smile.

How bad can that be?

 

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

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pop-corn culture

Posted by cgcopy on June 30, 2017 in coloring outside the lines, movies

Yay — let’s go to the movies! That’s something you don’t hear around our place very often during the spring or fall semesters, as B.’s teaching and grading schedule gets way out of control. But now that summer’s here, we couldn’t wait to get started. Maybe we should have waited just a bit longer.

While I don’t think any of my comments here contain spoilers, please be aware that, while a spoiler alert may not be necessary, a spoiler caution might be. And also, please know that the acting in these movies is absolutely superb. It’s just that the stories get a little weird. To wit:

First movie out of the blocks was a dark comedy, Beatriz at Dinner. (I think our problem with dark comedies is that we don’t get the comedy part; it’s taken years for us to almost appreciate the humor of Pulp Fiction.) This movie is about a sad holistic healer (Salma Hayek as Beatriz) who  finds herself stranded at one of her client’s homes during a dinner party. This dinner of clueless, moneyed snobs includes Doug Strutt (John Lithgow), a billionaire racist of epic proportions. Predictably, after a few glasses of wine, Beatriz challenges Doug about his beliefs and about his very existence. All of a sudden what we thought was going to be a clash-of-the-classes comedy turns into a depressing, deeply disturbing drama that left us shaking our heads — and wondering why we hadn’t opted for breakfast at the beach, lunch at the zoo, or popcorn anywhere else but at this somewhat deranged dinner.

For our next cinematic foray, we chose The Beguiled. The trailer made the movie seem like an intriguing thriller. Set during the Civil War, it takes place at a girls’ school run by Miss Martha (Nicole Kidman), whose students are sheltered — but not nearly as innocent as they look. Into this bastion of estrogen comes Colin Farrell’s Corporal John McBurney — a wounded Union soldier whose life Miss Martha saves. Sort of. Let’s just say that what starts out as a compelling premise (did I mention how compellingly attractive Colin Farrell is?) turns into a mess. (Not even Colin can save it.) And while some reviews have called the movie deliciously wicked, believe me, you’re not going to be craving mushrooms or apple pie anytime soon.

Then finally, yesterday, we discovered a summer movie worth its popcorn. Baby Driver is a highly stylized crime story about a group of robbers and their getaway driver. Oh, but it’s so much more. The music in the movie is almost a character unto itself. The writing is excellent. The plot includes robberies and romance, twists and turns, slick humor and slicker characters, and a performance by Jon Hamm that kills (no pun intended). The whole thing plays like a comic book with good guys and bad guys (or maybe bad guys and badder guys). Fasten your seatbelt, baby — it’s exactly what summer movies should be.

That, and m&m’s mixed into your popcorn.

 

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

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summer lovin’

Posted by cgcopy on June 16, 2017 in love and relationships

It’s that time of year again. B. is done teaching for the semester and that means that he is home for the entire summer. The. Entire. Summer.  Now, given that he works practically 24/7 during the semester, you’d think that I’d be thrilled to have him available for ten weeks or so. And I am. There are movies to go to (and catch up on), trips to take, an anniversary to celebrate, friends to see, mischief to get into — and both of us home at the same time.

Did I say that his break is for ten weeks?

I work at home, which means that I’m used to having the space all to myself during the week from the hours of 7 am to dinnertime or until 11 pm, depending on B.’s schedule that day. So what happens when he’s now in my space? You know Newton’s third law — for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction? Let’s just say we’ve got Newton in the house. And I don’t mean fig.

B. is the kind of person who wakes up bursting with things to say. Issues to grapple. Analysis to share. And, above all, conversation to make. Which is fine when he’s getting ready to leave for work. But a bit overwhelming when he’s getting ready to stay home. There I’ll be, writing or researching a story, minding my own business, when suddenly:

He:   You know what I’m wondering?

Me:  (Uh-oh). No. What, honey?

He:   I’m wondering what Oliver Wendell Holmes would think of the justices on today’s Supreme Court. (B. practiced law for a couple of decades.)

Me:  Interesting thought. (Oh, boy, here comes the analysis).

He:   Because if you analyze each of the justices separately …

Me:  (Oh, God, separately? There are nine justices!)

He:  You know, let me just show you what I mean. Be right back.

Me: (Playing dead)

See? Action — and equal and opposite reaction.

Or there’s the curiosity thing. B. is one of the most curious people you’ll ever meet, and it’s an endearing trait. He wants to hear all you want to tell him, and asks the appropriate questions. In short, he can make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he focuses on you. And that spells trouble with a capital T (T is for talk).

Because after an entire semester of basically being disconnected from the daily stuff of life, he’s curious about why I do certain things the way I do. “Why is your cell phone recharging over there? How can you work with the music turned up? Why is the ceiling fan on?” “Because I like it there. Because it helps me to be creative. Because I need the breeze.” To be clear, his questions aren’t criticisms — he’s just curious. After a couple of weeks of this, I like to remind him of what curiosity did to the cat.

Again, action and its opposite.

I’m not really complaining here (well, maybe a little) — because I know how very lucky I am. Lucky to be married to the man I first met over 40 years ago and have been married to for 20 years this summer. (The 20-plus years in between? A long — and funny — story. Sort of When Harry Met Sally-esque.) A man who thinks I’m the cat’s pajamas and whom I think is the bee’s knees. A man whom I absolutely adore, who always makes me laugh, and who is the love of my life (and who thinks I’m brilliant, fascinating, and sexy — at least that’s what he wrote in a Valentine that he sent me at one point over that 20-plus-year gap).

With all those positives, these minor summer-break adjustments are just that. Adjustments. And by the time B. goes back for fall semester, I’m so used to having him around that I actually miss my summer buddy.

Reactions speak louder than words.

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

 

 

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spitting image

Posted by cgcopy on June 6, 2017 in coloring outside the lines, really?!

Dear Prius-Driving Privileged Prince:

You don’t know me, but I’m the person in the car behind yours at the red light. The person who is as deserving of a clean environment as you are. The person who asks only that you attempt to use those good manners that I’m fairly sure a 27-ish guy would have learned by now.

How do I know how old you are? Because I, along with the other drivers surrounding you, just had the chance to see your face (and your grungy-is-not-cool beard) as you opened your door. Leaned out. And, with the kind of full force that would have made Jack Dawson on the Titanic proud, spat on the street before shutting your door and making a left when the light changed.

Both I and the young woman in the car right next to mine looked at each other and went “eew.” (She is so swiping left if she ever sees your face on Tinder.) Let’s just say that your exhibit was so gross that I didn’t even want to drive over it.

I know what you’re thinking — “What? It’s biodegradable.” True. But using the world as your personal sink or handkerchief, or whatever the heck you spit into while at home, is so lame. And based on the shameless way you expectorated, I expect that this wasn’t your first rodeo, cowboy.

You had other options. First, driver, meet tissue and his bestie, napkin. Or, there was the donut-chain coffee cup that you pitched out the window after your not-so-little display — you could have just used that (and saved the pitching for your next frat-boy-type softball game). Or, even better, you could have used your passenger’s baseball cap (please do him a favor and tell him that wearing that cap backwards is so over). Given that he was busy dropping cigarette ashes out of his window, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed.

Maybe you’re a nice guy who just doesn’t know any better (not likely). Maybe you’re a selfish ass clown who doesn’t give a spit about anyone else (way likely). Either way, you need to clean up your act — you’re driving a Prius, for goodness sake.

Take the high road.

 

 

ⓒ 2017 Claudia Grossman

 

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