3 Comments

knot so much

Posted by cgcopy on November 4, 2014 in it's life

While life hands all of us an ongoing series of knotty issues and tangled messes, I appear to have taken the concept to a new level (a dubious distinction). Some mildly embarrassing examples, slapstick knot-withstanding:

The hooded pullover sweatshirt. No matter how I try (arms first, head first, whatever), I still manage to get lost in the garment and usually end up calling out to B. to come rescue me from the depths of fleece. I know there’s daylight out there somewhere, but my inner compass just can’t seem to find it. When I finally do emerge, it’s a whole new world.

Seat belts and purse straps. Seat belts were designed to help save lives — when used as directed. Not, as I learned one day not so long ago, when you forget to pull your arm out of the shoulder harness, then catch your foot in the strap of your purse (which is on the floor) while attempting to vacate the vehicle. Here’s what happens: you pull your arm out with some force, causing your foot to get further tangled in the strap, which results in your catapulting out the door onto the curb. Not exactly a gold medal in gymnastics. In face plants, maybe.

Hiking. In nature. Ms. City Girl here can hike city blocks like nobody’s business. Fleet footed (even in heels), confident, quick. Put me in nature, though, and all of a sudden I’m like a newborn calf on wobbly legs (two, of course, not four). Pavement I understand; climbing rock piles, stepping on stones across creeks, hell, even walking through uneven forest terrain — not so much. My feet get tangled and knotted around each other, usually resulting in fumbling, stumbling and mumbling bad words.

The comforter. B. can’t understand how I can continually (read night after night) get tangled up in the comforter to the point where I’ve got 90% of it and he is stuck with a measly 10%. Based on his observations, I do the tuck and roll which, similarly to the pick and roll, allows the offense (me) to prevent the defense (him) from taking ownership. No fancy footwork or passes here — just my tucking the comforter under myself and rolling. As the night progresses, I do this more than once, resulting in the aforementioned inequity of possession. Attempting to navigate my way out of the tangle in the morning isn’t pretty — and let’s just say there’s not much sympathy from the opposing team.

The good news about tangles is that they make you appreciate the times when things go smooth as silk, with nothing tying you into knots. Then again, some knots can add twists and texture to life, making it more interesting. And more fun.

Right foot, blue.

 

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

Tags: , , Permalink
Leave a comment

lower the cone of silence

Posted by cgcopy on October 16, 2014 in coloring outside the lines

keep-calm-and-shhh-46For those who remember Get Smart from the 1960s, you’re familiar with the Cone of Silence. For those who who think the Cone of Silence is a new flavor at Baskin Robbins, let me fill you in.

In the sitcom, CONTROL secret agents were the good guys and KAOS the bad. The Cone of Silence was a bubble-shaped device that dropped from the ceiling to cover the heads of CONTROL secret agent Maxwell Smart and his boss, the Chief, when they shared highly classified info that no one else could be allowed to hear. The only problem with the Cone of Silence was that Smart and the Chief couldn’t hear each other either, and ended up shouting so loudly under the Cone that everyone could hear them. Thus, hilarity — and KAOS — ensued. See for yourself here.

Makes me wonder — how great would it be if you could lower a Cone of Silence (one that worked) over your head any time you needed to mute some mayhem? To wit:

That guy sitting next to you in coach who just can’t seem to turn his iPod volume up high enough for his liking even though it’s so loud that you can feel it in your teeth. Who keeps it playing non-stop on your non-stop flight from LAX to Melbourne. If only you could suggest that he shove that iPod down under. Just saying.

Those women at the movies who feel the need to chat at full volume during the trailers. Hey, I get it, the movie hasn’t started yet. But hey, get this — some of us actually like hearing the trailer dialogue versus your dialogue about why he didn’t call and whether you should call and who called whom last. Here’s a quarter — take it out to the lobby and call someone who cares.

The mom who thinks it’s a great idea to give her toddler a talking toy off the shelf while shopping. A talking toy turned up to full volume. A talking toy turned up to full volume that plays continuously. A talking toy turned up to full volume that plays continuously until you want to leave your shopping cart and run out of the store screaming. Continuously.

That guy on the cell phone in the doctor’s office. Talking to his wife while filling out his paperwork. Asking if she remembers the dates he had his a) hemorrhoids removed, b) abscess lanced, and c) ear wax drained. How about the date that he  d) caused an entire waiting room full of people to gag?

One more. That person in the office next to yours who leaves her cell phone on “ring” but goes off to three-hour meetings without it. Who has it set to ring ten times before going to voice mail. And who locks her door so that you can’t get in there to shut it off and teach her a little cell-awareness. Dial “S” for “seriously?!”

The Cone of Silence might be the difference between chaos and control. But until someone figures out how to make one that works, maybe we can all take a deep breath and try to be a little more considerate of each other when we share space (like keeping our voices low while on our shoe phones).

And if we overstep, sometimes all it takes is a heartfelt “sorry about that.”  Smart advice. Extremely very smart.

 

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

Tags: , , Permalink
3 Comments

i’ll be where?

Posted by cgcopy on September 30, 2014 in coloring outside the lines

Life is full of irony. Like the one time you get to the airport early and your flight is cancelled. Or when you spend hours preparing a gourmet meal only to find your guests are in the midst of a juice cleanse. Or when you cut your hair and sell it to buy your husband a fob for his pocket watch only to find that he has sold his watch to buy you combs for your hair. (Okay, that last one was O. Henry, but if you’re looking for an example of irony, he’s the master.)

The irony of my life? I love to sing; unfortunately, it’s not pretty.

Yes, I’m that teenage girl singing into her hairbrush in the mirror (am I the only one who sees The Shirelles behind me?). Yes, I’m belting it out while in the shower. And yes, I’ve been known to sing the same song non-stop while vacuuming (when it comes to my version of “I Will Always Love You,”  go with the sound of the vacuum — trust me). It’s not that I can’t hear the notes in my head. I hear the melody, feel the harmony, and can pick out any song on the piano with no problem. It’s just that my vocal cords can’t seem to differentiate between in tune and in trouble.

Let’s take the Motown classic “Reach Out I’ll Be There” by the Four Tops: “I’ll be there with a love that will shelter you / I’ll be there with a love that will see you through …” It seems that for whatever reason, there’s just one note that gives me some trouble. Okay, a lot of trouble. It’s the “there.” Mine is anywhere but.

It’s way, way flat. Or it starts in one place and wavers uncertainly until it lands somewhere in the not-too-near vicinity of the right place (kind of like landing at LAX when you meant to reach Seattle). Even B., who has a really good voice and tries to be encouraging, just shakes his head sadly and suggests that maybe I pick another song (unless I’m vacuuming, or riding in a convertible on the freeway, or hypothetically attending the 1965 Beatles concert at Shea where no one could hear anything).

But despite being singing-challenged, I forge ahead. I continue to sing my little heart out because, above all, it makes me feel good. And if I wait until I hit every note perfectly, I’ll never get there.

Or “there.”

 

 

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

Tags: , , Permalink
2 Comments

not a pretty picture

Posted by cgcopy on September 17, 2014 in it's life

upset_tantrumDon’t you hate it when you’re in a store and there’s a child throwing a tantrum? And by “child” I don’t literally mean a kid — I mean a salesperson who is just so rude that you have to fight the urge to send them to their room to think about what they’ve done.

Case in point: my recent visit to my favorite beauty store (true, beauty products may be my weakness but being tantrum-resistant is my strength). I knew exactly the product I wanted but, unfortunately, the shelf was empty. Okay. No problem. I’ll just ask for help.

Little Ms. Beauty Princess (aka the nearest salesperson) was standing no more than three feet away from me, touching up her (way too) hot pink lip gloss, batting her ginormous lashes in the mirror, and chewing gum as if her life depended on it. I swear she could have been right out of central casting for the movie Working Girl — she was utterly B & T (bridge & tunnel) with the added benefit of that annoying Valley Girl cadence of speech.

When I asked for help I got a gum crack, an eye roll, and an enormous sigh before she came over (oh, I’m sorry, does the “Ask me for help!” button on your smock not mean what I think it does?). After hearing what it was I wanted, she looked at the same empty shelf that I had, tapping her sparkly nails against it as if to make the product magically appear. (I’ve written for the nail industry for years, and believe me, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that tapping your over-the-top glitterati nails in that annoyed, impatient way won’t do anything. Except  a) chip your manicure and  b) irritate the hell out of a waiting customer.)

“Not here,” she said (hence the empty shelf). “But this other (read ‘way more expensive’) brand has an even better product. Why don’t you try it?”

No, I told her. Thank you, but I was only interested in the product I had come in for.

“But this other brand is am-a-a-a-a-zing,” she cajoled. “Why don’t you just take a look –”

No, thank you, I repeated. But could she please check the inventory in the back of the store?

“No,” she said with more than just a little petulance in her tone, “I won’t. There’s never anything back there.” You mean other than those times salespeople have done just that and returned with the requested item?  She actually stamped her scarily sparkly-toed foot. “I really do think you need to try this other brand –”

One more time — no.

“Really?” she said, those hot-pink-tinted lips now forming a not-so-pretty (but very glossy) snarl. “Because the product I’m recommending is anti-aging.” And then she walked away.

Good shot. Right for the jugular. But bad move.

Because just then the store manager came over and asked how I was doing. I told him what I was looking for and, before you could say “I hate hot pink lip gloss,” he headed off to the back of the store and returned a couple of minutes later, product in hand. I thanked him profusely and then couldn’t resist asking, “Do you think maybe I should look for an anti-aging version of this?”

“Not at all, miss,” he said, “I think this one will be perfect for you.” Good move on the opinion (extra points for the use of “miss” instead of “ma’am”).

As I turned to go to the register, I saw him approach Ms. Beauty Princess, who was standing in front of the mirror again, now admiring her hair extensions. Unaware of her previous interaction with me, he asked her to go to the back of the store and bring out enough of that very product to stock the shelf. Over his shoulder, she looked at me in false-lash horror, afraid I was going to get her into trouble.

But no, that’s not my style. I prefer to turn the other chic.

 

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

 

Tags: , Permalink
2 Comments

lucy bakes a cake

Posted by cgcopy on September 4, 2014 in it's life

retro-baking-vintageimage-Graphics-FairyWhile there are those who believe that you can “have your cake and eat it too,” my recent chocolate-cake-baking experience reminds me that the having part isn’t always as easy as it looks.

To wit: as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, my friend G.’s chocolate cake is a thing of sublime yum. Two layers of just-right (not too sweet) cake frosted with milk chocolate buttercream — surely the chocolate goddesses put in overtime when they created this one. “And the recipe is so easy!” she told me.

Right. Sort of. Unless you have the kind of oven that I do — temperamental temperature-wise, inconsistent, and sometimes downright uncooperative. But for this recipe, I was all over it — watching, monitoring, checking. The only things I didn’t do were to buy the oven some flowers and a dry martini, but believe me, if that would have helped, I would have done it.

The timer rings, the cakes are ready — perfection. After a few minutes, they pop out of their pans easily and I leave them to cool while I whip up the frosting. Again, perfection. I frost the bottom layer and carefully turn the top layer upside down and set it in place. There is so much frosting in  the bowl that covering the entire cake is, well, a piece of cake. There. Done. Beautiful. Except for one small thing. It was time to move the cake onto a serving plate.

The best way to describe what happened next is to imagine a combination of Lucy Ricardo moving the cake and the scene from Chocolat where the sweets-deprived mayor gorges on the chocolates in Vianne’s shop window, leaving him in a chocolate stupor and the window a complete and utter mess. Sort of like a chocolate explosion.

So I’m lifting the cake carefully using two wide spatulas. But, in true Lucy fashion, when it’s just millimeters from the plate, the bottom layer suddenly breaks in half. The entire cake crashes onto the counter, with a good part of said layer all over the floor and cabinets, leaving chocolate everywhere except where I want it — on the plate. And in this case, there’s no sexy-and-sensitive Johnny Depp (or suave and smooth Ricky Ricardo) to help clean it up and dry my chocolate tears.

The good news? The top layer actually survived and turned out delicious (also, fewer calories). The bad news? Chocolate all over my hands, in my hair, even up my nose (don’t ask).

The moral of the story? A slice of chocolate cake is like a slice of life. The messes make the rewards even sweeter.

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

 

Tags: , , Permalink
4 Comments

funny business

Posted by cgcopy on September 3, 2014 in coloring outside the lines

Pie_IN_THE_FACE_by_green_watchesWatching the news these days is not easy; in fact, it vacillates between grim, grimmer, and, oh my God, should we be on the lookout for those Four Horsemen? While nothing can make it all better, there is one thing that, at least for me, helps (okay, two, if you count my friend G.’s amazing chocolate cake with buttercream frosting). The other one is laughing — and I don’t mean just a chuckle. We’re talking full-on, out-of-control laughter that totally takes over the moment and leaves you feeling at least a little bit better.

Here then, is my prescription for laughter. Yes, these are classics. No, you don’t need to be old enough to have seen the originals. Dosage: click on the orange links as needed. Warning: may be addictive.

I Love Lucy reruns — almost any episode, but particularly the chocolate factory and the grape-stomping ones. And don’t miss Lucy Meets Harpo — a whole new level of funny from two masters, this mirror scene is priceless.

Chuckles the Clown — I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The Mary Tyler Moore Show episode with Chuckles the Clown’s funeral is laugh-out-loud material. Just ask Mary.

Abbott & Costello — Their “Who’s on First?“ routine never gets old. Caution: do not try this at home. It only looks easy.

Young Frankenstein — There’s is so much to roll in the aisles about in this movie (or roll, roll, roll in the hay), like Gene Wilder’s “That’s Dr. Frankensteen,” Cloris Leachman’s turn as Frau Blucher (lock up your horses!),  Marty Feldman’s Igor (“What hump?”) and the hysterically funny Madeline Kahn and Teri Garr. My favorite moment — when Dr. Frankenstein and the monster (the wonderful Peter Boyle) sing and dance to “Puttin’ on the Ritz.”

Animal House — Where to begin? Sure, parts are gross, parts are sophomoric, parts are inane. But the whole package is hugely funny (thanks most especially to the comedic brilliance of John Belushi). To-ga.

Life is hard. Laugh harder.

 

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

 

 

Tags: , Permalink
4 Comments

laugh. until you cry.

Posted by cgcopy on August 13, 2014 in it's life

starryWhen Robin Williams left us earlier this week, it felt like being hit with a sucker punch to the gut. The man who could make millions of us laugh so hard that we cried exited stage right, but this time with no comic relief. Only tears. And the unanswerable “why?”

To use the word “irony” here seems hopelessly inadequate. That a soul so brilliant at bringing joy to others felt  that he could not endure living one more day — unimaginable.

But maybe that’s the yin and yang of it. Maybe in order to be blessed with the kind of brilliance that illuminates everything it touches, that is so sensitive to everything it encounters, that takes the human psyche to another level entirely — perhaps one must pay the price by being cursed with an equally enormous, and sometimes unbearable, burden of too much fear, too much sorrow, too much sensitivity.

In the song “Vincent,” Don McClean’s tribute to Vincent Van Gogh, he writes,

“… And when no hope was left inside

On that starry, starry night

You took your life as lovers often do.

But I could have told you, Vincent

This world was never meant

For one as beautiful as you. “

Ah, Robin. If the world was too much for you, we can only hope that you have found a more peaceful place, perhaps among the most brilliant of nighttime stars. Good night, sweet prince.

 

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

Tags: , Permalink
Leave a comment

talk of the town

Posted by cgcopy on July 31, 2014 in coloring outside the lines

talking-300x300Growing up in New York, it always seemed like there was very little difference between the Jewish and Italian cultures. Both are warm and family-oriented. Both show their love through food. And both are passionate about life. I say knish, you say cannoli — I say delish, you say I’ll take a dozen.

These similarities made me start to wonder (always a dangerous proposition) — what would it be like if The Godfather‘s Michael Corleone (New York Italian, passionate about power) and Katie Morosky from The Way We Were (New York Jewish, passionate about almost everything else) were to start a relationship? By mixing some of their movie dialogue, I imagine that their conversations might go something like this:

Michael: Now who approached you? Tattaglia or Barzini?
Katie: The only David X. Cohen in the book.

Michael: I love you … but don’t ever take sides with anyone against the Family again. Ever.
Katie: There’s only one thing to be scared of…anybody, any place, who will not stand up for world peace now!

Michael: I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.
Katie: I’ll study French cooking while you write your novel.

Michael: You like your lasagna?
Katie: I would have made pot roast but I didn’t know if you liked it.

Michael: All right. This one time — this one time I’ll let you ask me about my affairs.
Katie: Are you still a nice gentile boy?

Michael: Don’t tell me you’re innocent. Because it insults my intelligence — and makes me very angry.
Katie: Happy Rosh Hashanah!

Yes, just like in every relationship, these two are talking at, rather than to, each other. Like every couple I know, they don’t necessarily listen to each other all the time — but somehow they do manage to communicate. The chances of the Corleone family and the Moroskys getting together? Not a likely match — but hey, you never know.

It’s not whether you’re a meatball or a matzoh ball. It’s all in how you roll.

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

 

Tags: , , , Permalink
1 Comment

two from the heart

Posted by cgcopy on July 10, 2014 in it's life

UnknownHe was shy. She was not. She was poor. He was poorer. He was Giants. She was Yankees. He loved the movies. She loved him. She adored Sinatra. He adored her. He gave a mutual friend a Mel Ott baseball card in exchange for introducing him to her. She went on a first date with him because her friend got the chicken pox at the last minute. They met at 14, married at 20, were together less than 30 more years. She was always his bride. He was always her hero. He died so young. She grew old without him. He gave his heart to her at first sight. She never loved anyone else — for as long as she lived.

She sent him a note in 1944, referring to a high school dance he couldn’t go to because he had to work at a grocery store: “Dear J … I won’t see you tomorrow night. You are not going, are you? I will leave at 7:30 … I guess that’s all for now.” He saved the note and gave it back to her decades later. “My dearest M,” he wrote on the outside. And then inside, just below her original note he penned, “P.S. She didn’t go.”

I guess she just didn’t want to dance without him — ever.

Dance on, Mom and Dad. They’re playing your song.

 

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

Tags: Permalink
Leave a comment

on the road (again)

Posted by cgcopy on June 17, 2014 in it's life

Just-Married-Image-GraphicsFairy-thumb-150x150So here we are, on the verge of another of our signature summer vacations — the great, and greatly underrated, road trip. Over several years of hitting the road for destinations as varied as Utah (five national parks, one really mean case of stomach flu); the Oregon coast; and Taos, New Mexico (including a run-in with a rather vengeful vortex in Sedona, Arizona), here we are again — ready to load up the car with snacks, compliments of Trader Joe’s; music, compliments of our iPods; and paper towels, compliments of that inevitable road-trip resource, Target.

Our experience with vacationing on the road has led me to put together a list of recommendations, or Road Trip Tips, if you will. Trust me, they’re tried and true.

1.  Pee whenever a restroom opportunity presents itself.

2.  Although tempting, do not stick out your tongue and make ugly faces back at the 3-year-old in the car next to you who is doing just that. He or she will tell his mommy and you will be in big trouble when his mommy tells his daddy.

3.  Do not attempt to read while you are a passenger; motion sickness and the need for paper towels may ensue.

4.  Do not attempt to read while you are the driver (except for road signs). If I have to explain this to you, I’m revoking your license.

5.  Do not be lured by the “look how interesting this small, unmarked road with no guard rails that runs along the edge of this tremendously deep ravine in the middle of nowhere is” temptation. There’s a thin line between having balls and having brains. (If you do succumb, you’ll thank me for reminding you to have used that last restroom.)

6.  Make sure the driver and passenger have an equal say in what music to listen to. One caveat — if the passenger falls asleep, the driver has full autonomy over music selection. (In our case, that means B. gets to listen to his stuff all the time — once we reach a steady 70 mph, I’m fast asleep.)

7.  Do not stop to eat at any place that has a sign reading, “Good food. Eat here,” because about 100 miles from then you’ll be saying (while doubled over with discomfort), “Bad food. Shouldn’t have eaten there.”

8.  Finally, get out and stretch your legs every couple of hours or so. (Just don’t leave the key in the ignition while doing so.)

There’s nothing like the romance of the road, the panorama of the American landscape, the majesty of purple mountains and amber grain fields.

Or that knot in your stomach when you realize you forgot to shut the garage door.

 

© 2014 Claudia Grossman

Tags: , Permalink