I heart Letterman

If you've been following this blog for a while, you know I LOVE David Letterman.

Yep, that's me, and Dave. See a resemblance?

Now, I've noticed lately, that my comments are waaaay down. Perhaps I have lost my magic; perhaps it's preoccupation with the holidays; perhaps I'm not as important as I would like to believe I am.

So, until I see more comments here, I really don't see a reason to grace you with my wit and wisdom.

Instead I shall provide you with this link.

I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please comment.

If I receive enough comments, then perhaps I shall reward you with a posting.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=FD-K8P-7rTI

One year ago today I had this to say...

Perhaps some would call this cheating. Some may call it sheer laziness. I call it..."hey, this wasn't bad writing for the beginning of my blog, and since many of you were not readers yet, you missed it...therefore, I feel compelled to share it with you, so that those of you who did not read it the first time, will have a chance to learn a little bit more about me".

Whew, that was exhausting.

I want to say just one word to you. Just one word. Are you listening? PLASTICS!

When I was a little girl, we would often visit my grandparents in the Fairfax district of Los Angeles. They were Russian immigrants who came here by way of Canada to New York and finally to lovely Los Angeles. In those days, L. A. was filled with dreams of Hollywood, orange groves, blue skies, and year round sunshine. They lived in several places before I was born, but the place I remember was their apartment near Fairfax.

What I remember most about their apartment was... PLASTIC! Every sofa, every chair, was dressed with a specially sized covering of clear PLASTIC. Now, as if that weren't enough...even the carpets were shielded with plastic runners.

My formative years were spent trying to figure out why. What would lead these two little Russian immigrants to such strange behavior?

Was it for comfort? I don't think so...considering that trying to pry yourself off the couch without leaving the skin from the back of your legs was no easy feat...I don't think it was for comfort.

Was it for cleanliness? Perhaps...I suppose there's alot to be said for being able to hose down your furniture at the end of each day.

Was it for status? Maybe...The 60's was a time for PLASTICS, as was so aptly pointed out in the movie "The Graduate".

Was it for protection? Could be...we know the '80's was all about "protection"...maybe they were just ahead of their time.

Whatever the reason, I do know this...that plastic covered furniture is a memory I now hold close. My grandparents lived a hard life. They left their home to come to a land of great promise...promises that were in many ways fulfilled. But they had to live through the death of their only son. And I can't remember a day where I felt their anger, resentment, or the unending pain that I now know they must have felt.

My grandfather lived to the age of 93, writing love letters to my grandmother 'til the day he died. Not a visit would go by, where he didn't tell me the latest joke. And, although my grandmother complained that she hadn't slept in 50 years, she lived to the age of 89, dying only a year and a half after my grandfather.

Maybe, in the end, the reason for the PLASTIC was this...Preservation.

It preserved the furniture that to them meant they had "made it"...they had achieved the American dream. And within that dream they preserved a marriage, a family, a life together for 63 years. I'm grateful for those memories and the model of a long lasting marriage made of ups, downs, hard work, humor, love, and loyalty.

Maybe that guy's advice in "The Graduate" wasn't so far off the mark after all.

(post inspired by Danny Miller)

technology meets hair

(this is my 100th post...who knew when I began 1 year ago, that I'd have 100 things to say. Thanks to those of you who stop by here, and truly make it fun for me to write).

I have great hair. No, really, just ask anyone who knows me...they'll tell you:

"Cruisin has great hair".

The main reason my husband married me was because I had great hair. (he tries to tell me it was for my superior intellect, but I know better).

Now, I can't take credit for this...my father had great hair, and my father's mother had great hair. (and by great, I mean...lot's of it). It's simple genetics, and that is that.

Through the years, I've had people ask me where I get my haircut...no big whoop.

But last week I think I experienced the ultimate in the age of technology.

Upon having just had my hair cut (and colored...gotta keep the gray at bay), I decided to do a little shopping at a local Mervyn's. I was wandering around the store, with my usual dazed and confused look, when suddenly I was approached by a woman around my age.

Not unlike many strangers have stated to me in the past, this woman wanted me to know what a great haircut I had.

She then proceeded to ask me where and who cuts it. She vigilantly took down the information. She wanted my name, so she'd be able to tell my hairdresser whose hair she'd like hers to look like.

But she started to think (aloud, mind you, as if I'd really care), that perhaps she didn't want to insult her own hairdresser, by leaving and trying someone new, and having to explain to her own hairdresser why she had opted to go somewhere else.

So, she and her friend decided that it was best to snap a picture of me so she could show her own hairdresser how to cut her hair.

Out came the camera-phone.

What could I say? I mean, this was my shining moment...the moment I could truly help another human being.

After all, if I could help this woman's self esteem by simply showing her the way to better hair...why, I would have accomplished a mitzvah, a good deed. And during the holiday season...this is the time to give of oneself, no?

I had no choice but to agree to her request. She took a picture of me from the front. Then she asked me to turn around, so she could represent my backside as well. And, let' s not forget about the side view.

So there you have it. Who knew that my greatest assest, my hair, would someday enrich the life of just one woman. And if this woman feels better about herself when she receives her new haircut, who knows what she will go on to achieve...a "pay it forward" moment, if you will.

Now, if this heartwarming story about a little camera phone doesn't explain the far reaching effects of technology on the human condition...well, then I don't know what will.

And, in that moment, I knew I could return to my shopping, with the knowledge that I had behaved in the true spirit of the holiday season.

Ramblings (or, how not to end up like Brad and Jen)

Well, I just picked myself up off the floor where I was eating handfuls of jelly bellies.

Sounds weird, you say? Well, let me explain.

Our annual Hanukah party is this Saturday night. You can read about last year's party here. A staple of the party is a big jar of jelly bellies from Costco. I bought that jar today, and of course had to hide it from the vultures, I mean my family, so there would be at least a few left for the party.

Well, the problem with hiding things from others, is this: you know where you hid it!

Now, if you have followed this blog for awhile, you know of my unnatural love for jelly belly's.

So, about an hour after hiding them, I remembered and thought to myself: "Eureka, I have jelly bellies in the house"!!! So, what's a girl to do? What else...find those little buggers and start shoveling them in.

It just so happens I hid them in a lower cabinet in the laundry room. So, I bent down to grab them, open the jar, and lo and behold I fell right on my a*#.

And there I sat. With the jar. I opened the jar. I ate. Lot's and lot's of jelly bellies. Ummm, good.

I thought to myself, well, this is certainly "blogworthy". Actually, it was "pull out the video camera, she's sitting alone on the floor shoveling j.b.'s into her mouth as fast as she can" worthy.

That was rambling number one.

Here's rambling number two.

Last week while attending my work's holiday lunch, a 30 year old volunteer for the center I work for, asked if I had a boyfriend.

See, apparently she thought I was a widow, and that I should be fixed up with somebody.
After contemplating how to answer for a moment or two, I thought that perhaps I should tell the truth...that I had been happily married for 21 years. But I asked her if she knew any men around the age of 50 to fix up with my friend.

Her reply:

Oh, I don't know anyone THAT old!
I immediately asked, "jeeeeeeez...how old was this guy you wanted to fix me up with"?
She said, "well I'm 30...so, someone around that age".

Now may I say, this was getting more intriguing by the minute. I mean...Mr. Cruisin probably wouldn't notice that I was out on a date with a much younger man. He'd probably be asleep on the couch, or repairing bushings, or refurbishing the entire house or something.

So, why not go out on a date with a much younger man? I could be out and back before Mr. Cruisin finished napping.

But then I thought about Brad and Jen...afterall, he just went out to make a little movie, and we all know what happened there.

Goodness knows, that's not what I want...no one could make me laugh like Mr. Cruisin.

But hey, a girl can fantasize for a moment right? Afterall, how often does a flashing 51 year old get asked to be fixed up with someone in their 30's?

Hmmmm?...tell me...I'm waiting...............

(happy hanukah everyone)

Mr. Cruisin: walkin the red carpet

I started this blog back in June '05 so I could comment on others.

It was not until Dec. 12, that I actually started to regulary write here.

So, as I approach my one year anniversary of writing on a regular basis, I have been re-reading the things I wrote last year at this time.

As I read through my past posts, I am quite impressed. I didn't know I had it in me to be so funny at times, so thoughtful and esoteric at times, and just plain ridiculous at times. (not to mention quite modest, don't you think?)

I reported this to Mr. Cruisin...letting him know that I was quite impressed with some of my writings...referring of course to some of my more moving, thought-provoking pieces.

And here is what he said...

"Gee, my favorites are the ones about me".

and he said this quite seriously ( yeah...enough about me, let's talk about me)

Mind you, my husband is a simple, unassuming guy. He isn't flashy and hangs onto possessions for a very long time (lucky for me, he likes things that are old, yet in fairly good working condition).

So, it's rather adorable that he would come up with such a statement. (you can imagine how much he is loving the fact that I am referring to him as adorable).

And it's true, he has been my greatest muse. He let's me make fun of him and gush about him. How cute is that? (can you see his eyes rolling right about now?).

I think that he secretly (well, I guess with a statement like: "Gee, my favorites are the ones about me", maybe it's not so secret) likes being the focus of a great deal of my writings.

And what's not to like if you really think about it. Afterall, I've:

• compared him to Paul McCartney (in a good way, that is)
  
• referred to him as my "knight in shining armor"
  
• sung his praises when it comes to fixing my sagging bushing
  
• bragged about him taking on our rotting patio cover
• provoked sympathy from readers when he broke his toe.

Come to think of it...he gets more attention around here than I do. Why, he was even dubbed with a nickname: Mr. Cruisin!

But, am I jealous? NO WAY! Afterall, this being the season of giving, I am in touch with my inner "giver". Tis better to give than receive, right?

So, if I can make this poor old guy feel like a star...why not. In fact, I think that I get the largest response of comments when I write a Mr. Cruisin post. And, I don't think asking me to roll out a red carpet, and flash my new digital camera at him when he comes home each night is asking too much, do you?

Who knew when I started to post "for real" last year, that my husband would become a star here just one short year later.

So, let's hear it for Mr. Cruisin...my muse, my man.

(we'll see how many frickin comments come in because this is a Mr. Cruisin post...Ba-Humbug)

(oops, did I just say that out loud?)

Brain on the loose

Have you ever wondered how one event changes the course of your life?

Last year, I asked this question on my blog.

I did not get one response.

Was this too threatening a question? Too thought-provoking? Too intimidating? Too esoteric? Or just plain stupid?

Now, at the time, I had only posted 4 times...I was a blogger "newbie", if you will. But I thought it was a pretty good question (if I do say so myself).

Of course, for me that answer has always been obvious: the death of my father at age 10 had to be the most life changing event of my life. But...I wonder if there were others.

And, is it events that change our lives...or is it our reactions to events that change our lives?

For example: Two people can be driving along and suddenly hit a flurry of traffic. One person may succumb to this situation with anger and bitterness. While another may blast a Frank Sinatra CD, enjoying the extra time spent in the car singing her lungs out (that would be no one I know persoanally).

The event changes both of these lives (they will arrive late to their destination, thereby setting off a chain of other events, etc). But it's really the reaction to the event that impacts our personality, our health, and our relationships with others.

Is this all too confusing? Perhaps...but it's food for thought. Probably only food for my thoughts.

So, there you have it...a glimpse into my mind. Now you know what's running around loose in there.

If you care to comment this year...be my guest. If not...I'll know not to ask this question again next year.