I Just Called to K'vetch and K'vell...I can't think of anything to say today...I couldn't think of anything to say yesterday, either. So I said nothing. And while that is certainly the easier thing for me to do...nothing...it's not much fun for you, the reader, nor is it of value to Posterity (you never can be sure if whether or not your mindless jottings are going to be read by scholars several millenia from now, like those cave-paintings in France). So in the interest of keeping the joints and conduits lubricated (as it were), here are some things that are bugging me this week, followed by some things that made me happy.
K'vetchWhy isn't there a more reliable method for predicting weather than looking out the window and guessing? All these meteorologist guys with all this equipment and scientific education and nice suits and blue screens and makeup and air-time, they still can't tell you what to wear in the morning.
Today I looked out the window and it looked drizzly and cold; just to back up my opinion, I asked the Grandmother, and she thought it looked pretty chilly and that it might rain, plus The Weather Man (I don't know which news station she watches, and neither does she) told her it was going to be cold and cloudy and might very well rain. So I wore tan cords, a white undershirt, a bulky black turtleneck, and my new K-Swiss sneakers (they're watertight!) with my Nautica trenchcoat.
I thought I looked pretty jazzy. But no sooner did I leave the office to run errands (late in the morning) than the sun came out and it got quite warm. I couldn't just take off my sweater, because the white undershirt looks exactly like a white undershirt, and cannot pass as a t-shirt. Taking off the undershirt didn't help much, since the sweater was black and absorbed all the heat and light that was ricocheting all over Downtown.
So what's a girl to do? Well, I went and bought a new shirt at the Gap, since it was right across the street from the bank that represented one of my errands. I got a nice Wedgewood-blue cotton henley off the clearance rack, long and narrow and ribbed, oh-so-flattering, only $7.58 with tax! (Mini-Kvell)
Of course as soon as I got back to the office, cool and comfy, the sun went away again and it got so cold I had to turn on the furnace. Make up your mind, will you?! Oh, the joys of Northern California and the San Francisco Bay climate!
K'vetchWhy can't I decide if I love food more than I hate fat? They seem quite equal. I mean, every time I look in the mirror and see this roll of chub around that portion of my torso that used to be a waist, I swear I'm never going to touch a box of chocolates again; then I'll be tucking into a slice of French silk pie and exclaim that it's worth all the ugliness to experience this ecstasy; then I'll pull a muscle in my lower back from sucking in my abdomen all day long, and declare that never shall another potato chip pass my lips; then I decide I can just as easily buy new clothes in a larger size if only I can eat an entire box of Pepperige Farm's Golden Orchard Assortment; or I'll undergo the humiliation of having to have four people wedge me into my evening gown and silently vow to forgo at least one meal a day until I can get into a size fourteen without artificial reconstruction; then I smell a Cinnabon booth in the mall and can't remember what I was so upset about—I mean, I'm not really obese or anything, just a little sloppy around the middle...and I'm still not as fat as most of these poor straight schlubs in line for the Cinnabon.
Oh, why can't there be an easy answer, some way of letting me eat whatever I want and keep the shape of my twenty-first year? Some pill or powder that didn't make me bitchy or give me gas or send me running for a toilet every fifteen minutes or make my hair fall out or turn my skin green?
Who said "Exercise"? Find that smart-ass and kill him!
K'vetchSo, anyway...How can I get my Grandmother to stop watching Trash TV? She watches Judge Judy a lot, and The O'Reilley Factor, and Lifetime movies, and Fox Network News. It makes me sad. What somebody ought to do is develop a V-Chip that filters out self-righteousness and bad manners instead of sex and violence. I really believe that all that tawdriness and stupidity has a more deleterious effect on one's morals than a thousand naked women smearing themselves with whipped cream in Cancun (as shuddering of a thought as that is). This evening when I brought Grandmother some cookies I'd baked (inspired no doubt by the tightness of the shirt I'm wearing), Bill O'Reilley was actually yelling at his own video-phone guest about the "missing" money in the National Deficit (funds that nobody knows where they went...which I personally quite understand)...and then the guest had the bad form to try and pass off the scandal as belonging solely to the Republican Party (I assumed she was a Democrat, judging by her Yiddish-tinted accent and Anne Klein II suit), and O'Reilley yelled that it was "ALL OF YOU" who were responsible (I hope he meant All Of Congress, or All Of Politicians, and not All Of Jews...though I'm sure more than one of Bill's audience might have picked up that construction). One should never yell at one's own guests. Ever!
I mean, if Bill O'Reilley came to my home, I would never raise my voice, not even once. I would just very quietly slip some rat poison into his tea and smile silently as he turned ninety-eight shades of purple and fell gasping to the floor.
Oh, well. She's an adult, I guess I have to let her watch whatever she wants. I know I wouldn't let her dictate to me what I watch on television. I can always leave the room when something I don't like is on. That's why we have two televisions, after all.