I'm at my niece's bat mitzvah in Portland, Oregon. She is a poised, popular, giggly girl. My sister and brother-in-law said she was born laughing, and that's true. Her mission in life is to have fun.
I remember my bat mitzvah in 1977. I wasn't as confident as my niece Samantha. I was shy, a little bit awkward, and just becoming interested in boys. I had braces, just like Samantha, or Sam, as her friends call her. I loved studying Hebrew with the cantor, a chubby man with swollen fingers resembling sausages.
My mother had a nervous breakdown right before my bat mitzvah. She was briefly hospitalized at Morristown Memorial Hospital's psychiatric unit. This wouldn't be the first time a family member stayed there. She was spouting jibberish, and couldn't take care of herself or her kids. My sister Wanda and Lolli ended up doing a lot of the bat mitzvah planning.
Wanda had a little business going at the time as a pot dealer. She gave me a half ounce for a bat mitzvah gift. It was the best gift I received, and I proclaimed this to some friends one day in a marijuana-induced stupor. "Hey, my sister got me a half ounce for my pot mitzvah." I thought this was hysterically funny, but my friends just stared at me. They didn't get it.
Well, times have changed. There was no pot smoking going on at Sam's bat mitzvah, although there was definitely some dry humping happening on the dance floor. Wanda and Mark are involved parents and fully aware of the trouble teenage girls can get into. They open Sam's e-mail, and follow her around when she hangs out with her friends. I used to think they were over protective, but now I know they have their eyes open to what's really going on - girls creating fake My Space pages for parents to read, and another one with body part photos; Halloween parties where girls show up as Victoria Secret models.
Maybe times haven't changed that much after all.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
The Nose Knows
My nose has caused trouble for me my entire life. As a young Jewish girl growing up in the suburbs of New Jersey, I was teased for having a big nose. John Cepparulo used to ask me, "Is that your nose or are you eating a banana?" I never did answer his question, but it occurs to me now, that as a young Italian boy, he also had a big nose. Perhaps that's why he noticed my prominent shnozz.
As I got older, my nose developed a large bump and wide nostrils. Not too attractive. I decided to forgo a high school trip to Israel in favor of a nose job. A great gift for a nice Jewish girl. I flaunted my bandages and black eyes and even have a picture of my bruised face, flipping the finger to the camera.
After getting a nose job, you never quite regain feeling inside your nose. I have to do booger checks quite often with a tiny hand mirror I keep in my purse.
As I get older the pores on my nose are getting large and dark. Gross. I didn't really notice this until I was on T.V. Kevin was working for The Geraldo Rivera Show and I was in a reenactment about a woman who allegedly killed her boyfriend, and then called a radio station to brag about it. There were a few close ups of my face talking on my cell phone and I was horrified to see my disgusting pores magnified on television!
I had also developed a small red spot right on the end of my nose after years of sun exposure. It looked like a zit, but it wasn't. I used to cover it with makeup, but decided after years of carrying around this tiny dot, to have a dermatologist look at it. On the day Kevin planned to have a release party for his new book, the doctor sliced off the end of my nose and put a circular band-aid on the end of it. I was horrified! I had to go to a party with all of Kevin's friends with a band-aid on the end of my nose? I tried about five different shapes and sizes of band-aids, and finally settled on a flesh colored rectangular bandage. Luckily, my sister-in-law Lola photo shopped it out of the pictures from that night.
Now I have an infection in my nose. My entire nose is swollen, red and painful. It's bleeding and oozing and even my doctor doesn't really know what's wrong with me. My nose is a pain in the ass! Some days I wish my most prominent feature would just disappear.
As I got older, my nose developed a large bump and wide nostrils. Not too attractive. I decided to forgo a high school trip to Israel in favor of a nose job. A great gift for a nice Jewish girl. I flaunted my bandages and black eyes and even have a picture of my bruised face, flipping the finger to the camera.
After getting a nose job, you never quite regain feeling inside your nose. I have to do booger checks quite often with a tiny hand mirror I keep in my purse.
As I get older the pores on my nose are getting large and dark. Gross. I didn't really notice this until I was on T.V. Kevin was working for The Geraldo Rivera Show and I was in a reenactment about a woman who allegedly killed her boyfriend, and then called a radio station to brag about it. There were a few close ups of my face talking on my cell phone and I was horrified to see my disgusting pores magnified on television!
I had also developed a small red spot right on the end of my nose after years of sun exposure. It looked like a zit, but it wasn't. I used to cover it with makeup, but decided after years of carrying around this tiny dot, to have a dermatologist look at it. On the day Kevin planned to have a release party for his new book, the doctor sliced off the end of my nose and put a circular band-aid on the end of it. I was horrified! I had to go to a party with all of Kevin's friends with a band-aid on the end of my nose? I tried about five different shapes and sizes of band-aids, and finally settled on a flesh colored rectangular bandage. Luckily, my sister-in-law Lola photo shopped it out of the pictures from that night.
Now I have an infection in my nose. My entire nose is swollen, red and painful. It's bleeding and oozing and even my doctor doesn't really know what's wrong with me. My nose is a pain in the ass! Some days I wish my most prominent feature would just disappear.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Cruise to Nowhere
I went to a 50th birthday party on a boat yesterday. Kevin's cousin Andrea turned 50, and her husband Gerry threw her a surprise party on a small cruising boat. It was a chilly, gray day and the boat was covered in red and white striped plastic sheeting. It didn't protect the passengers much from the wind, but despite the fact that everyone was freezing, we all had a good time.
We don't see Andrea and Gerry much, probably once every few years. They haven't even met my daughter Esther. Kevin and Andrea were very close growing up, so we show up to their parties when we're invited.
Andrea and Gerry's old friends were there - girls from the neighborhood, old work friends, cousins and sisters. They were all outer boroughs people, mostly from Whitestone, Queens, where Kevin and Andrea grew up.
I opened a bottle of white wine, and sipped from a pink plastic cup. I was getting a nice buzz and joking around with one guy who worked in the garment center in Manhattan. He is selling Yo Gabba Gabba clothing for children, from a kid's TV show featuring a green striped creature that looks like a hairy pickle, according to my three-year-old daughter Esther. His wife, Dana, laughed about one creature that looked like a "nubby dildo."
One passenger on the boat had on a CBGB's shirt, and we reminisced about downtown Manhattan in the early 80's, and about all of the long gone bands and clubs from that time.
Everyone was balancing paper plates of baked clams and ziti on their laps, trying not to spill their drinks on the rocky boat. The food was heating in metal tins over cans of sterno. Carol Moscowitz and her husband, a pair of dentists from Kevin's neighborhood, were warming their hands over two cans of the purple sterno, like they were having a campfire.
By now, I was on my second cup of white wine, and Kevin and Andrea were talking about Andrea's mentally ill father, Mel. He sent some pornographic images to Andrea, with captions about her mother and aunt. He expected some return comments from his daughter, but Andrea was horrified and vows never to talk to him again.
Andrea and Gerry and their friends love to smoke pot. With Jimmy Buffet playing on the stereo, joints were passed around, and then cigars. The red and white plastic sheeting covering the boat started to fill with smoke.
Suddenly, I looked around at everyone's faces on the boat, and they all seemed old and wrinkled. I felt the passage of time , surrounded by a bunch of ex-hippies, reminiscing about the good old days. I started to feel depressed, and then suffocated.
The cigar and pot smoke was mixing into a rancid smell and I had to get some air. Bruce Springsteen was singing on the sound system now, about being young and racing cars on the highways of New Jersey. I was one of those young Jersey girls once, riding in cars and feeling free.
Now, I'm just a middle aged mom, trapped on a boat. I stared at the water and wanted to go home.
We don't see Andrea and Gerry much, probably once every few years. They haven't even met my daughter Esther. Kevin and Andrea were very close growing up, so we show up to their parties when we're invited.
Andrea and Gerry's old friends were there - girls from the neighborhood, old work friends, cousins and sisters. They were all outer boroughs people, mostly from Whitestone, Queens, where Kevin and Andrea grew up.
I opened a bottle of white wine, and sipped from a pink plastic cup. I was getting a nice buzz and joking around with one guy who worked in the garment center in Manhattan. He is selling Yo Gabba Gabba clothing for children, from a kid's TV show featuring a green striped creature that looks like a hairy pickle, according to my three-year-old daughter Esther. His wife, Dana, laughed about one creature that looked like a "nubby dildo."
One passenger on the boat had on a CBGB's shirt, and we reminisced about downtown Manhattan in the early 80's, and about all of the long gone bands and clubs from that time.
Everyone was balancing paper plates of baked clams and ziti on their laps, trying not to spill their drinks on the rocky boat. The food was heating in metal tins over cans of sterno. Carol Moscowitz and her husband, a pair of dentists from Kevin's neighborhood, were warming their hands over two cans of the purple sterno, like they were having a campfire.
By now, I was on my second cup of white wine, and Kevin and Andrea were talking about Andrea's mentally ill father, Mel. He sent some pornographic images to Andrea, with captions about her mother and aunt. He expected some return comments from his daughter, but Andrea was horrified and vows never to talk to him again.
Andrea and Gerry and their friends love to smoke pot. With Jimmy Buffet playing on the stereo, joints were passed around, and then cigars. The red and white plastic sheeting covering the boat started to fill with smoke.
Suddenly, I looked around at everyone's faces on the boat, and they all seemed old and wrinkled. I felt the passage of time , surrounded by a bunch of ex-hippies, reminiscing about the good old days. I started to feel depressed, and then suffocated.
The cigar and pot smoke was mixing into a rancid smell and I had to get some air. Bruce Springsteen was singing on the sound system now, about being young and racing cars on the highways of New Jersey. I was one of those young Jersey girls once, riding in cars and feeling free.
Now, I'm just a middle aged mom, trapped on a boat. I stared at the water and wanted to go home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)