Why So Bitter, Herb? 2014 Edition (page 14)

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

I read this story on Friday. Really cool. One of the things I really like about Obama.

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

1st seder at a rabbi's house. The rabbi is a woman, a friend of my wife's for 20+ years and hosts a great seder. She's anything but traditional - go around the table with readings from 6-8 different Haggadahs, tossing out toys to represent the plagues, singing Debbie Friedman's "Miriam's Song" (complete with small tambourines and maracas)

2nd seder at my wife's cousin's house. With a teenager and two kids under 13 there, the seder goes quickly.

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

ONLY ONE??

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

All four cups, 21. All four.

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

It's a big cup...

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

It better big this big....



....to manage this year's event.

We will be having this year's seder at Lou's, um, place.

You can follow along here, or rent a copy of the old Alan Bates movie, 'King of Hearts.' Same deal.

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

Okay, I know no one cares about this, and it's completely self-indulgent, but I need to write it down so I don't wake up one day like I was hit on the head by a house in a cyclone or something.

So I get to town yesterday and head directly to Lou’s new digs. He is not getting out much these days, since there are four sets of locked doors between him and the parking lot. But there’s free ice cream every day at 3 so that’s nice.

My mother says he just needs a little rehab for his bad back, which will cure his forgetfulness and confusion, which doctors generally diagnose, in cases like these, as Alzheimers. ‘I told him, Lou, I said, Lou, you have to sit up straight so you can get deep breaths! If you don’t have deep breaths you’re not going to get enough oxygen! Really, it explains everything!’

I find him in his room after asking the cheery desk lady (‘Down the hall to Memory Lane, left at Friendship Circle, past the art room, he’s in 212, excuse me dear, MR MISHKIN! YOU CANNOT MAKE FISH FACES AT MRS BLOOM, PLEASE STOP! So that’s Room 212, just holler if you need help.’)

They were making Passover sock puppets in the art room.

I walk in his room, and he is distraught. ‘I can’t reach your mother anywhere.’ In one hand he is holding a crinkled paper with lists of phone numbers. In the other hand he has the remote control, which he is dialing madly. ‘Terrible service here,’ he says.

You have to believe me, I’m not being mean. It’s been a long few months.

Finally my mother arrives. ‘Darling, you’re here! Has it been two months already, I feel like you were just here! I know you said you’d try to be here every month, it’s perfectly fine, we’re just fine, aren’t we fine, Lou? Did they bring your lunch, Lou? Did you eat dessert last? I keep telling him, he has to eat the dessert last, so it doesn’t ruin his appetite, I can’t be here every little minute to keep an eye on every little thing, I don’t want him to eat the dessert and forget about the whitefish! Was it whitefish today, Lou? Did you eat dessert?’

‘These are not my socks. Aramis has my socks,’ he reports.

No one seems to know who Aramis is, but he comes up quite a bit.

We discuss Passover plans. We decided on a quiet dinner out last night, since Lou does not get out much. Dinner at my sister’s tonight. As far as I know she can only make macaroni and Rice Krispy Treats, so we’ll see how that goes.

So what does Lou want to do for dinner last night?

‘I want pancakes.’

Mother does not want pancakes. ‘For heaven’s sake, Lou, it’s Passover, you cannot have pancakes, you have chicken and briscuit, no one has pancakes, tell him 21, no one has pancakes!’

I don’t know, I think if you have to live in a place with an art room and Memory Lane, you can have pancakes.

He has another idea. ‘I want ribs.’

My mother—kosher—has never breathed near ribs, and is not about to start on Passover.

We agree on the local deli, which had plenty of matza and pancakes and briscuit. While my mother was gadflying around the crowd—LOIS! LOIS HELLMAN! YOU LOOK MARVELOUS!—I ordered dessert first, which I gave to Lou.

And what did my mother want to talk about the entire dinner? Duke basketball. She wants to talk about Jon Scheyer. Her friend Merle Cohen was at Jon Scheyer’s bar mitzvah, and everyone went to Merle’s house last Sunday to watch the game.

‘So I wanted to ask you, darling, can you get us tickets to the Fab Four? Do you know someone there? Can your Boom do something, I know he was too busy to come to Passover, is everything okay, 21, we never talk anymore, do you know if he can get us tickets? I don’t like to ask, but I told Merle Cohen I would ask.’

Just sayin, if Merle Cohen was at the bar mitzvah, shouldn’t she be looking into tickets?

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

It's Aramis Ramirez. When I spoke to Lou on the phone he told me that he sent his socks to Aramis in Arizona a few weeks ago. He said they were his lucky socks and he wanted Ramirez to have good luck this year.

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

You spoke to him on the phone, or the remote control? Could explain a lot.

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

Big-money idea: combine the phone with the remote control.
Much more useful than putting a camera in the phone.

(I'm pretending to talk into a tape recorder like Michael Keaton in 'Night Shift.)

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

We'll call it the "I Phone"

 

Re: Why So Bitter, Herb? 2010 Edition (page 10)

My wife hit on a solid idea for avoiding traveling to Seders and for avoiding crowded tables at Seders -- "Next year on Skype" (just have the host ship the food to everyone, then everyone sits at their own table on Skype and you conduct the Seder via webcam)