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All posts for the month April, 2009

LET THEM EAT PROZAC

Published April 27, 2009 by jean cohen

My neighbor (the one who knows what to do with rhubarb) popped over and handed me what she said was “a long overdue housewarming pressie.”

 

Yes, it was a bloody plant.

 

BooBoo and I were having a coffee in my garden, and when I came out carrying the unlucky flora, Boo commented “Great; something new for you to kill.”  Sometimes she’s not very nice to me.

 

Well okay…that other plant…the one Jeanette from shul gave me…so I murdered it.  How many times do I have to say ‘Sorry!’?  I watered it, didn’t I?  It could have said ‘Genug’ (Yiddish) or ‘Basta’ (Italian) or even ‘I’m fucking drowning’ (American).  I would have understood any of those sentiments.  Instead it just shriveled up and did the big Q.

 

BooBoo says she will nurture the new one personally.  She brought it inside.  “It’s an indoor plant” she huffed.  “Really?” I asked intrigued.  “Why?  Does it not like fresh air and sunshine?”  Inquiring minds want to know.  She just shook her head sadly at my ignorance about nature. 

 

“Yeah, well I can spot a knock-off Louis Vuitton at 100 yards” I told her.  “In the larger scheme of things, which is the more useful talent?  I vote for Louis.”

 

“How long is 100 yards” she asked.  “100 yards is… 100 yards!  It’s how long a Real, Proper American football field is…not counting the End Zones which are ten yards, and there’s two.  And don’t confuse it with Not Real, Almost Like American, Canadian football; their field is 110 yards, because they have two fifty yard lines.  I might be able to spot a fake Louis at 110 yards; We’ll have to do a test.” 

 

Then, to pay her back for the crack about killing plants, I told her all about Jeremy Maclin (WR, Missouri), the 19th pick in the Draft.  The Eagles traded the 21st pick and a Sixth Round slot to the Brownies to get him.  Maclin was expected to go in the first Ten, but he didn’t.  And about LeSean McCoy (RB, Pitt) the 53rd Pick the Birds selected in the Second Round.  I had correctly predicted that the hapless Lions would opt for a QB with their Round One top slot and they did – Matthew Stafford from Georgia.

 

Yes, it’s NFL Draft time again. Oh, joy!   BooBoo went home when I segued on to NFL Draft Day Parties I Can’t Actually Remember A Whole Lot About. 

 

I went to shul on Saturday morning.  I looked stunning, and Adonai spoke personally to me as usual.  Just your basic Shabbat in Weybridge.

 

Saturday night, I had a date with BPeter.  He came over early, with his toolbox again.  No, that’s not speaking in tongues.  I had a ‘Honey Do’ list going, and he Did.  He put up a shelf, fixed a lamp, and mounted my mezzuzah on the door jamb so that I obey the commandment in Deuteronomy to inscribe the words of the Shema ‘on the doorpost of your house’.  Maybe so much bad stuff will stop happening now.  We just went to the Ash Tree for dinner and then had a few drinks with Cheese Boy; a relatively quiet evening.

 

On Sunday, I went to a seminar on Depression presented by Jewish Care, a charity which provides health and social services to the Jewish community.  It was sponsored jointly by the four synagogues in Surrey, and truthfully, NWSS needed bodies to fill our mini-bus.  It was held at Kingston Reform Synagogue.  It was informative, and I did meet lots of new people (Jews, naturally, the reason I agreed to go).

 

There are three people in my life, all of whom I care a great deal about, suffering from serious depression right now.  It’s my opinion, and again only mine, that Social Services here suck.  For almost any emotional problem, the only help offered is anti-depressants.  Practically the entire population is zonked out on ‘Mother’s Little Helpers’.   Personally, I find that shopping cheers me up much better. 

 

How can anyone be down about anything when they’ve just found the most stunning outfit for Pinkie’s Birthday Do?  And Pinkie has scored accommodations and tickets for us for the fabulous Clothes Show in Birmingham in December?  And we’ll be mooching on P.C. Hoofstraat and the Nine Little Streets in just a couple days?   Exactly.

 

Well, we didn’t win the Quiz at the Grotto Sunday night.  It was really hard this week.  But we came second, so we won eight drinks.  Pinkie and I will miss the Ash Tree Quiz on Thursday night because we’ll be in Amsterdam.  I hope the blokes will cope without us.

 

The next blog won’t be until we return.  Try to cope.  Just take another anti-depressant.

 

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I’M NOT BORED

Published April 24, 2009 by jean cohen

As promised, or threatened, I took pictures of the rhubarb.  Well, BooBoo took them; I couldn’t be in them if I took them.  I really do tell the truth…almost all of the time.

 

And I’ve posted some other pictures, of a memorial.  Fans who’ve been reading the blog forever know that Rere, my closest cousin, died just before I came back to Weybridge.  There were some issues—when aren’t there issues?—with her husband.  Anyway, when I got the pictures from License to Injure Slightly, of course I cried.  I dashed off a quick return email noting that I couldn’t believe Rere’s husband got it ‘right’ for once and noting how moving the sentiments were. 

 

By the way, for clarification, both our husbands were called ‘Jerry’.  We just called them ‘JerryC’ for ‘Cohen’ and ‘JerryS’ for ‘Schaffer’, and don’t confuse either of them with ‘GerryP’, who is cousin Geraldine.

 

John (License to Injure Slightly, if you’re trying to keep score on the British side), husband of cousin Princess Maggie, emailed back the following complaint:

 

‘We do try to keep up with the blog but honestly, Jean, the cast of characters is too hard for our old feeble minds to keep up with.  You might think of adding some sort of list that identifies the players and their relationships, but that might blow out the mass storage devices.’ 

 

Wow!  They’re confused.  I’m not.  Confused, I mean … for a change.  I guess you sort of have to be there… I mean here… no, I mean in one of the two places… now I’m confused.

 

So here’s a primer for the uninitiated, a Cast of Characters, if you will.  I suggest you print it out and tape it to the wall next to all your passwords and PIN numbers to avoid that pesky confusion thingy in future.

 

 

BooBoo (Karen) & Sister Pinkie (Lizzie) – My two BFFs

 

Cheese Boy (Lou) – BooBoo’s partner & my best male mate

 

Irish Lad (Terry) – Pinkie’s husband and a lovely man

 

Amy & Eamonn – Pinkie & Terry’s offspring

 

Jackie – the rabbi at North West Surrey Synagogue

 

Monkey Joe – fabled procurer of ‘Camilla the Car’ & bad influence (drinking companion)

 

Scary Fairy (Mary) – my Scrabble playing friend from New Jersey

 

Muffin Man (Mike) *the good Mike not to be confused with The Turd Mike* and The Mule-ess (Patricia) – American friends who used to own the Grotto

 

Mike – again not to be confused with the scum sucking turd one- my favorite partner at Sam.

 

Bernie Cohen – extremely hot Jewish guy (fortunately no relation)

 

David – extremely hot Jewish guy (I now know two guys called ‘David’)  Of course I mean you.

 

BPeter – a good friend who’s a ‘boy’ rather than a real ‘boyfriend’

 

PPeter – my landlord

 

Steve-o from Strange-o (Rob) The Irish Lad’s best mate; I’m not sure we’re actually friends but I see him an awful lot.

 

The Scary Fairies, Forgotten, The Scooby Dos, The Bar Staff, Lady Driver & Neil, etc. – the other Quiz Teams

 

The Quiz Nazi (Leyla) The Moderator of our Quiz at the Ash Tree.

 

Israeli Guy, DooWop Guy, British Commando Guy, Repo Man, Filthy Rich Jewish Guy, etc., etc., etc. – former boyfriends

 

The Turd (Bagpipe Guy) scum sucking, bottom feeding, see-what- happens-when you fish-outside-your-own-gene-pool ex-something or other. Don’t ask me; I still haven’t figured it out.

 

Colin – the new owner of the Grotto

 

Gabby – the DJ at the Volly; he fancies me.

 

Sam – Not a person; it’s what I call the Sam Beare Hospice Bookshop.

 

Lulu & Jarvo – really good friends

 

Jimbo (James) – my Proper, Real, American Football friend even if he’s a G-men supporter

 

Oz Ed & Clare- more good friend

 

Trevor of the Fifty Hands – a really creepy bloke who is so not blog-worthy.

 

And a cast of thousands more who caught my attention for a second but are not worthy of making it onto the list.

 

 

 

Moving right along, we won the Quiz at the Ash Tree last night (again, for the second week in a row).  I know… all these wins are getting so commonplace. It’s hardly worth blogging about.

 

Pinkie and the Irish Lad were in London for Pinkie’s Leaving Do at Charing Cross (she has a new job at Guildford Hospital), so, kindly, Steve-o from Strange-o said he’d pick me up.  I was quite titillated.  Would he land his Space Module right on the roof of #1 Rede Court and beam me up, Rob-o?  Sadly, no.  He drove up in a navy blue Peugeot and beeped the horn.  But there were some dials on the dashboard that I’m certain monitor the activities of earthlings and fax it up to the Head Office on planet.

 

Rob usually quizzes with his friends, so Cheese Boy and I joined them, forging a brain trust dubbed ‘Don’t Ask Me!’  You might want to edit that ‘Cast of Characters’ you printed.  Add on Theresa, Philip and Jamison.  Oh.  Add on ‘Jessie from the Scooby Dos’ too, because I love him.  (He knows why.)

 

Note to Chris (Forgotten), Paul (Scooby Dos), Karen & Doug (Scary Fairies):  Make sure you tell Jessie he made the blog this week.

 

What a shame Pinkie and I will miss the Quiz next week because we’ll be in Amsterdam.

 

I’m covering an extra shift at Sam, meeting Monkey for ‘one drink’ on Friday, have a date Saturday night with BPeter, a lecture on Sunday at Kingston Synagogue on ‘Depression’, the Grotto quiz Sunday night, and another quiz Monday night for the Weybridge WI.  (They don’t think it’s especially funny when I keep asking when we’re ‘shooting the naked calendar’.)  And I have to shop yet; I have nothing to wear that screams “Brown Café” or “Planning on Smoking a Whole Lot of Weed”.

 

But I will try to blog before we go.

 

GEE…I FORGOT I’M STILL REALLY SAD

Published April 24, 2009 by jean cohen

As promised, or threatened, I took pictures of the rhubarb.  Well, BooBoo took them; I couldn’t be in them if I took them.  I really do tell the truth…almost all of the time.

 

And I’ve posted some other pictures, of a memorial.  Fans who’ve been reading the blog forever know that Rere, my closest cousin, died just before I came back to Weybridge.  There were some issues—when aren’t there issues?—with her husband.  Anyway, when I got the pictures from License to Injure Slightly, of course I cried.  I dashed off a quick return email noting that I couldn’t believe Rere’s husband got it ‘right’ for once and noting how moving the sentiments were. 

 

By the way, for clarification, both our husbands were called ‘Jerry’.  We just called them ‘JerryC’ for ‘Cohen’ and ‘JerryS’ for ‘Schaffer’, and don’t confuse either of them with ‘GerryP’, who is cousin Geraldine.

 

John (License to Injure Slightly, if you’re trying to keep score on the British side), husband of cousin Princess Maggie, emailed back the following complaint:

 

‘We do try to keep up with the blog but honestly, Jean, the cast of characters is too hard for our old feeble minds to keep up with.  You might think of adding some sort of list that identifies the players and their relationships, but that might blow out the mass storage devices.’ 

 

Wow!  They’re confused.  I’m not.  Confused, I mean … for a change.  I guess you sort of have to be there… I mean here… no, I mean in one of the two places… now I’m confused.

 

So here’s a primer for the uninitiated, a Cast of Characters, if you will.  I suggest you print it out and tape it to the wall next to all your passwords and PIN numbers to avoid that pesky confusion thingy in future.

 

 

BooBoo (Karen) & Sister Pinkie (Lizzie) – My two BFFs

 

Cheese Boy (Lou) – BooBoo’s partner & my best male mate

 

Irish Lad (Terry) – Pinkie’s husband and a lovely man

 

Amy & Eamonn – Pinkie & Terry’s offspring

 

Jackie – the rabbi at North West Surrey Synagogue

 

Monkey Joe – fabled procurer of ‘Camilla the Car’ & bad influence (drinking companion)

 

Scary Fairy (Mary) – my Scrabble playing friend from New Jersey

 

Muffin Man (Mike) *the good Mike not to be confused with The Turd Mike* and The Mule-ess (Patricia) – American friends who used to own the Grotto

 

Mike – again not to be confused with the scum sucking turd one- my favorite partner at Sam.

 

Bernie Cohen – extremely hot Jewish guy (fortunately no relation)

 

David – extremely hot Jewish guy (I now know two guys called ‘David’)  Of course I mean you.

 

BPeter – a good friend who’s a ‘boy’ rather than a real ‘boyfriend’

 

PPeter – my landlord

 

Steve-o from Strange-o (Rob) The Irish Lad’s best mate; I’m not sure we’re actually friends but I see him an awful lot.

 

The Scary Fairies, Forgotten, The Scooby Dos, The Bar Staff, Lady Driver & Neil, etc. – the other Quiz Teams

 

The Quiz Nazi (Leyla) The Moderator of our Quiz at the Ash Tree.

 

Israeli Guy, DooWop Guy, British Commando Guy, Repo Man, Filthy Rich Jewish Guy, etc., etc., etc. – former boyfriends

 

The Turd (Bagpipe Guy) scum sucking, bottom feeding, see-what- happens-when you fish-outside-your-own-gene-pool ex-something or other. Don’t ask me; I still haven’t figured it out.

 

Colin – the new owner of the Grotto

 

Gabby – the DJ at the Volly; he fancies me.

 

Sam – Not a person; it’s what I call the Sam Beare Hospice Bookshop.

 

Lulu & Jarvo – really good friends

 

Jimbo (James) – my Proper, Real, American Football friend even if he’s a G-men supporter

 

Oz Ed & Clare- more good friend

 

Trevor of the Fifty Hands – a really creepy bloke who is so not blog-worthy.

 

And a cast of thousands more who caught my attention for a second but are not worthy of making it onto the list.

 

 

 

Moving right along, we won the Quiz at the Ash Tree last night (again, for the second week in a row).  I know… all these wins are getting so commonplace. It’s hardly worth blogging about.

 

Pinkie and the Irish Lad were in London for Pinkie’s Leaving Do at Charing Cross (she has a new job at Guildford Hospital), so, kindly, Steve-o from Strange-o said he’d pick me up.  I was quite titillated.  Would he land his Space Module right on the roof of #1 Rede Court and beam me up, Rob-o?  Sadly, no.  He drove up in a navy blue Peugeot and beeped the horn.  But there were some dials on the dashboard that I’m certain monitor the activities of earthlings and fax it up to the Head Office on planet.

 

Rob usually quizzes with his friends, so Cheese Boy and I joined them, forging a brain trust dubbed ‘Don’t Ask Me!’  You might want to edit that ‘Cast of Characters’ you printed.  Add on Theresa, Philip and Jamison.  Oh.  Add on ‘Jessie from the Scooby Dos’ too, because I love him.  (He knows why.)

 

Note to Chris (Forgotten), Paul (Scooby Dos), Karen & Doug (Scary Fairies):  Make sure you tell Jessie he made the blog this week.

 

What a shame Pinkie and I will miss the Quiz next week because we’ll be in Amsterdam.

 

I’m covering an extra shift at Sam, meeting Monkey for ‘one drink’ on Friday, have a date Saturday night with BPeter, a lecture on Sunday at Kingston Synagogue on ‘Depression’, the Grotto quiz Sunday night, and another quiz Monday night for the Weybridge WI.  (They don’t think it’s especially funny when I keep asking when we’re ‘shooting the naked calendar’.)  And I have to shop yet; I have nothing to wear that screams “Brown Café” or “Planning on Smoking a Whole Lot of Weed”.

 

But I will try to blog before we go.

 

BUT SERIOUSLY…

Published April 22, 2009 by jean cohen

It was a serious and a frivolous week, because I can do both.

 

Monday was Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, and I went to the service at shul.  The guest speaker was a survivor of the Theresienstadt Concentration Camp.  Jackie had mentioned on Shabbat that since the number of survivors is rapidly dwindling, it’s important for teens to get the opportunity to hear first hand accounts.  So I took Amy to the service.

 

The story was chilling.  The woman and her father lived in Berlin.  Her mother and grandmother had already been deported to the camps, and her father worked twenty hours a day as forced labor repairing railway lines that had been bombed.  At five years old, she was virtually alone and responsible for scrounging for food for herself and her father, cooking, and finding a place to hide when the Allies bombed.  (Jews were not allowed into the bomb shelters.)

 

I won’t drone on about it or her experiences in the Camp, but Amy was overwhelmed and moved.  The survivor had brought along her Yellow Star, she had pinned it onto her jumper.  Amy said that image would stay with her always.

 

The Yom Hashoah service made three days in a row that I’d been to activities at NWSS, including services on Saturday.  It’s never too early to start thinking about the Book, especially if you forgot and ate a piece of garlic bread during Pesach. 

 

The Israeli Group Chair’s husband told me on Monday night that he’d Googled Abbie Ben Ari for the article he was doing for Haderech and the first item that came up was my blog, because I’d mentioned going to the lecture.  Of course, he complimented the blog (this is true; you can ask Amy) and said he’d read back through several months (shit!) and would be reading more.

 

Amy also had the pleasure of meeting Bernie Cohen.  I introduced them, and added jokingly “He’s my cousin”.  Bernie said “We’re closer than cousins.”  I carried right on telling Amy “We’re really brother and sister, but we were separated as babies, and Bernie grew up in Scotland and I grew up in Philadelphia.  That’s why only one of us has an accent.  Guess which one.”  Bernie laughed and asked “So do I make it into the blog again this week?”

 

On Tuesday, I wasn’t a Tea Lady.  I’d forgotten that Sanjay had asked me to be on the Weybridge Centre Committee and there was a meeting on Tuesday morning.  He said he needs ‘new blood’ on the committee; he just needs somebody….anybody…younger than 94.

 

The Chairman was droning on about this summer’s Day Trips for the old dears, including Strafford-on-Avon, Brighton, and the Cotswolds.  I zoned out to ClothesLand.  Then he said “A half day trip to Camberley”.  Camberley?  Is he kidding?  “Is there anything in Camberley?  Besides the Scum Sucking, Bottom Dwelling Turd’s house on Cedar Lane?” I asked innocently.  (Jack reads the blog faithfully.)   He wasn’t kidding.  Apparently, the Weybridge Center’s old dears will be spending an afternoon hoping for a glimpse of Mike in his kilt and then having a cream tea somewhere or other.

 

Tuesday was Beauty class too.  Pinkie’s on nights this week and felt it was more important to sleep than look good.  So she missed “Building a Core Wardrobe’.  I took notes for her.

 

I’m pretty sure Ruby said Cool Winters should wear stripes and florals, together.

 

Honestly, it took me an hour to get dressed for class.  I don’t spend that much time getting ready for a date.  I didn’t want Ruby to be disappointed in me.  I did monochromatic, ‘cause I can; shades of beige.  Ruby said “That look works well for you.”  Of course it does; I’m a Warm Autumn.

 

It’s funny, though.  Everybody in my class said the same thing.  They spent ages deciding what to wear, or changed two or three times, in case they got it wrong.

 

On the Bad Shit Keeps Happening front, it looks like Scary Fairy isn’t going to be coming over in May.  Her brother is still in the hospital and fighting major infections, and she doesn’t want to be here if something happens.  I was truly looking forward to some serious cutthroat Scrabble, and to seeing her too, naturally.

 

But on the Good Shit Happens Too front, Pinkie and I are off to Amsterdam on Tuesday for a few days of much needed ‘Girls Gone Wild’.  At least I’m planning to go very wild indeed; I can’t speak for Pinkie although we all know that she’s much wilder than me.  Dearest Irish Lad, whom I positively adore (have I mentioned that before?) got us the airline tickets using his KLM mileage. 

 

I got cracking and planned our entire itinerary and booked it and our hotel.  Tee offered to have his secretary do it, but, of course, Jeano knows Amsterdam…very well.  No crappy tourist class hotels like the Maria Theresa in Venice for us; we’re staying on Dam Square at the Die Port Van Cleve.

 

Pinkie popped in this morning on her way home from Charing Cross.  She suggested that we each just take one carry-on bag.  I laughed.  Then where are we supposed to put all the stuff we buy?  Honestly, she was just tired and confused from night shift.  And I told her we have to shop before Tuesday.  We have nothing to wear to Amsterdam; at least I don’t. 

 

 

BORN IN THE USA

Published April 19, 2009 by jean cohen

Somewhere…somebody…is continuing to read all of my old blogs.  It’s still a divine mystery.  You’d think they’d send an email complimenting me at least.

 

Right now, I’m in a time warp – back in April/May 2005, when I was trying to settle-in in Weybridge and trying to cope with life and not fight with Marina.  I’m not re-writing history; whatever I wrote happened or it was how I felt at the time.  I’m just polishing.  It’s a bit tedious, given the ‘been there, done that’ factor, but I admit that I’m enjoying revisiting my baby steps metamorphosing into ‘Jeano’ and the entrance, Stage Right, of the people who will play a major role in my future. 

 

I worked my normal shift at Sam on Thursday and it struck me that my life is completely ‘my’ life now, for better or worse, if that makes sense.  I chose it and fashioned it to suit me, and except for the memories of Jerry that are with me always (and the 3:00 AM visits) he never was, nor will be, a part of this Jeano’s life.  Everyone I know, and everything I do, came after Jerry or with no input from him. 

 

Thursday night was Quiz Night.  I’d missed last week because of the Second Seder for Pesach.  In honor of the Irish Lad’s big mother ulcer, our name was ‘Bob’s Bitches’, which is what the ulcer is called.  Rob deserted us for his other friends, so it was Pinkie, Lou, Terry and me, still a formidable line-up.

 

We were brilliant.  No, really, we were.  Maybe the questions were especially easy, or we just knew an awful lot of useless shit.  We won.  And I have to point out that this was the second quiz in a week that El Cheese-o, Irish Lad and I nailed. 

 

Surprisingly, the weather here has been almost ‘spring-like’ and it’s almost warm.  The bad news is that the grass in my garden grew.  Apparently, one ‘cuts the grass’ from time to time.  Well, obviously not ‘this one’.  This one had ‘John and his Marauding Mexicans’ who piled out of a huge truck every couple weeks like worker ants with lawnmowers and hedge trimmers.  In the fall, they were equipped with leaf-blowers.  In the winter, it was snow shovels and a plough.  In the summer, I swore they turned up to swim in the pool when we weren’t home. 

 

I found a charming boy who will do this ‘mowing’ thing every few weeks.  He even brought his own lawnmower.  (Property Peter got me one when he suggested I might want to ‘trim’ things a bit.  I told him I didn’t think so.)  Mowing Boy is called Richard and he has ginger hair.

 

And the rhubarb is as high as an elephant’s eye!  (That didn’t ‘work’, did it?  It works better with ‘corn’.)  The rhubarbs are enormous with big green leaves.  I thought the leaves were the rhubarb, but apparently not.  There are these pinkie, stalky thingies that are the rhubarb and you cook them and make pies and compotes and jellies.  At least other people do.  I can’t wait ‘til somebody whips up some rhubarb whatever.  I don’t think I’ve ever tasted it.  I will take some pictures of the rhubarb and post them, for anyone else who’s never seen nature up close and personal either, or shops exclusively in the Frozen Food section at Acme.

 

On Sunday morning I went to a lecture at Shul.  The topic was ‘The New Dimensions of Israel: Post Election Issues, the Coalition and the Peace Process’.  The Chair of the Israel Group phrased it more succinctly: “This is an opportunity to understand what’s really going on and counteract the stupid comments and uninformed criticisms clueless Gentiles never seems to get tired of uttering.”  Well, that’s what she meant.

 

The speaker was Abbie Ben Ari, who is a well-known social and political analyst, at least on this side of the Pond.  His bio does note that he has spent a great deal of time in the States as a senior Israeli diplomat, but I’d not ever heard of him.

 

His talk was brilliant, although one cannot adequately explain the entire West Bank and Gaza situation in two hours.  But I am much clearer now on the specifics and will be able to decimate any critics, should they feel compelled to bring the subject up.

 

Unsurprisingly, he was highly critical of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, whose far right wing Likud party is anti two separate states.   My take on the American Jewish view (gleaned from the Jewish Exponent which gets sent to me every week on-line) is that he is rapidly losing Jewish American support due to his hard-line stance.

 

Just because it’s interesting, Netanyahu grew up about fifteen minutes from me in Cheltenham, Pennsylvania.  I wonder if he went to Wagner’s on Friday nights and did The Stroll?  On second thought, probably not.  We could have been invited to the same Bar Mitzvah, though.

 

Sunday evening, I went to dinner at Pinkie’s, and then she and I, plus the Irish Lad, wandered up Monument Hill to the Grotto for the pub quiz.

 

We won.  Again.  For the second week in a row.  Damn, we’re good.

 

When I went outside for a fag during the break, the other teams started to take the piss because there were quite a few ‘American’ questions again this week.

 

A bloke called Trevor (not Trevor-of-the-fifty-hands; a different one. There are only about seven blokes names in England; they have to take turns using them) said to me sarcastically (at least he thought he was being sarcastic) “What’s he going to ask next? Name all fifty-two states?”

 

I gave him my patented Italian Jewish American Bitch Princess look. 

 

“Sweetie, even I would have trouble with that one.  Since there are only fifty.”

 

“Really?” he asked.  “Are you sure?”

 

REWRITING HISTORY

Published April 17, 2009 by jean cohen

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve certainly blogged about things that were best left unsaid even though, at the time, I felt like saying them, often in italics or bold.  But ultimately, any embarrassment, resentment or repercussions have been for me to deal with.

 

This is literally the first time ever I’ve been asked to delete or modify a blog. 

 

My first impulse was to scream about my First Amendment right:  Freedom of the Press.  (Wow!  I must actually be part of ‘The Press’ if people are bothered by what I wrote in a blog.)  But I’m not in Kansas or any of the other contiguous forty-seven anymore; I’m in Britain.  

 

Then I got huffy about ‘censorship’.  Come on.  We all know that’s a slippery slope. 

 

The blog was factual.  Yes, I embellished a tiny bit and let loose some ‘politically incorrect’ zingers.  But that wasn’t the issue.  I discussed something, with specific details, that is highly classified information.  I didn’t know.

 

So I have, again for the first time ever, edited a posted blog—The Second Seder.

 

While I came to understand the rationale for the secrecy regarding the specifics of the Synagogue’s security and deleting any details of it, I decided that my opinion—and it is only my own—based on my personal experience in the States was my right to write about.

 

‘I am a Jew.  Hath not a Jew eyes?’