Just Keep Your Mouth Shut!

In my continuing series on the stupidity of mankind, I present to you the following fact as reported in this morning’s Portland Press Herald : The federal government will give the city of Portland $1.8 million for projects aimed at reducing obesity.  According to surveys, 62% of the adults in Maine are overweight.

The article goes on to say that "for years, Portland city officials have brainstormed ways to combat obesity among children and adults.” Following are some of the ideas they have come up with and can now implement, thanks to the federal grant:
1. Installing salad bars in schools
2. Encouraging children to walk to school
3. Hiring a nutritionist to analyze meals served at local restaurants
4. Installing 80 bicycle racks around the city
5. Adopting policies to increase physical activity
6. Labeling healthy foods in school cafeterias
7. Creating a bicycle lane, possibly, on a section of Congress Street

You see where I’m going with this: How ridiculous! I especially like Idea #2, and wonder how much of the grant money that will use up. As for the encouragement, I can hear it now: “Please honey, just walk to school every day this week and I'll take you to McDonald’s this weekend!”

Nowhere does it say anything about outlawing the following: Fritos, Cheetos, Doritos, Pizza Hut, Cinnabon, Dunkin’ Donuts, Arby’s, Wendy’s, Burger King, McDonald’s, Taco Bell, Mrs. Field’s cookies, Sara Lee’s cheesecake, Little Debbie’s everything, Ben & Jerry’s, Baskin Robbins, Pepperidge Farm, Frosted Mini Wheats, Lucky Charms, Dove Bars, Butterfingers, Snickers, Almond Joy, granola, the frozen foods section of the supermarket, hot dog eating contests (see photo), Hershey’s Chocolate, Kentucky Fried Chicken, or the latest Starbucks concoction of whipped cream, sugar and, oh yeah, coffee.

I guess that nutritionist in Idea #3 has her work cut out for her.

I See Dead People

Time was, there were 25 or 30 folks jockeying for position at my grandmother’s Seder on the first night of Passover. It was always held at my parents’ house, since my grandparents lived in a 1-bedroom apartment in Queens.

People flew across country to attend. There was food like nothing seen before or since, and nowhere else: roast turkey, brisket, salads and potatoes and vegetables and gefilte fish and matzo ball soup and matzo meal pancakes and matzo kugel and macaroons afterwards, and those brightly colored kosher jelly candies that I could eat a whole box of right now.

There were aunts and uncles and cousins and my parents of course, and my sister and even invisible spirits like Elianovah or Elijah or Eliahu, depending on where in Russia or Poland your grandparents were from.

There was Manishewitz and Mogen David wine even if you were only 11 or 12, leading to the famous note my mother wrote when I was in the 7th grade: “Dear ----, Andrea did not do her homework last night because she got drunk at dinner and slid under the table, where she remained until this morning.”

And now, here it is again and I am alone. My husband’s in Philly on business, our son is in Burlington and most probably—no, most definitely--doesn't even know it’s Passover, and everyone who was anyone in that particular circle is dead. I will celebrate by having my dinner and watching reruns of “Everyone Loves Raymond” on TV.

Let's face it: The longer you live, the more ghosts surround you.

That's Adorable!

Let me start by saying my husband is very smart, graduated from a really good university that I will not name-drop here for fear of being accused of name-dropping, and is quite successful in his profession. That said, I must ask: How come he’s so dumb?

A few days ago Mitch offered to go to the grocery store to pick up a few things we needed for dinner. Inwardly I groaned, remembering his past solo shopping expeditions, but outwardly I accepted the offer since I didn’t want to go myself. Naturally he said what all men say before they go off to buy food for the family: “Make me a list.” This irks me no end, since he spends an hour every night before bed making detailed To-Do lists for work the next day, but when it comes to food, he can’t make a list. (Hey, open the fridge, buy what isn’t there, how hard is that?)

Moving on, I made a short list; we needed a very few things. Minutes later Mitch called from the store to say he had left the list at home on the kitchen counter.  Adept at multi-tasking, I read the list to him over the phone while simultaneously elevating my blood pressure, then hung up and took an extra pill.

Mitch arrived home. Instead of cole slaw to accompany our barbecued chicken, he had purchased salmon salad.  “Why this?” I asked. He thought it was cole slaw, apparently in his world the two are indistinguishable.

“But there' s a label right on the top of the clear plastic container that says salmon salad, and it costs five times as much! Didn’t you notice, besides the fact that the stuff inside is not greenish shredded cabbage but pinkish chopped fish, that this little bit of what you believed to be cole slaw cost you $8.75?”

“I thought it was pretty expensive.”

Mitch hopes I will eventually find things like this endearing. In the interest of my blood pressure, I am trying.