Spotted What? (you may want to see a doc)

Once again, a happy reader sent me a photo I could not resist. That makes 3 in the last week. Hmmm, I think this trend is catching on. If there were ever a mission statement for this blog it would be: Carry a camera and notice the amusing things around you in everyday life. Except if it were a mission statement it would be a ridiculously long run-on sentence that would have been belabored around a conference table for months on end (yes I have sat in meetings like that and am having a big kill me now flashback thinking about it).

Gary calls my readers my private blog satanic worshipper friends (nice, huh?). Well, this one I can vouch for because I actually used to walk to elementary school with her and recently reconnected. So, thanks Fran, love that you thought of me in the Wegmans in Ithaca.

On to the post. This, my friends, would be a 10oz can of some tantilizing Spotted Dick. Yeh, I know, sometimes you just wake up in the morning and think, ‘what the hell am I going to do to satiate this mad craving for some Spotted Dick.’ Or maybe you wake up and say, ‘Damn, I better get some cream for this Spotted Dick’ if you are a man. And if you are a woman you would be saying, ‘Was I really that drunk or did that guy have a Spotted Dick? I better see a doctor!’

Ok, now that I have gotten that infantile behavior out of the way, let me share with you all what canned Spotted Dick actually is when you find it in Wegmans in Ithaca in the UK aisle. The UK aisle? What the hell? Do you have one of those in your supermarket? Ok, well according to Wikipedia (what did we do before the Wiki?) Spotted Dick is not actual a polka dotted penis at all. Nope, as the can says, it is ‘sponge pudding’ with currents or other dried fruit (being the spotted part) and the word dick being a contraction or slang of sorts for  ‘pudding’ (huh?) or ‘thick’ (makes more sense) because the pudding is thickened.

Yeh. K. I get it. And I am sure my friends who are in the UK like Janet from Facebook think I am a pathetic dweeby American but really folks, you have to admit you are all thinking you might need a can or two of this on your shelf just for the laughs when you go into the cabinet. It would make a lovely addition to any gift basket as well. Just giving you some ideas for how to bring a little Spotted Dick into your life. Think of me as the Martha Stewart for the Absurd (Neal that would be the MSFTA).

I like to stay consistent with the childlike behavior if you don’t mind.

Gotta go, have to spoon up some Spotted Dick for Gary when he gets home from tennis. We’ll see who has satanic worshipping friends…

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Paul Giamatti and the broken trackball

Today was a lemons to lemonade day. I woke all cranky about the broken trackball on my blackberry that would go sideways and up but would not go down (please, hold the jewish girl references here). If you are a blackberry user you know that down is key. Without down you can’t read your emails, you can’t turn on your bluetooth and you can’t change your settings to vibrate so your phone bings all night long with emails. Ok, so I could have shut it off for the night but let’s not forget I have a daughter overseas and without the blackberry we have severed-comm (yes, I have been watching too much 24 – copy that).

So, on this unseasonably beautiful April day I was not all that sorry to take the convertible out to the Verizon store to get it fixed. Happily it was only a $20 replacement part. And while I was there I had a nice lively debate on the worth of the iPad with my favorite guy there.

But, the biggest treat of all was that today a film was shooting at our town’s train station. And who was there, but Paul Giamatti (who I called Giamotta on Facebook today and am still a little embarrassed that I have a photo album there with that name in the title).

Poor Paul. There he was in a wool cap and this heavy jacket and it was near 90 degrees at high noon. I am guessing this was not exactly lemonade for him.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Yarmulkap. Or should it be the Yidlid?


This one comes to you from Rochelle, via her son. Thanks Ro. For those who keep asking, “Do people send you crazy stuff?” the answer would be a big fat yes. I am truly becoming the Magnet for the Absurd.

So, let’s take a look at this item. It is actually called the Yarmulkap but I am not thrilled with the name. It is one of those awkward contractions that doesn’t roll off the tongue. Now Yidlid, that has a real marketing twist, don’t you think?

This item is marketed as a combination Yamulka and a visor. For those not of the tribe the L is silent and for those really not of the tribe, this is the name for a skullcap for Jews, also known as a kippah.

Enough of the lesson in Jewish customs, I am a bit curious how the inventor of this sucker came up with this. What? A day in the park and he was wearing a baseball cap over his kippah and his head got hot? Check out this picture from the website. Love the Brooklyn Bridge. I mean, let’s face it, big concentration of observant Jews in Brooklyn, this shot could be very relatable for them, no?

Would you take a look at this for a moment and give some serious thought about how many of these will ever actually be sold? Let’s say that there are 6,489,000 in the US as of 2008 according to the US census bureau. I have to believe that there are a good chunk that don’t observe at all. Then you have Reform and Conservative, most of whom are not regular wearers of kippot (plural of kippah). Then you have to account for the kippah wearing population that will think that this item is completely RIDICUOUS because, well because it is.

So I am thinking a few hundred as gag gifts at best. What do you think?

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Time to Cry Tuesday – Life: It’s all about your mother

Ok, so I am a mom and I like to think in these terms. But this post is more than just a matriacentric (yeh I think I made that word up) view of the world as I see it in terms of my own mothering.

First, you should know that the beautifully manicured hand pointing to that shirt would be that of my mom. The full mom is in the original picture but I was afraid she might be a little shy about being featured here. Those who know her would recognize that hand anywhere.

So there hangs this cute little shirt in an equally cute little shop in Delray Beach. I am sure many a mommy (or maternal grandmommy) wanders into that shop to purchase this item and clothe some sweet little baby in it before they are old enough to have a say in what clothing they will wear (in the case of my daughter that would be by the time she was two!) My mom noticed it and we took a picture to send to my daughter. I am sure her response was something like ‘Aw, Gram!”

So what makes this Time to Cry Tuesday worthy. Well, just the way my daughter says “Aw, Gram!” is a start. Or the fact that we moms so often take the heat for what is wrong with our kids, I felt it was time to praise the idea of what we do right. Face it, we are accused of being overprotective (ahem, cough cough, Gary and Danny accusing me of that just yesterday), helicoptering, nagging, being the heavy, the number one culprit for all that is wrong in the lives of our adult children– as in all therapists blaming the mothers (exactly why don’t the fathers get the blame in therapy?)

This post is dedicated to and in recognition of all the fabulous moms in my life. Mine, my husband’s, both of whom I have been so very fortunate to have been able to share my adult life with – there is never a day I take that for granted. And all of my mommy friends who have been in the mothering trenches with me for the past (almost) 21 years. There is much truth in that silly little shirt. If you were raised by a woman who always put you first (as I was) or you know what it feels like to mother a child and how you would throw yourself in front of a bus for them – for real, you understand that it really is (kinda) all about your mother.

It is hard to explain the joys of motherhood. The best thing I can say is that without it my life would never have been so full. Colors would have been a little less bright. Things simply would not have tasted the same. Laughter would not have been as hearty and tears would not have been so sorrowful.

In short: Life, it’s all about your mother. (oh and of course your dad too)

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Spring at last!

When you can end a weekend day like this how can you ever complain about anything?

Doesn’t suck.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone

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Carrot Legs

Ok, I admit that I have an affection for suggestively shaped vegetables. And the odd thing is they seem to find their way to me often. Keeping with the theme of the butt potatoe, the phallic horse radish and the cucumber that was the envy of all the vegetables, this carrot (is it still singular if it has two legs but is attached at the top?) came out of the bag I bought this week. Imagine my excitement.

Imagine how dull my life is that I found this exciting.

Hey, it’s the little things in life that keep things interesting. That could explain the way Gary peels an orange.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Corkscrew Bill and The Hillary Nutcracker

Yeh, this one is really bad. Walking down the street in Delray Beach I came across these little beauties. The poor Clintons, they will never live this down.

My favorite parts? Oh that is easy.

Bill: Warning could create Pinot Envy. Oh I laughed all the way down the street on that one.

Hill: Stainless steel thighs. Really, what more can you say about that.

I would have bought these to add to my collection of stupid items but at 19.99 a piece I simply found them too pricey.

Hey, a girl has to set limits.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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I shlep, therefore I am

A big thank you to Susan who not only went back into a parking lot to get this shot but also came up with that great post title.

Her theories on this:

1. I shlep therefore I am

2. I am an Ivy League Shelper

3. I shlep to pay all this tuition

Here are my thoughts, I shlep from one school to the other getting window decals but all my kids are drop outs. Seriously, University of Pennsylvania, Cornell, Wharton, Mount Sinai Medical and Harvard Law? In one family? And the parents are driving an old beat up woodie station wagon? What is the shot?

Then again, you never know. I know a couple of families that bred some super kids with these types of credentials. And hey, you have to give them credit for going to motor vehicles with this request.

What ma’am? You want a plate that says I Sheep? No, that is shlep. Shlep? What the hell? Yes, and make sure there is a space between the I and the Shlep.

This is not my first shlep post, if you have been a long time reader you will remember shop shlep repeat.

That makes me ‘what Grammy Hall would call a real jew

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Dylan in a Doorway

I love this shot. Looks like he can step right out of it and lay down on that makeshift couch.

Not sure about the significance of the red seahorse. Any thoughts on this? Then again if you ready Dylan’s autobiography just about anything would make sense.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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Filed under carry a camera, New York, New York City

Ah… Americans!

I snapped this shot at JFK airport. This kid was in full tilt meltdown mode and this mom was so nonchalant I found it hard to believe she had not be lobotomized. Her solution to her kid losing it was to basically hang him by his shirt.

From her finger.

Take a look at this pose. She is looking off in the distance barely paying attention to the little monster. At one point he was suspended in mid-air by his shirt. He continued to scream and rant and she continued ignoring him. A textbook portrait of fine parenting for sure.

But, I do kind of like the way they are dressed alike.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visit Leaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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