Monday, November 21, 2005

Bynnah and the Friday Night Dinner

Friday night - the sabbath - to us yids is family time. And so over the past friday the FH family sat around the dining room table (and yes the rug looked fab) - Bold, Papa Len, Sim Sim Sima, M Poo and our adopted shiksa - Brynnah.
Brynnah, the blond haired, blue eyed temptress that she is, is really a political refugee at the two-fer. Her parents have been admonished to the backwards city of Edmonton. Brynnah has now become the family Shiksa (seeing as I ain't bringing one home); she declared this over Friday night dinner as we celebrated her birthday - until KB suggested that being a shiksa wasn't such a badge of honour. In fact it is sort of a derogatory one. Educated and now simply Brynnah, she admitted that she was just happy to be part of the family.
Now Brynnah is much more of Sima's child then Papa Len's. Although in looks she's clearly adopted, in personality Brynnah and Sima are peas in a pod and have spent many a morning discussing the finer things in life over latte's at the breafast table of the two-fer.
Unlike the rest of the FH family Brynnah can, however, carry a decent tune and so after the cross cultural blessings on bread, wine and candles, the family retreated the living room for a concerto as Brynnah offered to sing for the family a couple of her best opera songs; in fact songs she had just sung at an audition for Opera school in New York City.
"I'm going to sing Handel's Messiah." Brynnah declared.
We all blinked.
"It's a Christmas song." Papa Len nodded, as if knew what she was talking about.
"Ya know hallelujah." She sung.
"I love that song!" We all declared. "Sing that part." I shouted.
"That's a chorus part." Her own confusion mirrored our own confusion.
And sadly I realized that you can move a girl into the Faux Hill, give her a yiddishe name, but she's still the only Brynnah whose going to become an opera singer. I mean really, what do Jews no about Opera? Is Barbara Streisand taking Yentl to Lincoln Centre this year? One can only hope!

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

"I've Got Soul but I'm not a Soldier"

Today a random thought occured to me as I shuffled quickly out of St Clair West Subway Station's Heath Street Exit - a mere stone's throw away from the Faux Hill Village - what would people do if I suddenly stoped, stood in front of the elevator & started singing the Killer's "All These Things that I've Done"?

Saturday, November 12, 2005

What Would Sima Do?

WWSD is a question I've probably asked myself since I was bar-mitzvah'd about ten years ago (fuck I'm getting old). It's hard to encapsulate the antics of my mother in one blog posting, but she really is a special lady... truth be told today's posting is, however, based around a little nugget of motherly wisdom from everyone's favourite anagram.
It so happened that in our effort to keep up with the neighbouring Schwartz's, Cohen's & Goldenblatt's the FH family bought one of those nice black cast iron urns to put on the front porch of the two-fer; Bold got the old clay hand me down. In the summer Sima and I planted a nice arrangement of pink geraniums. Alas as the leaves in the Faux Hill (like, uhm, this is a Forest, right?) have turned into brilliant reds and yellows, and subsequently fallen to the ground [causing quite a traction problem for the neighbourhood SUV's let me tell you], our pink geraniums have begun to wilt; something a bit more seasonal was required for the two-fer. Something that screamed, "we don't celebrate Christmas, but we still need to decorate the front of the house." Something beyond a wreath was deemed appropriate. And so, being the dutiful son that I am, today I found myself schlepping down the garden district to purchase a much needed red berry & winter green arrangement. As Sima and I were arranging $100.00 bucks of cut tree branches in the black urn, she remarked, "this is the problem with possessions. We purcahsed this and now it requires seasonal attention." I suggested that since she was such a luddite hippie that she should return the rug she had just purchased for the dining room and we could live out in a shack in the woods; maybe a real forest? "Don't be stupid." She answered.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Confessions of Bold

Bold, everyone's favourite role model (married long-time sweatheart after 8 year courtship; currently a third year pediatrics resident; home owner), would like her fan club to know that she has returned her birthday gift to Tiffany's.
She is, however, still Bold and Proud. Just an FYI.

For anyone who has a 12inch 'BOLDIE' action figure the limitted edition Tiffany Accessory Kit has been discontinued; the value will be credited to your Visa/Mastercard.


Wednesday, November 02, 2005

You Give Great Foam

"You give great foam," are not words a gay guy really likes to hear. You give great head on the other hand, is a more marketable commodity. However, while working once at a coffee shop in I swear I was hit on by a guy who told me that I "made the best damn hot chocolate in Dublin." Gay innuendo asside, the Faux Hill Starbucks ain't a place to cruise. When the forty year old woman in Lulu tells you that you give great foam, she ain't insinuating that she wants to dyke it out with you. She's being serious.
So... with foam on the mind, I wound up at Starbucks, around midday, as I had been feeling nauseus and decided to take a sick day from work (& yes this blog will for sure wind its way up as a cautionary tale about people who get fired because of their blogs... but whatever). The day was for my MENTAL HEALTH.

This is what transpired:
I was in line with three ladies, Lulu, Dior and Dior's friend Gucci. Lulu had already ordered and was waiting to pick up her much needed treat, she was post yoga afterall.
"I'd like a soy, one splenda, no foam latte." Said Dior.
"I'd like a lactaid, two splenda, extra foam latte." Said Dior's friend Gucci.
I ordered a plain latte. I'm a simple guy with simple tastes.

As the four of us (which one of us didn't belong? Was it the gay guy without any fancy duds?) waited for our drinks... Lulu began commenting on the barista's technique.
"Joanna," she said, "I just want to say that you give the best foam." And on second thought... I may need another mental health day to recover!