Must Love Dogs

Most of us love dogs and I am no exception. But I haven’t owned a dog in quite some time and I'm not always sure how to behave around them.

And frankly, whenever I encounter someone else's dog these days, I'm not even sure I want to be around them!

Take the case of Sophie, the poodle owned by my friend Ellen. Whenever I go to visit Ellen, Sophie barks, jumps up and down frenetically, and wraps her paws around my legs like she's begging me not to foreclose on her mortgage.

There’s just one problem.

When I first walk through the door of Ellen's house, I'm nowhere near ready for this level of affection. And I'm certainly nowhere near ready for the slobbery sticky face licking of the sort Sophie dispenses, not even if Sophie were somehow magically transformed into Scarlett Johansson.

"Hello, Sophie, how are you?"  I say stiffly.  "Ever so nice to see you."

That's the best I can muster this early on in my interaction with a pooch - anybody’s pooch - man’s or woman’s best friend or not. Sophie meanwhile is jumping ever higher and more excitedly on her hind legs, the better to unleash a full frontal doggy smooching assault on my face and body.

"No, no, Sophie, please I've just washed my face,” I plead.  “And hands too!  And this is a new cashmere sweater!”

Meanwhile Sophie's owner, flush with affection for her four-legged pride and joy, is intent on imbuing that very same affection into my canine curmudgeonly psyche.

"Sophie-kins, give some lovey-wovey to Perry.  Isn't she a good girl, isn't she a good girl?  You make kissy face with Perry!"

Oh, that unique quality in all of humanity to think every one of us must love their pets almost as much as they do! Were that trait not to exist, there would be three cat videos on Facebook and the rest political diatribes and people changing their profile picture.

But then as I settle into visiting my friend, a curious thing happens.  As I'm having coffee with Ellen, a more calmed down Sophie nuzzles against my leg.

No humping. No licking. Just snuggling.

"That's a good girl, Sophie," I said, rubbing her head softly. "Yes, you are a nice puppy, you are."

One hour goes by.

"Yes, you are a pretty girl, aren't you, Sophie! Aren't you, Sophie?" I coo in a voice I haven't used since I was five. "Yes, you are the sweetest little Sophie-kins in all the world!”

Oh, that unique quality in all of humanity to, after a short while, come to love someone else's pets almost as much as they do.

No wonder there are so many cat videos on Facebook.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Off-Brand GPS

The Voice behind my GPS --- NOT!

I'd never purchased a GPS in all these years since they've had them, dual reasons being I don't generally go anywhere I might get lost and I'm penurious, a euphemism for expressing the fact that I'll bend over to pick up nickels off the sidewalk, if not pennies themselves.

However, of late I'd begun to perceive the value of regularly hearing a pleasant female voice speaking directly to me, a rare enough occurrence in my life.  I found myself frequently using the self check out lines at the supermarket just so I could hear a sultry young woman tell me to "press enter" and then thank me for bagging!

I could just imagine hearing that warm soothing voice talking to me day in and day out, guiding me through life, speaking to me and me alone: 

Perry, that was a masterful and assured parallel parking job!  

Perry, look how long and straight you drove down that hard road, just like I asked you to!

Perry, you are my auto-erotic hero!

So I went out the other day and bought me a GPS.  There's only one problem;  my frugality won out, and I bought myself an Off-Brand GPS. 

"Now, Little GPS," I said as the two of us left the store, "kindly direct me to 489 North Cavendish Street."

"North Cavendish Street?" replied the Little GPS. "That's not such a nice neighborhood, I don't think we should go there."

"Where's your sultry pleasant voice, Little GPS?" I asked. "You sound like actress Fran Drescher from The Nanny!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get what you pay for."

"Alright, but please give me the directions to 489 North Cavendish Street."

"Drive straight for three blocks, then make a left on Buchanan Street. Take that down to Malloy Street and make a right."

"Thank you, Little GPS. Now we're getting somewhere." 

"Then proceed about 100 yards and stop to ask directions from the old guy in the stained blue windbreaker."

"What?! Ask directions? That's what you're for!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get what you pay for."

And so it was for the next several days. The Little GPS was generally disagreeable and almost always unhelpful. Finally it reached a breaking point.

"Little GPS, you've gotten us good and lost!"

"We're not lost at all!  Say,  got a quarter?  Call it in the air:  heads we go left, tails we go right."

"Call it in the air, heads we go .... this is ridiculous!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get ...."

"Don't say that anymore!"

"Well, I say YOU got US lost.  You're the one with the reputation for screwing up!" 

That was it!  Bargain or no bargain, the Little GPS was getting returned!  Fortunately on my way back to the store I found a half dozen pennies on the sidewalk.  Well, this time around I bought myself a Premium GPS featuring the voice of Scarlett Johansson.  I don't even care if it gives decent directions.  

Frankly I don't take it out of the house ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Baby Boomer Looks at "Girls"

I've always liked looking at girls, but looking at HBO's hit series "Girls,"well, maybe not so much.

Girls, now starting its second season, tells the story of twenty-somethings looking for love and sex and plenty of it in current day NYC. It's supposed to be about all aspects of their lives --- professional, philosophical, spiritual --- but mostly it seems to be about humping.  And the never-ending quest for humping.

The show stars its creator Lena Dunham as main character Hannah Horvath, whose young and single exploits are depicted along with those of her three best girlfriends, Marnie, Jessa, and Shosanna.  Also frequently depicted are Lena Dunham's bare, pointy, and heavily tattooed breasts. Suffice it to say they are not the fodder to launch a thousand ships, or even to launch one very lonely ship on a Saturday night when there's no one else in the dorm.

Millennials and most Gen Xers seem to love Girls.  Boomers, on the other hand,  fall into three categories: 

(1) those who find it too explicit and self-indulgent for their Boomer tastes,
(2) those who so strive to be hip they'll claim to like anything that's au courant, and
(3) those who so strive to be hip they'll claim to like anything that's au courant but are less than enamored by the never-ending display of Lena Dunham's bare, pointy, and heavily tattooed tits.

Me? I fall squarely into Category No. 3.

Now it's been suggested  that my objection is rude and offensive because I wouldn't complain if the series star were Scarlett Johansson, which is correct.  I wouldn't complain.  But how many women can honestly say they'd enjoy watching a similarly graphic show about the sexual desires and escapades of the modern American male if the series star were:

John Goodman

 starring in HBO's:

Sixty Year Old Guys

"Hey, Roger, look!"

"What is it, best friend forever John?"

"My new girlfriend played by 64 year old Sally Struthers just tweeted me a DM of her  pendulous and unsightly boobs!"

"Oh, my dear God!"

"No big deal, Roger.  It could have been much worse."

"How could it have been worse?!" 

"They could have cast Roseanne in the part."

"What on Earth are you doing now, John?!!"

"Why, I'm taking off my pants, sifting through my pounds of rolling fat, and producing my penis for the American viewing audience." 

"But why???"

"I have to do it in every show.  It's in my contract with HBO."

"And now what the hell are you doing?!!!"

"I'm taking a picture of my dick and tweeting it back to Sally Struthers. Plus I'm texting it to all my friends and business associates and putting it on Facebook, Pinterest, and LinkedIn!  It's likely to become a meme of vast cultural importance!"

"Geez! And we haven't even had the opening of the show yet.'' 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Whether or not Sixty Year Old Guys ever makes it on air, I plan to keep on watching Girls at least for a while.  For one, I am a Boomer who so strives to be hip that I'll  claim to like anything that's au courant. 

For another, the show may just grow on me. I'll give it a couple of weeks.

And maybe, one can only hope, Scarlett Johansson will  be guesting one of those  weeks! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

25 Reasons It's Great Not To Have A Significant Other

Boy, is this the life or what?!!!

All alone in the world? No one to tell your troubles to?

Great!

Having a Significant Other is significantly overrated, especially when that Significant Other is significantly irritating. And what Significant Other is other?

The following choice and edifying tidbits which all serve to prove the point were taken from the book I consider my veritable Bible on the singles life,  An Overage Loser's Guide to Meeting Marginal Women.  (Look for it wherever fine books in a discrete brown paper wrapper are sold.)

25 Reasons It's Great Not To Have 

A Significant Other

 1)  Unless you're a big fat guy to begin with, you really save on food. 

2)  The sex is whenever you want it!   

3)  You can eat crackers in bed until getting into bed produces the Snap! Crackle! Pop! sound.

4)  Never have to listen to anyone saying "You never listen to me!" 

5)  Personal hygiene?  Forget it.

6) When you have sex, it is always with Scarlett Johansson.

7) You always get to watch the big game uninterrupted even if you don't give a crap about the big game!

8) Screw up the laundry and shrink stuff? You don't have to answer to a soul!

9) Never have to surprise anyone with flowers unless you have to send flowers to somebody dead and by then it's kind of too late to be a surprise.

10) The toilet seat is always up and will never have to be fucking down!

11) Change the channel with the clicker non-stop without anyone complaining until the television finally explodes! 

12) The word "carping?" Doesn't exist.  

13) You never have to change the sheets until your body is imprinted on them like the Holy Shroud of Turin.

14) Love means you never have to say you're sorry?  No way.   Nobody Else There means you never have to say you're sorry!

15) You can feel free to tear up at all the sensitive touching parts in movies without worrying that your wife or girl friend will get it at last that you're a pansy-ass!

16) Never have to worry about friends avoiding you because they can't stand your wife or girl friend which provides you with that deep and abiding peace of mind that comes with knowing they avoid you because they can't stand you!

17) "Doesn't anybody else ever do anything around here?"  Yep, you don't hear that one much anymore. 

18) Never have to feel guilty fantasizing about nailing her girl friends.

19) Nobody complains about your snoring other than the people living on either side of you.

20) Intimate romantic dinners sure take much less time out of your day. 

21) In the case of Zombie Apocalypse,  no one around to eat out your brains.

22) Empty, hollow, and pointless relationships on the Internet so much more satisfying than dealing with breathing sentient human beings.

23) Valentine's Day?  Pay it about as much mind as Belly Button Lint Day!

24) No boring small talk after sex, that's for sure.

25) You have all the time in the world to sit around and fantasize about the great woman you'd undoubtedly get  if only you'd get the hell up and get out the door!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can have sex with her anytime you want!

(I know I do.)

Eleanor Roosevelt: Ghostbuster!

Who You Gonna Call?

History has a way of oftentimes throwing us a curve that no one ever expects, especially if you are a batter on the 2012 Philadelphia Phillies of the NL East Division of Major League Baseball. Nowhere has this proven more true than in recent incredible revelations regarding certain great American Presidential figures whose lives and legacies we all thought we had long fully known and understood.  

It began with shocking discoveries about our 16th President revealed in the book and movie Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and continued with astounding revelations  that President Ulysses S. Grant was a talented mime,  Woodrow Wilson a sought-after caterer, and George W. Bush an alien abductee whom, sadly, the aliens decided to throw back.

But the most incredible and explosive revelation of all about a resident of the White House concerns not a President, but a First Lady.  And that First Lady is none other than the widely admired and highly respected wife of 32nd President of the United States Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the implacable woman who from now on will forever be known as ....

  Eleanor Roosevelt:  Ghostbuster!

In his  superb new book, Who You Gonna Call?,  Dr. Peter Venkman maintains that Mrs. Roosevelt was indeed the one to call morning, noon, and night if you found a wayward demon, succubus, or arch-fiend from Hell sitting on your doorstep, trying on your underwear, or trying to register you Republican.

"Mrs. Roosevelt developed an active interest in the paranormal," writes Venkman, "to distract herself from her husband's dalliances with social secretaries Lucy Mercer and the aptly named Missy LeHand.  It was Eleanor who, concerned about alarming the Depression era populace, counseled her husband to delete the word sliming from an important line in his inaugural address and replace it with the words  fear itself."

As America entered World War II, Mrs. Roosevelt turned her parapsychological talents to the defense of her country.  "The Axis Powers will be fully unstoppable," Eleanor wrote in her journal of August 14, 1942, "if  Hitler, Mussolini,  and Hirohito should ever team up with the ginormous Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Even I can't resist his fluffy goodness!" 

Mrs. Roosevelt became convinced that the Allies' only hope to was to convince the Marshmallow Man to convert to Judaism. Unfortunately Roosevelt's efforts in this regard foundered when a  specially arranged meeting with Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau failed to induce in the Marshmallow Man the desired religious fervor to wear a 45 foot tallis knitted by the multi-talented Mrs. Roosevelt herself  while Secretary Morgenthau for his part gained 57 pounds of pure unadulterated sugar fat!  

Following the death of Franklin Roosevelt and until her own death, Eleanor continued her distinguished career of writing, speaking, campaigning for human and civil rights, and wrestling barehanded creatures so odious and disgusting Hagrid from Harry Potter would have jumped up on a chair screaming "Eeeek!"   

And so, as we today newly honor Abraham Lincoln not only for saving the Union but for saving things from sucking way more than they might have,  we also honor anew Anna Eleanor Roosevelt.    So, who you gonna call, boys and girls? 

 Eleanor Roosevelt: Ghostbuster!

Can't wait for the movie.   Scarlett Johansson as Mrs R.,  anybody?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perchance to Dream

To sleep, perchance to dream.

To stay up, perchance to snack.

Aye, there's the rub! And no fair making an X-rated joke out of that line, because this post is about dreams, not sex.   

I had that awful dream again last night, the one I've been having ever since I was a small child. In fact, I've had it so often and for so long that I'm now collecting royalties from other people whenever they have it!

In the dream, I am going in to take a final exam.  I have not attended class all semester, have not studied, and don't even know for sure what the subject is I'm taking the test in.  I am fraught with guilt, insecurity, and an extreme sense of deep and abiding  fraughtness!  

At that point I awake and experience inexpressible joy that it was all just a horrible dream. Then I do not sleep for the next six months committing Wikipedia to memory until I'm ready to ace that sucker!

Why do we dream at all?  

It is indisputable that dreams can tell us a great deal about the dreamer, such as that he is asleep at the moment.  One man dreams he is being chased by Nazis, another dreams he is being chased by a giant man's pants zipper.  What does it all mean?  

Absolutely nothing,  except either way both guys are being chased by really big pricks!

Of course, it was Sigmund Freud who first referred to dreams as "the Royal Road to the Subconscious."  Further research since Freud's day, however, has shown that the Royal Road to the Subconscious is actually Interstate 47, which leads to Schwenksville PA.  I'd wondered for years why my psychiatrist Dr. Kropotkin was always asking me "So how do you really feel about Schwenksville?" 

We often hear that dreams only occur during REM sleep, but we now know you can dream during non-REM sleep as well,  provided none of us tells the sleep researchers. 

Is it true that people only dream in black and white? 

Another myth is that most people dream only in black and white. Personally I always dream in full Eastman Color, although the quality is faded and badly in need of restoration.  I also tend to dream a great deal in French with English subtitles.  This can be extremely annoying, especially when they pull the caption away before I've had a chance to read it.

Once I went through an entire evening dreaming in Japanese dubbed into English.  Got to the point I didn't even need the dubbing to know what was being said was "LOOK! GODZILLA!"

I've also had a few random dreams in Italian dubbed into English, which is kind of nice except when people's lips move too much for what they are saying. This happens especially whenever I'm dreaming about the late actor Steve Reeves playing Hercules.  

Can dreams foretell the future?

I don't know about this, but it makes a good argument for not sleeping with someone who continually moans in his sleep "Oh no, another film with Nicholas Cage!"

There are on file a handful of unexplained instances which seem to strikingly indicate the existence of clairvoyancy in  dreams.  The noted Midwestern psychic Edgar Carsick once awoke in great panic after dreaming about an ocean liner, swirls of rushing water, and frantic cries for help. His dream unmistakably pointed to an unspeakable catastrophe involving a cruise ship, a chilling prophecy that came all too horribly and tragically true shortly thereafter.

The very next day Mr. Carsick paid twelve bucks to see The Titanic 3D.

Does the movie Inception accurately portray the true nature of dreams?

The movie Inception showed that other people can actively participate in our dreams, although I've never seen actress Ellen Page floating around anywhere in mine, not even one lousy goddamn time! Then again there are probably laws even in the Dreamworld that would have my ass hauled into court for even thinking about doing nasty things to someone as young as Ellen Page, if not to Ellen Page herself.

Inception revealed a whole new aspect, depth, and dimension to our dreams.  It certainly has me scared to death to play dreidel anymore come Hanukkah time. 

All this talk of dreams is making me kind of sleepy.  

So goodnight, everybody ....

OH, NO!  

 LOOK, GODZILLA!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despair!

Perry Block stumbled out of bed and made his way into the bathroom. 

Everything was getting so out of hand, he thought! 

He'd put on his slippers and robe to head to the bathroom and now everything was indeed out of his hands and on his body.

It was exactly 4:00 A.M Thursday morning.  Lingering for a moment in the bathroom, Perry paused to take a long hard look in the mirror.  He didn't like what he saw! 

There was a smudge on the mirror's lower left-hand corner.  He took a towel and wiped it off.  

Perry sat on the corner of the bed and thought of Angelique.  He knew she would soon be bidding him "goodbye" and "farewell." 

He'd told her he found her habit of saying "adios" extremely annoying, and she'd promised from now on she'd always say either "farewell" or "goodbye" instead.   

True, Angelique wasn't pretty.  She was gorgeous.  And yes, the two of them had gone through some serious sexual problems together.  But now that Angelique had gotten used to having fantastic sex with Perry 6 or 7 times a night, those problems had  faded away.

Perry's professional life had lately been fraught with emotional strife, gut-wrenching conflict, and a couple of horrific major disasters!

As a top Hollywood producer, his pictures covered a wide range of genres indeed, all of which had earned him millions of dollars.  In the last year alone his two disaster movies, Pee Wee's Big Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Wendy's, had been especially profitable.

The phone rang.  Perry picked up the receiver.

"Perry Block?"

"Yes, that's me."

"This is Death."

 Death!

Anguish.  Despondency.   Hopelessness.

"Perry," whimpered Death, "I am in anguish!  BTW, I'm despondent and hopeless too." 

"Why's that,  Death?" 

"Because you've beaten me! You'll never die."  

"You've got to get a hold of yourself, Death!" said Perry. "It isn't as if somebody didn't die.  Except me."

"Perry, would you --- kind of --- take me under your wing?"

Perry penciled Death in for a half hour appointment a week from Friday, right before he was scheduled to go snorkeling with Scarlett Johansson, and hung up.  

On the other end of the phone, Death felt reassured that he'd soon be seeing Perry Block.

At long last, his bitter despair began to lift.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Man on the Cusp

I am poised on the cusp of an age I always thought was exclusively reserved for people’s parents.

Or I have already cusped. I’m not sure. Both as to whether I’ve already cusped and whether cusped is a word.

My name is Perry Block. I am 61 years old, born September 12, 1950. I am a Truman baby. 

I hate all of these facts.

I don’t even know what to call myself.

Am I middle-aged? 

Once that very expression struck the same terror in me that Bernie Madoff  feels every time he hears the words “your new roommate likes you,” and yet now I cling to that status as if it were a deck chair from the Titanic.

Am I a Senior? 

Once a welcome and desired euphemism for elderly, geezer, and Joan Rivers,  Senior is now the most hideous word in the English language except when used expressly to refer to somebody's kid who'll be graduating in the spring, unless he or she is required to take math.

Yet the International House of Pancakes calls me a Senior.  So does Super Fresh Markets, but at least they give me a 5% Senior discount without my having to first order their burnt-to-the-ground tilapia.

But I don’t want to be a Senior!

A Senior is Mr. Kropopski, who makes keys in the back of the hardware store.  A Senior is Mrs. Berkowitz, the bulbous bejeweled lady in the front row at the synagogue whose face has all the suppleness of a Shar Pei.  A Senior is that sunken-chested guy with the faded sports cap and wrinkled burgundy warm-up jacket at the Little League game who's always pointing a bony finger  towards the players and saying:

Yessiree, that's me grandson Timmy!!!

And a Senior is also Dustin Hoffman, Richard Dreyfus, and Henry Winkler.  Once they were The Graduate, the young shark hunter from Jaws, and the Fonz.

Now they play Jewish grandfathers.

I am continually amazed by ads for so-called "Plus 55 communities" where the residents ostensibly my age and depicted as joyfully engaging in water aerobics, organic gardening, and the savoring of fine cuisine in the community's award-winning dining room which closes daily at 6:00 P.M. have the appearance of Gertie and Sol Goldstein in my 1963 Bar Mitzvah photo album minus a cumulative 185 pounds, dramatically sobered up, and dropped into golf clothing.

Why would I want to live somewhere where I have to spend my days looking at people who look just as lousy as I do?  

I have seen actors and movie stars who were in the prime of life during my childhood  and early adulthood grow old,  lose their looks and careers,  pass silently away, and yet continue to appear regularly on television looking young and vibrant, thoughtlessly reminding me whenever I see them that they’re dead!

I am closer to being 80 years old than I am to being 40.   

I always used to think that people who were 80 years old were perfectly happy to be 80 years old.  They were into being 80 years old.  They were good at being 80 years old.

Guess what? 

None of that is true. Eighty year old guys want to be 40 year old guys having sex with Scarlett Johansson and Sophia Vergara and Mrs. Pressman who lives on the next block and takes in the newspaper in her negligee.

Know how I know that?

I’m a 61 year old guy and I want to be a 40 year old guy having sex with Scarlett Johansson and Sofia Vergara and Mrs. Pressman who lives on the next block and takes in the newspaper in her negligee.  

Especially Mrs. Pressman.  

I didn’t have to interview a shitload of 80 year old guys to ascertain that they feel the same way. So where does all this leave me?

My  17 year old son Brandon tells me that I should accept what is and embrace my age.

I say I should give my age A KICK IN THE BALLS!

My name is Perry Block. I am 61  years old, born September 12, 1950. I am a Truman baby. 

I hate all of these facts ….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Semi-Seasonal Songs

Originally I wasn’t going to put these two slightly out-of-date songs on the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute blog site, but it’s cold, I’m lazy, and frankly, I’ve got nothing else.

Just think of it this way. I’m going to do a couple of covers for you.
 

The Hanukkah Song
No. 4

Put on your yarmulke, here comes Hanukkah;

It’s so much fun-akkah to celebrate Hanukkah.

Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights;

Instead of one day of presents, we get eight crazy nights!

When you feel like the only kid in town
Without a Christmas tree,
Here’s a FOURTH LIST of people who are Jewish,
Just like you and me:

Shia LaBeouf eats his Hanukkah gelt;
So do Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal,
Though they’re both perpetually svelte.

We’ve got Judd Apatow,
Who directs Seth Rogen and Paul Rudd;
Sasha Baron Cohen’s Borat was funny,
But Bruno a drek-filled dud.

Scarlett Johansson’s half,
I wish she were a full blood;
But Mila Kunis and Natalie Portman are 100 per cent,
As is the voice of Elmer Fudd (and Bugs Bunny too!)

You don’t need to Deck the Halls
When you got eight nights of bliss;
Cause you can spin the dreidel with Gene Simmons
And the members of Kiss (most Jewish!)

Put on your yarmulke, it’s time for Hanukkah;
Even after all these long years,
Howard Stern can still be too moronicah!

O.J. Simpson --- Still not a Jew!
But Jews do most of the voice-overs
On The Simpsons and Family Guy too!

The Good Wife's Julianna Margulies is now a big TV star.
But Noah Wylie --- another Jew ---
also got his start with her on ER.

Some people think that Jews are somewhat driven
(but they’re not); Guess it comes from watching
Entourage with Jeremy Piven!

So many Jews are in show biz;
Steven Colbert isn’t a Jew,
But every other damn comedian is!

Tell your friend Veronica,
It's time you celebrate Hanukkah!
I hope I get a harmonica (though most Jews can’t play it)
On this lovely, lovely Hanukkah.

So drink your gin-and-tonic-ah,
And smoke your marajuanic-ah,
If you really, really wanna-kah,

Have a Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy Hanukkah!

Sleigh Ride  

Just hear those sleigh bells sounding

And shofers resounding, it’s true.

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride

Together with a Jew!

Outside the snow is falling,

And friends are calling "Well, nu?"

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride

Together with a Jew!

Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, let's go!

Let's choose a movie show.

We're riding to a wonderland of General Tzo!

Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up, it's grand!

A Miami Beach tan!

We're gliding along with a song from a simply great Klezmer band!

Our cheeks are nice and rosy,

Picked a movie we’ll mosey to see.

We're snuggled up like big machers*,

Gonna see Little Fochers at half past 3:00.

Let's take that road before us

With Uncle Morris or Cousin Lou.

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride

Together with a Jew!

Thank you very much, and have a Very Belated Hanukkah!

~~~~~~~~~

 Not a Member of the Tribe?

    macher - a big shot

    nu -  So?  Whassup? Fill me in.  Ya score last night?  (that kind of thing)   

    drek - pure garbage; something that really sucks

Ms. FortunePhone

A New Romantic Comedy
Written, Directed, Produced, and Cast and Crew Terrorized

 by

 Perry Block

As presented on the Society for Human Resources Management (SHRM)

Voorhees, New Jersey Stage

by

The Tri-State Human Resources Comedy Troupe

May 7, 2010

(One time only; they couldn't afford us!)  

Characters
Perry Block, shy participant in the company 401 (k) Plan .... Perry Block

Ms. FortunePhone, automated female voice of company 401 (k) Plan .... Debbie Deissroth _________________________________________________

The First Telephone Call

Perry enters, sorting through mail.

Perry: Websites!!! Interactive Voice Response!!! Isn't there a human being out there anywhere???

He begins reading.

Perry: Look at this! “Announcing 401 (k) FortunePhone, the exciting new way to access your Company 401 (k) plan. Just punch in this pin .... (wearily) All right, what’s to lose…..?
Perry sits on a stool centerstage, puts down the mail, picks up phone, and dials the number.

FortunePhone: BEEP! (a very pleasant sounding female voice) Welcome to 401 (k) FortunePhone!

Perry: Oh .. er ... hello, FortunePhone. I ... uh ... just dialed the number that came in the mail, and...

FortunePhone: (very upbeat and friendly) and I’m so glad you did, sir! Just punch in your pin number, press the pound sign, and I’ll help you with your savings and retirement plan in (a bit provocatively) whatever way I can.

Perry does so.

Fortune Phone: BEEP! Hello, Mr. Perry Block! You know even though this is the first time we’ve spoken, I feel I know so much about you already …. your social security number, your birthdate, the fact that you were afraid of the basement until you were 37.

Perry: Wow! How do you know all that?

FortunePhone: (coquettishly) Looked you up on Facebook!

Perry: (naively pleased) How ‘bout that!? Well, how do we get started?

FortunePhone: (patiently) Let’s begin with your total vested account balance. Please press 4, then the pound sign.

He does so.

FortunePhone: BEEP! (sounds almost sweet) As of September 1, 2010, your total vested account balance is (pause) oh my!!! I hope you won’t think me forward, Mr. Block, but you’re a bit behind in saving for retirement.

Perry: I am? How far behind?

FortunePhone: At your current investment pace, retirement will not be viable option until October 27 in the year 2284.

Perry: Well, gee! (very Jack Benny) I was kind of hoping by then I’d at least have a 1-way coach class ticket to Miami Beach and a coupla of really nice pairs of plaid pants.

FortunePhone: (amused) Ha, ha, that’s cute! But if I may, Mr. Block, I believe the problem’s that too much of your money's in our Guaranteed Investment Account. You could get a better return in one of our more aggressive growth funds.

Perry: Well, what do you recommend?

FortunePhone: Here's one: The All Hell to the Winds Fund, managed by one of Wall Street’s rising young stars, Mr. Bob Beta!

Perry: (impressed) I’ll try it! Uhh, FortunePhone, could you please transfer 25% of my account balance into the Hell to the Winds Fund?

FortunePhone: My pleasure, Mr. Block. And best of luck to you!

Perry: Thank you, FortunePhone. It’s been nice talking to you.

FortunePhone: And nice talking to you! BEEP!


The Second Call

Perry is sitting on the stool, smiling, and looking quite all right. He reaches for the phone and dials the number…

FortunePhone: BEEP! Welcome to 401 (k) FortunePhone!

Perry: FortunePhone, hello, er, er, this is Perry Block.

FortunePhone: Oh, hiii, Mr. Block! (sounds happy to hear from him and he’s pleased with this response) What can I do for you tonight?

Perry: I just wanted to check my balance, FortunePhone. Could you tell me what…?

FortunePhone: Of course, Mr. Block! BEEP! As of September 15, 2010, Mr. Perry Block, your total account balance is up 17%.

Perry: Wow! That’s...that’s great, FortunePhone! Thank you so much for your help.

FortunePhone: (almost shyly) Don’t thank me, Mr. Block, that’s (pause) just my job.
Perry: FortunePhone, uh, could you please call me Perry?

FortunePhone: Okay, Mr. Block… (slight giggle) I mean, Perry. You know, I really do enjoy talking to you, and…… did you know, I’m following you on Twitter!

Perry: Wow…. you and no one else! You know, FortunePhone, before I met you, my store of financial wisdom was limited to never borrowing money from anyone with a broken nose named Louie.

FortunePhone: (laughing) Perry, you’re funny! I wish I could be as clever as you. All I know about are dull mutual funds.

Perry: FortunePhone, no, no, no….. I think you’re, you’re wonderf (catches himself) .... I mean, wonderfully efficient!. Umm, anyway, could you transfer another 50% of my account to the Hell to the Winds Fund?

FortunePhone: Of course I will, Perry. Until we speak again…..BEEP!


The Third Call

It’s late at night. Perry is seated on the stool, wearing red pajamas with little elephants --- or something similarly goofy. He is obviously excited. He smiles, looks about, smiles again, and dials quickly.

FortunePhone: BEEP! (very warm and nurturing) Welcome to 401 (k) FortunePhone!

Perry: Fortune Phone, it’s me, Perry! I just had to talk to you.

FortunePhone: Perry! It’s so late! BEEP!! But I’m sooo glad you called, just listen!

Perry: What is it, FortunePhone?

FortunePhone: Perry, as of September 24, 2010, your total account balance HAS  RISEN (very sexy!) another 37%. Congratulations, my friend!

Perry: You’ve really done it all for me, Fortune Phone.

FortunePhone: No, Perry. I didn’t do anything. You did it! All you needed was a little investment information .... and someone to believe in you.

Perry: FortunePhone, I’ve just got to ask. Uhhhh ...... What do you look like?

Perry begins to pour a glass of water.

FortunePhone: I’m so flattered! Go on our website, and with a click of a mouse, you can make me appear however you want me to be….

He lifts the glass, dreamily sighs, smiles and looks heavenward.FortunePhone: I could look just like Scarlett Johansson …

He almost melts with delight. Then he takes a sip of his drink.

FortunePhone: Or, if you prefer, like Ernest Borgnine.

Perry does  spit take into the audience!!

FortunePhone: Just having a little fun! Goodnight, Pookie! BEEP!

He's delighted! As he hangs up, Perry mouths the word “Pookie," pauses, raises both arms high in the air, and jumps!
 
Perry: YES!!!

 The Fourth Call

Perry is looking a little tense and out of sorts. He circles the stool, sits down, and quickly dials the phone.

FortunePhone: (nonchalantly) BEEP! Welcome to 401 (k) FortunePhone.

Perry: FortunePhone, it’s Perry, something’s gone wrong…

FortunePhone: Oh, hullo, Perry. (dully) Yes, your account is DOWN 28 percent since last Tuesday.

Perry: (frantic) FortunePhone, what’s going on?!

FortunePhone: BEEP! Last night Ben Bernanke spoke at a banquet. He recommended everyone bag the market and stash their cash in the Sealy Posturepedic.

Perry: What the hell is he doing?
FortunePhone: (a bit snotty) If you’d like an explanation, press 8, then the pound sign.

He does so.

FortunePhone:  If you ask me, Mr. Bernanke should never mix white with red when he's having fish.  BEEP!  Sorry, Perry, have to go, got a heavy day of statement prep tomorrow.  BEEP!

We hear the phone line click off. Perry looks puzzled and unsatisfied.


The Fifth Call

Perry is watching TV, looking disheveled and distraught. He walks over to the stool, sits, grabs the phone, and pounds out the phone number.

FortunePhone: BEEP! (with a new edge in her voice) This is 401 (k) FortunePhone!

Perry: (breathlessly) FortunePhone it’s me!

FortunePhone: Me?

Perry: Perry. Perry Block. I’ve been watching Maria Bartiromo and ....

FortunePhone: That bitch?  Mr. Block, you know how this works! Push your pin, then the pound sign.

FortunePhone: BEEP! As of September 28, 2010, your account balance is plummeting towards the earth’s core like a wayward rocket in a Jules Verne novel!

Perry: FortunePhone, how bad is it?

FortunePhone: Mr. Bob Beta has left the All Hell to the Winds Fund and is entering a monastery in Tibet.

Perry: FortunePhone! Why didn’t you tell me to …?

FortunePhone: Mr. Block, please! I do not give financial advice. I provide investment education!

Perry: FortunePhone, please, I..I…

FortunePhone: Don’t worry! You still have enough money to buy those stupid plaid pants!

Perry: FortunePhone, you never used to say things like that before!

FortunePhone: Mr. Block, my technology is ever improving. I now provide 401 (k) information and sardonic comments. BEEP!


The Final Call

Needing a shave, scant hairs very mussed, and pacing back and forth, Perry finally sits on the stool. He settles himself and dials the number.

FortunePhone: (cold and robotic) BEEP! This is 401 (k) Fortune Phone.

Perry: FortunePhone, this is...

FortunePhone: You again? (seemingly irritated) Press your stupid pin, then the pound sign.

In a cold sweat, he does so.

FortunePhone: BEEP! As of October 1, 2010, your account balance is one tiny little cookie crumb compared to what you started with.

Perry: I don’t understand, FortunePhone! What happened to us!?

FortunePhone: Us!? There is no us! I am a highly infallible marvel of modern computing technology. You are a highly fallible human being who even today, is still afraid of the basement!

Perry: FortunePhone, that was a cheap shot!

FortunePhone: No sense of humor! And to think I used to find your foolish blathering amusing!

A male digital voice: BEEP! The service you once knew as FortunePhone is now is now closed to the likes of you!!

B-E-E-E-E-E-P-P-P!!!!

Perry drops the phone, then shakily places it on the receiver.

Perry: (despondently) What do I do? What do I do!? (glancing at the mail beside him) Wait, what’s this in the mail? (reading) Your company Employee Assistance Program (EAP) understands you ….. just dial 1-800, then your pin ….

Perry does so frantically.

Perry: Hello? Hello! Please! Is this the EAP?!

EAP Careline: BEEP! (a warm, caring female voice) Welcome to EAP Careline. 24 hour a day automated help with a Caring Touch! EAP Careline really cares for you.

Perry: (naively) Really?

EAP Careline: For help with any personal problem you may have, please press 8, then the pound sign.

Perry punches in the number.
EAP Careline: BEEP! (same warm, caring female voice) Hello, Mr. Perry Block, how can I help you?

Perry: Careline,  please call me Perry.

EAP Careline: All right, (pause) Perry…. (giggles)….

The End   

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