memories of the singers

It was in 1968 that I first met the lovely and kind Mrs. Frances Singer. We were both teachers at PS 41, on West 11th Street in NYC's Greenwich Village. I was in my first year of teaching and I was assigned a K-1 class. Mrs. Singer was there to help. We became fast friends and she seemed to want to cultivate an out of school friendship with me.
Mrs. Singer was married to a highly respected physician and they lived in a brownstone on a leafy and quiet street not far from the school. Mrs. Singer invited me to lunch at her home on a school holiday and I accepted. This experience is another that sticks with me and today... on this unusually warm winter Saturday, memories are flooding back to me.

I remember it was on a Tuesday afternoon when I walked down from Chelsea to visit the Singers for lunch. I rang the bell and the door was answered by a member of her staff. I had never been to a home with a butler before, but he took my coat and showed me to the drawing parlor, where I waited for Mrs. Singer. She entered and she was wearing exquisite formal attire. She greeted me and Dr. Singer entered to be introduced. He shook my hand and he apologized and said he would not be joining us for lunch because in an emergency he had to see a patient.

Mrs. Singer asked me if I needed to use the washroom and she told me it was on the third floor on the left. I climbed the two long steep flights of stairs and entered an elegant bathroom that appeared to be her personal boudoir. There was a chaise lounge and dressing tables filled with creams and perfumes and dusting powders. On the back of the door hung feathered robes and dressing gowns. And next to the sink were pink guest soaps in the shape of seashells.

I descended those long stairs and I was seated in a dining room at a table that could easily have fit 20 people. Mrs. Singer rang a bell and her cook entered to serve the appetizer. We dined on some fancy prepared gourmet meal and I had "pate." Mrs. Singer was very attentive to my level of comfort, and every time I made a request she would ring the little soft bell and her cook would appear and handle all the needs.

We discussed teaching and we discussed life. Mrs. Singer spoke about her daughter who was about my age and who she adored. We talked about many things. It was the first time I had been surrounded by such elegance.

It has been about forty years since that day. Aging has me Googling around all over trying to find out where some of the many people are with whom I crossed paths during my long career. Today, I sadly learned Mrs. Singer passed away in 1999 and her husband passed away in 2004.

Manhattan was a quieter city forty years ago. There was a less rushed and congested atmosphere. People were less angry and not as confrontational. There was less noise. There was less rudeness and people seemed to treat each other more kindly. People took time to breathe.

a special degree

This degree from Schmuck U goes to my anonymous commenter. S/he wrote everything vile his brain could dream up and put every villifying word into his comments that he believed would chagrin. He failed.
But he gets a degree because he succeeded in making me enthusiastic about blogging again. I had been bored, and as he noted I was reposting past entries. Now I have a singular focus. Him. Yum! What a delicious new hobby! I am licking my chops.

scrapbooking ideas

I like to print all my comments for moderation that arrive in E-mails and put them into a nice scrapbook. I back each E-mail with beautiful colored paper and decorate the paper with glitter. It makes a nice coffee table book.
I call the scrapbook: "Messages from a Putz." It gets laughs. And it sure is all about the laughs.

will the real "demented" one...

Will the real "demented" person in this dynamic please stand up?
This anonymous commenter is some schmuck! He comes to my blog and makes vile comments designed to insult and hurt me. And he calls ME demented?
That TWoP mentality really is quite a personality stamp.
LMAO.

I decided from now on this blog will be contained to only posts about my anonymous raging commenters. I love it. If I didn't I would ignore the comments. But it's fun. S/he must feel so thwarted with comments disabled. How many times do the fools check back to see if they can get a fast comment through?

laughter is the best medicine

Well, I reread my anonymous commenters comments and I must say laughter is the best medicine. He said I raged? Uh, I LAUGHED. The one who resorts to name-calling is the rager, and he sure did pull out all the stops when it came to name-calling.
Let's do an instant replay:
demented old cunt (ouch!)
demented old bitch
everyone wishes you would die (who's "everyone?" I thought I never left the house and did not know anybody... well. sorry to disappoint you... not yet, not yet)
one of the many voices in your fucked up head (and they all love my blog)

Let's take a vote. Who is raging? The only thing that would get a nut to rage like the above is if I got him fired. I am unaware that I got anybody fired. So, let's think of other reasons a kook on the internet would visit my blog and go postal like this.
Maybe s/he thinks he is siding with the mods and getting some tuchas lekker points, lol. "Oh, go look at what I wrote to Marjorie today. I got her real good." Maybe this sociopath hated his teachers. Maybe s/he is jealous of my ability to be outspoken and not be a follower. Whatever it is, I get this anonymous freak insane. Or my letters to TWoP did.

My message to him or her: find a life. All you do is amuse me and give me somethig to type about. And the topic never grows old; it never grows stale. Why? I am demented and I LOVE IT. For real. Ask anybody who knows me. Wait! Nobody knows me.

be back soon

no hugs for me

Why does the phrase "supportive comments" sound to me like it was written by a 17 year old? It has a "friends on a MySpace" sound to it. I hate to break a preconceived bubble, but quite honestly I could do this blog with no "supportive comments." Flattery in commentary is meaningless to me. I don't need the applause. I don't need sycophants.

Some people need to grow some good self-esteem. They project all their needs onto an old coot. I been to the rodeo before many times, sweetie. I took on a boat load of critics and I won. And it made the front page of the "Village Voice" in 1985. I don't have a diminished mind. I am an old battleax that makes Joan Crawford look weak when she took on the Pepsi board. And it's not "computer courage" like a coward who writes anonymously at a blog. I took the podium in front of hundreds and made a speech about "principals from hell" and I got a standing ovation.

The only thing I didn't win was getting back on TWoP. But I did get to go to the Friars' Club and that had oh so much more meaning to me. Those idiotic mods can only control so much in their limited world.

I am still fixated on that ban. Yes, indeed. Because... all they had to do was put me back. But now I am so depressed over something much greater. My anonymous commenters don't want to play with me any more. I waited for those special brands of love letters, but alas none arrived. I cried. Boo hoo hoo.

I NEED to be called a f**king old c**t. Why? I am demented.

Motto for today: CALL ME THE NAME, I PLAY THE GAME

Try it; it's empowering.

a rap

Ode to a Fifth Floor Compactor Room

I don't wanna be subliminal
But, I can make a point by being minimal
It is not mythological
I think it's quite psychological
Why can't trash be put down the chute?
The question is no longer moot
I saw a hot mess left in there and cried
Here’s hopin’ my “dawgs” do abide
By followin’ the common rules of the bellibone
The fifth floor will have a more heuristic tone
I am not claimin’ to cure palinoia this day
All of us shouldn’t want it any other way
I am just a mere fustian respondin’ to flappin’ lips
Who love foilin' this phat dame’s clean-up tips
I say to that stale yappin’ and such
I heard it all before a thousand times too much
Arnold Schwarzenegger may be "The Terminator"
But Miss Levine is: "Da KEwLeST EduCaToR"
I wanted to be heard
Peace out: Werdddddddddddddd!

by Marjorie Levine
"supportive comments" allowed, lmao.

commentary on "snark"

I can't be bothered. The only one I might "snark" is my anonymous commenter. Why? He started; I fight back. And when I play with him (or her) I am doing charity work. I provide anger relief. I have to admit I claimed my anonymous commenter as a deduction for charity work on my tax return.

Over at BBB, they have engaged in that idiotic "snarking" activity on "Robert Blue" and elevated him to an almost mythical cult status. He is more popular than William Hung and Sanjaya.

I would love to see those who "snark" so I can put a face to a name. There is always a common barometer. They all do not own a mirror.

My bully does not realize I thrive on this. I wear a shield of Gardol and I outwit, outplay, and outlast the fool everytime. And I do it without even knowing who he is. I do it with one typing hand tied behind my back. It's not even a level playing field because he can identify me. He knows his target. What a coward. And a sociopath. I should do the city a service and bring those "E-mails for comment moderation" to the police. He could be dangerous.

I will open comments later with one objective in mind. To catch this special brand of cyber-creep. I might actually forward those comments to Chris Hansen. Hmmmmm.....

Whoa! "Snark" rhymes with....

an angry punim

OMG! I just looked at a photo of a young woman and she is about 30 years younger than I am. How can she look almost my age? I may be old, but I look great. How about a young woman who looks OLD? Crazy! She also looks mean and angry. All that meanness has aged her before her time.

Here are some tips:
1. buy a line filler; I recommend Leigh Valentine
2. use a firming moisturizer; I rec Estee Lauder
3. use an under eye concealer; I rec YSL
4. use a good foundation; I rec Dior
5. use a nice blush; I rec La Prairie

And find your smile!
translated: I'd rather be "crazy" than ugly.

pass the smelling salts

Another response, in an alternate universe, to those shocking profanity-laced comments:

To my Anonymous commenter:
Oh, good grief! I am so upset that I could have made you so angry. I do not know what it was that I could have possibly done to receive such shocking insults and I am quite troubled by this. Please accept my sincere apologies for any of my internet transgressions and I beg of you no more vile language in comments. I was so hurt by your comments that I needed smelling salts. Again please accept my apologies and I am begging that you send no more comments. The vile names you call me are unbearable.
Marjorie

translated: suck it, asshole!

you want old?

I'll give you old! You know you are old when the highlight of your week is sitting around in a housecoat on a Saturday afternoon waiting for the reruns on channel 21 of The Lawrence Welk Show. Now, that is old!

cryptic clues

Some cryptic clues arrived in an E-mail. Here it is:

The anonymous commenter
You think is an "I"
Is in fact a "we."
It's not Scarlett or Rhett
'Tis a safe bet there's a sidekick
But there may be more
And this is what they adore.
And when the clock strikes 11
They were out the door.


The E-mail came with a photo and I am totally clueless.

a poll

Please vote and send your choice in an E-mail. All replies will be published, but the senders shall remain anonymous.

Question:With comment moderation of course in place:

Choices:
Marjorie please allow all comments including anonymous comments because they are a total riot.
Marjorie allow comments only from members with Google accounts because they provide a link to the ID of the sender.
Marjorie keep comments closed and thwart the vitriol and let their frustrated heads explode.

a third possibility

There may be a very discreet kook who may sneak in and sneak out and do these anonymous hit and runs. He's an angry immature guy from another site and he is functioning on the level of a 12 year old. 'Nuff said about him.

hmmmmmm

There is another suspect that comes to mind and could indeed be my "anonymous" commenter. He frothed at the mouth whenever I made a blog entry at the Soapbox. Everything I typed threatened his creativity and made him furious. His eyeballs were glued to my font. It was really weird.

He actually accused me of being the "catalyst" who had the ability to bring a site with hundreds of members to a "state of crisis!" And that "state of crisis" was over total nonsense I wrote in my own blog! He challenged me every step of the way. A "state of crisis" lmao. A "state of crisis" when all he had to do was never open my blog page and render me invisible. He got so nuts from me he actually packed up and moved all his blogs to another site.

That had to be the most idiotic mentality. My tongue-in-cheek entries were followed more than Tokyo Rose's broadcasts during WW 2. Then, when their heads were about to explode, they actually complained to a putz who reacted and threw me off the site. He never took the time to rationally and objectively look at the matter and tell them their complaints were without merit. He should have told them to stop reading my blogs. A mensch would have said: What do you care what she writes? The blogs are uncensored (at least that is what he claimed and it was a great source of his pride). But instead, he had a "majority rules" position. Well, in Nazi Germany majority ruled, too. And for those who don't "get" analogies.... NO, I am not comparing myself to what happened in Germany, fools. I am showing how a mob mentality can not always make decisions or have beliefs that are correct.

Look at the: "note on blog etiquette":
"This is a community - and the community members make the rules. This site is governed by its members and will continue to be governed by its members. If you do something to upset all the neighbors on your block, it's not the neighbors that caused the problem. Happy blogging!"

How idiotic is that? Here's another anology. If I put a menorah on my front lawn and the neighbors on the block all complain, are the neighbors correct in their "governing?" Man, THIS is what gets me nuts, lol. Stupidity!!!!

So... I give you suspect number two: a bitter and angry comic (not the site owner) who also might need anger management. I am sure that "c" word rips right off his tongue many times a day. And for some reason, I got him nuts and might still be getting him nuts. If it is indeed him I have two words: move on. Don't hate me as much as you hate "bringers."

I will copy a few of my entries that got them most nuts and paste them below. I hope they make you laugh. Just don't foam at the mouth. Please.

soapbox paste 1

Pass the Bucket
Posted on 11/28/2007 at 11:08 PM

Oh, how they do empower me so! So, I am the "catalyst" who has the ability to bring a site with hundreds of members to a "state of crisis?" My sole purpose for being on this site is to "create conflict?" (Maybe he never read any of my blogs filled with poetry and fables. Perhaps he never saw at the site my commentary about art, reviews of films, pieces on day trips, narratives about museums, or even my analysis of the finale of "The Sopranos.")

He goes on to advise others how to handle who he perceives as the online "mentally ill." He throws around a diagnosis of "crazy" as the quintessential anathema. I would love to know from which school he received his credentials and degree. I would be interested in seeing his notes based on his intake interviews and follow-up evaluations. It appears he has created some cyberspace Thematic Apperception Test and taken it to a surreal level. Or maybe he listened to some gossip from people who I actually might perceive to be disordered and dysfunctional: scattered, frenetic, symbiotic, and nonprioritized. This is hardly the place for "mental health face-offs."

Let's be clear and honest. The rage came from an inability to "get to me" and my (OK, redundant) comebacks were too disarming, self-effacing, and just too damn good. What followed was a common spin: the clarity of the sequence of events was somehow lost, twisted, morphed, and bent in order to satisfy an agenda... and then to resolve the inner frustration several pretended or chose to believe they hurt me. They created parodied reactions and copied and pasted lines out of comedic context in order to prove points. They even drew an absurd and without merit personality profile and then wrote foolish and puerile scenarios to satisfy the characterisitics for which I was assigned. And everything was always peppered with "crazy," "crazy," and more "crazy." The nomenclature on paper seemed so noncreative and mundane. "Ouch!"

I hesitate to draw from truth, because it can appear defensive. So, I will be brief. For those who honestly believe I have no life, I can assure you I am quite self-actualized, active, productive, and happy. And if a "bringer" comic is all I will ever be, that is quite fine with me. That's not an insult; it's my entelechy.

Nothing is more transparent than a bunch of hot air. I recoil from lemmings and I loathe patronization. You want to ignore me, do it. And get on with your comedy. I impact nobody's career. Shit or get off the pot already and realize I am a blip on the "Soapbox" radar. Get over me. I can stay off your blogs and thwart the "delete" button; but with or without interactive comments at my blog, I am here to stay. And on a lighter touch, enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqLTzZvKdOU

"Don't fuck with me fellas. This ain't my first time at the rodeo."

addendum 2/16/09: Yep! They ALL think I am crazy. Whatever. Get me that sweet mental disability pension. Send the documentation.... please.

soapbox paste 2

I Wish I Could Have Gotten My Classes So Quiet
Posted on 12/19/2007 at 02:03 PM

First an encore: Ravi is just the funniest comic ever! Go look at his comment at the end of Josh's blog! I needed to create a blog just to pay homage to Ravi's true and clever wit!

Now on to important stuff. Good grief! I could not believe the over 90 comments generated by the question: "How are you sure that you are actually a good comic and not a delusional sucker?" I wonder if the question asks people to reply with regard to referring to themselves or with regard to evaluating others. Having said that, let's move to the larger picture.

Who gives a royal shit? Why should you care if a "delusional" comic that "sucks" is up there three times a night seven days a week? And if you are asking a general question so you can gauge when a comic who "stinks" should decide to throw in the towel, the same answer applies. Who cares? If you are asking a comic to evaluate himself, what difference does it make? Unless of course, your question contains some veiled advice (like implying the comic who "sucks" should train for another profession). I am of the opinion that we all should have something else in place on which to "fall back."

I say "bullshit" to the opinion that the "lousy" comics drag down the art of stand-up and how audiences will perceive shows in clubs. Can you imagine actors demanding that all films be of the same level of excellence so as not to cast a poor light on the entire art of filmmaking? Can you imagine Jackson Pollack demanding that all other artists turn out work of his quality? Or Julian Schnabel?

I took classes in stand-up with some of the greats: Rob Weinstein, Gabe Abelson, Scott Blakeman, and Dan Vitale. (I am a constant student and I take many classes in philosophy, religion, and history... so let's not get carried into the droll repartee of "Where did the classes get her" shtik; taking classes is not goal-oriented for me, it's more of an educational value). However, in all my comedy classes, and that includes the advice of the great Tim Davis, we were taught never to critique others. We were trained to be supportive. It made for a nicer environment. The comics' demeanor elevated the discipline.

So now I ask why this "Comedy Soapbox" is so enthralled with a discussion that evaluates the work of others. It's such "loshen hora." And it's catty. And it comes across as low level fun. Ravi said it best: "And to think you guys are still babbling over who's funniest!"

Of course, IF comments are generated at this blog I speculate something along the lines of: "we do support one another." Uh, no... it appears more patronizing like: "I better be nice and sycophantic because these guys are in a position to do something for me. I need to stay on the good side of the 'in-crowd' here." However, the true personalities come out in how you interact with those you "dislike." Weak minds denigrate. Strong minds don't go there. And the true measure of the tone of the personalities is just how snide the comments get.

I was shocked to see Robin ask this question: "I would love to know someone who is at this 20 years and ask them... who gave up who shouldn't have and who made it who stunk at first..." Well, I answered her elsewhere, but I will repeat my reply here. Robin, who made it and "stunk" at first? YOU! ;-D Think back a few summers to Dan Vitale's class. You have come a long way and I am happy for you. But just remember this. A comic who "stinks" just might get a job as a casting agent. It's sort of like education. Those who can't... teach; and those who can't teach... become PRINCIPALS.

old coot OUT!

addendum: Upon some reflection and perhaps with greater insight, I think the initial question posed asks a comic to do some self-evaluation. But my answer is pretty much the same. You don't know. It's what you think of yourself. If you think you are "good," keep on truckin'!" Your sitcom waits. If you are "delusional," but think you are good, work it! What difference does it make? One day a casting agent might want some "delusional comic" who looks just like you. Howard Stern might need a new member for his whack-pack. Just ask Goddard Fulton! So be good or be delusional... there is no barometer or rubric for assessment. It's not laughs or applause. Just get up there and do your thing. It simply just does not matter because... you just never know.

self-effacing humor

I love making fun of myself. I laugh the loudest about jokes about me. It shows excellent self-esteem when you can laugh at yourself. It helps to build a strong mind and makes you not offended or vulnerable to idiotic taunts or insults.

I can help people lighten up and find their smile. I can help the sophomoric handle unresolved anger and deal with it in an adult way. It helps to respond to taunts by saying: "Ouch" or "Tell me something I DON'T know." The key is to not hit back. A bully wants a playmate. He wants a duel. When you render your tormenter into a Don Quixote... he is disarmed.

My Anon commenter sends me comments he believes will startle, shock, and hurt me. After he used those f and c words over and over... he jumped the shark. I now use the stuff as the basis for some very funny material.

He should have written an adult E-mail to me that expressed what it was or is that brings him to such a serious rage. It still gnaws at me that this is TWoP connected... The level of the mods' anger in bans sort of parallels the level of anger in my comments. A rational person doesn't enjoy the power of bans for absurd reasons. So while there may be others in my life whom I may have angered along the dopey internet way... they seem to all have lives and I do believe they would not still be giving me a second thought. My TWoP ban was a year ago... and of course I will never know the real ramifications of my protest letter. People write letters of protest to corporations all the time. All the time. About all sorts of things. But the fact that they knew I was "RedLipstick" is very revealing. It tells me my letter WAS called to their attention. He seems to be invested in my ban in some way...

During my 34 years of teaching, the principal received letters from parents about teachers all the time: too much homework, not enough homework, a reader that was too easy, reading material that was too difficult, seating assignments, the method of teaching math applications, test results, report card grades... the list goes on and on. One parent complained about a kindergarten teacher who gave her child a "time-out" after her child stabbed another student with a pencil. As professionals, we handled it all. We did not go into "fight back" mode.

Why do I think of my anonymous commenter so much? I feel bad for him. I do. Obviously he does not have to visit my blog and read it. Something about it or me enrages him. Instead of choosing to not read my blog, he still does.. and lashes out in babyish comments. He justifies it by comparing me to watching "a train wreck," another babyish activity. It's a form of low level entertainment. It's like sitting at a computer and making fun of "RobertBlue." I would so not spend one minute of my time participating in that nonsense. I would rather be tied to a chair and forced to watch "Ishtar."

A child thinks using the f and c words raise the taunt to the highest level. He has yet to express in some adult manner why he is so angry. If ever there was a poster person for anger management, he is my anon commenter.

Yes... I just might hang up a shingle that says: Marjorie, Life Coach.

the "gotcha" mentality

Todd Friedman, NYC teacher, was rated unsatisfactory for excessive absences (eleven during a school year)... even though his absences were due to surgery and the death of his father.

This is another example of the "gotcha" mentality of the NYC Board of Education system. Principals are coached to "go after" teachers regardless of their merit. Todd Friedman "grieved" and WON! Now THAT's why we need the UNION!

Gooooooooooo UFT!

mr. demille

"Mr. DeMille, I am ready for my close-ups."

found outtakes

I've written a letter to Daddy / His address is Heaven above / I've written "Dear Daddy, we miss you / And wish you were with us to love" / Instead of a stamp I put kisses / The postman says that's best to do / I've written a letter to Daddy / Saying "I love you" /


Elvira Stitt: [shocked at some obscenities Jane has scrawled] I can't remember the last time I saw words like that written down!

yikes!

The comments are coming from a computer INSIDE THE HOUSE!

the love of an audience

I did another comedy show tonight and I so nailed it! I am at the top of my stand-up comedy game. Of course, I recycled the bit where I read my anonymous comments (which I had printed with the internet path details and message IDs when they arrived in E-mails for moderation). I read them like they were Valentines!

An audience member followed me when I left the stage after my set and at the bar he told me the use of the "c" word and the taunts about being "old" indicate Mr. Anonymous is a rather young guy. The comics were passing around those E-mails and analyzing them more than the Warren Commission analyzed who shot JFK. I couldn't be bothered. I left the papers with the idiotic comments with them and went out for some pizza.

When I returned, they were not laughing and told me that was some scary Jason-like shit and they all concluded Mr. Anonymous was a sort of Ted Bundy type, if you will... with a little bit of Jeffrey Dahmer mixed in. And he calls ME demented?

They also said he sees me as having had some impact on his life. He is not just some angry reader of my blog. His sociopathic rage in his comments speaks volumes. He's in "fightin' back" mode. Was it my "RedLipstick?"

"comedy, tonight!"

I did a show tonight and had one of my best sets ever! I read some of my hate mail! And after each letter, I deadpanned:
1. touche!
2. tell me something I DON'T know!
3. and that's why I joined "Lucy's Friends of the Friendless!"
4. this cyber dude is sweatin' me more than my Aunt Sadie sweat in 100 degree heat at Lido Beach!

I NEVER did so well! So thanks anonymous cyber dude, whoever you are. The audience thought the routine was hilarious and I left to plenty of: "Great set, Marjorie."
I take lemons and make lemonade. There was an upside to my masked commenter's rage and vitriol. I owe ya one! :-D

(He is staying flushed... he so jumped the shark.... but my "hate mail" shtik will be used for the next five years. Heck, whatever works on stage, as they say)

hey, schmuck?

This is from "anonymous": "No, you were banned on Soapbox because you're a loathsome old c**t. You were banned on Soapbox because you're a f**king mental patient. You were banned on Soapbox for the same reason you are banned on every site you've ever tried to join: Because everyone you come into contact with hates you and wishes you would die."

Ouch! This comment gets a sticker award and an encore for sheer stupidity and idiotic rage. (This guy acts like I Bernie Madoffed him!) And why, may I ask, is he so invested in my bans and why do I make him froth and foam so much at the mouth? My bans bother "anonymous" more than "Myra Breckinridge" bothered the audience on a cold day in 1970.
Perchance, does he delusionally think he is involved with me on some level? Many sociopaths hallucinate that they have a strong relationship with the target of their anger. Did my letter to TWoP impact him in some way of which I am unaware? Did my hilarious posts at the Soapbox make him feel like a diminished comic? Did my "big words" make him feel untutored? Did I send him a certified lawyer's letter?

Well, my friend... let it go. This cannot be healthy for you. You wish I would die? Take a hike, cyber-sociopath! Hahahahahaha, go ban 20 people! You may reach entelechy! I conclude I have sweat you more than my armpits sweat in a shvitz bath at Lido Beach in 101 degree heat.

My mother shows how to handle insulting commentary in her bawdy and irreverent homage to the great Max Reger. This was Mr. Reger's response to a savage reviewer: "I am sitting in the smallest room of my house. I have your review before me. In a moment it will be behind me."



We should all, at various times, take a page from Max's book.
So schmuck? YOU HAVE BEEN FLUSHED!

love taps in anonymous comments

what he says: you are an old c**t
what he means: I love you, Marjorie

what he says: you are crazy
what he means: you are creative and brilliant

what he says: you are f**king insane and you hear voices in your head
what he means: I only wish I was as hilarious and as clever as you

what he says: you have no friends and everyone hates you and wishes you would die
what he means: my head just exploded from trying so hard to annoy you

what he says: you are a demented old biatch and like a trainwreck
what he means: reading the blog of an old lady is the most and best entertainment I will get in 2009, and trying to get her goat helps me get over all my unresolved angers

retired, not expired

from the 12/25 NY Post: 2008 Comic Strip holiday party



This is me with Alan Colmes. I am the redhead. Thank-you Clairol.


at a recent event at the Drama Book Shop:




These were taken in November 2008, at an event at the Drama Book Shop with Ilene Kristen and Brian Gari. I am holding Brian's book "We Bombed in New London." I also got his mother's book "Don't Wear Silver in the Winter" which is about her relationship with her own mother. I could not put it down and read it in one sitting.

tsk, tsk

"Get help" a commenter advises. Interesting. On what expert data does she base that astute advice? Perhaps she concludes I need "help" because I fail to be hurt and wounded by the comments at my blog. Perhaps my reaction to those comments indicates to her that I am "crazy." Maybe she does not like that my blog content is all self-involved and she feels it should be more commentary on the lives of others. Perhaps she doesn't get this is comedy. Or maybe she is personally foaming at the mouth from the way I reacted to my "ban."
Interesting. Well, I am so not interested in the lives of others. I would not spend half a minute typing about "RobertBlue." I am self-involved and so of course this will be all about me. It's my blog.
And why am I not bothered by those vituperative-intended comments? It is quite simple. I have excellent self-esteem and nothing a total stranger on a computer types gets through my shield of Gardol. It is all comedy to me and strongly serves to support my opinion that many people have "computer courage."
The commenter advises: "Get help." Perhaps it is she who needs help for sitting on a computer and being so involved in what a total stranger writes on her blog.... a woman who probably does more in one month than she does in a year.
Excellent self-esteem: cultivate it. Learn the art and your blood pressure may thank-you.
And for all those who read this blog and conclude I "need help" this is my advice. If you are unemployed, perhaps you should consider getting a job administering online Thematic Apperception Tests. Cyber analysis does seem to be your area of expertise.
Tsk, tsk.

dead giveaways

"I mean that sincerely"
That phrase (in a comment) could only be used by a goat-getter. Why would I think he doesn't mean it sincerely? If I visited a blog and liked the content, I would say, "This is great." The end. Why would I add a disclaimer thinking my comment might not be thought of sincerely? The commenter knows his intent and is trying to counteract what he expects to be the reaction. He wants me to publish his comment and in a response be flattered, and that is how he would get his inside laugh. But, the phrase is a dead giveaway. I smell a prankster... wearing the de rigueur "anonymous" costume.
Some people play with friends, some people play with toys and dolls, and some people get their kicks from visiting my blog and trying to get my goat! It's all good. Whatever floats your boat.

30 rock

Howard Feller will be on "30 Rock" tomorrow in the episode called "Generalissimo." It stars Jon Hamm and Howard will be playing the character named "Oswald." I know Howard. I will call him tomorrow. I want to go with him to Katz's. I am like so in the mood for a good knish.

confessions of a trichotillomaniac

Work itttt, twirl itttt, tangle itttt, pull itttt and release. Ah, sweet relief and joy! I examine the beautiful red strand of long hair and let it fall from my fingertips to the indifferent floor. Such tactile joy!

Now start on another piece and find one clump to work, twirl, tangle, pull and release. Examine it, tug it, pull the odd strand out; it's a bad habit that is quite satisfying. Hollywood actor Colin Farrell is among the millions of people worldwide to have experienced the condition.

Trichotillomania is an obsessive compulsive disorder which compels a person to pull out either their hair, their eyelashes, or their eyebrows. It's rarely talked about because most sufferers, or "trichsters" as we are called, try to hide it. (I don't; I am an out of the closet trichster.) And don't shake the tambourine when I am working on a piece. I turn into Carrie.

The word trichotillomania (trick-oh-till-oh-mania) literally means "hair-pulling frenzy." I love to finish a hair-pulling session and visually examine the pile of soft hair sitting on the rug to my left. I enjoy seeing that pile of hair more than a visit to MOMA to see the Picassos.

I spent more than 15 years trying biofeedback, hypnotherapy, medication, and cognitive-behavioral therapy. Then I recognized that trichotillomania is the new anorexia. I still feel the urge but can finally control it and stop when I am using all of my fingers to type at my blogs. My blogs are my cure!

vous farshtunken?

I did a comedy show last night and I killed! I totally killed. My first joke landed hard and I knocked it out of the park. The audience was laughing so wildly I had to stand on the stage like an uber-schmuck waiting for the noise to settle down. I went into my second bit and again the response was incredible. Not only were they laughing, but they were applauding. (They clap when I say I am a retired teacher) Go figure!

I went up with my pocketbook. I like to keep it within my visual range. I once returned to my seat in a club and my keys were missing from my purse and after I left the club I had to have the locks changed to my apartment at 1 AM.

Anyway, back to my killer set. BRB, water is boiling for some instant oatmeal. Back. Yum! Apples and cinnamon, with extra cinnamon drizzled on to cut the glucose levels in the blood. They say it works. Go know!

So, I did my bit about the fire drills. It went over like mad ass crazy shit. Then I spoke about my work as a volunteer and the material was strong and solid. Then I segued into my bit about how crazy I am. I referenced Edie Beale and "Grey Gardens." OMG, they love that shtik. Mention you are crazy and it is like a universal anathema. The young people, the old people, the drunks were all hysterical. I was on a roll. I was on a high. I was working that room like Bruce St****g worked his left eye in the 6th grade when he cheated off my paper during a history test.

Some gay guys were calling me "Grandma dearest." They said: "You rock Grandma dearest." I didn't get it, but it was all good. There were some old women from Merrick, Long Island who were there as part of some "bringer." For them, I told some Henny Youngman jokes! I knew one day those jokes would come in handy. I said: "For you yachners, here's some Henny Youngman jokes."

"I once wanted to become an atheist, but I gave up - they have no holidays. I told the doctor I broke my leg in two places. He told me to quit going to those places.When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading. I was at the beauty shop for two hours. That was only for the estimate. I got a mudpack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off."

I was at the top of my game. I owned the room! I did my bit about being the "Disco Sally" of the comedy clubs and one woman was laughing so much she choked on a pretzel. I told her to be careful because I do not know the Heimlich maneuver. I was on cloud nine over there. They held the light, but finally I got the light. I asked for the booster step so I could exit the stage and I got a damn foot cramp. I carry "Icy Hot" in my pocketbook at all times and I was in pain. So, I sat down on that stool they keep on the stage and removed my shoe and sock to apply the cream for some relief. One idiot from the side yelled: "What stinks?" I said: "Your breath." Then a fiasco erupted. Don't ask!

I was escorted off the stage and what was my best set ever turned into such a downer. I went from the high of my life to a real low. I limped the hell out of there.

The truth is, I don't even care. It's not like they were paying me. Fuck it! I took a cab home. And during the cab ride home I was so depressed I began to disassociate. I wondered: "Did this really happen?

find marjorie in the 6th grade

Where's Waldo?

"find marjorie at the 40th-year high school reunion"

My high school Class of 1964 had a great 40th-year reunion. It was so terrific we are now planning a 45th! Stay tuned!

"find marjorie in the 6th grade"

"find marjorie in summer camp"

I hated this Camp Baumann. The ride to camp was excruciating. There was more noise made on that bus than fans at the Super Bowl. On "best hat day" the idiotic boys ripped off all the soaps my mother had hung on my silly hat.
The girls that attended were the original "mean girls." One was more nasty than the next. The girls idea of fun was to tease about everything. They would even ridicule your color selections for your laniard.
Look at their mean and ugly faces. If any of those girls ever happen to find this blog... F**K YOU!

"find marjorie at summer nursery school camp"

I loved this summer camp in Brooklyn, which I attended during the summer of 1952. The food was terrific too, except the eggs. I hated eggs. Even nap time was a treat. This was a camp done right.

"getting old" jokes

I did not write these jokes. They are going around the internet in E-mails. Enjoy!

I very quietly confided to my best friend that I was having an affair. She turned to me and asked, "Are you having it catered?"
And that, my friend, is the sad definition of 'OLD!'

Just before the funeral services, the undertaker came up to the very elderly widow and asked, "How old was your husband?"
"98," she replied: "Two years older than me." "So you're 96," the undertaker commented. She responded, "Hardly worth going home, is it?"

Reporters interviewing a 104-year-old woman: "And what do you think is the best thing about being 104?' the reporter asked. She simply replied, "No peer pressure."

An 80 year old man was having his annual checkup and the doctor asked him how he was feeling. "I've never been better!" he boasted. "I've got an eighteen year old bride who's pregnant and having my child! What do you think about that?" The doctor considered this for a moment, then said, "Let me tell you a story. I knew a guy who was an avid hunter. He never missed a season. But one day went out in a bit of a hurry and he accidentally grabbed his umbrella instead of his gun." The doctor continued, "So he was in the woods and suddenly a grizzly bear appeared in front of him! He raised up his umbrella, pointed it at the bear and squeezed the handle." "And do you know what happened?" the doctor queried. Dumbfounded, the old man replied "No." The doctor continued, "The bear dropped dead in front of him!" "That's impossible!" exclaimed the old man. "Someone else must have shot that bear." "That's kind of what I'm getting at..." replied the doctor.

I've sure gotten old! I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees, fought prostate cancer and diabetes, I'm half blind, can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine, take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts. I have bouts with dementia, poor circulation; and hardly feel my hands and feet anymore.
I can't remember if I'm 85 or 92. I have lost all my friends. But, thank God, I still have my driver's license.

I feel like my body has gotten totally out of shape, so I got my doctor's permission to join a fitness club and start exercising.
I decided to take an aerobics class for seniors. I bent, twisted, gyrated, jumped up and down, and perspired for an hour. But, by the time I got my leotards on, the class was over.

An elderly woman decided to prepare her will and told her preacher she had two final requests. First, she wanted to be cremated, and second, she wanted her ashes scattered over Wal-Mart. "Wal-Mart?" the preacher exclaimed. "Why Wal-Mart?"
"Then I'll be sure my daughters visit me twice a week."

My memory's not as sharp as it used to be. Also, my memory's not as sharp as it used to be.

Know how to prevent sagging? Just eat till the wrinkles fill out.

It's scary when you start making the same noises as your coffee maker.

These days about half the stuff in my shopping cart says, "For fast relief."

THE SENILITY PRAYER :
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway,
the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and
the eyesight to tell the difference.

Always REMEMBER this:
You don't stop laughing because you grow old; you grow old because you stop laughing...

(the above photo is my old time favorite, Mrs. Odets!)

"the opposite? whatta ya mean, the opposite?"

My "anonymous" commenter crafts messages designed to devastate, insult, and hurt me. He thinks I will read the comments and writhe in agony when he tells me the "truth" of my life.

But, lo and behold, do I react that way? Hell, no! I actually love when his comments arrive and when I disable comments I miss his "love taps!" They energize me and give me a reason to wake up in the morning. They have the opposite effect than his intentions. I miss him! :- (

So, I have decided to open comments and not to thwart his anger. Think hard, get real vile and nasty. Make it devastating: Use the f and c words a lot. And let it rip! (And do write in "anonymous" font. That's the best part!)