Wanted: Funny 50 ish Woman To Work For Jimmy Fallon Show

Dear Jimmy,

I am responding to your ad that was featured in “The Senior Funny Lady Times.” I am well within the limits of your age requirements, not that I think that there should be requirements at all (I hope you checked with your legal department) but that is just my opinion.

First, and this is not a matter of mere sucking up, as the kids say:  my husband and I watch your show, every single night. I admit, we tape the show and watch it the following night with bowls of ice cream

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in our hands but I don’t think that is unreasonable .(Hey, how did I miss this? )

I’ve already admitted we are not in our twenties anymore, so why not? Actually, tonight we are having our usual dessert (called D) smorgasbord. A combination of mango sorbet, banana-chocolate ice cream, Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food Frozen Yogurt (We are watching our weight) Ben & Jerry’s “That’s My Jam” ice cream (we’re not that strict) and Straeter’s (I have to turn you on to this ice cream) Black Cherry Chip (which should be called Chunk ice cream.) Believe it or not, my cardiologist whose father was my pediatrician hooked us up with this brand. Hooked up in the OLD sense, I don’t even want to know what the new usage IS.

I would like to point out that as much as you are our favorite comedian and of course our favorite show, there is one thing you may want to consider changing. PLEASE think of another opening other than “Hot Crowd.” Once in a while it’s funny, every night, not so much. I mean this with utter respect and comic relief.

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You have brought comedy, wholesomeness and joy back to the country and I thank you for doing that for our nation. I now pronounce you “The New Shirley Temple” and I cried when she died.

View image | gettyimages.com

So, Jimmy, feel free to look through my blog and then, get in touch with me. It could be one of those Oprah phone calls where I would never believe you are on the phone for real. Send a car for me, because G-d knows, I’m NOT driving into the city and we will talk. I’m flexible about writing for you, shmoozing,comedy, whatever you need. I’ll even watch your adorable girls from time to time in a pinch.

My own kids are amazing, I have a “boy” who is graduating from Binghamton and he is going to Med School in the Fall and a cracker-jack “girl” in Geneseo, who is a Junior and will have a double major in Spanish and Pre-Law.

How did we get them to SUNY’s? Basically, we bribed them with new cars.

Nice talking to you, Jimmy

Congratulations on your beautiful family.

Sincerely yours,

ME

 

 

 

Grief: The Great Equalizer, RIP Mike Nichols

I’m so sorry, Diane Sawyer,

I just heard about the death of your husband and your children’s father, Mike Nichols.  Believe me, I know what death of a loved one feels like and it is torture. I know a little about what you are going through and I guarantee you I feel your pain. There is no other way to describe it but heartbreaking and life changing. It really does feel like your heart is physically breaking

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apart and I am not saying this in a metaphoric way. Everything changes from the moment your loved one dies, well, forever. Please accept my condolences.

In cases like this, all the money in the world makes not an iota of difference. The pain in your heart has nothing to do with your bank account. For this, we are all one, rich or poor, famous or not, the death of someone dear has nothing to do with economics.

It’s not bad enough that I am sensitive and tend to take on other people’s grief, like when Robin Williams died. I still struggle with that at times. Or young people who have overdosed for no reason at all, parents losing children. Now, your husband, the famous director, Mike Nichols, is gone and while I do not feel emotionally involved with the movies (because I can’t attach myself to movies), I am emotionally involved with the survivors, you and your family.

Let’s face it, we weep for the loss of our loved ones. We will not be able to touch their hand or feel their hug or just talk over a cup of coffee. They will not be in our lives anymore and our heart explodes with sadness at the loss and we know there is nothing we can do to help, except be the best friend we can.

Diane Sawyer for many of us is like family in the world of television.  To me, she is one of the greatest anchors of all times. I grew up with her, I was always an ABC girl and I still am. I never wavered.

To think of her in excruciating pain hurts me.

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Diane has been part of our living room for years, we know her as a news anchor, part of the ABC Family, and the other part of Mike Nichols. She may have been in the spotlight in front of the camera but Mike Nichols was the genius behind. Together, they were an amazing couple. You could just feel it.

Convos With An Addict, A Food Addict

Shhhh.  Quiet. My fantasy is about to come true.

I’m lifting the triangular tip of my slice of pizza right up near my mouth, slowly. It’s always the anticipation that makes it so exciting. The savory smell of the tomato sauce and oregano, garlic,starts wafting in the air, that smell that draws you in, the one you’ve longed for. You breathe in the luxurious scent with one long breath, you moan with happiness and then, finally, you pick it up and feel the rough, grainy texture in your hands that you stroke with pleasure.

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I lift up the heavily anticipated slice (or 2 or 3) of pizza, blow on it gently, I want warm pizza not too hot to burn me, a little spicy, adding extra garlic salt and I open my lips and taste that first amazing bite.

This is only the first slice of pizza of the two or more I will eat tonight, my husband and I have looked forward to this night for days. We only use one pizzeria in town even though there many other options. But, this one, is our favorite and we have tried every one of four or five places, sampling each, several times.

In the past we ordered a slice of Sicilian pizza and a regular slice for each of us of us but I’m not sure which direction we will go tonight. We’ve taken chances on the Sicilian slices before, sometimes it’s a bit too doughy and the ratio is wrong.

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I know what you are thinking there is no such thing as too doughy yet when it comes to Sicilian pizza there needs to be a balance and sometimes from this place, the balance has been off. It depends on our mood, we are never disappointed with their regular slices, plain or mushroom, I have a feeling I know what we will do.

I lick my lips in anticipation. They also serve (sorry if this is a bummer for pizza enthusiasts) the most amazing salad, (stick with me here) with kinds of lettuce, craisins, goat cheese and slices of avocado .Believe me I am not a salad lover but this seems like it should be outlawed it is SO good. It comes with some sort of silky raspberry dressing and we are not counting calories here.

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This was yesterday’s dinner, I would happily eat the same thing today. This is one of my favorite (and most comforting) meals. It speaks to me of my youth and happiness, and Dani’s House of Pizza and André the Pizza maker and of course, the owner, Dani. It was a tradition when we were old enough to walk from school and go there for lunch. For one dollar we got two slices, a drink (grape, no ice) and had leftover money for candy.

Just thinking about it makes me nostalgic and very, very hungry. Maybe I will have the same meal again, Saturday.and toast to the old times when we were young and life was easy and uncomplicated.

 

Happy 4th of July, Independence Day

English: The Boston Pops Esplanade Orchestra performing at the Hatch Shell in Boston. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Arthur Fiedler & The Boston Pops via last.fm

When I was growing up, every 4th of July, my family would be glued to the television set to hear the Boston Pops and to watch the fireworks burst and boom on our television set. It was a tradition set in our middle-class red brick apartment building in Queens.

We were the last family in the neighborhood to get a color television set. I had already glimpsed the wonder after seeing The Wizard of Oz at my friend’s house and still remember the feeling of awe, not knowing there was color in the movie.

My parents finally bought a color tv during the Olympics after seeing Dorothy Hamill skate like a swan at our dear friend’s house.  I “worked” for Lore for many summers in her gourmet chocolate shop, oh, I KNEW my chocolates!  She sent me care packages in college, she spoiled me but most of all, she always understood me, my fellow Libra. I miss her every day.

My dad loved to watch soccer, he would yell and scream at the television enthusiastically, you could hear him shout from any room. He also loved watching any type of ceremony: parades, marching bands and all celebrations.

Yesterday, I talked to my best friend and after and we hung up, I reached for the phone to call my dad. I wasn’t feeling sad or morose, it just seemed natural until I remembered that he has been dead for a very long time.

Fireworks July 4th Independence Day 2013 Polo Field Fort Sill Oklahoma (24) (Photo credit: HiRez Dude Colin Henderson ch@cnhender.com)Today, July 3rd,

Sometimes, I will watch a show or listen to music that I know my dad would love, it makes me feel like we’re listening to it together.

A memory just popped into my head: the first bad heart attack my dad had, had been on Father’s Day when my son was 6 months old yet he refused to go to the hospital until I was so upset I started crying.  My mom and I took him to the Emergency Room. My father’s complexion was pasty and green and I remember he was sweating but he never clutched his heart, he just felt a little unwell.

After blood tests, the young, snippy doctor told him “he was a very, very sick man.” And, he was, he needed quadruple by-pass surgery which back then was definitely out of the ordinary.

My husband and I had a six month old son that I had never been away from but I was the one who stayed so I could help my mom and be near my dad.  I hate driving in the city but being with my dad was just too important than my own fears.

Luckily, my father was able to be transferred to the city for the complicated  operation and my mom and I waited in the hospital for 7 hours.  Saying good luck to my dad right before the operation, was one of the hardest, most gut wrenching things I have ever done and I know he felt the same way. Don’t let anyone tell you NOT to cry, it’s really okay.

It felt like a hammer was breaking my heart in pieces. Thank G-d it was a success and he lived many years after that.  It occurred to me today my dad was allowed to go home from the hospital on July 4th, Independence Day. I remember making a sign for him.

Mending a Broken Heart (Photo credit: Free Grunge Textures – http://www.freestock.ca)

Certainly, it was a day to celebrate.

 

 

FWF, Kellie Elmore 9/11

the breakfast of steel and ash

every time i close my eyes i am in the same dead, evil nightmare. even in the depths of my sleep i am praying to be freed from this living insanity, i don’t dream in color anymore. just black and white, only black and white. color has left me, left the world. mostly i sit in the corner of my bedroom in brooklyn, back at my parents’ house, watching television or trying to read a book.mostly i don’t do anything. years ago i thought i wanted to be a journalist but there is not a chance in hell i want to do that anymore.

In the immediate aftermath of the September 11, 2001 attacks many people were evacuated by ferry to Jersey City (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

why bother, i’m already in hell and i don’t want to write it down any more than i have to. my psychiatrist is making me do this as an exercise i think it’s stupid but i promised i would try. as if, i also promised i wouldn’t commit suicide but i crossed my fingers behind my back.

i don’t know how easily some people can go back to joy and living when they were seconds away from  the smell in your nostrils of death, burning, steel, crashing planes. people jumping out of windows, running wild in the streets, i try to think of it as a movie but it is no movie.

i was the one who was supposed to look after pippa her parents had named her phillipa, they lived in australia. she was my girlfriend and had flown in a couple of weeks before to attend nyu just prior to labor day. she hadn’t even known what labor day was. this was all my fault. of course it was, how could anyone say it wasn’t. i know it was. i deserve to be dead too.

i was an executive trainee on wall street and they had planned a special back to work breakfast meeting, more like a party, and you were allowed to bring a guest. of course i asked pippa and she smiled so widely her whole face lit up, her pixie hair cut made her look about sixteen and she decided for hours what she was going to wear. the last i heard it would be her flowered dress yellow and orange flowered dress. i think. i don’t remember.  i’m sorry pippa, that i can’t remember that. i’m not sure, i don’t know.

i start crying and thrashing and now my mommy is in my room and she gives me some  medicine to calm me down. it’s okay i like to be calmed down so i can forget for a few minutes of what my life really is. i can sleep then.

pippa and i went to the breakfast meeting holding hands, she had no classes that morning so it worked out perfectly. they served mimosas and bloody marys and pippa, of course, had a mimosa, maybe two. they served the most elaborate breakfast and after the first course pippa touched me lightly on the shoulder and whispered that she was going to find the ladies room. i smiled back at her, i felt so lucky she was in my life.

before pippa got back we felt trembling in the building, we all looked at each other maybe the building was settling, we thought. after five minutes it was much worse there was an earthquake, we assumed, the building started shaking and we thought we heard explosions. everyone ducked, we had no idea idea what was happening. i started to scream for pippa, as loud as i could, i tried to run to her and i fell. stupid me, my voice was so hoarse i could barely speak but i kept screaming for her.

several minutes later it turned out that a bomb exploded in the first building, it had effected our building too but we were lucky. we were told to go down the stairs quickly. i couldn’t leave without her but the police officers said i had to, they promised they would look for her. i made them promise. we were all covered with ash, steel rods were everywhere, i could barely breathe.

September 11th, 2001 (Photo credit: cliff1066™)

what happened after that i can barely remember, all i know is that i was alive and i waited for hours for pippa to come until they made me leave. i had to walk to brooklyn with other people in the city that had become a war zone. i waited for news of her for days, i didn’t leave my parents house, not for months. when i could go out i only went with my parents or psychiatrist to go to ground zero every day and every night but they always threw me out.

it’s been months now, pippa was killed on september 11th, i was supposed to protect her and here i am still alive. barely still alive. pippa was dead, it should have been me.it still may have to be. i make no promises. the only time I go out is to the memorial fence and i wait alone with other lost souls. we sit staring at the fence, crying, still hoping they will come back yet knowing they never will. we talk about joining them. every single day.

A small monument to the victims of the September 11th attacks on the fence of a car lot on Greenwich and Seventh Avenues in New York City. Taken by myself with a Canon 10D and 17-40mm f/4L lens. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

FWF Kellie Elmore

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering – these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love – these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me, O life of the questions of these recurring. Of the endless trains of the faithless. Of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer: that you are here. That life exists and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

burst of color (Photo credit: zbigphotography)

Read more: Apple’s Latest Ad Is Probably Going to Give You Chills | TIME.com http://business.time.com/2014/01/13/apples-latest-ad-is-probably-going-to-give-you-chills/#ixzz2qhooOp4o

APPLE COMMERCIAL NUMBER 2: FWF

Those special moments. Captured for a lifetime, they will exist because of us, because of you. We just strive to make it easier. The beauty, the flowering buds, the burst of energy of that last second slam dunk in a perfect basketball game. Sharing a glass of red wine, nestled with your loved one, in your matching soft, red checked fleece pajamas and matching slippers. If not for the two of us, the world would be stationary, dull, black and white. Motionless. We bring you Life. Warmth, vibrant colors, sounds and sights like exploding fireworks in Denmark or China or in New York City or a softly beaten trail where no one has been..yet. Anywhere you go, we will be there. Snowy mountain tops, sounds of laughter from a family. The warmth, a close up photo of a fireplace, logs burning, take a deep breath, you will swear you were right there. If you can’t be there, we can and we will bring it home for you. Don’t miss out on the Wonders of Life, Nature. Whether it is for Flowers or Animals, Birth or Birds we capture the special moments in your life. The Time of your Life is Now, in this moment, in every moment.

We bring it Home.

From our Home to Yours.

Apple. iPad2

Image via CrunchBase

Photo Credit: Zbig Photography

FWF Kellie Elmore: B Is For Bum

English: Three drug addicts seen smoking a huge amount of crack cocaine, in a downtown eastside alley, in Vancouver BC Canada. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“When you get into a tight place you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.” Harriet Beecher Stowe

“Bitches,” Anna growled underneath her breath, what the fuck do they know? These stupid clichéd words were written on a huge, dumb banner in bright red, thick letters right when you walked into the room. A bare room with folding chairs, a typical support group, she was there for what they called “Substance Abuse.” Yeah, you know, weed, coke, meth, snow, uppers and downers and whatever shit she could find to snort up her nose or inject into her spidery veins.

She had gone to court appointed meetings from jail, not like she had a choice, she had gotten busted, “possession of illegal drugs.” Big deal. She only had two more “meetings” to go to get her out of prison and then she would be free. These fools knew nothing. They didn’t even know that right here in the audience she was high.  Hopefully, if she was careful, she could score coke after the meeting but that was tricky.

What did these rich, entitled “group leaders” know about suffering and pain? They stood up there beaming, wearing their matching navy skirts and blazers and talking to us like we were a lower species. Oh sure, they said they had gone through the program too. Really? Maybe they used coke twice or three times at a party  and got busted or hooked and their CFO husbands had found out so they went to some private, fancy, swimming pool facility in a secluded area in the Berkshires or San Diego where it is warm.

They were probably in for  two weeks, paid the fine and out. Simple, easy, if you have money and a really good lawyer. That stupid banner was not for people like me, it was for people like them. Didn’t they get it? The world is divided into those who have and those who have not. My wicked step-mother is one of those kind of people, she lives in the land of entitlement, in a suburb in a big mansion, except there’s no room for her stepdaughter, you know, me the drug addict.

She and my daddy can have five martinis plus and smoke cigarettes but I’m not allowed to sleepover, damn hypocrites with their “own” children now. You know what? You don’t always learn when you are “in a tight place.” Got that? It’s not FOR everyone.  Me? I’ve been pushed into a lot of tight places in my life, gray, dusty, tiny, urine smelling corners and what did I learn? I learned to get out of that space and find another. That’s it. Some people like tiny spaces, especially those whose daddy don’t love them any more.

There you have it twinkle-toes. “Tides don’t always turn” and maybe I don’t want  this tide to turn. Face it, my daddy and I used to be so close, and now he doesn’t even talk to me. She made him like that, I know it. He doesn’t want anything to do with me now, the wicked witch of the north changed him and now I’m trash. So, you see that corner I’m in? Once I get out, I’m hitching a ride to NYC, to live in the streets with my fellow bums, to get drunk every single day with beer and cheap box wine and at night score drugs until I’m dead and gone. You think I want to be alive? Hell no.

When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.

Harriet Beecher Stowe

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/h/harrietbee126390.html#CjQDWIeOXQhWKejR.99

When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.

Harriet Beecher Stowe

Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/h/harrietbee126390.html#CjQDWIeOXQhWKejR.99

Kellie Elmore: Free Write Friday, Favorite Childhood Gift

Favorite Childhood Gift:

My father bought my favorite stuffed animal, a monkey, in Lamberts, a store in New York City for my second birthday.I imagined Lamberts was a store filled with all kinds of wonderful things: police cars that flashed and made noise, doll babies with small pink bottles, cards for all occasions, all types of medicine including my personal favorite, St. Joseph Aspirin for children that tasted like an orange cream soda. I pictured them also having a formica counter with shiny chrome swirling stools where you could orders snacks and a black and white ice cream soda, or a frosty bright pink strawberry milkshake.

My favorite love object is a stuffed animal whose name is Nokey.I could not pronounce “Monkey” at the time. If you noticed I haven’t used the past tense it’s because I will be 57 in the beginning of October and Nokey will be 55. Yes, I still have him, I will always have him. This special friend of mine, this lovey, has been all over the world with me, wherever my family took me, I took him.

He is so important to me that my husband (and probably my grown-up children) know when I die, I want to be buried with him beside me or cremated with me. Nokey was always such a huge part of my life.

I’m not sure why he was so important but I know he was the one object I could rely on, could trust. He kept my confidences and more importantly, only he could make me feel safe. I slept with him until he was too fragile to sleep with, he went to college for a semester but after that his inner stuffing starting falling out and ungainly wires started poking out. My father, seeing old friends, brought him to a small doll and toy factory in Germany (my father was an airline employee) so that Nokey could get a face and body lift. There was nothing in New York, they only accepted “dolls.” His colors were still the same, a yellow shirt and black pants, with white sneakers but his head was a little too puffy.  In time I forgot how he used to look.

I have always imagined the toy shop high on a cobblestone street, on the second floor. The old, kindly toy maker with white hair and round glasses, looking out the window, smiling; and there would be red flowers on all the window boxes of the white house with brown trim.

Nokey has ruby-red lips upturned in a big, happy smile and I used to swing his arms back and forth because I thought he liked it. His ruby smile faded a tiny bit as he became older just as all of us fade a little with age. It didn’t matter to me, it doesn’t matter to me.I love him for all the love, comfort and warmth he brought to me. I never cared how he looked with his bandaged hand, masking tape, in many places. Shouldn’t old age be treated in the exact same way? Do we really need all these vain people trying to look young forever? Why? Yes, I’m focusing on you, “celebrities. You send such a bad message to people.

Nokey is now lying beside me with his bandaged white sneakers and his hand that was once burnt on the furnace that my dad lovingly wrapped in masking tape. I will not put him in the closet for another day, I will find a place for him where I can see him and smile and remember the comfort he gave me, as a little girl, standing outside, looking within.

Haiku Heights: Late

NYC Taxi (Photo credit: Philippe Boivin)

City,  jump, run, rush

unsettled life, noise, street rats

stall, honk, taxi, late.

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Happy-Sad, Anxious,

Infertility shots, tears

Gasp! Yes, I’m Pregnant!

B for Beautiful (Photo credit: peggyhr)

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all photographs/prints are owned by the photographers.

Dear Hillary,

Official portrait of Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I want to start by saying that I know I should use your formal title because I do, very much, respect and admire EVERYTHING you have done. I just feel we, as in “we the people” know you” so please forgive me. I want you to know that your friends, fans and neighbors are all worried about you and you are in our thoughts every day. I’m not just saying this; it’s true.

I’ve never been one to focus much on the health of any political figure before but now I find myself waking up in the morning and checking the news for an update about you, in fact checking several times during the day and of course at night, before I go to bed. As a mother myself, I cried when I saw a photograph of Chelsea’s “anguished” face as the newspaper described it. Granted, she could have just spent a harrowing time with the paparazzi or gotten an old, limp salad in the cafeteria but my bet is that Chelsea is worrying about her Mom. I didn’t see a photo of your husband, President Bill Clinton, exit but I can imagine he is very concerned as well.

We all are but I want you to know THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING POLITICAL NOW OR IN THE FUTURE.  I don’t care about 2016, I only care about today. I want you to be well enough for your doctors (we share one of them, by the way) to release you so that you can go home. Home to New York or Washington, wherever you choose. Your only prescription now is for rest and relaxation. Think of it as a Hillary cruise. If you want red tulips, you will get red tulips, if you feel like pizza, people will deliver whole pies to you. An egg sandwich in the morning, well, we all know what deli that will be coming from!

I just wanted you to know that all of us are thinking of you, praying for you (those of us that pray) and keeping you in our thoughts. Get well Madame Secretary of State, because we really and truly miss you.

P.S. Not to belabor a point  but I still believe that you are OWED a great big apology and a HUGE bouquet of flowers and dark chocolate for at least a year from those uncivilized idiots (should I have not said that?) that did not believe you were sick in the first place. I’m a Libra and we believe in fairness, that they haven’t apologized, to me, is utterly shameful. You are a better person than I am. This is why we need you! Come home soon.
With great fondness and admiration,

Laurie from Hibernationnow.worldpress.com