Jew Eat Yet?

Why I’m Irritated Today

Have you noticed how some people are getting more and more cowardly online? What is it—the anonymity with which people can so easily and obnoxiously criticize others? The growing tone of incivility in this country?

I think I have a pretty thick skin when it comes to online criticism. As a rule, I enjoy any dialogue with readers even if it’s to tell me that they think I’m full of shit. Sure, there have been times when it’s gone over the top such as when certain “anti-circ” extremists descended on my blog, the Huffington Post, and my personal email account because I dared to write a humorous look at my own circumcision. The level of vitriol was so extreme in that case that it got scary—some people even threatened me with violence. That was my first taste of how crazy anonymous commenters can be even though the vast majority of the feedback I’ve received over the years has been the polar opposite of that.

So why am I so irritated today about a fairly innocuous, stupid, and ultimately meaningless comment I received on an interview I did with a French director of a great new film opening in the U.S. tomorrow? I posted the interview yesterday on the MSN Movies blog and just a little while ago received the following comment:

“ZZZZZZZZZZZ…Five minutes of my life I will never get back…”

I realize it’s nothing in the scheme of things but it absolutely boggles my mind that someone who clearly has zero interest in the topic took the time to read the entire interview and then took additional time to post that obnoxious comment. Why would that person read it at all, I just don’t get it? I’m sure that person wouldn’t have made such a comment if he or she were sitting across from me, so why does being online make some people act so differently? I know it shouldn’t bother me, and such idiotic stuff usually doesn’t, but after working hard on that piece, it just bugs me that this is the only comment. If you happened to have read the interview (you can find it here) and feel remotely moved to comment in any way, I’d very much appreciate it. I’ll never ask such a thing again but that person just hit me on the wrong day. Is it just me or is the online world getting brattier by the minute? At least if there were any wit or intelligence involved, such remarks might be interesting.

Maybe I’m also in a foul mood because I got caught in the Snooki traffic at the Grove today. She was being interviewed by Mario Lopez in front of Barnes & Noble. Of course you’re familiar with Snooki’s literary masterpiece, “A Shore Thing” that included such chapter titles as “Penises Always Look Bigger Under Water.” Now I hear she has another book deal. She was standing in front of a sign advertising an upcoming book signing with Perez Hilton. Meanwhile, exquisitely talented writers I know can’t get agents to return their calls. Grumble, grumble.

Okay. Bitter rant ended. 

My Kind of Town: Summer 2011

We're headed back to L.A. in a few hours after a visit to my beloved hometown. We never seem to have enough time to see everyone we want to see in this great city. I love Chicago, and to prove it I'm taking at least 10 lbs. of it back with me (oy). We're on the run but here's a quick photo look at our adventures (hashtag: "What I Did on My Summer Vacation"):

Charlie looks wistfully at our delayed plane at the John Wayne Airport in Orange County wondering when we'll be able to board. Would we have had more luck at the Spencer Tracy Airport? 

Upon arrival, Charlie continued his love affair with Aunt Susie. Get a room, you two!

The cousins (Spencer, Sam, and Leah) on their first night together.

It's always fun exploring the American Folk Art Museum that is my sister's Chicago house. Her collections are rivaled by no one. This display of vintage Pez Dispensers is only the tip of the iceberg.

At Toast, our favorite breakfast place in Chicago, with owner and friend, Jeanne. Stuffed French Toast, anyone?

Leah bonds with baby Cal, the adorable spawn of our friends Ellen and Greg. 

Spencer and Charlie walked all over Chicago. Spencer is now taller than me which is NOT okay. Stop growing, Spencer!

We went to many of our favorite Chicago restaurants but one night Leah made an entire home-cooked meal from scratch including these scrumptious strawberry shortcakes. 

Up to Michigan for several days and in my sister's crazy pedal-operated surrey, complete with the fringe on top. 

One last naked ride for Charlie. "Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry, when I take you out in the surrey..."

Michigan was a pleasure paradise of vehicles for transportation-happy Charlie. Here he is in his old Ford pickup (forgive me, GM!).

Charlie and his goddesses, Isabel and Vivi.

Leah communing with nature in Michigan.

Back in Chicago, we try to hit more of our favorite restaurants before leaving town. Flat Top is the best, WHY does it not exist in Los Angeles?

Charlie is fascinated by Uncle Jeff's nose.

Kendall, Leah, Charlie, and I on the Chicago El for a fun field trip downtown.

"Sunday in the Park with Charlie." I haven't been to the Art Institute in years and I was floored by it. I think it rivals the Met and the Louvre in every way. 

Grant Wood's "American Gothic" used to hang in my kitchen growing up. Here's Leah posing with the original.

Charlie and I left Kendall and Leah at the Art Institute and indulged in a Field's Special at the State Street Marshall Field's (I refuse to call it Macy's). I grew up on this bizarre concoction of iceberg lettuce, turkey, swiss cheese, and bacon sitting on a buttered piece of rye bread and slathered in Field's Thousand Island dressing. Yum.

A poignant moment for me in the lobby of the Reliance Building which my family used to own (it was their flagship Karoll's Red Hanger Shop for almost 50 years). Now it's the beautifully restored Hotel Burnham. Look at that gorgeous tile floor. Let's just say it looked a little different in our day. Gulp.

On the El ride home, Charlie and I munched on Garrett's mixed caramel and cheese popcorn, a true Chicago delicacy. I would've tried to deny that we ate so much of it but our hands were dyed that tell-tale cheese popcorn yellow for days!

"Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd. He served a dark and a vengeful God." Leah and I slipped off to see an amazing production of this gruesome musical starring Greg Edelman (who was in my class at Northwestern) and Liz McCartney. I saw the original with Angela Lansbury and the revival with Patti LuPone and this was just as innovative and exciting. Chicago has so much great theatre.

One more dinner with my dad. This may be the first photo taken of him with his three children since Richard Nixon was President.

The cousins on their last day together. Sammy taught Charlie to scream "poop," "diarrhea," and "turd." Oy, what are cousins for?

 

Our last meal together, insanely good burgers at DMK on Sheffield for Uncle Jeff's birthday (with parmesan truffle fries, no less).

Good-bye to the Tweedys and Millers. We love you!

See you next year, Chicago.

Happy Birthday, Sister!

I love the above photo of my sister with Charlie. It was taken in Chicago six months ago and we're heading back there on Monday for another visit—this one mercifully not involving blizzards and frozen tundra. Today is my sister's 54th birthday. Do you think she'll mind me mentioning her age? Eh, what difference does it make—anyone on the Internet can find out that stat in seconds these days. Did you know that August 12th was also Charlie's due date? We just about screamed when the doctor told us that. But, of course, he was so fearful of becoming a Leo (no offense, Sue!) that he decided to come out four months early! In honor of my sister's special day, I've been examining some of the scanned photos I have of the two of us.

These artifacts are endlessly fascinating to me—I feel like I need a historian, sociologist, and psychologist to provide commentary. Some of the photos are so old-looking you'd swear they were daguerrotypes. Are we actually in our 90s? Oy, please, being in our 50s is hard enough to swallow since we both still feel so young. Well, mentally anyway. Sorta.

This might be my favorite picture of the two of us—probably because it represents such a common childhood memory: watching TV together! (Is that sad?) This is in my parents' bedroom at our apartment on St. Louis Avenue in Chicago. I can literally feel the nubs on that bedspread under me. I wonder what we're watching. Possibly a first-run episode of "The Dick Van Dyke Show" or "Mr. Ed." I was just mentioning the other day how I first learned how to read so I could decipher the credits of my favorite TV shows. I was tired of calling my mother into the room to read the names of all the crew members. And I couldn't NOT know who they were. 

This photo belongs in the Smithsonian. Or a retro Trix commercial. I can still remember the taste of those multi-colored orbs and how it left my milk swirling with artificial dyes. I wonder who is taking these photographs? 

I went to my grandparents' apartment for Friday night dinner every week of my life until I moved to California. This seems like it might have been a special occasion, though, since Sue and I are dressed up and we have the high-fallutin' (for the 1960s) grapefruit appetizer. Could that yarmulke be any bigger on my head? Look at how adoringly I'm gazing at my sister. 

Before the P.C. police started ruining our fun, most kids in the 60s spent a lot of time playing Cowboys and Indians. In this photo I'm making the offensive but required Indian yelp and my sister is naturally pointing a gun. We don't seem that into it, though—I suspect an adult is directing our every move.

Now this is more like it. Being good Jews, Sue and I naturally identified more closely with the oppressed Indians (this was way before the term Native American was coined). My grandparents had brought back these cool outfits from some exotic location (maybe the Wisconsin Dells?) and I remember the feel of that drum. Of course I could kill myself that I don't have this outfit for Charlie. Me wantum Injun clothes. Ugg!

Are you getting the idea of how crazy close we were (and are)? We were two years apart in age but people often thought we were twins. I feel like I can still see Sue in these photos but very little of myself in that little boy. Help, I need a shrink! I also need those circus PJs my sister is wearing, I remember them well.

Back on the nubby bedspread, this time in vivid Kodacolor. I can literally feel the fabric of that shirt I'm wearing on my skin. And I remember that squirrel stuffed animal. Wait, is it a squirrel? Did we coordinate the color of our clothes so we always matched? I wouldn't be surprised if my mother did.

And here's why. My mother used to force us to wear matching Halloween costumes. This year we were Raggedy Ann and Andy. Can you say hu-mil-i-a-tion? But I have to hand it to my mom for her ingenuity, she made these costumes from scratch. She dyed mopheads red for our hair, did the makeup herself, and even put pieces of white medical tape around our red stockings for the stripes. Brilliant...and horrific.

Better we should have been trolls like the ones we're holding here. Do trolls still exist? Did I ever wear long pants? Why did my sister often have her hair tied back into a pony tail and yet still wear a head band? Aren't these all riveting questions?

Sue has literally been looking for the cool play kitchen set you can see in this photo for the past 30 years. I'm sure half of these pictures are going to send her over the edge and into a spending spree on eBay. We had an amazing basement in our house. Well, my dad still lives there so we still have it but now it's mostly filled with unopened mail from the 1970s that he's "going to get to one day." Yes, all of us Millers have a touch of the hoarder. This may have been the last time I lounged around the house without a shirt on.

My dad's best friend, Sam Bobrick, wrote several of the songs on these Mad Magazine albums Sue and I are holding. They were classic—titles such as "She Got a Nose Job" and "It's a Gas" which was a song made up entirely of burps. Ironically, after many successful decades as a TV writer and playwright (Sam just won an Edgar Award for his new play, "The Psychic"), he recently went back to his roots and recorded a CD of similarly twisted songs, this time with a country flair. Kendall's favorite on the new CD is called "Will My New Boobs Go to Heaven." It's because of Sam that Kendall and I met (he was a colleague and friend of her dad's). 

In the back seat of my grandfather's cool convertible. No seat belts, of course. We may have been on the way to the airport for our first trip to Los Angeles. Is it mean to add that my late grandfather was the worst driver I ever knew? He would pump the brakes constantly so minor whiplash was an everyday occurrence. Of course Kendall accuses me of driving that way today. 

Jumping ahead a few years, here we are in high school, standing in front of our local PBS station which was just a few blocks from our house. We used to work at their fundraising auction blowing up balloons. My brother Bruce worked at this station for several years. Notice my bellbottoms and my oversized flannel shirt. Oy. Cool truck, though.

And, finally, here we are at ages 20 and 18, touching the belly of my just-out-of-frame Aunt Bobbie who was pregnant with my cousin Sarah (now 34). I don't think Sue and I were ever this tan or skinny again. Mood swing!

And there you have it. Happy Birthday, Susan Rae Miller Tweedy. Love you and see you soon!