​(with apologies to e. e. cummings)

that was the question i asked myself as i contemplated having elbow surgery on my dominant left arm.  the arm would be splinted and useless for approximately 6 – 8 weeks post-surgery.  so, i confronted my right upper extremity and asked if it was ready for a bump-up to lead limb.

can I teach you to hold a pen and print a legible letter in the little box of a crossword puzzle grid? are you capable of applying eye liner in a neat, straight line without poking out one or both of my eyes? is it possible to accomplish a one-handed bra hookup? i knew I was asking a lot.

i stared at my right arm which was hanging passively at my side.  i was more than a little discouraged.
nevertheless I decided to go forward.  after years of pain from an arthritic joint i would take my chances with elbow replacement surgery and hope for the best.

if you’ve never heard of an elbow replacement you are not alone.  In the catalog of body part replacements the procedure is relatively new.  i would have the distinction of being the first kid on the block with a bionic funny bone.

as of today i am three weeks post-surgery.  the surgeon views my follow-up x-rays and he is extremely satisfied.  i am pleased that he is happy.  a very good sign.

me, I’m not so happy.  not yet, anyway.  my arm is still swollen and a constant reminder of the abuse i willingly caused it to suffer.  but i know i will be forgiven once my left arm realizes it can again press the pump on a lotion bottle without wincing.

for now the lazy appendage on my right side will do its best.  i’ve pretty much given up on the eyeliner. however, the crossword squares are coming along nicely. except for the capital letter n which often emerges looking like a w.  we’re working on it.

i have been gifted with two different splints, one white with sassy orange velcro trim, and the other a lovely shade of blue.  i try to color-coordinate with the t-shirt du jour, which is about the only upper garment i can manage over the bulk of the sling. just because we can’t apply eyeliner right now doesn’t mean i disregard fashion all together.

i’m signing off now until some time after labor day when my confinement should be over.  until then, i look forward to the sound of two hands typing and the joy of the shift key!

have a wonderful rest of the summer!

It’s the summer of 2025 and this genetically predisposed city kid is once again roaming Manhattan’s upper west side, walking Sam the dog, and gawking.  Make no mistake, I still hate summer, as described in a sweaty essay I wrote last July.  But Sam needs his walks, and I get to observe what’s hot, besides the weather, when it comes to the latest fashion trends.  If I can’t be cool in one sense, I can still be cool (as in “fire” or “drip”) in another.   I mean, if you know you know, right?

A few summers ago, it was all about the navel.  A proliferation of belly buttons roamed the streets of the city.  Crop tops and hip rider pants and skirts were the uniform of the season.  Exposed midriffs were all the rage.

This was followed by the summer of the boobs.  High-waisted pants made a comeback, and navel-gazing was replaced by a higher calling.  Bras, bikini tops, unbuttoned suit jackets that revealed lacy lingerie, anything that highlighted the melons.

And during the summer of 2024, the trend was workout wear.  Twenty-somethings roamed the streets looking like they just stepped out of a Lulu Lemon dressing room.  At least they removed the price tags.  Spandex in all forms was the prevailing fabric of the day.  Bottoms could be long or short, as long as they were clingy.

All of which leads us to today.  Belly buttons and boobs still visible.  Workout wear as street attire is less so.   But you can imagine my surprise as I followed young women on the sidewalks of New York, that the latest fashion trend this year was not apparel, but  Starbucks!

The outfit is optional.  As long as it’s accompanied by a cold drink held in the left hand.  I’m sure which hand holds the drink is also optional, but since 90% of the population is right-handed, I assume that the dominant hand needs to be free to manage the cell phone.

Of course, it’s not always Starbucks.  It could be any smoothie store or juice bar that concocts a colorful beverage over ice in a clear plastic cup with lid and straw.

I am struck by the array of hues.  Depending on the ingredients, these fashion-forward drinks come in a variety of colors.  I personally have observed orange, yellow, red, green, blue, pink, even tan.

With so many color choices, I can’t help but wonder if the young woman entering  Starbucks or the smoothie store stops to consider what she is wearing on that particular day.  Will a green beverage compliment her outfit? Or would pink better offset her tank top? Does she consider her complexion, and\or the colors of the tattoo on her left shoulder?  Does she ask the barista for advice? Or is the strawberry acai she just ordered simply a refreshing drink?

The idea of color-coordinated drinks need not be limited to day wear.  Consider the evening and the fashion allure of the colorful cocktail.  The deep red of a Negroni or the tropical blue of a lagoon cocktail, to name but two.  Choose your outfit to match your desired drink, or the drink to match your outfit.  Either way, you are fire!  After all, when you know, you know!
​

Today I would like to honor an often over-looked and under-appreciated body part – the elbow.

Let’s face it.  (That’s part of the problem.  We can’t.  Unless we happen to be near one of those large rear-view mirrors.)  Elbows aren’t sexy.  Therefore, we don’t tend to draw attention to them.   Unlike other body parts, we don’t adorn them.

Think about it.  We apply cosmetics to enhance our eyes, cheeks, and lips.

We wear bracelets on our wrists, necklaces around our necks, earrings on our lobes, even nose rings through our nostrils although that aesthetic is somewhat questionable.

I could go on.  And I will.  Rings on our fingers, ankle bracelets on our ankles, jewels in our belly buttons, and even piercings in our lower regions, though I personally place that in the same category as the nostril. 

And don’t forget tattoos.  Ever hear of anyone inking their elbow?

Of course there is the elbow patch.  But a piece of cloth sewn on a tweedy jacket hardly counts as exalting the flesh.

Did I say elbows aren’t sexy? Let me amend that.  This was not always the case.  In the 18th century, women’s elbows, like ankles, were sexualized body parts and in proper circles needed to be covered.  Hence the birth of the 3\4 sleeve. (Bet you never considered elbows as giving rise to a fashion trend!)  I don’t know for sure, but I’m fairly certain there was an age limit regarding the erotic elbow.  Unfortunately, an “older” elbow begins to look like a used pair of corduroy trousers and demands to be fully covered.

While fashion has largely ignored the elbow, language has paid it some tribute.  Metaphors such as “elbow grease,” “elbowing your way through a crowd,” “bending an elbow” (taking a drink) and “elbow room” have paid homage to this mostly neglected body part.  And let’s not forget the “funny bone” which, when banged, is anything but.

In terms of function, where would we be without the elbow?   It is critical to everything we take for granted.  Personal care, eating, sports, lifting objects, almost every activity of daily living.  And so versatile.  What other body part can so easily maintain a 90-degree angle?

Anatomically, the elbow is a three-boned complex hinge joint that connects the upper arm to the forearm, a testament to its usefulness.

So, why am I suddenly so preoccupied with elbows? Because mine haven’t been working very well.  Particularly the left one.  Which is majorly inconvenient since I am a southpaw.  It seems that the cartilage, which allows the bones to smoothly articulate, has worn away, a condition commonly known as osteoarthritis.

Whether it’s a genetic flaw or the result of playing ultimate frisbee for a dozen years with a very athletic Labrador retriever named Bette (as in Davis), or some combination of the above hardly matters.  What matters is that, among other things, I can no longer open my car door from the inside without wincing.

Some other things I can no longer do as a lefty that used to be pain-free (in no special order):

• Apply eye makeup
• Rip out the doughy part of a sliced bagel
• Properly soap my right axilla (otherwise known as an armpit)
• Wash my hair with two hands
• Scrub a pan
• Hold a mug of coffee
• Fasten my seat belt
• Use a soap pump
• Open a pop-top can
• Swing a golf club

(although considering the level of my playing, this may not be a bad thing)

While my right arm has picked up some of the slack, it’s hard to teach an old appendage new tricks.
I believe my left elbow has celebrated more birthdays than the rest of me.  Therefore, I’m considering a trade-in.  Following the successes with knees, hips, and shoulders, the medical profession has now developed replacements for the articulatio cubiti, otherwise known as the elbow.  I’m thinking this might be a good way to spend my summer vacation.

So, if you happen to see me on the golf course this fall, don’t be surprised.  But there is a caveat.  Although the surgery might result in restoring pain-free mascara application, it does not come with a guarantee of a better game.
​

Gyat! It’s that time again.  Spring break is upon us and with it comes the children of our children seeking warmer climes and perhaps a beach.  They bring with them not only their dirty laundry but a vocabulary of slang words that have you wondering if your hearing aids are working properly.
​
Well, fear not.  Communication may still be possible.  It’s not too late to learn English as a second language.  Below I present to you 10 of 2025’s idioms, with a few holdovers from 2024 that haven’t yet been discarded.  But if you’re like me, you probably won’t remember.
So, glow up and don’t be mid.  Test your knowledge with the ESL quiz below.
LEWK

1. A dyslexic plumber describing a problem with your toilet.
2. Second cousin to the comedian Louie CK
3. A character in a weird Western movie
4. All of the above

DELULU

1. A drunken version of the Cole Porter song It’s De Lovely
2. Two British bathrooms as described by someone from Brooklyn
3. Cousin of the woman who trimmed Samson’s hair
4. None of the above

GYAT

1. An acronym for “get your act together”
2. TAYG spelled backwards
3. Declaring surprise at something Yat said
4. C, maybe A

RIZZ

1. Nickname for a former Yankee shortstop
2. What you do when you get out of bed each morning
3. A short name for a mutant berry
4. Definitely C

FANUM TAX

1. A new Trump tariff on tickets for your favorite rock star concert
2. An attack on Fanums
3. Special nails for hanging fanums on a bulletin board
4. Where’s the Advil?

MID

1. We’re half-way through this stupid quiz
2. Three-quarters of a midge
3. A short label for a small person
4. B, definitely B

GLOW UP

1. A typo when writing about a big disagreement
2. A direction for lighting placement
3. An Asian parent scolding his 24-year-old son
4. Some of the above

ATE

1. NOT what you had for dinner last night!
2. A cockney expressing intense dislike
3. Estimated time of arrival of a plane flying backwards
4. Are we there yet?

SIGMA

1. The person identified as Sig’s mother
2. A new kind of vaping device
3. Freud’s daughter
4. Help!

CHEUGY

1. A new candy bar that’s guaranteed to remove your fillings
2. When repeated, some weird train noises
3. Someone reminding Gy to eat more slowly
4. Thank goodness it’s over!

So, how did you do?  Here’s how to interpret your score:
7-10, Excellent. GYAT!  4 – 6, Pretty Good – you’re almost a sigma.  0 – 3, less than mid!
Want the real intended usage?  Lewk: distinctive fashion look or outfit; Delulu: delusional, unrealistic; GYAT: Reactionary word responding to something/someone shocking or admirable; Rizz: person that has a strong presence or charm; Fanum Tax: taking or stealing food away from someone; Mid: when something is mediocre; Glow Up: a compliment to someone’s appearance or beauty that improved from the past; Ate: something that is exceptionally good or awe-inspiring; Sigma: someone who is cool, popular; Cheugy:  something that was once fashionable.

No, it’s not!  Full disclosure.  I DID NOT write the following essay.    I was speaking to my partner-in-crime, the person who helps me clutter your inbox once a month, and bemoaning the fact that I was running out of ideas.  Over the past 12 years, I have succeeded in raising kvetching to an art form, but I was indeed running out of material.  “How can I complain when there’s nothing left to complain about,” I whined, borrowing the title from my second book of essays. I don’t do politics and my family, except for my husband, is off limits.

Appreciating the gravity of my situation, he suggested that it was perhaps time to request robotic assistance.  So, we did.  We asked his A.I. account to provide us with a list of trivial annoyances that
one might complain about.  In an instant, the list appeared.

I chose the prickly topic I could most relate to, and we told the machine to create a 700–800-word humorous essay.  In less time than it would take to knock over a cup of coffee, the essay was generated.   I present it to you below.  Since this is the first time I’ve ever used A.I. for anything, I’d love to know what you think.  Unless you conclude that it’s better than I could have done.  Full disclosure: the title is mine!

                                                The Tyranny of the Fitted Sheet​

There’s a certain humbling magic to the art of putting on a fitted sheet—a task so deceptively simple that it could qualify as an Olympic event. It’s a domestic rite of passage, one that can reduce even the most competent among us to a sweaty, muttering mess. You’d think the sheet’s elasticized edges would make this a straightforward endeavor. Spoiler alert: they don’t.

First, let’s talk about identifying the corners. This is where the journey into the labyrinth begins. At first glance, the fitted sheet appears to be a manageable rectangle. But as you unfold it, it reveals its true form: a misshapen, elasticized enigma. One corner looks like it’s meant for the bed, while the other three appear to have been designed for a geometry-defying, multi-dimensional mattress from the future. The tiny tag that’s supposed to indicate the bottom corner? It’s either completely missing or located in the least helpful place possible.

Once you’ve convinced yourself you’ve found the right corner (spoiler alert: you haven’t), it’s time to wrangle it onto the mattress. This is where the real battle begins. The first corner might go on smoothly, giving you a false sense of accomplishment. But as you stretch the second corner over the mattress, the first one pops off with the smug elasticity of a rubber band. It’s as if the fitted sheet has a mind of its own and is actively resisting your efforts.

By the time you’ve managed to secure three corners, you realize something isn’t quite right. The sheet is either too loose, sagging in the middle like a hammock, or stretched so tight it threatens to catapult you across the room. You’ve also inadvertently climbed onto the bed at least twice, a maneuver that transforms the act of making the bed into an impromptu gymnastics routine. Who knew contortionist training would come in handy for household chores?

Then there’s the ultimate indignity: the rogue corner. No matter how many times you reposition it, it refuses to stay put. You push, you pull, you curse—but it always finds a way to spring loose, mocking your persistence. It’s at this point that you start to question your life choices. How did it come to this? Why is a piece of fabric winning this battle? Should you just throw a blanket over the mattress and call it a day?

And let’s not forget the moments when you realize, halfway through this ordeal, that the sheet is inside out. The elastic edge is smugly glaring at you, reminding you that you’ll have to start over. It’s a soul-crushing realization, akin to finding out your coffee has gone cold after you’ve microwaved it twice.

But the struggles don’t end there. Even after you’ve successfully tamed the beast and secured the sheet, it’s not always smooth sailing. The fitted sheet’s job, theoretically, is to stay put and provide a snug, wrinkle-free surface for you to sleep on. In reality, it’s more like a rebellious teenager, constantly pushing boundaries. One restless night, and it’s halfway off the mattress, making you question why you even bothered in the first place.

Of course, no discussion of fitted sheet struggles would be complete without addressing the chaos of folding one. The fitted sheet, when removed from the bed, doesn’t fold so much as it collapses into a shapeless blob. You try to fold it neatly, channeling the calm precision of a Zen master, but it always ends up looking like a crumpled mess that’s been through a hurricane. It’s the kind of task that turns you into a philosopher, pondering the futility of order in a chaotic universe.

Despite all of this, there’s a strange sense of victory when you finally conquer the fitted sheet. It’s a triumph of persistence, a testament to the human spirit. You may be sweating, your hair disheveled, and your dignity slightly bruised, but you’ve won. For now, at least. Until the next laundry day.

In a way, the fitted sheet struggle is a metaphor for life. It’s messy, frustrating, and often nonsensical, but it’s also filled with moments of triumph and humor. Sure, it’s just a piece of fabric, but it’s also a reminder that even the smallest challenges can feel insurmountable—and that there’s joy to be found in conquering them, one corner at a time.

So, the next time you find yourself locked in combat with a fitted sheet, take a moment to laugh at the absurdity of it all. After all, if you can survive this battle, you can survive anything. And who knows? Maybe one day, someone will invent a fitted sheet that practically leaps onto the mattress by itself. Until then, we’ll just have to keep wrestling with these elasticized enigmas and sharing our war stories.

Spoiler alert: I griped about this very same topic a couple of years ago, but apparently no one was listening!  I’m still hearing the same robotic-like comments from well-meaning people, comments to which I feel coerced to politely respond.  And it’s the “politely respond” part that I find particularly irksome.  Call me cranky, or something worse, but it’s getting more difficult to stop myself from blurting “Don’t tell me what kind of a day to have!!!!”

By the way, Happy New Year!  This is the last time I shall say “Happy New Year “in 2025.  It’s the middle of January.  It’s enough already!  There should be a National “Say By” date after which it’s no longer appropriate to utter those three words.  Much like a “use by” or “sell by” date on a product.

I am no longer foolish enough to make New Year’s resolutions, but I thought if I could get some petty annoyances off my chest straight away, I will be able to face the rest of the year with a smile on my face.  Maybe.

So let me begin with one of my favorites, “Have a great day,” and its derivatives “Have a good day,” and “Have a good evening.”

If a stranger tells me to “have a great day,” how am I supposed to respond? Do I simply say “You, too?”  But that’s ridiculous.  I know perfectly well that the guy who parked my car is not going to have a great day.  It’s Florida; he’s sweating.  He’s running around in the heat parking and fetching cars for impatient people and cursing under his breath when they give him a stingy tip.

Instructing one to have a “great day” puts an onus on the recipient.  Now one must ponder about what extraordinary thing to do to make this day grander than the days before when there was no mandate.  It’s less of a burden to have a “good day,” I suppose.

Similarly, I’m leaving a restaurant at 10:00 PM and the hostess at the door smiles sweetly and says, “Have a good evening.”  Do I look twenty years old and about to go dancing? I’ve had my “good evening” in your restaurant and it’s already past my bedtime.  Do I bother to tell her it’s no longer evening, and a simple “Good Night” would be more appropriate? I really want to, but behind my smile I am gritting my teeth.

I find restaurants to be the source of another teeth-gritting experience.  I’m sure this has happened to you.  (If not, tell me where you dine because I want to go there.)  A wait person comes to take your order.  You tell her (or him, but it’s mostly a “her”) what you want, and she responds with an enthusiastic “Great!!.  You can almost see exclamation points coming from her mouth.  Was the menu a quiz and I made the correct selection? Is she complementing me on a good score? And can you tell me why ordering a Caesar salad and a plate of pasta is a wonderous thing? I find the response of “Great” in this context highly grating.

Then, there’s “Hi, how are you?” frequently uttered when you walk into a shop.  You’ve had me at “Hi.”  And do you really care how I am? And do I really care to tell you?  “Well, if you must know, my husband and I had a terrible row last night and I didn’t sleep a wink.  Then I spilled tomato juice all over the dog and had to bathe him three times before his white coat was no longer red.  Then I slipped on the kitchen floor because it was wet from bathing the dog three times.  And later I found out my best friend has an incurable disease…”  But the truth is not what is expected.  So, you smile, and lie, and simply say “fine.”

And how do you feel about political clichés? Whatever he (or she, but most often, a “he”) is ranting on about, the wind-up to the tirade is most often “….because that’s what the American people want!”  Hey, how do you know what the American people want? Did you waste my taxpayer dollars on a sweeping survey of every American? Funny, because I’m an American person and I don’t remember being asked.  Argh!

And in closing, I’d like to award honorable mention to “follow your dream,” and its cousin, “Do what you love,” both of which, to my mind, have about as much substance as a fortunate cookie.

​So, let’s raise a glass to a cliché-free 2025.  And until we meet again, promise me you’ll at least try to have a great day!

Have you missed me in your in-box?  Even if you didn’t notice or were relieved to have one less email to delete, I’d like to explain that the unplanned sabbatical over the last few months was due to family matters that required my full attention.  I’m happy to report that all is well and, for better or worse, I’m back at the keyboard.

Whether or not you are pleased by this news, I could not let the year come to an end without presenting my traditional top ten quiz of the stupidest new drug names of 2024.
And 2024, with all its ups and downs, produced a bumper crop of entirely unpronounceable labels for new pharmaceuticals.  Choosing merely ten out of the 60 novel drugs approved by the FDA in the past 12 months was like trying to eat only one potato chip.  I promise you; I am not making these up!

ALYFTREK

1. A hike across the Alyf Mountains
2. The first letter of the new Hebrew alphabet
3. Alyft’s car after an accident
4. A, or maybe C

HYMPAVZI

1. A song of praise dedicated to Saint Pavzi
2. Pavzi’s friend introducing him to Tarzan
3. IZVAPMYH spelled backwards
4. All of the above

YORVIPATH

1. The road to Yorvi
2. A vipath that belongs to you
3. Someone with a lisp offering a VIP pass
4. None of the above

LAZCLUZE

1. A clumsy Laz
2. A sequel to the TV show Blue’s Clues
3. An exclusive new A-list club in Los Angeles
4. Some of the above

LEQSELVI

1. What you get when you take a photo of your lower limb
2. A body of water in Selvi
3. A misspelling of Mr. Lequselvi’s surname
4. Are we there yet?

XOLREMDI

1. An innovative musical scale
2. A cure for Xol
3. A game of Tic Tac Toe gone awry
4. Let’s try B

UNLOXCYT

1. The super had a key and he was able to open the door
2. An ersatz smoked salmon product
3. A mnemonic for a new United Nations agency
4. I’m getting a headache!

ZIIHERA

1. Uh oh! My “I” key got stuck again!
2. Zeus’ wife identifying as nonbinary
3. A timespan characterized by Ziih
4. Where’s the Advil?

RAPIBLYK

1. The fast train to Blyk
2. A dyslexic abbreviation of one of the five NYC boroughs
3. A new hip-hop star who calls himself Iblyk
4. C?

REZDIFFRA

1. A unique type of Rez
2. Securing a table at the hot new restaurant Diffra
3. Land belonging to a heretofore unknown Native American tribe
4. Thank God it’s over!

And honorable mention goes to Exblifep, Zelsuvmi, Tevimbra, and Nemluvio, all of which are causing my spellcheck a nervous breakdown.

And in case you have any interest left at all, here are the uses for the drugs: Alyftrek: cystic fibrosis; Hympavzi: hemophilia; Yorvipath: hypoparathyroidism; Lazcluze: lung cancer; Leqselvi: alopecia; Xolremdi: WHIM syndrome;  Unloxcyt: carcinoma; Ziihera: biliary tract cancer; Rapiblyk: tachycardia; Rezdiffra: liver

​From my family to yours, I wish you a happy and healthy New Year.  Hopefully, I will continue to invade your inbox once a month in 2025.  I thank you for your continued indulgence.  I couldn’t possibly have this much fun without you!
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