Thank God It’s Shabbat. (Yes, I know, heathen woman spells out G-O-D. I know some folks use a dash instead of an ‘o’ because we’re not supposed to write God’s name anywhere it could be erased or something, but I figure the word “God” isn’t God’s real name anyway, just a word we’ve all agreed to use in place of the actual holy word none of us actually know. Disagree with me later.)
S’sorry for the slow week in Yentaland, folks – it’s been a doozy.
My day job has been more of nightmare: The woman who takes care the advertising end of the magazine had her (gorgeous boy) baby over the weekend, right in time for our August deadline. This put me in charge of chasing down sales contracts, arranging ads in the layout so that Boutique Y who hates Salon X was happy and getting the whole puppy uploaded to the printer.
Let me reiterate something to y’all: I am the editor of a women’s magazine. I like free make-up, blueberry martinis and using neat words such as “fierce” and “sartorial.” My job is to write funny copy about cool people, be a cheerleader for the saleswomen and look pretty. Dealing with clients who don’t like the color purple and anything to do with money makes me want to hide under my desk and eat chocolate (which is how I got freakin’ rug burn on top of my foot.) But, by the grace of Grammatica, the Guardian Angel of Publishing, the issue went to bed without me experiencing the “dead” in “deadline.”
Outside of my personal dramas, the week also brought actual tragedy: Steve Shoob, a local TV reporter and part of the regular morning minyan of Agudath Achim, the Conservative synagogue, was killed Monday morning while covering a traffic accident on I-95. I didn’t know Mr. Shoob, but by all accounts he was a wonderful person, someone who covered the graveyard shift of Savannah’s news with compassion and kindness, a doting father and grandfather and a good Jew. His death is a loss for the entire community. The Family Yenta offers its deepest sympathies to his family.
(In better news, Sarah Silverman finally got rid of her shaygetz boyfriend Jimmy Kimmel. Anyone know any nice Jewish guys who dig a woman with pervy sense of humor and likes to say “poop”?)
Many thank-yous to the lovely energetic counselors at the JEA, where the Yenta children have been attending day camp while their mother has been going bat sh*t. These kids are so sweet, so attentive – it’s a parent’s dream to drop off their kids every day to smiling faces and “Hatikvah.” Plus, they cook lunch on Fridays so I didn’t have to pack PB&J’s this morning. Anyone have any good suggestions on end of the summer gifts for them?
Documentation of this asinine week must contain a big shout-out to my parents, celebrating 40 years of marriage in Paris on Wednesday. Their secret? Separate vacations. May they continue to inspire us all. My Brother The Doctor turned 35 the same day, which is probably why he got to go to Paris too, while I, merely Bearer of the Grandchildren, toiled away on the floor of my cubicle, surrounded by foil wrappers. Happy Berfday, bro.
The painting above is by a Yenta favorite, Canadian artist Martina Shapiro. (Read more about this gorgeous Czech-born Jewess here.)
So long to a super-juicy six days of work – I’m ready for some rest. So much so that instead of the usual home-cooked Friday night meal, we’re hitting the new organic takeout joint and heading out to the beach. Shabbat Shalom, y’all!