My Hebrew Night

I went with my mother to Costco yesterday.  It's a good thing.  She buys stuff she can't pick up anymore.  The watermelon, for instance.  It is no good for a 91 year old with a bad back to bend over and reach down into a big box and pull up a ten pound watermelon.  There were other things, too.  She was very thankful to have me along.  But I have to say, Costco gives me the heebeejeebees.  At 3:00 on a Wednesday afternoon, the place was a circus.  I had to park at the back of a long, large parking lot.  Cars were racing around trying to cut one another off in order of find an empty spot.  Just walking was dangerous.  Of course, there were lines around the block to get gas.  I really didn't understand it, but the gas was forty cents less per gallon.  That's almost $8 a tank for my Xterra.  So maybe. . . . 

Inside the store, walking was just as dangerous as it was in the parking lot.  Costco has gigantic shopping carts that people weild like Sherman tanks.  I'm not used to crowds, probably, so my reactions may have been a bit exaggerated, but walking behind my mother was slow and the crowd was not.  My mother has developed a habit of stopping in the most inconvenient places to gaze about, usually in the middle of an intersection of aisles.  What can you do?  

Just past the check out, there is a food court.  They only sell a few items--pizza, hot dogs, and some faux ice cream Sunday thing.  But every table was taken and everybody had one or more of the menu items in front of them.  And maybe that is where I got the idea.  

I got a craving for a hot dog.  

But you know, I have a very healthy diet, and as I walked through the grocery store on my way home, I was wondering what I could make that was quick and healthy and fun.  Now I'm not a fan of the Hebrew diet, at least as it appears in New York delis--matzo ball soup, knishes, etc.--and though I have dated a number of Jewish girls, they were ham sandwich Jews.  I mean, they weren't on the Hebrew diet.  So as I passed the meat counter and saw Hebrew Hot Dogs, I had to wonder what in the heck was going on.  Jews are not supposed to consume animals of the cloven hoof.  I leaned in close to read.  

100% Kosher Beef.  

And then I saw 97% fat free, 45 calories!  That sold the deal.  I grabbed a pack and headed for the bread aisle.  My mouth was watering all the way home.  I couldn't wait.  I was like a maniac.  I cut open the pack and threw a dog in the frying pan as soon as I got in the door.  While it was heating up, I made a Cuba Libre.  I rolled the dog in the pan and opened a bun.  Ketchup, mustard, relish.  When the dog was ready, I I took everything to the deck to eat with the cat.  

Oh hell yea, baby. . . hell yea!  45 calories!  The drink was half gone when I cooked up my second.  Good god, those Hebrews can make a hot dog.  I know some of you are saying out loud that this is not a hot dog, that hot dogs are not 97% fat free, but if you are saying this, you need to try them.  They are full of all sorts of bad things, I am sure.  I don't really believe they are fat free, either.  But whatever.  I felt like I was at a party.  

Yea. . . I ate a third one, too.  

So maybe after that I was feeling pretty Jewish.  My Jewish friends (am I allowed to say that?) tell me I am 80% cultural Jew, anyway.  But maybe the hot dogs were the reason that when I sat down later, I YouTubed "Sarah Silverman" and watched her for awhile.  

But I was feeling restless.  I took my drink outside in the last of the daylight and thought about buying another scooter.  If I had a scooter, I reasoned, I would go somewhere.  There is something wonderful about just getting on a scooter and going somewhere.  You always end up someplace, and you don't have to worry abut parking.  You just pull up and put the thing against the wall.  I really wanted a scooter.  

Back in the house, I went to Craigslist.  That is how I got my last scooter, and sure enough, there looked to be some deals right now.  I hesitated for awhile, but then I decided to contact one of the sellers.  It turned out that his was not the Vespa I was looking for, but as you can see, I am coming dangerously close to a decision.  I think I really want another one.  I know, I know. . . but I do.  

Call me crazy.  Maybe I am.  But as the song says, a man don't live by dinner alone.  

He needs Sweet Poison.  

It's everything you need.  

But you know. . . there IS something better.  I just can't find it on Craigslist.  This song, however, is a beautiful bromide.