Blogaphiliacs: Sage and Arianna Discuss All Things Blog.....

Arianna Huffington at a Podium by Pete Wright

I’m meeting with fellow ‘Blogaphiliac’ Arianna Huffington in her lovely home. Of course, she wants to discuss Blogs—hers in particular.  I’m so up for the conversation; I have to contain my excitement.

Arianna gives me a tour of her home. Expensive tsatkes adorn her spacious living room.  “Do you think she purchased them with her blog income,” a question I’m dying to ask?

My eyes focus on a table full of photos across the room; the photos feature my host gazing lovingly at objects I can’t make out; I assume the ‘objects’ are family members.

“Arianna” I ask, “they must be photos of you with your lovely daughters—you all look so happy!"

“No, no Sage,” Arianna interrupts, “they’re photos of me with My Darling Blog, The Huffington Post; I only pose with My Blog, dear.”  “Well, Your Blog suits you,” I declare—“so radiant you both are!”

I’m Verklempt! Navigating Paul ‘Revere’ Krugman

Paul (Revere) Krugman's Book, by Bernard Goldbach

'Sage' Character as GPS

I’m verklempt!  I am navigating economist and New York Times columnist, Paul ‘Revere’ Krugman to a conference in Philadelphia; he’s set to deliver an uplifting speech on America’s imminent economic collapse; the ‘Revere’ is a tribute to his warnings to policy makers; sadly, the gunifs don’t listen.

 My task is to get Mr. Fablunged out of Jersey.  “Paul, snap out of it and make a damned U-turn if you want to get to Philly on time,” I say in a gentle tone.  He abides, and we’re on our way.

 Obamala’s proposed mini-stimulus package is the topic of our conversation; “Feh!” he declares and delivers his greatest hits. “Sage, fifty billion dollars won’t create enough jobs; the tax cuts for research and development are idiotic; we’re like Japan in the 90’s—only worse; unemployment will continue to skyrocket—deflation is around the corner.”

Yom Kippur: Mr. Twitterwitz Texts God using a Forgiveness App

(Mr. Twitterwitz) Texting App

Last week was Yom Kippor—the holiest day on the Jewish calendar.  Off to Shul I went. 

Once in Shul, I found an uncomfortable seat; I readied myself for soul searching and a growling stomach.  The synagogue was full of young people. “How exciting to be amongst a new generation of Atoners,” I mused.

Eyes closed—deep in reflection, my heart was torn apart; I needed forgiveness in a bad way: the righteous rage and resentment I’ve kept 'company' with was fighting to keep its place in my heart.

"I’m not sure I’m ready to say good-bye to my 'company'," I told God; "these emotions feel like a normal response to chaloshes times; and to top it off, my son Mendel never introduced me to his new love, Hershel; don't ask--don't tell--doesn't he know I'm against that?"

Mr. President--Obamala: CLONE Elizabeth Warren!

Obamala with 'Sage' on Air Force One

I’m on Air Force One with Obamala—what a Macher I am!  I received an invitation to meet with the President last week. That’s good because I didn’t want to show up unannounced; my manners are impeccable.

Obamala is a big fan of my blog; most surprising, he loves Yiddish—who knew!   Let me tell you—Air Force One is no United Economy flight; such leg room, I’ve never seen—a michaya!

Obamala and I drink tea and nosh on potato knishes; I ask the President questions about his family and life on 1600 Pennsylvania Ave—that’s his address— I hope he doesn’t mind that I am sharing it with all of you.  

“Sir how’s the Mishpocheh,” I ask?  Michelle, Malia and Sashala are fine, he tells me.  “Mr. Obamala, President, Sir….Mrs. Potus is so gorgeous; those shamttehs she wears—Oy—they must cost a fortune; she always looks like a million bucks!” The President thanks me for my kind words and sips his tea. 

Drek, Shmeck, Mr Beck: That Mishuggeneh from Fox

Glenn Beck in Uniform

I am taking my 91-year old Aunt Sylvia and her friend Sara out for errands.  Her mind is sharp, but her hearing is not so hot; she’s always mixing up names.  She keeps mentioning, 'that Mishuggeneh, Mr. Shmeck'.  I have no idea who she's talking about.

"Sagla," says Aunt Sylvia, "Mr. Shmeck has a TV program where he talks nonsense, writes on a blackboard and cries at the drop of a hat;  you remember, he had a big Megilah in Vashington; he sat on Mr. Lincoln’s lap!"