I wrote this last summer when I was in Los Angeles and got together with my ex-husband’s side of the family. (If you’ve read this, it’s NOT a repeat; keep reading and you’ll find out why.)
So there we are, my two children, H, and his side of the family. All adults ranging in age from 20 to 70. Dinner is over, I am paying no attention to the conversation at the far end of the table when I see my nephew approaching with a bathroom scale. I have no idea what instigated this, but it apparently involves a discussion about someone’s weight. (not mine, I assure you.)
Now that he has our attention, my nephew puts the scale on the floor next to the table, steps on—and tells the assembled group how much he weighs. Mind you, this is AFTER dinner, not before, and we have all just consumed excessive amounts of bread, pasta, and other carbohydrates.
The number on the scale inspires some comments (all justified); and then one of the other guys gets up and steps on the scale. And before you can say “Kirstie Alley”, all of the men line up by the scale, with absolutely no hesitation and no prodding whatsoever, and weigh themselves. And then announce their weights OUT LOUD (which by the way fall within a range of a hundred pounds–but I am not naming names—-or even initials). There is no alcohol involved; and I should also point out that each of them does this while fully dressed, head to toe, including shoes.
If you are reading this and you are female, I am guessing that your reaction might be the same as that of every woman sitting at the table. None of us makes a move to rise from our chairs; none of us volunteers to join the line next to the scale; none of us can relate in the slightest possible way to what we are seeing. Speaking for myself, I would rather step into the lion cage at the LA Zoo than step onto that scale…. (to read the rest of this piece click here)
That was last summer. Cut to last night. Same group, different location.
This time the family dinner is at my ex-husband’s. As usual, since we’re Jewish, as part of any occasion there is a strict law that requires we all overeat.
I watch one of my nephews eat 4 hamburgers and 2 hotdogs plus side dishes. I don’t care if he played 3 sets of tennis earlier, it’s still a lot of food. By the way—and it kills me to say this–he’s trim and fit.
Still, after 4 hamburgers and 2 hotdogs, some people might look for some Alka Seltzer. Instead, my nephew is looking for something else.
He finds what he wants– and it turns out to be a good example of differences between my ex and I. Because right there in the kitchen, H keeps a scale. Not the kind you use to weigh food—the kind you use to weigh people.
Anyway, after 4 hamburgers and 2 hotdogs my nephew gets on the scale. And then after dessert (3 slices of cake). he does it again. Even worse, now he tries to get his wife on the scale too—after dinner and dessert. You can imagine how eager she is to do this— especially considering she is 6 months pregnant.
I love H’s family and I’m sure I’ll continue getting together for family dinners. I’m not sure what message I can really draw from this peculiar habit. Except maybe: the family that weighs together stays together.
Mark Geduldig-Yatrofsky says
Joe, say it ain’t so! Tell me you didn’t write “except my ex and I” instead of “except my ex and me.” Ms. Griffith–you know who I mean–would be throwing an apoplectic fit right now, were she still on this mortal coil. Since she isn’t, I have to do it on her behalf, if not on my own. When did nominative case become universally acceptable whenever a pronoun is required? No, Darryle, you’re better than that; resist the pull of the grammatical “Dark Side”! (Some of your readers may scratch their heads over this rant, but you and I go too far back for you to feign ignorance.)
Marla Wentner says
I have to say I love Mark’s rant above. I had my own “Ms. Griffith”, so I fully understand his terror at this grammatical lapse.
But what I really wanted to say is that I missed the experience of bungee-jumping at the Shotover River canyon in New Zealand about twenty years ago, because one had to step onto a giant scale in front of everyone. This was required so that they knew how to adjust the bungee for safety. However, there wasn’t any way I was getting on a scale in front of anyone but myself. And that was twenty years and twenty pounds ago, so I just can’t imagine what I was thinking. I do so relate to your story about weighing in front of others!
Duchess says
Ah, I see Mark and Marla have weighed in (as it were) on the grammar subject.
I have a friend who knows my code for this small slippage. I write, “Inappropriate Nominative!” And he knows it means “Get a grip: you are a Harvard graduate!”
My friend gives me license… otherwise I try not to be the Inappropriate Nominative Police. It doesn’t usually make friends.
With a little more license I might have, on occasion, already shouted, “Get a grip, you are a Yale graduate!”
But I prefer being liked. Insert appropriate emoticon.
Duchess says
But if you want ammunition against Marc you could tell him he should have written “you know whom I mean”. People who live in glass houses, and all that.
Gee, is there an emoticon for sheepish revelation of inappropriate nominatives all round?
Or should we all just pour another glass of red wine and hope no one throws a stone at it?
Darryle Pollack says
OMG-I just got to see these comments and immediately feel (like?) (as if?) I should turn in my Yale diploma.
I could plead:
A–exhaustion: I was out of town, rushed, and on a strange computer. And even an ungrammatical post is better than nothing.
B–forgetfulness. It’s been decades since I’ve had to remember grammar, the name of a high school English teacher, not to mention seeing Mark himself.
C–the definition of a blog is a web-log, intended to be a spontaneous personal journal—and though I try to have acceptable spelling and grammar, I allow myself artistic license and plenty of rope.
Saying all that I think I’ll go with Duchess’s recommendation— and have a glass of red wine.
Darryle Pollack says
Oops with all the grammar lessons I forgot to mention:
Marla: Have been there–both the scale and the Shotover canyon. I feel your pain.
Mark Geduldig-Yatrofsky says
Touche, Duchess. I actually caught the error myself but decided to give others a chance to ping on me before pointing out it myself. (It’s ungracious not to let one’s friends repay in a common currency.) I am quite pleased that others can detect those sorts of errors and care enough about our shared language to do so.
Lastly, Duchess, it’s “Mark,” not “Marc.” Even that won’t stand in the way our friendship, if you would like to be friends.
Ann M. Thane says
Everytime I pop over here, you keep me sane.
Darryle Pollack says
Thank you–hope you’ll come more often. We need all the sanity we can get.