February 4, 2011 | 7:30 pm

I want my $5 back - a heartfelt letter to my bank!

Posted by Julia Bendis

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Dear Wescom Credit Union Employees:

I am writing this letter because I just spent 30 minutes on the phone speaking with one of your Imbeciles, please excuse the spelling of that word, the auto-corrector doesn’t have a suggestion for me.

Anyway, I just wasted 30 minutes of my life and would like for you to re-pay me with the $5 that you originally stole from me, plus interest in the amount of 200.55%.  The value of 30-minutes of my life comes to a total of $50.13.  The $5 was under the “checking fee”, which I was trying to get back when I phoned you.  Let me remind you dear Wescom employees that when a person signs up for a “FREE” account, it means you will never go into their account and take money that does not belong to you!

I understand that over the last 15 years or so, Wescom has become a much bigger bank than it originally used to be.  And of course, the bigger you are, the more crap you can get away with.  I also know that you will not be crying if I take my hard-earned money out of your bank.  I am not sure what my point is here, kind of lost my train of thought…  I can see how that doesn’t make my case very strong in my direction.  Oh, yes I remember, you are all a bunch of scumbags.  Look, the auto-corrector didn’t even bother putting the red wavy line across that word.  I think it agrees with me.  Yeah!

What I am trying to say here is that I will be closing my account, and taking my money across the street to “Joe Shmoes” Bank, but NOT before I get my $5 back!

So, here are some suggestions about how you can give back my $5 and 30-minutes of my life back from sitting on hold with you idiots.

1.  You can send that Imbecile that I talked to on the phone to baby-sit my children while I go get a manicure.  You have my address, right?  I have a very fancy party to go to this weekend, but haven’t had time to get myself pampered.

2.  If he doesn’t particularly like children, which I am guessing he might not, he could instead clean the bathrooms.  I haven’t gotten to that today, been a very busy day.

3.  If you have already taken my suggestion and fired the Imbecile, you can send someone else.  I don’t mind at all.

4.  You can also send me any office supplies that are sitting on your desk right now, worth $5.  I really don’t mind if they are used either.

5.  You could send me a gift card for a Spa day for a total of 30 minutes.  I know that it would be crazy for me to think that a Spa day would return 30 minutes of my life, but it would be so relaxing, in turn making me forget how pissed off I am about my $5.

6.  If none of these sound appealing to you, there is always the option of just putting $50.13 into my account.

The choice is yours, and I will be fine with whichever one you decide to go with.  If you would like to read more on my suggestions, feel free to visit my website at: www.easternblocklox.wordpress.com

Your comments are always welcome!

February 1, 2011 | 11:45 am

My Interview with the Department of Homeland Security!

Posted by Julia Bendis

Years ago, I had applied for a position with the Department of Homeland Security.  Why would I apply for a position with the Homeland Security?  Who knows…  Remember my post about my ADD, and pins in my ass?  Well, that’s why.  This was right after 9/11, and they just formed this new Department.  Homeland Security was looking for people that spoke fluent Russian, to interview potential immigrants that are trying to come to the U.S.  My family and I had to go through that interview process when we immigrated here.  So, when my oldest son started school I decided to go back to work.  The position they advertised looked very lucrative.  Pretty good starting salary, full government benefits and all I had to do was sit on my butt all day, and talk with people.  If you know me, you understand how I could not turn that down!

I filled out an online questionnaire that only took six hours to complete, faxed over all the necessary documents, and sat back and waited.  And waited, and waited.  When I received a letter in the mail six month later, I seriously thought that someone was playing a joke on me, and purposely applied me for a position with DHS.  I completely forgot about it.

The letter asked me to come down to San Diego for a written test, and then wait some more.  A full year and eight months of my second pregnancy later, I received another letter telling me that I had passed the written test with 96%, and now they were scheduling me for a physical exam to make sure I was in good mental and physical shape.  I was so excited, yet confused about why I needed to be in a good physical health to sit at a desk all day?!?!  How was I going to hide my 8-month pregnant belly…  Not to mention, how was I going to do at least 10 sit-ups, run up and down the stairs, and do at least 10 jumping jacks?  To a normal person, reading that letter would have set off some kind of a red flag in their head.  Not to me.  I was as excited as President Clinton upon learning that Jewish girls were allowed in the White House!

Thankfully for me, this is the government we are talking about, they weren’t booking the exam for another three month.  That gave me time to have the kid, pass him off to Mom, get rid of all the baby weight, get into a body-builder shape, and all in two whole months.  I really thought I could do it.  Hell, if Kate Hudson and Angelina Jolie can do it, I can do it.  And they were losing weight for a much greater good that serving their country, they were doing it for the love of film and nude scenes.

I show up to a Medical office for my physical exam feeling pretty confident.  I am instructed to change into my “work-out clothes”.  I really didn’t want to explain to the nurse that my “work-out clothes” don’t include a sports bra and shorts, but rather a bed with some nice 600-thread sheets on it, but I did it anyway.

First, I did the drug test which didn’t worry me at all.  Being a mom to a 5-year-old and a newborn doesn’t leave much time for recreational drugs, unless you count alcohol as one.  Next they had me do a full physical with a 300-lb woman who I am pretty sure was enjoying it a lot more than I was…  When it came time for a physical endurance test, I was sent to another room that had a small step ladder, a chair and a mat in it.  I knew I was in trouble when the amazon woman pulled out pages of what I was supposed to complete.  At first, I had to do ten push-ups, while she sat on my feet.  I tried to explain to her that I had just had a baby about two months before, and wasn’t sure if I could even do one push-up.  Whatever stomach muscles I had pre-pregnancy were long gone!  She pretended not to hear me, and repeated the order.  See, most sane people would have told her to go where the sun don’t shine, and run out of there.  But since I am far from sane, I kept taking her orders while trying not to cry.  I managed to do one push-up, at which point I was very proud of myself.  The amazon woman just gave me a glance, and told me to get myself up off the mat and start doing jumping jacks.

By the time I was done, I felt like I was hit by a truck, and I am pretty sure I passed out for a bit there too.  At the end, they handed me a small packet containing my results, and told me NOT to open it until I get a letter in the mail stating that I can open it.  As soon as I got in my car, I opened it.  It stated that I basically failed every single physical test, and they do not recommend me for the position I applied for.  As I sat there pondering, again what the hell my physical strength has to do with doing a desk job, I realized that some idiot at Homeland Security probably got my paperwork switched with another applicant.  Since it is absolutely impossible to get through to any government agencies by phone, I had no choice but to sit and wait for another letter.

That letter finally came three months after the physical exam, and this time it stated that I was moving on to an actual Human to Human interview.  This in-person interview was going to be held at the FBI offices in San Diego, since the position would be out of that office.  Wait a minute, I applied for the Orange County offices position.  How the hell was I going to get to San Diego every day?  Not wanting to pass up an opportunity to work for the government, and having gone this far already I couldn’t just let this go by, I had to go to the interview!  Once there, I thought I would simply explain the situation, tell them that something got mixed up along the way, and we would all have a big laugh about it while they offer me the greatest job ever.

I show up at the FBI offices in San Diego wearing my brand new Ann Taylor suit, happy as a clam!  As I looked around the room, I had a strange feeling that I was in the wrong place.  All other applicants were either dressed in CHP uniforms, police uniforms or a combination between a policewoman, a hooker and a cross-dresser.  The green eye shadow really gave it away.  I felt completely out of place, especially because they were looking me up and down like I was their prey.  They were trying to figure out what position I had applied for and why…

Once I was called inside, I was standing in front of a very long conference table.  In my whole life, I have never seen a table that long, and I am pretty sure it was there for one reason: Intimidation.  There were only three people at the table, why else would they need such a long table besides to intimidate the interviewees?  There was a very large gentleman wearing a California Highway Patrol uniform, why the hell was he there?  Next to him there was an even larger gentleman wearing a Military uniform, and lastly a tiny bald man in civilian clothes.  Nothing more intimidating to a five-foot-nothing girl than to be interviewed by giant men in uniform, except for the bald guy.  He didn’t scare me.

Baldy started the interview by telling me that they will each read one question for me to answer.  They were very random questions, such as my work ethic and if I would ever leave an Officer behind if they were hurt.  I really didn’t understand how it had any relation to the position that I applied for, and being too scared to ask any questions of my own, I just kept answering what I thought they wanted to hear.  “No, Sir I would never leave an Officer behind!”  What Officer, what the hell is he talking about?  Where and why would I need to leave an Officer behind?  Like during lunch, at Chili’s?  You would think at this point I would just walk out, but I didn’t.  I guess I really wanted to see where this would go…

The last question they asked me was: “I’m going to paint a scenario for you: Its dark, the middle of the night.  You are all alone at the border of U.S. and Mexico.  Your life may be in danger, and you have no way of calling for back-up.  Do you still take the job?”  I stared at them with a black look on my face, trying to figure out if this was a joke.  I started to say something in the nature of: “I think I may be interviewing for the wrong position here…”  The giant in the Military uniform cut me off saying: “Would you like me to repeat the question?”  They were not going to take “NO” for an answer.  I wanted to yell out: You can repeat the question all you want, buddy.  The answer is still going to be NO!  But instead, I mumbled something, I can’t even remember what.  They told me that was the end of the interview, and I need to wait out in the hall for their decision.  As I stood in the hall for what seemed like an eternity, I kept going over what just happened inside the conference room.  I was baffled, scared and pretty sure that I had peed in my pants a little.  For a tough chick like me, this sure seemed over the top.

Why the hell I kept waiting out in the hall is beyond me.  What comforted me was the fact that they would come out and tell me its a “Hello NO!”, and in a way I was relieved, since it was obvious I was interviewing for the wrong job!  Well, it was obvious to me, but what happened next was an apparent lack of common sense in our government!

They finally let me back in, but this time don’t even ask me to sit down what I thought was a bit rude, but who am I to argue with the Federal Government.  Without any hesitation, all three looking at me they announce that I got the job of Border Patrol Officer! What?  Me?  A hundred and ten pound, five foot nothing, Ann Taylor suit wearing, never go camping or having desire to, afraid of the ocean, 5-star hotel minimum, never seen or touched a real gun in person, getting lost in a city I’ve lived in for twenty years, forgetting which way to turn when getting off the freeway ramp while going home, taking two showers minimum daily, wearing make-up to the gym, sanitizing every public toilet before using it only not to ever sit on it, hypochondriac with irritable bowl syndrome?  You want me to do what?  Stand and guard our borders with Mexico, day or night with a weapon?  I am pretty sure I said something along the lines of: But there will be a nice, private toilet near-by, right?

Don’t you feel extremely comforted knowing our government is sending tiny, inadequate, young, Russian-born, Jewish mothers to guard our borders against human traffickers, drug smugglers, and anyone else wanting to get into this country?

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January 28, 2011 | 4:30 pm

Trick or Trick

Posted by Julia Bendis

Is it terrible that I am always tricking my kids into eating or doing something that they don’t want to do?  For example, for the first 8 years of my son’s life, he absolutely LOVED eating fish.  Not just fish, seafood of any kind, he even had calamari a few times.  How that could be, you ask?  Well, let’s just say he didn’t KNOW he was eating seafood…

-Salmon, we told him was “Pink Chicken”.

-Shrimp became “Curled up chicken that was cooked in a different way”.

-Calamari was “Fried Chicken that at the end was sliced up in tiny long pieces and put on top of one large round piece of chicken”.

-And California Roll sushi became “sushi with pieces of that same pink chicken in it and slices of cucumber”.

Maybe my kids are just really, really gullible or naive, but it worked.  I swear it worked for the first 8 years of my oldest life!  You know what happened after?  He started to listen to his friends, doing some research on his own, even the internet happened for him.  And all of a sudden, my wonderful eater became my inquisitive eater!

He started questioning, and rejecting everything I served to him.  “Mom”, he said one day.  “You know how there are vegetarians in this world, they just can’t bring themselves to eat meat?  Well, I am a Meat-arian!  I can’t make myself eat poor, defenseless fish!  Its disgusting, some seafood still have a face on!”

I would have been fine with that, since I could have started being even more creative, but he started brainwashing his little brother!  So, now they both dissect the food that I make, and make arguments against it.  That’s ok though, I can get very persuasive and clever with cooking.  Just need to start hiding the food WITHIN the food!

Let’s see how that goes…

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January 26, 2011 | 11:56 am

I speak Latin, therefore I speak English

Posted by Julia Bendis

Seeing an older lady at the grocery store today reminded me of my own Grandmother.  She came to the U.S. a few years after we did.  At 70 years old, she was eager to learn the culture, to try everything new, and to live the American dream.  My Grandmother had lived through the Holocaust, moving from town to town by horse and carriage to avoid getting caught by the Nazis, survived Communism, had all kinds of health issues, and yet she was the most positive person I have ever known!

She lived with us for a while, but always wanted a place of her own.  Being an incredibly social person, and always living in a metropolitan city, she was very depressed living in the Orange County’s suburbia.  So, when we found her a place in a big apartment building that was known to house quite a bit of Orange County’s Russian population, she was ecstatic.  Those were her requirements: big apartment building, Russians, if they are Russian Jews even better, but she was ready to tolerate any Russians.

As we were busy moving her in, she was busy making new friends.  By the end of moving day, she had already made friends with – her words exactly:  “the nosy red-head upstairs, the deaf one down the hall, the one in the wheelchair who has a nice looking husband, and the psychic professor who would like to tell me my future.”  My Grandma had a thing against people’s names, she only referred to them by their attributes, mishaps, or hair color.  As we found out later, apparently Grandma was using the wheelchair’s husband for rides to the Russian store, since she didn’t drive a car.  I don’t even want to know what she gave him in return.  As she liked to say quite frequently, “his wife doesn’t do anything, but complain and bitch, she won’t even have sex with him”, which was more than enough information that I needed to know.

When my Grandma passed away years later, going through her belongings we found a box that contained only what I can describe as: a lifetime supply of Condoms!  They were also Russian, Communist-issued Condoms that I spoke about in my earlier posts.  I believe that she was smuggling them from my parents!  Not only was she smuggling condoms every time we had her over, but somehow other things would go missing after she’d leave as well.  For example, rolls of toilet paper would be gone, and you know how big all Russians are on toilet paper!  After the sand paper we used back in the USSR, American toilet paper is like heaven to us…  I am not sure if she was re-distributing it between all the Russians in her building, or saving it for a rainy day, but a roll here and there was always missing.  We never understood why she wouldn’t just ask us for it, or have us buy it at the store, we never said no to her, always took her shopping.  Go figure…

Even though she didn’t have a car, somehow my Grandma got around to many places on her own.  We did take her grocery shopping at least once a week, and there was nothing more hysterical than watching her shop.  There were many times when I wanted to run out of the store out of sheer embarrassment, but held it together long enough to get her out of there.  My Grandma didn’t speak English, but she did speak Russian, Yiddish and knew sign language.  And when I say “sign language”, I mean literally using her hands to show, point, and demonstrate what she was talking about.  Even though I was always right next to her in the supermarket, she would go up to people in the store and start asking them where the certain items were!  And not just store employees either!  If she couldn’t find anyone that worked there, she would just walk up to random strangers.  Imagine a tiny, four-foot-ten-inches old lady coming up to you, waving her arms and hands violently in the air, pointing to random objects, meanwhile speaking Russian, Yiddish and her version of English!  Most of the people had a look that only said one thing: Terror.  The first time she did it, I explained to her that she shouldn’t do that, it scared people because they can’t understand her.  “Nonsense, she looks Jewish, she must speak Yiddish!”, was her usual response.  Or: “They understand my English when its accompanied by me pointing to items in the store.”  How can anyone argue with that?

Grandma always reminded us that she could read, write and speak fluent English.  You know why?  Because she was a Dentist back in the Soviet Union, which meant that she learned how to write prescriptions in Latin, which was basically English!  As much as we argued, and tried explaining to her that just because she learned some very basic Latin names for medications, did not mean that she could speak the English language, all to no avail…  It was useless, she was a very strong and independent woman and insisted on doing everything herself.  After a while, we just let her do her thing and just stood in the corner of the grocery store, waiting until the Manager announced: “Did anyone lose a Grandma that seems to be speaking a few foreign languages at once?”

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January 21, 2011 | 7:05 pm

Very random thoughts…

Posted by Julia Bendis

As I was visiting my kids’ Pediatrician the other day, again, I thought about how often I am in there.  Is it strange that I am on a first name basis with the front desk staff, or that I know more about what’s going on in their life than I need to know?  Speaking of knowing too much about people’s lives, why is it that I always have to start a conversation with random strangers?  It’s almost a disease with me, I cannot sit across from someone in a waiting room and NOT start a conversation!  At the same Pediatrician’s office I start talking with a mom after hearing her kids’ horrible cough.  After five minutes, I know way too much information!  I know where this woman lives, how many kids she has, the schools they attend, how annoying her husband is, etc…

Most people are happy and content to sit quietly, enjoying their magazine or playing on their phone.  Not me, I am neither content nor happy until I have made at least one friend with the people in the waiting room, or as my friends would say: “annoy the hell out of at least one person in the waiting room”.  My brother calls it “the gift of gab”.  The rest of my family calls it being annoying and nosy.  I like my brother’s version better.

This Pediatrician I speak of is the same one that I gave my blog’s website to, so she could check out my shtick.  Why would I want my kids’ Doctor reading about useless information, random vents and my kids adventures in the bathroom, you ask?  Beats me.  I probably shouldn’t be telling her that there are days when I lock myself in the bathroom with a bottle of Jack either, but I do.  Yes, I agree most sane and rational Mothers wouldn’t share that kind of information, but I’d like to think that my Pediatrician and I have developed a good rapport by now.  I tell her the bad and the ugly, and she tells me that they all grow up normal eventually.  I tell her about the drinking at four in the afternoon, and she laughs her head off.  I ask her if my family’s mental instability has possibly transferred into my children, and she tells me to wash those thoughts away with a good bottle of Merlot.  I am more of a vodka straight up kind of a gal, but that will do.

See, she is a great Doctor, every Mother should have one like her.  She doesn’t judge, or threaten to call Child Protective Services.  Well, not yet.  I am sure after reading some of my material, it might change…

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January 19, 2011 | 11:30 am

Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globes

Posted by Julia Bendis

I really don’t understand what’s all the bruhaha all about!  Why is everyone so upset with Ricky Gervais, and his performance at the Golden Globes?  Last time I checked, Ricky Gervais was a Comedian, and the Golden Globes committee hired him to host the show knowing that he is a Comedian, right?  I am pretty sure they also knew that he is British, as well as his comedic style and sense of humor, right?  It doesn’t just change overnight.  He did the same thing last year as well.  People, what is the big deal?  I could be totally wrong about this, but I am pretty sure that Comedians are supposed to make people laugh, make fun of people, things and events, especially actors and celebrities.  So, when Ricky made fun of celebrities at the Golden Globes for their own stupid behavior, was that not funny?  I thought it was.  People are saying that it was inappropriate and tasteless, but I couldn’t agree with that less!  I think he was dead on, and furthermore funnier than every other host of that show or any awards show altogether!  Jon Stewart tried it, and was funny but not edgy enough for my taste.  Ellen DeGeneres was so-so, staying on neutral subjects and trying not to cross the line.  That’s not comedy, that’s censorship.  I want outrageous, tasteless, edgy, hysterical, dark humor!  I don’t think I am alone in that.

Are we not supposed to laugh at the stupid lives of these so-called celebrities?  Are we not supposed to laugh at their lavish lifestyles, multiple nannies, housekeepers, chefs, and personal trainers to make their lives “easier”, only to find them unable to manage their personal lives, get arrested over and over for public intoxication, driving drunk, hurt those around them, and finally end up in jail or rehab?  Of course we are supposed to laugh at that.  How else are they ever going to learn?

I absolutely loved seeing the actors faces when he was talking about them, it was priceless.  Priceless, I tell you!  Talking about the characters in the Tourist movie being 2-dimensional was genius, not tacky.  Even I had to take a moment to think about that one, and you know that’s a good joke if that happens.  What about his introduction of Robert Downey Jr.?  Yes, it was crude but so what?  Downey is constantly making fun of himself.  For instance, a few minutes before the show started, as he was walking down the red carpet he made an obscene joke to a reporter about his drinking and rehab days.

If the guy can make fun of himself, he can definitely take a joke from a comedian.  All of them can, they are not called Public figures for nothing!

So all of you straight arrows out there, take a chill pill (does anyone say that anymore?), buy yourself some sense of humor, and laugh a little!

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January 18, 2011 | 2:09 pm

Facebook Shmacebook!

Posted by Julia Bendis

People like me should Not be on Facebook!  When you go to Facebook site to sign up, there should be a giant disclaimer that says: “For tough skin people only!  People that are overly sensitive, wear their heart and feelings on their sleeves, and drama queens should NOT sign up!”

Let me explain.  Sometimes when I log into my Facebook account, I notice one of my so-called “friends” had a party, with photos plastered all over their ‘wall’.  “Why wasn’t I invited?”, runs through my head.  Now, I am not saying that I have to be included in everything, and all your events.  However, if you know me, you would know that I HAVE to be included in everything and ALL your events!  If I don’t get an invitation, I seriously have a physical reaction and according to my husband, it ain’t pretty.

Most likely, I won’t even show up to your party or even want to go, but I want that invitation.  I have to know that I am always wanted and needed for everything: organizing protests, organizing a party, planning any and all kinds of events, whether its a birthday celebration, a stake-out or a protest advocating something…

I need to be involved in everything, and anything.  The majority of people in my life will say that I have pins in my ass, that I can never sit still even if my life depended on it.  That’s my problem.  I always have to be doing something.  Facebook is definitely not for people like me.  It is for people that generally don’t care whether they get invited to a birthday party, they are only interested in accumulating “friends”.  The more, the better.  They don’t care that they will never speak to them in person, or over the phone, they don’t care about their “friends” lives.  Its all about bragging, bragging and some more bragging.

See when I heard about Facebook, I was so excited.  To me, it meant that I get to reconnect with old pals from Russia, and relatives that are all over the world.  Facebook may have started out that way, but it sure isn’t that way anymore.

It literally is all about: look at me, listen to me, look at my adorable baby at 1 month, 1 month and 2 days, 1 month and 3 days…

Seriously, there are people that do just that!  It got so annoying that I started deleting people off my Facebook page.  By now, most people know that if you piss me off, I will just delete you.  What gets me even more fired up is this:  I am at Costco with the family, from the corner of my eye I notice someone that is on my “friends” list on Facebook.  I have not seen this person in about 15 years, but somehow we found each other on Facebook.  This person looks straight at me, and proceeds to walk right past me like I he doesn’t know me.  Don’t you think that if you are on someone’s Facebook page, you at least should come up and say ‘hello’, just as a courtesy?  Yes, you should!

I realized that its time I started doing inventory of my so-called “friends” on Facebook, and in the process cutting them lose.  I can totally hear you saying right now, “What he hell is the point of having a Facebook account if all you do is complain about it?”.  My point exactly…  I think its time we parted ways, for the third time…

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January 14, 2011 | 3:58 pm

Schwarzenegger making play dates with Medvedev

Posted by Julia Bendis

Reading the newspaper the other day, I couldn’t help but notice an article about the Russian President Dimitry Medvedev and Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Apparently, the two have become quite fond of each other, and as recently as last week even Tweeted about it.

Here are my issues with that.  Its not enough that our wonderful “Governator” ruined the State of California, made our budget crisis even bigger, took funds away from schools and gave it to prisons, but now he is planning to do “business” with the Russian President?  Russian government is already corrupt, and morally disfigured.  It sure does not need another idiot like Schwarzenegger meddling with its economy, and trying to “go into business” with its President.  Am I wrong?  No, I am not.

What could those two possibly have in common?  Well, apparently they are making a “play date” to go skiing together as well as Schwarzenegger helping Medvedev in creating Russia’s own Silicone Valley.  Is it just me, or does that seem a bit odd?  What the hell does “Governator” know about the tech world?  Or for that matter, what does he know about the business world?  Just because you used to make action films, have a famous wife, and have dabbled in some home purchases over the years, does not make you an expert on building a Tech Empire!  He really should learn how to speak and write first.  Have you listened to some of his so-called speeches?  He can’t even formulate a sentence, without going off on some random tangent.  For example, a few months ago he was supposed to be speaking about our education, and changes that were being made.  Do you know what he started talking about?  He went on and on about his Mother and Father, and how they always “kiss and hug me when I was a little boy in Austria.  Even when we went out to the field, they always kiss and hug, kiss and hug, always.  Before we went to school, they kiss and hug, kiss and hug.  Today, parents don’t kiss and hug their kids.  My parents always kiss and hug all of us, always kiss and hug.”  You have to read it with a big Austrian/German accent for better result!

For the next ten minutes that’s all he talked about.  Someone from his staff finally whispered into his ear, and he went on to another topic.  I swear that guy is the last person you want “building” anything with!

And what is it with Russians being so enamored by American movie stars, especially the old ones, the ones that haven’t made anything in the past decade?  The older, the better…  I really don’t get that friendship.  Is there something there that I don’t see?

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