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Archive for the 'Gendelman' CategoryThose damned choppers!January 1st, 2013 BY MICHELE GENDELMAN From 2003 through 2005 I inflicted a humor column upon this publication, in which, among other topics, I recounted many of my experiences and exploits as a showbiz comedy writer. I called it “Mulholland Jive.” The house in which my fellow-comedy-scribe husband and I have resided for the last twenty-six years sits approximately half-a-mile north of Mulholland Drive. The hills leading up to it literally begin their ascent in my back yard and continue through several small canyons to Mulholland, which follows the crest of the low mountain range separating the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles from the Big City proper. Where I live is a neighborhood called Sherman Oaks. (The oaks, we’ve seen; we have yet to learn whence Sherman.) Friends and relatives from other parts of the country continually ask me which film and TV stars live in my neighborhood. When they visit, they eagerly accompany me to the local mall and grocery stores, hoping for a glimpse of a celebrity. Truth be told, it was rather fun, living in a faubourg full of “I’ve seen that guy a million times!” character actors and bona fide stars (“Oh my God, is that Annette Bening squeezing avocados in the produce department?!”). Until last year.
Posted by: The Editors Sensory overloadIn the meadow we can build a snowmensch.December 1st, 2004 BY MICHELE GENDELMAN Until our son came along, my first husband and I’d had no cause to debate The Tree Issue. But before we even entered into negotiations, I made a preemptive strike by bringing home a four-foot high artificial pine tree and all the trimmings: our little prince of Israel was going to experience the wonders of both Chanukah and Christmas! My husband turned white as powdered sugar, like a pfeffernusse cookie with legs.
I, however, the all-American mutt (Irish, Jewish, Polish, German, and one one-hundred-and-twenty-eighth Delaware Indian, which is only one one-hundred-and-twelve parts away from tribal membership and a share in a casino), had belonged to a Reform congregation whose rabbi dressed up as Santa Claus every year to entertain underprivileged moppets at the Knights of Columbus. I didn’t know any Jews, in my family or elsewhere, who didn’t celebrate Christmas. “How will he know he’s Jewish if we celebrate Christmas?” my son’s father protested. “He’ll know by going to Hebrew school,” I said, “and by becoming a bar mitzvah. And if that fails, the first time he sees a foreskin in a locker room full of goyim, I’m reasonably confident that he’ll catch on.”
Posted by: The Editors The Thing is…September 1st, 2003 BY MICHELE GENDELMAN When first asked to write about the movie that most influenced my life, I groaned. My cinephilia began on a small black-and-white Zenith with the Early Show every afternoon, Creature Feature on weekends, and Saturday matinees at the neighborhood popcorn palace. Add the film history classes in high school and college, graduate school in film and television studies, plus the last twenty years seeing no fewer than seven movies per week, and even a lowball estimate shoots the 10,000 mark. Pick one?! Okay, The Thing from Another World. When I first saw it, in the late Fifties, I was a kindergartener in a grimy Garden State exurb of Gotham where my dad taught high school while pursuing his doctorate at NYU. We were just scraping by on hand-me-downs and mac-and-cheese dinners, but we were blessedly within broadcast range of the Metromedia network’s New York station and its magnificent library of old movies.
Posted by: The Editors Charlotte triumphantJune 1st, 2003 BY MICHELE GENDELMAN CHAPTER 1 It was 196_, during that humid, pre-cable summer between third and fourth grades, when my mother gave me her copy of Jane Eyre. Whether dear Mammá did so for my edification or merely to quell my restive humors, it mattered not; for upon learning that Charlotte Brontë was obliged to adopt the masculine nom de plume Currer Bell to hide her gender, CHAPTER 4 How cruelly our orphan’d heroine suffered at the hands of her scornful aunt and vile brute of a cousin! And when Jane dared defend herself, she was summarily rewarded with a blow to the head and confined to a haunted bedchamber. Still, her courage inspired me; and thus when my parents insisted that I wash the dinner dishes while my brothers (hearty and dexterous lads both) were at liberty, I protested. “Fie, goodly sir and madam,” I cried, “but never shall I tolerate such gross injustice!” Suspension of privileges, however, proved even less tolerable, so for the next fortnight I played scullery maid… till one day dear Mammá (she of the breakfast and luncheon dishes) threatened a rebellion of her own, leading to dear Papá’s immediate purchase of a Kenmore dishwasher with Pot Scrubber Cycle.
Posted by: The Editors Author profileDecember 1st, 2002 Michele Gendelman is a comedy writer who lives in Los Angeles and has written for screens both big and small, including such series as Newhart, Ghost Stories, and Facts of Life. She also writes for animated series for PBS and Cartoon Network and teaches screenwriting at Los Angeles City College. Her first book, What the Other Mothers Know, was published in the spring of 2007 by HarperCollins. She is married to screen- and television writer Andy Guerdat. Her Black Lamb column is called Mulholland Jive.
Posted by: The Editors
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