Page four.
I was in my twenties and early thirties while living with the Shapiros (the family with the three boys whom I lived with and nannied for eight non-consecutive years.) Besides being in college, I was also beginning to explore my creative side. One of the specific areas where my creativity was quite prolific was Halloween costuming. I'd go on to win six first prizes and one second prize over the course of a dozen years for various All Hallow's Eve get-ups. The second prize was a for a costume contest that I technically never entered so it's okay that I only got second - but that's another story. The year of this particular story is 1990.
1990 was a pretty boring year all around. I was in school, probably a senior. I was a college senior a lot, actually, but that's besides the point. I was working toward a degree in Interpersonal Communications, a last minute change from Psychology, and had already begun the testings to determine whether or not I had learning disabilities. Bush the First was in the White House. Rosanne and Jerry ruled the TV screens and in another 90 minutes Pearl Jam and Nirvana would change the world - for better or worse.
Halloween was a Saturday that year I think. I'd predetermined that I'd take this year off from costuming just to shake things up a bit. I already had quite a reputation for my costumes and sometimes it's good to keep them guessing by doing nothing (an artistic belief I still hold to be true.) It was a beautiful, bright sunny afternoon, I remember, and all of a sudden I had a flash. Many, many years later I'd determine that when I have a flash I need to just get out of the way and go with it. I no longer question or argue with my flashes. I simply say "Yes Dear or No Dear" and accept them. This flash dictated that I should give myself a blue Mohawk and just to balance it out, wear a tuxedo. This would be a perfect, understated, last minute costume.
Now, at the time, Mohawks were between styles. Five years earlier or fifteen years later I'd have represented some statement, pick a statement, but at the time Mohawks simply raised eyebrows. And then, with my gorgeous, vintage 1966 tux, well... when I walked into the Halloween party it stopped and just stared. Didn't win anything that year... wasn't out to. Just wanted to have fun.
The reason for this story though was the Shapiro's reaction. That was the closest, I think, they ever came to saying ENOUGH JEREMY, NO MORE!!! In fact, a couple days later after unwittingly answering the door and greeting one of Dad's business associates blue Mohawk uncovered, I was pulled aside and given a stern talking to about how I was teetering on the border of homelessness. Even the boys, who were normally among my greatest fans weren't sure how to take this newest style. Everybody in that house breathed a great sigh the following Saturday when I shaved it off.
With my new shaved style, entitled "Concentration Camp Victim" I looked more acceptable. The shaved look was also between styles at the time but it was still less extremist than the poor, dear, blue Mohawk. I'd go on to reference that Mohawk in a few of my history, anthropology and sociology term papers as I was struck by how differently I was treated while having it. But really, the Shapiros still bring it up occasionally as an example of "That Darn Jeremy." Golly gosh gee, they just weren't thrilled at all. But we're still friends.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
The Test
Page three.
A couple of decades ago, while working somewhat full-time as a free-lance hairdresser, I went to a client's home early one cold Saturday morning to give a haircut. I'd been cutting Dune's hair for a few years and had also done his wife's hair for a while. In fact, I started first with her, Lorna, then I became his stylist as well, then she dropped me. But over the next many years while doing Dune's hair in the kitchen Lorna and I became better and better friends.
The Saturday in question, I arrived with my scissors and comb and was sitting and chatting with them in the living room relaxing with a cup of coffee prior to cutting. (MANY of my hair clients invited me to sit and chat in the living room prior to cutting for some reason. Still not sure why.) So, I'm on the sofa and they're in the two Queen Anne chairs opposite. The fire is roaring in the fireplace as happens in Cleveland in January and Misty, the big dog, is nuzzling up to me to get an improved pet and snuggle. Suddenly, appearing at the bottom of the steps is Miss Gwendolyn, the beautiful three year old Princess come to survey her domain. In most universes there's nothing unusual here. In what universe DOESN'T a three year old Princess appear at the bottom of the steps on a Saturday morning to evaluate her domain? None... except that one little detail separates this occurrence from the norm. Princess Gwendolyn is stark naked.
Now, I'm perfectly comfortable with nudity, it exists in God's world. How many diapers have I changed over the years? Only the Pope knows for sure. But I was still a little shocked by this simply 'cause it was out of context. I just wasn't expecting it was all. But I greeted her warmly as she saw me and smiled brightly. We were very good friends after all. In fact, she rushed over to me with barely a nod of "Hello" to her Mommy and Daddy. This was when the GRE/MCAT began.
You see, she then jumped up on the sofa and replaced Misty to get a better pet and snuggle. Now I have a Naked-As-A-Jaybird little girl snuggling up against me and I'm scared to death to touch her in any places that are typically covered by a bathing suit for fear of doing any long-term psychological damage and meanwhile her Mommy and Daddy are facing me five feet away with enormous, huge grins each. Seems they find my nervous anguish funny. It was as if they were saying non-verbally, "Okay Jeremy, you're so cool? You can handle any kid event? Let's see how you handle this one. Show our daughter how much you love her while completely ignoring her nudity and put the awkwardness of this situation up on a shelf somewhere."
I gingerly wrapped my right arm around Gwendolyn's shoulder and let it cup her right arm and squeezed her closely as she just told me all the important events of her life. Meanwhile Mommy and Daddy just smiled like there was no tomorrow, suppressing uproarious laughter, I'm sure. Modern parents just mystify me.
She eventually finished her stories, I eventually did Dune's hair and eventually my day continued. No big whoop. This was just one more of those life stories that begins nowhere and ends nowhere. The thousands of days I'll walk this planet will primarily be comprised of stories just like this. But I remember it and I'm glad that little girl and her parents (cruel as they were) liked and trusted me as much as they clearly did. In fact, many years later, Lorna and Dune would hire me to nanny their kids and cook for the family while she would finish her M.A. and he would work long hours.
Thankfully, as a high school student Gwendolyn would be much more appropriate. And we continued to have a special relationship I'm glad to say. (I'm sure she has no recollection of this story.)
A couple of decades ago, while working somewhat full-time as a free-lance hairdresser, I went to a client's home early one cold Saturday morning to give a haircut. I'd been cutting Dune's hair for a few years and had also done his wife's hair for a while. In fact, I started first with her, Lorna, then I became his stylist as well, then she dropped me. But over the next many years while doing Dune's hair in the kitchen Lorna and I became better and better friends.
The Saturday in question, I arrived with my scissors and comb and was sitting and chatting with them in the living room relaxing with a cup of coffee prior to cutting. (MANY of my hair clients invited me to sit and chat in the living room prior to cutting for some reason. Still not sure why.) So, I'm on the sofa and they're in the two Queen Anne chairs opposite. The fire is roaring in the fireplace as happens in Cleveland in January and Misty, the big dog, is nuzzling up to me to get an improved pet and snuggle. Suddenly, appearing at the bottom of the steps is Miss Gwendolyn, the beautiful three year old Princess come to survey her domain. In most universes there's nothing unusual here. In what universe DOESN'T a three year old Princess appear at the bottom of the steps on a Saturday morning to evaluate her domain? None... except that one little detail separates this occurrence from the norm. Princess Gwendolyn is stark naked.
Now, I'm perfectly comfortable with nudity, it exists in God's world. How many diapers have I changed over the years? Only the Pope knows for sure. But I was still a little shocked by this simply 'cause it was out of context. I just wasn't expecting it was all. But I greeted her warmly as she saw me and smiled brightly. We were very good friends after all. In fact, she rushed over to me with barely a nod of "Hello" to her Mommy and Daddy. This was when the GRE/MCAT began.
You see, she then jumped up on the sofa and replaced Misty to get a better pet and snuggle. Now I have a Naked-As-A-Jaybird little girl snuggling up against me and I'm scared to death to touch her in any places that are typically covered by a bathing suit for fear of doing any long-term psychological damage and meanwhile her Mommy and Daddy are facing me five feet away with enormous, huge grins each. Seems they find my nervous anguish funny. It was as if they were saying non-verbally, "Okay Jeremy, you're so cool? You can handle any kid event? Let's see how you handle this one. Show our daughter how much you love her while completely ignoring her nudity and put the awkwardness of this situation up on a shelf somewhere."
I gingerly wrapped my right arm around Gwendolyn's shoulder and let it cup her right arm and squeezed her closely as she just told me all the important events of her life. Meanwhile Mommy and Daddy just smiled like there was no tomorrow, suppressing uproarious laughter, I'm sure. Modern parents just mystify me.
She eventually finished her stories, I eventually did Dune's hair and eventually my day continued. No big whoop. This was just one more of those life stories that begins nowhere and ends nowhere. The thousands of days I'll walk this planet will primarily be comprised of stories just like this. But I remember it and I'm glad that little girl and her parents (cruel as they were) liked and trusted me as much as they clearly did. In fact, many years later, Lorna and Dune would hire me to nanny their kids and cook for the family while she would finish her M.A. and he would work long hours.
Thankfully, as a high school student Gwendolyn would be much more appropriate. And we continued to have a special relationship I'm glad to say. (I'm sure she has no recollection of this story.)
Monday, November 26, 2012
Thanksgiving 2012
Page two.
Thanksgiving was last week and as usual I was in charge of bringing the sweet potato casseroles (two), vegetable pot pies for the vegetarians (again, two) the green bean casseroles (you guessed it... two) and pick up my birthday cake from Corbo's Bakery down in Little Italy. Usually, I also have to bring the four gallons of onion soup, but that was cancelled this year due to an unusually excessive menu. To make up for my apparent lack of labor I was instead given the job of also making and bringing large trays of mac 'n' cheese (two) with which to serve Friday lunch to the throngs of out of town family. And, I'm a guest! Those uncles who are pariahs in their families, regardless of the reason, are sooooo lucky. They can just sleep in and watch the Macy's parade.
This was actually not my most labor intensive Thanksgiving though. About three or four years ago, I had to make all of the above plus I was hired to make an entire Thanksgiving meal for a family who had just dismissed me for cost-cutting reasons. They decided to save money by letting me go from my regular weekly schedule, but they continued to call me occasionally for special occasions. So, on my way to attend my family's Thanksgiving, I stopped by and dropped off: turkey; stuffing; potatoes; green beans and various accoutrement (all made by me and my poor little fingers.) I was about to die. Exhaustion knows no bounds. I'm occasionally amazed at God's creativity when it comes to inventing new and improved ways of causing fatigue.
But such is the life of someone who makes their living off of food prep or care-giving. You work when they hire you. So I DON"T say no to many jobs. And I'm really quite lucky. I'm virtually self-employed, doing what I love and I make enough (barely) to pay the bills. Another reason to be thankful.
Thanksgiving was last week and as usual I was in charge of bringing the sweet potato casseroles (two), vegetable pot pies for the vegetarians (again, two) the green bean casseroles (you guessed it... two) and pick up my birthday cake from Corbo's Bakery down in Little Italy. Usually, I also have to bring the four gallons of onion soup, but that was cancelled this year due to an unusually excessive menu. To make up for my apparent lack of labor I was instead given the job of also making and bringing large trays of mac 'n' cheese (two) with which to serve Friday lunch to the throngs of out of town family. And, I'm a guest! Those uncles who are pariahs in their families, regardless of the reason, are sooooo lucky. They can just sleep in and watch the Macy's parade.
This was actually not my most labor intensive Thanksgiving though. About three or four years ago, I had to make all of the above plus I was hired to make an entire Thanksgiving meal for a family who had just dismissed me for cost-cutting reasons. They decided to save money by letting me go from my regular weekly schedule, but they continued to call me occasionally for special occasions. So, on my way to attend my family's Thanksgiving, I stopped by and dropped off: turkey; stuffing; potatoes; green beans and various accoutrement (all made by me and my poor little fingers.) I was about to die. Exhaustion knows no bounds. I'm occasionally amazed at God's creativity when it comes to inventing new and improved ways of causing fatigue.
But such is the life of someone who makes their living off of food prep or care-giving. You work when they hire you. So I DON"T say no to many jobs. And I'm really quite lucky. I'm virtually self-employed, doing what I love and I make enough (barely) to pay the bills. Another reason to be thankful.
Friday, November 23, 2012
My New Blog
Having a fabulous time. Wish you were here!
No.
It was 7.30 am on a cold burgundy-hued November morning, 1961. A curly-haired, pouty-lipped, Jewish boy-baby was delivered at Cleveland Clinic and immediately started instructing the labor and delivery nurses on the fine art of Thanksgiving table decor.
No. (But getting closer.)
Welcome to my new Blog.
YEAH!!! THAT"S IT!!! YEAH!!!
Yes indeedy, welcome to my new blog. This blog, as you can tell by it's title is all about how to cook children, my experiences a a nanny (specifically a male nanny) and other such oddities which cross my path.
Also, expect some information concerning my Youtube cooking videos. Those videos, "How To Cook Children*" were begun in June of 2012 and were created after much positive response from friends and colleagues to my two television appearances on a local Cleveland TV show back in the autumn of 2010. At the time of this writing, my videos are not yet posted, though a half dozen are completed. I'm waiting for a little while to post because I want to have gobs and gobs in the can and then post many simultaneously. I feel that taken singularly, the concept is difficult, if not impossible to ascertain. In groups, the concept will emerge.
Also, expect some behind the scenes stories concerning the videos, i.e. the stories behind them. But mostly in this blog you'll read about how "I Was A Male Nanny" the new, 1939 horror movie from Universal starring Johnny Depp as me, Jeremy Gutow. You'll see the fright in his eyes as he's invited to move in with a family of five: Dad, Mom, big brother age 11 and twin boys age 8 and attempt to feed and care for the kids while attending college full time. Or, watch Johnny outdo his "Nightmare on Elm Street" terror as I (he) gets a job as a private chef/nanny (many years after college) to two high school girls who are quite pleasant but their live-in uncle has GASP! ASPBURGERS!!! NO!!! HELP ME!!! NO!!!! SAVE ME... SAVE ME!!! (All in all, I've actually worked for 10 households as nanny/chef/elder-care provider.) Only the Lord knows how many stories I can tell after a few decades in this career. (Now that I think about it, perhaps I'll include the occasional elder-care story as well.)
Soooooo... Hopefully you'll be entertained by this little spot, tell your friends and have an occasional good laugh together. Expect a few entries per week. Bye for now.
No.
It was 7.30 am on a cold burgundy-hued November morning, 1961. A curly-haired, pouty-lipped, Jewish boy-baby was delivered at Cleveland Clinic and immediately started instructing the labor and delivery nurses on the fine art of Thanksgiving table decor.
No. (But getting closer.)
Welcome to my new Blog.
YEAH!!! THAT"S IT!!! YEAH!!!
Yes indeedy, welcome to my new blog. This blog, as you can tell by it's title is all about how to cook children, my experiences a a nanny (specifically a male nanny) and other such oddities which cross my path.
Also, expect some information concerning my Youtube cooking videos. Those videos, "How To Cook Children*" were begun in June of 2012 and were created after much positive response from friends and colleagues to my two television appearances on a local Cleveland TV show back in the autumn of 2010. At the time of this writing, my videos are not yet posted, though a half dozen are completed. I'm waiting for a little while to post because I want to have gobs and gobs in the can and then post many simultaneously. I feel that taken singularly, the concept is difficult, if not impossible to ascertain. In groups, the concept will emerge.
Also, expect some behind the scenes stories concerning the videos, i.e. the stories behind them. But mostly in this blog you'll read about how "I Was A Male Nanny" the new, 1939 horror movie from Universal starring Johnny Depp as me, Jeremy Gutow. You'll see the fright in his eyes as he's invited to move in with a family of five: Dad, Mom, big brother age 11 and twin boys age 8 and attempt to feed and care for the kids while attending college full time. Or, watch Johnny outdo his "Nightmare on Elm Street" terror as I (he) gets a job as a private chef/nanny (many years after college) to two high school girls who are quite pleasant but their live-in uncle has GASP! ASPBURGERS!!! NO!!! HELP ME!!! NO!!!! SAVE ME... SAVE ME!!! (All in all, I've actually worked for 10 households as nanny/chef/elder-care provider.) Only the Lord knows how many stories I can tell after a few decades in this career. (Now that I think about it, perhaps I'll include the occasional elder-care story as well.)
Soooooo... Hopefully you'll be entertained by this little spot, tell your friends and have an occasional good laugh together. Expect a few entries per week. Bye for now.
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