“You want to know how crazy I am,” Terry Saltsman asked me earlier today. Of course I wanted to know.  Dwelling on my own craziness gets dull after 42 years so its nice to hear about someone else’s mishugas (craziness).  ”I’m in Berlin a couple of weeks ago working on a TV show,” he said.  ”Would you believe I checked your blog?  You really should write more often.”  That is crazy.  Flattering but crazy.  He seems otherwise normal.  Has normal seeming kids.  Loves my borscht so he has good taste and he’s an above-average tipper. Seems like a really nice guy.  So what’s with the deli blog obsession?  Surely Berlin has enough distractions that the thought, ‘gee, I wonder what that Caplansky is kvetching about these days’ really shouldn’t occur to him. But it did.

Why are you reading this? Yes, you Terry Saltsman and the other 7 people who read this dreck.

I confess that it embarrasses me when people tell me they read this stuff.  I had a guy walk in a while back and he said something I’ll never forget.  ”I read your blog,” he said “so I know a lot about you but you know nothing about me.”  Of course that’s not true.  I know he has too much time on his hands but I was so taken aback that I just shrugged and showed him to a table. He wanted take-out.  What do I know?

Seriously, why are you reading this?  If you’re looking for the Meaning of Life you won’t find it.  That was just a ruse to lure you in.  Actually, I lie.  You will discover the Meaning of MY Life.  And if that serves as a distraction or even temporary relief from your own souris (worries) then at least I’ve accomplished something here besides teaching you the miniscule Yiddish I know.  As for the Meaning of YOUR Life, good fucking luck.

So what’s the Meaning of MY LIfe?  Simple really:  I believe my life is about growing to become my best self.  I’ve observed that I keep making the same mistakes until I learn the lesson and make changes.  Sort of like my man Charlie Brown.  He lets that little bitch Lucy hold the ball for him to kick and every time he tries to kick it she pulls it away and he winds up naked on his back.  No matter how many times it happens he believes her when she promises that this time it will be different.  Idiot.  The only way to win is not to kick the damn ball.  Then at least he’d keep his clothes, his dignity and get to stay on his feet.  Poor Charlie.

I was just like him for so many years.  Kept trying to kick someone else’s ball.  Play by someone else’s rules.  Fuck that noise.  Do I sound angry?  I’m not.  In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.  I swear as a means of expressing myself and at the moment, I’m really fucking happy.  Do you know I got my mouth washed out with soap for swearing when I was a kid?  Of course you don’t.  It was humiliating and only made me more angry (kids swear because they’re angry).  At least my Bubby Doris was strong enough to fire the culprit. That’s why I talk this way: because I can. And that’s why I’m happy:  I am finally strong enough to be the man I always wanted to be. Okay, maybe I wanted to be a slightly thinner one than this one but I’m getting there.  Life is a process.

Speaking of processes… a new menu is on the way.  The first draft is done and now we’re testing and retesting the recipes.  Can’t tell you how excited I am.  That’s a lie too.  I’m really fucking excited. Clues? Nope.  But it should be ready in time for our 1st Anniversary on September 5 and I promise you’ll love it.

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