Â
Even the trees of California
Are beginning to change color
Knowing you will be home
Soon
Happy Anniversary, Sophia!
(thanks, Jerry, for the tree photo!)
Tag: life (Page 5 of 7)
(Manneken Pis in Brussels)
Men, let’s be honest. Women online are selfish. We care about their issues — body image, fashion, mommyblogging, etc., but when it comes to OUR issues, they are strangely silent. How else do you explain the lack of outcry on this story from Norway?
The head of The Democrats Party, a splinter group of former Progress Party hardliners, Vidar Kleppe, is outraged that boys at Dvergsnes School in Kristiansand have to sit and pee.
Kleppe accuses the school of fiddling with God’s work, and wants the matter discussed at the executive committee level of the local council, newspaper Dagbladet reports.
“When boys are not allowed to pee in the natural way, the way boys have done for generations, it is meddling with God’s work,” Kleppe told the newspaper.
… [School Principal Anne Lise] Gjul told NRK (Norwegian Broadcasting) that the young boys are simply not good enough at aiming, and the point was to have a pleasant toilet that could be used by both boys and girls.
Can you imagine the humiliation that boys in Norway are going through? Why do we send troops to Iraq and not Norway? Is there anything more central to being a man than the joy of standing there, taking aim, and peeing? What boy wants to sit like a girl?
No wonder why Europeans are turning into a bunch of wusses.
I believe this is another step towards world domination by feminists. Does it surprise you that it it is School Principal ANNE Lise Gjul who is destroying the manliness of Norwegian men, a country once so famous for it’s virile men that a song was written about them — Norwegian Wood?
Pretty soon, I fear that men will be put into metal cages and President Hillary Clinton will sign a bill enabling women to marry their vibrators.
“Do you, Susan, take this pink vibrator…”
Things are especially bad in Europe.  Did you notice the statue of Manniken Pis (little boy peeing) that I showed at the top of the post?  Apparently, he isn’t good enough being Brussel’s long-time city’s trademark.
In 1987 this statue of a girl urinating (Jeanneke Pis) was erected on the east side of the Impasse de la Fidélité / Getrouwheidsgang (Faith Alley), a narrow dead-end street some 100 metres long leading northwards off the restaurant-packed Rue des Bouchers / Beenhouwersstraat (Butchers’ Street). Now parents tell little boys that they have a “choice” over which method is more appropriate, but usually add that only “Americans” and “bad men” pee standing up and “peace-lovers” sit like a woman.”
I say, enough is enough. It isn’t our fault that we can’t aim very well.
Years ago, when men were really men, we used to shoot animals with bows and arrows and guns. We achieved our aiming skills through ACTION. Now “feminists” have decided that “hunting” and “killing” are bad for society. Is it any wonder we piss on the seat? Mothers teach their daughters about having their first period. Fathers DO NOT teach their sons how to pee.
Men, I say it is time to turn back the clock against the feminizing of society. I want you, whether you or at home or at work, to STAND UP — Yes, right NOW, stand up, proudly walk to the bathroom, pull down your zipper with a sense of purpose, and take a PISS! Take that PISS standing up! Feel the cool Fall air. Listen to the sound the water, so much like the mighty Colorado River. Feel a bond with men throughout history — Abraham Lincoln, Alexander the Great, Douglas MacArthur — all men who urinated standing up. Yes, even Adam peed standing up in the Garden of Eden. Shout it out loud, “I am a man and I take a PISS standing up!”
You’re a man, for god sakes. Pee like one!
What happens to our dreams? Where do they go? Time flies so quickly. Just this morning, I was thinking how little I’ve achieved in my life plan. Do you realize that I am an adult male, and I have yet to sleep with a black woman, an Asian woman, a Latina woman, an Australian woman, a Native American woman, a woman that was taller than me, a blond woman, a woman that wore high heels to bed, or a woman from 48 of the 50 U.S. States? It’s sad really, especially since I am always promoting “diversity.”
While I’m in a rut, sitting at home, still waiting for Sophia’s return, others are breaking new ground. Last night, I got a phone call from my childhood friend, Dennis. I was surprised to hear from him because it was 2AM in New York.
“You’ll never believe what just happened.” he said.
“What?” I asked, nervously, worried that the call was about somewhat sick or dead.
“I went to a retirement party at work, and I was carpooling with this woman from work. This younger woman. Debbie. She’s about 25. Very attractive. We get along really well. She’s very funny and we’re always joking with each other…”
“So… ?”
“So, on the way, we decide to stop…”
Oh my god, I’m thinking to myself. Dennis is married with two children. He is the most straight-as-an-arrow guy I’ve ever known. He actually used to LIKE going to synagogue on Saturday. He wouldn’t…
“I did it! I finally did it!” Dennis yelled. “She took out this little pipe and I smoked pot — for the first time!”
I sighed. At the same time, I knew this was a big moment for him.
“So, what did you think?
“I only had a few puffs, but I felt that floating sensation.”
“Did you like it?”
“It was OK. I’m probably not going to do it too often. Not that I’m afraid of getting hooked on the hard stuff, like heroin. It’s just, when do I have the time to smoke pot? I have work, I need to pick up the kids…”
“How much does it cost now?”
“I have no idea. I’m sure with inflation it’s gone up quite a bit since we were kids.”
“I suppose so. Well, congratulations, though. You are now officially a pothead.”
“Thanks. The Grateful Dead rule!”
After I hung up, I was jealous of him. He seemed so energized by this new experience. I bet you he got home and jumped into bed with his wife, a new fire in his eyes.
While Dennis might think I’m a marijuana expert, the truth is I haven’t smoked a joint since I was 14 years old, and I only smoked it a handful of times. And like President Clinton, I didn’t inhale much, afraid that the ashes would burn my throat or I would immediately get cancer. The first time I smoked pot was at a Yes concert at the Nassau Coliseum in Long Island. The few other times were in my friend Philip’s basement, as we listened to Pink Floyd over and over again. Just hearing “Dark Side of the Moon” now makes me dizzy.
So, as a true goody-two-shoed Citizen of the Month, I’m just one notch less nerdy than Dennis — and now with his pot-smoking, he’s leaving me behind. I’m officially the geekiest person I know!
I only felt worse when I saw this meme going around — different variations here, here, here, here, and here.
Fill in what you’ve “done”:
(x) Smoked a joint
( ) Done cocaine
(X) Been in love
( ) Had a threesome
(x) Been dumped
( ) Shoplifted
(X) Had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back
( ) Been arrested
( ) Made out with a stranger
(X) Gone on a blind date
() Had a crush on a teacher
(X) Been to Europe
(X) Been to Canada
(x) Been to Mexico
(x) Seen someone die
() Thrown up in a bar
(X) Met a celebrity
(X) Met someone from the internet in person
( ) Been moshing at a concert
( ) Gone backstage at a concert
() Lain outside in the grass and watched cloud shapes go by
() Made a snow angel
(X) Flown a kite
( ) Cheated while playing a game
(X) Been lonely
( ) Fallen asleep at work
() Fallen asleep at school
(x) Used a fake ID
() Been kicked out of a bar
(X) Felt an earthquake
( ) Touched a snake
() Slept beneath the stars
( ) Been robbed
(X) Won a contest
(X) Run a red light
( ) Been suspended from school
(X) Had braces
(X) Felt like an outcast
(X) Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night
(X) Had deja vu
() Totaled a car
( ) Stolen a car
(x) Hated the way you look
( ) Witnessed a crime
() Been to a strip club
(X) Been to the opposite side of the world
(X) Swum in the ocean
() Felt like dying
() Cried yourself to sleep
() Sung karaoke
() Paid for a meal with only coins
(X) Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t
() Made prank phone calls
(X) Caught a snowflake on your tongue
( ) Been kissed under the mistletoe
() Had a bonfire on the beach
(x) Crashed a party
( ) Seen a tornado
(X) Had a wish come true
( ) Gone bungee jumping
() Screamed in public
( ) Told a complete stranger you loved them
( ) Had a one night stand
( ) Kissed a mirror
( ) Had a dream that you married someone
( ) Gotten your fingers stuck together with super glue
( ) Been a cheerleader
(X) Sat on a roof top
( ) Talked on the phone for more than 6 hours straight
(X) Stayed up all night
(X) Not taken a shower for three days
( ) Made contact with a ghost while playing a Ouija board
( ) Had more than 30 pairs of shoes at a time
( ) Gone streaking
(X) Been skinny dipping
( ) Been pushed into a pool/lake with all your clothes on
( ) Had sex in a public or semi-public place
( ) Been kissed by a complete stranger
( ) Broken a bone
( ) Caught a butterfly
() Mooned/flashed someone
() Had someone moon/flash you
( ) Cheated on a test
(X) Forgotten someone’s name
(X) Slept naked
Sure I’ve done some cool stuff, but look at EVERYTHING I haven’t done!
What kind of life am I leading? I’ve never shoplifted. I’ve never made out with a stranger. I’ve never made a “snow angel.” I bet you even Dennis has made a snow angel.
Depressed, I took a walk today, hoping to meet up with some new experience, something I’ve never done before that will re-energize my life! I walked and walked, down the same old familiar streets, the same faces smiling at me, the same shadeless palm trees overhead. I decided to enter a 7-Eleven and buy the Los Angeles Times, hoping I might read about some spiffy event in town that I have never experienced before.
And then I saw it. My New Experience. Something I could check off on my “list of Life.” Something I know for certain that Dennis has never done.
After my experience, I ran home and called Dennis at work.
“Hey, Dennis! Guess what? I did it!”
“You did what?” he asked.
“I tried Beef Jerky for… like for the very first time!”
“Beef Jerky? Yuch. Where?”
“At 7-Eleven?”
“You mean the stuff they keep on the counter? Is that stuff kosher?”
“I doubt it, but I’m not kosher anyway.”
“Yuch. Was it any good?”
“It was awful. Like a cross between a cold rubbery hot dog and a gummy bear. I took one bite and threw out the rest.”
“You are a brave man.”
“Yes, I am.”
Although he didn’t say it out loud, I knew he was impressed.
Dennis can keep his pot smoking. Today, October 9th, I tried beef jerky, something I’ve seen in convenience stores all my life, but never had the nerve to try.
And frankly, it is probably more dangerous to put into your body than pot.
I’m Neilochka, a Rebel with a Beef Jerky Cause.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM!
A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Welcome to the Hotel California
Near my home is a little independent donut shop. I’ve never seen one person inside other than the owner — a petitie, middle-aged, Korean woman. I was driving by today and decided I was in the mood for a donut. I went in, ordered a jelly donut and cup of coffee, and sat down at the bright orange, plastic, uncomfortable, table/chair thingamajig that’s bolted to the floor. The donut and coffee were truly the worst coffee and donut I’ve ever tasted. As I sat eating my disgusting donut, the owner watched some infomercial on a 13″ TV sitting on the counter.
The infomercial was one of those get-rich-quick schemes:
“Use my stock market technique, and within two weeks, your two thousand will be two hundred thousand!”
As one “success story” after another gave his testimony, I could see the eyes of the donut woman widen. She was totally enraptured by what was being said.
I began to feel bad for this woman. She clearly had no talent in making either donuts or coffee. She was probably losing all her money in this awful donut shop. This type of infomercial preys on a woman like this — someone who may be uneducated or part of an immigrant community. It is these innocent people who don’t realize that it is all a scam.
“I put two thousand dollars into the stock market, and soon I was able to quit my job,” said some overly-eager male voice on the television. “Now I don’t spend time behind a desk, but behind the wheel of my new yacht!”
I felt anger at this scam artist on TV, with this modern era three-card Monte swindle. I was so furious that I squeezed my donut with my hand, shooting some jelly onto my shirt.
What was I to do? I had to warn her. I saw her writing some information on a piece of paper. Was she actually going to call these crooks?
I knew this really wasn’t my business, but I felt it was my duty to speak up. As an American citizen. As a Good Jew. I walked over to the counter. She pointed at the pile of donuts.
“Donut?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you to be careful with these types of TV shows. They might look like real shows, but they are commercials. Don’t believe everything they tell you. You weren’t thinking of calling them up, were you?”
“Donut?” she asked again, being that it was the only English word she knew.
(photo by roadsidepictures via flickr)
Â
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Max. One sunny day, while Max was walking through the park, he met a female Genie who lived in a bottle. Max and the Genie became friends.Â
This female Genie had these two Magic Orbs. Max learned to love these Magic Orbs more than anything. He loved to hold them, play with them, and squeeze them for good luck. These Magic Orbs made Max the happiest boy in his little town.Â
One night, there was a violent storm and the Genie was blown out of town.Â
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Max had no Magic Orbs to play with anymore. Max was very sad. Max’s father saw that Max was sad. He told Max about this other toy that he could play with instead.Â
For several weeks, Max played with this other toy, sometimes two or three times a day. Still, Max missed the Genie’s Magic Orbs. Â
Max went to the park to find another Genie with Magic Orbs. Â
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While in the park, he saw many other Genies. Some had big Magic Orbs. Some had little Magic Orbs. Max liked these Magic Orbs, but they were not his to play with and hold.Â
Max became sad again. Suddenly, Max heard a friendly voice. It was the Good Spirit of the North, who came to help Max.Â
“Here is what you must do,” said the Good Spirit, and whispered the secret into Max’s ear.
Max ran home as fast as lightning. Now he knew what to do. He would not be sad anymore.Â
Max ran upstairs to his computer and wrote a blog post about Magic Orbs, letting the sadness disappear, and then Max played with his other toy until he fell asleep.Â
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Hodel, oh Hodel,
Have I made a match for you!
He’s handsome, he’s young!
Alright, he’s 62.
Being a Yenta the Blogmatcher was WAY more complicated then I thought.  My apologies if you are not in one of the pairings. Some of you are easier to match up than others — and remember, I’m a newbie matchmaker. I’m hoping some of you will try to make some blog matches from your own readers either here or on your own site.
Matching bloggers is as every bit as difficult as matching a real couple. You want the pair to have common interests, but you don’t want them to be SO similar that there is no spark — no chemistry, as if they are brother and sister reading each other’s blogs. On the other hand, you just don’t want it to be all blog lust. Many bloggers begin a friendship by devouring each other’s words as passionately as lovers, but then it explodes when one blogger wants more of a “blogroll relationship” and the other just wants a “one post stand.”
I hope each person matched will try to read each other’s blog.
Neilochka’s Matches
Sarah (of The Delicious Life) is a sarcastic “food freak” from Los Angeles. Her adventures dining out at exotic restaurants are more like stories than restaurant reviews. Â
Deb (of Smitten Kitchen) is a food-lover in Manhattan. Deb thrives on being a hands-on gal who enjoys cooking and baking. One look at the photos of her soups and breads and you’re going to be starving.
Sarah, meet Deb. Deb, meet Sarah.
Bookfraud (of Bookfraud) is a self-described “struggling novelist facing middle age.” He loves reading the great masters and cursing at today’s hack writers who with their crappy novels (that sold).
The Humanity Critic (of Daily Views) lives in Virginia Beach and is the winner (along with Manjula) of the 2006 Black Weblog Awards for best writing.  The Critic loves to rant and rave about pop and hip hop.Â
This pairing may seem odd, but think Nick Nolte and Eddie Murphy in “48 Hours.” Bookfraud and the Humanity Critic both skewer the pompous, and always with great humor.
Bookfraud, meet The Humanity Critic.  The Humanity Critic, meet Bookfraud.
Rachel (of Crisis Intervention Summit) is a British mother and writer. She presides over a staff of twenty at a bar. Since most of these bar girls are young, Rachel has become the “mother” figure. This is surprising, since Rachel can party as well as any twenty year old.
Chantel (of Uncharacteristically Sober) is a divorced mother of two from Portland who is “a cool cocktail mix with a serving of Lucille Ball, a splash of Carrie Bradshaw and a Mae West Twist.” She loves to enjoy life as much as Rachel, but has recently been thrust into talking to her children about “the birds and the bees.”
Rachel, meet Chantel.  Chantel, meet Rachel.
Paul (of Words for My Enjoyment) is a writer known for his quirky comic sense of humor and his outlandish post topics, such as “If I Was Your Sister’s Best Friend’s Brother’s Cousin’s Cell-Mate’s Overly-Enthusiastic And Partially Egotistical Tennis Instructor.”
Karla (of Karlababble) is a Texan Blogger who has a personality as big as a ten-gallon hat. Her interest include “spying on the elderly” and “poking children with sticks.”
I have a feeling that these two will drive each other crazy, which is part of the fun.
Paul, meet Karla. Karla, meet Paul.
Heather B (of No Pasa Nada) is a single JD Salenger-loving Washington DC resident who graduated college in 2005.  Now she’s figuring out what life is really all about post-college.
Girlgoyle (of Chronicles of Ed) dedicated 10 years to a man in a relationship that went kaput. She’s moved on and is now trying to figure out the mystery of love and sex.
Heather B, meet Girlgoyle. Girlgoyle, meet Heather.
CrankMama (of CrankMama) is what they call a mommyblogger, but not your ordinary mommyblogger. Her motto is “Good Mama, Bad Attitude.” Despite her role as “mom,” she doesn’t forget that she has a life outside of her kids.Â
Jenny (of Run Jen Run) is a vivacious single woman in the big city, sort of a like a modern Mary Tyler Moore, except this is in Chicago, Jenny is not as idealistic, and Jenny doesn’t have a hat to throw into the air. Her life is one funny adventure after another, much like Mary…
CrankMama, meet Jenny.  Jenny, meet CrankMama.
Eliza (of Elizaf) is a mother who lives in London and has a “wicked” sense of humor.  Although she loves her life, she sometimes gets restless and dreams of doing something a little more wild, such as fencing, like she did in college, or bungee jumping.
Karl (of Secondhand Tryptophan) is a divorced father living in Florida.  Recently, he turned 40 and undertook a serious of adventures to celebrate his new decade, one of them being jumping out of an airplane.
Eliza, meet Karl. Karl, meet Eliza.Â
Javacurls (of Somewhere in the Middle) is what we used to call in Queens a “hot-blooded Latina.”  Born in the Bronx, Javacurls never pictured herself living in Belgium with her husband! She loves travel, city life, and salsa music. She is an amazing photographer and dreams of becoming a professional.
Alison (of AliThinks) lived most of her life in France. She never pictured herself living with the love of her life in Kentucky! At first glance, Alison seems too “WASPy” for Javacurls, but Ali can surprise you, as evidenced by her recent piercings.  She is also a marvelous photographer.
Javacurls, meet Alison. Alison, meet Javacurls.
Dashiell (of Precogs)Â is a New Yorker (via Michigan) who is into politics and music.Â
Darling Nikki (of Imperfect Like Us) can be found “spinning some discs” on KZYX, a public radio station in Medocino County, California.
Dashiell, meet Darling Nikki. Darling Nikki, meet Dashiell.
Colleen (of Communicatrix) is a blogger from Los Angeles. Lately, her blog has gone into some rather odd territory, including a 21-day salute to cleaning her apartment.
Abby (of Girl With a One-Track Mind) is popular sex-blogger from the UK. Her posts are often about orgasms and f**k-buddies.Â
Colleen needs to be reminded that some things will always be messy and unorganized, such as sex.  Abby, who was recently “outed” after her book was published, could gain some management and business insights from Colleen.
Colleen meet Abby.  Abby, meet Colleen.
The PhoenixNYC (of Skinny Legs and All) is a New York blogger who has travelled the word and his “greatest achievement in life was to change and grow as time has gone on.” Just last week he went to a seminar where he studied with the Dalai Lama!
Modigli (of Modigli) is a teacher in San Deigo.  Since starting her blog, she has become increasingly political, bringing up issues that concern her.
Do I see a match made in Whole Foods?
The PhoenixNYC, meet Modigli. Modigli, meet The PhoenixNYC.
Sarcastic Fringehead is a writer in Dallas who loves literature and the Houston Astros. Fictional Rockstar is an academic-musician in Washington D.c. who loves literature and recently started loving the Washington Nationals.
Luckily, these two bloggers will never have to worry about their teams playing against each other in the playoffs, avoiding all arguments.
Sarcastic Fringehead, meet Fictional Rockstar. Fictional Rockstar, meet Sarcastic Fringehead.
Heather (of Dooce) is a popular SAHM who was raised as a Mormon and once lived in Los Angeles.
Neilochka (of Citizen of the Month) is known as a Jewish blogger from Los Angeles. He likes to match bloggers together in the hope of looking “noble and selfless” to his flighty readers, so they feel all guilty and don’t take him off their blogroll.Â
Heather, meet Neil. Neil, meet Heather.
Would anyone else like to take a shot at being a Yenta the Blogmatcher?
UPDATE:Â I’ve been so successful today, I’m adding some more:
Danny and 2 Blowhards — you should be reading each other.Â
Jessica, have you met V-Grrrl, a mother and American expatriate living in Belgium? V-Grrrl, can you believe that this knockout has teenage children?!
Sarcomical, you are a creative writer — have you met Eileen, who has her first novel coming out in February 2007? Eileen, you must check out Sarcomical’s wild photographic self-portraits.
Pearl, have you met Orieyenta, the coolest kosher babe in hot Miami? Orieyenta, have you met the hottest kosher babe in cold Toronto?Â
Felicity, I know you like taking NSFW photos of yourself, which made it difficult to pair you with someone, but I think you’ll really get along with the Argentine-born Mari, and enjoy her artwork, which is an “expression of feminine power in art.” Mari, I think you will be inspired by Felicity.
Kevin, I think you and Pete have similar senses of humor! Pete, you better start watching “24” if you want to click with Kevin!
Amanda and Jody — you have more in common than you know!
Deezee and Lynn — you both have poetry in your soul!
Schmutzie and Sarah — Have you never met? You’re like long-lost cousins!
Miss Sizzle, meet EEK.
Anomie-Atlanta, meet Akaky.
P.S. — Since we are on the subject of blogger love, here is one of the most moving acts I’ve seen on the blogosphere, proving that we’re not a bunch of narcissistic nuts –  over 200 knitting and crocheting bloggers have joined forces to make knitting squares on their own time for the sick grandmother of knitting blogging queen Laurie of Crazy Aunt Purl. If only Congress could be so organized.
A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:Â A Walk Around the Block
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In the old-country, Jewish marriages were arranged by matchmakers. Perhaps the most famous Jewish matchmaker was Yenta. Yenta was the name of the matchmaker in Sholom Aleichem’s stories, several of which were collected into what became the musical “Fiddler on the Roof.”  The word “yenta” has taken on negative connotations in the modern word, and it is usually used to describe a “busybody.”
I’d like to defend the good name of matchmakers. Being a busybody was part of the job. A matchmaker HAD to sneak around and ask a lot of questions because she was a detective — always looking for clues that would help her make the best match.  In the Jewish tradition, it is also a mitzvah (good deed) to help make a successful match.
(from Matchmaker, Matchmaker — Fiddler on the Roof)Â
Hodel:
Well, somebody has to arrange the matches,
Young people can’t decide these things themselves.
Chava:
She might bring someone wonderful—-
Hodel:
Someone interesting—-
Chava:
And well off—-
Hodel:
And important—
Matchmaker, Matchmaker,
Make me a match,
Find me a find,
catch me a catch
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Look through your book,
And make me a perfect match
I’d like to revive the spirit of Yenta the Matchmaker right here on this blog — on these special days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  Tomorrow, Thursday, will be a special day on “Citizen of the Month.” Tomorrow, we shall all become Yenta the Matchmakers.Â
I will be making blog matches between 10 pairs of bloggers.  These are not romantic pairings. These are pairs of bloggers who I have never seen read each other’s material (I’ll check their blogrolls), but I think should give each other a try. Using an ancient technique passed down from my grandmother, I will try to match bloggers by their sensibilities and interests.Â
Recently I was successful in introducing Danny and Elisabeth to each other. At first glance, they have nothing in common. But a true matchmaker realizes that they are both brainy bloggers with a twisted sense of humor.  Now they are on each other’s blogrolls. Â
This is not easy for me. I do have a jealous streak.  I used to get upset when my “blogging friends” became friends with each other.  One day, I’ll be reading Blogger X and I’ll be surprised to see my friend Blogger Y writing a comment. Before you know it, Blogger X and Blogger Y are taking a trip to Las Vegas together, without even sending me a postcard.
But the week before Yom Kippur is one of reflection and self-improvement. I’m going to fight my jealousy and spread the love.  So, if I match you up with someone, give their blog a chance. I know matchmaking is not a perfect science.Â
Please join in tomorrow with some matchmaking of your own, maybe even mix and matching blogrolls.  Are you the type who is always saying, “These two bloggers really need to read EACH OTHER!”  If so, tomorrow is your chance to do a mitzvah by becoming a Yenta the Matchmaker for the day.
Update:Â The matches.
A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:Â A Shanda (Yiddish for Shame)Â (I really get Jewish at this time of the year, don’t I?)
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The title of this post is misleading. I was going to write a humor piece about Popeye, but as I sat down to watch an old Popeye cartoon on YouTube, a long-repressed memory was awoken, much as the memories of childhood of Proust’s narrator in “Remembrance of Things Past” was awakened by the aroma and taste of a madeleine dipped in tea.”
As i listened to the final “boop boop” of the Popeye closing credits, I went back to my childhood, when I used to watch reruns of Popeye on a local New York TV channel. I must have been very young at the time and I was fascinated by the triangle of Popeye, Olive Oyl and the villainous Bluto.
The plot lines in the animated cartoons tended to be simple.
A villain, usually Bluto (later renamed Brutus for a time), makes a move on Popeye’s “sweetie”, Olive Oyl. The bad guy then clobbers Popeye until Popeye eats spinach, which gives him superhuman strength.
I especially liked it when Olive Oyl melted in Popeye’s arms at the end, after he defeated Bluto.
As an only child, I was competitive with my father for my mother’s attention. I think Freud would have loved to analyze my childhood obsession with Popeye.
I would ask my mother to cook some frozen spinach. After they were cooked, I would have her put the cooked spinach into a used can of Spaghetti-Os so I could make believe that I had a can of spinach like Popeye. I have no idea why we just didn’t use a can of spinach!  Once I had my can of spinach as my acting prop, I became Popeye — in the same way Sir Laurence Olivier became Hamlet. My mother was Olive Oyl. She would go into her bedroom or the kitchen and cry for help. I would eat some spinach out of the can with a fork, flex my bicep, and rush in to save her from whatever danger she was in.
Jeez, no wonder I repressed this. How embarrassing!
I called up my mother tonight.
Neil: Guess what I’m going to write about in my blog tomorrow? “Popeye and spinach!”
Mom: Really? Be careful with spinach. There’s all that bad bagged spinach coming out of California. Remember to wash it first.
Neil: I’m not calling you about spinach. Do you remember watching Popeye?
Mom: I never watched Popeye as a child. I never liked him.  He had this one eye. And creepy voice. And weird body.
Neil: But you watched him with me. Remember?
Mom: Did we?
Mom: Mom, it was a big deal for me back then. I would be Popeye and you would be Olive Oyl — and I would rescue you?
Mom: We did that?
Neil: Yes! Don’t you remember you would cook frozen spinach and put it in a Spaghetti-Os can?
Mom: Wouldn’t it make more sense to just buy a can of spinach?
Neil: I was going to ask you that! Why did we do that?
Mom: I don’t remember this at all. Maybe you played it with your friend Robert.
Neil: I played it with YOU.
Mom: I remember playing Scrabble with you.
Neil: Oh my god! You’ve repressed the memory — just like I did!
Mom: And well… maybe it’s better that way.
MC: It’s The Rosh Hashanah Challenge, the game show where you decide the winner! And here’s your host, fresh off her third-failed game show, former MTV star Kennedy!
Kennedy: Thank you. Welcome to The Rosh Hashanah Challenge. You know the rules. We bring out two contestants and they each tell us about their Rosh Hashanah, and the one with the most wild, exotic story wins. And you’re the ones who vote for the winner! So, let’s meet our two contestants. He’s a blogger from Los Angeles — Neil Kramer. And she’s a Russian dialect coach from Redondo Beach who is separated from her husband but still debating her next move — Sophia Lansky! Welcome, Neil and Sophia. Now, we flipped a coin before the show and Neil gets to tell his Rosh Hashanah story first.
Neil: Well, Kennedy, at first, I didn’t have anything special to do on the Jewish holiday, so Danny invited me to go to temple with his family. It was a very nice gesture, but the really surprising twist was — listen to this — they attend a gay and lesbian synagogue! Even thought they are straight, they like the rabbi and the service. When I heard about this “gay synagogue,” I was too excited for words. What a blog post I was going to write! What funny stories!
Kennedy: Oh, wow! Talk about a wild and exotic Rosh Hashanah. How were the rabbi and cantor?
Neil: Very nice. They were both women.
Kennedy: Oooh-hooo, do I hear make-out session during the service?
Neil: Actually, they were both pretty conservative.
Kennedy: What about the choir? Were they dressed like the Village People?!
Neil: No, they were normally dressed. They had very nice voices. It was a very pretty service. One of the best I’ve attended.
Kennedy: I guess all the crazy Queer Eye for the High Holy Days activities took place in the congregation?
Neil: No, everything was pretty much the same as every other Rosh Hashanah service I’ve ever attended. If you walked in, you wouldn’t even know it was a gay and lesbian congregation. My biggest surprise was how “normal” the whole thing was.
Stained Glass at Beth Chayim Chadashim
Kennedy: That’s the story?
Neil: Pretty much.
Kennedy: That’s the wild and exotic story about going to a gay and lesbian temple for Rosh Hashanah?
Neil: Yeah.
Kennedy: (sighing) OK, let’s now turn to the second contestant, Sophia Lansky. Tell us about your Rosh Hashanah in New York.
Sophia: I also didn’t have anything planned, but Neil told me about this temple on the Upper West Side that was supposed to have a very nice service. I was sure they didn’t have any tickets left, but I asked Neil to find me the phone number online. He ended up mistakenly gaving me the phone number of one of the TEMPLE MEMBERS rather than the temple itself. So, this is how the phone conversation went:
NY Woman: Hello?
Me: Hi, I’m visiting from Los Angeles and I’m looking for somewhere to go for Rosh Hashanah. I was wondering if I can still come to you.
NY Woman: Uh… sure. That would be fine.
Me: Great! What time do things start?
NY Woman: I would say around 6:30.
Me: O.K. Could you do me a favor and just give me your address.
NY Woman: Yes. We are on XXX 79th Street, Apartment 3D.
Me: Apartment 3D?
NY Woman: Yes. Just ring the buzzer downstairs and take the elevator up.
Me: I don’t understand. Am I calling Congregation B’Nai Jeshurun?
NY Woman: Huh? You’re calling me — Millie Schwartz! Are you asking to come over for Rosh Hashanah dinner?
Sophia: After we both laughed about the misunderstanding, Millie and her husband invited me over for Rosh Hashanah dinner anyway! So, I went to a stranger’s house for dinner. It was amazing. There were a whole bunch of musicians there, and after dinner, everyone took out their guitars and started to sing.
Kennedy: What a terrific story! It’s just too bad that you never made it to that synagogue!
Sophia: Oh, but I did. That same day, I was working on the film and someone mentioned that one of the actors was a member of this temple and that he could help get me a ticket! What luck. So, I went over to the actor to thank him, and I took one look at him — and I instantly recognized him as the actor who played billionaire Alexander Cambias on All My Children, my favorite soap opera. So, I went to temple using a ticket given to me by a character on All My Children!
Billionaire Alexander Cambias Sr. (aka Ronald Guttman)
Kennedy: This story get better and better!
Sophia: While at temple, I sat next to a woman who happened to be, of all things, a Spanish court interpreter! So after services, she invited me to accompany her to dinner at another person’s home! So, off we went, to a home of two young opera singers/students — after I kissed the cheek of the actor who played Alexander Cambias for helping me get a ticket to temple!
Kennedy: Holy Moses! That story blows my mind.
Neil: Uh, gay temple over here! What could be more wild?
Kennedy: Yeah, right. Now it is up to you — the audience. The Rosh Hashanah Challenge. Which story is more exotic and wild? Neil’s story of the “gay” temple where nothing “gay” happened or Sophia’s tale of dinner at the homes of strangers and her kissing Alexander Cambias from All My Children? You decide!
A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Ode to the Coffee Shop
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(from bedjump.com)
I was down. I was depressed. I was lonely. At night I would sit alone, listening to the wind. Or watch an informercial for a product I didn’t need — with the TV sound off.Â
We’ve all been there. Some of us are there right now.Â
Thank you kind bloggers who “shared their bed” with me to ease my loneliness.Â
My father never spoke to me about marriage or sex, but he would always say “it is good to have someone to hold around in bed.” (he really said that — ask Sophia!)
This week is Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. My New Year’s wish is that during this year, everyone I’ve met online who doesn’t have somebody should meet someone worthwhile to “hold around in bed.”
THEY SHARED THEIR BED WITH ME:
CAITLIN’S BED
Caitlin’s bed is in New York.
Caitlin (of Caitlinator) has gone back to school, does not eat at McDonald’s, and loves her pet chicken.
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LAURIE’S BED
Laurie’s bed is in Los Angeles.Â
Laurie (of Crazy Aunt Purl) is a popular knitting blogger who has inspired me to start making my own socks. She does not need an alarm clock to wake up in morning because her bright orange bedspread does that for her.
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DAGNY’S BED
Dagny’s bed is in Berkeley, California.
Dagny (of Dagny’s Empire) is out dancing the night away so often that her cat spends more time on the bed than she does.
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DAISEY MAE’S BED
Daisy Mae’s bed is in Indianapolis, Indiana.Â
Daisy Mae (of Daisy Mae was here…) is well-known for making beautiful blog templates. She is such a talented graphic artist, that she has made a cut-out of herself to fool her children while she blogs at Starbucks.
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FELICITY’S BED
Felicity’s bed is in New York. Â
Felicity, of Zelos, is not a shy woman. In fact, she’s thinking of taking up pole dancing. For some reason, her bed intimidates me.
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HEATHER’S BED
Heather’s bed is in Orange County, CA.
Heather works and takes care of her kids, and doesn’t have time to blog.  Her bed reflects her “do it all” lifestyle — a little messy, but very homey.
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LAURA’S BED
Laura’s bed is in Los Angeles.Â
Laura is in the process of starting up her first blog.  I’m guessing there were many sleepless nights in this bedroom with the crib right next to the bed!
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LIZARDEK’S BED
Lizardek’s bed is in Sweden.
Lizardek (of Lizardek’s Obiter Dictum) works, has a family, and sings in a choir.  Look at the exquisite European craftsmanship of her bed! (and no, she didn’t get it at IKEA).
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ROBERTA’S BED
Roberta’s bed is in New Jersey.Â
Roberta (of Roberta’s Voice) is the only blogger I know who is both Jewish and Wiccan.  She’s also pretty funny. I’m still trying to decide if her bedspread looks more Jewish or Wiccan.
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SWEET’S BED
Sweet’s bed is in Washington D.C.Â
Sweet (of Sour N Sweet) co-blogs with Sour, but her bed is all hers.   I love the relaxed, lived-in look, and the retro wood-grain wall, which reminds me of the time I slept in the basement of Rachel Kinder’s parent’s home in Merrick, Long Island.
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TARA’S BED
Tara’s bed is in Iowa City, Iowa.
Tara (of Scruffylooking) is a mother and a lover of literature, and she lives in a city with a rich literary life. Her bed has an Asian, Zen-like feel to it, a perfect place to meditate or read Dicken’s Great Expectations.
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MR. FABULOUS’S BED
Mr. Fabulous’s bed is in Gainesville, Florida.
Mr. Fabulous (of Pointless Drivel) is a brave man. Not only was he recently fired because of his blog, he is the only man MAN enough to send me a photo of his bed. Why do I have the feeling that Mr. Fabulous — and not Mrs. Fabulous — bought that dark blue comforter?
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VISCOUNTESS OF FUNK’S BED
The Viscountess of Funk’s bed is in Seattle.
The Viscountess (of Postcards From Somewhere) is a mother, a lawyer, and a writer of great imagination. I also think her bed is large enough to fit my entire blogroll.
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DEEZEE’S BED
Deezee’s bed is in Venice, California.
Deezee (of Confessional Highway) is the coolest Mom ever. She just took her son to see his first rock concert — the Red Hot Chili Peppers! As you can see, Deezee is not afraid of showing herself in her bed, although she is clearly upstaged by her sleeping dog.
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LATER ADDITIONS:
TWO ROADS’S BED
Two Roads’s bed is in Atlanta, Georgia.
Two Roads (of Lindbergh’s Crossing) is from Atlanta and has some “Scarlett O’hara” in her, which means she frankly gives a damn about having a very nice bed (I know it’s Rhett’s line, but I liked the way it sounded).
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MARI’S BED
Mari’s bed is in the United Kingdom.
Maria (of Argentine Babe)Â is Argentine-born artist in the UK, who gets her best artistic ideas in bed while working with her assistant (shown).
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CHARMING’S BED
Charming’s bed is in a Southern city.
Charming (of Charming but Single) is a Southerner who likes both her drinks and her boys tall, but her bed nice and soft.
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