DEATH IN THE ALMOST-FAMILY

Warning, no humor in this post.

I was planning on going to Jersey anyway for the upcoming Sukkot holiday. Now I'm going a day earlier, so I can attend a funeral tomorrow.

I'm not going to be all lyrical and poetic about the fact that it has been pouring all day today, and now I feel like the meteorological climate has moved inside, because symbolism is pointless in moments of grief. I'm not going to use this space to eulogize the family friend who lost his battle with cancer, because it would never do him justice. I'm also not going to wonder how his three daughters, longtime friends of mine and of my brothers, are doing, because I'm sure they're a mess. All I'm going to say is that this sucks, because it does.

Unless I find myself moved to post out of sheer misery, My Urban Kvetch will be taking its Sukkot vacation a little early.

Here's to "better."

MORE PULPIT NON-FICTION

[A side note: From here on in, can I just title every post either "Pulp Fiction," "Pulpit Non-Fiction" or the (yet unused) "Pulpit Fiction"? Maybe I'll make it my personal challenge for the week.]

I found this site originally through Bloghead, and Chayyei Sarah blogged about it this morning. I cannot agree more--I almost never take the time to just recommend a new blog, but I think Renegade Rebbetzin's worthy of the exception. She blogs all the mishugas (craziness) of being a rabbi's wife. Shul politics, juggling family with communal responsibility, and personal challenges and reflections. My grandmother was a rebbetzin, some of my best friends are rebbetzins. This is a little window into a world that few people think about on a regular basis.

"RenReb..." (as Sarah dubbed you) I'll be visiting.

PULPIT NON-FICTION

Firstly, I'm loving that within 24 hours, I got to blog one post on "Pulp Fiction," and now "Pulpit Non-Fiction." Yes, it's always good to amuse oneself.

While perusing JRants, which provides me with headlines from entries by other Jewish bloggers, I happened upon this excellent idea from my neighbor Steve Silver: The "Burn Your Siddur" Award.

An award for crazy and/or nonsensical things said or done by rabbis or Jewish laypeople which either reflect poorly on Jews, encourage stereotypes, or just plain make you shake your head in disbelief. It is based on a comment by Rabbi Rolando Matalon of Congregation B'nai Jeshuran ("BJ") in Manhattan, who once charged that if we as congregants didn't contribute to a certain charitable cause that he favored, we "might as well burn your siddur [prayer books]."

Firstly, let me state for the record that I don't think burning books is the answer to anything.

That said...Oh, where to begin? Without venturing into the lashon hara (gossip) element of who said what on which pulpit where and how appropriate or inappropriate it was, I will say that I’m always amazed by how many rabbis and laypeople regularly say things without thinking about how their comments will be perceived by the audience. Maybe it speaks to the intrepid nature of their convictions. Or perhaps the filters that keep out the bad ideas are clogged up by holiday-related exhaustion.

But spiritual leaders and lay leaders alike are not just responsible for their opinions, they are responsible for the spirituality of their community, a burden that would weigh so heavily on me that I would make sure to think before I speak, clean out the gunked-up filter in my head, set my own ego aside and consider the impact of my words many times, way before I delivered them. Public speaking advice aside, is it always appropriate to start with a joke? Is my audience ready to hear what I have to say? Am I addressing the issues that are important to my community? If there is potential controversy in my words, how can I contextualize it for my congregants? Am I dictating to them the parameters of proper behavior, or making suggestions as to how they can enhance their Jewish observance and identity?

Yes, I believe that if I were a rabbi, I’d give my sermons so much thought that I’d never approach a pulpit at all. Perhaps it takes a little more chutzpah (or a belief that what you’re doing is or will be best for the community, even if you’re initially met with resistance) than I have.

On a related note: the rabbi of my synagogue sent out a tongue-in-cheek, but definitely Communism-related, email last week. Maybe Communism’s making a comeback? I did grow up on Karl [Marx?] Street. And I am wearing red today. And I would really like it if that “from each according to his ability to each according to his need” thing came back on a New York City scale. It’s a great time in my life for that to come back. Because unfortunately, when it comes to work, I’ve got plenty. But because I live in NY and work mostly with Jewish non-profits whose accounting departments seem to be closed whenever I need my invoices paid, I have great need. Just ask my landlord. On second thought, don’t. Better not to call attention to my case file.

A WOMAN OF VALOR

Finally, after the contemplative fast of Yom Kippur, I have emerged from the Day of Atonement more virtuous, a paragon of valor:

There's babka. Chocolate babka. By Green's. In the common area at work. Its chocolate filling wafts toward me, filling the air like the clarion blast of a shofar, sounding out a call to arms. I want to assemble with the rest of my people, but resist. The sole naysayer in the group, I feel alienated, as if I have been relegated to the lepers-only area outside the camp.

Two dietary roads diverged in a wood. And I, I took the breakfast less traveled by. A carefully pre-measured bag of Fiber One and tea. I hope it will make all the difference.

"A woman of valor, who can find?"

PULP FICTION, ON BRAVO

I know there are some people who think "Q" is overrated, but I still think Pulp Fiction is genius. I remember the first time I saw it, in a theater in Greenwich Village with an ex-boyfriend who became (what Cindy Chupack would have called) a relationship rerun (see also, "Dennis"). It was a trippy evening, from the man I was with to Q's unique approach to cinematic dialogue. And this time I noticed two supporting players I didn't remember from the first time. Phil Lamarr, from MadTV, who plays the ill-fated Marvin, and Steve Buscemi (one of my all-time favorite character actors) playing Buddy, the waiter at Jackrabbit Slim's (who looks like Buddy Holly). Masterful language--the only issue I have is that I think all the characters talk like Quentin Tarantino. Not a problem, per se, but just something I think about.

I get that on non-pay cable television, they bleep the F-word and the S-word. They bleep "goddamn." I think they even bleeped "bitch." But the N-word? It's still in there. Can someone enlighten me as to the logic?

THE BIG TIME, SORT OF*

My Urban Kvetch has gone viral. Not in a Breakout (starring Dustin, Rene and Marcel the Monkey) kind of way. But someone I don't know mentioned my blog in an article in Moment magazine. It was a throwaway mention and the context was wrong, but thought I'd share it with you anyway.

The article (written by Wendy Dickstein) was titled "For Web Eyes Only," and focused on the proliferation of Israeli blogs, including Allison Kaplan Sommer's An Unsealed Room. The paragraph that mentioned MUK:

About 30 of the most widely read Israeli blogs are written in English, created by American expatriates like Sommer and Judy Balint (Jerusalem Diaries) or by native Israelis seeking an international audience. Many have whimsical names like My Urban Kvetch, The View From Here, If I Forget Thee and Israelly Cool...this quirky digital medium offers something major newspapers do not: a window into the minds of Israel's computer-savvy citizens.

Cool mention. And I'm honored to be in the company of the aforementioned bloggers (though I would have included Chayyei Sarah and On the Face). But ("can I get a fact check, please?") I'm not an Israeli. At least I wasn't the last time I checked. If I am, unknowingly, Israeli, I'm probably in trouble for missing the big Israeli blogger bash, and am a de facto poseur for attending NY-area blogger gatherings. Maybe I am Israeli and don't know it. That'd be odd.

But, come to think of it, NYC is where I was for the High Holy Days. And my Metrocard (instead of the "Chofshi Chodshi") gets me on the subway (instead of the bus). And we have bodegas instead of makolets. Yep, all clues point to my being a New Yorker.

The good news: I'd be more than happy to talk to the article's author to tell her that my site, while not an Israeli blog, is more than just a whimsical name. It's a movement.**



*But am still willing to consider incredibly well-paying jobs and assignments.
**Disclaimer: Not actually a movement.

PNEUMONIC

TNT announcer: "Next, on TNT, Keanu Reeves is Johnny Pneumonic."

A word to the TV announcer on TNT:

Just because Keanu Reeves can't tell the difference between "Mnemonic" and "Pneumonic," doesn't mean the viewers won't discern the difference between the two words. If pronounced correctly, they're not even homophones. Maybe Announcerman figures that the more discerning viewers have already gone to sleep. And he wouldn't exactly be wrong...

"COURTING FORGIVENESS"

Just in time for pre-Yom Kippur reflection on our "dating sins," my newest singles column, "Courting Forgiveness," appears in this week's Jewish Week. (Never you mind that gi-NORMOUS picture of my head...the resolution's a lot better when the photo is smaller...)

Wishing all of my Jewish friends a meaningful fast, and wishing us all a wonderful, healthy new year, full of peace, faith, hope, and happiness.

NICE JEWISH BRAFFS

I don't know how none of us found out before now, but check out this Jewish Journal story about The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green, the irreverent new novel by Joshua Braff, Zach's 36-year-old brother.

The article features a photo of Joshua by Zach (the photo actually reminds me of Carson Kressley from Queer Eye, but that's neither here nor there). The most disappointing part of the whole article was the revelation that Joshua's married. (Joshua's apparently the middle of three, Zach being the youngest, and I have no word on the whereabouts or marital status of the oldest Braff. Sorry, ladies.) But the book looks a little like the one I've been thinking about writing.

One of my favorite quotes in the article: "Kirkus Reviews noted that "Unthinkable" is "compulsively readable, in a horrifying sort of way." You know, that's the kind of review I would absolutely LOVE.

So I've decided, Joshua and I should be friends. No worries, I'm no homewrecker, this proposal's strictly decent. But with his irreverent reflection of yeshiva life, and my newly minted Balabustabooks Press, it's basherte of a professional and decidedly non-romantic variety.

Josh, honey--when you're in NY (November 15, 2004 time TBD at the Greenwich Village Barnes & Noble, 396 Ave. of the Americas at 8th Street) you better call me!

IT'S POLITICAL HUMOR, PEOPLE

Just in case any of you were planning to forward this hurricane-related "proof" that God disapproves of the current political administration, here's a link to Snopes that tells you the difference between natural phenomena and Divine retribution for Florida's various voting catastrophes.

It's humor, people. Laugh at it, or don't. But the truth, it ain't.

JEWISH WORLD REVIEW

Just in time for Yom Kippur, the JWR reprinted my piece about the Book of Life.

Special thanks to Chayyei Sarah...if her piece about the taxi driver hadn't been reprinted in the JWR, and I hadn't commented in an interesting way, the JWR editor probably wouldn't have found me, and the reprint would have never happened.

So you see, folks...be kind to others, and you will be repaid. Although maybe not literally in actual translatable-to-rent way. But in other, more deeply important ways.

CHRISTIAN CHICK LIT INSPIRES NEW JEWISH IDEA

From today's NY Times:

Several leading publishers, both Christian and secular romance houses, are rolling out what they call "Christian chick lit" lines. These novels typically feature Bridget Jones types looking for the right man, the right chocolate, the right friends - and the right relationship with God.

In light of the above announcement, I wanted to make an announcement of my own. I’m officially launching my new publishing company, Beyond the Yenta Press, which will publish Jewish chick lit, a genre which I like to call Balabustabooks.

Our new press’s first release is the heartwarming and thought-provoking Modern Shmodern, artfully written by Fruma Sarah Tevyova. Featuring Golda Goldman, whose name anchors her to the Old Country as closely as it links her to redundancy. Join Golda as she struggles to make Judaism work in her decidedly modern world:

• Can she justify the thong as a morally acceptable underwear modality?
• Will American Jewish political correctness prevent her from purchasing French wine or Body Shop products?
• Can she be an Eshet Chayil (Woman of Valor) if she wears pants and pursues a career?
• Should she eat dairy out and cope with the possibility that a trayf meatball may end up on her mushroom pizza?
• What happens when her company fundraiser is held at the Museum of Sex?
• Should she respect rabbis regardless of their dating behaviors?
• Must she burn her VHS copies of Lethal Weapon and What Women Want because of Mel’s Christian antics?

Beyond the Yenta Press is currently accepting all book orders and manuscript submissions. For more information, contact the proprietress of this blog.

KAROL'S FIVE QUESTIONS

Karol asks some excellent questions, and I find the answers quite interesting as well. What have I learned? The blog world is like any other: some guys are very popular with the ladies, and I am no one's blogcrush. (At least, no one's willing to admit that they're blogcrushing on me.)

Add long skirts and a Hebrew studies curriculum and it sounds like high school.

"TALKING TRASH"

My most recent singles column from the Jewish Week focuses on the role of gossip in the dating process. It may be a little complicated for those of you who are not Jewish, but you're all smart cookies--I'm sure you'll figure it out. As always, I'm happy to answer any questions...

To read "Talking Trash," click here.

A new column, thematically appropriate for Yom Kippur, to come next week.

MAZAL TOV, JUDY BLUME

In what may be a shock to you readers who think I'm only about the TV/cinema aspects of pop culture, I present you with this glimpse of my book-laden past.

Iconic young adults' author Judy Blume, author of such seminal works as Deenie (about the girl with the back brace), Blubber (the girl who was fat), Are You There God? It's Me Margaret (about the girl who gets her period), and Forever (the girl who loses her virginity within the context of a loving, committed relationship), is getting the National Book Award at the 55th National Book Awards Ceremony and Benefit Dinner in New York City on Wednesday, November 17. According to the press release, she is the first author of young-adult literature and only the fifth woman to receive the Medal in the sixteen-year history of the award.

I read them all, voraciously. Most of them, I read in the open, tearing through them at home, on the school bus, at school, etc. And then, there was Forever. You thirtysomething gals know what I mean. Forever was the book we snuck into sleepover parties and read barely aloud, in whispers and giggles so that our parents didn't hear us (for this writer, this was as recently as August, when the well-worn volume made its appearance at a bachelorette party I attended--no fear of parents, though). It was the first book most of us had read that contained graphic sex. Especially in yeshiva, we had never read copy like that before. We were used to a much more Puritanical environment; moving on from the literature where the first kiss was magical and faded into a "The End," we found ourselves squealing as we read about the narrator's first sexperience in detail. It wasn't idealized at all--some of the descriptions were downright unromantic, as awkward as first fumblings themselves can be.

That book specifically, and the whole of Judy Blume's oeuvre, is the fulcrum for an entire generation of women. Perhaps, because of her writing, some of us will mature into future winners of the National Book Award. But even if none of us achieve the literary fame we may quest for, even though we're grown and accomplished in our professional endeavors, we still remember the times when we felt fat, or crooked, or underdeveloped, or out of place, where we were just like the awkward teen and pre-teen girls in the books, living in Judy Blume's world.

THE DEFINITIVE EMMYS RECAP

The commentary of this play-by-play isn't as snarky as my Oscars recap, but I'll give it a shot. (Decreased snarkiness due to disappointment that Six Feet Under and Angel were not nominated.)

Garry Shandling's opening monologue...I'm just not feelin' it. This does not bode well for the evening.

Thank God. Big and Carrie are back together on stage. Chris Noth proposes to SJP. She's shocked. There's an awkward moment as SJP says, "um, no." The first weird moment.

First award: Surprise! David Hyde Pierce. 11th consecutive nomination. Amazing.

Michael Imperioli, fine. Whatever. I would much prefer a separate Emmys show for comedy, because at this point, that's my central interest.

Ooh, finally, someone exciting. An exceedingly hot guy in the Excedrin Tension Headache commercial. You know, he was so cute that I really believed that he had a tension headache, and was glad it's now gone.

Mean Boys: Trump and Cowell, perfect together, introducing the nominees for best supporting actress in a comedy. Cynthia Nixon wins, and shares it with her three costars. And she damn well should. There is no one woman who made that show what it was, and she knows that. I would have liked to have heard her thank Cindy Chupack, but that's just because I met and interviewed her, and I'm always looking to get one step closer to the Emmys. And BTW, Cynthia, LOVE your haircolor.

Best Writing in a Comedy Series, awesome intro of the writers in funny writing situations. Mitchell Hurwitz is dropped into the scene on suspension cables. MPK (Michael Patrick King) transcribes the conversation of two thirtysomethings. Scrubs scribes on the back of a motorcycle (Mannequin style) riding off against a musical background of Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now." Would have liked to have seen SATC scribes win, but am happy for the underdog of "Arrested Development."

Thanks to new Emmy winner Drea DeMatteo, I have a new life credo: "Puke, choke, cry or die." Bound to become a state motto, along the lines of "Live Free or Die."

"Wife Swap! The original! Coming only to ABC." Easy, fellas. I wouldn't be so proud of that if I were you. (Now's as good a time as any to repeat my idea for a new original reality program: presidential candidates live in a house together for the last two months before election day, and are forced to compete in standup comedy competitions, vocal contests, death-defying stunts and political discussions. Celebrity panel of judges should include Simon Cowell, Jay Mohr, Al Gore, and Joe Rogan. Special guest star Carson Kressly from Queer Eye will take the winner on a shopping spree and give them a total wardrobe makeover. We could call it "Last American Candidate Standing and Looking Fabulous." If neither candidate wins, Donald Trump becomes President.)

Geoffrey Wright just totally ignored the "wrap it up" warning music in favor of continuing through a political speech about AIDS ravaging Africa. I support his right to use his win-time for whatever he wants, but I also think he should be held to the same time limits as everyone else. Future Emmy winners should be warned: choose to thank everyone you know, or choose to advance a political cause. Just an opinion.

Jon Stewart and his gang of merry men and women (oops, that's womAN) on the Presidential election. "My evidence be syphillis," indeed. Elaine Stritch is so ridiculously high energy--she's STILL HERE!! "I'm not moving from here unless someone comes to get me..."

Howard Dean names names of Daily Show writers. I cheer for Rob Kutner. I also cheer a little for my friend Jody's friends, the Stangel brothers on the writing staff of Letterman, but my cheers for Rob and company prevail! The boys rush the podium, and Jon accepts on their behalf. I'm happy for them, fa shizzle. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Jon. Dude. You need to hire a woman. I'm not saying we need to move cartloads of tampons and potpourri into the bathrooms, but at least one woman! (Act now, Jon--we witty women won't be on the market forever...it would be prudent to snap us up before some Jewish organization hires us to write marketing brochures for them and my--I mean, our--comic genius is lost forever to the much-less-fun non-profit world...)

Goodbyes suck. But I'm not sure we need a retrospective of every beloved TV show to shuffle off its mortal coil. I mean, are we really still broken up about Family Ties? Stick to this year's departures, doesn't that jerk enough tears for ya?

Am adding Angels in America to my Netflix list right now...Mary-Louise Parker looks gorgeous (that dress!), and she's incredibly talented.

"The Gap Low Rise Jean. How do you wear it?" At $50 bucks a pair, I don't. Plus, if I wore clothes like SJP did in this video, people would commit me to an institution for not buttoning my shirt right, and wearing my bra on the outside of my clothing.

The Daily Show wins again! The producers approach the stage, and it is revealed to me that Kahane Corn's a woman! Forget my pleas to Jon, I'm going to send future appeals to Ms. Corn: "Dear soul sister, Embrace equal opportunity and lobby for the success of the sisterhood of writers and writers-to-be." I won't be heavy handed about it; I'll just make the suggestion and I'm sure she'll do the right thing.

How cool, and appropo to the reality television genre, that they just plucked two contest winners from obscurity and put them on stage to announce the nominees for the best reality TV show...

Angels, angels, angels. One thing I've learned, they're in America.

Garry, honey, your Emmys show is losing me. Ahh. Alison Janney. We're back. In lime green. She invited the other nominees up there, too, even though Mariska Hargitay is the only other nom who matches. Luckily, she's the only one who went up there.

SJP, newly a brunette, looks just like my friend and Jewish Week Singles columnist predecessor Susan Josephs. Despite SJP's annoying Gap commercial (see above about asymmetrical buttons etc), I'm glad she won--a very enthusiastic and touching acceptance. Take that, Jennifer Aniston.

Oh, the death montage. Hate it. Makes me cry. Except not this year, for some reason. Good thing Kelsey Grammer got in that John Ritter reference, that at least made my eyes water a little.

And I do adore Meryl Streep: "There are times when even I myself think I am overrated." Wait for it. "But not today." And I love that she sang along with the "wrap-it-up" music. And that she played "The Rabbi" in addition to her other multiple roles in Angels in America. I so friggin' need to see this movie. A movie with a message.

ELLEN!! ELLEN!! LOOK AT ME, ELLEN!! Give me an Emmy! What? Arrested Development? Oh, all right.

Best Drama: Fuggedaboutit. Da Sopranos.

All in all, a mediocre show. Some lovely dresses, but it lacked what TNT would call "the drama of Charmed...which comes from the family dynamic. These are women, and they are butt-kickin'." Which reminds me, I missed the drama of Charmed tonight. Dangnabit.

Now, everyone in L.A. goes to party. I go to sleep. 'Night, mother.

____ GIRLS ARE EASY

I don't know what to do with this*. There's already a woman in my hometown who thinks that Camp Ramah is a sex camp. Personally, that wasn't my experience. But this t-shirt tells a different story.

*I wanted to post this to the Berkshires Blog, but somehow, I'm not sure that's appropriate.

FOREVER YOUNG

Talk about a teenage wasteland, 27-year-old actor Eric Balfour* has been playing high schoolers since 1997, if not before. He was Willow and Xander's doomed nerd friend Jesse in the first two eps of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and is now in a recurring and increasingly more f-ed up role as Claire Fisher (Lauren Ambrose)'s boyfriend Gabriel on Six Feet Under. (Trivia: Eric and Lauren Ambrose were also both in the Jennifer Love Hewitt vehicle Can't Hardly Wait.)

That's at least seven years of high school. Maybe it's time to kick the pot-and-embalming fluid addiction and hire a tutor.


*The My Urban Kvetch Bloggerette wonders if he's related to the 1917 Balfour Declaration.

MADGE IS SOAKING IN IT

In Judaism, that is.

According to CNN, Madonna made a midnight visit to the tomb of a Kabbalist (Rabbi Yehuda Ashlag). There was no word of her pouring a bottle of spirits upon the grave, ("for my homie, Hudi--peace in the afterlife, yo") but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.

And now, for my usual snarky and somewhat mean-spirited commentary on Madge's spiritual journey and her reappropriation of my name.

If she were a true Esther, she'd be living in relative poverty/obscurity on the Upper West Side, working for a living, searching for spirituality locally because she can't really afford plane fare to more exotic locales. Not that I generally advocate living the monastic life (at least not intentionally), but I believe that THAT much money will lessen your chances for achieving a real and lasting spirituality. When you're living in a castle and have become a media mogul with tons of money, how acutely can you feel spiritual emptiness?

The flip side: it's also hard to be spiritual when you're living paycheck-to-paycheck. But when you're living a life of modesty and moderation, when you've got just enough to cover your monthly bases, and have enough freedom to spend some time and some money in pursuit of a spirituality that works for you, I think you're more likely to find something more stable and lasting. (I think that's true for dating, too, but I have no proof of either.)

Some reports from abroad:
Miriam points out the differences in the media coverage of the visit (which I have dubbed the "Like a Prayer" Tour) which indicate that Madonna did not actually get to visit the Western Wall because of either a)fear of being mobbed by fans or b) because she tried to go there on Shabbat and was shooed away by haredim chanting "Shabbis."

Allison says she pities any tourist who goes all the way to Israel and doesn't get to visit the wall. Thanks to Garden State, I predict a new wave of Zach Braff-loving traffic to the Kotel. If Zach and Natalie Portman are really dating, they could become the new celebrity ambassadors of a hipper, cooler Israel.

IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE

A viewing of the moderately sweet (I'll decide what's "very funny," thank you, TBS) Serendipity on basic cable left me wondering two things. Firstly...why was there a need for this movie? (I think I liked it better the first time when it was called Sleepless in Seattle.) Secondly...if John Cusack and Jeremy Piven both showed up at my door, both bearing flowers and declaring undying love for me, what would I do? Who would I choose?

John's the it-actor of my generation. From an implausibly geeky turn in Sixteen Candles (who was he kidding?) to being the only good thing about Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, from Say Anything's Lloyd Dobler to the hit-man-turned-courter-of-Minnie-Driver in Grosse Point Blank...I love him more in every movie. Perfect blend of sensitivity and caustic, sarcasm and sincerity, humor and heart.

But then there's Jeremy. Underrated, in possession of great talent that always gets sidelined in favor of spotlight on the romantic lead. Always winking, funny in a much more manic way than his best friend from Chicago, John. He is always-and-forever how I'll think of Cupid, a little frustrated himself by his consignment to playing the sidekick, the comedy relief who's deserving of and more than ready for his close-up...I relate to him so solidly it's frightening.

And would I dare to pit the two homies against each other in a duel of wits for my love? Um, maybe. But that doesn't mean I'm proud of it.

THE CAMPER DOESN'T FALL FAR FROM THE COUNSELOR

At least that's what I'd like to think. Bex (my former camper at Camp Ramah) just made me laugh a lot, so thought I'd share this, her voyage dans les tetes du les Olsen Twins. Gives your high school French knowledge a real workout, plus a trip inside the heads of the newest NYU freshmen and mocking people with eating disorders. That's right--it's a little something for everyone.

REFLECTIONS

On Rosh Hashanah*, we are given an opportunity to reflect on the year gone by, in any and all respects. How have we treated others? How have we grown, personally or professionally? What are we grateful for? Have we found a community to call our own? In the year ahead, what can we do to improve the quality of our lives, and the quality of our interactions with others?

This year has been incredible for me on so many levels. I landed a monthly singles column at the Jewish Week, which I'd been wanting for some time. Then the monthly column became biweekly--I interviewed reality television stars, HBO comedy writers and dating industry entrepreneurs. I've worked for vastly various companies and organizations...MTV and Yeshiva University, to name an unlikely pair. I started two blogs, met new friends and began receiving rave reviews. I've given lectures at my synagogue and summer camp reunion, and emceed a phenomenally well-attended karaoke event at the JCC. Even Madonna was jealous, showing her envy by her adoption of my name and elements of Judaism. The icing on the cake was my appearance on Good Day NY this morning, where Teresa Strasser quizzed me about the customs surrounding this holiday.

A year passes. And a lot happens. And through it all, I'm grateful for my friends and family. Those of you who have been around since the teenage days when I was going to write the story of our lives as a screenplay to be directed by John Hughes and starring Winona Ryder, or since the college years when I fell in and out of love with boys, college and Israel, or since the beginning of the professional years when I struggled to create a name for myself as a writer. It doesn't matter whether you're among those precious longstanding friends, or if you are among the ladies and gentleblogs of the weblog era who number among my newest friends, even those of you whom I have never met.

I literally could not have done all this without you. And I am exceedingly grateful.

Wishing you all a shanah tovah u'metukah, a happy and sweet new year. May your friendships flourish, and may you be as lucky as I am, to have such friends and family.



*My Urban Kvetch will be on a Rosh Hashanah break through Saturday night, September 18. See you back here then!

BLOGPOURRI

A question I don't have to answer:
A TV talk show asks, "Is your boyfriend stalking you?"

A recipe I'll never make:
Pork, veal, havarti, ham, an egg...Deb reports that she had a sympathy coronary watching Emeril make this. I'm pretty sure it's what Clinton was eating when he started complaining of chest pains last week.

A Bex where a Rebecca used to be:
A former camper echoes my hygiene concerns about the Yoplait yogurt lids against breast cancer campaign.

A new urban legend arrives:
Fanta was invented by and for Nazis. The Urban Legends page reports that Fanta's original recipe called for whey, which is problematic for kosher people. Maybe the Nazis were in charge after all...NO, they weren't! Just get over it...it's a myth. Not the whey. Just the Nazis part. Favorite piece of Fanta trivia gleaned from reading the site: when it was first produced, not all the Fanta was imbibed. It was also used to flavor soups and stews. I say, today's Jews should, as an act of reclamation, put it in cholent...

In case you didn't know, it's Fashion Week:
The indispensable FAQ sheet. If you need me, I'll be catwalk-side, checking out all the latest fashions for real women. In other words, in my apartment, nowhere near Fashion Avenue.

Breakfast with Vampires:
For 299 pounds (any idea how much that is? Miriam?) and a flight to London, I could attend a Halloween weekend conference with James Marsters (Spike) and David Boreanaz (Angel), a musical performance by James, and a chance to win a breakfast with the vamps. I hope the winner isn't breakfast. (Sigh. I miss those darned bloodsuckers.)

5765's nearly here:
That's the Jewish new year. Annabel Lee offers an interesting parsing of the Avinu Malkeynu, one of the more stirring prayers.

On Regis and Kelly:
I think I could do a very good job as a morning show co-host. Problem: I'd have to work mornings. (Today, Survivor winner Amber Brkich is wearing an "I heart Rob" T-shirt." Aww. Or uggh. Not sure which.)

LIVE, FROM NEW YORK...

It's...me.

WHAT: Esther's live television debut
WHEN: Wednesday, September 15, at or around 8:00 am
WHERE: Fox's morning show, Good Day New York
SUBJECT: Rosh Hashanah 101

Yes, it's true. I'll be appearing on live television early in the morning. (My parents are not sure which is the more impressive part. Actually, as someone who's definitely not a morning person, I'm not sure either.)

Tune in and watch as I informally educate New Yorkers about the meaning Rosh Hashanah. If things go well and the public clamors for more, Yom Kippur 101's a possibility. This time of year, there's always another Jewish holiday that needs 'splainin'.

My prep the night before? I'll say a prayer to the improv gods, bone up on the essential elements of the holidays, and purchase some apples and honey. For a sweet new year for all.

KABBALICIOUS

Not that Britney and Kevin are having one, but Demi and Ashton still might. So what the heck is a Kabbalah wedding anyway?

See this excellent Beliefnet article about the differences between classical Kabbalah and its contemporary Kabbalah Centre, "Philip Bergian" counterpart. Also interesting, the carnal metaphors utilized in Jewish mysticism. I wonder if the graphic nature of these metaphors is one of the reasons that traditionally men without families and under 40 (and all women at any age) were discouraged from Kabbalah study. Hmm.

THE REQUISITE 9/11 POST

I thought it would be appropriate to shelve my usual witticisms in favor of posting a URL to one of my past articles that seems more thematically appropriate to today.

"In the Margins: Imagining a 'Book of Lives'" is a High Holy Days reflection that was published in The Forward's special Yom Kippur issue last year. It explains some of the stuff that goes on in my head around the holidays in general, and touches on issues relating to 9/11.

'Nuff said. More upbeat news to come.

970+ COMMENTS ON ONE ENTRY

No, not me. Zach Braff's blog. Which I clicked on because it was, like My Urban Kvetch, in the famous Funnya blogroll.

The dude's popular. Even more popular than I am, if you can believe that. I guess that's what a hit show, a hit movie that's also critically acclaimed, and a mesmerizing pair of lips can get you. Lesson learned. So all I need now is to star in a hit TV show, write and star in a hit movie, and get collagen injections in my lips.

He can't write it himself, can he? Sounds a little like him ('cause I know him so well, I can say that), but realistically, someone else is really authoring the posts, right? I mean, he can't be THAT down to earth that he actually pens entries for his own blog, right? Right? 'Cause if he's that much a member of the blogging tribe, in addition to being a Member of the Tribe in the other necessary sense, I'll have to shelve my longstanding obssession with Matthew Perry and concentrate on the Zachmeister.

BECOMING THE 1 TRAIN

I am the subway, and the subway is me.

This morning was the commute from hell. I'm sure mine isn't the only story out there, but it's my story, and my blog, and to paraphrase Sarah, my house...my rules.

First day at a new part-time job, so I allow extra time...over an hour for a trip that should take about 25 minutes. Leave comfortable dryness of apartment for much moister outside atmosphere. Slosh through 1.5 blocks to subway.

Descend into subway and become part of gi-normous throng of p.o.'d New Yorkers. Find out subways are not running between 42nd and 96th Streets...my new job's north of 96th...so I trudge through soaked streets to 96th.

Descend into subway and become part of gi-normous throng of p.o.'d and now completely saturated New Yorkers. Wade through ankle-high warm water. Feels (and smells) like I'm frolicking in one giant toilet. (I probably am.) Find out that no trains are running, in either direction, below 103rd Street.

Walk to 103rd, descend into subway, yada yada yada. You know the rest of the story.

Completely soaked, take cover from the apparently imminent flood at a local java stop (those green signs are everywhere, signaling hot caffeine and shelter). Sit for two hours, write fairly funny sketch, and wait for rain to cease and subway service to resume. Run into friend Andy and agree to split a gypsy cab with only one working backseat seat belt. I finally make it to my new assignment. My shoes remain soaked until 4:30 pm. Slipping them off at some point, I note that the entire sole and back of my foot has been dyed goth black.

Take three different trains to see Amy Sohn at Barnes and Noble. Feet still black.

Go home, shower, scrub feet. Once. Twice. Three times a pumice. Feet still black. Do not wish to clamber into bed with black feet. Anti-bacterial soap's next, because whatever that black stuff is, it's gotta be bacteria. Lather, rinse, repeat. As needed.

What's it gonna take? Turpentine? Ajax? Sandpaper? A blast of messianic air, containing fire, brimstone and Dow's magic scrubbing bubbles?

The residue on my feet may outlive me. I am now the subway. And I'll just have to accept that.

Or maybe I could have my feet amputated.

REVENGE OF PONG

In the beginning, there was Pong.

And it was good. The ball bounced back and forth, ricocheting off walls and paddles. After all, wasn't it a metaphor for existence? We all had balls in the air--where would they land? Who knew? It was one of life's great mysteries.

Across America, our hands tightened around black and orange joysticks, forming a death grip. We shot down Space Invaders and Asteroids, just because they were from somewhere else and in our way--a metaphor for manifest destiny, xenophobia and expansionism. We hopped across busy highways and skipped over the backs of turtles and alligators to find our way to our lily pads--the constant quest to individuate from our parents and find overpriced studio apartments of our own. Those of us who did not own an Atari system eagerly ran down the block to someone's house to wait for our turn--we sensed the greatness that was coming, the promise of a pixelated future.

Flash forward. We're twenty years older. We all have early onset arthritis from our Video Game Babylon. Today's video children have X-Boxes. Graphics rival real life in versimilitude. It all looks and feels so real that no one can even tell the difference between playing Grand Theft Auto and actually stealing a car.

In this time of "I Love the 80s" and the return of rubber bracelets and Duran Duran, it's only fitting that Atari's chosen to reissue 85 classic games so that today's kids can get a more complete understanding of what Generation X experienced when the first video games really hit the cultural scene. Coming in November to an electronics store near you for the suggested retail price of $20.

Perhaps this will be the bridge between our generations. Perhaps Pong's Revenge is to unite us all through the love of gaming. As John Lennon might have said, all we are saying is give Pac-Man a chance.

Aah, nostalgia. Someone wake me when Q-Bert and Burgertime arrive.

SPEEDY RECOVERY...

...to Bill Clinton, who was admitted to Columbia-Presbyterian hospital today and is undergoing quadruple bypass surgery. After all he's been through? Two terms in office, Yasser Arafat on the White House Lawn, Whitewater, Monica, Kenneth Starr...and now, a quad bypass? I could make jokes about how it was the shock of seeing Republicans overrun New York, or that the book tour was just too strenuous, but somehow don't feel like it. Refuah shlemah*, Bill!


*Hebrew for "a complete recovery."

THOUGHTS INSPIRED BY CNN'S COVERAGE OF THE RNC

I'm warning you, this is no political treatise. I don't do political here. Items are in no particular order of import. Because let's face it, none of this is important...just mildly amusing.

1. Herald Square was not as hard to get to as I thought. Went to Old Navy, took two different trains, and experienced no problems, roadblocks or pedestrian rerouting.
2. Gosh, I think Rudy Giuliani might make a good President. At this point, I like him better than either candidate. Can we elect him instead?
3. George Pataki doesn't look like a George to me. He looks like an Al. Or a Bob. But not a George. Plus, his last name rhymes with Iraqi. Very distracting.
4. Brilliant idea for a new TV show: presidential candidates live in a house together for the last two months before election day, and are forced to compete in standup comedy competitions, vocal contests, death-defying stunts and political discussions. Celebrity panel of judges should include Simon Cowell, Jay Mohr, Al Gore, and Joe Rogan. Special guest star Carson Kressly from Queer Eye will take the winner on a shopping spree and give them a total wardrobe makeover. We could call it "Last American Candidate Standing and Looking Fabulous." If neither candidate wins, Donald Trump becomes President.
5. Ralph Reed's a little hot. At least for a Bush adviser. Hmm. If not for that whole Christian Coalition thing, I think it might have worked out. Too bad.
6. What I've learned: Republicans think the Dems are wrong. And Dems think Republicans are wrong. Oh yeah, also, 9/11 happened. And it was bad.
7. Leann Womack sings "I Hope You Dance" to the GOP. My brother and sister-in-law sang the same song to my other brother and his bride at their wedding last August. Does that mean we're all Republicans now?

Clearly, the RNC has rocked my world. And I am undoubtedly only beginning to feel the aftershocks. The weeks ahead will surely also contain random thoughts inspired by the RNC, the DNC, the DMV, the SATC, the L.I.E., the Notorious B.I.G., the O.C., and other major cultural influences.

Stay tuned, the best may be yet to come.

80s ARE BACK, BABY!!

First, the rubber bracelets I saw at Claire's and being "sold" as Skee-Ball prizes in Atlantic City (I got one!). Now a new song by Duran Duran that takes me right back to those high school days. Their sound is sooo Duran Duran. I am irrationally excited by the news that their new album hits stores soon. I am not similarly stirred by the impending return of LITE-FM caliber croonster Richard Marx, but I blame that on "Right Here Waiting," which as far as I'm concerned has been overplayed as much as Whitney's version of "And I Will Always Love You."

Yesterday, I heard some familiar opening notes on the radio. Couldn't identify them at first. Then I remember: "When I'm With You," by Sheriff. Oh, man. Takes me back. To the days of perms and oversized glasses (thankfully, my teeth were straight enough to have escaped the indignity of braces); of hanging out near "his" locker, hoping for a mere glimpse of the perfection I perceived in him; of wanting to be part of the popular group but not having the money for a Benetton rugby; of being into abnormal psychology, Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath; of doodling song lyrics all over my looseleaf notebook; of quoting from John Hughes movies endlessly, wishing I looked like Molly Ringwald...

Did anyone actually enjoy high school?

NEW CELEB TREND: KABBALECTOMIES

Looks like I'll be getting my name back. Both Madonna and Britney (or as Madge likes to call her, Mini-Me) are unhappy with the celebrity trend they helped to create, and are now abandoning their "Jewish enlightenment."

I guess we'll see how successful that Rosh Hashanah Kabbalah trip to Israel is. (I guess Donna Karan and Marla Maples are still going...)

DUDE, WHERE'S MY DONATION?
Madonna demands an accounting of where her donations to the Kabbalah Centre have gone--apparently, she had designated them for certain projects, and suspects that her funds are being misused. As a donor, she should absolutely be entitled to this information. As far as I'm concerned, if she doesn't get it, she should become disenchanted with the whole thing. Maybe Tom Cruise and John Travolta are looking for a third megastar over at the Church of Scientology.

NOT A GIRL, NOT YET A WOMAN (BUT DEFINITELY ANNOYING)
Britney's Christian parents are sighing with relief that their daughter has given up her somewhat insane (not to mention totally invented and historically unprecedented) idea of getting married in a "Kabbalah ceremony." Plus, Brit-fiance and daddy-of-another-woman's-child Kevin Federine is Catholic, so this new development pleases both sides. And anyone who's been privy to wedding preparations knows how rare that can be...

"PAGING DEMI AND ASHTON..."
Kids, there's still room in the escape pod for you guys. Seats are going fast, so reserve your spots now!

Inspired by Jewschool.

PLAGIARISM

Plagiarism is wrong. When I was growing up, there were those who plagiarized papers, etc, from previously published texts. This involved finding the texts through library research, and copying out the passages that were needed.

The problem is, now we have the Internet. Copy-and-paste technology just made plagiarism a whole lot easier. Over at This Fish Needs a Bicycle, she's learned that two bloggers are copying her content, and urges us to overwhelm them with electronic reprimands. See this post to see how Fish wants us to help.

Be vigilant about protecting your own content. Post a copyright on your online material, and from time to time, check this website to see if you're being plagiarized.

DEATH IN THE ALMOST-FAMILY

Warning, no humor in this post.

I was planning on going to Jersey anyway for the upcoming Sukkot holiday. Now I'm going a day earlier, so I can attend a funeral tomorrow.

I'm not going to be all lyrical and poetic about the fact that it has been pouring all day today, and now I feel like the meteorological climate has moved inside, because symbolism is pointless in moments of grief. I'm not going to use this space to eulogize the family friend who lost his battle with cancer, because it would never do him justice. I'm also not going to wonder how his three daughters, longtime friends of mine and of my brothers, are doing, because I'm sure they're a mess. All I'm going to say is that this sucks, because it does.

Unless I find myself moved to post out of sheer misery, My Urban Kvetch will be taking its Sukkot vacation a little early.

Here's to "better."

MORE PULPIT NON-FICTION

[A side note: From here on in, can I just title every post either "Pulp Fiction," "Pulpit Non-Fiction" or the (yet unused) "Pulpit Fiction"? Maybe I'll make it my personal challenge for the week.]

I found this site originally through Bloghead, and Chayyei Sarah blogged about it this morning. I cannot agree more--I almost never take the time to just recommend a new blog, but I think Renegade Rebbetzin's worthy of the exception. She blogs all the mishugas (craziness) of being a rabbi's wife. Shul politics, juggling family with communal responsibility, and personal challenges and reflections. My grandmother was a rebbetzin, some of my best friends are rebbetzins. This is a little window into a world that few people think about on a regular basis.

"RenReb..." (as Sarah dubbed you) I'll be visiting.

PULPIT NON-FICTION

Firstly, I'm loving that within 24 hours, I got to blog one post on "Pulp Fiction," and now "Pulpit Non-Fiction." Yes, it's always good to amuse oneself.

While perusing JRants, which provides me with headlines from entries by other Jewish bloggers, I happened upon this excellent idea from my neighbor Steve Silver: The "Burn Your Siddur" Award.

An award for crazy and/or nonsensical things said or done by rabbis or Jewish laypeople which either reflect poorly on Jews, encourage stereotypes, or just plain make you shake your head in disbelief. It is based on a comment by Rabbi Rolando Matalon of Congregation B'nai Jeshuran ("BJ") in Manhattan, who once charged that if we as congregants didn't contribute to a certain charitable cause that he favored, we "might as well burn your siddur [prayer books]."

Firstly, let me state for the record that I don't think burning books is the answer to anything.

That said...Oh, where to begin? Without venturing into the lashon hara (gossip) element of who said what on which pulpit where and how appropriate or inappropriate it was, I will say that I’m always amazed by how many rabbis and laypeople regularly say things without thinking about how their comments will be perceived by the audience. Maybe it speaks to the intrepid nature of their convictions. Or perhaps the filters that keep out the bad ideas are clogged up by holiday-related exhaustion.

But spiritual leaders and lay leaders alike are not just responsible for their opinions, they are responsible for the spirituality of their community, a burden that would weigh so heavily on me that I would make sure to think before I speak, clean out the gunked-up filter in my head, set my own ego aside and consider the impact of my words many times, way before I delivered them. Public speaking advice aside, is it always appropriate to start with a joke? Is my audience ready to hear what I have to say? Am I addressing the issues that are important to my community? If there is potential controversy in my words, how can I contextualize it for my congregants? Am I dictating to them the parameters of proper behavior, or making suggestions as to how they can enhance their Jewish observance and identity?

Yes, I believe that if I were a rabbi, I’d give my sermons so much thought that I’d never approach a pulpit at all. Perhaps it takes a little more chutzpah (or a belief that what you’re doing is or will be best for the community, even if you’re initially met with resistance) than I have.

On a related note: the rabbi of my synagogue sent out a tongue-in-cheek, but definitely Communism-related, email last week. Maybe Communism’s making a comeback? I did grow up on Karl [Marx?] Street. And I am wearing red today. And I would really like it if that “from each according to his ability to each according to his need” thing came back on a New York City scale. It’s a great time in my life for that to come back. Because unfortunately, when it comes to work, I’ve got plenty. But because I live in NY and work mostly with Jewish non-profits whose accounting departments seem to be closed whenever I need my invoices paid, I have great need. Just ask my landlord. On second thought, don’t. Better not to call attention to my case file.

A WOMAN OF VALOR

Finally, after the contemplative fast of Yom Kippur, I have emerged from the Day of Atonement more virtuous, a paragon of valor:

There's babka. Chocolate babka. By Green's. In the common area at work. Its chocolate filling wafts toward me, filling the air like the clarion blast of a shofar, sounding out a call to arms. I want to assemble with the rest of my people, but resist. The sole naysayer in the group, I feel alienated, as if I have been relegated to the lepers-only area outside the camp.

Two dietary roads diverged in a wood. And I, I took the breakfast less traveled by. A carefully pre-measured bag of Fiber One and tea. I hope it will make all the difference.

"A woman of valor, who can find?"

PULP FICTION, ON BRAVO

I know there are some people who think "Q" is overrated, but I still think Pulp Fiction is genius. I remember the first time I saw it, in a theater in Greenwich Village with an ex-boyfriend who became (what Cindy Chupack would have called) a relationship rerun (see also, "Dennis"). It was a trippy evening, from the man I was with to Q's unique approach to cinematic dialogue. And this time I noticed two supporting players I didn't remember from the first time. Phil Lamarr, from MadTV, who plays the ill-fated Marvin, and Steve Buscemi (one of my all-time favorite character actors) playing Buddy, the waiter at Jackrabbit Slim's (who looks like Buddy Holly). Masterful language--the only issue I have is that I think all the characters talk like Quentin Tarantino. Not a problem, per se, but just something I think about.

I get that on non-pay cable television, they bleep the F-word and the S-word. They bleep "goddamn." I think they even bleeped "bitch." But the N-word? It's still in there. Can someone enlighten me as to the logic?

THE BIG TIME, SORT OF*

My Urban Kvetch has gone viral. Not in a Breakout (starring Dustin, Rene and Marcel the Monkey) kind of way. But someone I don't know mentioned my blog in an article in Moment magazine. It was a throwaway mention and the context was wrong, but thought I'd share it with you anyway.

The article (written by Wendy Dickstein) was titled "For Web Eyes Only," and focused on the proliferation of Israeli blogs, including Allison Kaplan Sommer's An Unsealed Room. The paragraph that mentioned MUK:

About 30 of the most widely read Israeli blogs are written in English, created by American expatriates like Sommer and Judy Balint (Jerusalem Diaries) or by native Israelis seeking an international audience. Many have whimsical names like My Urban Kvetch, The View From Here, If I Forget Thee and Israelly Cool...this quirky digital medium offers something major newspapers do not: a window into the minds of Israel's computer-savvy citizens.

Cool mention. And I'm honored to be in the company of the aforementioned bloggers (though I would have included Chayyei Sarah and On the Face). But ("can I get a fact check, please?") I'm not an Israeli. At least I wasn't the last time I checked. If I am, unknowingly, Israeli, I'm probably in trouble for missing the big Israeli blogger bash, and am a de facto poseur for attending NY-area blogger gatherings. Maybe I am Israeli and don't know it. That'd be odd.

But, come to think of it, NYC is where I was for the High Holy Days. And my Metrocard (instead of the "Chofshi Chodshi") gets me on the subway (instead of the bus). And we have bodegas instead of makolets. Yep, all clues point to my being a New Yorker.

The good news: I'd be more than happy to talk to the article's author to tell her that my site, while not an Israeli blog, is more than just a whimsical name. It's a movement.**



*But am still willing to consider incredibly well-paying jobs and assignments.
**Disclaimer: Not actually a movement.

PNEUMONIC

TNT announcer: "Next, on TNT, Keanu Reeves is Johnny Pneumonic."

A word to the TV announcer on TNT:

Just because Keanu Reeves can't tell the difference between "Mnemonic" and "Pneumonic," doesn't mean the viewers won't discern the difference between the two words. If pronounced correctly, they're not even homophones. Maybe Announcerman figures that the more discerning viewers have already gone to sleep. And he wouldn't exactly be wrong...

"COURTING FORGIVENESS"

Just in time for pre-Yom Kippur reflection on our "dating sins," my newest singles column, "Courting Forgiveness," appears in this week's Jewish Week. (Never you mind that gi-NORMOUS picture of my head...the resolution's a lot better when the photo is smaller...)

Wishing all of my Jewish friends a meaningful fast, and wishing us all a wonderful, healthy new year, full of peace, faith, hope, and happiness.

NICE JEWISH BRAFFS

I don't know how none of us found out before now, but check out this Jewish Journal story about The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green, the irreverent new novel by Joshua Braff, Zach's 36-year-old brother.

The article features a photo of Joshua by Zach (the photo actually reminds me of Carson Kressley from Queer Eye, but that's neither here nor there). The most disappointing part of the whole article was the revelation that Joshua's married. (Joshua's apparently the middle of three, Zach being the youngest, and I have no word on the whereabouts or marital status of the oldest Braff. Sorry, ladies.) But the book looks a little like the one I've been thinking about writing.

One of my favorite quotes in the article: "Kirkus Reviews noted that "Unthinkable" is "compulsively readable, in a horrifying sort of way." You know, that's the kind of review I would absolutely LOVE.

So I've decided, Joshua and I should be friends. No worries, I'm no homewrecker, this proposal's strictly decent. But with his irreverent reflection of yeshiva life, and my newly minted Balabustabooks Press, it's basherte of a professional and decidedly non-romantic variety.

Josh, honey--when you're in NY (November 15, 2004 time TBD at the Greenwich Village Barnes & Noble, 396 Ave. of the Americas at 8th Street) you better call me!

IT'S POLITICAL HUMOR, PEOPLE

Just in case any of you were planning to forward this hurricane-related "proof" that God disapproves of the current political administration, here's a link to Snopes that tells you the difference between natural phenomena and Divine retribution for Florida's various voting catastrophes.

It's humor, people. Laugh at it, or don't. But the truth, it ain't.

JEWISH WORLD REVIEW

Just in time for Yom Kippur, the JWR reprinted my piece about the Book of Life.

Special thanks to Chayyei Sarah...if her piece about the taxi driver hadn't been reprinted in the JWR, and I hadn't commented in an interesting way, the JWR editor probably wouldn't have found me, and the reprint would have never happened.

So you see, folks...be kind to others, and you will be repaid. Although maybe not literally in actual translatable-to-rent way. But in other, more deeply important ways.

CHRISTIAN CHICK LIT INSPIRES NEW JEWISH IDEA

From today's NY Times:

Several leading publishers, both Christian and secular romance houses, are rolling out what they call "Christian chick lit" lines. These novels typically feature Bridget Jones types looking for the right man, the right chocolate, the right friends - and the right relationship with God.

In light of the above announcement, I wanted to make an announcement of my own. I’m officially launching my new publishing company, Beyond the Yenta Press, which will publish Jewish chick lit, a genre which I like to call Balabustabooks.

Our new press’s first release is the heartwarming and thought-provoking Modern Shmodern, artfully written by Fruma Sarah Tevyova. Featuring Golda Goldman, whose name anchors her to the Old Country as closely as it links her to redundancy. Join Golda as she struggles to make Judaism work in her decidedly modern world:

• Can she justify the thong as a morally acceptable underwear modality?
• Will American Jewish political correctness prevent her from purchasing French wine or Body Shop products?
• Can she be an Eshet Chayil (Woman of Valor) if she wears pants and pursues a career?
• Should she eat dairy out and cope with the possibility that a trayf meatball may end up on her mushroom pizza?
• What happens when her company fundraiser is held at the Museum of Sex?
• Should she respect rabbis regardless of their dating behaviors?
• Must she burn her VHS copies of Lethal Weapon and What Women Want because of Mel’s Christian antics?

Beyond the Yenta Press is currently accepting all book orders and manuscript submissions. For more information, contact the proprietress of this blog.

KAROL'S FIVE QUESTIONS

Karol asks some excellent questions, and I find the answers quite interesting as well. What have I learned? The blog world is like any other: some guys are very popular with the ladies, and I am no one's blogcrush. (At least, no one's willing to admit that they're blogcrushing on me.)

Add long skirts and a Hebrew studies curriculum and it sounds like high school.

"TALKING TRASH"

My most recent singles column from the Jewish Week focuses on the role of gossip in the dating process. It may be a little complicated for those of you who are not Jewish, but you're all smart cookies--I'm sure you'll figure it out. As always, I'm happy to answer any questions...

To read "Talking Trash," click here.

A new column, thematically appropriate for Yom Kippur, to come next week.

MAZAL TOV, JUDY BLUME

In what may be a shock to you readers who think I'm only about the TV/cinema aspects of pop culture, I present you with this glimpse of my book-laden past.

Iconic young adults' author Judy Blume, author of such seminal works as Deenie (about the girl with the back brace), Blubber (the girl who was fat), Are You There God? It's Me Margaret (about the girl who gets her period), and Forever (the girl who loses her virginity within the context of a loving, committed relationship), is getting the National Book Award at the 55th National Book Awards Ceremony and Benefit Dinner in New York City on Wednesday, November 17. According to the press release, she is the first author of young-adult literature and only the fifth woman to receive the Medal in the sixteen-year history of the award.

I read them all, voraciously. Most of them, I read in the open, tearing through them at home, on the school bus, at school, etc. And then, there was Forever. You thirtysomething gals know what I mean. Forever was the book we snuck into sleepover parties and read barely aloud, in whispers and giggles so that our parents didn't hear us (for this writer, this was as recently as August, when the well-worn volume made its appearance at a bachelorette party I attended--no fear of parents, though). It was the first book most of us had read that contained graphic sex. Especially in yeshiva, we had never read copy like that before. We were used to a much more Puritanical environment; moving on from the literature where the first kiss was magical and faded into a "The End," we found ourselves squealing as we read about the narrator's first sexperience in detail. It wasn't idealized at all--some of the descriptions were downright unromantic, as awkward as first fumblings themselves can be.

That book specifically, and the whole of Judy Blume's oeuvre, is the fulcrum for an entire generation of women. Perhaps, because of her writing, some of us will mature into future winners of the National Book Award. But even if none of us achieve the literary fame we may quest for, even though we're grown and accomplished in our professional endeavors, we still remember the times when we felt fat, or crooked, or underdeveloped, or out of place, where we were just like the awkward teen and pre-teen girls in the books, living in Judy Blume's world.

THE DEFINITIVE EMMYS RECAP

The commentary of this play-by-play isn't as snarky as my Oscars recap, but I'll give it a shot. (Decreased snarkiness due to disappointment that Six Feet Under and Angel were not nominated.)

Garry Shandling's opening monologue...I'm just not feelin' it. This does not bode well for the evening.

Thank God. Big and Carrie are back together on stage. Chris Noth proposes to SJP. She's shocked. There's an awkward moment as SJP says, "um, no." The first weird moment.

First award: Surprise! David Hyde Pierce. 11th consecutive nomination. Amazing.

Michael Imperioli, fine. Whatever. I would much prefer a separate Emmys show for comedy, because at this point, that's my central interest.

Ooh, finally, someone exciting. An exceedingly hot guy in the Excedrin Tension Headache commercial. You know, he was so cute that I really believed that he had a tension headache, and was glad it's now gone.

Mean Boys: Trump and Cowell, perfect together, introducing the nominees for best supporting actress in a comedy. Cynthia Nixon wins, and shares it with her three costars. And she damn well should. There is no one woman who made that show what it was, and she knows that. I would have liked to have heard her thank Cindy Chupack, but that's just because I met and interviewed her, and I'm always looking to get one step closer to the Emmys. And BTW, Cynthia, LOVE your haircolor.

Best Writing in a Comedy Series, awesome intro of the writers in funny writing situations. Mitchell Hurwitz is dropped into the scene on suspension cables. MPK (Michael Patrick King) transcribes the conversation of two thirtysomethings. Scrubs scribes on the back of a motorcycle (Mannequin style) riding off against a musical background of Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now." Would have liked to have seen SATC scribes win, but am happy for the underdog of "Arrested Development."

Thanks to new Emmy winner Drea DeMatteo, I have a new life credo: "Puke, choke, cry or die." Bound to become a state motto, along the lines of "Live Free or Die."

"Wife Swap! The original! Coming only to ABC." Easy, fellas. I wouldn't be so proud of that if I were you. (Now's as good a time as any to repeat my idea for a new original reality program: presidential candidates live in a house together for the last two months before election day, and are forced to compete in standup comedy competitions, vocal contests, death-defying stunts and political discussions. Celebrity panel of judges should include Simon Cowell, Jay Mohr, Al Gore, and Joe Rogan. Special guest star Carson Kressly from Queer Eye will take the winner on a shopping spree and give them a total wardrobe makeover. We could call it "Last American Candidate Standing and Looking Fabulous." If neither candidate wins, Donald Trump becomes President.)

Geoffrey Wright just totally ignored the "wrap it up" warning music in favor of continuing through a political speech about AIDS ravaging Africa. I support his right to use his win-time for whatever he wants, but I also think he should be held to the same time limits as everyone else. Future Emmy winners should be warned: choose to thank everyone you know, or choose to advance a political cause. Just an opinion.

Jon Stewart and his gang of merry men and women (oops, that's womAN) on the Presidential election. "My evidence be syphillis," indeed. Elaine Stritch is so ridiculously high energy--she's STILL HERE!! "I'm not moving from here unless someone comes to get me..."

Howard Dean names names of Daily Show writers. I cheer for Rob Kutner. I also cheer a little for my friend Jody's friends, the Stangel brothers on the writing staff of Letterman, but my cheers for Rob and company prevail! The boys rush the podium, and Jon accepts on their behalf. I'm happy for them, fa shizzle. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Jon. Dude. You need to hire a woman. I'm not saying we need to move cartloads of tampons and potpourri into the bathrooms, but at least one woman! (Act now, Jon--we witty women won't be on the market forever...it would be prudent to snap us up before some Jewish organization hires us to write marketing brochures for them and my--I mean, our--comic genius is lost forever to the much-less-fun non-profit world...)

Goodbyes suck. But I'm not sure we need a retrospective of every beloved TV show to shuffle off its mortal coil. I mean, are we really still broken up about Family Ties? Stick to this year's departures, doesn't that jerk enough tears for ya?

Am adding Angels in America to my Netflix list right now...Mary-Louise Parker looks gorgeous (that dress!), and she's incredibly talented.

"The Gap Low Rise Jean. How do you wear it?" At $50 bucks a pair, I don't. Plus, if I wore clothes like SJP did in this video, people would commit me to an institution for not buttoning my shirt right, and wearing my bra on the outside of my clothing.

The Daily Show wins again! The producers approach the stage, and it is revealed to me that Kahane Corn's a woman! Forget my pleas to Jon, I'm going to send future appeals to Ms. Corn: "Dear soul sister, Embrace equal opportunity and lobby for the success of the sisterhood of writers and writers-to-be." I won't be heavy handed about it; I'll just make the suggestion and I'm sure she'll do the right thing.

How cool, and appropo to the reality television genre, that they just plucked two contest winners from obscurity and put them on stage to announce the nominees for the best reality TV show...

Angels, angels, angels. One thing I've learned, they're in America.

Garry, honey, your Emmys show is losing me. Ahh. Alison Janney. We're back. In lime green. She invited the other nominees up there, too, even though Mariska Hargitay is the only other nom who matches. Luckily, she's the only one who went up there.

SJP, newly a brunette, looks just like my friend and Jewish Week Singles columnist predecessor Susan Josephs. Despite SJP's annoying Gap commercial (see above about asymmetrical buttons etc), I'm glad she won--a very enthusiastic and touching acceptance. Take that, Jennifer Aniston.

Oh, the death montage. Hate it. Makes me cry. Except not this year, for some reason. Good thing Kelsey Grammer got in that John Ritter reference, that at least made my eyes water a little.

And I do adore Meryl Streep: "There are times when even I myself think I am overrated." Wait for it. "But not today." And I love that she sang along with the "wrap-it-up" music. And that she played "The Rabbi" in addition to her other multiple roles in Angels in America. I so friggin' need to see this movie. A movie with a message.

ELLEN!! ELLEN!! LOOK AT ME, ELLEN!! Give me an Emmy! What? Arrested Development? Oh, all right.

Best Drama: Fuggedaboutit. Da Sopranos.

All in all, a mediocre show. Some lovely dresses, but it lacked what TNT would call "the drama of Charmed...which comes from the family dynamic. These are women, and they are butt-kickin'." Which reminds me, I missed the drama of Charmed tonight. Dangnabit.

Now, everyone in L.A. goes to party. I go to sleep. 'Night, mother.

____ GIRLS ARE EASY

I don't know what to do with this*. There's already a woman in my hometown who thinks that Camp Ramah is a sex camp. Personally, that wasn't my experience. But this t-shirt tells a different story.

*I wanted to post this to the Berkshires Blog, but somehow, I'm not sure that's appropriate.

FOREVER YOUNG

Talk about a teenage wasteland, 27-year-old actor Eric Balfour* has been playing high schoolers since 1997, if not before. He was Willow and Xander's doomed nerd friend Jesse in the first two eps of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and is now in a recurring and increasingly more f-ed up role as Claire Fisher (Lauren Ambrose)'s boyfriend Gabriel on Six Feet Under. (Trivia: Eric and Lauren Ambrose were also both in the Jennifer Love Hewitt vehicle Can't Hardly Wait.)

That's at least seven years of high school. Maybe it's time to kick the pot-and-embalming fluid addiction and hire a tutor.


*The My Urban Kvetch Bloggerette wonders if he's related to the 1917 Balfour Declaration.

MADGE IS SOAKING IN IT

In Judaism, that is.

According to CNN, Madonna made a midnight visit to the tomb of a Kabbalist (Rabbi Yehuda Ashlag). There was no word of her pouring a bottle of spirits upon the grave, ("for my homie, Hudi--peace in the afterlife, yo") but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.

And now, for my usual snarky and somewhat mean-spirited commentary on Madge's spiritual journey and her reappropriation of my name.

If she were a true Esther, she'd be living in relative poverty/obscurity on the Upper West Side, working for a living, searching for spirituality locally because she can't really afford plane fare to more exotic locales. Not that I generally advocate living the monastic life (at least not intentionally), but I believe that THAT much money will lessen your chances for achieving a real and lasting spirituality. When you're living in a castle and have become a media mogul with tons of money, how acutely can you feel spiritual emptiness?

The flip side: it's also hard to be spiritual when you're living paycheck-to-paycheck. But when you're living a life of modesty and moderation, when you've got just enough to cover your monthly bases, and have enough freedom to spend some time and some money in pursuit of a spirituality that works for you, I think you're more likely to find something more stable and lasting. (I think that's true for dating, too, but I have no proof of either.)

Some reports from abroad:
Miriam points out the differences in the media coverage of the visit (which I have dubbed the "Like a Prayer" Tour) which indicate that Madonna did not actually get to visit the Western Wall because of either a)fear of being mobbed by fans or b) because she tried to go there on Shabbat and was shooed away by haredim chanting "Shabbis."

Allison says she pities any tourist who goes all the way to Israel and doesn't get to visit the wall. Thanks to Garden State, I predict a new wave of Zach Braff-loving traffic to the Kotel. If Zach and Natalie Portman are really dating, they could become the new celebrity ambassadors of a hipper, cooler Israel.

IMPOSSIBLE CHOICE

A viewing of the moderately sweet (I'll decide what's "very funny," thank you, TBS) Serendipity on basic cable left me wondering two things. Firstly...why was there a need for this movie? (I think I liked it better the first time when it was called Sleepless in Seattle.) Secondly...if John Cusack and Jeremy Piven both showed up at my door, both bearing flowers and declaring undying love for me, what would I do? Who would I choose?

John's the it-actor of my generation. From an implausibly geeky turn in Sixteen Candles (who was he kidding?) to being the only good thing about Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, from Say Anything's Lloyd Dobler to the hit-man-turned-courter-of-Minnie-Driver in Grosse Point Blank...I love him more in every movie. Perfect blend of sensitivity and caustic, sarcasm and sincerity, humor and heart.

But then there's Jeremy. Underrated, in possession of great talent that always gets sidelined in favor of spotlight on the romantic lead. Always winking, funny in a much more manic way than his best friend from Chicago, John. He is always-and-forever how I'll think of Cupid, a little frustrated himself by his consignment to playing the sidekick, the comedy relief who's deserving of and more than ready for his close-up...I relate to him so solidly it's frightening.

And would I dare to pit the two homies against each other in a duel of wits for my love? Um, maybe. But that doesn't mean I'm proud of it.

THE CAMPER DOESN'T FALL FAR FROM THE COUNSELOR

At least that's what I'd like to think. Bex (my former camper at Camp Ramah) just made me laugh a lot, so thought I'd share this, her voyage dans les tetes du les Olsen Twins. Gives your high school French knowledge a real workout, plus a trip inside the heads of the newest NYU freshmen and mocking people with eating disorders. That's right--it's a little something for everyone.

REFLECTIONS

On Rosh Hashanah*, we are given an opportunity to reflect on the year gone by, in any and all respects. How have we treated others? How have we grown, personally or professionally? What are we grateful for? Have we found a community to call our own? In the year ahead, what can we do to improve the quality of our lives, and the quality of our interactions with others?

This year has been incredible for me on so many levels. I landed a monthly singles column at the Jewish Week, which I'd been wanting for some time. Then the monthly column became biweekly--I interviewed reality television stars, HBO comedy writers and dating industry entrepreneurs. I've worked for vastly various companies and organizations...MTV and Yeshiva University, to name an unlikely pair. I started two blogs, met new friends and began receiving rave reviews. I've given lectures at my synagogue and summer camp reunion, and emceed a phenomenally well-attended karaoke event at the JCC. Even Madonna was jealous, showing her envy by her adoption of my name and elements of Judaism. The icing on the cake was my appearance on Good Day NY this morning, where Teresa Strasser quizzed me about the customs surrounding this holiday.

A year passes. And a lot happens. And through it all, I'm grateful for my friends and family. Those of you who have been around since the teenage days when I was going to write the story of our lives as a screenplay to be directed by John Hughes and starring Winona Ryder, or since the college years when I fell in and out of love with boys, college and Israel, or since the beginning of the professional years when I struggled to create a name for myself as a writer. It doesn't matter whether you're among those precious longstanding friends, or if you are among the ladies and gentleblogs of the weblog era who number among my newest friends, even those of you whom I have never met.

I literally could not have done all this without you. And I am exceedingly grateful.

Wishing you all a shanah tovah u'metukah, a happy and sweet new year. May your friendships flourish, and may you be as lucky as I am, to have such friends and family.



*My Urban Kvetch will be on a Rosh Hashanah break through Saturday night, September 18. See you back here then!

BLOGPOURRI

A question I don't have to answer:
A TV talk show asks, "Is your boyfriend stalking you?"

A recipe I'll never make:
Pork, veal, havarti, ham, an egg...Deb reports that she had a sympathy coronary watching Emeril make this. I'm pretty sure it's what Clinton was eating when he started complaining of chest pains last week.

A Bex where a Rebecca used to be:
A former camper echoes my hygiene concerns about the Yoplait yogurt lids against breast cancer campaign.

A new urban legend arrives:
Fanta was invented by and for Nazis. The Urban Legends page reports that Fanta's original recipe called for whey, which is problematic for kosher people. Maybe the Nazis were in charge after all...NO, they weren't! Just get over it...it's a myth. Not the whey. Just the Nazis part. Favorite piece of Fanta trivia gleaned from reading the site: when it was first produced, not all the Fanta was imbibed. It was also used to flavor soups and stews. I say, today's Jews should, as an act of reclamation, put it in cholent...

In case you didn't know, it's Fashion Week:
The indispensable FAQ sheet. If you need me, I'll be catwalk-side, checking out all the latest fashions for real women. In other words, in my apartment, nowhere near Fashion Avenue.

Breakfast with Vampires:
For 299 pounds (any idea how much that is? Miriam?) and a flight to London, I could attend a Halloween weekend conference with James Marsters (Spike) and David Boreanaz (Angel), a musical performance by James, and a chance to win a breakfast with the vamps. I hope the winner isn't breakfast. (Sigh. I miss those darned bloodsuckers.)

5765's nearly here:
That's the Jewish new year. Annabel Lee offers an interesting parsing of the Avinu Malkeynu, one of the more stirring prayers.

On Regis and Kelly:
I think I could do a very good job as a morning show co-host. Problem: I'd have to work mornings. (Today, Survivor winner Amber Brkich is wearing an "I heart Rob" T-shirt." Aww. Or uggh. Not sure which.)

LIVE, FROM NEW YORK...

It's...me.

WHAT: Esther's live television debut
WHEN: Wednesday, September 15, at or around 8:00 am
WHERE: Fox's morning show, Good Day New York
SUBJECT: Rosh Hashanah 101

Yes, it's true. I'll be appearing on live television early in the morning. (My parents are not sure which is the more impressive part. Actually, as someone who's definitely not a morning person, I'm not sure either.)

Tune in and watch as I informally educate New Yorkers about the meaning Rosh Hashanah. If things go well and the public clamors for more, Yom Kippur 101's a possibility. This time of year, there's always another Jewish holiday that needs 'splainin'.

My prep the night before? I'll say a prayer to the improv gods, bone up on the essential elements of the holidays, and purchase some apples and honey. For a sweet new year for all.

KABBALICIOUS

Not that Britney and Kevin are having one, but Demi and Ashton still might. So what the heck is a Kabbalah wedding anyway?

See this excellent Beliefnet article about the differences between classical Kabbalah and its contemporary Kabbalah Centre, "Philip Bergian" counterpart. Also interesting, the carnal metaphors utilized in Jewish mysticism. I wonder if the graphic nature of these metaphors is one of the reasons that traditionally men without families and under 40 (and all women at any age) were discouraged from Kabbalah study. Hmm.

THE REQUISITE 9/11 POST

I thought it would be appropriate to shelve my usual witticisms in favor of posting a URL to one of my past articles that seems more thematically appropriate to today.

"In the Margins: Imagining a 'Book of Lives'" is a High Holy Days reflection that was published in The Forward's special Yom Kippur issue last year. It explains some of the stuff that goes on in my head around the holidays in general, and touches on issues relating to 9/11.

'Nuff said. More upbeat news to come.

970+ COMMENTS ON ONE ENTRY

No, not me. Zach Braff's blog. Which I clicked on because it was, like My Urban Kvetch, in the famous Funnya blogroll.

The dude's popular. Even more popular than I am, if you can believe that. I guess that's what a hit show, a hit movie that's also critically acclaimed, and a mesmerizing pair of lips can get you. Lesson learned. So all I need now is to star in a hit TV show, write and star in a hit movie, and get collagen injections in my lips.

He can't write it himself, can he? Sounds a little like him ('cause I know him so well, I can say that), but realistically, someone else is really authoring the posts, right? I mean, he can't be THAT down to earth that he actually pens entries for his own blog, right? Right? 'Cause if he's that much a member of the blogging tribe, in addition to being a Member of the Tribe in the other necessary sense, I'll have to shelve my longstanding obssession with Matthew Perry and concentrate on the Zachmeister.

BECOMING THE 1 TRAIN

I am the subway, and the subway is me.

This morning was the commute from hell. I'm sure mine isn't the only story out there, but it's my story, and my blog, and to paraphrase Sarah, my house...my rules.

First day at a new part-time job, so I allow extra time...over an hour for a trip that should take about 25 minutes. Leave comfortable dryness of apartment for much moister outside atmosphere. Slosh through 1.5 blocks to subway.

Descend into subway and become part of gi-normous throng of p.o.'d New Yorkers. Find out subways are not running between 42nd and 96th Streets...my new job's north of 96th...so I trudge through soaked streets to 96th.

Descend into subway and become part of gi-normous throng of p.o.'d and now completely saturated New Yorkers. Wade through ankle-high warm water. Feels (and smells) like I'm frolicking in one giant toilet. (I probably am.) Find out that no trains are running, in either direction, below 103rd Street.

Walk to 103rd, descend into subway, yada yada yada. You know the rest of the story.

Completely soaked, take cover from the apparently imminent flood at a local java stop (those green signs are everywhere, signaling hot caffeine and shelter). Sit for two hours, write fairly funny sketch, and wait for rain to cease and subway service to resume. Run into friend Andy and agree to split a gypsy cab with only one working backseat seat belt. I finally make it to my new assignment. My shoes remain soaked until 4:30 pm. Slipping them off at some point, I note that the entire sole and back of my foot has been dyed goth black.

Take three different trains to see Amy Sohn at Barnes and Noble. Feet still black.

Go home, shower, scrub feet. Once. Twice. Three times a pumice. Feet still black. Do not wish to clamber into bed with black feet. Anti-bacterial soap's next, because whatever that black stuff is, it's gotta be bacteria. Lather, rinse, repeat. As needed.

What's it gonna take? Turpentine? Ajax? Sandpaper? A blast of messianic air, containing fire, brimstone and Dow's magic scrubbing bubbles?

The residue on my feet may outlive me. I am now the subway. And I'll just have to accept that.

Or maybe I could have my feet amputated.

REVENGE OF PONG

In the beginning, there was Pong.

And it was good. The ball bounced back and forth, ricocheting off walls and paddles. After all, wasn't it a metaphor for existence? We all had balls in the air--where would they land? Who knew? It was one of life's great mysteries.

Across America, our hands tightened around black and orange joysticks, forming a death grip. We shot down Space Invaders and Asteroids, just because they were from somewhere else and in our way--a metaphor for manifest destiny, xenophobia and expansionism. We hopped across busy highways and skipped over the backs of turtles and alligators to find our way to our lily pads--the constant quest to individuate from our parents and find overpriced studio apartments of our own. Those of us who did not own an Atari system eagerly ran down the block to someone's house to wait for our turn--we sensed the greatness that was coming, the promise of a pixelated future.

Flash forward. We're twenty years older. We all have early onset arthritis from our Video Game Babylon. Today's video children have X-Boxes. Graphics rival real life in versimilitude. It all looks and feels so real that no one can even tell the difference between playing Grand Theft Auto and actually stealing a car.

In this time of "I Love the 80s" and the return of rubber bracelets and Duran Duran, it's only fitting that Atari's chosen to reissue 85 classic games so that today's kids can get a more complete understanding of what Generation X experienced when the first video games really hit the cultural scene. Coming in November to an electronics store near you for the suggested retail price of $20.

Perhaps this will be the bridge between our generations. Perhaps Pong's Revenge is to unite us all through the love of gaming. As John Lennon might have said, all we are saying is give Pac-Man a chance.

Aah, nostalgia. Someone wake me when Q-Bert and Burgertime arrive.

SPEEDY RECOVERY...

...to Bill Clinton, who was admitted to Columbia-Presbyterian hospital today and is undergoing quadruple bypass surgery. After all he's been through? Two terms in office, Yasser Arafat on the White House Lawn, Whitewater, Monica, Kenneth Starr...and now, a quad bypass? I could make jokes about how it was the shock of seeing Republicans overrun New York, or that the book tour was just too strenuous, but somehow don't feel like it. Refuah shlemah*, Bill!


*Hebrew for "a complete recovery."

THOUGHTS INSPIRED BY CNN'S COVERAGE OF THE RNC

I'm warning you, this is no political treatise. I don't do political here. Items are in no particular order of import. Because let's face it, none of this is important...just mildly amusing.

1. Herald Square was not as hard to get to as I thought. Went to Old Navy, took two different trains, and experienced no problems, roadblocks or pedestrian rerouting.
2. Gosh, I think Rudy Giuliani might make a good President. At this point, I like him better than either candidate. Can we elect him instead?
3. George Pataki doesn't look like a George to me. He looks like an Al. Or a Bob. But not a George. Plus, his last name rhymes with Iraqi. Very distracting.
4. Brilliant idea for a new TV show: presidential candidates live in a house together for the last two months before election day, and are forced to compete in standup comedy competitions, vocal contests, death-defying stunts and political discussions. Celebrity panel of judges should include Simon Cowell, Jay Mohr, Al Gore, and Joe Rogan. Special guest star Carson Kressly from Queer Eye will take the winner on a shopping spree and give them a total wardrobe makeover. We could call it "Last American Candidate Standing and Looking Fabulous." If neither candidate wins, Donald Trump becomes President.
5. Ralph Reed's a little hot. At least for a Bush adviser. Hmm. If not for that whole Christian Coalition thing, I think it might have worked out. Too bad.
6. What I've learned: Republicans think the Dems are wrong. And Dems think Republicans are wrong. Oh yeah, also, 9/11 happened. And it was bad.
7. Leann Womack sings "I Hope You Dance" to the GOP. My brother and sister-in-law sang the same song to my other brother and his bride at their wedding last August. Does that mean we're all Republicans now?

Clearly, the RNC has rocked my world. And I am undoubtedly only beginning to feel the aftershocks. The weeks ahead will surely also contain random thoughts inspired by the RNC, the DNC, the DMV, the SATC, the L.I.E., the Notorious B.I.G., the O.C., and other major cultural influences.

Stay tuned, the best may be yet to come.

80s ARE BACK, BABY!!

First, the rubber bracelets I saw at Claire's and being "sold" as Skee-Ball prizes in Atlantic City (I got one!). Now a new song by Duran Duran that takes me right back to those high school days. Their sound is sooo Duran Duran. I am irrationally excited by the news that their new album hits stores soon. I am not similarly stirred by the impending return of LITE-FM caliber croonster Richard Marx, but I blame that on "Right Here Waiting," which as far as I'm concerned has been overplayed as much as Whitney's version of "And I Will Always Love You."

Yesterday, I heard some familiar opening notes on the radio. Couldn't identify them at first. Then I remember: "When I'm With You," by Sheriff. Oh, man. Takes me back. To the days of perms and oversized glasses (thankfully, my teeth were straight enough to have escaped the indignity of braces); of hanging out near "his" locker, hoping for a mere glimpse of the perfection I perceived in him; of wanting to be part of the popular group but not having the money for a Benetton rugby; of being into abnormal psychology, Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath; of doodling song lyrics all over my looseleaf notebook; of quoting from John Hughes movies endlessly, wishing I looked like Molly Ringwald...

Did anyone actually enjoy high school?

NEW CELEB TREND: KABBALECTOMIES

Looks like I'll be getting my name back. Both Madonna and Britney (or as Madge likes to call her, Mini-Me) are unhappy with the celebrity trend they helped to create, and are now abandoning their "Jewish enlightenment."

I guess we'll see how successful that Rosh Hashanah Kabbalah trip to Israel is. (I guess Donna Karan and Marla Maples are still going...)

DUDE, WHERE'S MY DONATION?
Madonna demands an accounting of where her donations to the Kabbalah Centre have gone--apparently, she had designated them for certain projects, and suspects that her funds are being misused. As a donor, she should absolutely be entitled to this information. As far as I'm concerned, if she doesn't get it, she should become disenchanted with the whole thing. Maybe Tom Cruise and John Travolta are looking for a third megastar over at the Church of Scientology.

NOT A GIRL, NOT YET A WOMAN (BUT DEFINITELY ANNOYING)
Britney's Christian parents are sighing with relief that their daughter has given up her somewhat insane (not to mention totally invented and historically unprecedented) idea of getting married in a "Kabbalah ceremony." Plus, Brit-fiance and daddy-of-another-woman's-child Kevin Federine is Catholic, so this new development pleases both sides. And anyone who's been privy to wedding preparations knows how rare that can be...

"PAGING DEMI AND ASHTON..."
Kids, there's still room in the escape pod for you guys. Seats are going fast, so reserve your spots now!

Inspired by Jewschool.

PLAGIARISM

Plagiarism is wrong. When I was growing up, there were those who plagiarized papers, etc, from previously published texts. This involved finding the texts through library research, and copying out the passages that were needed.

The problem is, now we have the Internet. Copy-and-paste technology just made plagiarism a whole lot easier. Over at This Fish Needs a Bicycle, she's learned that two bloggers are copying her content, and urges us to overwhelm them with electronic reprimands. See this post to see how Fish wants us to help.

Be vigilant about protecting your own content. Post a copyright on your online material, and from time to time, check this website to see if you're being plagiarized.