CHRIS NOTH RETURNS

I just read in EW that original Jerry Orbach partner Chris Noth will be returning to Law & Order for a series of up to three movies...perhaps he'd care to join the cast for "my episode"? I'll have to shuffle around some story elements in the "Esther" and "Detective Stabler" storyline, but it might be worth it for all parties...

OPPOSITE OF NATIONAL CELIBACY DAY?

Votergasm.org was launched on September 4 by recent graduates of Columbia, Harvard, and University of Wisconsin-Madison. The site asks visitors to sign the Votergasm Pledge to have sex with a voter on election night—and withhold sex from non-voters for the next four years. In addition, it provides tools to organize election-night Votergasm parties and features erotic pictorial guides to activities such as requesting an absentee ballot.

Not quite the opposite of National Celibacy Day, I guess, since this is non-partisan. But it definitely links sex (and the abstention of/withholding from sex) with voting. Which is interesting, I guess--but it's obviously not for everyone.

So, as with the voting process itself, you have a choice:

National Celibacy Day (Democrats only)

Votergasm (for every voter who wants to have his or her ballot punched)

[Sorry. Couldn't resist it.]

THE FRIGHTENING

Thanks to Jack over at his shack for inspiring this foray into the fearful.

A short list in no particular order, from the no-brainer serious ones to the funnier, more tongue-in-cheek entries, of things that frighten me...

• The Shining
• when my friend bit my face right after we saw Silence of the Lambs
• that one photo over at JDate (you ladies know the one I mean)
• Britney Spears' wedding photos
• crashing airplanes (blame 9/11, that plane that crashed into a Queens neighborhood, and Donnie Darko)
• the morning I woke up with curly hair (it's straight, usually--oh the horror!)
• that I'll carry a credit card debt forever
• walking from the subway to my apartment at 3:30 am on a Saturday night because the boys I was with didn't walk me home
• slow dances at weddings
• that I'll never have a wedding
• that Scream mask
• that I'll run out of ideas for my column
• that something bad will happen to my brothers, parents or friends
• finding a hair in food I didn't make
• Ben Affleck's career
• that by the time I get married, I won't be able to have children
• bad spelling
• that this blog will crash and I'll lose all the creative efforts I've logged since February
• getting trapped on the subway during a blackout (check)
• that something will happen to me while I'm without health insurance
• that the family members of the mice that were in my old apartment seven years ago will track me down in my newer apartment and perpetrate a plot of rodential revenge
• Macaulay Culkin
• Renee Zellweger's scrunchy eyes
• that I'll never achieve the fame and happiness I deserve
• that I'll achieve the fame and happiness I deserve

There are probably more. Some I won't cop to in print or to myself. But these are the ones on my mind today...even if it's already TMI.

Share with me, won't you? What scares the bejeezus out of you?

SPOOKY...

...that it took a lunar eclipse (at the end of October) to break the curse of the Bambino and give the Red Sox their first win since 1910...

Halloween, anyone?

NON-PARTISAN FUN, TAKE 2

[Blogger is not my friend this morning. But I shall persevere! Thank you for your patience.]

Try this...because it's always fun to give the President a makeover.

My suggestion? Try the "evil eyes," they're excellent.

I HEART SOUTH PARK

After the all-too-real political situations of The West Wing—not to mention the surreal and upsettingly vitriolic world of actual politics--it’s a pleasure to watch South Park’s little animated characters conduct their campaigns for a new school mascot. (WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD)

The choices? In one corner, Giant Douche. In the other, Turd Sandwich. (It took me a minute to extrapolate the metaphor I had hoped would be in the season premiere of the irreverent series…) The process gets speared too…like voter registration drives designed to get people to vote for their candidate, vote campaigns organized by certain hip-hop moguls that threaten “Vote or Die.” And when one citizen (deciding that he cannot choose one candidate over the other because they both suck) decides not to vote at all, he is tied to the back of a horse with a bucket on his head and banished from South Park entirely. And if you think PETA activist French kissing a llama has nothing to do with doing your civic duty, you’d be wrong.

The greater lesson? Nearly every election since the beginning of time has been between a Giant Douche and a Turd Sandwich…

Who ever said television wasn't educational?



[And in case I haven't mentioned it yet today, I can't wait for this election to be over.]

THE WEST WING

For the first time since its cancellation, I'm glad Angel isn't on anymore. Now, I can get back to the West Wing, the show that even further confuses my understanding of today's politics.

What with the presence of Josh Malina, peace talks between Palestinians and Israelis, and Shabbat dinner with the President, watching this whole season's a goshdarned mitzvah. Jewish, and not watching? Bad Jew.

Is it too late to vote for President Bartlet?

LAW & ORDER: RANDOM CAMEOS GONE WILD

I'm very fond of "gone wild." I think I shall use it often.

Last night was Random Cameo Night on Law & Order. Kevin Smith shows up as “Guy Who Moves Boxes in Warehouse,” and Darrell Hammond portrayed “Smarmy Kiddie Porn Guy.” I’m pretty sure they were both on SVU, but Kevin Smith might have been on the original.

So many actors have cycled in and out of L&O franchises over the years. I keep waiting for the time when I flip on USA or (the Drama of) TNT and find that unbeknownst to the apparently somnambulant me, I too have been on a L&O episode.

What was my role? It probably went something like this.

ESTHER'S CAMEO ON LAW AND ORDER, TAKE ONE

AUDIO: GUNK GUNK [the trademark L&O sound]

GRAPHIC: Upper West Side, 4:45 pm

STABLER: [Knocking at the door] Open up, ma’am, police.

ESTHER: Police? What’s going on?

BENSON: We’re investigating a serious crime. Have you seen anything unusual?

ESTHER: Not really.

STABLER: Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?

ESTHER: No.

BENSON: What about David Greenberg, from down the hall, did you know him?

ESTHER: We said hi a few times. He was cute, but nothing came of it. Sorry I can’t help.

STABLER: Thank you.

[Boooorrring. “Get me rewrite!”]

ESTHER'S CAMEO ON LAW AND ORDER, TAKE TWO

AUDIO: GUNK GUNK [the trademark L&O sound]

GRAPHIC: Upper West Side, 4:45 pm

STABLER: [Knocking at the door] Open up, ma’am, police.

ESTHER: I’ll open up, just don’t call me ma’am. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am. Police? What’s going on?

BENSON: We’re investigating a serious crime. Have you seen anything unusual?

ESTHER: Not really. Oh wait, the sign over Deli Kasbah’s a little strange.

STABLER: Deli Kasbah…is that Moroccan?

ESTHER: It’s Messianic, I think. [a beat] Deli Kasbah’s around the corner. It’s a kosher restaurant, and they show videos of the Lubavitcher Rebbe while you eat your pastrami burger.

BENSON: That is unusual. We should investigate it.

ESTHER: You think that’s strange, the sign over the restaurant’s in French, and promises diners an “advance taste of Messianic meat.”

BENSON: Sounds like a homicidal threat.

ESTHER: And they quote from Psalms: “And bulls shall be offered.”

STABLER: So they’re religious fanatics, too. I’m calling for backup.

ESTHER: No need. I was joking. Sigh. I forgot that you cops aren’t big on sense of humor.

STABLER: That’s right. We’re serious. Belzer’s the comic relief. Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?

ESTHER: I guess you don’t mean that my downstairs neighbor-slash-wannabe rock star has switched to a more powerful amplification system? Then that would be a no.

BENSON: What about David Greenberg, from down the hall, did you know him?

ESTHER: Which David Greenberg? There are two on this floor, and three more on 5, 9 and 12. This is the Upper West Side: you can’t fling a Metrocard without hitting a David Greenberg.

STABLER: This particular David Greenberg is about my height and build. [He flexes his biceps, and pivots to give her a good look.]

ESTHER: [Stares longingly at Detective Stabler.]

BENSON: Ms. Kanstandovits? Do you know the Greenberg we mean?

ESTHER: Sorry, I was [pauses] distracted. Yeah, I knew David. We said hi a few times. He was cute, but nothing came of it. He’s real shy, and kept to himself most of the time. I used to see his mail…tons of internet magazines. I think he was some sort of programming genius. Is he in some kind of trouble?

BENSON: You could say that. He’s been harassing Jewish women all over town via a popular Internet dating service.

STABLER: His profile name is “KingofJDate,” ever hear of him?

ESTHER: Oh please, as if I’d click on anyone whose profile name proclaimed him a monarch of a kingdom no one wants to be in to begin with…

BENSON: That’s a no, then?

ESTHER: Well, I’ve never clicked on him. But I know people who have clicked on that name. He kept sending them instant messages that had no discernible purpose or content. That was David Greenberg? His picture looks nothing like the David Greenberg I knew. Just goes to prove the old saying, “Cute in real life, freak on the internet.”

STABLER: I’m not familiar with that one.

ESTHER: [smitten] I know you’re not, Detective. But believe me, it’s true.

BENSON: Can you provide us with contact information for the women who have been harassed?

ESTHER: I can give you a few names. But what you should really do is ask the company to provide you with their records. I guarantee that this is a much more widespread problem than just the handful of people I’m aware of.

STABLER: [to Benson] I still think we should check out that potential Moroccan terrorist cell.

ESTHER: Terrorist cell? Oh, you mean Deli Kasbah. They’re totally legit. A little weird, sure, but that doesn’t make them terrorists.

STABLER: Fair enough. Maybe I’ll pick up a sandwich instead.

BENSON: Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been very helpful.

ESTHER: [glares] I told you, don’t ma’am me. We’re the same age. But I have a question for you? Is this really today’s top priority for SVU?

STABLER: Oh, we’re not SVU anymore.

BENSON: We’re heading up the newest division of the NYPD. A special Jewish unit.

COMMERCIAL BREAK: PROMO FOR NEW SERIES

V.O.—This season, join Detectives Stabler and Benson for the greatest challenge of their careers.

They battle interdenominational sniping, break up rumbles at Jewish singles events, and sniff out the copepods in tap water, as members of New York’s newest elite fighting squad.

LAW & ORDER: Special Jewish Unit. Coming soon to NBC.

Then to USA. Then to TNT.

GRAPHIC:
LAW & ORDER: SJU.

AUDIO:
[GUNK, GUNK.]

PURIM V. HALLOWEEN

Four years ago, I wrote a piece comparing Purim and Halloween for Gen-X webzine Generation J...

I always remember to resurrect this article for Purim, but I always forget 'round Halloween.

A taste of the candy in your plastic pumpkin that contains this article:

Recently, someone asked me whether I liked Purim better than Halloween. It seemed like such an odd question; the holidays had been so distinctly incomparable in my mind. But upon consideration, perhaps because my name is Esther, perhaps because of my Jewish background, I would have to say that Purim unequivocally kicks Halloween's rump. Of course, I am slightly biased: If Halloween featured a Queen Esther, I might be inclined to change my preference. But I doubt it.

Check it out here: Purim and Halloween: An Ideological Face-Off.

BREAKFAST OF TROJANS

This is officially my favorite story of the day. Nothing can top this. Except maybe a nice cream cheese frosting. Or some spermicide.

A young Manhattan woman split open her breakfast muffin — only to find what seemed to be a condom baked inside.

That's right! A writer at MTV Networks had eaten nearly half her carrot-nut, cream-cheese topped muffin, before she found the offending piece of latex. Although most likely, it is the tip of a sterile glove that was worn by a bakery worker, The New York Post, God bless 'em, decided it was a condom.

My prediction: Within two months, everyone at her office is calling her "Muffin."

And, as a special PSA to my MTVN readers, I want to tell you that this occurrence transpired in the 50th Street building. So, Bex, brother Simmy, and my colleagues in the MTVN Creative Services department need not worry. The Lodge is still as safe as it ever was. For whatever that's worth...

JEWISH CONFERENCE ALERT!

Now that the holidays are over, we Jews just don’t know what to do with ourselves! So we have professional workshops and conferences, to keep ourselves busy and so that we can keep playing Jewish geography with new and exciting people.

Toward this goal, and because nobody's asked me to attend UJC's General Assembly, I’ve registered for one of each…maybe you’ll join me!

THIS SUNDAY...October 31, Lishmah Day of Jewish Learning
http://www.lishmah.org/ to register and for complete program

By creating an extraordinary one-day experience for Jews from across social, political, and denominational lines, Lishmah aims to inspire a revival in Jewish learning that touches the entire community. Choose from over 100 different workshops, film screenings, discussion groups, lectures, and panel discussions. Discover the biblical prophecy of Moses and the prophetic rock & roll of Bob Dylan. Listen to the exotic voices of Sephardic song and the joyful sounds of klezmer. Unearth the mystical teachings of Kaballah and engage in feminist readings of the stories of Rachel and Ruth. Explore the ways in which Jewish text and tradition relate to contemporary issues ranging from the environment to reproductive rights to tabloid gossip to the war on terrorism.

November 7-8, American Jewish Press Association’s Freelancers’ Workshop

AJPA's first ever Freelance Workshop is a seminar in Manhattan, featuring a variety of experts to sharpen your writing, researching and marketing skills. I'm not sure if registration's still open, but check it out at: http://www.ajpa.org/

SNL AND "WHAT THE HELL?"

Apparently, we've discovered a new law of SNL. Either that, or maybe I'm overreacting when I say "What the hell?"

SNL Law #53 (often referred to as "the Jude Law")
Any episode starring Jude Law must possess bizarre sketches starring bears ("Bear City") and screw up one of the musical sequences, causing musical guest Ashlee Simpson (also known as "the brunette one") to do a hoedown to the pre-recorded vocals of the song she had already sung earlier in the show. Then, during closing credits, said lesser Simpson must apologize to the hordes in the television audience and blame it on her band for playing the wrong intro.

Poor Ashlee. First, she has to be the brunette. Then her boyfriend breaks up with her. Now this. You know that her manager, who is also her father, is going to give her a talking to on this one.

And poor me. Now I must erase the memory of having witnessed "The Jude Law" so I can sleep. How shall I achieve this? What would Brian Boitano do? Ah, yes...ask, and ye shall receive from Comedy Central...an airing of "South Park: Bigger Longer and Uncut"...

(How many times do I have to see this movie before it stops being funny? So hilarious...)

FNN247.COM

If you like The Daily Show (and let's face it, you do), try The Fake News Network. All the fake news you need. (No Jon at this site, but this enterprise is the brainchild of several Chicago City Limits/Upright Citizens Brigade alumni, including my former teacher Joe O'Brien.)

BOSTON V. NEW YORK

And I bet you all thought this was going to be about baseball. Nuh-uh.

My kvetch for today...Why can't New York do cool stuff like this?

Queer Soup, creators of underground theatre sensation "Buffy the Vampire Slayer's High School Reunion" join us in person for a special sing-a-long show of the classic musical episode of Joss Whedon's beloved cult TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. We'll have goodie bags full of interactive activities (and plastic vampire teeth, of course), subtitles so you can join in the singing, and our ringleader cast who will guide us through two of the best episodes of our favorite televison show: "Once More With Feeling" (aka, the musical episode) and "Hush". --Via Whedonesque.com

Any Boston area readers who want to check it out, report back and make me exceedingly jealous will be appreciative of this address, where the shindig sing-along is taking place.

Coolidge Corner Movie Theatre
290 Harvard Street
Brookline MA
617-734-2501 (office) 617-734-2500 (recorded information)

http://www.coolidge.org/

Dude, I miss this friggin' show.

POLITICKING--NATIONAL CELIBACY DAY

Apparently, November 2 has been proclaimed as National Celibacy Day. I know this from my friend Mr. Internet, who provides me with tantalizing tidbits and then does not explain himself by supplying bibliographies.

The email I received (from several people, I might add) had no discernible origin and read:

Remember: November 2 is National Celibacy Day. No Bush. No Dick.

And that's all. No website, or "for more information" or "brought to you by your friends at..." Where'd this come from? And for Heaven's sake, WHY?

Look, I keep proclaiming that I don't talk politics here, and now I'm gonna. I'm a Democrat. And I have Republican friends. (Yes, even Jewish ones.) And I've been resisting the pull of partisan posting, because I just want everyone to get along. I do not wish my words to be divisive. As someone once said, whether or not you believe him, "I am a uniter, not a divider."

But I cannot stay silent any longer, because with this, we have reached apopleptic idiocy.

I ask you--is there any benefit, to anyone of either party, to proclaiming a National Celibacy Day?

Are people who participate in this going to walk around wearing T-shirts reading "I'm not having sex today?" (The marketing guru in me would like to suggest additional mottoes for these fictional T-shirts..."Lysistrata ain't got nothin' on me!" and "It's no headache...it's my political manifesto.") Otherwise, we have no idea who they are, and we're all on the honor system.

What about all the people who are celibate anyway? I know the media would have us believe that everyone's either thinking about it or doing it 24/7, but if you think about it, that means no one would have any time for blogging. Plus, the workplace would become a tricky kind of environment to navigate, what with people passing up meetings for matings. It takes two to tango, I'm told, and if sitcom is to be believed, all over the United States there are couples who are abstaining from coupling because they're too tired. Do they get retroactive credit for "observing" this Day? Then there are all the religious reasons for which people (from all faiths) are celibate. In high school we used to call this de facto celibacy being "shomer negiah*, but not by choice."

Because the credo of National Celibacy Day seems to be anti-Bush, I'm going to assume that the edict is of Democratic origin, which really embarrasses me. It seems as random as National Inside Out Underwear Day, or National Generic Brand Chocolate Chips Day, or National Walking Down Amsterdam Instead of Broadway Day. Because no one will know you're doing it unless you tell them, and once you tell them, they will look at you like you just announced that Britney Spears has joined your shul. (Actually, given Brit's embrace of Kabbalah, that's a bad example, because it is more likely to happen.)

This kind of proclamation doesn't make any kind of political statement and, barring the use of invasive home videotaping or a spare CSI team testing your clothes for "DNA," your participation in this purported phenomenon is inherently unprovable.

What do I suggest? At this point, let us not declare any other special Day until after Election Day. Vote for whichever candidate floats your political (fishing? or Swift?) boat. Wear a ten-gallon hat, or a Kerry/Edwards button, or a T-shirt that proclaims your loyalty, if you must make a statement.

Pat Benatar said it best: "Stop using sex as a weapon."


*Define shomer negiah? Oy. Here's Jewish.com to help.

GOOGLE SAVES LIVES

Google is a superhero for our generation. In addition to saving singles everywhere from having to ask countless questions about their blind dates (New guy in your life seem a little misanthropic? Just Google him, and find out in seconds if he's an axe murderer!), now Google has saved someone's life:

An excerpt from the story:
"Iraqi militants who kidnapped a reporter in Baghdad and threatened to kill him Googled his name to investigate his work before releasing him unharmed. Australian John Martinkus was seized early on Saturday and held for nearly 24 hours before being freed. Martinkus said his kidnappers initially threatened to kill him, before checking on his background.He said he was treated well once he had told his kidnappers he was an independent reporter not linked to the United States-led coalition in Iraq."

Now, I'm not going to Iraq anytime soon. But it's worth giving some thought to the question (Carrie Bradshaw moment looming):

In this day and age of technology's reign as Supreme Being, could the internet be the new Book of Life?

I'm not 100% happy with that Carrie Bradshaw moment. I may try again later. In the meantime, discuss amongst yourselves...I'll give you a topic:

If Iraqi militants Googled you, would they release you based on your writing?

My answer? I'm probably too Jewish for their own comfort--even if I wrote a thousand posts denouncing this "imperialist occupation." That's why I've cancelled my vacation in the lush tropical wetlands of Iraq. Sigh.

Maybe next year, my beloved land of endless sand and missiles. This year, you shall remain but an unattainable dream.

SOME ANTICS WITH SEMANTICS

(Author’s warning to parents and religious readers:

This post is rated PG-13, for mature subject matter and foul language.)

Discussion topic: A sign on the inside of the toilet stall door

The sign reads:

NOTICE THERE IS NO DISPENSER FOR YOUR MONTHLY DISPOSABLE

WRAP IT AND PLEASE TAKE YOUR DISPOSABLE

AND PLACE IT AT THE DISPENSER IN THE NEXT ROOM.

Anonymous signs like these are my Moriarty, my arch-nemesis-se-ses*. There's no accountability, just a giant finger wagging at you for something bad you haven't done yet. Where do I begin?

Perhaps I shall begin with “monthly disposable,” which I take to mean “feminine hygiene products,” specifically maxi pads and tampons. It’s such a delicate term that it feels like it’s been imported from a Jane Austen novel. (“Dear Diary, Mr. Darcy does flatter with his slight indication of interest. I should like to ruminate on the incline of his head as metaphor for his fine lineage and breeding, but I must now retire to my private chambers, where I shall unpin my tight chignon and make womanly use of my monthly disposable.”) Of course, we women often dispose of more than one item over the course of menses, so it’s not a “monthly” disposable in the strictest sense of the word.

Then, there’s the word dispenser. A Pez dispenser dispenses Pez. The bathroom already has a products dispenser, that if we are to believe the above definition of monthly disposable, dispenses maxi pads and tampons. I know that’s not where they want the readers to put their monthly disposables that they otherwise would have put in the garbage. The sign-writers don’t mean “dispenser.” They mean “receptacle,” an easy mistake (unless you understand that those words are opposites).

And as far as place it at the dispenser is concerned, I’m not doing that either. (“Place the offending material at the base of the Great Dispenser, as an offering of your womanhood.”) It’s like that George Carlin bit about the airplane: “Get on the plane? Fuck you, I’m getting IN the plane!”

Lastly, there's the obvious joke. But don't blame me for this one. It's not my fault that there's no punctuation at the end of the first sentence. Say it with me, now: "CAN I GET A PERIOD?"

Here’s a suggestion. Don’t use words unless you know what they mean. If you can’t tell the difference between dispenser and receptacle, go with something simpler. Perhaps a humble “Use the trashcan” would suffice? Or trust the users of a bathroom to know what to do with garbage? Or, if you insist on being so fancy and using MENSA-level words like these, may I suggest that you have someone look at the sign before you post it?

I know, I’m a linguistic elitist who is probably doomed to a life on the social periphery because of her criticism of the less- or differently-educated. If that’s my reputation, so be it. Put it on my tombstone, for Heaven's sake. Just spell it right.


*Not a typo; an homage to Buffy Season Six, the episode where the Trio invents an invisibility ray. God, I sound like a geek. I'm waiting for William Shatner to jump out from behind a desk and tell me to "Get a Life."

WHY I LOVE FORBIDDEN BROADWAY

Because it's "Forbidden," silly.

Another reason? Aside from the fact that it's my ideal off-Broadway role, both as a writer and performer? OK, you asked for it:

I love Forbidden Broadway because the latest incarnation is called "FORBIDDEN BROADWAY: SVU." The addition of the three little letters is an indicator of the fact that the writers have their fingers on the pulse of pop culture, incorporating trends from other Broadway shows and other cultural institutions...

Want discount tix? I just got an email from SmartTix.com--here's what you have to do:

FORBIDDEN BROADWAY: SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT
Offer valid for performances October 18 – December 25 (order by November 15)

$25 tickets available: Tue 8:00PM,Wed 2:30PM, Sat 4:00PM
$32 tickets available: Mon, Fri, Sat 8:15PM, Sun 3:30 & 7:30PM

The Douglas Fairbanks Theatre
432 West 42nd Street
New York City
(between 9th and 10th Avenues)

To order:
1. Visit www.BroadwayOffers.com and use code FB32STX.
2. Call Telecharge.com at 212 947-8844 and use code FB32STX.

Blogger theater night, anyone?

CHARMED, I'M SURE

In sleep, I dream not of genies, but of witches. Not witches of Eastwick, or wicked witches of the west or other weathervaned directions, not even of Willow and Tara. These witches are sisters, and live in the magical land known as the WB.

I would like to be like Piper, who has the power to freeze time, or, when feelings are intensified, explode objects or demons that stand in the way of good winning the day. I would like to be like Phoebe, the boy-crazy, premonition-haunted one, who has the power to see the future and transform a tragic outcome into a peaceful one. I would like to be a master of potions like Paige, an herbalist of the highest order, who could cure what ails people and banish demons into the ether.

I would have gladly accepted the gifts of doomed eldest sister Prue, whose ability to move objects with her mind would be of great help to me in organizing my apartment, but when witches cast spells for their own personal gain, there's always a backlash. The ability to orb from one place to another would save me many Metrocards and stupid little black umbrellas that I keep purchasing, breaking and then trashing in Manhattan's many rainstorms.

Or perhaps I'd rather be a Whitelighter, bearing the power to heal the sick in an instant, and able to beam myself up to the Elders and pose my questions regarding the state of the world, and the balance between good and evil. They'd discourage my queries, and restrict access to the information I craved, but at least they'd know I'd challenged them.

I would live in a house on a hill in San Francisco, close to the bay, with my sisters. We would not be mere witches, but magical Charmed ones, whose power would cause Evil to quake like the shifts of tectonic plates beneath the West Coast. I would fight for what is Good and Right and Just. I would date demons and wizards and cops and magazine editors, always seeing the good within them but my secret always serving as terminator to any nascent relationship. I would help the police solve crimes without any tricky forensics training, orbing into jail cells to talk with prisoners, brewing potions to help people become more tolerant of each other. When times were too difficult to bear alone, I would consult a great book which would provide me with answers. And when solutions still eluded me, I would call on the spirits of my ancestors to share their wisdom, and they would appear to me as solid and tangible as my own flesh.

Call me witchy woman, if you will. I answer only to Good.

MY NEW FAVORITE SITE

Ever heard a song in a commercial and been all, like, "I've totally heard that song before! What was that song called?"

Well, welcome to the Internet, where all research requires is a search engine...

What's That Called?

What commercial led me to do this search? That Jaguar XJ commercial. It says it's a Moby song, so I'll have to check my one Moby CD to see if I have it. If not, I'm just going to have to chance a Kazaa download...

THE 42nd LAW OF SNL

Saturday Night Live has become an icon, an American television institution. And like any good institution, there are certain rules that have to be followed.

For instance, the 42nd Law of SNL, which reads as follows:

"Should a cast member decide not to renew his contract, and decides to pursue movie superstardom, said cast member is automatically entitled to his own special, entitled "The Best of INSERT NAME OF DEPARTED CAST MEMBER." Said special will air way before loyal audiences have had a chance to miss the departed cast member, or before that cast member's box office bankability has been proven. Depending on the talent and range of said cast member, said special will either create an instant nostalgia for him or reaffirm the conviction of the audience that maybe he wasn't really that good to begin with if he couldn't get through an entire sketch without cracking up."

There is a corollary to this law:

"If said departed cast member is a woman, no effort will be made to remember their work in any meaningful way. No 'Best of' compilation will be produced or aired. And they will be on their own to achieve based on their merits. SNL will take all credit for any post-show meteoric rises of former female cast members (see also 'The Julia Louis-Dreyfus Effect'), but will not be held responsible for any crash-and-burn acting attempts (see also 'The Mary Gross Effect')."

DANCES WITH TORAHS

Over at JDaters Anonymous, you can read my latest article:

Dances With Torahs

STRATEGY

After careful study of the Internet, and in an attempt to garner more hits from Google searches, I've decided to pepper my blog with the following phrases:

Princess Leia in the gold bikini
rabbis sex scandal
I hate JDate
Bush sucks
Saruman rules
Greedo shoots first
Lindsay Lohan boobies
Paris Hilton video
Kerry sucks
miracle fat burning pill
Frodo and Sam are lovers
I dated Ben Affleck
OJ innocent
Kabbalah Madonna
Bruce Demi Ashton menage
Derek Jeter butt
Spuds McKenzie
Ashton Kutcher rocket science
Justin Timberlake
Gandalf the Grey
Anna Kournikova Jewish
Crawford Texas live Bush Twins videocam
William Hung
Sarah Jessica Parker Gap ads
Geico gecko
Taco Bell chihuahua
Zach Braff Zach Braff Zach Braff

A LOVELY DAY

The air tonight was perfect. Cool, but not chilly.

Began my day with Chayyei Sarah. But not in the usual virtual way--today is different. We sit at the outside cafe area at a bagel shop on the Upper West Side, and have bagels and coffee. (OK, the coffee was just this New York writer--the Israeli had water.) We schmooze like the old friends we've become through the magic of the blogosphere, and the hours fly by.

Then it's back to "the office," where I work through my interview questions and draft an outline for my next singles column about Jewtopia, the new comedic import from L.A. that's breaking records even before it finishes previews.

I head back to midtown in rush hour and fight my way to West 43rd Street to the Westside Theater. It's at this point that I realize that I've been way overdressed all day. I peel layers, and meet with Sam Wolfson and Bryan Fogel, the writers, actors and producers of Jewtopia. They're clever, intelligent and fun; I enjoy the inside look at their creative process, and fall a little bit in love.

I walk a few extra blocks to a subway stop that's a bit further away, so I can be a part of the human parade of midtown. I'm vaguely aware that I'm smiling.

Home again. Then, checking in with one of my favorite Blogheads, I see that Miriam has posted her long-awaited article about women bloggers in which she mentions both my blog and that of my brunch partner.

And now, the glory that is the Presidential debate. Except for that last detail, a pretty terrific day. And a fairly self-indulgent post. But I guess it happens to the best of us.

BATTLE OF THE NETWORKED JEWS

You may know the old joke about the Jew who is marooned on an island for many years. Finally, he is rescued. His rescuers find that, during his time on the island, the castaway has built two shuls. Why? Because, he said, pointing at one of the structures, THAT ONE I wouldn't be caught dead in.

In an age of Friendster, Ryze, Orkut and LinkedIn, it was only a matter of time before the "one Jew, two shuls" concept was applied to networking sites. An early entry was J2J Networking, a serious networking site for Jewish professionals.

Let the battle of the social networking sites begin:

In one corner: JEWSTAR.COM

In the other: JEWISHGEOGRAPHY.ORG

Jewstar is a networking tool that is highly derivative of Friendster--you invite people to join your network, fill out a profile of yourself and your affiliations, then write testimonials of your friends. You can search for someone by name, affiliation, school, etc...Call it Friendster with a bris.

JewishGeography also provides search engines. On further investigation, I realize that the site is extremely old. Apparently, judging by my email address, I joined it seven years ago. The last time anyone on their end updated their site was May of 2000. I guess that in this race, it's no contest--Jewstar wins this match. Too bad, I like the JewishGeography site and name better.

NEXT MATCH

champion JEWSTAR

vs.

chutzpadik challenger JMERICA

Coming soon to [grimacing in advance] Pay-Per-Jew.

(What? Is that any worse than "Coming soon to [grimacing again] a theater near Jew?")

I NEED YOU: JEWTOPIA

If you've seen Jewtopia (either in L.A. or in its new run in New York), I need your opinion for an article I'm writing about the show, which I'm seeing tonight. Please send your comments to: myurbankvetch@hotmail.com.

Many thanks!

MAN OR SUPERMAN*

Like most girls of the 80s, I spent more than a few years in love with Christopher Reeve**. There was no way around it. I didn’t even mind the tights, which—let’s face it—were a little too, um, tight. There was something about the perfect black curl over his forehead, the stammering self-doubt of Clark Kent paired with the supreme superness of Superman, combined with the smile to end all smiles, that appealed to my inner geek and my inner princess at the same time.

That is not to say that I was in love with all the Superman movies. One and Two were terrific. (Two was especially fun, with the campy extremeness of Ursa, Non, and Terence Stamp’s General Zod invading “Planet Houston.”) But then there were strange plot and casting decisions (Mariel Hemingway? Nuclear weapons?) that forced a disenchantment with the exploits of this particular superhero. Not that implausible plotlines and less-than-stellar dialogue detracted from Reeve's/Superman's innate superness. He was (as many comic book heroes were) half-geek, half-god, outwardly all-American and intrinsically alien. But it was the humility in the man behind the muscle, the Clark within the Kal-El, that drew us all to him.

The classic inner battle for Superman, the character, has always been that he’s a freak among men. He may be able to help save the citizens of Earth on a daily basis, but he will never fully belong. His alienness will always outweigh his humanity. He knows it. He’s ashamed by it. And he tries to suppress it so that he can be like everyone else. Every superhero goes through it, the desire to be normal, flawed, human.

While a superhero can leap tall buildings in a single bound, an actor, being mere mortal, is unable to recover from a fall while horseback riding. Seeing a virile man in his physical prime struck down by paralysis is hard enough. Logically, we all knew it wasn’t Superman who was paralyzed. But that still didn’t stop the thoughts from coming: how could we integrate the solid image of Superman with the shrunken remnant of his injured portrayer? It was as if an individual humanity had asserted itself over a hero’s immortality, becoming his Kryptonite.

Where there is tragedy, there is grief that the end is near, fear that there will be no recovery, depression that tomorrow will bring only more suffering. But Christopher Reeve showed that where there is love, support, and respect, there is hope. His family rallied around him in his impossible medical situation, providing him with hope and faith, and an environment of support that convinced him that, someday, he would walk again. From then on, every figurative step he made was toward that goal.

When Christopher Reeve was seen in public for the first few times after his accident, we were all shocked at the deterioration. Healthy shock of black hair—gone. Strong limbs and solid frame—atrophied. Resonant voice—reduced to a rasp as he breathed and spoke through the oxygen tubes he needed to survive.

But we all soon saw that his physical limitations were not constraining his intellectual and emotional energy, which he funneled into spinal cord injury research. He used his celebrity status to call attention to research, and to raise funds for the study of traumatic injury. The Superman money undoubtedly helped. But he managed to make a significant impact on scientific study, and served as role model to thousands worldwide. He spoke at college graduations and medical conventions. He became a spokesperson for stem cell research, a field that he believed held a cure for his otherwise incurable condition. On Capitol Hill, he lobbied for better insurance protection against traumatic injury and his tireless efforts on behalf of stem cell research were invoked by Senator John Kerry during the second Presidential debate. Reeve even directed a 1998 remake of the Hitchcock classic Rear Window, in which he also acted—the role, initially defined by Jimmy Stewart, was redefined by Reeve’s performance, acted within the all-too-real constraints of his own immobilizing injury. (He even won a SAG award for this performance.)

His skin could not deflect bullets. The Superman known by Generation X was proven to be a mere mortal—eminently fallible, delicately human. But in the end, Christopher Reeve was undeterred. That he couldn’t walk didn’t mean that forward strides weren’t possible. His was a life of progress. To his last moments, he kept moving forward—still fast as a locomotive, still able to hurdle great obstacles in a single bound. And he managed to do it without ever leaving his chair.


*For a comprehensive obit, see http://entertainment.msn.com/movies/article.aspx?news=170270
**A minor note: As a journalist-to-be, I was also a little in love with Margot Kidder’s Lois Lane, a feeling not duplicated by the arrival of subsequent Loises like Teri Hatcher and whoever’s on Smallville now. Feh. Of course, Margot Kidder turned out to be Anne Heche-crazy, or something, so that doesn’t say much for my judgment.

CHRISTOPHER REEVE

I'll have my own take on this later, but in the interim, here's an interesting piece about what Reeve's reaction to his limitations can teach us about life. I found the end of the article to be particularly moving in terms of redefining superheroism.

AMY SOHN INTERVIEW

My interview with Amy Sohn (writer of My Old Man, Run Catch Kiss and the New York Magazine column "Naked City") is up at JDaters Anonymous. Click here to read it...

LIKE A CANDIDATE...RUNNING FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME

Here's some news about Madonna. No, not me. And not the Madonna who's like, totally, into Kabbalah these days. This Madonna, over at the Material Blog. She's announced her candidacy for President. Her running mate is Jello Biafra, former frontman of the Dead Kennedys and an active public speaker/activist since 1987. (Madonna says that he was nominated by the Green Party of New York in the 2000 election. )

Although my Republican readers aren't really going to like her plans for investigating Halliburton, among others, I think she proposes some interesting choices for her leadership cabinet. John Grisham for Attorney General. Ken Jennings for Secretary of Education. And others...

Which begs the question: If you were running for President, who would you select as your running mate*? Who would you want in your cabinet? Discuss amongst yourselves.


* You know me. You know my answer to everything is "Jon Stewart." Only he'd have to be the Presidential nominee and I'd be his running mate, because I think he's smarter than I am. As for the cabinet choices, my other answer to everything, Ellen DeGeneres, would have to be in there somewhere. I'd try to manage cabinet/diplomatic positions for someone like Carson Daly or Roger Lodge (the host from Blind Date), who could be a good judge of character and deliver a snarky comment or two when one was desperately needed...or maybe Jeff Probst, who could vote people off the island of an American coalition if they didn't follow the rules. No worries, America, I'm in no danger of being elected.

TRUMP: THE FRAGRANCE (The Commercial) DRAFT ONE

NEW YORK - Aramis and Designer Fragrances, a division of high-end cosmetics firm Estee Lauder Cos., said Thursday it signed a multi-year deal naming real estate mogul and reality television star Donald Trump as the spokesperson for a new men's fragrance called "Donald Trump, The Fragrance." The company said the product is slated for an exclusive U.S. launch in mid-November at Federated Department Stores and will have a suggested retail price of $60 for a 100ml/3.4 oz. bottle.

TRUMP: THE FRAGRANCE (THE COMMERCIAL) DRAFT ONE

Interior: An office. SAM, a male employee is harried, visibly unkempt and disorganized. Papers fly everywhere. Much to his distress, at this precise moment, DONALD TRUMP walks by, flanked by various lackeys. Trump pauses before the male employee and shakes his head.

TRUMP: Sam, I'd like to see you in the boardroom.

SAM: But Mr. Trump, I--

LACKEY: Mr. Trump has spoken. [Pulls out trumpet and sounds a regal flourish.]

Second Interior: Mr. Trump's boardroom. Trump and Sam sit opposite each other.

Sam is sweating. Trump is flanked by various lackeys.

TRUMP: Sam, your level of disorganization brings new meaning to the word disorganization. Your desk is an embarrassment to the Trump Corporation. Surely you must realize that you're a terrible office manager. And since we're here in the boardroom, there's only one thing left for me to do.

SAM: Mr. Trump, don't say it.

TRUMP: Oh, I'm not gonna say it, I'm gonna spray it.

Lackey presents Trump with a gold tray, studded with diamonds, on which sits an outrageously ostentatiously designed atomizer. Trump removes cap of the atomizer, which is decorated with a [tight close-up] marble minibust of the famous Trump head featuring an artistic rendering of his famous comb-over, and sprays it at the offending employee. Sam sniffs the air, and feels a great peace come over him. He understands.

SAM: I'm...fired?


TRUMP: That's right, Sam. [Turns to camera] Hi, I'm Donald Trump. Both in real life and on my hit reality show "the Apprentice," I fire hundreds of people each day. Leading doctors at the Donald Trump Institute for Trumpalicious Medical Research have indicated that all this employee termination is hell on my vocal cords. Plus, doing this [makes the famous "You're fired" gesture with his fingers] has given me carpal tunnel syndrome. But now with new "Trump: The Fragrance," I can say "you're fired," without damaging my voice or my hand. Just a spray, and people automatically understand they're out of a job. Here's my personal physician, C. Everett Koop, to explain how my new fragrance works.

KOOP: Trump's new fragrance contains a special custom blend of sodium pentathol, pheromones and MDMA. The sodium pentathol, sometimes referred to as "truth serum," guarantees that the only things soon-to-be-ex-employees take with them from TrumpCorp are the pictures of their family.

TRUMP: That's right! If they've squirrelled away any Swingline staplers or 3M post-it notes or Bic gel pens, Trump: The Fragrance helps me find out before their security clearance is revoked. [Laughs merrily, like Santa Claus with a jillion dollars.]

KOOP: The pheromones and MDMA leave the sprayee with a gentle warming sensation, as if they've just done a shot of whiskey or a couple of tabs of acid, making the departure process easier for both terminee and terminator.

TRUMP: Terminator, I guess that's me. Good thing I bought that little copyright from James Cameron last year. [Laughs again. Then hardens face into stone mask.] Firing yokels like Sam is a waste of time and physical stamina for someone of my stature. Aren't you important enough to deserve a fragrance like Trump? You know it's gotta be the best. It has my name on it.

V/O seductive woman: Don't say "you're fired." Spray it. Trump: the Fragrance: available in boardrooms everywhere.

Fine print subscript on screen throughout commercial:

By purchasing Trump the Fragrance, you are agreeing to indemnify Donald Trump and all his subsidiary companies from any future claims or litigations concerning this product.

Commercial use of sodium pentathol, pheromones and MDMA has not been approved by the Food and Drug Administration.

Individuals who have been sprayed with Trump the Fragrance may experience tingling in extremities, temporary hearing loss and overactive libido. In select individuals, use of MDMA may lead to participation in rave culture and LSD-style hallucinations. Users with weak constitutions may experience rectal bleeding or disorientation.

If you have been sprayed with Trump: The Fragrance, please refrain from swimming for at least 30 minutes after exposure.

Packaging may contain radiation or asbestos from the ceilings of Atlantic City casinos.

The Apprentice is an official copyright and anyone utilizing the name in print must pay Mr. Trump a user's fee of 14 million ducats or the hand in marriage/ indentured servitude of their firstborn daughter.

Promotional considerations for this ad have been provided by Swingline staplers, 3M post-it notes and Bic gel pens.

IN ISRAEL, THEY CALL HER "SHOKO" *

I'm not sure why Ireland is breaking stories about Courtney Cox and David Arquette, but okay...

Apparently, that wacky David is half-Jewish (his mother, commonly referred to as "the right half" when discussing blended families with traditionally observant Jews). Apparently, Courtney wanted to name the baby after her mother, who's also named Courtney Cox. So CoCo was a compromise, because apparently frum David didn't want to violate the Jewish tradition of not naming a baby after a living person.**



*Shoko means cocoa, or chocolate in Hebrew. If you knew that, you'd find Shoko Cox hilarious. If not, you lose. So everyone study Hebrew.
**Thanks to Miriam for sharing this one.

POLITICS, JUST THIS ONCE

You know I don't do politics here. But, when it's for my own nefarious purposes...

Thought I'd do a web recap of how some of my favorites think last night's debate went.

My passionate friend Karol, who liveblogged her reactions as they happened, calls it for Cheney, and then gives you a roundup of what some other people think.

I would like to provide Dawn Summers' counterpoint to Karol's point just to fuel the fire between these two (follow their blogs for a while and you'll see what I mean), but she hasn't posted her reactions yet. In the interim, here's her pre-assessment of the debate:
"I have no idea what to expect from tonight's debate, but Edwards is Hottie Mc Awesome Smile and he should work his mojo so that Gwen asks him what all of us really want to know. Namely, favorite color, favorite food, favorite song, how serious is this thing with Elizabeth, where he'll be everyday until election day and of course, the age-old boxers or briefs."

Jessica's vineyard has a new vintage of her own: being in love with Dick Cheney. A quote: "I seriously heart Cheney. Even more than I heart Halliburton."

At The View From Here, the question on the agenda was: "Anyone else finding it strange that Cheney is barely mentioning Bush's name? "

Slate seems to have Cheney as the winner, but with a backhanded compliment: "Vice President Dick Cheney made a lot of false and misleading statements about his foreign and defense policies—but Sen. John Edwards did a less than stellar job at countering them." (So who won? my inner child whined...)

Most poignant by far is the lovely Bex:
"Damn, Edwards is f-i-i-n-e in a goyish way, and Cheney looks like a gynecologist who dips his hands in ice-water before probing one's nether regions. Putting the moderator in the power position at a small table with two guys makes her look a lot like a Dungeon Master."

One anecdote from my youth. When I was about four years old and in school, there was some publication (Highlights? Probably something else I can't remember...) with the new Presidential candidates on the cover: Gerald Ford vs. Jimmy Carter. My verdict? Ford. Why? Because he looked more like a President, whereas JC was smiling all the time. I didn't really know what a President was, but I knew he should be serious.

Personally, the more I see Cheney on TV, the more I begin to not be able to tell the difference between him and Darrell Hammond. (Props to DH's madd talents, yo.) And I do agree that Edwards is sometimes "too good-looking," and that his smile is incredibly distracting to this single girl. But I'm not saying that I'm voting for either side based on appearance. This isn't high school student council president: I don't vote based on looks. I'll save looks-based voting for when the US of A elects our National Prom Queen.

In the interim, I don't see either as the clear winner. Is it too late to vote for Candidate Zero?

DIDJA EVER NOTICE...

That you never see purported Hollywood heartbreaker Ben Affleck and accused murderer Scott Peterson in the same place at the same time? I'm just sayin'.

A FRIEND'S STORY

Last week, the Philadelphia area was struck by tremendous storms. Lincoln Drive, in particular, pretty much became a river. My friend Suzanne was sitting there, in the car, in what she thought was traffic. Well, I'll let her article in the Philadelphia Inquirer tell you...

Really, folks. It's worth a read.

WRITING ON THE WALL

WHERE: At the freelance job that's sponsoring my shelter for this month
WHAT: A flyer on my office door


ARE YOU LONELY???

Don't like working on your own?
Hate making decisions?

THEN CALL A MEETING!
You can...

• SEE people
• DRAW flowcharts
• FEEL important
• IMPRESS your colleagues

All on COMPANY TIME!!!

MEETINGS: The practical alternative to work.



With a work ethic like that, what could go wrong?

FINALLY, POLITICS GETS INTERESTING

Thanks to new reader Square Peg for exposing me to Kerry Haters for Kerry. Discuss amongst yourselves.

SHORT ON TIME?

Short on time? Don't have time to watch TV? Giving Television Without Pity a run for their imaginary money is the precocious and Tivo-addicted Dawn Summers, with her own insightful and snarky recap of the current TV season, and predictions of which shows will suffer with awful ratings before slipping away...

If only she had let Buffy throw her into the Hellmouth at the end of Season Five, she might not feel this apparent need to stay glued to the TV for the benefit of all mankind. I guess that's part of being The Key.


[If terms like "Hellmouth" and "the Key" are nonsense to you, go rent Buffy the Vampire Slayer Seasons One through Five. Then rent Six. You'll thank me. Eventually.]

CRUSH-ON-A-QUASI-CELEBRITY, PART ONE

(Why "Part One"? Because this is me. There's always going to be a "Part Two." I'm like Quentin Tarantino that way. And in a whole host of other ways. In fact, sometimes, people can't tell me and Q apart. But that's another post. That will indicate I've lost all grip on reality.)

Since Jon Stewart got married and had a baby, I've been looking for a new love, baby. (This will come as a great relief to my friend who writes for the Daily Show--now that I'm not a potential stalker for his employer, he can finally relax and enjoy that second Emmy with the rest of their veritable "melting pot" of a staff.) Having previously explored the possibility of a nice Jewish Braff brother, I was upset to learn that they're all married or working on Scrubs in Los Angeles. Therefore, I concluded, geographically undesirable.

So I decided to focus on some of the more local yokels, people who I might conceivably meet in my improv circles or walking down the street. And then, a clear frontrunner for crush candidacy emerged: Candidate Zero. Or rather, Rob Heubel.

If you're like me, you're seeing him everywhere. In addition to Candidate Zero, who travels the country stumping for NetZero internet access, he's also Inconsiderate Cellphone Man. ("I miss you too, Nana," he says into the phone, making the "she's crazy" circles with his finger pointing to his temple. ) He's also that randomly familiar looking guy in the FedExKinkos and Solae Food ads. If you watch VH1's A to Z, where various funny folks and former campers of mine share alphabetized factoids about celebrities, you've seen him side-by-side with his regular comic collaborator Rob Riggle (who's now a featured player on SNL), as the two enact scenes loosely based on the facts (which are loosely based on reality, with a healthy side of gossipcolumn...it's all very "meta" and quite hilarious).

Why he draws me? Humor, obviously. But physically, he kind of reminds me of this guy I was in love with in high school. Of course, High School Megacrush rarely spoke to me, not because he was necessarily so popular, but because he was so off-the-charts smart that he made me feel intimidated talking to him. I liked him because he seemed accessible. More Duckie than Blaine, if y'all catch my drift. So I did John Hughes-ian things to get his attention, none of which yielded a "leaning over my birthday cake to kiss the object-of-my affection" scenario. (Not even once!) But that's another story for another time.

I know what you're thinking. "Esther, don't forget: he has to be Jewish." Believe me, I haven't forgotten. I don't know whether Rob's a Member of the Tribe. But unpublished scientific studies* have shown that just living in New York makes you 40% Jewish. Add to that "working full-time in the comedy industry" and you're another 35-40% Jewish. If he eats more than three bagels and lox in a given year (+10%) or has attended more than one Seder (+10%), that pushes him into a category ahead of many New York Jews. If he does all these things and is somehow still not Jewish, my advice: just schedule the bris and get it over with.

Still can't place him? Here's his UCB performer profile. Now that you've seen him here, you'll see him everywhere, trust me.

I've got a connection through the improv community. Will I use it? Hard to tell. I'm not that brave a person when it comes to this stuff. Right now, Rob's a candidate for my newest crush on a quasi-celebrity. There are others, but like I said, Candidate Zero's definitely a frontrunner.

And if the romance doesn't work out, I've put out some good karma for a fellow improviser. As I see it, it's a win-win. If he happens to find me, and find me hilarious, and wants to grant me some free UCB classes or suggest my name to his A to Z producers, I wouldn't say no.

ODE TO CANDY CORN, PART DEUX

Inspired by the lovely Miss Erin

Bowls of seasonal candy
herald the imminent advent of fall

Tiers of sweetness beckon
deepening in color as it widens

Layers of flavors change slightly
barely perceptibly

A mere taste of the confectionary pyramids
effortlessly conveys
every aspect of the autumnal
including annual dental appointments

EMOTIONAL? ME?

Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been a) watching Angels in America, b) just got back from visiting my friends who are mourning their father or c) wookin’ pa nub in all de wong paces, but Josh Groban’s “Remember When It Rains” just makes me melt.

I know he's young. I don’t even understand the words enough to remember them (I had to wait for the announcer to tell me the name of the song). But something about the orchestral, epic sound and the mellifluous resonance of his voice, and I’m in love. But then again, I loved his voice way back when, when he played the awkward teenager who took Ally McBeal to his prom.

GRATEFUL

To all those who responded to the grief of my last post, I thank you. You are the virtual representatives of the support system I realize I am so lucky to have.

Someday soon I'll write about the experience. Right now, I'm just going to try to get back to readying myself for the next (and last) set of holidays. Deadlines are king, whose monarchy is only threatened by my steadily mounting* need to clean my apartment before the holiday begins...



*Apologies to my friend Jill for using the word "mounting." I know she hates it. The word, that is.

CHRIS NOTH RETURNS

I just read in EW that original Jerry Orbach partner Chris Noth will be returning to Law & Order for a series of up to three movies...perhaps he'd care to join the cast for "my episode"? I'll have to shuffle around some story elements in the "Esther" and "Detective Stabler" storyline, but it might be worth it for all parties...

OPPOSITE OF NATIONAL CELIBACY DAY?

Votergasm.org was launched on September 4 by recent graduates of Columbia, Harvard, and University of Wisconsin-Madison. The site asks visitors to sign the Votergasm Pledge to have sex with a voter on election night—and withhold sex from non-voters for the next four years. In addition, it provides tools to organize election-night Votergasm parties and features erotic pictorial guides to activities such as requesting an absentee ballot.

Not quite the opposite of National Celibacy Day, I guess, since this is non-partisan. But it definitely links sex (and the abstention of/withholding from sex) with voting. Which is interesting, I guess--but it's obviously not for everyone.

So, as with the voting process itself, you have a choice:

National Celibacy Day (Democrats only)

Votergasm (for every voter who wants to have his or her ballot punched)

[Sorry. Couldn't resist it.]

THE FRIGHTENING

Thanks to Jack over at his shack for inspiring this foray into the fearful.

A short list in no particular order, from the no-brainer serious ones to the funnier, more tongue-in-cheek entries, of things that frighten me...

• The Shining
• when my friend bit my face right after we saw Silence of the Lambs
• that one photo over at JDate (you ladies know the one I mean)
• Britney Spears' wedding photos
• crashing airplanes (blame 9/11, that plane that crashed into a Queens neighborhood, and Donnie Darko)
• the morning I woke up with curly hair (it's straight, usually--oh the horror!)
• that I'll carry a credit card debt forever
• walking from the subway to my apartment at 3:30 am on a Saturday night because the boys I was with didn't walk me home
• slow dances at weddings
• that I'll never have a wedding
• that Scream mask
• that I'll run out of ideas for my column
• that something bad will happen to my brothers, parents or friends
• finding a hair in food I didn't make
• Ben Affleck's career
• that by the time I get married, I won't be able to have children
• bad spelling
• that this blog will crash and I'll lose all the creative efforts I've logged since February
• getting trapped on the subway during a blackout (check)
• that something will happen to me while I'm without health insurance
• that the family members of the mice that were in my old apartment seven years ago will track me down in my newer apartment and perpetrate a plot of rodential revenge
• Macaulay Culkin
• Renee Zellweger's scrunchy eyes
• that I'll never achieve the fame and happiness I deserve
• that I'll achieve the fame and happiness I deserve

There are probably more. Some I won't cop to in print or to myself. But these are the ones on my mind today...even if it's already TMI.

Share with me, won't you? What scares the bejeezus out of you?

SPOOKY...

...that it took a lunar eclipse (at the end of October) to break the curse of the Bambino and give the Red Sox their first win since 1910...

Halloween, anyone?

NON-PARTISAN FUN, TAKE 2

[Blogger is not my friend this morning. But I shall persevere! Thank you for your patience.]

Try this...because it's always fun to give the President a makeover.

My suggestion? Try the "evil eyes," they're excellent.

I HEART SOUTH PARK

After the all-too-real political situations of The West Wing—not to mention the surreal and upsettingly vitriolic world of actual politics--it’s a pleasure to watch South Park’s little animated characters conduct their campaigns for a new school mascot. (WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD)

The choices? In one corner, Giant Douche. In the other, Turd Sandwich. (It took me a minute to extrapolate the metaphor I had hoped would be in the season premiere of the irreverent series…) The process gets speared too…like voter registration drives designed to get people to vote for their candidate, vote campaigns organized by certain hip-hop moguls that threaten “Vote or Die.” And when one citizen (deciding that he cannot choose one candidate over the other because they both suck) decides not to vote at all, he is tied to the back of a horse with a bucket on his head and banished from South Park entirely. And if you think PETA activist French kissing a llama has nothing to do with doing your civic duty, you’d be wrong.

The greater lesson? Nearly every election since the beginning of time has been between a Giant Douche and a Turd Sandwich…

Who ever said television wasn't educational?



[And in case I haven't mentioned it yet today, I can't wait for this election to be over.]

THE WEST WING

For the first time since its cancellation, I'm glad Angel isn't on anymore. Now, I can get back to the West Wing, the show that even further confuses my understanding of today's politics.

What with the presence of Josh Malina, peace talks between Palestinians and Israelis, and Shabbat dinner with the President, watching this whole season's a goshdarned mitzvah. Jewish, and not watching? Bad Jew.

Is it too late to vote for President Bartlet?

LAW & ORDER: RANDOM CAMEOS GONE WILD

I'm very fond of "gone wild." I think I shall use it often.

Last night was Random Cameo Night on Law & Order. Kevin Smith shows up as “Guy Who Moves Boxes in Warehouse,” and Darrell Hammond portrayed “Smarmy Kiddie Porn Guy.” I’m pretty sure they were both on SVU, but Kevin Smith might have been on the original.

So many actors have cycled in and out of L&O franchises over the years. I keep waiting for the time when I flip on USA or (the Drama of) TNT and find that unbeknownst to the apparently somnambulant me, I too have been on a L&O episode.

What was my role? It probably went something like this.

ESTHER'S CAMEO ON LAW AND ORDER, TAKE ONE

AUDIO: GUNK GUNK [the trademark L&O sound]

GRAPHIC: Upper West Side, 4:45 pm

STABLER: [Knocking at the door] Open up, ma’am, police.

ESTHER: Police? What’s going on?

BENSON: We’re investigating a serious crime. Have you seen anything unusual?

ESTHER: Not really.

STABLER: Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?

ESTHER: No.

BENSON: What about David Greenberg, from down the hall, did you know him?

ESTHER: We said hi a few times. He was cute, but nothing came of it. Sorry I can’t help.

STABLER: Thank you.

[Boooorrring. “Get me rewrite!”]

ESTHER'S CAMEO ON LAW AND ORDER, TAKE TWO

AUDIO: GUNK GUNK [the trademark L&O sound]

GRAPHIC: Upper West Side, 4:45 pm

STABLER: [Knocking at the door] Open up, ma’am, police.

ESTHER: I’ll open up, just don’t call me ma’am. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am. Police? What’s going on?

BENSON: We’re investigating a serious crime. Have you seen anything unusual?

ESTHER: Not really. Oh wait, the sign over Deli Kasbah’s a little strange.

STABLER: Deli Kasbah…is that Moroccan?

ESTHER: It’s Messianic, I think. [a beat] Deli Kasbah’s around the corner. It’s a kosher restaurant, and they show videos of the Lubavitcher Rebbe while you eat your pastrami burger.

BENSON: That is unusual. We should investigate it.

ESTHER: You think that’s strange, the sign over the restaurant’s in French, and promises diners an “advance taste of Messianic meat.”

BENSON: Sounds like a homicidal threat.

ESTHER: And they quote from Psalms: “And bulls shall be offered.”

STABLER: So they’re religious fanatics, too. I’m calling for backup.

ESTHER: No need. I was joking. Sigh. I forgot that you cops aren’t big on sense of humor.

STABLER: That’s right. We’re serious. Belzer’s the comic relief. Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?

ESTHER: I guess you don’t mean that my downstairs neighbor-slash-wannabe rock star has switched to a more powerful amplification system? Then that would be a no.

BENSON: What about David Greenberg, from down the hall, did you know him?

ESTHER: Which David Greenberg? There are two on this floor, and three more on 5, 9 and 12. This is the Upper West Side: you can’t fling a Metrocard without hitting a David Greenberg.

STABLER: This particular David Greenberg is about my height and build. [He flexes his biceps, and pivots to give her a good look.]

ESTHER: [Stares longingly at Detective Stabler.]

BENSON: Ms. Kanstandovits? Do you know the Greenberg we mean?

ESTHER: Sorry, I was [pauses] distracted. Yeah, I knew David. We said hi a few times. He was cute, but nothing came of it. He’s real shy, and kept to himself most of the time. I used to see his mail…tons of internet magazines. I think he was some sort of programming genius. Is he in some kind of trouble?

BENSON: You could say that. He’s been harassing Jewish women all over town via a popular Internet dating service.

STABLER: His profile name is “KingofJDate,” ever hear of him?

ESTHER: Oh please, as if I’d click on anyone whose profile name proclaimed him a monarch of a kingdom no one wants to be in to begin with…

BENSON: That’s a no, then?

ESTHER: Well, I’ve never clicked on him. But I know people who have clicked on that name. He kept sending them instant messages that had no discernible purpose or content. That was David Greenberg? His picture looks nothing like the David Greenberg I knew. Just goes to prove the old saying, “Cute in real life, freak on the internet.”

STABLER: I’m not familiar with that one.

ESTHER: [smitten] I know you’re not, Detective. But believe me, it’s true.

BENSON: Can you provide us with contact information for the women who have been harassed?

ESTHER: I can give you a few names. But what you should really do is ask the company to provide you with their records. I guarantee that this is a much more widespread problem than just the handful of people I’m aware of.

STABLER: [to Benson] I still think we should check out that potential Moroccan terrorist cell.

ESTHER: Terrorist cell? Oh, you mean Deli Kasbah. They’re totally legit. A little weird, sure, but that doesn’t make them terrorists.

STABLER: Fair enough. Maybe I’ll pick up a sandwich instead.

BENSON: Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been very helpful.

ESTHER: [glares] I told you, don’t ma’am me. We’re the same age. But I have a question for you? Is this really today’s top priority for SVU?

STABLER: Oh, we’re not SVU anymore.

BENSON: We’re heading up the newest division of the NYPD. A special Jewish unit.

COMMERCIAL BREAK: PROMO FOR NEW SERIES

V.O.—This season, join Detectives Stabler and Benson for the greatest challenge of their careers.

They battle interdenominational sniping, break up rumbles at Jewish singles events, and sniff out the copepods in tap water, as members of New York’s newest elite fighting squad.

LAW & ORDER: Special Jewish Unit. Coming soon to NBC.

Then to USA. Then to TNT.

GRAPHIC:
LAW & ORDER: SJU.

AUDIO:
[GUNK, GUNK.]

PURIM V. HALLOWEEN

Four years ago, I wrote a piece comparing Purim and Halloween for Gen-X webzine Generation J...

I always remember to resurrect this article for Purim, but I always forget 'round Halloween.

A taste of the candy in your plastic pumpkin that contains this article:

Recently, someone asked me whether I liked Purim better than Halloween. It seemed like such an odd question; the holidays had been so distinctly incomparable in my mind. But upon consideration, perhaps because my name is Esther, perhaps because of my Jewish background, I would have to say that Purim unequivocally kicks Halloween's rump. Of course, I am slightly biased: If Halloween featured a Queen Esther, I might be inclined to change my preference. But I doubt it.

Check it out here: Purim and Halloween: An Ideological Face-Off.

BREAKFAST OF TROJANS

This is officially my favorite story of the day. Nothing can top this. Except maybe a nice cream cheese frosting. Or some spermicide.

A young Manhattan woman split open her breakfast muffin — only to find what seemed to be a condom baked inside.

That's right! A writer at MTV Networks had eaten nearly half her carrot-nut, cream-cheese topped muffin, before she found the offending piece of latex. Although most likely, it is the tip of a sterile glove that was worn by a bakery worker, The New York Post, God bless 'em, decided it was a condom.

My prediction: Within two months, everyone at her office is calling her "Muffin."

And, as a special PSA to my MTVN readers, I want to tell you that this occurrence transpired in the 50th Street building. So, Bex, brother Simmy, and my colleagues in the MTVN Creative Services department need not worry. The Lodge is still as safe as it ever was. For whatever that's worth...

JEWISH CONFERENCE ALERT!

Now that the holidays are over, we Jews just don’t know what to do with ourselves! So we have professional workshops and conferences, to keep ourselves busy and so that we can keep playing Jewish geography with new and exciting people.

Toward this goal, and because nobody's asked me to attend UJC's General Assembly, I’ve registered for one of each…maybe you’ll join me!

THIS SUNDAY...October 31, Lishmah Day of Jewish Learning
http://www.lishmah.org/ to register and for complete program

By creating an extraordinary one-day experience for Jews from across social, political, and denominational lines, Lishmah aims to inspire a revival in Jewish learning that touches the entire community. Choose from over 100 different workshops, film screenings, discussion groups, lectures, and panel discussions. Discover the biblical prophecy of Moses and the prophetic rock & roll of Bob Dylan. Listen to the exotic voices of Sephardic song and the joyful sounds of klezmer. Unearth the mystical teachings of Kaballah and engage in feminist readings of the stories of Rachel and Ruth. Explore the ways in which Jewish text and tradition relate to contemporary issues ranging from the environment to reproductive rights to tabloid gossip to the war on terrorism.

November 7-8, American Jewish Press Association’s Freelancers’ Workshop

AJPA's first ever Freelance Workshop is a seminar in Manhattan, featuring a variety of experts to sharpen your writing, researching and marketing skills. I'm not sure if registration's still open, but check it out at: http://www.ajpa.org/

SNL AND "WHAT THE HELL?"

Apparently, we've discovered a new law of SNL. Either that, or maybe I'm overreacting when I say "What the hell?"

SNL Law #53 (often referred to as "the Jude Law")
Any episode starring Jude Law must possess bizarre sketches starring bears ("Bear City") and screw up one of the musical sequences, causing musical guest Ashlee Simpson (also known as "the brunette one") to do a hoedown to the pre-recorded vocals of the song she had already sung earlier in the show. Then, during closing credits, said lesser Simpson must apologize to the hordes in the television audience and blame it on her band for playing the wrong intro.

Poor Ashlee. First, she has to be the brunette. Then her boyfriend breaks up with her. Now this. You know that her manager, who is also her father, is going to give her a talking to on this one.

And poor me. Now I must erase the memory of having witnessed "The Jude Law" so I can sleep. How shall I achieve this? What would Brian Boitano do? Ah, yes...ask, and ye shall receive from Comedy Central...an airing of "South Park: Bigger Longer and Uncut"...

(How many times do I have to see this movie before it stops being funny? So hilarious...)

FNN247.COM

If you like The Daily Show (and let's face it, you do), try The Fake News Network. All the fake news you need. (No Jon at this site, but this enterprise is the brainchild of several Chicago City Limits/Upright Citizens Brigade alumni, including my former teacher Joe O'Brien.)

BOSTON V. NEW YORK

And I bet you all thought this was going to be about baseball. Nuh-uh.

My kvetch for today...Why can't New York do cool stuff like this?

Queer Soup, creators of underground theatre sensation "Buffy the Vampire Slayer's High School Reunion" join us in person for a special sing-a-long show of the classic musical episode of Joss Whedon's beloved cult TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. We'll have goodie bags full of interactive activities (and plastic vampire teeth, of course), subtitles so you can join in the singing, and our ringleader cast who will guide us through two of the best episodes of our favorite televison show: "Once More With Feeling" (aka, the musical episode) and "Hush". --Via Whedonesque.com

Any Boston area readers who want to check it out, report back and make me exceedingly jealous will be appreciative of this address, where the shindig sing-along is taking place.

Coolidge Corner Movie Theatre
290 Harvard Street
Brookline MA
617-734-2501 (office) 617-734-2500 (recorded information)

http://www.coolidge.org/

Dude, I miss this friggin' show.

POLITICKING--NATIONAL CELIBACY DAY

Apparently, November 2 has been proclaimed as National Celibacy Day. I know this from my friend Mr. Internet, who provides me with tantalizing tidbits and then does not explain himself by supplying bibliographies.

The email I received (from several people, I might add) had no discernible origin and read:

Remember: November 2 is National Celibacy Day. No Bush. No Dick.

And that's all. No website, or "for more information" or "brought to you by your friends at..." Where'd this come from? And for Heaven's sake, WHY?

Look, I keep proclaiming that I don't talk politics here, and now I'm gonna. I'm a Democrat. And I have Republican friends. (Yes, even Jewish ones.) And I've been resisting the pull of partisan posting, because I just want everyone to get along. I do not wish my words to be divisive. As someone once said, whether or not you believe him, "I am a uniter, not a divider."

But I cannot stay silent any longer, because with this, we have reached apopleptic idiocy.

I ask you--is there any benefit, to anyone of either party, to proclaiming a National Celibacy Day?

Are people who participate in this going to walk around wearing T-shirts reading "I'm not having sex today?" (The marketing guru in me would like to suggest additional mottoes for these fictional T-shirts..."Lysistrata ain't got nothin' on me!" and "It's no headache...it's my political manifesto.") Otherwise, we have no idea who they are, and we're all on the honor system.

What about all the people who are celibate anyway? I know the media would have us believe that everyone's either thinking about it or doing it 24/7, but if you think about it, that means no one would have any time for blogging. Plus, the workplace would become a tricky kind of environment to navigate, what with people passing up meetings for matings. It takes two to tango, I'm told, and if sitcom is to be believed, all over the United States there are couples who are abstaining from coupling because they're too tired. Do they get retroactive credit for "observing" this Day? Then there are all the religious reasons for which people (from all faiths) are celibate. In high school we used to call this de facto celibacy being "shomer negiah*, but not by choice."

Because the credo of National Celibacy Day seems to be anti-Bush, I'm going to assume that the edict is of Democratic origin, which really embarrasses me. It seems as random as National Inside Out Underwear Day, or National Generic Brand Chocolate Chips Day, or National Walking Down Amsterdam Instead of Broadway Day. Because no one will know you're doing it unless you tell them, and once you tell them, they will look at you like you just announced that Britney Spears has joined your shul. (Actually, given Brit's embrace of Kabbalah, that's a bad example, because it is more likely to happen.)

This kind of proclamation doesn't make any kind of political statement and, barring the use of invasive home videotaping or a spare CSI team testing your clothes for "DNA," your participation in this purported phenomenon is inherently unprovable.

What do I suggest? At this point, let us not declare any other special Day until after Election Day. Vote for whichever candidate floats your political (fishing? or Swift?) boat. Wear a ten-gallon hat, or a Kerry/Edwards button, or a T-shirt that proclaims your loyalty, if you must make a statement.

Pat Benatar said it best: "Stop using sex as a weapon."


*Define shomer negiah? Oy. Here's Jewish.com to help.

GOOGLE SAVES LIVES

Google is a superhero for our generation. In addition to saving singles everywhere from having to ask countless questions about their blind dates (New guy in your life seem a little misanthropic? Just Google him, and find out in seconds if he's an axe murderer!), now Google has saved someone's life:

An excerpt from the story:
"Iraqi militants who kidnapped a reporter in Baghdad and threatened to kill him Googled his name to investigate his work before releasing him unharmed. Australian John Martinkus was seized early on Saturday and held for nearly 24 hours before being freed. Martinkus said his kidnappers initially threatened to kill him, before checking on his background.He said he was treated well once he had told his kidnappers he was an independent reporter not linked to the United States-led coalition in Iraq."

Now, I'm not going to Iraq anytime soon. But it's worth giving some thought to the question (Carrie Bradshaw moment looming):

In this day and age of technology's reign as Supreme Being, could the internet be the new Book of Life?

I'm not 100% happy with that Carrie Bradshaw moment. I may try again later. In the meantime, discuss amongst yourselves...I'll give you a topic:

If Iraqi militants Googled you, would they release you based on your writing?

My answer? I'm probably too Jewish for their own comfort--even if I wrote a thousand posts denouncing this "imperialist occupation." That's why I've cancelled my vacation in the lush tropical wetlands of Iraq. Sigh.

Maybe next year, my beloved land of endless sand and missiles. This year, you shall remain but an unattainable dream.

SOME ANTICS WITH SEMANTICS

(Author’s warning to parents and religious readers:

This post is rated PG-13, for mature subject matter and foul language.)

Discussion topic: A sign on the inside of the toilet stall door

The sign reads:

NOTICE THERE IS NO DISPENSER FOR YOUR MONTHLY DISPOSABLE

WRAP IT AND PLEASE TAKE YOUR DISPOSABLE

AND PLACE IT AT THE DISPENSER IN THE NEXT ROOM.

Anonymous signs like these are my Moriarty, my arch-nemesis-se-ses*. There's no accountability, just a giant finger wagging at you for something bad you haven't done yet. Where do I begin?

Perhaps I shall begin with “monthly disposable,” which I take to mean “feminine hygiene products,” specifically maxi pads and tampons. It’s such a delicate term that it feels like it’s been imported from a Jane Austen novel. (“Dear Diary, Mr. Darcy does flatter with his slight indication of interest. I should like to ruminate on the incline of his head as metaphor for his fine lineage and breeding, but I must now retire to my private chambers, where I shall unpin my tight chignon and make womanly use of my monthly disposable.”) Of course, we women often dispose of more than one item over the course of menses, so it’s not a “monthly” disposable in the strictest sense of the word.

Then, there’s the word dispenser. A Pez dispenser dispenses Pez. The bathroom already has a products dispenser, that if we are to believe the above definition of monthly disposable, dispenses maxi pads and tampons. I know that’s not where they want the readers to put their monthly disposables that they otherwise would have put in the garbage. The sign-writers don’t mean “dispenser.” They mean “receptacle,” an easy mistake (unless you understand that those words are opposites).

And as far as place it at the dispenser is concerned, I’m not doing that either. (“Place the offending material at the base of the Great Dispenser, as an offering of your womanhood.”) It’s like that George Carlin bit about the airplane: “Get on the plane? Fuck you, I’m getting IN the plane!”

Lastly, there's the obvious joke. But don't blame me for this one. It's not my fault that there's no punctuation at the end of the first sentence. Say it with me, now: "CAN I GET A PERIOD?"

Here’s a suggestion. Don’t use words unless you know what they mean. If you can’t tell the difference between dispenser and receptacle, go with something simpler. Perhaps a humble “Use the trashcan” would suffice? Or trust the users of a bathroom to know what to do with garbage? Or, if you insist on being so fancy and using MENSA-level words like these, may I suggest that you have someone look at the sign before you post it?

I know, I’m a linguistic elitist who is probably doomed to a life on the social periphery because of her criticism of the less- or differently-educated. If that’s my reputation, so be it. Put it on my tombstone, for Heaven's sake. Just spell it right.


*Not a typo; an homage to Buffy Season Six, the episode where the Trio invents an invisibility ray. God, I sound like a geek. I'm waiting for William Shatner to jump out from behind a desk and tell me to "Get a Life."

WHY I LOVE FORBIDDEN BROADWAY

Because it's "Forbidden," silly.

Another reason? Aside from the fact that it's my ideal off-Broadway role, both as a writer and performer? OK, you asked for it:

I love Forbidden Broadway because the latest incarnation is called "FORBIDDEN BROADWAY: SVU." The addition of the three little letters is an indicator of the fact that the writers have their fingers on the pulse of pop culture, incorporating trends from other Broadway shows and other cultural institutions...

Want discount tix? I just got an email from SmartTix.com--here's what you have to do:

FORBIDDEN BROADWAY: SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT
Offer valid for performances October 18 – December 25 (order by November 15)

$25 tickets available: Tue 8:00PM,Wed 2:30PM, Sat 4:00PM
$32 tickets available: Mon, Fri, Sat 8:15PM, Sun 3:30 & 7:30PM

The Douglas Fairbanks Theatre
432 West 42nd Street
New York City
(between 9th and 10th Avenues)

To order:
1. Visit www.BroadwayOffers.com and use code FB32STX.
2. Call Telecharge.com at 212 947-8844 and use code FB32STX.

Blogger theater night, anyone?

CHARMED, I'M SURE

In sleep, I dream not of genies, but of witches. Not witches of Eastwick, or wicked witches of the west or other weathervaned directions, not even of Willow and Tara. These witches are sisters, and live in the magical land known as the WB.

I would like to be like Piper, who has the power to freeze time, or, when feelings are intensified, explode objects or demons that stand in the way of good winning the day. I would like to be like Phoebe, the boy-crazy, premonition-haunted one, who has the power to see the future and transform a tragic outcome into a peaceful one. I would like to be a master of potions like Paige, an herbalist of the highest order, who could cure what ails people and banish demons into the ether.

I would have gladly accepted the gifts of doomed eldest sister Prue, whose ability to move objects with her mind would be of great help to me in organizing my apartment, but when witches cast spells for their own personal gain, there's always a backlash. The ability to orb from one place to another would save me many Metrocards and stupid little black umbrellas that I keep purchasing, breaking and then trashing in Manhattan's many rainstorms.

Or perhaps I'd rather be a Whitelighter, bearing the power to heal the sick in an instant, and able to beam myself up to the Elders and pose my questions regarding the state of the world, and the balance between good and evil. They'd discourage my queries, and restrict access to the information I craved, but at least they'd know I'd challenged them.

I would live in a house on a hill in San Francisco, close to the bay, with my sisters. We would not be mere witches, but magical Charmed ones, whose power would cause Evil to quake like the shifts of tectonic plates beneath the West Coast. I would fight for what is Good and Right and Just. I would date demons and wizards and cops and magazine editors, always seeing the good within them but my secret always serving as terminator to any nascent relationship. I would help the police solve crimes without any tricky forensics training, orbing into jail cells to talk with prisoners, brewing potions to help people become more tolerant of each other. When times were too difficult to bear alone, I would consult a great book which would provide me with answers. And when solutions still eluded me, I would call on the spirits of my ancestors to share their wisdom, and they would appear to me as solid and tangible as my own flesh.

Call me witchy woman, if you will. I answer only to Good.

MY NEW FAVORITE SITE

Ever heard a song in a commercial and been all, like, "I've totally heard that song before! What was that song called?"

Well, welcome to the Internet, where all research requires is a search engine...

What's That Called?

What commercial led me to do this search? That Jaguar XJ commercial. It says it's a Moby song, so I'll have to check my one Moby CD to see if I have it. If not, I'm just going to have to chance a Kazaa download...

THE 42nd LAW OF SNL

Saturday Night Live has become an icon, an American television institution. And like any good institution, there are certain rules that have to be followed.

For instance, the 42nd Law of SNL, which reads as follows:

"Should a cast member decide not to renew his contract, and decides to pursue movie superstardom, said cast member is automatically entitled to his own special, entitled "The Best of INSERT NAME OF DEPARTED CAST MEMBER." Said special will air way before loyal audiences have had a chance to miss the departed cast member, or before that cast member's box office bankability has been proven. Depending on the talent and range of said cast member, said special will either create an instant nostalgia for him or reaffirm the conviction of the audience that maybe he wasn't really that good to begin with if he couldn't get through an entire sketch without cracking up."

There is a corollary to this law:

"If said departed cast member is a woman, no effort will be made to remember their work in any meaningful way. No 'Best of' compilation will be produced or aired. And they will be on their own to achieve based on their merits. SNL will take all credit for any post-show meteoric rises of former female cast members (see also 'The Julia Louis-Dreyfus Effect'), but will not be held responsible for any crash-and-burn acting attempts (see also 'The Mary Gross Effect')."

DANCES WITH TORAHS

Over at JDaters Anonymous, you can read my latest article:

Dances With Torahs

STRATEGY

After careful study of the Internet, and in an attempt to garner more hits from Google searches, I've decided to pepper my blog with the following phrases:

Princess Leia in the gold bikini
rabbis sex scandal
I hate JDate
Bush sucks
Saruman rules
Greedo shoots first
Lindsay Lohan boobies
Paris Hilton video
Kerry sucks
miracle fat burning pill
Frodo and Sam are lovers
I dated Ben Affleck
OJ innocent
Kabbalah Madonna
Bruce Demi Ashton menage
Derek Jeter butt
Spuds McKenzie
Ashton Kutcher rocket science
Justin Timberlake
Gandalf the Grey
Anna Kournikova Jewish
Crawford Texas live Bush Twins videocam
William Hung
Sarah Jessica Parker Gap ads
Geico gecko
Taco Bell chihuahua
Zach Braff Zach Braff Zach Braff

A LOVELY DAY

The air tonight was perfect. Cool, but not chilly.

Began my day with Chayyei Sarah. But not in the usual virtual way--today is different. We sit at the outside cafe area at a bagel shop on the Upper West Side, and have bagels and coffee. (OK, the coffee was just this New York writer--the Israeli had water.) We schmooze like the old friends we've become through the magic of the blogosphere, and the hours fly by.

Then it's back to "the office," where I work through my interview questions and draft an outline for my next singles column about Jewtopia, the new comedic import from L.A. that's breaking records even before it finishes previews.

I head back to midtown in rush hour and fight my way to West 43rd Street to the Westside Theater. It's at this point that I realize that I've been way overdressed all day. I peel layers, and meet with Sam Wolfson and Bryan Fogel, the writers, actors and producers of Jewtopia. They're clever, intelligent and fun; I enjoy the inside look at their creative process, and fall a little bit in love.

I walk a few extra blocks to a subway stop that's a bit further away, so I can be a part of the human parade of midtown. I'm vaguely aware that I'm smiling.

Home again. Then, checking in with one of my favorite Blogheads, I see that Miriam has posted her long-awaited article about women bloggers in which she mentions both my blog and that of my brunch partner.

And now, the glory that is the Presidential debate. Except for that last detail, a pretty terrific day. And a fairly self-indulgent post. But I guess it happens to the best of us.

BATTLE OF THE NETWORKED JEWS

You may know the old joke about the Jew who is marooned on an island for many years. Finally, he is rescued. His rescuers find that, during his time on the island, the castaway has built two shuls. Why? Because, he said, pointing at one of the structures, THAT ONE I wouldn't be caught dead in.

In an age of Friendster, Ryze, Orkut and LinkedIn, it was only a matter of time before the "one Jew, two shuls" concept was applied to networking sites. An early entry was J2J Networking, a serious networking site for Jewish professionals.

Let the battle of the social networking sites begin:

In one corner: JEWSTAR.COM

In the other: JEWISHGEOGRAPHY.ORG

Jewstar is a networking tool that is highly derivative of Friendster--you invite people to join your network, fill out a profile of yourself and your affiliations, then write testimonials of your friends. You can search for someone by name, affiliation, school, etc...Call it Friendster with a bris.

JewishGeography also provides search engines. On further investigation, I realize that the site is extremely old. Apparently, judging by my email address, I joined it seven years ago. The last time anyone on their end updated their site was May of 2000. I guess that in this race, it's no contest--Jewstar wins this match. Too bad, I like the JewishGeography site and name better.

NEXT MATCH

champion JEWSTAR

vs.

chutzpadik challenger JMERICA

Coming soon to [grimacing in advance] Pay-Per-Jew.

(What? Is that any worse than "Coming soon to [grimacing again] a theater near Jew?")

I NEED YOU: JEWTOPIA

If you've seen Jewtopia (either in L.A. or in its new run in New York), I need your opinion for an article I'm writing about the show, which I'm seeing tonight. Please send your comments to: myurbankvetch@hotmail.com.

Many thanks!

MAN OR SUPERMAN*

Like most girls of the 80s, I spent more than a few years in love with Christopher Reeve**. There was no way around it. I didn’t even mind the tights, which—let’s face it—were a little too, um, tight. There was something about the perfect black curl over his forehead, the stammering self-doubt of Clark Kent paired with the supreme superness of Superman, combined with the smile to end all smiles, that appealed to my inner geek and my inner princess at the same time.

That is not to say that I was in love with all the Superman movies. One and Two were terrific. (Two was especially fun, with the campy extremeness of Ursa, Non, and Terence Stamp’s General Zod invading “Planet Houston.”) But then there were strange plot and casting decisions (Mariel Hemingway? Nuclear weapons?) that forced a disenchantment with the exploits of this particular superhero. Not that implausible plotlines and less-than-stellar dialogue detracted from Reeve's/Superman's innate superness. He was (as many comic book heroes were) half-geek, half-god, outwardly all-American and intrinsically alien. But it was the humility in the man behind the muscle, the Clark within the Kal-El, that drew us all to him.

The classic inner battle for Superman, the character, has always been that he’s a freak among men. He may be able to help save the citizens of Earth on a daily basis, but he will never fully belong. His alienness will always outweigh his humanity. He knows it. He’s ashamed by it. And he tries to suppress it so that he can be like everyone else. Every superhero goes through it, the desire to be normal, flawed, human.

While a superhero can leap tall buildings in a single bound, an actor, being mere mortal, is unable to recover from a fall while horseback riding. Seeing a virile man in his physical prime struck down by paralysis is hard enough. Logically, we all knew it wasn’t Superman who was paralyzed. But that still didn’t stop the thoughts from coming: how could we integrate the solid image of Superman with the shrunken remnant of his injured portrayer? It was as if an individual humanity had asserted itself over a hero’s immortality, becoming his Kryptonite.

Where there is tragedy, there is grief that the end is near, fear that there will be no recovery, depression that tomorrow will bring only more suffering. But Christopher Reeve showed that where there is love, support, and respect, there is hope. His family rallied around him in his impossible medical situation, providing him with hope and faith, and an environment of support that convinced him that, someday, he would walk again. From then on, every figurative step he made was toward that goal.

When Christopher Reeve was seen in public for the first few times after his accident, we were all shocked at the deterioration. Healthy shock of black hair—gone. Strong limbs and solid frame—atrophied. Resonant voice—reduced to a rasp as he breathed and spoke through the oxygen tubes he needed to survive.

But we all soon saw that his physical limitations were not constraining his intellectual and emotional energy, which he funneled into spinal cord injury research. He used his celebrity status to call attention to research, and to raise funds for the study of traumatic injury. The Superman money undoubtedly helped. But he managed to make a significant impact on scientific study, and served as role model to thousands worldwide. He spoke at college graduations and medical conventions. He became a spokesperson for stem cell research, a field that he believed held a cure for his otherwise incurable condition. On Capitol Hill, he lobbied for better insurance protection against traumatic injury and his tireless efforts on behalf of stem cell research were invoked by Senator John Kerry during the second Presidential debate. Reeve even directed a 1998 remake of the Hitchcock classic Rear Window, in which he also acted—the role, initially defined by Jimmy Stewart, was redefined by Reeve’s performance, acted within the all-too-real constraints of his own immobilizing injury. (He even won a SAG award for this performance.)

His skin could not deflect bullets. The Superman known by Generation X was proven to be a mere mortal—eminently fallible, delicately human. But in the end, Christopher Reeve was undeterred. That he couldn’t walk didn’t mean that forward strides weren’t possible. His was a life of progress. To his last moments, he kept moving forward—still fast as a locomotive, still able to hurdle great obstacles in a single bound. And he managed to do it without ever leaving his chair.


*For a comprehensive obit, see http://entertainment.msn.com/movies/article.aspx?news=170270
**A minor note: As a journalist-to-be, I was also a little in love with Margot Kidder’s Lois Lane, a feeling not duplicated by the arrival of subsequent Loises like Teri Hatcher and whoever’s on Smallville now. Feh. Of course, Margot Kidder turned out to be Anne Heche-crazy, or something, so that doesn’t say much for my judgment.

CHRISTOPHER REEVE

I'll have my own take on this later, but in the interim, here's an interesting piece about what Reeve's reaction to his limitations can teach us about life. I found the end of the article to be particularly moving in terms of redefining superheroism.

AMY SOHN INTERVIEW

My interview with Amy Sohn (writer of My Old Man, Run Catch Kiss and the New York Magazine column "Naked City") is up at JDaters Anonymous. Click here to read it...

LIKE A CANDIDATE...RUNNING FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME

Here's some news about Madonna. No, not me. And not the Madonna who's like, totally, into Kabbalah these days. This Madonna, over at the Material Blog. She's announced her candidacy for President. Her running mate is Jello Biafra, former frontman of the Dead Kennedys and an active public speaker/activist since 1987. (Madonna says that he was nominated by the Green Party of New York in the 2000 election. )

Although my Republican readers aren't really going to like her plans for investigating Halliburton, among others, I think she proposes some interesting choices for her leadership cabinet. John Grisham for Attorney General. Ken Jennings for Secretary of Education. And others...

Which begs the question: If you were running for President, who would you select as your running mate*? Who would you want in your cabinet? Discuss amongst yourselves.


* You know me. You know my answer to everything is "Jon Stewart." Only he'd have to be the Presidential nominee and I'd be his running mate, because I think he's smarter than I am. As for the cabinet choices, my other answer to everything, Ellen DeGeneres, would have to be in there somewhere. I'd try to manage cabinet/diplomatic positions for someone like Carson Daly or Roger Lodge (the host from Blind Date), who could be a good judge of character and deliver a snarky comment or two when one was desperately needed...or maybe Jeff Probst, who could vote people off the island of an American coalition if they didn't follow the rules. No worries, America, I'm in no danger of being elected.

TRUMP: THE FRAGRANCE (The Commercial) DRAFT ONE

NEW YORK - Aramis and Designer Fragrances, a division of high-end cosmetics firm Estee Lauder Cos., said Thursday it signed a multi-year deal naming real estate mogul and reality television star Donald Trump as the spokesperson for a new men's fragrance called "Donald Trump, The Fragrance." The company said the product is slated for an exclusive U.S. launch in mid-November at Federated Department Stores and will have a suggested retail price of $60 for a 100ml/3.4 oz. bottle.

TRUMP: THE FRAGRANCE (THE COMMERCIAL) DRAFT ONE

Interior: An office. SAM, a male employee is harried, visibly unkempt and disorganized. Papers fly everywhere. Much to his distress, at this precise moment, DONALD TRUMP walks by, flanked by various lackeys. Trump pauses before the male employee and shakes his head.

TRUMP: Sam, I'd like to see you in the boardroom.

SAM: But Mr. Trump, I--

LACKEY: Mr. Trump has spoken. [Pulls out trumpet and sounds a regal flourish.]

Second Interior: Mr. Trump's boardroom. Trump and Sam sit opposite each other.

Sam is sweating. Trump is flanked by various lackeys.

TRUMP: Sam, your level of disorganization brings new meaning to the word disorganization. Your desk is an embarrassment to the Trump Corporation. Surely you must realize that you're a terrible office manager. And since we're here in the boardroom, there's only one thing left for me to do.

SAM: Mr. Trump, don't say it.

TRUMP: Oh, I'm not gonna say it, I'm gonna spray it.

Lackey presents Trump with a gold tray, studded with diamonds, on which sits an outrageously ostentatiously designed atomizer. Trump removes cap of the atomizer, which is decorated with a [tight close-up] marble minibust of the famous Trump head featuring an artistic rendering of his famous comb-over, and sprays it at the offending employee. Sam sniffs the air, and feels a great peace come over him. He understands.

SAM: I'm...fired?


TRUMP: That's right, Sam. [Turns to camera] Hi, I'm Donald Trump. Both in real life and on my hit reality show "the Apprentice," I fire hundreds of people each day. Leading doctors at the Donald Trump Institute for Trumpalicious Medical Research have indicated that all this employee termination is hell on my vocal cords. Plus, doing this [makes the famous "You're fired" gesture with his fingers] has given me carpal tunnel syndrome. But now with new "Trump: The Fragrance," I can say "you're fired," without damaging my voice or my hand. Just a spray, and people automatically understand they're out of a job. Here's my personal physician, C. Everett Koop, to explain how my new fragrance works.

KOOP: Trump's new fragrance contains a special custom blend of sodium pentathol, pheromones and MDMA. The sodium pentathol, sometimes referred to as "truth serum," guarantees that the only things soon-to-be-ex-employees take with them from TrumpCorp are the pictures of their family.

TRUMP: That's right! If they've squirrelled away any Swingline staplers or 3M post-it notes or Bic gel pens, Trump: The Fragrance helps me find out before their security clearance is revoked. [Laughs merrily, like Santa Claus with a jillion dollars.]

KOOP: The pheromones and MDMA leave the sprayee with a gentle warming sensation, as if they've just done a shot of whiskey or a couple of tabs of acid, making the departure process easier for both terminee and terminator.

TRUMP: Terminator, I guess that's me. Good thing I bought that little copyright from James Cameron last year. [Laughs again. Then hardens face into stone mask.] Firing yokels like Sam is a waste of time and physical stamina for someone of my stature. Aren't you important enough to deserve a fragrance like Trump? You know it's gotta be the best. It has my name on it.

V/O seductive woman: Don't say "you're fired." Spray it. Trump: the Fragrance: available in boardrooms everywhere.

Fine print subscript on screen throughout commercial:

By purchasing Trump the Fragrance, you are agreeing to indemnify Donald Trump and all his subsidiary companies from any future claims or litigations concerning this product.

Commercial use of sodium pentathol, pheromones and MDMA has not been approved by the Food and Drug Administration.

Individuals who have been sprayed with Trump the Fragrance may experience tingling in extremities, temporary hearing loss and overactive libido. In select individuals, use of MDMA may lead to participation in rave culture and LSD-style hallucinations. Users with weak constitutions may experience rectal bleeding or disorientation.

If you have been sprayed with Trump: The Fragrance, please refrain from swimming for at least 30 minutes after exposure.

Packaging may contain radiation or asbestos from the ceilings of Atlantic City casinos.

The Apprentice is an official copyright and anyone utilizing the name in print must pay Mr. Trump a user's fee of 14 million ducats or the hand in marriage/ indentured servitude of their firstborn daughter.

Promotional considerations for this ad have been provided by Swingline staplers, 3M post-it notes and Bic gel pens.

IN ISRAEL, THEY CALL HER "SHOKO" *

I'm not sure why Ireland is breaking stories about Courtney Cox and David Arquette, but okay...

Apparently, that wacky David is half-Jewish (his mother, commonly referred to as "the right half" when discussing blended families with traditionally observant Jews). Apparently, Courtney wanted to name the baby after her mother, who's also named Courtney Cox. So CoCo was a compromise, because apparently frum David didn't want to violate the Jewish tradition of not naming a baby after a living person.**



*Shoko means cocoa, or chocolate in Hebrew. If you knew that, you'd find Shoko Cox hilarious. If not, you lose. So everyone study Hebrew.
**Thanks to Miriam for sharing this one.

POLITICS, JUST THIS ONCE

You know I don't do politics here. But, when it's for my own nefarious purposes...

Thought I'd do a web recap of how some of my favorites think last night's debate went.

My passionate friend Karol, who liveblogged her reactions as they happened, calls it for Cheney, and then gives you a roundup of what some other people think.

I would like to provide Dawn Summers' counterpoint to Karol's point just to fuel the fire between these two (follow their blogs for a while and you'll see what I mean), but she hasn't posted her reactions yet. In the interim, here's her pre-assessment of the debate:
"I have no idea what to expect from tonight's debate, but Edwards is Hottie Mc Awesome Smile and he should work his mojo so that Gwen asks him what all of us really want to know. Namely, favorite color, favorite food, favorite song, how serious is this thing with Elizabeth, where he'll be everyday until election day and of course, the age-old boxers or briefs."

Jessica's vineyard has a new vintage of her own: being in love with Dick Cheney. A quote: "I seriously heart Cheney. Even more than I heart Halliburton."

At The View From Here, the question on the agenda was: "Anyone else finding it strange that Cheney is barely mentioning Bush's name? "

Slate seems to have Cheney as the winner, but with a backhanded compliment: "Vice President Dick Cheney made a lot of false and misleading statements about his foreign and defense policies—but Sen. John Edwards did a less than stellar job at countering them." (So who won? my inner child whined...)

Most poignant by far is the lovely Bex:
"Damn, Edwards is f-i-i-n-e in a goyish way, and Cheney looks like a gynecologist who dips his hands in ice-water before probing one's nether regions. Putting the moderator in the power position at a small table with two guys makes her look a lot like a Dungeon Master."

One anecdote from my youth. When I was about four years old and in school, there was some publication (Highlights? Probably something else I can't remember...) with the new Presidential candidates on the cover: Gerald Ford vs. Jimmy Carter. My verdict? Ford. Why? Because he looked more like a President, whereas JC was smiling all the time. I didn't really know what a President was, but I knew he should be serious.

Personally, the more I see Cheney on TV, the more I begin to not be able to tell the difference between him and Darrell Hammond. (Props to DH's madd talents, yo.) And I do agree that Edwards is sometimes "too good-looking," and that his smile is incredibly distracting to this single girl. But I'm not saying that I'm voting for either side based on appearance. This isn't high school student council president: I don't vote based on looks. I'll save looks-based voting for when the US of A elects our National Prom Queen.

In the interim, I don't see either as the clear winner. Is it too late to vote for Candidate Zero?

DIDJA EVER NOTICE...

That you never see purported Hollywood heartbreaker Ben Affleck and accused murderer Scott Peterson in the same place at the same time? I'm just sayin'.

A FRIEND'S STORY

Last week, the Philadelphia area was struck by tremendous storms. Lincoln Drive, in particular, pretty much became a river. My friend Suzanne was sitting there, in the car, in what she thought was traffic. Well, I'll let her article in the Philadelphia Inquirer tell you...

Really, folks. It's worth a read.

WRITING ON THE WALL

WHERE: At the freelance job that's sponsoring my shelter for this month
WHAT: A flyer on my office door


ARE YOU LONELY???

Don't like working on your own?
Hate making decisions?

THEN CALL A MEETING!
You can...

• SEE people
• DRAW flowcharts
• FEEL important
• IMPRESS your colleagues

All on COMPANY TIME!!!

MEETINGS: The practical alternative to work.



With a work ethic like that, what could go wrong?

FINALLY, POLITICS GETS INTERESTING

Thanks to new reader Square Peg for exposing me to Kerry Haters for Kerry. Discuss amongst yourselves.

SHORT ON TIME?

Short on time? Don't have time to watch TV? Giving Television Without Pity a run for their imaginary money is the precocious and Tivo-addicted Dawn Summers, with her own insightful and snarky recap of the current TV season, and predictions of which shows will suffer with awful ratings before slipping away...

If only she had let Buffy throw her into the Hellmouth at the end of Season Five, she might not feel this apparent need to stay glued to the TV for the benefit of all mankind. I guess that's part of being The Key.


[If terms like "Hellmouth" and "the Key" are nonsense to you, go rent Buffy the Vampire Slayer Seasons One through Five. Then rent Six. You'll thank me. Eventually.]

CRUSH-ON-A-QUASI-CELEBRITY, PART ONE

(Why "Part One"? Because this is me. There's always going to be a "Part Two." I'm like Quentin Tarantino that way. And in a whole host of other ways. In fact, sometimes, people can't tell me and Q apart. But that's another post. That will indicate I've lost all grip on reality.)

Since Jon Stewart got married and had a baby, I've been looking for a new love, baby. (This will come as a great relief to my friend who writes for the Daily Show--now that I'm not a potential stalker for his employer, he can finally relax and enjoy that second Emmy with the rest of their veritable "melting pot" of a staff.) Having previously explored the possibility of a nice Jewish Braff brother, I was upset to learn that they're all married or working on Scrubs in Los Angeles. Therefore, I concluded, geographically undesirable.

So I decided to focus on some of the more local yokels, people who I might conceivably meet in my improv circles or walking down the street. And then, a clear frontrunner for crush candidacy emerged: Candidate Zero. Or rather, Rob Heubel.

If you're like me, you're seeing him everywhere. In addition to Candidate Zero, who travels the country stumping for NetZero internet access, he's also Inconsiderate Cellphone Man. ("I miss you too, Nana," he says into the phone, making the "she's crazy" circles with his finger pointing to his temple. ) He's also that randomly familiar looking guy in the FedExKinkos and Solae Food ads. If you watch VH1's A to Z, where various funny folks and former campers of mine share alphabetized factoids about celebrities, you've seen him side-by-side with his regular comic collaborator Rob Riggle (who's now a featured player on SNL), as the two enact scenes loosely based on the facts (which are loosely based on reality, with a healthy side of gossipcolumn...it's all very "meta" and quite hilarious).

Why he draws me? Humor, obviously. But physically, he kind of reminds me of this guy I was in love with in high school. Of course, High School Megacrush rarely spoke to me, not because he was necessarily so popular, but because he was so off-the-charts smart that he made me feel intimidated talking to him. I liked him because he seemed accessible. More Duckie than Blaine, if y'all catch my drift. So I did John Hughes-ian things to get his attention, none of which yielded a "leaning over my birthday cake to kiss the object-of-my affection" scenario. (Not even once!) But that's another story for another time.

I know what you're thinking. "Esther, don't forget: he has to be Jewish." Believe me, I haven't forgotten. I don't know whether Rob's a Member of the Tribe. But unpublished scientific studies* have shown that just living in New York makes you 40% Jewish. Add to that "working full-time in the comedy industry" and you're another 35-40% Jewish. If he eats more than three bagels and lox in a given year (+10%) or has attended more than one Seder (+10%), that pushes him into a category ahead of many New York Jews. If he does all these things and is somehow still not Jewish, my advice: just schedule the bris and get it over with.

Still can't place him? Here's his UCB performer profile. Now that you've seen him here, you'll see him everywhere, trust me.

I've got a connection through the improv community. Will I use it? Hard to tell. I'm not that brave a person when it comes to this stuff. Right now, Rob's a candidate for my newest crush on a quasi-celebrity. There are others, but like I said, Candidate Zero's definitely a frontrunner.

And if the romance doesn't work out, I've put out some good karma for a fellow improviser. As I see it, it's a win-win. If he happens to find me, and find me hilarious, and wants to grant me some free UCB classes or suggest my name to his A to Z producers, I wouldn't say no.

ODE TO CANDY CORN, PART DEUX

Inspired by the lovely Miss Erin

Bowls of seasonal candy
herald the imminent advent of fall

Tiers of sweetness beckon
deepening in color as it widens

Layers of flavors change slightly
barely perceptibly

A mere taste of the confectionary pyramids
effortlessly conveys
every aspect of the autumnal
including annual dental appointments

EMOTIONAL? ME?

Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been a) watching Angels in America, b) just got back from visiting my friends who are mourning their father or c) wookin’ pa nub in all de wong paces, but Josh Groban’s “Remember When It Rains” just makes me melt.

I know he's young. I don’t even understand the words enough to remember them (I had to wait for the announcer to tell me the name of the song). But something about the orchestral, epic sound and the mellifluous resonance of his voice, and I’m in love. But then again, I loved his voice way back when, when he played the awkward teenager who took Ally McBeal to his prom.

GRATEFUL

To all those who responded to the grief of my last post, I thank you. You are the virtual representatives of the support system I realize I am so lucky to have.

Someday soon I'll write about the experience. Right now, I'm just going to try to get back to readying myself for the next (and last) set of holidays. Deadlines are king, whose monarchy is only threatened by my steadily mounting* need to clean my apartment before the holiday begins...



*Apologies to my friend Jill for using the word "mounting." I know she hates it. The word, that is.