HAPPY NEW YEAR-ADVENTURES IN KEYWORDLAND

Because I didn't want to end this year on such a serious note, I thought I'd include a new feature that's bound to recur because it is such great fun. It is an ongoing series titled Adventures in KeywordLand, wherein I try to determine how people find me...

esther kustanowitz blog
Not surprising. They could have gotten JDaters Anonymous. But let's move on.

what is zach braff's middle name
Interesting. Any ideas? Surely someone on my blogroll must know.

lindsay lohan, performances, watch, lip synching
Does Google mean to imply that I've been implying that LL might not do all her own singing? I would never impugn her artistic integrity like that. (I like to think that I impugn much more creatively.)

linsey lohan
If they're looking for misspellings of celebrities' names, they've come to the wrong place.

snl talk amongst yourselves i'll give you a topic discuss quotes
Few people know that "Talk Amongst Yourselves I'll Give You a Topic Discuss Quotes" was the original title for the "Coffee Talk" sketch, but Lorne Michaels couldn't remember it.

portia di rossi ellen degeneres lesbians
Ah yes, finally my traffic benefits from the inclusion of celebrity lesbian exploits. In fact, adding this last sentence should boost my traffic again.

renegade jew
Hmm. You think so? I guess, in my own, carefully moderated rebellious way, I might be a renegade Jew. You know, the kind who waits until the last minute to get ready for Shabbat, and then finds herself rushing to conclude her blog entry so she can rush into the shower...

I look forward to sharing many more kvetches and keyword searches with you in the new year. Have a wonderful night, don't drink and drive, and never mix Goldschlager with champagne. (Just a little Urban Kvetch wisdom.)

Here's to a blogtastic 2005!

Love,
Esther, the My Urban Kvetch Bloggerette

WINTER IN THE HOUSE OF JOB

I-COLD WINTER

This winter has been especially cold. Sarah’s touched on it a little. I’ve been avoiding it, but it may be time to confront the grief. It is also my hope that a new year will bring better news, or at least, less of this kind of relentless bad.

I don’t deal well with tragedy, whether it’s (God forbid) mine or (God forbid) the tragedies of others. But, even as I’m not wholly comfortable personalizing the tragedies that are not authentically my own, I feel them acutely. And as deep as my pain goes, it feels insincere, like I’m glomming onto the grief of others to illuminate my own issues with my mortality. And believe me, there are issues, which I have no wish to confront, but which I acknowledge are inevitably part of any person’s future:

How best to seize the day (and the night) without rampant repercussions.
How to live life knowing that every action may pose a risk.
How to open one’s heart to love when such an opening increases vulnerability.
How to conceive of the transience of human presence.
How to understand that there’s an unknown expiration date.
How to accept that there are limitations to our impact and to the reach of our dreams.
How to grasp the brevity of a single lifespan and the emptiness created by its loss.

The assault has seemed relentless, almost epic in sweep, nearly epidemic in frequency. And the irony is striking: in a season of spiritual and physical darkness, nations turn to festivals of light to illuminate the world. And our faith in light, at every turn, like candles, is extinguished. There is grief, globally and locally.

Is there something broken? Has there been a hairline fracture within the system? Is there a cause? Because without a cause, there cannot be a cure.

In every instance, there was rage. When it’s bad, it feels like my face and brain were ablaze, not with hope’s light, but with indignation’s ire. (My English major’s brain screams: Rage! Rage! Against the dying of the light.) There has to be anger! Some of the grief-stricken are comforted by words from clergy, mostly, that God takes the people God loves most. But many others are beyond the Bible’s, or even language’s ability to comfort.

After the rage, there is something else. There is a continued resentment at the injustice of it all—youth, potential, hope—abruptly terminated. There is humility, hopelessness and helplessness. There is a bewildered bereftness, a dazed look of grief-as-disbelief, followed by realization and emotional disintegration. It is a small, still voice after the storm, but one that offers no comfort.

II-WHAT IT’S ABOUT

When it’s someone you loved, it’s about internalizing that you’ve lost their smile, their laugh and their wisdom. It’s about understanding that there’s no understanding. It’s about leaning on faith to support you, and feeling it crumble beneath your weight.

When it’s someone you don’t know, the grief is still there, but it’s about realizing that the only way that name will ever become a person to you is through the people he or she touched. It’s attending a memorial service for someone you didn’t know, because you know her husband, but not well enough to be able to offer any words of comfort. It’s about feeling that you don’t belong there, among the legitimate mourners. It’s about feeling, in the midst of your sadness, that you’re a pretender, feigning grief for someone you never knew, just because he or she was loved by others, or worse, as if your attendance will exempt you from attending a service for someone you know well. It's about feeling so stricken by vicarious grief that you worry about your ability to deal with anything less remote, more personal. It’s thinking, there but for the grace of God go I, that people are interchangeable and that no one can predict what’s coming.

It’s about feeling like there’s no reason, or logic, or reward for good behavior. It’s about the futility of human action. It’s about feeling like there’s a criminal out there, targeting potential in indiscernible patterns, and that you and yours could be next. It’s about feeling the responsibility of living every moment to its fullest, and realizing that that’s inherently impossible.

III—SHADOWS OF SIXTEEN

When I look at his picture, I see a face I haven’t seen in eighteen years. We were sixteen then. He wasn’t a close friend. But his smile, in the picture accompanying the obit, is the same. You don’t see his journey. His inner demons hide within his foundation, like emotional termites. The text tells the story of a musician, a performer, an artist. A creative kindred. (Out, out brief candle. "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more."--Macbeth.)

Life is like a passing shadow, many say, invoking it as comforting simile. We may choose to see it as a respite, a shade from the sun. But in the aftermath of grief, the truth hits us, and we understand. Life is us, plus a passing shadow. The shadow is the dark reflection of our vitality—featureless, ever-shifting in shape, mute to all expression. When it stops, it stops. (Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me.)

Whether or not we stop for Death, the journey always ends. (“Fin,” as the French film’s final frame might read.) Mortal coils are by definition meant to be shuffled off; generations pass as people and as shadows.

IV-FAITH

Many of us believe in an afterlife, not because we have any proof, but because the alternative is too frightening. We need to believe that if Life is but a passing shadow, that what comes after is not. That Life has a life beyond life, that a person’s impact can be felt beyond his or her own mortality. That we’re not just carbon-based organisms, shuffling like more complex paramecia. That we can create meaning in this world and add perspective to the lives of people we’ve never met. That we imprint our essence on every person we meet, through every moment or smile we have shared. It doesn’t always feel true. In fact, most of the time, trying to believe this feels like I’m living a huge lie. But there’s no other way to cope with the sadness.

For the living who have lost, and this includes us all, faith is a refuge. Whether we believe it entirely, or whether we reject it in toto, we run to faith or to our faith in its absence, to explain away our sadness or give our grief a cause.

My strongest faith is in my words. "Broken" was my word. It came from my gut, from a paucity of verbiage apt to describe how much things were just not working. If the aphorism holds in its inverse, if there is, out there, some sort of broken thing, we should fix it. Let's stop using aerosol products to save the ozone layer. Let's get our scientists to the lab to cure cancer. Let's get city engineers to configure a subway that goes from the Upper West Side to the Lower East Side. But these fractures are sneakier than most. They are often indiscernible until they’re fatal. No way to know what’s broken—let alone, how to fix it. We go through the motions, trying to abstractly make the world a better place, when it often seems that the crevasse is too wide to be caulked.

V—THE ROAD AHEAD

This decade is supposed to be my generation’s thriving time. We produce in every definition: we number our successes in presentations, artistic performances, books and articles. If we’re lucky enough, we hook up with someone else who’s productive and produce progeny. We grieve for the lost, for those who will never have our chances in this world. But to mire ourselves in the tragic damages the future.

Maybe the solution is in sometimes allowing ourselves to be transported, away from current circumstance, “to glide out of time, and forget all the tormented present.” Perhaps by not living in the past and forgetting the torment of present, we can fix our gaze on what the future might look like. Maybe the only solution is to continue. If humor is tragedy plus time, maybe so is progress.

Our path in life is the furthest thing from smooth. There’s no magic pill to re-enable normalcy, or cement to pave the road. Instead, the only thing that is certain for humanity is our constant struggle, with our natural environment, with other people, with our conflicting senses of self in a confusing world. Faith in something can make living easier. But inevitably, any faith—whether it is in words, or war, or love, or religion—will be tested, pushed, challenged. The road ahead is our only option.

If we are not strongly rooted to friends or family, and invested in our own futures, some of us will fall. We have to wish for strong companions to hold our hands along the way, who help us when we stumble, who support us as we try to right ourselves, and who serve as our faith when faith itself falters. We have to pray that we find the strength in ourselves to continue on a brambled path.

We can conquer that road in the usual way: one step at a time.

IN MEMORY

…of the one I knew: Moshe Lifshen, 1970-2004

…and the ones whose impact I felt through my friends: C.B., Joel, Riva, and Sam

...and the ones who populated the landscape of my youth, and united our families in friendship: Ron and Ken.

Zikhronam livrakhah. May their memories be for a blessing.

DISCLAIMER...

I’m writing a post that I hope to put up later tonight, so I can have it out of my system before the New Year starts. It’s the result a tough couple of months, and contains no discernible humor or references to Madonna’s obsession with Kabbalah. It’s a totally different beast.

The last time I posted something personal, my brother suggested that I take it down, not because it was about him or my family, but because he thought that it shouldn’t be out there, proclaiming my darker side for anyone (who might Google me before a blind date, for instance) to see. I was then at the beginning of forging my blog-identity, and saw his point. I took it down. (No one missed it.) And this piece may be even darker.

Over the last few months, there has been a barrage of bad news: young people in their twenties die on foreign soil, during war, and in our local communities, men and women in their twenties and thirties fall victim to undiagnosed and unexpectedly fatal ailments. Add a few terrorist attacks and an earthquake/tsunami combo platter of destruction that somehow seems even more random than a suicide bombing and claims over a hundred thousand individual lives, and you’ll understand that this world is far from being a shiny, happy place. War’s responsible for some of it, and it’s easy to blame the government or terrorists for acts of violence, whether they’re legislated in the name of freedom or subversive in service to chaos. But dealing with the randomness of illness and the inescapability of natural disasters was too much. Safety was a myth. I started writing because I really didn’t know what else to do.

In talking with a friend about these issues, I expressed reluctance to publish what I was working on. She encouraged me to go public, revealing that she’d been feeling the same intricate, rootless kind of funk that I had been experiencing; maybe blogging about it would help us both and give voice to others who might be feeling something similarly hopeless and unnamable.

My goal isn’t to make anyone cry. It’s to try to find the meaning within the great futility, to find that one thing that makes all the pain bearable, because there’s happiness and meaning to be found—somewhere, if not here. Maybe it’s to reach that other person who doesn’t have the words to describe why this season has been so hard. Maybe it’s to tell him or her that he or she is not alone.

Once you read it, I hope you’ll see it’s not a cry for help, or an announcement of some well of depression I can’t climb out of. It’s a discussion, an exploration of faith and meaning. And it’s not a discussion that I feel is over. In fact, maybe one of you holds an answer I’ve not yet considered.

Most of the time, my writing angles toward humor. And it will again, probably sooner than anyone might expect after reading this next post. But this, the exploratory search for meaning through unanswerable questions, is another part of my balance as a writer. It’s raw. It’s risky. And I hope everyone, even my family, will understand.

Stay tuned. (Or skip the next post. Totally up to you.)

JEWISH WEEK: 10 CULTURE MOMENTS

I really enjoy Liel Liebovitz's cultural writing for the Jewish Week. He seems passionate about many of the same things I myself am passionate about. (But this isn't only about Jon Stewart.)

So I was happy to see he'd created a Top Ten list of cultural moments that "made a difference." And then, lying in wait like bandits on the road, was #6:

Esther, Queen of Pop: It’s hard to think of something Madonna hasn’t done in front of cameras. She shoved her tongue down Britney Spears’ throat. She simulated masturbation while wearing a wedding dress. She wore leather and donned a whip. Still, when Madge went on ABC’s “20/20” on June 18, jaws dropped: the former material girl announced that instead of Madonna, she is now named Esther. “In the metaphysical world, I wanted to attach myself to another name,” she told ABC’s Cynthia McFadden. “I read about all the women in the Old Testament. And I loved the story of Queen Esther. She saved the Jews from annihilation.” While committing no such heroic feats, Madonna certainly saved the Jews from boredom. Her visit to Israel in September was one of the most titillating events in recent memory, landing a smiling Esther, dressed all in white, on the front pages of Israeli tabloids. Even though she’s not Jewish, anyone who could make the name “Esther” sexy deserves the Jewish people’s gratitude.

Harumph.

JDATE: NAUGHTY, NOT NICE

This is not another post about the non-Jewish people on JDate. But since I forgot to wish all my non-Jewish readers a Merry Christmas, I thought I'd use the imagery once before 2004 ends.

As far as I'm concerned, JDate's getting a lump of coal in their figurative stocking this year. They suck, and here's why.

BREAKING NEWS: ACTOR ORBACH DIES

Jerry Orbach died today at the age of 69. Although he was also an accomplished, Tony-winning Broadway actor (for Promises, Promises), Orbach, whose cult status was elevated with his portrayal of Dr. Houseman, the father who "put Baby in the corner" in Dirty Dancing, was best known for his role as Lenny Briscoe on 12 seasons of the original Law & Order.

Born in the Bronx, Orbach had been diagnosed with prostate cancer in early December.

(Really weird...I seem to be the only one with this story. Via 1010 WINS.)

EVERYONE'S A CRITIC

Karaoke Altercation Ends in Stabbing Death for Performer

Do not mock the ones who sing;
elementally, primally, their song resembles you.

If you scoff at their Burning Love
their gaze will incinerate you.

If you jeer their melodies, atonal in their echo
A fistful of blades shall surely pierce you.

A performer may die his on-stage death and live to sing no more,
but seldom thinks that "Jenny" song will land him at death's door.

ISRAELIS FEARED LOST IN TSUNAMIS

Here's an article in the JTA about the Israelis who are feared lost or injured in the earthquake and tsunamis in Asia.

And here's how you can help with the relief efforts.

And pray.

OCEAN'S THIRTEEN--UNCONFIRMED SPOILER

Look at the patterns...they don' t lie.

Ocean's Eleven: George Clooney and Julia Roberts

Ocean's Twelve: George Clooney and Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta-Jones

Ocean's Thirteen: George Clooney and Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta-Jones, Matt Damon and Esther Kustanowitz?

Remember, it's never too early to start rumors a-buzzin'.

FOR HARDCORE BUFFY FANS ONLY

Via Whedonesque, someone has set new words--from the mouths of Angel characters--to the note-perfect melodies of songs from Once More With Feeling (the musical episode, for all you non-fans).

The lyrics are not very good. But this is partly because the original was so intricately created, with internal rhymes and dramatic beats that enhanced the emotional power of the music and character development...there's just no comparison.

Any fan knows that Angel would not have embraced the singing the way these lyrics indicate. His reaction would have been more along the lines of Spike's reluctant croon in OMWF. (Think of the eyeroll when he realizes he's singing to Buffy against his will...precious...) And Fred singing to Angel and Wes (instead of Gunn and Wes) is an odd choice. Interesting to think of Fred's yammering as equivalent to Xander's babbling, though.

Anyway...if you're a fan, great, and welcome! If you're not? So's your face.

NEW JEW BLOG AWARDS

Thanks to Miriam for pointing out that Israelly Cool has announced the first Jewish/Israeli Blog Awards. Check out the categories and suggest new ones (Best Jewish Singles Blog? Best New York Jewess Blog? Best Intersection of Pop Culture and Judaism Blog? Just a few ideas...) if you'd like. Be sure that I'll be posting soon about the nominations process...

NO THINKERS ALLOWED IN JERUSALEM

The irony. The Thinker's not allowed in Jerusalem. Some local authorites have greeted this as old news, claiming that there's been no thinking in Jerusalem for years.

The great quote from this article? Hats off (or maybe we should just keep our heads covered) to Deputy Mayor Shlomi Atias (Shas Party). "If he was wearing a bathing suit, then maybe it would have passed, but he is totally naked."

Now, what few people know is that Rodin's original statue was slightly different. First iterations of the sculpture had the hunching Thinker dressed in a banana-yellow Speedo. While this tested well with European audiences and some Israeli beachgoers in their late 50s and early 60s, nudist American influences convinced the artist that nudity was preferable to the swimsuit because the color of the Speedo was too distracting. Additionally, many early critics claimed that the tight swimwear also further helped them to see what the statue was, ahem, thinking about.

Funny how you never read about that in the newspaper.

(Hat tip to Jewschool.)

20,000 THANKS

I am pleased to announce that I have reached the glorious number of 20,000 hits on My Urban Kvetch. (It was a goal I had hoped to attain, but it was such a close call that I didn't want to mention it to anyone outside of my head...)

Your support has been invaluable--I love writing and would do it even if no one read it. But that I do have readers keeps me honest, motivated and energized.

I'm also very grateful for the people who have come into my life through my blogging--there are many more of you than I ever expected, and the number keeps growing. Bloggers make good friends, and I'm looking forward to meeting many more of you in the new year.

Again, I humbly thank you. Looking forward to kvetching with you in 2005.

MEASURE MY FAME IN CRYERS

Amazing, after all Teresa Strasser and I have been through together, that I have to read about this new system of measuring fame in the Jewish Ledger.

She writes:
I'll describe it this way. If electricity is measured in watts and height is measured in inches, what is the measure of fame? I offer you, the Jon Cryer.You might remember him as Duckie from "Pretty in Pink" with Molly Ringwald. Maybe you've seen him on "Two and a Half Men" (he's the not Charlie Sheen one). You'd know his face if you saw him getting a slice, but you might think you just know him from high school.Jon Cryer is, of course, one Jon Cryer. Paris Hilton is 72 Cryers. I'm a fraction of a Cryer, maybe one-sixth at best.

Well, if Teresa's one-sixth of a Cryer, then I must be around one-twentieth of a Cryer. And I'm okay with that.

YASIR'S MILLIONS: HOW TO BOWL YOUR CONSCIENCE

Bowling for Peace

When I was in camp, there was this guy (I already forgot his name but I wanna say it was Chet or Len or something like that) who taught this song at campfires, and the chorus went:

"Take the skinheads bowling, take them bowling..."

I don't remember any of the other words. And I'm really not sure what the message was; perhaps that bowling is a sport that corrects racist thinking, maybe through taking us all through the gutter at various points. Or maybe there's something about piles of suddenly ownerless shoes that reminds us of something awful in our cultural memory. But now that Yasir Arafat's invested in Bowlmor Lanes, I suppose skinheads bowling isn't so outrageous.

For those of you who do not live in NYC, there are three main places (that I'm aware of) you can go bowling in the Big Apple. In the past several months I've been to two out of three. The third one, located at Port Authority Bus Terminal, is the most convenient, and purportedly the least safe. So when Jewish friends bowl, they opt for one of the other two:

Bowlmor Lanes

This purported repository of Yasir's millions and much-touted homeland of downtown NY hipsters (a term I loathe, but that's another post) is very challenging to get to (especially from the Upper West Side), and a little sketchy going in. You arrive, and are carded by enormous bouncers even if you're in your thirties. Then they escort you into a steel elevator operated by a guy who looks like he's right out of the Sopranos. You hope you're going to the right floor and try not to make any eye contact with anyone. Then, the doors open to the sound of EARDRUM-BUSTING LATIN EXPLOSION music. Think Ricky Martin's gone? Not here, kids.

Two floors of bowling, one floor that's a night club and shares space with several pool tables. If you have great shoes to show off, it's nightclub city for you. If you're wearing sensible shoes to begin with, might as well trade 'em in for a pair of eminently fashionable bowling shoes that have undoubtedly been recently misted with a magical bacteria-and-odor-killing spray. (Mmm. If only it were also a dessert topping!!) And keep an eye out for those cheesy videos that re-enact your frame in animation...

Chelsea Piers

You know where this place is, right? 23rd Street and the river. The M23's a nice bus if you can get it, but that really depends on how lucky you are. ("Do you feel lucky, punk? Do you?") Suffice it to say, I usually end up walking from Seventh Avenue.

I believe they refer to their bowling center as a "Rock-and-Bowl," which aside from being puntastically cringeworthy, I suspect was inspired by "We're Gonna Sco-o-ore Tonight," an unfortunate song in the grosstastically-excellent parody of Grease--Grease 2, starring a burger-and-gum-chomping Michelle Pfeiffer (in love with apparent Cary Elwes progenitor Maxwell Caulfield). Also, the alley is extremely dark. I was just there last Saturday night for a friend's birthday, and while it was fun after my first (and only) beer, I could barely see anyone, and that was in the company of others nearly as glow-in-the-dark as I am. On the way in, my friend asked me why there were so many religious Jews there. Maybe they sensed that no PLO money was involved in that alley...or maybe it's because they just "don't roll on Shabbos."* Just keep an eye out for those cheesy videos that re-enact your frame in animation...

My Point

What's my point? Firstly, perhaps the Arab Israeli conflict is destined to be solved via a bowling tournament. The initiative could be called "Bowl for Peace." I'm sure it's not any less likely to succeed than any other initiative...

Secondly, Bowlmor has issued a statement that they're returning the Yasir money, so Jews of NYC can continue to bowl, consciences clear. Of course, most of us will continue to not be good at it, but that's a complicated issue.

Conclusion

When I was a ten-year-old kid, I'd break 100 consistently. These days, I'm lucky to hit 70. Is it my vision? Is it the fact that certain puberty-era developments have tilted my center of balance askew? Was it beer? I'm sure there's a physics explanation to why my performance is so erratic. I'm sure someone will write me and tell me that the force exerted = quantum torque times pi. And then I'll call that person a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. (Or maybe just "geek." I haven't decided yet.)

Right now, I'm baffled. All I know is that I don't inherently trust a game where you approach your target with a heavy ball, wearing unsanitary shoes, while all your friends stare at your ass and then chortle when you bowl a 7-10 split. That's gotta be some sort of PLO plot. No, I don't have proof. But the first three letters of the word "plot" are P, L and O...


*Judaism in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century is bound to be defined by two pop culture moments:
1. MADONNA ADOPTS KABBALAH
2. JOHN GOODMAN'S CHARACTER IN "THE GREAT LEBOWSKI" ANNOUNCES THAT HE "DOESN'T ROLL ON SHABBOS"

"JUST NOT THAT INTO" THIS BOOK

Anyone not get an adequate deluge of "He's Just Not That Into You" this week? Good news! Here's my latest column, "Just Not That Into" This Book...

Let the commenting begin!

ARMPIT WITH FEET

...or was that a pair of feet that had an armpit...

Remember that great AXE ad that managed to strike just the right balance of disgusting and, um, repulsive? The Washington Post does, in this look back at the magazine weirdness of 2004. (You'll need to subscribe to read the whole thing, but the opening grafs are the highlight, IMHO, and they're reprinted below...)

2004's Sassy, Trashy, Gassy, Flashy Glossies

Future historians of American magazines will no doubt remember 2004 as the year when an armpit with feet became a major sex symbol.

The armpit starred in a series of advertisements for Axe deodorant that appeared in Rolling Stone, Maxim, Cargo and countless other mags. The Axe armpit is not what you'd call a classic matinee idol -- he has no head, no legs, a crop of hair and two chubby feet, each with three fat toes -- but the dude proved to be a major playa.

In one ad, the armpit enjoyed a candlelight dinner with a busty brunette who slipped off her shoe and played footsie with him under the table. In another ad, the armpit perched on a fluffy white rug in front of a blazing fireplace while a leggy blonde ran her fingers through his hair. In a third ad, the armpit canoodled with a wine-swilling babe on a gondola in Venice.

Just reminiscing about these ads makes me want to hurl. But I remember one (and I fully admit that this sentence sounds ludicrous) where the armpit was astride a horse with a beautiful woman clutched him from behind, as the pair rode romantically along a beach.

The moral of the ad series? Women don't just see a smelly armpit with smelly feet. We see a smelly armpit with smelly feet and an excellent personality.

(Hello, lunch! Haven't seen you in several hours!)

LAST COLUMN OF 2004, HJNTIY

[Doesn't HJNTIY look like it should be a region of USY? Maybe, if this book stays popular, it will be...]

I've joined the bandwagon, and finally wrote a column about the one-trick pony that is HJNTIY. (For the uninitiated, that's "He's Just Not That Into You," the dating-advice book inspired by an episode of "Sex and the City.")

The column will hopefully appear in this week's NY Jewish Week (URL to come). And that's my last column of the year, y'all!

More columns on Jewish dating and relating to come in 2005...stay tuned, and thanks for your support and ideas.

GERVAIS TO STAR IN NEW BBC SERIES

I so need to get BBC America.

Ricky Gervais, the right proper bloke who played The Office's resident wanker and non-Quiz champion David Brent, is now set to star in a new BBC series. In 'Extras', "he will play a struggling actor convinced he is destined for bigger and better things, as it is revealed to have turned down the offer to star John Smith's ad campaign. The comedy show, co-written by Gervais and 'Office' co-creator Stephen Merchant, is due to air next year and will feature a host of A-list celebrities, including 'Alfie' star Jude Law, playing twisted versions of themselves."

The only unfortunate news about this is that apparently, the 2004 Jude Law Outbreak will be continuing into aught-five. People, let's move on. There are tons of people more appealing than Jude Law, despite this thrall he seems to have cast on American audiences. I resist his charms, rather easily. Sexiest Man Alive? If you want brooding and serious, try Clive Owen. If you want scruffy, try Aragorn. (I mean, Viggo Mortensen.) If you want all around sparkling-sexy, you gotta go with Ocean's Twelve shiny, happy cover boys in all their well-dressed, chiseled, mischevious glory--George, Matt, Brad. There's no contest! What is wrong with the rest of you people? If Jude's the only choice, I cast my vote for Lawlessness. If that makes me an anarchist, so be it.

My point? Oh yes. Everyone rent The Office. (Except me--someone very generous bought me my very own copy.) And I challenge you to get through the fourth episode of Series One without laughing. And then we'll all be ready to greet "Extras" with the proper pomp and circumstance Gervais and Merchant deserve...

I HEART VH1

Why? For programming slates like tonight's (my comments in blue):

(Source: Cynopsis.com)
Returning to VH1 in the new year is Surreal Life (Mindless Ent/51 Pictures) on Jan 9 at 9p with another list of "celebrities": Chyna Doll; Jane Wiedlin (The Go-Gos); Christopher Knight (The Brady Bunch); Verne Troyer (Austin Powers); model Marcus Schenkenberg; rap star Da Brat; and Adrianne Curry (America's Next Top Model).

As one of the show's surreal challenges, I think Verne and Marcus need to do a runway show together. And I really want Jane Wiedlin and Christopher Knight to perform duets of “Keep On” and “Time to Change.” I think the choreography would be stellar.

VH1's original series Strange Love (Mindless Ent/51 Pictures) makes its debut immediately following at 10p. Strange Love features the love affair between Brigitte Nielsen and Flavor Flav which was born during their participation in last season's edition of Surreal Life.

Strange love? More like bizarro freakshow trainwreck love. That I can’t take my eyes off of!

And finishing up the evening is the premiere of Celebrity Fit Club (Granada Ent) which follows the progress of 8 celebs looking to shed a few pounds. Participating in this series are: Daniel Baldwin, Kim Coles, Joe Gannascoli (The Sopranos), Biz Markie, Ralphie May, Judge Mablean Ephriam (Divorce Court), Mia Tyler and Wendy the Snapple Lady.

Because it wouldn’t be America if we didn’t make even our celebrities insecure about their bodies. Land of the free, home of the self-esteem bereft. I hope Daniel talks about his involvement in Anonymous Rex . My random prediction? Biz Markie will start a passionate affair with Wendy the Snapple Lady. But he says, “she’s just a friend.” (Oh baby you...)

MISTLETOE

So, what's the deal with mistletoe?

Many years ago, people thought mistletoe was sacred because it grew when the other trees were not. Its unique white berries seemed to have mystical powers.

Eighth-century Vikings believed a legend about mistletoe that could raise humans from the dead. Balder, the god of the summer sun, had a dream he would die. His mother, Frigga, was the goddess of love and beauty. She frantically tried to find a way to save her son’s life.

[Because if you're afraid of bullies, the only thing to do is ask your Mommy for protection. Oh yeah, and the only thing worse than being bald is being Balder.]

The legend says she went to the elements air, fire, water, earth, plants and animals and begged them not to kill her son. Balder was teased because of his mother’s protection. One enemy found a way around Frigga’s protection and it was mistletoe. Because mistletoe has no roots of its own, it wasn’t a true plant. The enemy made a poisoned dart out of its branches and killed Balder.

The story says Frigga cried over her son, and her tears turned to red like the mistletoe berries, then to white, and Balder rose from the dead. Overjoyed that she had her son back, she changed mistletoe’s bad reputation and kissed everyone who walked under it.

[Is it wrong to say I find this Frigga'n ridiculous? Actually, kind of interesting with the red turning white to indicate a new start; that's really almost Judaic...]

Hung over a door, it would bring good will to all who passed under it. Some stories say it was a mistletoe tree that made the cross for Christ’s crucifixion. As punishment, the legend says the species withered to become the parasitic plant we know today.

One berry is removed each time a woman is kissed under the mistletoe. When all of the berries are gone, so are all of the kisses. A couple kissing under the mistletoe is a sign that they will be married and live happily ever after. Many believed that if an unmarried woman wasn’t kissed under the mistletoe, she would stay single for another year.

[So that's the problem!!]

Even though scientists haven’t proven that mistletoe held Christ, can resurrect the dead, cure illnesses, ward off evil spirits or even has the power to bind a marriage, its magic can be romantic. So grab your sweetie and share a kiss under the mistletoe.

Because we all need another source of pressure this time of year. [Geez, does anyone have good New Year's plans?]

Happy holidays, everyone.

SWASTIKA ON THE UPPER WEST SIDE

I still can't believe that this happened at my synagogue, in my neighborhood. But here's the email from Mark Ankcorn, rabbi of Congregation Shaare Zedek:

Early this afternoon, I was contacted by the police regarding an incident of vandalism at Shaare Zedek. I quickly walked over to the shul and discovered a swastika about two feet tall painted on our building, which had been cordoned off by police officers already at the scene.

As best we can determine, the vandalism happened sometime between 5:30 pm Saturday evening and 12:30 pm Sunday, on the wall to the left of the eastern door to the social hall. We painted over this ugly symbol as quickly as possible, after being advised by NYPD that there were no fingerprints or other forensic evidence to be gleaned from the site.

I know that many in our community live in the area and have friends who pass by the building every day. If anyone has any information about the incident, including walking by the shul and NOT seeing the vandalism during the relevant time period, it would be a big help to the investigators as they try to canvas for witnesses. Please contact me and I will pass the information on to the detectives from the Hate Crimes Unit who are working the case.

The security of every member of our community is of paramount importance to me and to the lay leadership of Shaare Zedek, but do bear in mind that (thank God) no one was injured nor was there lasting damage to our synagogue. Rest assured that I will keep the community updated with information as it becomes available; nevertheless, feel free to be in touch with me if you have any questions or concerns.

If you have any information, please call Shaare Zedek at 212-874-7005...

"FETCHEZ LA VACHE!!"

Here's an excellent piece in the New Yorker for all you English k-nigots, knights who until recently said "ni," and French sympathizers alike--an interview with Eric Idle about the imminent arrival on Broadway of "Spam-alot: The Musical."

Tickets, anyone?

SMITTEN'S IN THE NY TIMES!

Congratulations to Smitten and Alex, on the piece about them in this week's NY Times Magazine. The piece calls them "the Tracy and Hepburn of the dating blog," and I can't think of a better term for this couple of bloggers who are both well-matched and classy, and whose place is more rightfully in an article about blogromance than it is about blogsex.

Congratulations, guys! If you ever come back from Paris, I hope you won't be too famous to hang out with me!

UPDATE: Deb is not happy about this article. See here for her response.

AUDITION IN PJs; PERFORM AU NATUREL

Naked Karaoke is here. Well, not here. But at least here.

Men, be prepared: if you sing "I Want Your Sex," people will know if you're lying.
And ladies, if you've had work done, don't sing "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman," unless you're singing to your plastic surgeon.

CLASSIC SITCOM CHARACTER QUIZ: NO SURPRISE HERE

Lucy Ricardo

What classic sitcom character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

BUFFYWORLD SMACKDOWN: CORDY VS. BUFFY

CORDY "THE GLOWY HIGHER POWER" CHASE

VS.

BUFFY "THE SLAYER FROM SUNNYDALE" SUMMERS

Apparently, Joss Whedon's been tapped to write the new Wonder Woman movie, and two of his former stars, Charisma Carpenter and Sarah Michelle Gellar, are battling it out to land the eponymous role. One's a former cheerleader who had visions, and became a higher power and eventually a demon, and the other's the Slayer, the Chosen One, and catalyst for Angel's reversion to Angelus. Odds, anyone?

Plus, the new issue of Slayage: The Online International Journal of Buffy Studies is now online. Enjoy. And don't forget to save the world. A lot.

THE KARAOKE CHANNEL

Israeli TV rocks!

For 13 shekels a month (chump change--this can't be right!), the 50,000 subscribers of The Karaoke Channel, who were already enjoying the sing-along goodness of classic Israeli songs, will now be treated to expanded choices for their Semitic warbling:

Hundreds of songs will be added, including contemporary classics and modern-day pop. Guy Karni, head of content for the channel, says the new additions - especially those of Spears and the like - are aimed at attracting teenagers to the station. More mature adults need not worry, though: the classic Hebrew Israeli songs will also continue to run.

Phew. I'm breathing a sigh of relief that "Yerushalayim Shel Zahav" is still safe, and now can be followed by a Britney Spears or Lindsay Lohan tune. Just the way Israel's founders would have wanted it.

2004's TEN MOST INFLUENTIAL DATING MOMENTS

Match.com came up with a list of the ten most influential dating moments for this year...wanna see em? They're here.

WEDNESDAY RIDDLE EXPLAINED

On Wednesday morning, I was in my stretch limo on the way to the studio, schmoozing with the driver about all the other celebrities he’s driven in his career. There’s the expected range of good, bad and ugly. Cher’s a diva. Gere’s a jerk. Reeve was a saint, even before the accident. We talk about celebrity, and how the power of prominence can either be used for good or for evil. Of course, those are my words, not his. He uses words that I don’t hear every day, like “Fuggedaboutit” and “not for nothin’.”

I arrived at the studio and a PA escorted me to a room with my name on the door; the room is only slightly smaller than my apartment. There’s food there—2 muffins, some fruit, and two bowls of butter and cream cheese that indicated that the room was not invented for me. Someone must have eaten the bagels before I got there. Had I been a true diva, I would have thrown a rock star style fit, but I decided to let it slide (this once).

For those who asked, and those who didn’t, I spent Wednesday afternoon taping an episode of the WB talk show Life & Style. No, it wasn’t my big break, no audition to take over for Jules Asner in the glamour spot, nor had I been invited to share my expertise on the Jewish dating scene. I was there merely for my cheekbones…I had my makeup professionally done by Catherine Hickland, a soap star from One Life To Live. (In case you want to see who she is, her bio is here.) She has her own cosmetics company and before she became an actress, she started out as a makeup artist. Soap opera fans will know her also as the wife of Michael E. Knight (All My Children's Tad Martin). The show airs March 28.

Highlights? Catherine and celebrity makeup artist Bruce telling me I had great skin and cheekbones…making my grand entrance after the makeover…seeing how gorgeous Jules Asner is first-hand…meeting comedian Lynn Koplitz and making her laugh…having people around whose only job is to make me look beautiful…getting some free makeup...stretch limos to and from the studio...feeling glamorous and having people do a doubletake when they see me on the street…feeling a little superior to everyone else for a little while…

I understand, now. People on TV are treated better than other people, and sometimes they begin to think they actually are, intrinsically, better. It was suddenly clear: feeling special doesn’t mean that you’re better, just happier with being different.

APPRENTICE 2-THE FINALE: THE MOVIE

Because this is the way my mind works, I've decided to cast "The Apprentice 2-The Finale: The Movie," undoubtedly in production at P-MurT, Donald Trump's production studio. I haven't cast all the characters, only those that struck me. Others to be added later, as they occur to me (or you, gentle readers).

THE APPRENTICE 2-THE FINALE: THE MOVIE

Ursa from Superman 2...Maria
Maya Rudolph...Jen C
Gwyneth Paltrow....Jennifer M.
Bill Paxton...Kelly
Ben Stiller...Raj
Melissa Etheridge....Pamela
Stephen Colbert...Andy
Melissa from The Real World New Orleans......Ivana
Dule Hill....Kevin
Cree Summer...Staci J.
Virginia Madsen....Amy (cameo, from the first Apprentice)
Matthew McConaghey....Troy (cameo, from the first Apprentice)

And in a dual role, Darrell Hammond as Donald Trump and Regis Philbin.

LONELY AND DESPERATE?

No, not me. (Thank you all SOOO much for asking. Very funny.) The lap pillow.

When I was in college, we used to have these pillows/back and armrests on our beds that we referred to as husbands. They almost looked like a chair without legs, and most of the time, they sat on our beds--although sometimes we'd take them into the lounge and sit on the floor, or bring them to another person's dorm room so that we could lean against something while watching Schoolhouse Rock or Star Wars. And just to clarify, none of us really thought that was what our husbands would look like. The arms of the armrests were not arms in the anatomical sense, just in the chair sense.

Well, now (thanks to Japanese ingenuity) it's the men's turn for their specialized pillow, "with skin-coloured polyurethene calves folded under soft thighs -- a comfy cushion for napping, reading or watching television." (Uggh.)

(Please note that I have not added this item to my wish list.)

I excerpt, for your reading convenience.

Care was taken with details such as the softness of the thighs, panty lines on the pillow’s “backside” and wrinkles in the lap of the skirt so as to make the pillow look and feel as real as possible.

It will also be a surprise to no one that I have an issue with the way the legs are posed. Why not a more natural lap position? This position makes the lapbearer seem subservient, as if she's kneeling before him. But maybe that's precisely the point.

Only $90, and this headless, torsoless girlfriend's all yours, gents.

A MUST-READ, PART DEUX

If you have not read Chayyei Sarah's account of her singles Shabbaton, really, you should. Especially if you are single, or run programs for singles. There's big trouble, right here in River City, if you know what I mean.

Now for your reading convenience, a table of contents.

WEDNESDAY RIDDLE

Q: What do Esther D. Kustanowitz, soap opera star Catherine Hickland and the WB have in common?

Tune in late Wednesday for the answer.

OH, GOODY: LOHAN MAKES THE CASE FOR KABBALAH

From ContactMusic.com:

[Lindsay] Lohan says, "I did start to look into the whole Kabbalah thing a while ago, just because my mom was like, 'Maybe you should try it.' And Demi was on the set one day at 70's Show, and it interested me, because they talk about ego and stuff."

Ego and stuff indeed. In my home town, there used to be a kosher pizza place called "Pizza and Stuff." In that case, I think "stuff" meant "felafel."

Enjoy your spiritual felafel, Lindsay. I'm sure your moms would be, like, okay with it. And stuff.

JEDIS AND JEWS AND THE FORCE, OH MY!

I'm not the first to draw parallels between Judaism and the Star Wars movies, and others have done it better. But, I want to point out the similarity between the words Yehudi and Jedi. It's pretty much the same root, if you never noticed before. The Rebel Alliance always reminds me of the Maccabees--the few fighting impossible odds against the plentiful forces of oppression who would force their ways upon everyone. Plus, the Jedis are always referred to, rather contemptuously, by the Evil Empire as "that ancient religion."

And now, the 2001 population survey of Britain revealed that there are more Jedi Knights in England than there are Jews. Maybe those Jedis are also Jews. There are JewBus (Jews who are Buddhist)--maybe there are Jewdis out there, too.

If there are Jewdis out there, I hope the Empire doesn't find out. Cause if they've rebuilt the Death Star? We're screwed.



Thanks to Gilly for this one.

"EVERY DAY IS LESBIAN LIFE PARTNER DAY!"

(Disclaimer: Via iVillage, which featured this story from The National Enquirer...)

Formerly the sarcastic daughter on Roseanne (and ever the adopted sister of surgically enhanced former prairie resident Melissa Gilbert), Sara Gilbert and her live-in lesbian lover (and suspected MOT) Alison Adler announced the birth of their son. For those of you who didn't know they were expecting, Allie carried the baby, which was the product of a sperm donor.

Now, here's what I don't understand, and where I have to "consider the source." The Enquirer reports:
Close friends EllenDeGeneres and Melissa Etheridge have already been by to see the baby. And Ellen has said that she wants to have a baby with her longtime companion Alexandra Hedison more than ever, now that she's seen Sara and Allie's little one.

First of all, are all lesbians friends? I know that all Jews aren't friends. For instance, when Debra Messing had her baby, she didn't even call me.

And secondly, wasn't the breakup of Ellen and Alexandra's relationship all over the Daily News yesterday?

On Friday it was reported that DeGeneres had split with her girlfriend of four years, photographer-director Alexandra Hedison. We're told the real reason for the break is that DeGeneres is now deeply in love with de Rossi, the Australian-born "Arrested Development" diva. DeGeneres, 46, and de Rossi, 31, first met nine months ago on a photo shoot, we're told. They fell "instantly in love," de Rossi gushed to pals at the time. But DeGeneres remained loyal to Hedison, whom she often credited with "saving her life" at a time of crisis. However, when DeGeneres and de Rossi met up again at VH1's "Big in '04" awards gala in L.A. on Dec. 1, events took their natural course.

This is one of the reasons I don't read these gossip tabloids. It just leaves me confused.

I do love Ellen DeGeneres, though. But only as a friend.

HALF-BIRTHDAY

I just realized, today is my half-birthday. So mark your calendars, we're only six months away from my next birthday party. I'm officially taking advice as to location for next year's event, so vote early and often.

How can you celebrate with me on this partially auspicious half-occasion? Feel free to send me half a present or half a card or some other sort of half-assed commemoration. Of course I'm kidding. You don't half to.

:)

PS: If you write "half" enough times, it starts to look like it's spelled wrong.

CANADA MAKES KARAOKE STRIDES

First, music. Now movies.

In Vancouver (that's British Columbia to you), now you can "say along" with your favorite movie scenes. They're calling it movie karaoke, which doesn't mean anything in Japanese, because as we all know, karaoke means "open orchestra."

Still, this sounds pretty funny...

When organizing the first movie karaoke evening, Myara worried that people might be too shy to participate, but those fears were unfounded as wannabe thespians lined up to show off their acting skills. A two-man comedy troupe called Bob Loblaw, which will open Sunday's show, opened the July event with the piano scene from the movie Big, during which Tom Hanks plays a large floor piano by dancing along the keys.

Other highlights included one brave woman reenacting the now famous Meg Ryan fake orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally, and a group of about 10 people who ran in slow motion across the stage, while the famous running scene from Chariots of Fire played out behind them.

I'd have to choose some early (Greenwald, oops, I mean) Ringwald, but I'd need a partner for most of those scenes, and I'm not real good at sharing stage time. Perhaps I would attempt Jack Nicholson's "You Can't Handle the Truth" monologue, or Alec Baldwin's "You Think I Have a God Complex" monologue from Malice. Pretty much any segment of WHMS would work too. Or any scene from the Princess Bride ("I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you..." "Have fun storming the castle!" "I will go up to the six-fingered man and say...") My inner comedian wants to recreate the hilarity of Soapdish or any of Christopher Guest's films. And although the drama queen in me is toying with the ending of The Wizard of Oz or any of the high drama Scarlett scenes from GWTW, I could also be tempted to interpret Paul Giamatti's soon-to-be classic monologue from Sideways, which I saw yesterday, where he brilliantly expounds on the qualities that make the pinot noir grape his favorite.

Hey you, Urban Kvetch readers...which movie scene would you reenact?

GOOD YEARS

Those were good years, not just because we were young. Our hair was permed, our makeup far too shiny, vestiges of an era recently past that would relapse at the century’s turn, but we surpassed couture and culture, our souls selecting our own society.

Those were good years, not just because our achievement was measured in words or G.P.A.s. The algorithms we calculated illustrated the rhythms of our young lives. Those were good years, not just because there was always pizza in the lounge, or because of $2 pitchers/$1 well drinks till 10 pm. Those were good days, not just because of the buzz, the high, the hilarity of all-nighters of the academic, social and romantic ilk.

Those were good years, not just because we had roommates and floormates as on-the-spot siblings and constant confidants, who held our hands as we stepped tentatively into adulthood, held us close after sexual exploration and held our hair back as we voided our stomachs after toxic alcohol and pizza binges.

Those were good years, not just because our minds were boundless, capable of the lucid one moment and the ludicrous the next. Those were good years, not just because our naivete/optimism flowed like free-flowing beer at some down-the-block fraternity or local watering hole.

Those were good years, not just because we spent our days soaking in the knowable and our nights searching for the elusive--silent corners in the dorms, stolen moments on a porch, noses and lips touching in moonlight.

Those were good years, not just because we believed in ourselves and had our futures at our disposal. Those were good years, not just because in every day each of us lived our own dramas, comedies, romances and adventures. Life was our movie, and we scripted our own endings with every step.

Those were good days. Not just because of one thing or moment or feeling. But just because.



Inspired by the train ride home from the New York Art Festival, after a reunion with a college friend. 11/11/04

ADIEU TO PROTOCOLS

Last week, the Jewish blogosphere mourned the loss of Protocols. Since it was one of the first blogs to catch my interest, I felt like I should weigh in on the love-hate relationship with the site, a reaction that seems to have been blogiversal.

Back when I first started blogging, I was in awe of Protocols. They always seemed to have the story first, whatever it was. It was, as Sarah calls it, an uberblog.*

By the time I got my Jewish Week, the newspaper was old news--I felt like I was already in the know, and like print journalism was over as a genre. In the same moment, with every post, I felt like they were challenging me to find the story or perspective that they hadn't yet managed to uncover. If I was original enough in my approach, they'd link me, and my life and my ratings would never be the same.

Over the last several months, they linked me twice, I think, and neither had the boost to my readership that I'd hoped for, possibly because, in at least one of the contexts, my writing was denounced as self-indulgent, with the intimation that my writing style is why I am still single instead of married with kids (as if those are the only potential definitions of my inner self). Traffic increased, but not much.

Protocols failed to take notice of me, and more poignantly, as time passed and both blogs evolved, Protocols ceased to be the center of my Jewish blogsurfing. As content shifted--the tone became meaner if not always leaner, I found that some of the contributors professed a deep and abiding love for Judaism at the same time that they were indicting and convicting community leaders, decisions and issues with rumors and hearsay. Lord knows, the Internet's already a hotbed of gossip built on a foundation of lashon hara (evil speech); while public figures to an extent put themselves in gossip's way, I still felt that Protocols often reported the incendiary murmurings, rather than the verified facts, perhaps in a desire to become The Drudge Report of the blogosphere--their aspirations of whistle blowing translated on my screen into vindictive cruelty. With so much negativity already out there, I began to look for news elsewhere.

My romance with Protocols yielded several dividends, both informational and social. It introduced me to the industrious blogging of Steven I. Weiss, and the thoughtful, identifiable blogging of (dare I say it? kindred pop culture and judaism spirit) Miriam Shaviv. I looked to find in the Protocols blogroll a coalition of the like-minded, and for the most part, I found others whose passions closely mirrored my own.

My love for Protocols never did run smooth. But relationships hit snags, and either those obstacles can be overcome, or they cannot.

Protocols is no more. I don’t see the need for one central blog to play the role of Protocols. I think we can all get along fine; there are plenty of quality Jewish blogs out there. Personally, I find the diversity of opinions available one of the most meaningful parts of blogging, and frankly, I‘m not troubled by the prospect of reading more than one blog at a time.

Jews are the people of the Book, after all, and it only makes sense that we‘d also be people of the Blog.

*Another excellent post-mortem by Josh Yuter is here.

LATKES, ANGEL, MUSIC, BABY

Please explain this situation:

I seem to be listening to Gwen "Geltmeister" Stefani and rapper Eve singing a song called "Love Angel Music Baby", which recycles a riff from "If I Were a Rich Man," making it "If I Were a Rich Girl..."

I also seem to remember having heard a dance version of "If I Was a Rich Girl" at some clubs a few years back...

I'm just confused by the merging of Fiddler on the Roof and Gwen's Ska stylings. All explanations appreciated.

YOU GOTS THA POISION, I GOTS THA REMEDY

A very interesting piece in the Jewish Week by Liel Lebovitz, about Jewish rapper Remedy, formerly of the Wu-Tang Clan.

An excerpt, with my favorite sentence bolded:

At 32, Remedy has recorded with the Wu Tang Clan, the Staten Island rap supergroup of which he is a member. He has managed to use his music to explore serious issues that are important to him, from the Holocaust to the Middle East peace process. He has built up a following and toured Israel and England. With a career increasingly focused on playing for Jewish audiences, combining his performances with lectures on Mideast politics, Israel and Jewish culture, Remedy is emerging as an influential voice in the Jewish community. But unlike establishment Jewish leaders, this one wears a goatee, baggy pants and grabs his crotch.

Finally, here's one to bring home to Mama. And be sure to pitch him as a "Jewish communal leader." Maybe he'll earn a Wexner Fellowship.

MMM...ILLICIT HORAS...

I've seen the venue, and I can't imagine this being any fun. But I welcome readers who have experienced the scene to prove me wrong!

And I'd like to state for the record that I've been in many a non-kosher pub, and have never seen "grub wrapped in bacon."

From NY Magazine:

Saturday-Night Kosher Party at Talia's Steakhouse

For years, kosher-keeping Jews have been biblically prohibited from soaking up the booze with all that enticing pub grub wrapped in bacon. But all that has changed since the debut last month of a Saturday-night “Kosher Party” at Talia’s Steakhouse. After the Jewish Sabbath concludes each week, Talia’s—a glatt kosher restaurant catering mostly to the twentysomething UWS Orthodox crowd—is transformed into an upscale bar with a full menu of kosher nibbles, and so far it’s been packed with women in ankle-skimming skirts and men in yarmulkes elegantly wolfing down chicken satay skewers ($8) and fried veggies with marinara sauce ($13). A DJ spins a weird mix of elevator, dance, and trance music, perhaps to enforce the Footloose-like no-dancing policy (in accordance with Jewish laws prohibiting men and women from dancing together). Sometimes the place seems a little bit like an absurdly posh yeshiva high-school cafeteria with boys and girls desperately plotting ways to mingle, but with all the alcohol that's served, it's only a matter of time before someone decides to push the tables aside and start an illicit hora.—Leah Hochbaum

Saturdays from 11 p.m. to 3 a.m., 668 Amsterdam Ave., between 92 and 93 Sts.; 212-580-3770; taliassteakhouse.com

FUNNY TYPO

Sorry, Jewish Week. But I gotta bust you for this--not because it's wrong, but because it's funny.

I just got my weekly email from the NY Jewish Week, highlighting this week's articles...The sidebar of what's inside this issue reports the following--let's see if you can spot the error:

...theater critic Ted Merwin says that not even Jason Biggs and Molly Greenwald can save "Modern Orthodox," a new Off Broadway show...

That's right! Molly GREENwald. Can we say Freudian slip?

Maybe this is a unique way for the artist formerly known as Ringwald to proclaim her affinity for Judaism? And perhaps we'll need to "Judaize" her body of work, just as Ted Turner famously colorized black and white films?

The Breakfast Zhlub--In which no one talks to Anthony Michael Hall because he forgot to bring the lox to that famous morning in detention.

Twelve Candles--Her parents forgot her Bat Mitzvah! Jake Ryan's like the coolest guy in yeshiva, and he won't even talk to her in Chumash class, even after she made him a yarmulke! To top it all off, even Long Duk Dong knows her bat mitzvah portion better than she does.

I wish I could come up with a Judaized version of Pretty in Pink, but my creativity is failing me at the moment...any suggestions?

LOVE, BEYOND CATEGORIES

Forget the copepods in tap water, wigs made in India, ordination of women or gays, or whether a person’s political slant is a little more “blue” or “red.” These days, no matter what your denomination, there’s always someone who will find your practice unacceptable. On the singles circuit, religious deal-breakers abound: from taking the elevator to your Shabbat dinner on the 24th floor to observing prohibitions against women singing in public, it often seems that there are more reasons to be combative than there are to be compatible.

My newest Jewish Week singles article is online for your reading pleasure.

Enjoy!

QUIZ ADDICT: WHICH 'HOLY GRAIL' CHARACTER ARE YOU?

I was hoping to be the witch, who's like the smartest character in the film, even if she is made of wood. But I guess I'm not as smart as I thought I was. The upside? I'm not as cowardly as Brave Brave Sir Robin, either. I actually took this quiz three times, and got the same answer all three times, so I guess I'll have to face it.

Which "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" character are you?

LATKES IN THE SEVENTH HOUSE

Technically, I know there are those who consider it the literal embodiment of worshipping the stars (avodat elilim), but my relationship with astrology is conflicted. Obviously, as a writer, I realize that the forecasts are crafted in such a way that anyone might be able to read them and say, "Oh, my god [note the lowercase g]! That's so me! That's so what's happening right now." By the same token, I do find that my sign really does exemplify me, and I often find myself drawn to other Geminis.

We [and I speak in the we of all Geminis and the we of the twins that astrology states all Geminis are] are complex and conflicted beings. Our mirrors have two faces; we are often simultaneously introverted and extroverted, shy and the life of the party. We have so rich an inner life that it bubbles out, and so overwhelming an outer life that it can engender the most intensely brutal kind of introspection. Possessing our own duality, and carrying it within us like an embryonic secret, we are quick to discern complexity in others. Because of this we are also likely to become novelists, playwrights, actors, performers and poets. We are likely to read meaning into the words of others and analyze "what they meant by that." Our sense of others is only as infallible as human habit and consistency, but we are investigative, likely to probe for truth wheree'r it lies.

Most of the time, horoscopes are about love or financial success. And then, in this morning's Yahoo forecast, I get this:

"The 13th and 14th, some of the fat you trimmed could be fried up, short-order-cook style -- and if you aren't careful, you could get burned. "

Mmm. Better get that fat frying. Smells like astrololatkes.

LOVE, OCTOPUS STYLE

Every once in a while, there’s a story that stays with us because of its resonance—a story that touches us all. Due to the presence of eight tentacles, this cannot help but become one of those stories that touches us, everywhere.

[Original text in black bold; my comments in regular italics.]

AP story, via CNN:

Octopus doesn't give up on motherhood--'She didn't want to leave them'

ANCHORAGE, Alaska (AP) -- It was a May-December romance that really had legs: Young Aurora, a female giant octopus and her aging cephalopod suitor J-1 were thrown together for a blind date seven months ago by aquarists who hoped the two would mate.

A young female, an aging cephalopod suitor...it’s like The Anna Nicole Smith Story all over again.

By all appearances, their fling was a success, and Aurora began dribbling long strings of eggs down the sides of her tank the following month.

It’s the moment that all little girls dream of…finding someone experienced to support us and father long strings of eggs that dribble down the sides of our tanks.

Though her sweetheart died of old age in September, the pitter-patter of tiny tentacles seemed close at hand.

J-1 was irreplaceable, but thousands of eggs would help. Aurora found herself wondering if she’d ever look into their beady little eyes and see remnants of their father.

But those tens of thousands of eggs remained pearly white with no signs of developing, and aquarists at the Alaska Sealife Center concluding that the eggs were likely sterile began draining Aurora's 3,600-gallon (13,630-liter) tank so she could be removed from display.

…and so she could mourn in solitude.

Then, last week, a sharp-eyed intern at the center in Seward noticed something peculiar in each of the eggs: two red dots.

So much for the eggs being kosher. (“Traditionally, eggs are examined in a glass cup to ascertain that they contain no blood.”-- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kosher#Eggs)

"I asked if that was normal," said 24-year-old Meghan Kokal. It was, for baby octopus eyes.

Which, unlike Baby Fish Mouth, are not sweeping the nation.

Under a microscope, aquarists saw developing eyes and pulsing mantles.

Pulsing mantles…mmm….who’s hungry?

A brief meeting was held. It was decided that Aurora would stay in her tank after all. "We started to fill it up again," Hocking said.

What a great job—fill the tank, empty the tank, refill the tank. Ah the memories of working with sea life…I predict a swell of applicants to marine biology programs everywhere.

AURORA’S CHOICE: A MOTHER’S DETERMINATION

To her credit, Aurora had never given up. Day in and day out for months, she sent waves of water out through her siphon to gently cleanse her eggs, and defended them against hungry sea cucumbers and starfish.

I know that’s supposed to sound threatening, but I’m giggling. Is that wrong?

Aurora probably had some moments of "quiet desperation" last Tuesday while several hundred gallons of water were drained from her tank, said aquarium curator Richard Hocking. As the water went down, one of the aquarists placed some of the eggs that had fallen from the sides of the tank on a rock shelf. Even then, Aurora persevered. "She didn't want to leave them. As the water was going down she was going down with it. She would spray a burst of water on the rocks on top of them," Kokal said.

As in human mother-child relations, this illustrates both the fierce loyalty of a mother for her children and the fine line between nurturing your progeny and drowning them.

ENCHANTMENT UNDER THE SEA DANCE—BEHIND THE ROMANCE

And now, the romantic backstory you’ve all been waiting for. How did these crazy kids meet? And how, in a vast sea of potential mates, did they manage to find each other? What can we learn from their success?

Aurora and J-1 surprised everyone on the morning of May 11 when they hit it off almost immediately after their introduction, embracing for hours in a dark corner of the tank, which is part of the center's "Denizens of the Deep" exhibit.

All that embracing…sounds like it could lead to dancing…

At 5 years of age, J-1, who up until meeting Aurora had lived a strictly bachelor life, was considered elderly for his species, the largest octopus in the world. He was already in a period of decline that occurs before an octopus dies; his skin was eroding, and his suckers were pocked with divots.

I’ll say it again…mmm, who’s hungry?

Though the two had canoodled intensely days before, J-1 began acting cranky with Aurora and he was removed from her tank.

Why are men always like that? No matter how many times they promise things will be okay, it always gets awkward…

Female Giant Pacific octopuses can choose to conceive in what is known as delayed fertilization. Apparently, J-1 had the right stuff, and the privacy was just what Aurora needed, as she began laying eggs just a few days later.

That’s it—we’re not “waiting till it’s too late to have children,” we’re “engaging in delayed fertilization.” Way to take control of the situation, Aurora—you go, girl!

Aurora, believed to be 3 or 4, was about the size of a grapefruit when she was found in 2002 living inside an old tire in front of the SeaLife Center. J-1 died on Sept. 8. He was about the size of a quarter when found on a beach near Seldovia in 1999.

Oy, nebuch. Homeless and living inside a tire…that’s worse than living in a van, down by the river. Even from the start, J-1 had it easier…

AFTER BIRTH

In the wild, Giant Pacific octopus females stop eating when caring for eggs, weaken and die about the same time as the eggs hatch. Hocking said Aurora has lost a lot of weight and can't change colors as rapidly as when she was younger. Her skin also is stretched thinner and her suckers are less pliable.

I feel ya, sister. None of us change colors as fast as we used to. And our suckers? Let’s just say we’ve been considering implants.

"She looks like an old octopus," Hocking said.

I wish this Hocking guy would stop hocking me a chynik about how old Aurora looks. Why should she have to confirm to society’s standards of beauty and youth?

Aurora will be allowed to stay with her eggs as long as she continues to care for them. When they are close to hatching, which could be as late as spring, they will be moved to rearing tanks.

Just like what happens on an Israeli kibbutz.

Perhaps none or as many as a few thousand could survive, Hocking said.

I would bet that Hocking’s online dating profile contains thrillingly vague statements like: “I like life and all it has to offer,” “I love to laugh,” and “I’m a nice guy.” But just between us, a statistician, he ain’t.

Kokal, who is working on a degree in environmental science from Northern Arizona University, likes the idea of several thousand baby octopuses at the SeaLife Center. "That would be very nice," she said.

“That would be a very big understatement,” I said. Sure, it’s all fine and well until said octopuses take over the SeaLife Center. Has no one ever seen Peter Benchley’s The Beast???

LESSONS:

So what have we learned, children?

• Sometimes, blind dates do work out well. Especially if by “work out well” we mean the elderly male goes gently into that dark night and the younger woman pines for him and for her children until all her bodily strength is depleted.
• Men are all grabby-hands (although, in this case, so was the woman…) and don’t deal well with the consequences of their actions.
• Spray your offspring with your love, but know when you’ve sprayed enough.
• There should be room for the phrase “suckers pocked with divots” in contemporary discourse.
• Even octopuses are being judged as not pretty enough.
• One should never read stories about octopuses before dinner time.

LET THE PUBLICITY BEGIN

Mark your calendars!

April 6, 2005: Rants and Raves @ The JCC
Join other 20- and 30-somethings for an evening of ranting and raving about dating, living and loving in New York City. A New York Jewish Week singles columnist, Esther D. Kustanowitz, who knows this terrain, will moderate.

To register or read more, click here, and scroll down to "Rants and Raves."

Hope to see you there!

DAILY NEWS: CHANUKAH EVENTS IN NYC AND BEX!

I don't read the Daily News. I'm no snob, I just don't have room for more printed matter in my life.

So I was super-glad to get an email from FCB (Former Camper Bex) about her appearance in said daily printed matter. Check her out, and let me know if you're going to any of these fine cultural events...

URBAN KVETCH WISH LIST

According to the wise Dawn Summers, 'tis the season for wish lists. (That's why she's the mystical Key* whose blood can unravel civilization in this dimension.)

Not that I'm trolling for presents, mind you. I'm really doing this for you. In case you were going to spend hours in the mall on my account, this takes the guesswork out of it.

Of course, all the things I really want (world peace, a shul where I'm perfectly comfortable, a date with a cool, funny guy for New Year's, an express line at the DMV, a book contract) don't seem to have registries.

So, it's official. My wish list is up at Amazon for your perusal. Just click "wish list" and type my name and you will be magically whisked away to a land of my most-wanted books and DVDs. Prices for every price range and new items added all the time!

But (and here's a sentence I don't use every day) Mariah Carey said it best: All I want for Christmas/Hanukkah is you.**




*Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 5.
**And the aforementioned date for New Year's.

ANONYMOUS REX

Did anyone catch Anonymous Rex, the SciFi movie starring Daniel Baldwin as a literal dinosaur who works as a private eye? I wrote about this eons ago, back in the pre-WYSIWYG days, but missed it when it aired this weekend. If you saw it, please weigh in with your thoughts. I'm strangely curious.

INTERNAL MEMO

DATE: DECEMBER 6, 2004
TO: ESTHER'S HAIR
FROM: CENTRAL MANAGEMENT

Over the last few months, it has come to our attention that you are responsible for an increasingly untenable situation.

Your professional texture is erratic, your emotional color of an ever-changing pallette, your length inconsistent and unreliable. One day you are smooth and soft, the next day you're flighty and flyaway. This emotional frizziness has no place in a functioning work environment. Additionally, your adherence to more youthful adornments and accessories, which undoubtedly causes you joy when you are carded at local watering holes, is unprofessional and unacceptable in the workplace.

While the instability of some of these factors may not be within your control, we urge you to take whatever measures are necessary so that this does not become detrimental to the work of the corporation. Other team members are beginning to resent what is becoming a basic condition of shear unreliability; several have stated that they feel like they've been shafted permanently, and their trust is not something you should be taking for granted. If your behavior continues unchecked, we will initiate a series of multi-layered cuts that will solve some of these issues from an institutional perspective.

We are all part of a collective here; the success of our work depends on our public presentation. You are one of our most central players in how we appear to the rest of society and corporate America, and we need your strength and lustrous shine.

We thank you in advance for your attention to this matter.

STEAL THIS IDEA AND DIE

That's the way I indicate that I am officially trademarking this idea:

A T-shirt with the following emblazoned on the chest:

Are You Looking at My Middos?

(Hyperlink will not appear on t-shirts, to avoid potentially tricky and shomer-negiah transgressing "click here" confusion.)

So that's my intellectual property, kids. Feel free to contact me about licensing opportunities.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE JEWISH...

...to love JDate," the NY Times proclaimed on Sunday. (My reaction here.)

I would posit that you do have to be Jewish to hate it. And hate to love it. And love to hate it. Actually, on second thought, that's just hate it. But maybe that's just me.

But it's not! Do a search for "I hate Jdate" and JDaters Anonymous isn't even on the list. OK, so My Urban Kvetch is number one, but you catch my drift.

And I have to give a special Urban Kvetch shoutout to fellow Upper West Sider Steve Silver, who has the funniest definition of JDate I've read so far:

"A buddy of mine dubbed it "The Video Game"- because you click through it, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and object of the game is to save the princess. "

Of course, we're not all princesses in the "trapped in a tower" sense or even the more offensive "enslaved to capitalism" sense. But the idea of JDate as a video game really appealed to me...I've long felt that the JDate chat room is like Tetris...as each comment "falls down the screen," you have to read it, figure out where it goes, and react with your own witticism about whatever the topic is. Luckily, topics run the vast gamut from flatulence to fellatio, so you never have to dig too deep into your storehouse of clever to participate. Continuing with the video game analogy, you "die" when no one in the chatroom will have a conversation with you. They ignore you and finally you give up, and say "ok, then. good night." And no one responds.

Is it any wonder the non-Jews want in on the fun?

ALL HAIL THE UNSCRIPTED SITCOM

Initially, I was disappointed that Charmed was a rerun and that Desperate Housewives wasn’t even on at all. But then…then I found two of my favorite shows on back to back. They're both unscripted sitcoms, and although you might think it's weird for a writer to recommend a comedy that has no script, you must remember that I'm also a big fan of improv--essentially, the actors are writing the scene as they perform it. I laughed myself off my sofa.

Say the names with me, people, so you don’t ever forget them:
Arrested Development, 8:30 on FOX.
Significant Others, 9pm on Bravo.

“I’ve got Pop-Pop in the attic.”
-- On an escaped criminal paterfamilias, Arrested Development

People have been telling me to watch Arrested Development ever since it first premiered. But I figured, Jason Bateman? (I remember It’s Your Move…and Teen Wolf Too...) And how can I abandon the Charmed Ones? Turns out, it’s very easy. Hilarious situations, intensely real dialogue, confounded looks from every member of the family at some point during each episode, and laugh out loud humor that makes me want to drop everything and run to Hollywood to audition for this show.

“It’s a magic room, filled with love.”
--On the “adult” section in a video store, Significant Others

Loved it back in March when I first saw it, then it vanished from the Bravo schedule. I’m not gonna lie, one of the reasons I like it is because it portrays the fact that not all couples are happy go-lucky sunshine and flowers all the time. It tells the stories of several couples in therapy: each partner tries to cope with their partner’s not-insubstantial bizarreness, and tries to remain unabashedly themselves. The frustration between the sexes that plagues us as singles apparently continues even after the wedding itself. And for some reason, I find that comforting. He who makes me laugh every time? Herschel Bleefeld as Ethan. (Dude, I think I love you. And your name is Herschel. Which makes you, in my book, Jewlicious. Or at least Jewriffic.)

As I noted, these shows are largely unscripted--storylines are set but the dialogue is improvised. The result is dialogue and character relationships that are more spontaneous, more truthful, and infinitely more hilarious. Try 'em, you'll like 'em.

BIGGS, O'BRIEN AND GIGGLE WORDS

In case you didn't know, Jason Biggs is not Jewish. He's Italian. But since Biggs is now in the new play "Modern Orthodox," wherein he plays an Orthodox Jew, he has to pronounce myriad Hebrew and Yiddish words.

As part of the promotional junket, Biggs just told Conan O'Brien that he doesn't have to know how to speak Hebrew to play Jewish in the play: "A lot of them are just giggle words," Biggs said, as he taught the extremely tall redheaded O'Brien to say "shmageggy"...

Isn't it nice to have one's linguistic heritage reduced to the term "giggle words"? But ok, I'll play along.

Of course there are the regular words like tuchas and kneidel. And the "dirtier" ones like alter cocker and shmeckel. That's Yiddish for ya. But in Hebrew? Mirkachat (pharmacy), harpatkaot (adventures) and, a seasonal duo, sufganiyot (jelly donuts) and chanukiyah (the proper name for the chanukah candelabrum, known as "menorah"). Oh, I know there are others. But I want to hear from you.

What are your favorite giggle words? Answers can be in Hebrew, Yiddish, English or any other language...

I'll start you off with an English one. Kumquat. Now you go.

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MUSIC, MAN

[Editor's note: Despite the popularity of "Seventy-Six Trombones," it is not all about "The Music Man."]

Jewish music's all the rage these days. In addition to the swelling debate over whether Adam Sandler's Chanukah song is good or bad for the Jews, we've got rap battles between Jews and Palestinians in Israel, the launch of Bnai Brith digital radio, and new Chanukah music from The Barenaked Ladies, among others.

Of course, I wouldn't be a blog if I didn't mention that "Hey Ya" song parody. (Now that I've successfully excised the catchiness of the original from my head, here comes the spoof to reinfect my cerebral cortex.)*

Jeez. You'd think we controlled the media or something.**


*Note to the more scientific members of my audience: I do not for a fact know which part of the brain stores annoying pop music hooks. But I do know that "cerebral cortex" sounds funny.

**Despite this anti-Semitic rumor that the Jews run the media, I still don't have my own TV show. So, there you go. Anti-Semitic rumor disproved.

SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGIC FLAW

Somehow, I knew it. Whether twas nobler in my mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes, I guess we'll never know. Here's another quiz, not nearly as long as the "What Novel Are You Quiz..."

(Via Erin.)


To be, or not to be?

"HEY MADONNA--ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?"

From World Entertainment News Network, via SouthFlorida.com:

Pop superstar Madonna has urged the press to research the Kabbalah faith before attacking her passion for the mystic offshoot of Judaism.

Is that what it is, an offshoot? Have we ever had offshoots of Judaism before? Somehow, this phrase is sticking in my craw. I picture myself going to "my rabbi" (as if I had one of my very own) and demanding answers:
Me: Hey, Rabbi--I want to research the Kabbalah faith.
Rabbi: Um, there is no Kabbalah faith. It's a fictional product.
Me: [whining] But Raaaabbbi, I have to research the Kabbalah faith before I can attack Madonna's passion for it as the mystic offshoot of Judaism.
Rabbi: Oh. That's a string of a different color. Look, here's what I'll do. I'll write you a note saying you've researched the "Kabbalah faith," and you can feel free to go ahead and attack Madonna's religious beliefs.
Me: Cool! You're the bestest rabbi ever.

The singer is furious about the barrage of criticism she's received for evangelizing the controversial religion, and believes the media would be more supportive if they were less ignorant about the faith. The Kabbalah is studied by many celebrities including Britney Spears, Demi Moore and Paris Hilton.

Sure, Madge. Media training classes in a religion that doesn't exist: That's the answer.
Maybe it's the comedy hangover from last night's episode of South Park talking, but what tickles me most about this paragraph is the words "studied" and "Paris Hilton" in the same sentence. That concept is comedy gold, people. Instead of sending Paris and Nicole on the road to backwoods communities, FOX should send them to community college. Now that'd be a show.

"Yes, it irritates me when the press criticize my beliefs. Because what I would really like is for people to do their research and try to understand what it is I'm trying to study and understand," she said."If they did that, then they'd have a completely different view. I wonder if they'd be less irritated if I was studying existentialism. Maybe they would."

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Madge, if you're wondering why Jews are irritated with your study of a religion that was just recently invented as a pale, albeit celebrity-and-mysticism addled, shadow of our original faith, you are invited for Shabbat dinner anytime. We'll talk Judaism, share some challah and, after Shabbat, maybe write a rap together. (Braiding each other's hair and playing "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board" will be optional.) And after our Shabbaton of the Two Esthers, I think we'll both emerge understanding each other a little bit better.

Happy Hanukkah, Madge. Or whatever nouveau Kabbalists celebrate this time of year. May all of your water be Kabbalized and all of your strings be red.

JESSICA'S LIP SYNCH

No, I have no proof, because I was not actually watching the Moron Family Christmas Show, but as I flipped past it, I could have sworn that during Jessica Simpson's weird-faced rendition of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," she was not singing in synch with her own lips. Anyone else want to weigh in on this scandal-in-formation?

(It's not that Jessica has a bad voice, she is either a ventriloquist or the special's sound was out of sync. Or, this whole lip synching thing is the wave of the future. Not to be confused with Baby Fish Mouth.)

HAPPY NEW YEAR-ADVENTURES IN KEYWORDLAND

Because I didn't want to end this year on such a serious note, I thought I'd include a new feature that's bound to recur because it is such great fun. It is an ongoing series titled Adventures in KeywordLand, wherein I try to determine how people find me...

esther kustanowitz blog
Not surprising. They could have gotten JDaters Anonymous. But let's move on.

what is zach braff's middle name
Interesting. Any ideas? Surely someone on my blogroll must know.

lindsay lohan, performances, watch, lip synching
Does Google mean to imply that I've been implying that LL might not do all her own singing? I would never impugn her artistic integrity like that. (I like to think that I impugn much more creatively.)

linsey lohan
If they're looking for misspellings of celebrities' names, they've come to the wrong place.

snl talk amongst yourselves i'll give you a topic discuss quotes
Few people know that "Talk Amongst Yourselves I'll Give You a Topic Discuss Quotes" was the original title for the "Coffee Talk" sketch, but Lorne Michaels couldn't remember it.

portia di rossi ellen degeneres lesbians
Ah yes, finally my traffic benefits from the inclusion of celebrity lesbian exploits. In fact, adding this last sentence should boost my traffic again.

renegade jew
Hmm. You think so? I guess, in my own, carefully moderated rebellious way, I might be a renegade Jew. You know, the kind who waits until the last minute to get ready for Shabbat, and then finds herself rushing to conclude her blog entry so she can rush into the shower...

I look forward to sharing many more kvetches and keyword searches with you in the new year. Have a wonderful night, don't drink and drive, and never mix Goldschlager with champagne. (Just a little Urban Kvetch wisdom.)

Here's to a blogtastic 2005!

Love,
Esther, the My Urban Kvetch Bloggerette

WINTER IN THE HOUSE OF JOB

I-COLD WINTER

This winter has been especially cold. Sarah’s touched on it a little. I’ve been avoiding it, but it may be time to confront the grief. It is also my hope that a new year will bring better news, or at least, less of this kind of relentless bad.

I don’t deal well with tragedy, whether it’s (God forbid) mine or (God forbid) the tragedies of others. But, even as I’m not wholly comfortable personalizing the tragedies that are not authentically my own, I feel them acutely. And as deep as my pain goes, it feels insincere, like I’m glomming onto the grief of others to illuminate my own issues with my mortality. And believe me, there are issues, which I have no wish to confront, but which I acknowledge are inevitably part of any person’s future:

How best to seize the day (and the night) without rampant repercussions.
How to live life knowing that every action may pose a risk.
How to open one’s heart to love when such an opening increases vulnerability.
How to conceive of the transience of human presence.
How to understand that there’s an unknown expiration date.
How to accept that there are limitations to our impact and to the reach of our dreams.
How to grasp the brevity of a single lifespan and the emptiness created by its loss.

The assault has seemed relentless, almost epic in sweep, nearly epidemic in frequency. And the irony is striking: in a season of spiritual and physical darkness, nations turn to festivals of light to illuminate the world. And our faith in light, at every turn, like candles, is extinguished. There is grief, globally and locally.

Is there something broken? Has there been a hairline fracture within the system? Is there a cause? Because without a cause, there cannot be a cure.

In every instance, there was rage. When it’s bad, it feels like my face and brain were ablaze, not with hope’s light, but with indignation’s ire. (My English major’s brain screams: Rage! Rage! Against the dying of the light.) There has to be anger! Some of the grief-stricken are comforted by words from clergy, mostly, that God takes the people God loves most. But many others are beyond the Bible’s, or even language’s ability to comfort.

After the rage, there is something else. There is a continued resentment at the injustice of it all—youth, potential, hope—abruptly terminated. There is humility, hopelessness and helplessness. There is a bewildered bereftness, a dazed look of grief-as-disbelief, followed by realization and emotional disintegration. It is a small, still voice after the storm, but one that offers no comfort.

II-WHAT IT’S ABOUT

When it’s someone you loved, it’s about internalizing that you’ve lost their smile, their laugh and their wisdom. It’s about understanding that there’s no understanding. It’s about leaning on faith to support you, and feeling it crumble beneath your weight.

When it’s someone you don’t know, the grief is still there, but it’s about realizing that the only way that name will ever become a person to you is through the people he or she touched. It’s attending a memorial service for someone you didn’t know, because you know her husband, but not well enough to be able to offer any words of comfort. It’s about feeling that you don’t belong there, among the legitimate mourners. It’s about feeling, in the midst of your sadness, that you’re a pretender, feigning grief for someone you never knew, just because he or she was loved by others, or worse, as if your attendance will exempt you from attending a service for someone you know well. It's about feeling so stricken by vicarious grief that you worry about your ability to deal with anything less remote, more personal. It’s thinking, there but for the grace of God go I, that people are interchangeable and that no one can predict what’s coming.

It’s about feeling like there’s no reason, or logic, or reward for good behavior. It’s about the futility of human action. It’s about feeling like there’s a criminal out there, targeting potential in indiscernible patterns, and that you and yours could be next. It’s about feeling the responsibility of living every moment to its fullest, and realizing that that’s inherently impossible.

III—SHADOWS OF SIXTEEN

When I look at his picture, I see a face I haven’t seen in eighteen years. We were sixteen then. He wasn’t a close friend. But his smile, in the picture accompanying the obit, is the same. You don’t see his journey. His inner demons hide within his foundation, like emotional termites. The text tells the story of a musician, a performer, an artist. A creative kindred. (Out, out brief candle. "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more."--Macbeth.)

Life is like a passing shadow, many say, invoking it as comforting simile. We may choose to see it as a respite, a shade from the sun. But in the aftermath of grief, the truth hits us, and we understand. Life is us, plus a passing shadow. The shadow is the dark reflection of our vitality—featureless, ever-shifting in shape, mute to all expression. When it stops, it stops. (Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me.)

Whether or not we stop for Death, the journey always ends. (“Fin,” as the French film’s final frame might read.) Mortal coils are by definition meant to be shuffled off; generations pass as people and as shadows.

IV-FAITH

Many of us believe in an afterlife, not because we have any proof, but because the alternative is too frightening. We need to believe that if Life is but a passing shadow, that what comes after is not. That Life has a life beyond life, that a person’s impact can be felt beyond his or her own mortality. That we’re not just carbon-based organisms, shuffling like more complex paramecia. That we can create meaning in this world and add perspective to the lives of people we’ve never met. That we imprint our essence on every person we meet, through every moment or smile we have shared. It doesn’t always feel true. In fact, most of the time, trying to believe this feels like I’m living a huge lie. But there’s no other way to cope with the sadness.

For the living who have lost, and this includes us all, faith is a refuge. Whether we believe it entirely, or whether we reject it in toto, we run to faith or to our faith in its absence, to explain away our sadness or give our grief a cause.

My strongest faith is in my words. "Broken" was my word. It came from my gut, from a paucity of verbiage apt to describe how much things were just not working. If the aphorism holds in its inverse, if there is, out there, some sort of broken thing, we should fix it. Let's stop using aerosol products to save the ozone layer. Let's get our scientists to the lab to cure cancer. Let's get city engineers to configure a subway that goes from the Upper West Side to the Lower East Side. But these fractures are sneakier than most. They are often indiscernible until they’re fatal. No way to know what’s broken—let alone, how to fix it. We go through the motions, trying to abstractly make the world a better place, when it often seems that the crevasse is too wide to be caulked.

V—THE ROAD AHEAD

This decade is supposed to be my generation’s thriving time. We produce in every definition: we number our successes in presentations, artistic performances, books and articles. If we’re lucky enough, we hook up with someone else who’s productive and produce progeny. We grieve for the lost, for those who will never have our chances in this world. But to mire ourselves in the tragic damages the future.

Maybe the solution is in sometimes allowing ourselves to be transported, away from current circumstance, “to glide out of time, and forget all the tormented present.” Perhaps by not living in the past and forgetting the torment of present, we can fix our gaze on what the future might look like. Maybe the only solution is to continue. If humor is tragedy plus time, maybe so is progress.

Our path in life is the furthest thing from smooth. There’s no magic pill to re-enable normalcy, or cement to pave the road. Instead, the only thing that is certain for humanity is our constant struggle, with our natural environment, with other people, with our conflicting senses of self in a confusing world. Faith in something can make living easier. But inevitably, any faith—whether it is in words, or war, or love, or religion—will be tested, pushed, challenged. The road ahead is our only option.

If we are not strongly rooted to friends or family, and invested in our own futures, some of us will fall. We have to wish for strong companions to hold our hands along the way, who help us when we stumble, who support us as we try to right ourselves, and who serve as our faith when faith itself falters. We have to pray that we find the strength in ourselves to continue on a brambled path.

We can conquer that road in the usual way: one step at a time.

IN MEMORY

…of the one I knew: Moshe Lifshen, 1970-2004

…and the ones whose impact I felt through my friends: C.B., Joel, Riva, and Sam

...and the ones who populated the landscape of my youth, and united our families in friendship: Ron and Ken.

Zikhronam livrakhah. May their memories be for a blessing.

DISCLAIMER...

I’m writing a post that I hope to put up later tonight, so I can have it out of my system before the New Year starts. It’s the result a tough couple of months, and contains no discernible humor or references to Madonna’s obsession with Kabbalah. It’s a totally different beast.

The last time I posted something personal, my brother suggested that I take it down, not because it was about him or my family, but because he thought that it shouldn’t be out there, proclaiming my darker side for anyone (who might Google me before a blind date, for instance) to see. I was then at the beginning of forging my blog-identity, and saw his point. I took it down. (No one missed it.) And this piece may be even darker.

Over the last few months, there has been a barrage of bad news: young people in their twenties die on foreign soil, during war, and in our local communities, men and women in their twenties and thirties fall victim to undiagnosed and unexpectedly fatal ailments. Add a few terrorist attacks and an earthquake/tsunami combo platter of destruction that somehow seems even more random than a suicide bombing and claims over a hundred thousand individual lives, and you’ll understand that this world is far from being a shiny, happy place. War’s responsible for some of it, and it’s easy to blame the government or terrorists for acts of violence, whether they’re legislated in the name of freedom or subversive in service to chaos. But dealing with the randomness of illness and the inescapability of natural disasters was too much. Safety was a myth. I started writing because I really didn’t know what else to do.

In talking with a friend about these issues, I expressed reluctance to publish what I was working on. She encouraged me to go public, revealing that she’d been feeling the same intricate, rootless kind of funk that I had been experiencing; maybe blogging about it would help us both and give voice to others who might be feeling something similarly hopeless and unnamable.

My goal isn’t to make anyone cry. It’s to try to find the meaning within the great futility, to find that one thing that makes all the pain bearable, because there’s happiness and meaning to be found—somewhere, if not here. Maybe it’s to reach that other person who doesn’t have the words to describe why this season has been so hard. Maybe it’s to tell him or her that he or she is not alone.

Once you read it, I hope you’ll see it’s not a cry for help, or an announcement of some well of depression I can’t climb out of. It’s a discussion, an exploration of faith and meaning. And it’s not a discussion that I feel is over. In fact, maybe one of you holds an answer I’ve not yet considered.

Most of the time, my writing angles toward humor. And it will again, probably sooner than anyone might expect after reading this next post. But this, the exploratory search for meaning through unanswerable questions, is another part of my balance as a writer. It’s raw. It’s risky. And I hope everyone, even my family, will understand.

Stay tuned. (Or skip the next post. Totally up to you.)

JEWISH WEEK: 10 CULTURE MOMENTS

I really enjoy Liel Liebovitz's cultural writing for the Jewish Week. He seems passionate about many of the same things I myself am passionate about. (But this isn't only about Jon Stewart.)

So I was happy to see he'd created a Top Ten list of cultural moments that "made a difference." And then, lying in wait like bandits on the road, was #6:

Esther, Queen of Pop: It’s hard to think of something Madonna hasn’t done in front of cameras. She shoved her tongue down Britney Spears’ throat. She simulated masturbation while wearing a wedding dress. She wore leather and donned a whip. Still, when Madge went on ABC’s “20/20” on June 18, jaws dropped: the former material girl announced that instead of Madonna, she is now named Esther. “In the metaphysical world, I wanted to attach myself to another name,” she told ABC’s Cynthia McFadden. “I read about all the women in the Old Testament. And I loved the story of Queen Esther. She saved the Jews from annihilation.” While committing no such heroic feats, Madonna certainly saved the Jews from boredom. Her visit to Israel in September was one of the most titillating events in recent memory, landing a smiling Esther, dressed all in white, on the front pages of Israeli tabloids. Even though she’s not Jewish, anyone who could make the name “Esther” sexy deserves the Jewish people’s gratitude.

Harumph.

JDATE: NAUGHTY, NOT NICE

This is not another post about the non-Jewish people on JDate. But since I forgot to wish all my non-Jewish readers a Merry Christmas, I thought I'd use the imagery once before 2004 ends.

As far as I'm concerned, JDate's getting a lump of coal in their figurative stocking this year. They suck, and here's why.

BREAKING NEWS: ACTOR ORBACH DIES

Jerry Orbach died today at the age of 69. Although he was also an accomplished, Tony-winning Broadway actor (for Promises, Promises), Orbach, whose cult status was elevated with his portrayal of Dr. Houseman, the father who "put Baby in the corner" in Dirty Dancing, was best known for his role as Lenny Briscoe on 12 seasons of the original Law & Order.

Born in the Bronx, Orbach had been diagnosed with prostate cancer in early December.

(Really weird...I seem to be the only one with this story. Via 1010 WINS.)

EVERYONE'S A CRITIC

Karaoke Altercation Ends in Stabbing Death for Performer

Do not mock the ones who sing;
elementally, primally, their song resembles you.

If you scoff at their Burning Love
their gaze will incinerate you.

If you jeer their melodies, atonal in their echo
A fistful of blades shall surely pierce you.

A performer may die his on-stage death and live to sing no more,
but seldom thinks that "Jenny" song will land him at death's door.

ISRAELIS FEARED LOST IN TSUNAMIS

Here's an article in the JTA about the Israelis who are feared lost or injured in the earthquake and tsunamis in Asia.

And here's how you can help with the relief efforts.

And pray.

OCEAN'S THIRTEEN--UNCONFIRMED SPOILER

Look at the patterns...they don' t lie.

Ocean's Eleven: George Clooney and Julia Roberts

Ocean's Twelve: George Clooney and Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta-Jones

Ocean's Thirteen: George Clooney and Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta-Jones, Matt Damon and Esther Kustanowitz?

Remember, it's never too early to start rumors a-buzzin'.

FOR HARDCORE BUFFY FANS ONLY

Via Whedonesque, someone has set new words--from the mouths of Angel characters--to the note-perfect melodies of songs from Once More With Feeling (the musical episode, for all you non-fans).

The lyrics are not very good. But this is partly because the original was so intricately created, with internal rhymes and dramatic beats that enhanced the emotional power of the music and character development...there's just no comparison.

Any fan knows that Angel would not have embraced the singing the way these lyrics indicate. His reaction would have been more along the lines of Spike's reluctant croon in OMWF. (Think of the eyeroll when he realizes he's singing to Buffy against his will...precious...) And Fred singing to Angel and Wes (instead of Gunn and Wes) is an odd choice. Interesting to think of Fred's yammering as equivalent to Xander's babbling, though.

Anyway...if you're a fan, great, and welcome! If you're not? So's your face.

NEW JEW BLOG AWARDS

Thanks to Miriam for pointing out that Israelly Cool has announced the first Jewish/Israeli Blog Awards. Check out the categories and suggest new ones (Best Jewish Singles Blog? Best New York Jewess Blog? Best Intersection of Pop Culture and Judaism Blog? Just a few ideas...) if you'd like. Be sure that I'll be posting soon about the nominations process...

NO THINKERS ALLOWED IN JERUSALEM

The irony. The Thinker's not allowed in Jerusalem. Some local authorites have greeted this as old news, claiming that there's been no thinking in Jerusalem for years.

The great quote from this article? Hats off (or maybe we should just keep our heads covered) to Deputy Mayor Shlomi Atias (Shas Party). "If he was wearing a bathing suit, then maybe it would have passed, but he is totally naked."

Now, what few people know is that Rodin's original statue was slightly different. First iterations of the sculpture had the hunching Thinker dressed in a banana-yellow Speedo. While this tested well with European audiences and some Israeli beachgoers in their late 50s and early 60s, nudist American influences convinced the artist that nudity was preferable to the swimsuit because the color of the Speedo was too distracting. Additionally, many early critics claimed that the tight swimwear also further helped them to see what the statue was, ahem, thinking about.

Funny how you never read about that in the newspaper.

(Hat tip to Jewschool.)

20,000 THANKS

I am pleased to announce that I have reached the glorious number of 20,000 hits on My Urban Kvetch. (It was a goal I had hoped to attain, but it was such a close call that I didn't want to mention it to anyone outside of my head...)

Your support has been invaluable--I love writing and would do it even if no one read it. But that I do have readers keeps me honest, motivated and energized.

I'm also very grateful for the people who have come into my life through my blogging--there are many more of you than I ever expected, and the number keeps growing. Bloggers make good friends, and I'm looking forward to meeting many more of you in the new year.

Again, I humbly thank you. Looking forward to kvetching with you in 2005.

MEASURE MY FAME IN CRYERS

Amazing, after all Teresa Strasser and I have been through together, that I have to read about this new system of measuring fame in the Jewish Ledger.

She writes:
I'll describe it this way. If electricity is measured in watts and height is measured in inches, what is the measure of fame? I offer you, the Jon Cryer.You might remember him as Duckie from "Pretty in Pink" with Molly Ringwald. Maybe you've seen him on "Two and a Half Men" (he's the not Charlie Sheen one). You'd know his face if you saw him getting a slice, but you might think you just know him from high school.Jon Cryer is, of course, one Jon Cryer. Paris Hilton is 72 Cryers. I'm a fraction of a Cryer, maybe one-sixth at best.

Well, if Teresa's one-sixth of a Cryer, then I must be around one-twentieth of a Cryer. And I'm okay with that.

YASIR'S MILLIONS: HOW TO BOWL YOUR CONSCIENCE

Bowling for Peace

When I was in camp, there was this guy (I already forgot his name but I wanna say it was Chet or Len or something like that) who taught this song at campfires, and the chorus went:

"Take the skinheads bowling, take them bowling..."

I don't remember any of the other words. And I'm really not sure what the message was; perhaps that bowling is a sport that corrects racist thinking, maybe through taking us all through the gutter at various points. Or maybe there's something about piles of suddenly ownerless shoes that reminds us of something awful in our cultural memory. But now that Yasir Arafat's invested in Bowlmor Lanes, I suppose skinheads bowling isn't so outrageous.

For those of you who do not live in NYC, there are three main places (that I'm aware of) you can go bowling in the Big Apple. In the past several months I've been to two out of three. The third one, located at Port Authority Bus Terminal, is the most convenient, and purportedly the least safe. So when Jewish friends bowl, they opt for one of the other two:

Bowlmor Lanes

This purported repository of Yasir's millions and much-touted homeland of downtown NY hipsters (a term I loathe, but that's another post) is very challenging to get to (especially from the Upper West Side), and a little sketchy going in. You arrive, and are carded by enormous bouncers even if you're in your thirties. Then they escort you into a steel elevator operated by a guy who looks like he's right out of the Sopranos. You hope you're going to the right floor and try not to make any eye contact with anyone. Then, the doors open to the sound of EARDRUM-BUSTING LATIN EXPLOSION music. Think Ricky Martin's gone? Not here, kids.

Two floors of bowling, one floor that's a night club and shares space with several pool tables. If you have great shoes to show off, it's nightclub city for you. If you're wearing sensible shoes to begin with, might as well trade 'em in for a pair of eminently fashionable bowling shoes that have undoubtedly been recently misted with a magical bacteria-and-odor-killing spray. (Mmm. If only it were also a dessert topping!!) And keep an eye out for those cheesy videos that re-enact your frame in animation...

Chelsea Piers

You know where this place is, right? 23rd Street and the river. The M23's a nice bus if you can get it, but that really depends on how lucky you are. ("Do you feel lucky, punk? Do you?") Suffice it to say, I usually end up walking from Seventh Avenue.

I believe they refer to their bowling center as a "Rock-and-Bowl," which aside from being puntastically cringeworthy, I suspect was inspired by "We're Gonna Sco-o-ore Tonight," an unfortunate song in the grosstastically-excellent parody of Grease--Grease 2, starring a burger-and-gum-chomping Michelle Pfeiffer (in love with apparent Cary Elwes progenitor Maxwell Caulfield). Also, the alley is extremely dark. I was just there last Saturday night for a friend's birthday, and while it was fun after my first (and only) beer, I could barely see anyone, and that was in the company of others nearly as glow-in-the-dark as I am. On the way in, my friend asked me why there were so many religious Jews there. Maybe they sensed that no PLO money was involved in that alley...or maybe it's because they just "don't roll on Shabbos."* Just keep an eye out for those cheesy videos that re-enact your frame in animation...

My Point

What's my point? Firstly, perhaps the Arab Israeli conflict is destined to be solved via a bowling tournament. The initiative could be called "Bowl for Peace." I'm sure it's not any less likely to succeed than any other initiative...

Secondly, Bowlmor has issued a statement that they're returning the Yasir money, so Jews of NYC can continue to bowl, consciences clear. Of course, most of us will continue to not be good at it, but that's a complicated issue.

Conclusion

When I was a ten-year-old kid, I'd break 100 consistently. These days, I'm lucky to hit 70. Is it my vision? Is it the fact that certain puberty-era developments have tilted my center of balance askew? Was it beer? I'm sure there's a physics explanation to why my performance is so erratic. I'm sure someone will write me and tell me that the force exerted = quantum torque times pi. And then I'll call that person a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. (Or maybe just "geek." I haven't decided yet.)

Right now, I'm baffled. All I know is that I don't inherently trust a game where you approach your target with a heavy ball, wearing unsanitary shoes, while all your friends stare at your ass and then chortle when you bowl a 7-10 split. That's gotta be some sort of PLO plot. No, I don't have proof. But the first three letters of the word "plot" are P, L and O...


*Judaism in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century is bound to be defined by two pop culture moments:
1. MADONNA ADOPTS KABBALAH
2. JOHN GOODMAN'S CHARACTER IN "THE GREAT LEBOWSKI" ANNOUNCES THAT HE "DOESN'T ROLL ON SHABBOS"

"JUST NOT THAT INTO" THIS BOOK

Anyone not get an adequate deluge of "He's Just Not That Into You" this week? Good news! Here's my latest column, "Just Not That Into" This Book...

Let the commenting begin!

ARMPIT WITH FEET

...or was that a pair of feet that had an armpit...

Remember that great AXE ad that managed to strike just the right balance of disgusting and, um, repulsive? The Washington Post does, in this look back at the magazine weirdness of 2004. (You'll need to subscribe to read the whole thing, but the opening grafs are the highlight, IMHO, and they're reprinted below...)

2004's Sassy, Trashy, Gassy, Flashy Glossies

Future historians of American magazines will no doubt remember 2004 as the year when an armpit with feet became a major sex symbol.

The armpit starred in a series of advertisements for Axe deodorant that appeared in Rolling Stone, Maxim, Cargo and countless other mags. The Axe armpit is not what you'd call a classic matinee idol -- he has no head, no legs, a crop of hair and two chubby feet, each with three fat toes -- but the dude proved to be a major playa.

In one ad, the armpit enjoyed a candlelight dinner with a busty brunette who slipped off her shoe and played footsie with him under the table. In another ad, the armpit perched on a fluffy white rug in front of a blazing fireplace while a leggy blonde ran her fingers through his hair. In a third ad, the armpit canoodled with a wine-swilling babe on a gondola in Venice.

Just reminiscing about these ads makes me want to hurl. But I remember one (and I fully admit that this sentence sounds ludicrous) where the armpit was astride a horse with a beautiful woman clutched him from behind, as the pair rode romantically along a beach.

The moral of the ad series? Women don't just see a smelly armpit with smelly feet. We see a smelly armpit with smelly feet and an excellent personality.

(Hello, lunch! Haven't seen you in several hours!)

LAST COLUMN OF 2004, HJNTIY

[Doesn't HJNTIY look like it should be a region of USY? Maybe, if this book stays popular, it will be...]

I've joined the bandwagon, and finally wrote a column about the one-trick pony that is HJNTIY. (For the uninitiated, that's "He's Just Not That Into You," the dating-advice book inspired by an episode of "Sex and the City.")

The column will hopefully appear in this week's NY Jewish Week (URL to come). And that's my last column of the year, y'all!

More columns on Jewish dating and relating to come in 2005...stay tuned, and thanks for your support and ideas.

GERVAIS TO STAR IN NEW BBC SERIES

I so need to get BBC America.

Ricky Gervais, the right proper bloke who played The Office's resident wanker and non-Quiz champion David Brent, is now set to star in a new BBC series. In 'Extras', "he will play a struggling actor convinced he is destined for bigger and better things, as it is revealed to have turned down the offer to star John Smith's ad campaign. The comedy show, co-written by Gervais and 'Office' co-creator Stephen Merchant, is due to air next year and will feature a host of A-list celebrities, including 'Alfie' star Jude Law, playing twisted versions of themselves."

The only unfortunate news about this is that apparently, the 2004 Jude Law Outbreak will be continuing into aught-five. People, let's move on. There are tons of people more appealing than Jude Law, despite this thrall he seems to have cast on American audiences. I resist his charms, rather easily. Sexiest Man Alive? If you want brooding and serious, try Clive Owen. If you want scruffy, try Aragorn. (I mean, Viggo Mortensen.) If you want all around sparkling-sexy, you gotta go with Ocean's Twelve shiny, happy cover boys in all their well-dressed, chiseled, mischevious glory--George, Matt, Brad. There's no contest! What is wrong with the rest of you people? If Jude's the only choice, I cast my vote for Lawlessness. If that makes me an anarchist, so be it.

My point? Oh yes. Everyone rent The Office. (Except me--someone very generous bought me my very own copy.) And I challenge you to get through the fourth episode of Series One without laughing. And then we'll all be ready to greet "Extras" with the proper pomp and circumstance Gervais and Merchant deserve...

I HEART VH1

Why? For programming slates like tonight's (my comments in blue):

(Source: Cynopsis.com)
Returning to VH1 in the new year is Surreal Life (Mindless Ent/51 Pictures) on Jan 9 at 9p with another list of "celebrities": Chyna Doll; Jane Wiedlin (The Go-Gos); Christopher Knight (The Brady Bunch); Verne Troyer (Austin Powers); model Marcus Schenkenberg; rap star Da Brat; and Adrianne Curry (America's Next Top Model).

As one of the show's surreal challenges, I think Verne and Marcus need to do a runway show together. And I really want Jane Wiedlin and Christopher Knight to perform duets of “Keep On” and “Time to Change.” I think the choreography would be stellar.

VH1's original series Strange Love (Mindless Ent/51 Pictures) makes its debut immediately following at 10p. Strange Love features the love affair between Brigitte Nielsen and Flavor Flav which was born during their participation in last season's edition of Surreal Life.

Strange love? More like bizarro freakshow trainwreck love. That I can’t take my eyes off of!

And finishing up the evening is the premiere of Celebrity Fit Club (Granada Ent) which follows the progress of 8 celebs looking to shed a few pounds. Participating in this series are: Daniel Baldwin, Kim Coles, Joe Gannascoli (The Sopranos), Biz Markie, Ralphie May, Judge Mablean Ephriam (Divorce Court), Mia Tyler and Wendy the Snapple Lady.

Because it wouldn’t be America if we didn’t make even our celebrities insecure about their bodies. Land of the free, home of the self-esteem bereft. I hope Daniel talks about his involvement in Anonymous Rex . My random prediction? Biz Markie will start a passionate affair with Wendy the Snapple Lady. But he says, “she’s just a friend.” (Oh baby you...)

MISTLETOE

So, what's the deal with mistletoe?

Many years ago, people thought mistletoe was sacred because it grew when the other trees were not. Its unique white berries seemed to have mystical powers.

Eighth-century Vikings believed a legend about mistletoe that could raise humans from the dead. Balder, the god of the summer sun, had a dream he would die. His mother, Frigga, was the goddess of love and beauty. She frantically tried to find a way to save her son’s life.

[Because if you're afraid of bullies, the only thing to do is ask your Mommy for protection. Oh yeah, and the only thing worse than being bald is being Balder.]

The legend says she went to the elements air, fire, water, earth, plants and animals and begged them not to kill her son. Balder was teased because of his mother’s protection. One enemy found a way around Frigga’s protection and it was mistletoe. Because mistletoe has no roots of its own, it wasn’t a true plant. The enemy made a poisoned dart out of its branches and killed Balder.

The story says Frigga cried over her son, and her tears turned to red like the mistletoe berries, then to white, and Balder rose from the dead. Overjoyed that she had her son back, she changed mistletoe’s bad reputation and kissed everyone who walked under it.

[Is it wrong to say I find this Frigga'n ridiculous? Actually, kind of interesting with the red turning white to indicate a new start; that's really almost Judaic...]

Hung over a door, it would bring good will to all who passed under it. Some stories say it was a mistletoe tree that made the cross for Christ’s crucifixion. As punishment, the legend says the species withered to become the parasitic plant we know today.

One berry is removed each time a woman is kissed under the mistletoe. When all of the berries are gone, so are all of the kisses. A couple kissing under the mistletoe is a sign that they will be married and live happily ever after. Many believed that if an unmarried woman wasn’t kissed under the mistletoe, she would stay single for another year.

[So that's the problem!!]

Even though scientists haven’t proven that mistletoe held Christ, can resurrect the dead, cure illnesses, ward off evil spirits or even has the power to bind a marriage, its magic can be romantic. So grab your sweetie and share a kiss under the mistletoe.

Because we all need another source of pressure this time of year. [Geez, does anyone have good New Year's plans?]

Happy holidays, everyone.

SWASTIKA ON THE UPPER WEST SIDE

I still can't believe that this happened at my synagogue, in my neighborhood. But here's the email from Mark Ankcorn, rabbi of Congregation Shaare Zedek:

Early this afternoon, I was contacted by the police regarding an incident of vandalism at Shaare Zedek. I quickly walked over to the shul and discovered a swastika about two feet tall painted on our building, which had been cordoned off by police officers already at the scene.

As best we can determine, the vandalism happened sometime between 5:30 pm Saturday evening and 12:30 pm Sunday, on the wall to the left of the eastern door to the social hall. We painted over this ugly symbol as quickly as possible, after being advised by NYPD that there were no fingerprints or other forensic evidence to be gleaned from the site.

I know that many in our community live in the area and have friends who pass by the building every day. If anyone has any information about the incident, including walking by the shul and NOT seeing the vandalism during the relevant time period, it would be a big help to the investigators as they try to canvas for witnesses. Please contact me and I will pass the information on to the detectives from the Hate Crimes Unit who are working the case.

The security of every member of our community is of paramount importance to me and to the lay leadership of Shaare Zedek, but do bear in mind that (thank God) no one was injured nor was there lasting damage to our synagogue. Rest assured that I will keep the community updated with information as it becomes available; nevertheless, feel free to be in touch with me if you have any questions or concerns.

If you have any information, please call Shaare Zedek at 212-874-7005...

"FETCHEZ LA VACHE!!"

Here's an excellent piece in the New Yorker for all you English k-nigots, knights who until recently said "ni," and French sympathizers alike--an interview with Eric Idle about the imminent arrival on Broadway of "Spam-alot: The Musical."

Tickets, anyone?

SMITTEN'S IN THE NY TIMES!

Congratulations to Smitten and Alex, on the piece about them in this week's NY Times Magazine. The piece calls them "the Tracy and Hepburn of the dating blog," and I can't think of a better term for this couple of bloggers who are both well-matched and classy, and whose place is more rightfully in an article about blogromance than it is about blogsex.

Congratulations, guys! If you ever come back from Paris, I hope you won't be too famous to hang out with me!

UPDATE: Deb is not happy about this article. See here for her response.

AUDITION IN PJs; PERFORM AU NATUREL

Naked Karaoke is here. Well, not here. But at least here.

Men, be prepared: if you sing "I Want Your Sex," people will know if you're lying.
And ladies, if you've had work done, don't sing "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman," unless you're singing to your plastic surgeon.

CLASSIC SITCOM CHARACTER QUIZ: NO SURPRISE HERE

Lucy Ricardo

What classic sitcom character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

BUFFYWORLD SMACKDOWN: CORDY VS. BUFFY

CORDY "THE GLOWY HIGHER POWER" CHASE

VS.

BUFFY "THE SLAYER FROM SUNNYDALE" SUMMERS

Apparently, Joss Whedon's been tapped to write the new Wonder Woman movie, and two of his former stars, Charisma Carpenter and Sarah Michelle Gellar, are battling it out to land the eponymous role. One's a former cheerleader who had visions, and became a higher power and eventually a demon, and the other's the Slayer, the Chosen One, and catalyst for Angel's reversion to Angelus. Odds, anyone?

Plus, the new issue of Slayage: The Online International Journal of Buffy Studies is now online. Enjoy. And don't forget to save the world. A lot.

THE KARAOKE CHANNEL

Israeli TV rocks!

For 13 shekels a month (chump change--this can't be right!), the 50,000 subscribers of The Karaoke Channel, who were already enjoying the sing-along goodness of classic Israeli songs, will now be treated to expanded choices for their Semitic warbling:

Hundreds of songs will be added, including contemporary classics and modern-day pop. Guy Karni, head of content for the channel, says the new additions - especially those of Spears and the like - are aimed at attracting teenagers to the station. More mature adults need not worry, though: the classic Hebrew Israeli songs will also continue to run.

Phew. I'm breathing a sigh of relief that "Yerushalayim Shel Zahav" is still safe, and now can be followed by a Britney Spears or Lindsay Lohan tune. Just the way Israel's founders would have wanted it.

2004's TEN MOST INFLUENTIAL DATING MOMENTS

Match.com came up with a list of the ten most influential dating moments for this year...wanna see em? They're here.

WEDNESDAY RIDDLE EXPLAINED

On Wednesday morning, I was in my stretch limo on the way to the studio, schmoozing with the driver about all the other celebrities he’s driven in his career. There’s the expected range of good, bad and ugly. Cher’s a diva. Gere’s a jerk. Reeve was a saint, even before the accident. We talk about celebrity, and how the power of prominence can either be used for good or for evil. Of course, those are my words, not his. He uses words that I don’t hear every day, like “Fuggedaboutit” and “not for nothin’.”

I arrived at the studio and a PA escorted me to a room with my name on the door; the room is only slightly smaller than my apartment. There’s food there—2 muffins, some fruit, and two bowls of butter and cream cheese that indicated that the room was not invented for me. Someone must have eaten the bagels before I got there. Had I been a true diva, I would have thrown a rock star style fit, but I decided to let it slide (this once).

For those who asked, and those who didn’t, I spent Wednesday afternoon taping an episode of the WB talk show Life & Style. No, it wasn’t my big break, no audition to take over for Jules Asner in the glamour spot, nor had I been invited to share my expertise on the Jewish dating scene. I was there merely for my cheekbones…I had my makeup professionally done by Catherine Hickland, a soap star from One Life To Live. (In case you want to see who she is, her bio is here.) She has her own cosmetics company and before she became an actress, she started out as a makeup artist. Soap opera fans will know her also as the wife of Michael E. Knight (All My Children's Tad Martin). The show airs March 28.

Highlights? Catherine and celebrity makeup artist Bruce telling me I had great skin and cheekbones…making my grand entrance after the makeover…seeing how gorgeous Jules Asner is first-hand…meeting comedian Lynn Koplitz and making her laugh…having people around whose only job is to make me look beautiful…getting some free makeup...stretch limos to and from the studio...feeling glamorous and having people do a doubletake when they see me on the street…feeling a little superior to everyone else for a little while…

I understand, now. People on TV are treated better than other people, and sometimes they begin to think they actually are, intrinsically, better. It was suddenly clear: feeling special doesn’t mean that you’re better, just happier with being different.

APPRENTICE 2-THE FINALE: THE MOVIE

Because this is the way my mind works, I've decided to cast "The Apprentice 2-The Finale: The Movie," undoubtedly in production at P-MurT, Donald Trump's production studio. I haven't cast all the characters, only those that struck me. Others to be added later, as they occur to me (or you, gentle readers).

THE APPRENTICE 2-THE FINALE: THE MOVIE

Ursa from Superman 2...Maria
Maya Rudolph...Jen C
Gwyneth Paltrow....Jennifer M.
Bill Paxton...Kelly
Ben Stiller...Raj
Melissa Etheridge....Pamela
Stephen Colbert...Andy
Melissa from The Real World New Orleans......Ivana
Dule Hill....Kevin
Cree Summer...Staci J.
Virginia Madsen....Amy (cameo, from the first Apprentice)
Matthew McConaghey....Troy (cameo, from the first Apprentice)

And in a dual role, Darrell Hammond as Donald Trump and Regis Philbin.

LONELY AND DESPERATE?

No, not me. (Thank you all SOOO much for asking. Very funny.) The lap pillow.

When I was in college, we used to have these pillows/back and armrests on our beds that we referred to as husbands. They almost looked like a chair without legs, and most of the time, they sat on our beds--although sometimes we'd take them into the lounge and sit on the floor, or bring them to another person's dorm room so that we could lean against something while watching Schoolhouse Rock or Star Wars. And just to clarify, none of us really thought that was what our husbands would look like. The arms of the armrests were not arms in the anatomical sense, just in the chair sense.

Well, now (thanks to Japanese ingenuity) it's the men's turn for their specialized pillow, "with skin-coloured polyurethene calves folded under soft thighs -- a comfy cushion for napping, reading or watching television." (Uggh.)

(Please note that I have not added this item to my wish list.)

I excerpt, for your reading convenience.

Care was taken with details such as the softness of the thighs, panty lines on the pillow’s “backside” and wrinkles in the lap of the skirt so as to make the pillow look and feel as real as possible.

It will also be a surprise to no one that I have an issue with the way the legs are posed. Why not a more natural lap position? This position makes the lapbearer seem subservient, as if she's kneeling before him. But maybe that's precisely the point.

Only $90, and this headless, torsoless girlfriend's all yours, gents.

A MUST-READ, PART DEUX

If you have not read Chayyei Sarah's account of her singles Shabbaton, really, you should. Especially if you are single, or run programs for singles. There's big trouble, right here in River City, if you know what I mean.

Now for your reading convenience, a table of contents.

WEDNESDAY RIDDLE

Q: What do Esther D. Kustanowitz, soap opera star Catherine Hickland and the WB have in common?

Tune in late Wednesday for the answer.

OH, GOODY: LOHAN MAKES THE CASE FOR KABBALAH

From ContactMusic.com:

[Lindsay] Lohan says, "I did start to look into the whole Kabbalah thing a while ago, just because my mom was like, 'Maybe you should try it.' And Demi was on the set one day at 70's Show, and it interested me, because they talk about ego and stuff."

Ego and stuff indeed. In my home town, there used to be a kosher pizza place called "Pizza and Stuff." In that case, I think "stuff" meant "felafel."

Enjoy your spiritual felafel, Lindsay. I'm sure your moms would be, like, okay with it. And stuff.

JEDIS AND JEWS AND THE FORCE, OH MY!

I'm not the first to draw parallels between Judaism and the Star Wars movies, and others have done it better. But, I want to point out the similarity between the words Yehudi and Jedi. It's pretty much the same root, if you never noticed before. The Rebel Alliance always reminds me of the Maccabees--the few fighting impossible odds against the plentiful forces of oppression who would force their ways upon everyone. Plus, the Jedis are always referred to, rather contemptuously, by the Evil Empire as "that ancient religion."

And now, the 2001 population survey of Britain revealed that there are more Jedi Knights in England than there are Jews. Maybe those Jedis are also Jews. There are JewBus (Jews who are Buddhist)--maybe there are Jewdis out there, too.

If there are Jewdis out there, I hope the Empire doesn't find out. Cause if they've rebuilt the Death Star? We're screwed.



Thanks to Gilly for this one.

"EVERY DAY IS LESBIAN LIFE PARTNER DAY!"

(Disclaimer: Via iVillage, which featured this story from The National Enquirer...)

Formerly the sarcastic daughter on Roseanne (and ever the adopted sister of surgically enhanced former prairie resident Melissa Gilbert), Sara Gilbert and her live-in lesbian lover (and suspected MOT) Alison Adler announced the birth of their son. For those of you who didn't know they were expecting, Allie carried the baby, which was the product of a sperm donor.

Now, here's what I don't understand, and where I have to "consider the source." The Enquirer reports:
Close friends EllenDeGeneres and Melissa Etheridge have already been by to see the baby. And Ellen has said that she wants to have a baby with her longtime companion Alexandra Hedison more than ever, now that she's seen Sara and Allie's little one.

First of all, are all lesbians friends? I know that all Jews aren't friends. For instance, when Debra Messing had her baby, she didn't even call me.

And secondly, wasn't the breakup of Ellen and Alexandra's relationship all over the Daily News yesterday?

On Friday it was reported that DeGeneres had split with her girlfriend of four years, photographer-director Alexandra Hedison. We're told the real reason for the break is that DeGeneres is now deeply in love with de Rossi, the Australian-born "Arrested Development" diva. DeGeneres, 46, and de Rossi, 31, first met nine months ago on a photo shoot, we're told. They fell "instantly in love," de Rossi gushed to pals at the time. But DeGeneres remained loyal to Hedison, whom she often credited with "saving her life" at a time of crisis. However, when DeGeneres and de Rossi met up again at VH1's "Big in '04" awards gala in L.A. on Dec. 1, events took their natural course.

This is one of the reasons I don't read these gossip tabloids. It just leaves me confused.

I do love Ellen DeGeneres, though. But only as a friend.

HALF-BIRTHDAY

I just realized, today is my half-birthday. So mark your calendars, we're only six months away from my next birthday party. I'm officially taking advice as to location for next year's event, so vote early and often.

How can you celebrate with me on this partially auspicious half-occasion? Feel free to send me half a present or half a card or some other sort of half-assed commemoration. Of course I'm kidding. You don't half to.

:)

PS: If you write "half" enough times, it starts to look like it's spelled wrong.

CANADA MAKES KARAOKE STRIDES

First, music. Now movies.

In Vancouver (that's British Columbia to you), now you can "say along" with your favorite movie scenes. They're calling it movie karaoke, which doesn't mean anything in Japanese, because as we all know, karaoke means "open orchestra."

Still, this sounds pretty funny...

When organizing the first movie karaoke evening, Myara worried that people might be too shy to participate, but those fears were unfounded as wannabe thespians lined up to show off their acting skills. A two-man comedy troupe called Bob Loblaw, which will open Sunday's show, opened the July event with the piano scene from the movie Big, during which Tom Hanks plays a large floor piano by dancing along the keys.

Other highlights included one brave woman reenacting the now famous Meg Ryan fake orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally, and a group of about 10 people who ran in slow motion across the stage, while the famous running scene from Chariots of Fire played out behind them.

I'd have to choose some early (Greenwald, oops, I mean) Ringwald, but I'd need a partner for most of those scenes, and I'm not real good at sharing stage time. Perhaps I would attempt Jack Nicholson's "You Can't Handle the Truth" monologue, or Alec Baldwin's "You Think I Have a God Complex" monologue from Malice. Pretty much any segment of WHMS would work too. Or any scene from the Princess Bride ("I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you..." "Have fun storming the castle!" "I will go up to the six-fingered man and say...") My inner comedian wants to recreate the hilarity of Soapdish or any of Christopher Guest's films. And although the drama queen in me is toying with the ending of The Wizard of Oz or any of the high drama Scarlett scenes from GWTW, I could also be tempted to interpret Paul Giamatti's soon-to-be classic monologue from Sideways, which I saw yesterday, where he brilliantly expounds on the qualities that make the pinot noir grape his favorite.

Hey you, Urban Kvetch readers...which movie scene would you reenact?

GOOD YEARS

Those were good years, not just because we were young. Our hair was permed, our makeup far too shiny, vestiges of an era recently past that would relapse at the century’s turn, but we surpassed couture and culture, our souls selecting our own society.

Those were good years, not just because our achievement was measured in words or G.P.A.s. The algorithms we calculated illustrated the rhythms of our young lives. Those were good years, not just because there was always pizza in the lounge, or because of $2 pitchers/$1 well drinks till 10 pm. Those were good days, not just because of the buzz, the high, the hilarity of all-nighters of the academic, social and romantic ilk.

Those were good years, not just because we had roommates and floormates as on-the-spot siblings and constant confidants, who held our hands as we stepped tentatively into adulthood, held us close after sexual exploration and held our hair back as we voided our stomachs after toxic alcohol and pizza binges.

Those were good years, not just because our minds were boundless, capable of the lucid one moment and the ludicrous the next. Those were good years, not just because our naivete/optimism flowed like free-flowing beer at some down-the-block fraternity or local watering hole.

Those were good years, not just because we spent our days soaking in the knowable and our nights searching for the elusive--silent corners in the dorms, stolen moments on a porch, noses and lips touching in moonlight.

Those were good years, not just because we believed in ourselves and had our futures at our disposal. Those were good years, not just because in every day each of us lived our own dramas, comedies, romances and adventures. Life was our movie, and we scripted our own endings with every step.

Those were good days. Not just because of one thing or moment or feeling. But just because.



Inspired by the train ride home from the New York Art Festival, after a reunion with a college friend. 11/11/04

ADIEU TO PROTOCOLS

Last week, the Jewish blogosphere mourned the loss of Protocols. Since it was one of the first blogs to catch my interest, I felt like I should weigh in on the love-hate relationship with the site, a reaction that seems to have been blogiversal.

Back when I first started blogging, I was in awe of Protocols. They always seemed to have the story first, whatever it was. It was, as Sarah calls it, an uberblog.*

By the time I got my Jewish Week, the newspaper was old news--I felt like I was already in the know, and like print journalism was over as a genre. In the same moment, with every post, I felt like they were challenging me to find the story or perspective that they hadn't yet managed to uncover. If I was original enough in my approach, they'd link me, and my life and my ratings would never be the same.

Over the last several months, they linked me twice, I think, and neither had the boost to my readership that I'd hoped for, possibly because, in at least one of the contexts, my writing was denounced as self-indulgent, with the intimation that my writing style is why I am still single instead of married with kids (as if those are the only potential definitions of my inner self). Traffic increased, but not much.

Protocols failed to take notice of me, and more poignantly, as time passed and both blogs evolved, Protocols ceased to be the center of my Jewish blogsurfing. As content shifted--the tone became meaner if not always leaner, I found that some of the contributors professed a deep and abiding love for Judaism at the same time that they were indicting and convicting community leaders, decisions and issues with rumors and hearsay. Lord knows, the Internet's already a hotbed of gossip built on a foundation of lashon hara (evil speech); while public figures to an extent put themselves in gossip's way, I still felt that Protocols often reported the incendiary murmurings, rather than the verified facts, perhaps in a desire to become The Drudge Report of the blogosphere--their aspirations of whistle blowing translated on my screen into vindictive cruelty. With so much negativity already out there, I began to look for news elsewhere.

My romance with Protocols yielded several dividends, both informational and social. It introduced me to the industrious blogging of Steven I. Weiss, and the thoughtful, identifiable blogging of (dare I say it? kindred pop culture and judaism spirit) Miriam Shaviv. I looked to find in the Protocols blogroll a coalition of the like-minded, and for the most part, I found others whose passions closely mirrored my own.

My love for Protocols never did run smooth. But relationships hit snags, and either those obstacles can be overcome, or they cannot.

Protocols is no more. I don’t see the need for one central blog to play the role of Protocols. I think we can all get along fine; there are plenty of quality Jewish blogs out there. Personally, I find the diversity of opinions available one of the most meaningful parts of blogging, and frankly, I‘m not troubled by the prospect of reading more than one blog at a time.

Jews are the people of the Book, after all, and it only makes sense that we‘d also be people of the Blog.

*Another excellent post-mortem by Josh Yuter is here.

LATKES, ANGEL, MUSIC, BABY

Please explain this situation:

I seem to be listening to Gwen "Geltmeister" Stefani and rapper Eve singing a song called "Love Angel Music Baby", which recycles a riff from "If I Were a Rich Man," making it "If I Were a Rich Girl..."

I also seem to remember having heard a dance version of "If I Was a Rich Girl" at some clubs a few years back...

I'm just confused by the merging of Fiddler on the Roof and Gwen's Ska stylings. All explanations appreciated.

YOU GOTS THA POISION, I GOTS THA REMEDY

A very interesting piece in the Jewish Week by Liel Lebovitz, about Jewish rapper Remedy, formerly of the Wu-Tang Clan.

An excerpt, with my favorite sentence bolded:

At 32, Remedy has recorded with the Wu Tang Clan, the Staten Island rap supergroup of which he is a member. He has managed to use his music to explore serious issues that are important to him, from the Holocaust to the Middle East peace process. He has built up a following and toured Israel and England. With a career increasingly focused on playing for Jewish audiences, combining his performances with lectures on Mideast politics, Israel and Jewish culture, Remedy is emerging as an influential voice in the Jewish community. But unlike establishment Jewish leaders, this one wears a goatee, baggy pants and grabs his crotch.

Finally, here's one to bring home to Mama. And be sure to pitch him as a "Jewish communal leader." Maybe he'll earn a Wexner Fellowship.

MMM...ILLICIT HORAS...

I've seen the venue, and I can't imagine this being any fun. But I welcome readers who have experienced the scene to prove me wrong!

And I'd like to state for the record that I've been in many a non-kosher pub, and have never seen "grub wrapped in bacon."

From NY Magazine:

Saturday-Night Kosher Party at Talia's Steakhouse

For years, kosher-keeping Jews have been biblically prohibited from soaking up the booze with all that enticing pub grub wrapped in bacon. But all that has changed since the debut last month of a Saturday-night “Kosher Party” at Talia’s Steakhouse. After the Jewish Sabbath concludes each week, Talia’s—a glatt kosher restaurant catering mostly to the twentysomething UWS Orthodox crowd—is transformed into an upscale bar with a full menu of kosher nibbles, and so far it’s been packed with women in ankle-skimming skirts and men in yarmulkes elegantly wolfing down chicken satay skewers ($8) and fried veggies with marinara sauce ($13). A DJ spins a weird mix of elevator, dance, and trance music, perhaps to enforce the Footloose-like no-dancing policy (in accordance with Jewish laws prohibiting men and women from dancing together). Sometimes the place seems a little bit like an absurdly posh yeshiva high-school cafeteria with boys and girls desperately plotting ways to mingle, but with all the alcohol that's served, it's only a matter of time before someone decides to push the tables aside and start an illicit hora.—Leah Hochbaum

Saturdays from 11 p.m. to 3 a.m., 668 Amsterdam Ave., between 92 and 93 Sts.; 212-580-3770; taliassteakhouse.com

FUNNY TYPO

Sorry, Jewish Week. But I gotta bust you for this--not because it's wrong, but because it's funny.

I just got my weekly email from the NY Jewish Week, highlighting this week's articles...The sidebar of what's inside this issue reports the following--let's see if you can spot the error:

...theater critic Ted Merwin says that not even Jason Biggs and Molly Greenwald can save "Modern Orthodox," a new Off Broadway show...

That's right! Molly GREENwald. Can we say Freudian slip?

Maybe this is a unique way for the artist formerly known as Ringwald to proclaim her affinity for Judaism? And perhaps we'll need to "Judaize" her body of work, just as Ted Turner famously colorized black and white films?

The Breakfast Zhlub--In which no one talks to Anthony Michael Hall because he forgot to bring the lox to that famous morning in detention.

Twelve Candles--Her parents forgot her Bat Mitzvah! Jake Ryan's like the coolest guy in yeshiva, and he won't even talk to her in Chumash class, even after she made him a yarmulke! To top it all off, even Long Duk Dong knows her bat mitzvah portion better than she does.

I wish I could come up with a Judaized version of Pretty in Pink, but my creativity is failing me at the moment...any suggestions?

LOVE, BEYOND CATEGORIES

Forget the copepods in tap water, wigs made in India, ordination of women or gays, or whether a person’s political slant is a little more “blue” or “red.” These days, no matter what your denomination, there’s always someone who will find your practice unacceptable. On the singles circuit, religious deal-breakers abound: from taking the elevator to your Shabbat dinner on the 24th floor to observing prohibitions against women singing in public, it often seems that there are more reasons to be combative than there are to be compatible.

My newest Jewish Week singles article is online for your reading pleasure.

Enjoy!

QUIZ ADDICT: WHICH 'HOLY GRAIL' CHARACTER ARE YOU?

I was hoping to be the witch, who's like the smartest character in the film, even if she is made of wood. But I guess I'm not as smart as I thought I was. The upside? I'm not as cowardly as Brave Brave Sir Robin, either. I actually took this quiz three times, and got the same answer all three times, so I guess I'll have to face it.

Which "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" character are you?

LATKES IN THE SEVENTH HOUSE

Technically, I know there are those who consider it the literal embodiment of worshipping the stars (avodat elilim), but my relationship with astrology is conflicted. Obviously, as a writer, I realize that the forecasts are crafted in such a way that anyone might be able to read them and say, "Oh, my god [note the lowercase g]! That's so me! That's so what's happening right now." By the same token, I do find that my sign really does exemplify me, and I often find myself drawn to other Geminis.

We [and I speak in the we of all Geminis and the we of the twins that astrology states all Geminis are] are complex and conflicted beings. Our mirrors have two faces; we are often simultaneously introverted and extroverted, shy and the life of the party. We have so rich an inner life that it bubbles out, and so overwhelming an outer life that it can engender the most intensely brutal kind of introspection. Possessing our own duality, and carrying it within us like an embryonic secret, we are quick to discern complexity in others. Because of this we are also likely to become novelists, playwrights, actors, performers and poets. We are likely to read meaning into the words of others and analyze "what they meant by that." Our sense of others is only as infallible as human habit and consistency, but we are investigative, likely to probe for truth wheree'r it lies.

Most of the time, horoscopes are about love or financial success. And then, in this morning's Yahoo forecast, I get this:

"The 13th and 14th, some of the fat you trimmed could be fried up, short-order-cook style -- and if you aren't careful, you could get burned. "

Mmm. Better get that fat frying. Smells like astrololatkes.

LOVE, OCTOPUS STYLE

Every once in a while, there’s a story that stays with us because of its resonance—a story that touches us all. Due to the presence of eight tentacles, this cannot help but become one of those stories that touches us, everywhere.

[Original text in black bold; my comments in regular italics.]

AP story, via CNN:

Octopus doesn't give up on motherhood--'She didn't want to leave them'

ANCHORAGE, Alaska (AP) -- It was a May-December romance that really had legs: Young Aurora, a female giant octopus and her aging cephalopod suitor J-1 were thrown together for a blind date seven months ago by aquarists who hoped the two would mate.

A young female, an aging cephalopod suitor...it’s like The Anna Nicole Smith Story all over again.

By all appearances, their fling was a success, and Aurora began dribbling long strings of eggs down the sides of her tank the following month.

It’s the moment that all little girls dream of…finding someone experienced to support us and father long strings of eggs that dribble down the sides of our tanks.

Though her sweetheart died of old age in September, the pitter-patter of tiny tentacles seemed close at hand.

J-1 was irreplaceable, but thousands of eggs would help. Aurora found herself wondering if she’d ever look into their beady little eyes and see remnants of their father.

But those tens of thousands of eggs remained pearly white with no signs of developing, and aquarists at the Alaska Sealife Center concluding that the eggs were likely sterile began draining Aurora's 3,600-gallon (13,630-liter) tank so she could be removed from display.

…and so she could mourn in solitude.

Then, last week, a sharp-eyed intern at the center in Seward noticed something peculiar in each of the eggs: two red dots.

So much for the eggs being kosher. (“Traditionally, eggs are examined in a glass cup to ascertain that they contain no blood.”-- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kosher#Eggs)

"I asked if that was normal," said 24-year-old Meghan Kokal. It was, for baby octopus eyes.

Which, unlike Baby Fish Mouth, are not sweeping the nation.

Under a microscope, aquarists saw developing eyes and pulsing mantles.

Pulsing mantles…mmm….who’s hungry?

A brief meeting was held. It was decided that Aurora would stay in her tank after all. "We started to fill it up again," Hocking said.

What a great job—fill the tank, empty the tank, refill the tank. Ah the memories of working with sea life…I predict a swell of applicants to marine biology programs everywhere.

AURORA’S CHOICE: A MOTHER’S DETERMINATION

To her credit, Aurora had never given up. Day in and day out for months, she sent waves of water out through her siphon to gently cleanse her eggs, and defended them against hungry sea cucumbers and starfish.

I know that’s supposed to sound threatening, but I’m giggling. Is that wrong?

Aurora probably had some moments of "quiet desperation" last Tuesday while several hundred gallons of water were drained from her tank, said aquarium curator Richard Hocking. As the water went down, one of the aquarists placed some of the eggs that had fallen from the sides of the tank on a rock shelf. Even then, Aurora persevered. "She didn't want to leave them. As the water was going down she was going down with it. She would spray a burst of water on the rocks on top of them," Kokal said.

As in human mother-child relations, this illustrates both the fierce loyalty of a mother for her children and the fine line between nurturing your progeny and drowning them.

ENCHANTMENT UNDER THE SEA DANCE—BEHIND THE ROMANCE

And now, the romantic backstory you’ve all been waiting for. How did these crazy kids meet? And how, in a vast sea of potential mates, did they manage to find each other? What can we learn from their success?

Aurora and J-1 surprised everyone on the morning of May 11 when they hit it off almost immediately after their introduction, embracing for hours in a dark corner of the tank, which is part of the center's "Denizens of the Deep" exhibit.

All that embracing…sounds like it could lead to dancing…

At 5 years of age, J-1, who up until meeting Aurora had lived a strictly bachelor life, was considered elderly for his species, the largest octopus in the world. He was already in a period of decline that occurs before an octopus dies; his skin was eroding, and his suckers were pocked with divots.

I’ll say it again…mmm, who’s hungry?

Though the two had canoodled intensely days before, J-1 began acting cranky with Aurora and he was removed from her tank.

Why are men always like that? No matter how many times they promise things will be okay, it always gets awkward…

Female Giant Pacific octopuses can choose to conceive in what is known as delayed fertilization. Apparently, J-1 had the right stuff, and the privacy was just what Aurora needed, as she began laying eggs just a few days later.

That’s it—we’re not “waiting till it’s too late to have children,” we’re “engaging in delayed fertilization.” Way to take control of the situation, Aurora—you go, girl!

Aurora, believed to be 3 or 4, was about the size of a grapefruit when she was found in 2002 living inside an old tire in front of the SeaLife Center. J-1 died on Sept. 8. He was about the size of a quarter when found on a beach near Seldovia in 1999.

Oy, nebuch. Homeless and living inside a tire…that’s worse than living in a van, down by the river. Even from the start, J-1 had it easier…

AFTER BIRTH

In the wild, Giant Pacific octopus females stop eating when caring for eggs, weaken and die about the same time as the eggs hatch. Hocking said Aurora has lost a lot of weight and can't change colors as rapidly as when she was younger. Her skin also is stretched thinner and her suckers are less pliable.

I feel ya, sister. None of us change colors as fast as we used to. And our suckers? Let’s just say we’ve been considering implants.

"She looks like an old octopus," Hocking said.

I wish this Hocking guy would stop hocking me a chynik about how old Aurora looks. Why should she have to confirm to society’s standards of beauty and youth?

Aurora will be allowed to stay with her eggs as long as she continues to care for them. When they are close to hatching, which could be as late as spring, they will be moved to rearing tanks.

Just like what happens on an Israeli kibbutz.

Perhaps none or as many as a few thousand could survive, Hocking said.

I would bet that Hocking’s online dating profile contains thrillingly vague statements like: “I like life and all it has to offer,” “I love to laugh,” and “I’m a nice guy.” But just between us, a statistician, he ain’t.

Kokal, who is working on a degree in environmental science from Northern Arizona University, likes the idea of several thousand baby octopuses at the SeaLife Center. "That would be very nice," she said.

“That would be a very big understatement,” I said. Sure, it’s all fine and well until said octopuses take over the SeaLife Center. Has no one ever seen Peter Benchley’s The Beast???

LESSONS:

So what have we learned, children?

• Sometimes, blind dates do work out well. Especially if by “work out well” we mean the elderly male goes gently into that dark night and the younger woman pines for him and for her children until all her bodily strength is depleted.
• Men are all grabby-hands (although, in this case, so was the woman…) and don’t deal well with the consequences of their actions.
• Spray your offspring with your love, but know when you’ve sprayed enough.
• There should be room for the phrase “suckers pocked with divots” in contemporary discourse.
• Even octopuses are being judged as not pretty enough.
• One should never read stories about octopuses before dinner time.

LET THE PUBLICITY BEGIN

Mark your calendars!

April 6, 2005: Rants and Raves @ The JCC
Join other 20- and 30-somethings for an evening of ranting and raving about dating, living and loving in New York City. A New York Jewish Week singles columnist, Esther D. Kustanowitz, who knows this terrain, will moderate.

To register or read more, click here, and scroll down to "Rants and Raves."

Hope to see you there!

DAILY NEWS: CHANUKAH EVENTS IN NYC AND BEX!

I don't read the Daily News. I'm no snob, I just don't have room for more printed matter in my life.

So I was super-glad to get an email from FCB (Former Camper Bex) about her appearance in said daily printed matter. Check her out, and let me know if you're going to any of these fine cultural events...

URBAN KVETCH WISH LIST

According to the wise Dawn Summers, 'tis the season for wish lists. (That's why she's the mystical Key* whose blood can unravel civilization in this dimension.)

Not that I'm trolling for presents, mind you. I'm really doing this for you. In case you were going to spend hours in the mall on my account, this takes the guesswork out of it.

Of course, all the things I really want (world peace, a shul where I'm perfectly comfortable, a date with a cool, funny guy for New Year's, an express line at the DMV, a book contract) don't seem to have registries.

So, it's official. My wish list is up at Amazon for your perusal. Just click "wish list" and type my name and you will be magically whisked away to a land of my most-wanted books and DVDs. Prices for every price range and new items added all the time!

But (and here's a sentence I don't use every day) Mariah Carey said it best: All I want for Christmas/Hanukkah is you.**




*Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 5.
**And the aforementioned date for New Year's.

ANONYMOUS REX

Did anyone catch Anonymous Rex, the SciFi movie starring Daniel Baldwin as a literal dinosaur who works as a private eye? I wrote about this eons ago, back in the pre-WYSIWYG days, but missed it when it aired this weekend. If you saw it, please weigh in with your thoughts. I'm strangely curious.

INTERNAL MEMO

DATE: DECEMBER 6, 2004
TO: ESTHER'S HAIR
FROM: CENTRAL MANAGEMENT

Over the last few months, it has come to our attention that you are responsible for an increasingly untenable situation.

Your professional texture is erratic, your emotional color of an ever-changing pallette, your length inconsistent and unreliable. One day you are smooth and soft, the next day you're flighty and flyaway. This emotional frizziness has no place in a functioning work environment. Additionally, your adherence to more youthful adornments and accessories, which undoubtedly causes you joy when you are carded at local watering holes, is unprofessional and unacceptable in the workplace.

While the instability of some of these factors may not be within your control, we urge you to take whatever measures are necessary so that this does not become detrimental to the work of the corporation. Other team members are beginning to resent what is becoming a basic condition of shear unreliability; several have stated that they feel like they've been shafted permanently, and their trust is not something you should be taking for granted. If your behavior continues unchecked, we will initiate a series of multi-layered cuts that will solve some of these issues from an institutional perspective.

We are all part of a collective here; the success of our work depends on our public presentation. You are one of our most central players in how we appear to the rest of society and corporate America, and we need your strength and lustrous shine.

We thank you in advance for your attention to this matter.

STEAL THIS IDEA AND DIE

That's the way I indicate that I am officially trademarking this idea:

A T-shirt with the following emblazoned on the chest:

Are You Looking at My Middos?

(Hyperlink will not appear on t-shirts, to avoid potentially tricky and shomer-negiah transgressing "click here" confusion.)

So that's my intellectual property, kids. Feel free to contact me about licensing opportunities.

"YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE JEWISH...

...to love JDate," the NY Times proclaimed on Sunday. (My reaction here.)

I would posit that you do have to be Jewish to hate it. And hate to love it. And love to hate it. Actually, on second thought, that's just hate it. But maybe that's just me.

But it's not! Do a search for "I hate Jdate" and JDaters Anonymous isn't even on the list. OK, so My Urban Kvetch is number one, but you catch my drift.

And I have to give a special Urban Kvetch shoutout to fellow Upper West Sider Steve Silver, who has the funniest definition of JDate I've read so far:

"A buddy of mine dubbed it "The Video Game"- because you click through it, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and object of the game is to save the princess. "

Of course, we're not all princesses in the "trapped in a tower" sense or even the more offensive "enslaved to capitalism" sense. But the idea of JDate as a video game really appealed to me...I've long felt that the JDate chat room is like Tetris...as each comment "falls down the screen," you have to read it, figure out where it goes, and react with your own witticism about whatever the topic is. Luckily, topics run the vast gamut from flatulence to fellatio, so you never have to dig too deep into your storehouse of clever to participate. Continuing with the video game analogy, you "die" when no one in the chatroom will have a conversation with you. They ignore you and finally you give up, and say "ok, then. good night." And no one responds.

Is it any wonder the non-Jews want in on the fun?

ALL HAIL THE UNSCRIPTED SITCOM

Initially, I was disappointed that Charmed was a rerun and that Desperate Housewives wasn’t even on at all. But then…then I found two of my favorite shows on back to back. They're both unscripted sitcoms, and although you might think it's weird for a writer to recommend a comedy that has no script, you must remember that I'm also a big fan of improv--essentially, the actors are writing the scene as they perform it. I laughed myself off my sofa.

Say the names with me, people, so you don’t ever forget them:
Arrested Development, 8:30 on FOX.
Significant Others, 9pm on Bravo.

“I’ve got Pop-Pop in the attic.”
-- On an escaped criminal paterfamilias, Arrested Development

People have been telling me to watch Arrested Development ever since it first premiered. But I figured, Jason Bateman? (I remember It’s Your Move…and Teen Wolf Too...) And how can I abandon the Charmed Ones? Turns out, it’s very easy. Hilarious situations, intensely real dialogue, confounded looks from every member of the family at some point during each episode, and laugh out loud humor that makes me want to drop everything and run to Hollywood to audition for this show.

“It’s a magic room, filled with love.”
--On the “adult” section in a video store, Significant Others

Loved it back in March when I first saw it, then it vanished from the Bravo schedule. I’m not gonna lie, one of the reasons I like it is because it portrays the fact that not all couples are happy go-lucky sunshine and flowers all the time. It tells the stories of several couples in therapy: each partner tries to cope with their partner’s not-insubstantial bizarreness, and tries to remain unabashedly themselves. The frustration between the sexes that plagues us as singles apparently continues even after the wedding itself. And for some reason, I find that comforting. He who makes me laugh every time? Herschel Bleefeld as Ethan. (Dude, I think I love you. And your name is Herschel. Which makes you, in my book, Jewlicious. Or at least Jewriffic.)

As I noted, these shows are largely unscripted--storylines are set but the dialogue is improvised. The result is dialogue and character relationships that are more spontaneous, more truthful, and infinitely more hilarious. Try 'em, you'll like 'em.

BIGGS, O'BRIEN AND GIGGLE WORDS

In case you didn't know, Jason Biggs is not Jewish. He's Italian. But since Biggs is now in the new play "Modern Orthodox," wherein he plays an Orthodox Jew, he has to pronounce myriad Hebrew and Yiddish words.

As part of the promotional junket, Biggs just told Conan O'Brien that he doesn't have to know how to speak Hebrew to play Jewish in the play: "A lot of them are just giggle words," Biggs said, as he taught the extremely tall redheaded O'Brien to say "shmageggy"...

Isn't it nice to have one's linguistic heritage reduced to the term "giggle words"? But ok, I'll play along.

Of course there are the regular words like tuchas and kneidel. And the "dirtier" ones like alter cocker and shmeckel. That's Yiddish for ya. But in Hebrew? Mirkachat (pharmacy), harpatkaot (adventures) and, a seasonal duo, sufganiyot (jelly donuts) and chanukiyah (the proper name for the chanukah candelabrum, known as "menorah"). Oh, I know there are others. But I want to hear from you.

What are your favorite giggle words? Answers can be in Hebrew, Yiddish, English or any other language...

I'll start you off with an English one. Kumquat. Now you go.

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MUSIC, MAN

[Editor's note: Despite the popularity of "Seventy-Six Trombones," it is not all about "The Music Man."]

Jewish music's all the rage these days. In addition to the swelling debate over whether Adam Sandler's Chanukah song is good or bad for the Jews, we've got rap battles between Jews and Palestinians in Israel, the launch of Bnai Brith digital radio, and new Chanukah music from The Barenaked Ladies, among others.

Of course, I wouldn't be a blog if I didn't mention that "Hey Ya" song parody. (Now that I've successfully excised the catchiness of the original from my head, here comes the spoof to reinfect my cerebral cortex.)*

Jeez. You'd think we controlled the media or something.**


*Note to the more scientific members of my audience: I do not for a fact know which part of the brain stores annoying pop music hooks. But I do know that "cerebral cortex" sounds funny.

**Despite this anti-Semitic rumor that the Jews run the media, I still don't have my own TV show. So, there you go. Anti-Semitic rumor disproved.

SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGIC FLAW

Somehow, I knew it. Whether twas nobler in my mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes, I guess we'll never know. Here's another quiz, not nearly as long as the "What Novel Are You Quiz..."

(Via Erin.)


To be, or not to be?

"HEY MADONNA--ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?"

From World Entertainment News Network, via SouthFlorida.com:

Pop superstar Madonna has urged the press to research the Kabbalah faith before attacking her passion for the mystic offshoot of Judaism.

Is that what it is, an offshoot? Have we ever had offshoots of Judaism before? Somehow, this phrase is sticking in my craw. I picture myself going to "my rabbi" (as if I had one of my very own) and demanding answers:
Me: Hey, Rabbi--I want to research the Kabbalah faith.
Rabbi: Um, there is no Kabbalah faith. It's a fictional product.
Me: [whining] But Raaaabbbi, I have to research the Kabbalah faith before I can attack Madonna's passion for it as the mystic offshoot of Judaism.
Rabbi: Oh. That's a string of a different color. Look, here's what I'll do. I'll write you a note saying you've researched the "Kabbalah faith," and you can feel free to go ahead and attack Madonna's religious beliefs.
Me: Cool! You're the bestest rabbi ever.

The singer is furious about the barrage of criticism she's received for evangelizing the controversial religion, and believes the media would be more supportive if they were less ignorant about the faith. The Kabbalah is studied by many celebrities including Britney Spears, Demi Moore and Paris Hilton.

Sure, Madge. Media training classes in a religion that doesn't exist: That's the answer.
Maybe it's the comedy hangover from last night's episode of South Park talking, but what tickles me most about this paragraph is the words "studied" and "Paris Hilton" in the same sentence. That concept is comedy gold, people. Instead of sending Paris and Nicole on the road to backwoods communities, FOX should send them to community college. Now that'd be a show.

"Yes, it irritates me when the press criticize my beliefs. Because what I would really like is for people to do their research and try to understand what it is I'm trying to study and understand," she said."If they did that, then they'd have a completely different view. I wonder if they'd be less irritated if I was studying existentialism. Maybe they would."

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Madge, if you're wondering why Jews are irritated with your study of a religion that was just recently invented as a pale, albeit celebrity-and-mysticism addled, shadow of our original faith, you are invited for Shabbat dinner anytime. We'll talk Judaism, share some challah and, after Shabbat, maybe write a rap together. (Braiding each other's hair and playing "Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board" will be optional.) And after our Shabbaton of the Two Esthers, I think we'll both emerge understanding each other a little bit better.

Happy Hanukkah, Madge. Or whatever nouveau Kabbalists celebrate this time of year. May all of your water be Kabbalized and all of your strings be red.

JESSICA'S LIP SYNCH

No, I have no proof, because I was not actually watching the Moron Family Christmas Show, but as I flipped past it, I could have sworn that during Jessica Simpson's weird-faced rendition of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," she was not singing in synch with her own lips. Anyone else want to weigh in on this scandal-in-formation?

(It's not that Jessica has a bad voice, she is either a ventriloquist or the special's sound was out of sync. Or, this whole lip synching thing is the wave of the future. Not to be confused with Baby Fish Mouth.)