I enjoy Beethoven, Mozart, and Bartok, but there is some classical music that knocks me out faster than a twelve pack of codeine. Like Schubert. I wasn’t pleased to go the Philharmonic this weekend and see his infamous name in the program: Mr. Sandman himself, Franz Peter Schubert.

“Well, no problem,” I said to myself as we entered the symphony hall. “Since I’m such a cheapskate, I got tickets in Row X of the orchestra, so no one will even notice when I’m snoring and drooling all over the button-down shirt Sophia bought me at Ross Dress-for-Less.”

Unfortunately, Sophia had plans of her own. Yes, I’ve mentioned this several hundred times on this very blog: Sophia does not like sitting in the crappy seats I buy.

“It’s going to be half empty,” she said. “Let’s wait in the back until five minutes before the performance, and then take some empty seats near the front.”

“But it’s Schubert!” I protested. Why didn’t you tell me they were playing Schubert?!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll kick you in the shin if you snore.”

We had ten minutes to kill before the concert. An attractive blond stood next to us in the back of the auditorium. She had the same idea as we did — to wait for better seats. Sophia struck up a conversation with her, seeing that they were soulmates. The woman turned out to be the newly-married wife of one of the symphony’s cellists, and her seat was at the end of row S, giving her a mere glimpse of her beloved husband’s back.  She wanted to see the expression on his face as he played.  How romantic.

When Sophia noticed the ushers closing the doors, we picked out two center seats with our eyes, then grabbed them greedily.  Finders Keepers.  I’m much better at switching seats than I was when I first met Sophia. I used to be terribly anxious about doing this, fearful that the real ticket-holders will come in late and make an angry scene, the performance would end abruptly, the conductor would walk out in protest, a spotlight would shine on me, and then the disgusted mob would belt me with opera glasses.  However, after ten years of the “real” ticket-holders NEVER showing up, I’ve grown into a hardened criminal.  I’m only anxious for the first five minutes of our stealing the seats, rather than the rest of the week.

Today my anxiety was not about the seats.  It would come from another source.  You see, there wasn’t just two open seats in this row. There were THREE.  As I settled in my seat, the cellist’s wife slid right next to me. The cellist’s wife!

“Oh no,” I thought. “How can I fall asleep during Schubert when one of the orchestra member’s WIVES was sitting next to me.  It would be as if I’m insulting his musical talent!”

“This is his first performance with the orchestra,” she told Sophia.

Ugh.  Sophia kicked me… and I wasn’t even sleeping yet.

I don’t remember who the first piece was by, but it was sufficiently bombastic to keep me awake.  I never have problems with musical pieces about cannon fire, like the 1812 Overture.

Then, there was a hush over the land.  The condutor lifted his baton, and the orchestra started to play Schubert, the early 18th Century’s equivalent of John Tesh.  I could feel my eyes start to close.

(sidenote - I promised myself that I wasn’t going to write about sex this week, since I went a little overboard last week, but I’m going to break that promise.  You’ll see where I’m going in a second)

Men, remember when you were first starting have sex? And just seeing a bra strap was enough to send you over the edge, and the girl would be all disappointed because you lasted about three seconds? And your friend who knew everything from reading his father’s Penthouse magazines told you to think about something boring, like Geometry, while you were with a girl, so then you can last three hours, like the guys do in those sex movies that you used to try to watch, even though they were scrambled on your parents’ cable?

I thought about the good ol’ days while I was sitting there listening to Schubert. It was so boring and my eyes were closing. I just didn’t want to hurt this woman’s feeling.  Disappointing a woman in sex is one thing, but to make her feel bad about her husband’s cello playing — that’s just cruel.  I would distract myself like I had done so many times before, not to keep the love going, but to keep myself awake!  I tried to remember some Geometry.  I stepped on my own foot.  I tried writing a blog post in my head.  I pushed my thumbnail into my arm.  I bit my tongue.  I even thought of poking myself in the eyes. When the Schubert was over, I patted myself on the back, proud of my restraint and accomplishment.

It was then when Sophia woke me up, shaking her head in embarrassment, telling me that it was time for intermission. I  noticed that the cellist’s wife had just darted off, not saying good-bye.  Apparently, my head was bobbing up and down during the whole piece, the snoring only beginning during the cello solos.

The cellist’s wife sat elsewhere for the rest of the concert.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: “If I Did It,” by John Wilkes Booth

If you’ve been blogging for a period of time, you are bound to write a post that rubs people the wrong way.  You will receive angry emails or insulting comments.  I’ve seen bloggers quit because of all the conflict.   I’ve been lucky, mostly because no one really cares about my opinion.   There are a few times I thought I wrote something “controversial,” about race, for instance, and I was up all night, biting my nails, wondering if someone was going to write a comment like:

“You’re a racist pig.  You suck.  Your blog sucks.  And your penis sucks.  I’m never reading this blog again, and I’m telling everyone to never read it again, too.”

Of course, these comments rarely show up when I expect them to.   As much as I try to be a loud-mouth Bill O’Reilly type, nobody ever seems to want to take me on.  The posts that attract the most negative attention are the dumbest posts possible, the ones I wrote in ten minutes while wearing my underwear at 1 AM.  

On December 5, 2005, I described my first experience eating at The Olive Garden.  It was a relatively minor post in my oeuvre.  The “plot” revolved around a moral discussion I had with Sophia over “sharing” some of the salad she was going to order of the chain’s all-you-can-eat soup and salad, since she wasn’t going to eat too much of it herself:

“Sounds good,” said Sophia. We can get one unlimited soup and one unlimited salad, and we can share it. They even give you unlimited breadsticks. I think I’m beginning to like this place.”

“Sophia, I don’t think you understand. Each unlimited soup and each unlimited salad is for one person only.”

“What do they care if we share it?”

“Because then what’s to stop ten people from coming in here and ordering one unlimited soup and one unlimited salad and just sharing it all together.”

“That’s ridiculous. Besides, it doesn’t say anywhere, “no sharing.””

“Olive Garden cannot stay in business if everyone shares the same unlimited soup.”

As you may notice, I was the “good cop” in this story, defending the sacred rights of The Olive Garden to limit sharing.   In the course of the post, I made a few jabs at the restaurant, mostly about the “authenticity” of the chain restaurant’s food and ambiance — but nothing very threatening.  At the time of the post, the restaurant chain had a commercial on TV where some Italian-American family brings their grandma straight off the plane from Italy — to Olive Garden — and Grandma feels right at home, even though I doubt her local trattoria in Sicily gives a guest one of those grimy “buzzers” that vibrate when your table is ready.

Despite it all, I rated the Olive Garden soup and salad as “pretty good.”  I even made a list ranking chain restaurants, and Olive Garden came in as my #2 chain restaurant!

The Cheesecake Factory
Olive Garden
Denny’s
Coco’s
El Torito
TGI Friday’s
Chili’s
Souplantation
Bennigan’s
Outback Steakhouse
Fuddrucker’s
Benihana
Applebee’s
Red Lobster
Pizza Hut

So, the question remains – why all the hate?  For two years now, I’ve been getting comments and emails angry about my opinion of Olive Garden, as if I attacked Jesus himself.  I don’t know who these people are, or WHY they are so passionate about the Olive Garden.

Is it possible that people are finding my post on Google?  It does come in as #8 when you search “Olive Garden.”   But why all the insults?   Are these frustrated servers?  Or is it management doing ego searching?  There seems to be a lot of pent up anger about everything to do with the Olive Garden… and it is all being taken out on me.

This is a comment from TX OG server –

Supposedly we make the rest in tips… but cheap asses come in and run us into the ground with soup and salad refills and then leave a dollar… so we really don’t make enough to live on.   Thanks, it’s assholes like you that don’t tip, that perpetuate poverty among single mothers who can not do anything but wait tables for a living because they didn’t learn any useful skills before the man who lied to them and told them to have kids, up and left and never has to pay child support because the government doesn’t pursue deadbeat fathers if it’s too difficult because he’s out of state and doesn’t work but commits crime and sells drugs for a living. Shitheads!   Why don’t you think about that, and leave a decent tip.   It’s customary and YOU FUCKING KNOW IT.

Good point, TX OG server, but I don’t ever remember saying anything about the tip.

From “Jeff Kennedy” –

Are you serious? You went to the Olive Garden and expected..what?  Anyone with half a brain knows what to expect from a corporate giant in the food industry.   Too many of your cynical observations gave you away as to what kind of critical pessimistic, nitpicker you seem to be.   For instance, how did you know the birthday boy was “bratty”?  And as for the hostess, do you honestly think that a teenager who’s working for minimum wage at the OG is really putting that much thought into table availability times for the HORDES of people who inundate those places daily?  99.9% of the people who go to the OG regularly (who are incidentally NOT on a fact-finding mission) just want to hear that they will be seated “soon” and then they take their place with the other cattle and wait patiently (or sometimes not) until they are called.  What’s going to be your next revelation?  Maybe the fact that NOT EVERYTHING IS A DOLLAR AT THE DOLLAR STORE??  Horrors!!!

You are right.  I cannot know for sure whether that annoying boy was “bratty,” other than my observation.  But what makes you so sure that I am a critical, pessimistic, nitpicker with half a brain? 

From “Fred D” –

This is the Hotel Reality - Check In Please!

I don’t know what people expect when they go to a restaurant.  I expect to eat and have a drink with my meal.  I realize that if you go at a peak time, you will have to wait.  I get the impression that those who are down on a place because they try to make a profit, would be better off at McDonald’s (they make loads of money) and they would probably want to bring their own bottle of Skrew Kappa or Riunite in a brown paper bag and pour it into their water glass - no servers to oversee the sneaky deed. 

Can someone please tell me what Skrew Kappa is?  Do they serve this at The Olive Garden?

From Josh –

sigh @ you… first of all… if you’re going to write a blog, at least attempt to be responsible and don’t lie or exagerate to make a point.   The soup is not more than 3.95 by itself in any price bracket throughout the country and the salad is 4.95.   The soup & salad is 6.95 at the most for lunch, lower when on promotion.  The OG has tried hard to maintain this extremely low price because it knows its guests value it and it wants something for everyone. and do you go to buffets and pay for one person… grab a plate and give it to your friends? cheap ass….

“If you’re going to write a blog… don’t lie or exaggerate to make a point.”  HA HA HA, that made me laugh for ten minutes!

And this one, from two days ago, I deleted because I wasn’t sure if it was anti-Semitic or just crazy.

From Jose “Jerkoff” –

Olive Garden is great. At least the employees are forced to be clean and presentable.  I ate at a Kosher Italian restaurant in Los Angeles.  It was filthy, weird and they made me buy an extra cup to share a pot of hot tea.  So all restaurants are about selling, wake up.

I know that restaurant, Jose.  Your problem is that the weird staff probably put you in the “non-Jewish” section of the restaurant.   We get free tea flowing constantly at our table!

Let me just come out and say it — I don’t hate the Olive Garden.  There are plenty of targets that are closer to my heart.  Have you ever actually eaten dinner at IHOP?  Now that is disgusting!  The sausages at Denny’s?  Taste like metal!  The burgers at Carl’s Jr.?  Greasy and the buns are flaccid!

I’m sorry if you hate working at Olive Garden so much.  I try to always leave a 15% tip, even 20% if you bring me a second basket of breadsticks.

Since 2005, I’ve been to Olive Garden a few more times.  We have one nearby, at the mall.  It’s decent enough for a quick meal before the movie.  Let’s be honest, their Italian food is as authentic as the “bagel breakfast sandwiches” at Burger King are Jewish.  Italian food is my favorite cuisine, and Queens has some of the best Italian restaurants around, so I am a harsh critic of Italian food.  I have spent years complaining about the mediocre food at most REAL Italian restaurants in Los Angeles.   I DO NOT go to Olive Garden for a real Italian meal. 

However, if I have insulted you, Mr. Olive Garden, please accept my apology.   I hope that these emails are coming from frustrated servers and not from your main office.  I’ll save my rant about your overcooked pasta for another post.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  The Final Chapter of the Closet Trilogy

Two Years Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Neilochka Girls

Sunday was Hilly’s birthday. We met Hilly and SJ for Sunday Brunch.

Here Sophia is teaching Hilly how they drink mimosas in Europe, Bruderschaft style. (photo by SJ)

SJ and I in a competitive smiling match. (photo by Sophia)

Hilly and Sophia after two mimosas. (photo SJ)

More mimosas. (photo by SJ)

After one mimosa, I became a little dizzy as I fantasized about being with three women at once. (photo by Sophia)

It never happened the way I had hoped — but I did bring all three women back to the house. Most of the action came from SJ, who decided to take photos of our living room. Here are a couple of her photos. I figured I might as well show you where Sophia and I do it every day — and by “do it every day” I mean watch “All My Children.” (photos by SJ)

Hilly, may this year be your best!

When we got to Barnes and Noble for Laurie’s first leg of her book tour, the third floor reading area was already jammed. It was standing room only. The obsessive knitters had already taken all the seats, having camped outside to see the Beatles… I mean Crazy Aunt Purl.

It made me wonder if these women are allowed on airplanes with those knitting needles. I recognized a few bloggers, such as Ellen Bloom.

Sophia had just gotten her hair done yesterday, and was looking like a Princess.

And Princesses don’t stand, even for book readings from bloggers.

Sophia: I don’t really want to stand in the back for the entire event.

Neil: What do you want me to do?

Sophia: Find me a chair.

Neil: Well, I’m not a magician. There’s no more chairs.

Sophia sighed.

She disappeared and low and behold — returned carrying a tiny child’s bench from the children’s book section.

Neil: What did you do? Kick some child off of that bench?

Sophia: Yes. Children need to learn — adults first!

(OK, she didn’t really say that, but I imagined her saying it) And, honestly, her chutzpah is why I married her!

I took the bench from Sophia and placed it behind the last row.

Sophia: Oh no, I’m not sitting in the back. All I can see from this tiny bench is everyone’s behinds.

Sophia does not like sitting in the back of anything. She insists that we always buy the expensive orchestra seats at the theater. Before I met her, I used to sit in the last row of the balcony, which she calls the helicopter pad. She even likes to sit in the front row of comedy clubs. I usually clench my teeth for the first five minutes of every comedy act, fearful that one of the comedians will start talking to me.

Sophia lifted the bench, and carried it — to the isle next to the front row!

Laurie was terrific in her book reading. She is funny and has a real sexy Southern accent. That voice can melt any man’s heart.

A Southern shiksa goddess if there ever was one!

(more photos at Ellen’s site)

After the reading, and the Q and A, the moderator said we should get in line to get our books signed — starting in the front. She pointed first to the couple sitting in front on a tiny brightly-colored bench stolen from the children’s section. We were going to have the very first book signed by Laurie on the very first day of her tour!

So, Laurie’s book tour began. The moderator made us put a post-it on the book with my name on it, but Laurie recognized me. After we hugged, she asked me if I wanted her to write “To Hot Stuff,” in the book, remembering something I wrote on my blog two days ago. I introduced her to Sophia, and Laurie immediately seemed more interested in Sophia than me, which is usually the case.

“Sophia!” Laurie cried. “What an honor. And you’re even so much more beautiful in real life than you are in your photos.”

Laurie wrote the perfect message in my book, something about “me” and “being her” and “favorite blogger,” but it’s personal, so I’m not going to say anything.

Her book is titled Crazy Aunt Purl’s Drunk, Divorced, and Covered in Cat Hair: The True-Life Misadventures of a 30-Something Who Learned to Knit After He Split. It is funny and emotional book, and you don’t need to know anything about knitting to get into it. I have zero interest in knitting. Or cats. But I do like good stories.

Special thanks to Sophia for getting us up front and first. Sometimes you DO have to steal from children to get what you need.

The task accomplished, Sophia and I went out for some fried okra… I mean sushi.

(Leah, I’m stealing this photo you took to give
others a false sense of my sophistication. )

On Friday night, I saw the musical “Wicked” at the Pantages Theater with Wendy from Quiet About Alot of Things.    Although Wendy lives in Colorado, she grew up in Pasadena, and came to town for her high school reunion. 

Although I didn’t find Wicked’s music that memorable, the story was fantastic.  It is based on a novel by Gregory Maguire, and is a revisionist re-telling of “The Wizard of Oz.  The Wicked Witch is the moral heroine, the Good Witch is a bimbo, and the Wizard of Oz is a selfish, power-hungry tyrant.  It all works perfectly and makes you feel as if the Judy Garland movie is nothing more than a propaganda film.  I’m a big fan of the Wizard of Oz, but I always felt there was something sinister about the Wizard, especially the way he hid behind his curtain.

Do bloggers hide behind curtains?   I love meeting bloggers because I get to see them without the smoke and mirrors of their blog posts.  I don’t suggest that we are sinister behind the scenes, but that we can only show a representation of ourselves in our writing.   Most of us hide behind curtains, even in real life.  Part of the reason I’m in therapy now is that I’m trying to peek behind MY OWN curtain.  I think we sometimes would rather see our own superficial self-image than confront who we really are inside.

If I read someone’s work, I usually get a sense of their character from the page.  What is surprising is how much MORE the person is in real life, as if the real Wizard has just stepped out from behind his curtain.

I talked a little bit about this with Wendy because I visualized her to be slightly different than she turned out to be.  On the page, she is very introspective, and she writes very evocative, sensual poetry.  I imagined her as a pretty, but somber Poetess, perhaps someone who wears a lot of black.  I did not expect a feisty dynamo of a woman jumping out of her rental convertible, her hair flying in the wind, someone who relaxes at home by showjumping horses competitively!  Which one is the real HER?  Probably BOTH of them!   She is a MOMMY and a WIFE and an ATHLETE and a POET.  I really enjoyed hearing her stories.  I might write “spicy” stories on my blog, but believe me — there are some who have actually LIVED them!  (I’m not going to mention anyone’s name, Wendy, and ruin their innocent reputation)

On Saturday night, a group of bloggers got together in LA to welcome the very cool Heather B from No Pasa Nada, who was visiting California.   She seems to know everyone in the blogosphere.  I’ve met Leah and Abigail before, and they are both really wonderful people.   Leah — who organized the LA Bloggers Live  group — always seems to be working on some new creative project.  Here is her new Leahpeah Store!    She took some nice photos of our meeting, like the one on top.   I recently kicked Abigail’s ass on Facebook’s Scrabble.   Next time, I need to be a little more careful because her confidence is strong after winning five thousand dollars on a game show.

I didn’t know Heather from Nabbalicious until recently.   Her photography is terrific.  I expected her to be very chic and artsy in person, but I didn’t expect her to be a little… klutzy, in a sexy, Lucille Ball kind of way.  She walked around all night at the Grove and the crowded Farmer’s Market with this beautiful, expensive camera around her neck, looking very professional, but she also had a habit of poking random strangers in the back with with her zoom lens.   Now, that’s sort of goofy, but hot. 

Sophia liked this photo that Heather took of me.   

Probably, my biggest surprise of the evening was Joe, Leah’s husband.   First of all, I tend to avoid talking to men when there are four beautiful women around.  The first time I met him, I was under the impression that his blog was mostly about PHP code, which is about exciting to me as… well, PHP code.   But I was totally wrong.   Joe’s been blogging before “blogging” was even a word.  Even though there is a lot of tech stuff on his blog, there is also a good amount of heart-felt personal stuff, including recent posts about his mother and her health.  His blog is also the perfect place to sneak a view of what Leah looked like in 2002.

The next blogger I’m scheduled to see in person is Laurie of Crazy Aunt Purl.  She starts her book tour on Thursday, October 11th at the Barnes and Nobel at the Grove at 7:30 PM, right across from the restaurant where I met the other bloggers.   When we passed the bookstore, I told Heather B. about Laurie’s book signing.  Heather spoke about Laurie’s amazing writing talent, and how popular she is with her readers.   I had to laugh to myself because if I had known about Laurie’s popularity, I would have feared approaching her, much like Dorothy meeting the scary Wizard of Oz.  Instead, the first time I accidentally came to her blog I noticed a photo of the Farmer’s Market, where she is involved in Stitch N’ Bitch.  I emailed her, excited to see this location in a photo, because it is one of my favorite places in LA.  After she responded, I immediately started to flirt with her, as I tend to do, making mention of some sexy boots she was wearing.  At first, I didn’t even bother to read her blog.  Who wants to read a blog about knitting and cats?  Is there anything more girly?  However, once I started reading her blog, I realized that Laurie had a lot more to say underneath it all.  She doesn’t just write about knitting.  She has a unique way of combining humor and emotion, so you laugh while getting a glimpse behind the “curtains” of her personality.   I remember thinking to myself, “This blog should be more popular because it is so good.  I really should tell people about it,” imagining a shy woman who is writing just for herself and her cats.   And then I noticed she was getting like 300 comments a day.   Oops.

(Laurie, no need for any thank you for this public service announcement about your book tour, but I wouldn’t mind a photo of you wearing those boots for my personal collection  — and please write my name as “Hot Stuff” when you sign my copy of your book tomorrow)

As a former New Yorker living in Los Angeles, I sometimes feel envious of all the advantages of living in New York. Although LA has Hollywood, and I’ve seen David Schwimmer buying brown rice in Whole Foods, it seems as if all the really cool actors, like Robert DeNiro, live in New York. New York has hip David Letterman. We have blah Jay Leno. New York has Woody Allen. We have Paris and Perez Hilton.

Now, New York is abuzz with all the attention from the President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad - Columbia University forum/publicity stunt. It’s not fair. Where are the civic leaders of Los Angeles? Where is our local tyrant? Get off your asses, UCLA and USC. Forget football. It is time for people to take Los Angeles seriously. We’re not just bad sitcoms and fake tits.

Here’s a suggestion. Invite Kim Jong-il of North Korea to speak here! Let him become our local tyrant.

Do it for UCLA or USC. Do it for Los Angeles!

I don’t believe in Jesus being resurrected. I don’t believe Muhammed was a prophet. Why should I believe in the validity of the stories that are told in synagogue?

I don’t.   Or I at least take most of what I hear with a grain of salt.  Or I explain away things as allegory.  I don’t consider myself religious (although Sophia says I am — why?).  I do, however, appreciate the fact that religion deals with the big issues of life, and by that I don’t mean which young actress is or isn’t anorexic or just out of rehab.  Religious or not, as a storyteller, I do like stories, especially fanciful ones, and religion is filled with tons of them.  I don’t see “fiction” as less real than “reality.”  It just is another version of reality.  As I’ve mentioned in other posts, I treat the posts where I talk to my Penis as seriously as I do any other.   It is both untrue and very true.  In religion, symbolism and rituals can speak a truth far more important than reality.   I think Judaism has some really great symbolism and ritual.   I would be bored being an atheist.  That “story” would flop at the box-office.

I also think it is important for the non-traditional and not-very-religious to take an active role in religion. Can you think of anything worse than the world’s religions being run by people who are seriously ultra-RELIGIOUS — those who are totally convinced of their own beliefs?  I’m pretty sure we all can come come up with plenty of examples of how religion — and religious intolerance —  has screwed up mankind throughout history.  If I meet someone who is positive that their religion is “the one and only true one” or if this person has absolutely NO DOUBTS about their faith, I run the other way. 

That said, I love Rosh Hashanah.  It is all about renewal and hope for a better new year, for “being inscribed favorably in the Book of Life”.  It is also about making amends, thinking over your wrongs, and about how everyone’s sins are inter-related; about taking upon yourself the “sins” of everyone in the community.

Yesterday, we went to South Coast Botanical Gardens rather than the ocean,  to observe the ancient tradition of Tashlich -”tossing away our sins”, but this being Los Angeles, the lake at the gardens was closed for some dull-looking Showtime TV show that was being shot at the location.

I was ready to leave but Sophia, being Sophia, schmoozed with the bored sound man and he showed us how we can get around to the other side of the lake for Tashlich.

Rabbinic tradition states that it was preferable to go to a body of water containing fish, since “man cannot escape God’s judgement any more than fish can escape being caught in a net; we are just as likely to be ensnared and trapped at any moment as is a fish”. Another rabbinic interpretation that also prefers a body of water containing fish to perform Tashlich states that “the fish’s dependence on water symbolizes the Jews’ dependence on God, as a fish’s eyes never close, God’s watchful eyes never cease”. However, since Tashlikh or Tashlich or Tashlik is merely a symbolic ceremony, any body of water will suffice, even if it is water that runs from a hose or from a water faucet.

On Rosh Hashanah, Jews also recognize that God is above Time, and the idea of “forgetting” does not apply to Him, nor is He limited in “understanding” the inner thoughts of His creatures. Nevertheless, we ask that He “remember” only the “good” in our behalf when He Judges us.

For the Jewish People in particular, we ask that He “remember” the early loyalty of our People, who followed Him as a bride, as He said “I remember your youthful devotion, the love of your bridal days, how you followed Me through the desert, in a barren land” (Yirmiyahu 2:2)

Judaism’s central prayer: Sh’ma Israel, Adonai Elohainu, Adonai Ehad. “Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.”

A blogger asked me why Jews wear yarmulkes, or kippahs in temple.

The uniqueness of a Jewish head covering is hinted at in the blessing we say every morning, thanking God for “crowning Israel with splendor” (Talmud - Brachot 60b)

Historically, in Eastern cultures, it is a sign of respect to cover the head (the custom in Western cultures is the opposite: it is a sign of respect to remove one’s hat). Thus, by covering the head during prayer, one showed respect for God. In addition, in ancient Rome, servants were required to cover their heads while free men did not; thus, Jews covered their heads to show that they were servants of God.

The Talmud says that the purpose of wearing a kippah is to remind us of God, who is the Higher Authority is “above us” (Kiddushin 31a). External actions create internal awareness; wearing a symbolic, tangible “something above us” reinforces that idea that God is always watching. The kippah is a means to draw out one’s inner sense of respect for God.

(sometimes, when you’re outside, Sophia’s hat will do, even if it looks totally dorky.  I must have to explain away wearing this hat as a “sin” next year, at least a fugly one.)

Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year, but even if you’re not Jewish, September always feels like a new year, with school starting and fall approaching.    Hopefully it will be a “sweet” year for everyone.

Idea for Rosh Hashanah 2008 — To make going to temple more interactive, I suggest a new prayer book in which certain prayers have missing lyrics, and congregants have to guess the missing words to the prayers to win prizes such as bagels and lox at Canter’s Deli.

 
the original Playbill from the 70’s

Yesterday, Sophia and I went to the South Coast Rep in Orange County to see Stephen Sondheim’s “A Little Night Music.”  The musical, one of Sondheim’s more popular shows,  is based on “Smiles of a Summer Night” by Ingmar Bergman, who just died in July.   This was a first class theater production, something that usually doesn’t go hand-in-hand with the term “Orange County,” home of the Country Bear Jamboree and Medieval Times. ”  We really liked it and would recommend seeing it.

“A Little Night Music” is a beautiful musical from the 1970s, more of an operetta than a traditional song-and-dance show, and it is most famous for the song “Send in the Clowns.”  I really love Sondheim’s musicals.  I remember seeing “Sweeney Todd” when I was younger, and it still is the best Broadway show I ever saw.  Mamma Mia doesn’t deserve to appear on the same stage.  (read Billy Mernit’s take on Sondheim)

Before the show, Sophia and I met up with the super-talented Secret Agent Josephine and  her cute daughter, Baby Bug at a hipster vegetarian restaurant.   I had met SAJ at her recent art show, but Sophia couldn’t make it to the show, so I promised to introduce her eventually –

“You Must Meet My Wife” from A Little Night Music

There was another matter at our hand.  I had bought a print of SAJ’s work and she had promised to sign it for me.  

She even went one step further — she wrote a personal poem on the back of the picture frame. 

My Ode to Neilochka

To my dear Neilochka
What would I do without cha!
You IM’ed with speed
In my time of need
You said, “Don’t be scared!
Who cares about dog hair?!”
And you were right
The show was outta sight!
I’m glad you were there
Even if you just wanted to touch Whoorl’s hair
I can’t think of no other I’d want my art to go to
So, thank you, THANK YOU!

Cute, huh? 

SAJ and Sophia (photo completely stolen from SAJ’s site)

It was amazing watching a mother writing, eating, and entertaining her child all without missing a beat.   What a juggling act.  How do you new mothers find five minutes to even blog?   SAJ did ask me at one point to take a “walk” with her child while she finished writing her poem.   Baby Bug and I walked to the front counter together.  I have very little experience with young children, and I was terrified that I was going to do something wrong, like accidentally lose the baby in some soup vat.  Instead, Baby Bug pretty much ignored me until I leaned over and made a funny face at her, which immediately caused her to run over to her mother, crying.

All in all, it was a great day — meeting a blogger and baby AND seeing some theater.  There was only one bump in the road.  During intermission, Sophia and I had a heated discussion over an important piece of theater etiquette.  I open it for discussion:

Imagine your theater seats are in the middle of the row.  The row is filled with theater-goers at their seats.  You say, “Excuse me,” and start making your way to the center of the row.  Is it better to walk in facing the stage, with your ASS facing everyone in the row, or should you slide in, facing the row, sticking your groin under the nose of each seated patron?   Which is the proper etiquette? 

Friday was the second anniversary of my father’s death. I haven’t been very good at keeping the Jewish traditions that are there to honor the dead. I was supposed to have gone to temple every day for a whole year, and I never did. I’ve only been to the grave site twice, because the cemetery is in New York.

This year, I decided to light the Yarzheit (memorial) candle on the anniversary of the death. I was anxious about making the moment “spiritual,” something I’m not very good at doing, and I found myself feeling cranky as sunset approached. Sophia was planting flowers on the patio, and all I could think was:

“Why was she planting NOW — right before this important moment?! Couldn’t she show my father some respect?! There’s dirt everywhere outside”

Of course, I wasn’t really mad at her, but at myself. What am I supposed to say when I lit the candle? What am I supposed to think that’s meaningful? I didn’t just want to rush through the prayer, and I was dependent on Sophia to help me get through the candle lighting. And the whole moment just felt wrong. I wasn’t ready for it. I told Sophia I was leaving the house and heading for the beach. I thought the ocean would be inspirational. I left the house without lighting the candle.

At the beach, I watched some surfers. I thought less about my father, than about the closing days of “summer.” By next week, kids would be going back to school. Soon it would be Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. By October, the colorful knit sweaters would be reappearing. My local CVS Pharmacy even had their Halloween costumes already on display!

I wish I could tell you that the ocean caused me to become poetic about the moment. It wouldn’t have been difficult to make the connection between the changing of the seasons and the cycle of life itself — birth, death, and renewal — metaphors that have been used in everything from Shakespeare to “The Lion King.” But, for me –the beach was just the beach, although it was fun to see the surfers packing up their surfboards and heading home, the boards on the heads. My father would have gotten a kick out of watching them. He was stationed in Hawaii during his time in the Army, so I’m sure he’s seen some surfing himself (and would have been as unlikely to do any surfing as I am).

On the way home, some oldies station played, “I Want You Back,” by the Jackson Five.

Oh baby, give me one more chance
(To show you that I love you)
Won’t you please let me back in your heart
Oh darlin’, I was blind to let you go
(Let you go, baby)
But now since I’ve seen you it is on
(I want you back)
Oh I do now
(I want you back)
Ooh ooh baby
(I want you back)
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
(I want you back)
Na na na na

I know the song is about a boy wanting a girl, but it also made me think of my father.

“I Want You Back.”

Isn’t that exactly what I would say to him if I could speak to him in person?

After the song, I went back home and lit the candle.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Let’s Stop Ladies’ Night

It’s one of the oldest stories — a guy or gal has a big date that night, so she looks into the mirror, and sees a huge zit! Horrors!

I don’t have a zit, but it looks like I have a cold sore. But I DON’T HAVE A COLD SORE! It just looks like a cold sore. What I have is the aftermath of a coffee burn on my lip. Honestly!

Tonight, I’m going to see Secret Agent Josephine’s gallery show of dog paintings. She is a popular California blogger and many other bloggers will be there. And I mean glamorous female bloggers. I will be meeting most of them for the first time, and what will be the first thing they will notice — my coffee burn! And they will think it is a cold sore. And they will write about it in their blogs tomorrow:

“Secret Agent Josephine’s show was a big success. Many bloggers were there. Lovely Whoorl was there with her beautiful baby. Therapy-going Neilochka was there also, with his cold sore.”

It is NOT a cold sore. It is a coffee burn.

As a preventive measure, I think it is essential that I tell you how I got this coffee burn on my lip. After I tell you this story, you will realize that I am telling the truth:

A few weeks ago, a local independent filmmaker emailed me. He said he liked my blog and wanted to talk to me about possibly putting together some story pitches together for a producer. We met, liked each other, and decided to give it a try. After a week, we didn’t accomplish much more than coming up with a few titles stolen from other movies.

“Not from the makers of “Knocked Up,” It’s “Knocked Off!”

Yesterday, we decided to meet at his home and finally get to work. For eight hours we hashed out story ideas, in between drinking lots of coffee and playing Trivial Pursuit. By the end of the day, we were exhausted. On the way home, I felt my eyes closing as I was driving on the freeway (we live 45 minutes apart). I decided to pull off and get myself a cup of coffee. I was happy to notice an In-N-Out Burger down the block. If you are unfamiliar with this chain, it is because they are mostly on the West Coast. They are my favorite local burger joint. Unlike the bigger fast-food chains, they make their burgers fresh. Although it can take twice as long to get your burger than at McDonald’s, the hamburgers actually taste like meat.

I ordered a cheeseburger with onions, and a cup of coffee. I couldn’t wait to eat that burger! I don’t have fancy tastes. Although I enjoy all types of food, nothing is as comforting as a hamburger, a slice of pizza, a bagel, or a good tuna fish sandwich. I picked up my newly-made burger from the high school kid behind the counter, sat down at one of the faux 1950’s plastic booths and dove in!

Thank you Harry and Esther Snyder, creators of In-N-Out!

From Wikipedia:

In-N-Out’s first location was opened on October 22, 1948 by Harry and Esther Snyder at the northwest corner of what is now the intersection of Interstate 10 and Francisquito Avenue in the Los Angeles suburb of Baldwin Park, California.

All ethnic groups take pride in the accomplishments of their own. African-Americans are proud of Barack Obama. Asians appreciate that Daniel Dae Kim is considered a sex symbol on Lost. Jews are no different. Even my mother knows that Spock’s Vulcan sign is something he saw at an orthodox synagogue as a child.

“I knew Spock was Jewish,” my mother used to say. “He was the smart one.”

Unfortunately, the Jewish community is somewhat ashamed of William Shatner.

Harry and Esther Snyder: clearly mishpucha (Yiddish for family). To me, McDonald’s is Church of Scotland (McDonald’s), Wendy’s is Presbyterian, and Jack-in-the-Box is Roman Catholic, with “Jack” running the show from his Vatican-like headquarters.

In-N-Out is Jewish.  Harry and Esther Snyder?  I actually have an aunt and uncle named Harry and Esther.

I sometimes wondered if they know I’m Jewish, too, which would explain why their service people are so nice to me. Whenever I order a burger, the worker at the register always smiles at me with a knowing look and asks “Would you like some onions with that?” in the same caring tone that my mother uses when she asks if I would like an extra matzo ball in my soup during Passover.

In-N-Out hamburgers are very cleverly wrapped, with two pieces of waxed paper folded around the burger to prevent spillage. I quickly ate half of my burger and then started drinking my coffee, remembering that my original reason for stopping here was to get some coffee, not to eat a cholesterol heavy burger. As I took a sip from my coffee cup, I noticed something very unusual written on the bottom of the outer hamburger wrapper:

Revelations 3:10.

WTF? Revelations 3:10?! New Testament messages on my burger wrapper at my favorite Jewish burger chain?

My brain went into overload, unaware that I was about to take another sip of burning hot coffee, and mistakenly missed my mouth. Instead, I spilled the scalding liquid right on my lip, later causing a blister.

“Ouch!”

It turns out Harry and Esther Snyder are not mishpucha, but Christian fanatics who put weird Bible messages on their products and then purposely give extra hot coffee to their non-Christian customers.

Would I make this story up? It is a coffee burn that I have, not a cold sore!

From Wikipedia (why did I never notice this before?):

In-N-Out prints discreet references to Bible verses on their paper utensils. The print is small and out of the way, and only contains the book, chapter and verse numbers, not the actual text of the passages. The practice began in the 1980s during Rich Snyder’s presidency, a reflection of the Christian beliefs held by the Snyder family.

Burger and cheeseburger wrappers

Revelation 3:20—”Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear My voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with Me.”

Beverage cups and antenna toppers

John 3:16—”For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

Milkshake cups

Proverbs 3:5—”Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”

Double-Double wrapper

Nahum 1:7—”The LORD is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him.”

Paper water cups, or “R-9’s”

John 14:6—”Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”

Next time, I’m going to Canter’s Jewish Deli for my coffee.