the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Month: December 2005 (Page 2 of 3)

Sorry, Jews: My First Retraction (Sort of)


After receiving numerous angry emails from fellow Jews, I feel a little bit like Philip Roth after writing about Jews masturbating in "Goodbye Columbus."  So, like a Supreme Court nominee, I feel it is important to clarify myself after writing my last post.

1)  I’m not really tired of other Jews.  I love Jews.  Sophia is Jewish.  My mother is Jewish.  Brooke, my long-time fantasy woman is Jewish, although she has yet to date a Jewish man.  Time will tell.

2)  I think Akaky had it right when he commented:

"Take advantage of your new ethnic hipness before the focus shifts to Armenians or Eskimoes or dyslexic Dravidian dwarves and being Jewish becomes so yesterday’s news."

Sophia, who loved the post, still said, "Neil, you are the schmendrik.  Better to be trendy and loved than hated, chased by Cossacks or Muslim fanatics."

3)  I actually think it is good that Walmart has its employees say "Happy Holidays" to its customers.  I don’t really want anyone saying "Merry Christmas" to me.  But if they do, I won’t drop dead on the spot.  But does it hurt you Christians so much to say, "Happy Holidays?"  We appreciate it.    Believe me, saying "Happy Holidays" isn’t the reason that Christmas has become such an overly commercialized, irreligious farce of a holiday.  Blame the retailers like Macy’s and the Gap and FAO Schwartz, all owned by…. uh, let’s move on…

4)  Recently I was quoted on this site.  It pretty much says what I believe:

Frankly, I think one of the things that makes our country so great is that the majority religion has tried so hard to make minorities feel comfortable. Where else have Jews and others been made to feel as equals and as comfortable with Christian holidays? Certainly not in many European countries where you are considered Jewish first, then a citizen of that country.

New York is not the rest of the country. I think it would be nice to bring back some of the religiosity to Christmas in big cities, so it isn’t such a consumerized holiday. Thank you, Christians, for being so good to the rest of us. You can now celebrate Christmas a little more openly.

However, things are different in smaller cities and towns around the country. Those places have a habit of mixing up religion and public policy. It is places like those where I don’t think it appropriate for the public sector to promote religion symbolism and ideology.

I think it is perfectly fine to have your friends and co-workers wish you a "Merry Christmas."  What’s the big deal?   But a "public" store like Walmart isn’t really the place  for religious exclusiveness.  And is Christmas in such trouble that it needs Walmart to save it? 

5)  I’m not into political correctness, but that doesn’t mean everyone should act like an asshole.  Unlike whatever Bill O’Reilly feels, I’m all for going all out with trying to respect minorities.  Christmas is not "under siege."  Look outside your window.  Christmas decorations were up five minutes after Thanksgiving.  Talk about shoving it in people’s face.  Sorry, but you’re the fucking majority and it’s up to you to be nice.  When the world is taken over by the billions of Chinese — and it will happen — let’s hope they respect us Americans as the minority.  (see Planet of the Apes for an example of what happens when the tables are turned).  Isn’t the whole point of the Judeo-Christian ethos to do unto others…

6)  Attacking political correctness has become so rampant that I firmly believe the MOST politically incorrect thing to do today is to defend it.  I had a long email conversation with Anne about whether Sarah Silverman is funny.  We both agree that she is.  But she is a professional comedian with a clever wit.  My fear is that every asshole will now think it is cool to tell slavery and Holocaust jokes at the dinner table and think they are the best thing since sliced challah.  I have a fear that everyone will laugh, not wanting to appear unhip, and the one who says that it isn’t funny will appear like a stick-in-the-mud. 

Sometimes, a little political correctness — when it doesn’t become the ruling party itself — can be good.

It’s weird that I use Bill O’Reilly and Sarah Silverman in the same sentence, but they are both talented entertainers making big money by saying outlandish things for people to blog about.   But in the real world, it is nice for people to say "Happy Holidays" and wrong to make racist jokes.  

Of course, as a high-paid blogger, I include myself as someone who can say whatever he wants without consequence.

7)  And finally, I’d like to apologize publicly to big-time blogger Andrew Krukoff.  I’m still not sure who you are, but congratulations on becoming a man.

Today on Blogebrity:  How to Tell if Your Cowboy is Gay  (about not only but also)

LL Cool Jew


I’m so tired of other Jews.    When did being Jewish become the "in" thing?    Moronic Hollywood actors going to Kabbalah classes.  Front page articles in New York magazine about Jews being smart  (I dealt with that subject months before them and much better, I might add).    Today I was reading Michelle’s funny NY blog and learned that she is going to be one of those talking heads on a VH1 special titled "So Jewtastic!"  That’s great for her and I wish her all the best, but this show’s concept was already making me feel ill.

From the VH1 website:

From Dylan’s anthems to Spielberg’s blockbusters, it’s no secret that Jews have made huge contributions to pop culture. They’ve succeeded in spite of age-old stereotypes about Jews as brainy, neurotic, and well, anything but hip.

But that’s all changing. In an age when Madonna demands to be called "Esther," Demi celebrates Purim and seemingly everyone speaks a little Yiddish, it’s never been hipper to be a Jew. All Access Presents: So Jewtastic celebrates everything you knew – and lots of stuff you didn’t – about famous members of the Tribe.

The one-hour show will cover the trendy rise of Kabbalah, the new hip Jews in Hollywood, the marriage of Jews and hip hop, the connection between Jews and Heavy Metal and the domination of Jews in comedy. As a bonus, Jackie Mason schools the goyim on Yiddish terms that rock. OY GEVALT!

Thanks to a mensch-laden panel of pundits, yentas and a Rabbi or two, So Jewtastic will also circumcise the old ideas about Jewish mothers, ridiculous stereotypes and whether or not Jews know how to play sports (they do!) So put down that gefilte fish and pop open some Manischewitz, it’s time to get your Jew on…VH1 style.

Whoever wrote that has a lot to atone for next Yom Kippur.

As if this wasn’t enough, a few minutes later I’m reading about big-time blogger Andrew Krucoff and how he’s in Israel and he’s never had a bar mitzvah, and now he’s going to have one sponsored by the porno-loving shmata king, Dov Charney of American Apparel. Now, frankly, I didn’t know much about big-time blogger Andrew Krucoff until I wrote a post about big-time blogger Stephanie Klein.  Bloggers-in-the-know told me that Andrew Krucoff was even bigger than Stephanie Klein.  Now as much as everyone hated Stephanie Klein, at least she wrote some interesting posts.  What the hell does this Krucoff do that makes him such a big-shot?    Here’s his latest blog.   As my mother might say, "Nu?"  This guy must be some shmoozer.

I’m just sick of this whole Jews-are-trendy thing.  It used to be that I would use a Yiddish phrase and only other Jews would get it.  Now, the Korean owner of my local donut shop tells me her husband is a shmendrick.   I’ve been so frustrated with my people lately, that I even thought of converting, but then Sophia told me that Larry David already did that in the last "Curb Your Enthusiasm" episode. 

Fucking trendy Jews!

Listen, everyone knows that Chanukah sucks compared to Christmas.  Why continue with the facade of Chanukah being cool because Adam Sandler wrote one fucking song about it?  Why can’t I love Rudolph and Frosty and the Grinch — all of the traditional Christmas stuff.    When Rudolph saves the day with his shiny nose — that’s the true meaning of Christmas.

After reading all about these trendy Jews, I felt starved for some Christmas spirit.  Since I live in a fairly Jewish neighborhood, it wasn’t easy.  I decided to go to the most Christian place I could think of in Los Angeles — Walmart.   As I pulled into their enormous parking lot, images of Christmas lights and Christmas trees and Christmas fruitcakes danced in my head.

"Happy Holidays!" said the greeter, a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair. 

"Happy Holidays?" I asked.  "Don’t you mean "Merry Christmas?"

"Shhh.  We’re not allowed to say that anymore.  Only "Happy Holidays."

"That’s weird.  I came here especially because I figured Walmart would be… real goyish…"

"Goyish… ha ha.  I heard Seinfeld once say that in that episode with the puffy shirt.   By the way, did you see "Curb Your Enthusiasm" last night.  That Larry David… what a shmendrick. "

"Can I speak to a manager?  I really want someone to say "Merry Christmas" to me."

"I’m sorry.  We don’t want to insult any of our customers who may be of another faith.  Like our Jewish friends."

"I’m Jewish."

"Welcome, Jewish friend.  Welcome to Walmart.  The Tony Hawk Chanukah dreidels are in aisle five, in between the Sarah Silverman menorah set and the "Story of the Maccabees," as read by Dame Jew-dy Densch."

"I don’t want any of that crap.   I’m not here for Chanukah."

‘Well, Happy Holidays whatever your celebration."

"I’m here for Christmas."


"What’s the matter with mentioning Christmas?"

"I thought you were Jewish."

"I am Jewish!"

"Isn’t it cool to be Jewish?"

Oy!  It used to be the blacks, then the gays, now the Jews…. enough!  Enough of trendy!  I want some of that homey Christmas stuff.   Like in Norman Rockwell.  Or on that Charlie Brown special"

"I hear you, young man."

I turned and saw a giant of a man.  He had a white beard.  His voice was deep, reminiscent of Burl Ives.  He wore a Hawaiian shirt and an enormous crucifix around his neck.

"Let’s bring back Christ into Christmas," he bellowed.  "Everyone come here!  This young man has something important to say to us all!"

Shoppers — men, women, children — all gathered around me. 

"It’s all very nice that you want to include everyone in your "Happy Holidays…" I said, my voice cracking, "…but if you really want to say "Merry Christmas," I don’t really see anything wrong with that."

"You hear that?!" shouted the crucifix guy.  "He’s absolutely right.  Why should we be afraid of celebrating Christmas?   How did this happen?  I say, they’ve been holding us back from saying "Merry Christmas."  It’s the Jews.  The Jews I tell ya!  First they kill our Savior, then they spy on America for Israel, and now they want to steal away our holiday!  Well, we won’t let them — will we?!"

"Uh… I didn’t exactly mean…" I stammered.

A pregnant customer stood on the "Customer Service" desk, waving wildly.

"Let’s march on Temple Beth Am!"

The mob grew excited with shouts of "Yeah," "Let’s do it!" and "Stop Those Shmendricks!"

The middle-aged Walmart greeter in the wheelchair stood up.  It was like a miracle happening before our eyes.

"Let’s go tell the Jews what we think!" she screamed.

Everyone in Walmart started chanting. 

"We love Jesus!  We love Jesus!  We love Jesus!"

Within minutes, the store was emptied of everyone except for myself, which wasn’t so bad, because I don’t really like crowded stores.

Was I worried about Temple Beth Am?  Not really.  Los Angeles crowds are notorious for giving up early, such as leaving Dodger games in the sixth inning.  The temple was pretty far away, and with all the traffic, I’m sure they just ended up dispersing and going to Starbucks instead. 

But I was disturbed, and frankly irritated, at the mob’s total devotion to Jesus. 

Because if you think about it:  What is Jesus — but another trendy Jew?!

(UPDATE — with a bit of a wimpy retraction.)

Sex and the Male Blogger


Recently, I’ve been receiving many emails that go something like this:

"I’m a female blogger that loves your blog, "Citizen of the Month."  At night, I fantasize about you making love to me and you always bring me to an intense orgasm.  How do you do it?"

Male bloggers are known to be excellent imaginary lovers.  In fact, I’m currently working on an article for Cosmo magazine titled "Sex and the Male Blogger."


From the article:

Citizen of the Month:  "Hello, men."

Male Bloggers:  "Hello, Neilochka dude!"

Citizen of the Month:  "Male bloggers have a well-deserved reputation for their excellent oral sex techniques online.   Can you tell Cosmo readers what you do to give women such amazing orgasms in the imaginary world of the blogosphere?"

Pauly D:  "Well, Neilochka, you’re clearly the expert here.  Why don’t you tell us?"


Sophia says:  I’m sorry, regular readers of this blog.  As Neil’s editor, I must wrestle editorial control away from Neil and hijack this post.  For the sake of Neil’s future literary career, the remainder must be censored. Not because of any sexual content.  In fact, the sex jokes are pretty lame, and I’m sure most women are rolling their eyes at the idea of him being any "sex expert."  Believe me, I know the truth first hand.  No, the biggest problem with this post is that it is incredibly stupid.  You see, Neil is a little sexually frustrated, if you haven’t figured that out already.  It’s gotten to the point where I might even take pity on him, just so he can start writing some decent posts again.  Remember back in September when he actually wrote something meaningful?  Anyway, I apologize for the interruption, but clearly you see how necessary it is.


Neil:  "…so that’s how I do it.  With some patience and practice, all of you male bloggers can be as amazing as I am in the sack.  So, let’s go, men, let’s bring those women to multiple orgasms!"


Today on Blogebrity:  The Amazing Tale of Ashbloem and Bono

The Truth About Olive Garden


Last night, Sophia and I attended a blogger-meetup, greeting Psychotoddler and Mrs. Balabusta, who were visiting L.A. from snowy Milwaukee. Since the Psychotoddler family is kosher, we met at a kosher Chinese restaurant on Pico Blvd. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be (although note to restaurant: please hire someone who knows how to make sushi. That was NOT sushi, kosher or not). Also attending the event were Dr. Bean, ball-and-chain, Brett of DadTalk, and Anne of Inland Empress.

There were spirited conversations about many things, including integrity and truth-telling when writing blog posts. The group was extremely intelligent, which, of course, made me think about my blog post for that day, which was about a “Cock Shaker.” So, I’m glad to be back here with so many of my other blogger friends who are as dumb and unsophisticated as I am.

Despite my lack of sophistication, the issue of “integrity in blogging” has been weighing on my mind today. You see, in my last post, there were quite a few joking comments about the Olive Garden chain. Although I didn’t say so directly, I insinuated in my post that I didn’t like Olive Garden. The truth is : I’ve never been to Olive Garden. I’m like the movie reviewer who gives the film “three thumbs up,” but never bothered to see the flick.

In all honesty, I just don’t like those chain restaurants — at least the ones that I have actually gone to. To give you a better understanding of my feelings, I’ve created a list of chain restaurants, in order of my hatred of the chain, from least to greatest:

The Cheesecake Factory
El Torito
TGI Friday’s
Outback Steakhouse
Red Lobster
Pizza Hut

Today, I called Sophia.

“Sophia, I’m taking you to lunch.”

“OK, where to?”

“Olive Garden.”


I explained how I owed it to my readers to learn the truth about the Olive Garden, especially if I’m ever going to mention it again. So, I picked Sophia up and we drove to Olive Garden near the Del Amo Mall.

We were surprised to find such a long line for such an uninspiring place. Why were so many people here? Los Angeles has tons of excellent REAL restaurants. Maybe we were missing out on something. Maybe people were just suckers for those stupid commercials where the guy brings his authentic Italian mama to Olive Garden, and she loves it. Loves it!

Inside the restaurant, the decor was anything but “authentic.” There were some badly drawn paintings of the Italian countryside on the wall, and few bottles of Chianti were propped up here and there. “Benvenuto!” was written on the wall in the waiting area. The restaurant staff was not very authentic either, more Redondo Beach High School than Tuscany High School.

We were told that there would be a ten minute wait. This seemed a little bull-shitty, since there were seven other families waiting in front of us. Afterwards, another couple was also told that their wait would be “ten minutes.”

“How could this be?” I asked Sophia. “This made no sense. Do they just tell everyone that the wait is ten minutes? And if our wait is ten minutes, and they came after us, shouldn’t their wait be at least eleven minutes?”

Sophia and I were given this large black beeper contraption that was supposed to go crazy with lights and special effects when our table was ready.

Time passed. Twenty minutes. Sophia and I revealed to each other that we spent the morning snacking and neither of us were too hungry. But it was too late to turn back. I had to learn the truth about the elusive Olive Garden.


My hand vibrated as if I had just pulled the trigger of a 45 caliber pistol. The beeper was sending us a message: It was TIME for our reconnaissance meal.

Some girl in the Olive Garden uniform, but wearing USC socks (!) took us to our cozy table, nestled comfortably next to a large obnoxious family celebrating some bratty boy’s birthday. Before we even had a chance to open a menu, Miss USC wanted to know if we wanted anything to drink.

“We serve real Italian wine.”

We said we just wanted water. She looked disappointed, as if we had just rejected her from admittance to our sorority.

Sophia and I looked over to the birthday table to check out the food they were eating. Bland pastas, boring pizzas. Nothing looked very exciting. We were also surprised that the menu was more expensive than we expected, considering it was a “family” restaurant.

“It’s cheaper to just go to the real Italian restaurant on Torrance Boulevard.”

“I guess we’re paying for the ambiance.”

We laughed as the family started singing “Happy Birthday” to the bratty boy.

“Since we’re not too hungry, maybe we can share something.”

As I perused the attractive, flowery-designed menu, I noticed something interesting. For six bucks, you can have as much soup as you want, with three different choices of soup. For another six bucks, you can get an unlimited amount of Olive Garden’s special salad.

“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.”

“The place is jammed. They’re making a fortune. No one cares if we share the soup. We’re only two people. How much soup and salad can we eat?”

“It’s stealing. It’s like downloading illegal music.”

“You download illegal music all the time.”

“That’s different. “They see you here doing it. No one sees you at home downloading music.”

“Oh, so if they don’t see you stealing it’s not a crime. You’re some “citizen” of the month!”

“I won’t download anymore music. Is that better?”

“I don’t care. Look, if you’re going to be such a stick in the mud, we’ll each get our own unlimited soup.”

“Fine, that’s best.

“But I don’t care what you say. We’re just getting one salad, I can never finish half of it.”

We ordered our meal. The waitress seemed pissed that we were such cheapo customers, and assumed she was going to get a small tip. We each ate three bowls of soup. But I wouldn’t touch the salad, which only made Sophia act like more of a temptress.

“Try it. Just take a bite.”


“Stop being such a wimp.”

Which was the exact same thing Eve told Adam.

“OK, I’ll try it. Just a second. Wait…. OK..”

I tried the salad. Sophia shook her head in disbelief.

“Did you just wait until the waitress walked away before you ate one tiny piece of lettuce, so she wouldn’t see you eating it?”


“Yes you did!”

“Fine. I don’t like to be humiliated. What if she said something. What if a spotlight went on us and voice came on saying: “Look over here everyone. This couple is stealing an unlimited salad because they were too cheap to order two unlimited salads like they were supposed to.””

“You need help. Serious help. Why don’t you blog about THIS tonight?”

“About what?”

“About how you were afraid of eating the salad because the nineteeen year old waitress might see you and look down at you?”

“I’m not going to do that.”



By the way, the soup and salad (we never finished out first bowl of salad) at Olive Garden were pretty good.

So, here’s my revised list:

The Cheesecake Factory
Olive Garden
El Torito
TGI Friday’s
Outback Steakhouse
Red Lobster
Pizza Hut

Today on Blogebrity: As the Blog Turns

Rehearsing with Sophia

I’m rehearsing with Sophia at a hotel in Valencia, CA (wireless is ten bucks!) , where the shoot is today.  I’m trying to convince her that when she speaks Russian in the script, she should throw in “Neilochka is a sex God” as part of the Russian dialogue because no one will really know anyway.  She refused.

I hate to leave my readers completely without some sort of entertainment, so here is photo of me in the ninth grade. (thanks Tuck).


Today on Blogebrity:  Is a Blogger’s Attractiveness Important?  (of course it is!  Look at my yearbook photo!  (Retropolitan, Betty on the Beach, Grow Some Testicles)

Sophia in “Windfall”

Windfall cast
The cast of "Windfall" (sans Sophia)

In the past, I’ve mentioned that Sophia frequently works as a Russian dialect coach for movies and TV, as well as doing her regular job as a court interpreter.   A few weeks ago, thanks to a a very unexpected recommendation by her friend, Richard, Sophia got called in to audition for a guest shot on a new NBC show called "Windfall," playing, of all things, a Russian court interpreter.   Sophia nailed the audition and got the job. 

"Windfall" is a drama about a group of people who share a large lottery winning.  It will premiere in January.  The show stars Luke Perry.  Yes, that Luke Perry.

Even though the scene was short, Sophia must have made a great impression, because now she’s been called back to play the same character in a second episode filming this Friday!

Sophia thinks this might be the final scene with the Russian interpreter — or is it?  I sat down today to quickly write a new "Windfall" script, hoping to convince the producers to expand Sophia’s role.

Here’s one of the scenes from my teleplay:


Peter (Luke Perry) and Natasha (Sophia Lansky) are in bed together, post lovemaking.

Peter:  "Natasha, I’ve never done this before.  But hearing you simulataneously interpret for that Russian killer was one of the most erotic experiences of my life."

Natasha:  "Do you really want me to move in here with you?  After all, we just met this afternoon."

Peter:  "Yes, Natasha.  We are soulmates, I know it.   I’ve already broken it off with my girlfriend."

Natasha:  "But doesn’t she already have thirteen episodes in her contract… I mean a baby with you?"

Peter:  I’m Luke Perry… I mean Peter, one of the winners of the lottery.  I can choose my own destiny and I choose YOU."

Natasha:  I love you… Peter…

Peter:  I love you, Natasha…

They kiss, passionately.  It is clear that Peter is the best kisser Natasha has ever kissed, surpassed only by the passion and skill of her separated husband, Nikolai.

Natasha:  "You know what I really want to do now…?"

Peter:  "I do know… because I want to do it, too…"

Natasha:  "…go online together and see if there’s a new post from "Citizen of the Month.""

Peter:  "That’s my favorite blog also.  We have so much in common!"

They go hand-in-hand to the computer.



Good, huh?  They are definitely going to keep Sophia for more episodes now!

Break a leg, Sophia!

Today on Blogebrity:  JJ at Purgatorian (his site)

Wacky and Intellectual Gifts


Yesterday, rather than looking for work, I distracted myself in a new way:  What type of Christmas and Hanukkah gifts should I buy for my beloved blogging friends?   I spent an hour thinking about what type of people they are, hoping that this would help me better choose their ideal gifts. 

First of all, they are a humorous bunch, always ready with a quick-witted comment.   In fact, they are more than just amusing, they are downright hilarious at times.  Even wacky!

But they are also more than "class clowns" or jokesters.  They exhibit an aura of gravitas, of brainy wisdom.  I even might consider them intellectuals!

So, here is my conclusion:  they are wacky and intellectual.  Where in the world am I going to find the perfect gift for Wacky Intellectuals?

Of course, my first instinct was to go to the most wacky and intellectual website on the internet, Google, where I searched for "wacky intellectual gifts" and BOOM — there I found it. 


It was like I suddenly hit the motherlode of crazy (but appealing to those with higher education) gifts! 

jane austen action figure

Oh, boy, will my blogger babes go crazy when they find their very own Jane Austen Action Figure under their Darcy-themed Christmas Tree.

Lost Civi Liberties mug

Much to Sophia’s dismay, several of my blogger friends are egghead liberals who hate Bush.  What could be a better gift than the Lost Civil Liberties Mug — where they can watch their rights slowly disappear under the Bush Administration?

famous drinkers cups

For some reason, half of my blogging friends always seem drunk or hungover when they post.   For them, I will give the Great American Drinkers Shot Glasses, so they can make believe they are creative drunks like Oscar Wilde, writing something witty when they are soused off their ass.

analyst magic ball

Most of the New York bloggers seem very neurotic, even crazy, and spend half their salaries on analysis, and then talk about how bad their therapist is on their blog.  I think they would most benefit from My Analyst Magic Therapy Ball.


Schuey gets the Nietzsche watch.   Read his blog and you’ll understand.

Mr. T

Pauly D naturally gets the Mr. T. Talking Keychain.

I was really enjoying thinking about all my gift-giving.  When I looked over all of the gifts on the web page, they clearly were what they were advertised to be — wacky and intellectual. 

But then something stopped me in my tracks.  Something threw me for a loop.   I was confused. 

By what, you might ask? 

I was very confused by the inclusion of one item as being a wacky and intellectual gift: 

The Natural Sunlight Lamp.

Natural Sunlight Lamp

For several hours I sat there in thought, rubbing the three-day growth on my chin.  Why do they consider this to be a wacky and Intellectual gift?  It’s not particularly wacky.  And it doesn’t appear to be intellectual.

The website content certainly didn’t give me any clues:

Natural Sunlight Lamps Sale. Natural Sunlight Lamps can help with Seasonal Affective Disorders as they provide a Day-light spectrum for health and well being.

These lamps help reduce eyestrain and computer screen glare because they produce less glare Than Other 26-Watt Compact Fluorescent Lamps

* All lamps Covered by One-Year Free Replacement Warranty on Lamp and Fixture * The Vita-Lite Plus Compact Fluorescent Bulb Lasts up to 5 Years *10,000 User Hours

So, nu?  Where’s the stuff about being wacky and intellectual?

Being the overly-curious type, I couldn’t put this issue to sleep.  I decided to order one of these lamps, and I even paid extra for one-day shipping, just so I can report back to you — my readers — with my results. 

At 10AM this morning, the doorbell rang.  It was the UPS man with a delivery. 

It was my Natural Sunlight Lamp! 

I quickly assembled it and placed it on coffee table.  I plugged it in and turned it on.  The light went on.  It was an attractive light that seemed a lot brighter than the bare 40 Watt bulb I usually have stuck in the socket in the ceiling. 

But I have to admit, that I didn’t find the lamp either humorously wacky or intellectually stimulating.

I stared at it… and stared some more, and gradually I started to giggle.  All of a sudden, I thought of all the wacky stunts that I could play on people with this lamp.  Like a Galileo seeing the world in a new way, I "saw" the WACKY in the Natural Sunlight Lamp.

For instance, imagine you’re having a party on Saturday night and all of your friends are over.  One of your friends goes into the bathroom.  While he is in there, you decide to play a funny gag on him.  You quickly take out the Natural Sunlight Lamp from the closet and turn it on, close the drapes, hide the lamp so he can’t see it, but making sure it still lights up the room, and tell everyone to hide.  When your friend comes out of the bathroom, you ask him where he’s been all night?  You say it’s the next morning and he was in the bathroom all night.  Doesn’t he see that it looks like daytime?  Your friend will be more confused than  Rip Van Winkle.  Just imagine the wacky expression on your friend’s face!

For a more sexy gag, how about inviting your next door neighbor for some nude sunbathing with your new "sun lamp"?  Imagine the laughs when she finds out that she can’t get tan with this type of light!

Ok, wacky resolved.  But what about intellectual?

This had me dumbfounded for another two hours, until the doorbell rang again.  Could it be UPS again?

No.  It was Charlotte, my neighbor, an attractive woman from Paris who was going for her doctorate in photobiology at UCLA.  She wanted to know if I had some Cheerios that she could borrow. 

"Of course" I said.  "I always buy a couple of extra boxes of Cheerios at Costco."

As I went to my kitchen cabinet, her eyes lit up on seeing the Natural Sunlight Lamp on the coffee table.

"Oh my, a Natural Sunlight Lamp!"

"Yes, I just got it today."

"Did you know that natural sunlight travels at a speed of 186,000  miles a second from a source  ninety-three  million miles away — and it rates with food, water and air as part of the life-support system on earth."

Hmmm.. Miss Photobiology was very intellectual about this lamp.  Yes, indeed.   I tried to respond as intelligently as I could.  Luckily, I had just read an interesting article about photobiology in the New Yorker.

"I was just reading this article that natural light is so important, it can also boost beef production.  Cattle that spend "longer days" under correct artificial light are 10% to 15% heavier, with no increase  in  food consumption."

"Interesting.  I didn’t know you took an interest in photobiology?"

"Oh, yes.  Even though, the science of  photobiology is a recent  one.   Some photobiologists say doctors showed little interest in the subject until about five years ago."

I handed her the box of Cheerios.  My hand slightly rubbed against hers.  She smiled at me.

"Actually, the  American Society of Photobiology was just founded only eight years ago."

"Amazing, considering that there is nothing more interesting than light."


Before we knew it, I had her pinned against the wall and we were fucking like two light waves.

"Oh, my God," she shouted.   "This is more fun than rating light by the color rendering index."

"You mean the CRI of 100?" I said as I thrust wildly.

"Yes, yes.   With full-spectrum fluorescent being 100."

"Standard cool white, 91."

"Harder, harder.  Fluorescent, 68."

"Other fluorescent being 56."

"It’s gonna… it’s gonna… Oh, there’s nothing like having an orgasm in Natural Sunlight…a little this way…"

We tilted to the side and I bumped into the coffee table.  The Natural Sunlight Lamp flew off the table and crashed to the floor.  It immediately BURST into flames.  The coffee table caught fire.  The fire alarm went off.  The sprinkler shot water everywhere.  Charlotte ran out of the apartment screaming for her life.  

"Wait.  Wait.  Charlotte, don’t leave yet!" I screamed, running after her into the hallway with my cock still up. 

But it was too late.  She was just like the French.  They act all intellectual, and when there is the first sign of trouble, they run like cowards. 

I was foiled again.

After the fire department came, I threw the Natural Sunlight Lamp into the incinerator room.

"What a piece of shit," I told myself.  "That’s the last time I buy anything online."

Anyway, I’m sorry.  Forget those gifts I was going to give to you all.  I don’t trust the quality of these wacky and intellectual gifts. 

Up All Night, Applying for Jobs

Monster jobs

(Last Night) I Didn’t Get to Sleep at All by the Fifth Dimension

Last night I didn’t get to sleep at all, no, no
I lay awake and watched until the morning light
Washed away the darkness of the lonely night

Yahoo jobs

Oh and last night I got to thinking maybe I, I, I
Should call you up and just forget my foolish pride
I heard your number ringing, I went cold inside
And last night I didn’t get to sleep at all

Variety jobs

I know it’s not my fault, I did my best
God knows this heart of mine could use a rest
But more and more I find the dreams I left behind
Are somehow too real to replace

Mediabistro jobs

Oh last night I didn’t get to sleep at all, no, no
The sleeping pill I took was just a waste of time
I couldn’t close my eyes ’cause you were on my mind
And last night, I didn’t get to sleep, didn’t get to sleep
No I didn’t get to sleep at all


NOTE 10 A.M. —  Since many of you have criticized my choice of my final woman, let me make a few changes here and show you who I really daydream about, and who really distracted me from my job search last night:





Today on Blogebrity:  Peggy Archer  (Peggy Archer’s site)

Why I’d Make a Great Husband for You, My Female Reader (A Poem)


Whenever I go to the drugstore
I always buy things right
Be it a Kotex or a Tampax,
Ultra-thin or Overnight.

I once was a typical nudnik.
Who didn’t know a thing,
But through years and years of training,
I’m now the Tampon King.

On Monday, it’s pantyliner
On Tuesday, it’s Stayfree
On Wednesday, it’s always Always,
On Thursday, it’s o.b.

If you’re looking for a husband,
Who’s perfect to a tee
Just spread your Carefree "Flexi-wings"
And fly away with me.

(inspired an hour ago while waiting in a long line at Rite-Aid)

Today in Blogebrity:  Christmas in New York  (Guy’s site)

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