Why I Never Win at Scrabble

Source: xkcd

Point, Counterpoint

Look who's behind the 8-ball now.

When Life Gives You Lemmings, Make Lemmingade

Listen to this ridiculous, scare tactic ad urging people to vote "yes" on Prop 8.

The little girl tells her mom that today in school she learned that a prince can marry a prince and that she can marry a princess.

Trust me, kid, you don't want to marry a princess. It's way more work than you realize.

Walk Softly and Carry a Big Sign

So I put a big "NO on 8" sign in my window on Monday. Friends have suggested I confront my neighbors, but I don't want to argue with them, I'd rather have an intelligent debate.

But their lifestyle is based on the Bible, and I'm sure they'd just use 5,000-year-old Leviticus 18:22 as the rationalization for their position on Prop 8.

It's like I'm a Mac and they're the Rosetta Stone.

8 = Hate

I live on the top floor of a duplex. My downstairs neighbors are a family of four: husband, wife, and two teenage sons. They run a small Christian school and are good and decent people.

But they hate me.

Well, not me in particular, but they hate gay people, or at least that's what the yard sign in front of our building tells me: "Yes on 8. Protect marriage."

This breaks my heart because we've had a very good relationship for the past year or so that I've lived here. We've had interesting discussions about religion, exchanged small gifts over the holidays, and have been there for each other during issues with the building.

But now we're on opposite sides of Proposition 8, the ballot measure that, if passed, will amend the California constitution to take away the right of same sex couples to legally marry.

My neighbors' "Yes on 8" yard sign went up while I was out of town this past week. Now I need to add one more task to the list of ten million things to do on my first day back. I'm going to find the biggest damn "No on 8" sign there is and place it in my front window.

Don't forget, my ancestors survived the original Philistines. We're used to kicking ignorant ass.

Schlepple off to Buffalo

This year I'll be spending Yom Kippur at my childhood temple in Buffalo. I have vivid memories of being in that sanctuary, squirming in my uncomfortable dress (we never wore pants to shul), and reciting the Al Cheyt, the prayer in which we ask G-d's forgiveness for a litany of sins.

Al cheyt shechatanu lefanecha b'ones uv'ratzon - For the sin we have committed against You by (fill in the blank).

At age five or six, it hadn't occurred to me to abuse power, slander someone, or commit many of the other sins on that list. But when my parents looked right at me as they recited the Al Cheyt, I began to truly understand the meaning of Jewish guilt.

So off I schlep to Buffalo, because there's nothing quite like atoning with Mom.

G'mar chatimah tova.