Wrapped in the Tallit of Tikkun Olam

Tikkun olam loosely translates to "repairing the world." Today, during Rosh Hashanah services, I experienced a profound sense of tikkun olam as our rabbi recited his sermon.

Rabbi Martin Lawson of San Diego's Temple Emanu-El is an extraordinary human being. Three years ago I had the pleasure of being part of one of his trips to Israel. Seeing Israel for the first time with someone like Rabbi Lawson makes it impossible not to fall in love with our feisty little Jewish homeland. I can't wait to go back.

But this sermon had nothing to do with Israel or even Judaism. It was about basic human rights. Rabbi Lawson spoke passionately about how Proposition 8 - the ballot measure that, if passed, will amend California's constitution to take away the rights of same-sex couples to legally marry - is a discriminatory measure borne of fear and ignorance.

He pointed out, with thunder in his voice, the importance of equal rights for all people - regardless of sexual orientation.

Temple Emanu-El has maybe a handful of GLBT members, but we're well represented. Our board president is a gay man, and three board members are lesbians. Still, I never expected this issue to be the topic of a Rosh Hashanah sermon.

Needless to say, I was in tears for most of the 30-minute talk.

And when I taste the apples dipped in honey at Rosh Hashanah dinner tonight, I'll savor the added sweetness of tikkun olam.

L'shana Tova Tikatevu

Today begins the Ten Days of Awe, that very thinky time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur where, as a Jew, I assess the past year and consider ways to improve myself.

To all my Jewish brothers and sisters, have a sweet and happy New Year and an easy fast.

In Search of a Low-Carb Tashlich

Okay, so I've sworn off bread because it's full of Bad Carbs.

But tashlich is all about bread. As the sun sets after Rosh Hashanah, it's traditional for Jews to cast away our sins from the previous year by tossing handfuls of breadcrumbs into a moving body of water.

Of course, considering my stellar track record this year, I could probably get away with tossing just a crouton or two.

Attack of the Angry, Racist Tailors

I'll bet this guy's KKK robe is 100% cotton.

Bill and Jerry's Meshuggeneh Adventure

So a geek, a Heeb, and a cliche of a typical American family walk into a bar...or, even worse, walk into our living rooms.

WTF is Microsoft thinking with these bizarre TV ads starring Bill Gates and Jerry Seinfeld?

But, then again, what do we expect from an operating system that has you press "Start" to shut down your machine.

L'Enfer - C'est Ohio

From a church in Blacklick, Ohio.

Lucky for me, Jews don't have hell; we have Miami.

Bad Grammar - The Smoking Gun

Did Steve Jobs really send Apple customers e-mails discussing upcoming product releases?

Doubting the validity of the messages, a few grammar geeks at Wired and UC Davis did a thorough grammatical analysis and came up with a few telltale errors:

• The incorrect use of "which" vs. "that"
  
• Improper use of independent clauses
  
• Unnecessary commas
  

Not to be outdone, Bill Gates posted this instructional video:

"Windows Vista 2008 Causing PC Problems? Your Not Alone."

Not Just Another QWERTY Face

How cool is this? Artist Jeremy Mayer makes sculptures out of old typewriters.

He admits they're a little creepy, but regardless, his creations are pretty amazing.

And you never have to change the ribbon.

Lost in Translation

I'm addicted to the Travel Channel show Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations. I love Bourdain's New York sensibility and sarcastic charm. And he goes to really cool places.

So, I'm watching him traipse through South America, and a promo comes on for the next show, a segment on Colombia. But the graphic on the screen says "Columbia."

This is the frickin' Travel Channel. One would think they could spell the names of the countries they're promoting.

¿Dónde están los redactores?

We've Got Rules that Jingo Jingo Jingo

According to a recent article in the New York Times, the Ladies Professional Golf Association (LPGA) is instilling a rule that all players must speak conversant English by 2009, or be suspended from the tour.

They claim it's all about the sponsors, but I think it smacks of good old American jingoism.

We already know that the LPGA doesn't acknowledge the presence of their huge lesbian fan base, or the fact that a whole bunch of women golf pros are also cunnilinguists.

Maybe if the LPGA took the nine iron out of its ass and catered more to the dykes on spikes who spend lots of money on the sport, the foreign gals could concentrate on just hitting the ball, er, straight.

Marriage is the New Black

With California's recent legalization of gay marriage, I've attended more than my share of happy homo weddings in the past few weeks.

The ceremonies were all heartfelt and touching. I cried. The brides and grooms cried. We ate very tall cake, danced in our bare feet, drank way too much Champagne, and no straight marriages were harmed in the process.

But marriage isn't for everybody. And it shouldn't become the latest cool, gay accessory.

In the good old days, we all lived in the gay ghetto, spent our nights in discos or drumming circles, and only hetero couples were prodded by friends and family with "So when are you two getting married?"

Now, gay couples can't go to the grocery store without some stranger approaching them to ask about the best wine to pair with lamb, and when they're tying the knot.

A Mighty Fortress is Our Bra

Just another funny bone tickler from the geeky genius at xkcd.

Btw, his title? "Frustration."

The Few, The Proud, The Grammarines

Okay, I know I'm a little obsessed with the difference between "less" and "fewer." I can't help it; I'm a geek. So when I saw this while shopping earlier, I couldn't resist.

Oh, and sorry about the poor photo quality.

I used the camera in my phone and, although it seems to take marvelous pictures of parts of my ear, the inside of my purse, and one (or sometimes both) of my feet, apparently all the fluorescent lighting in the world won't turn me into Diane Arbus.

Grammar Nerds, Rejoice!

Check Your Schlep-o-Meter

Oy, such a schlep it was! Well, maybe it wouldn't be such a schlep if you lived in a better planned area.

Check out Walk Score to find your neighborhood's walkability score. My address gets an 86 out of 100. This means I can drive less because I can easily walk to shops, restaurants, grocery stores, etc.

And you can also see a photo of your home if you click on Go to Street Level View (not available in all areas).

How Jew Are You?

So I took the Survey of American Jewish Language, "the first of its kind to ask North Americans about the words from Yiddish and Hebrew (and other languages) that they may use or recognize."

It was sort of like a combination of the SATs and a Cosmo sex quiz. In addition to asking about recognition of certain Hebrew and Yiddish words, the survey asks about English expressions that can be attributed to Yiddish, and word pronunciation.

And they also ask when was the last time you called your mother.

I recognized about 75% of the words and most of the expressions. I guess that gives me about a B+ as a Heeb. Pretty good for someone who grew up in a home so Reform we were almost Episcopalian.

Comma-kazi

Renegade commas are taking over the world.

Ask the Maven

I'm often asked questions by non-Jewish friends about the many mysteries of Judaism. I'd thought I'd start to answer them here to help demystify Semitic semantics.

Please note, these are actual questions. I'm not making this up.

Question: Is soaking in Epsom salts a Jewish thing?

Answer: Although we Heebs have been known to enjoy floating in the Dead Sea, parting the Red Sea, and frolicking in the Med Sea (all three can be accessed in Israel, btw), Epsom salts are an equal opportunity pleasure that Jews and non-Jews alike utilize to relieve muscle pain.

Question: I fed my cat tuna and chicken on the same plate. He ate the tuna, but wouldn't touch the chicken. Is he kosher?

Answer: No your cat is not kashrut (or katrut in your case). Now, if you were to feed him a cheeseburger with a side of shrimp puffs, that would be one treyf-ridden meal. And your vet would probably kill you.

You Could Put Out an Eye!

Why Jews don't wear thong underwear.

Okay, Mom, so maybe you're right about some things.

My Internal GPS Works Like This

Just another peek into my life from xkcd.

Straight Jacket or Sports Bra?

Break out the Advil and the Icy-Hot. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I suffer regularly from an embarrassing sports injury - the I can't take off this damn sports bra injury.

After every grueling workout, I have to perform gravity-defying acrobatic contortions to get my freakin' bra off. And being all sweaty makes it that much more of a challenge.

Sometimes I think I've torn my rotator cuff, and other times I suffer only a charley horse or a nosebleed (don't try to undress after a workout near large pieces of furniture).

Would it kill the sports bra designers to add an emergency exit?

The Synnytyselimiksi Monologues

Talk about taking a ride. A Finnish artist has created a giant vulva bicycle taxi to create an awareness of the world's male-centric outlook.

Or something like that.

But what really cracked me up was the article in the Helsinki paper which was only partially translated. For example:

"Far from view, wheeled vehicle crossing gogolilainen jättiläisnenä reveal a closer as seen from a woman's synnytyselimiksi."

Now that's a mouthful.

Baby, You Can Drive My...Routan?

The naming consultants at Volkswagen are smoking crack. Their newest models have the weirdest, most unpronounceable, and most unspellable names.

As a consumer, what am I supposed to get from names like Touareg, Tiguan, and Routan?

I just gotta say, when I read those names, images of cool German cars don't come to mind.

Instead, I'm thinking weird creatures from a Tolkien novel, or three starchy yet delicious food items from Greenland, or "have you met my Latvian cousins?".

And I wouldn't be surprised if the VW focus groups were packed with IKEA employees.

Being Green and Easy

Who knew entomology could be so hot? Check out Green Porno, a collection of eight short films depicting the sex lives of various insects.

All are written and narrated by Isabella Rossellini, who also stars as the lead bug in each one. And she makes a very fetching earthworm.

I've Found Nerdvana - xkcd

Finally. A recipe that makes sense.

It's All Geek to Me

Oh we'll have fun fun fun until daddy takes the Prius awaaaay. Is this not the coolest geekmobile everrrr? I mean, who wouldn't love a topless Prius?

And speaking of geekiness, my pal Martha, co-host of A Way With Words - the public radio show where language lovers love to linger - sent me a link to Lifehacker. (Oh my, that alliteration took on a life of its own.)

Talk about a geek paradise. That site is almost as much fun as spending six hours at the Apple Store.

The Love That Dare Not Use its Name

Apparently, residents of the Greek island of Lesbos are sick and tired of gay women calling themselves "lesbians." So they've taken the issue to court.

Come on.

We've used the L Word to describe our Subaru-driving, flannel-wearing, cat-loving sisters for like a zillion years, and suddenly now in 2008 the islanders want their name back?

Take it up with Sappho, people.

Spam - The 11th Plague

I've been playing with different social networking sites and applications lately, trying them out, seeing how they work, and having fun splashing around in my geekiness.

And then I stumbled on Reunion.com. (No link for them; don't wanna send any eyeballs their way.)

In a nutshell, or anywhere else for that matter, they suck.

When I signed up for what appeared to be just another innocuous way to connect with friends online, that chazzerai-ridden site hijacked my entire gmail contact list and spammed the hell out of them.

And to be kicked in the head by the by-product of a beast with non-cloven hooves on Pesach? Well, it's just not kosher.

Read what the LA Times has to say about these scummy sheisters.

The Goyfiltefish Incident

I introduced gefilte fish to some non-Jewish pals today.

Doubt it'll become a late-night craving for any of them.

Happy Pesach!

Let My People Know

I just found a site debunking Jewish urban legends called, cleverly enough, Jewish Legends.

Did you know that "Mama" Cass Elliot was born Ellen Naomi Cohen in Scarsdale, NY?

And she died from a heart attack, not from choking on a ham sandwich on Yom Kippur. Um, ham? On Yom Kippur? Helloooo??? She was a Heeb, already!

I also learned that, although she's claimed it for years, my mother does not actually know everything.

Typo Lypo

I am not worthy.

The Typo Eradication Advancement League, or TEAL, is on a serious mission to rid the U.S. of typos one city at a time. Talk about a way fun road trip (for some of us, anyhow).

And I thought I was in the top percentile of word nerdiness.

Thanks to Grant Barrett, co-host of public radio's A Way With Words, for his recent post about this group on the show's discussion forum.

Kosher or Keebler? You Decide.

This is Rabbi Yaakov Y. Horowitz, who heads the 17 rabbinical inspectors who oversee production at Manischewitz, a kosher food company.

He's the guy who makes sure our matzo is truly kosher for Passover.

But I think he leads a double life. Doesn't he resemble a Keebler elf?

Sound, Off!

Here's what I hate: websites that assault you with music or cheesy sound effects the moment their home page loads. And some sites don't even let you turn off their freakin' bird calls or, even worse, nasty smooth jazz.

For example, I love the Estancia Hotel , but their home page plays the same flamenco guitar riff over and over.

And, what's worse, You. Can't. Make. It. Stop.

There's a little sound icon in the top right corner, but if you click on it, the music stops for about 10 seconds and then starts up again.

And, under normal circumstances, I like flamenco music. Just not the same six notes in a continuous loop. I would think that if you're trying to sell very expensive hotel rooms and spa treatments, pissing off your online audience isn't a really good idea.

The Estancia site is supposed to be all about relaxation, but the only thing I feel after clicking through a page or two is the urge to hunt down Ottmar Liebert.

Tiara del Fuego

Okay, so the G-Shot doc found my blog and returned fire with a post about my reference to his procedure (scroll down to April 5th entry).

And he called me a JAP!

Yep, I'm a Heeb and an American, and I can be a royal pain in the arse sometimes, but a princess? Oy, that I'm not.

PS. Comedian Margaret Cho actually got the G-Shot. Read about it here.

G-Spot GPS

G-spot amplification is the latest trend in female sexual enhancement. Men get a little blue pill; we get large hypodermic needles.

The G-Shot works like this: first you're injected with an anesthetic. Then you're injected with human engineered collagen. And then supposedly your G-spot plumps up like a Ballpark Frank on a hot grill to about the size of a quarter. Although, with the current recession it may feel more like a dime.

And, if you believe the hype, your elusive G-spot, something your frustrated partner equated with a tiny town in rural Ohio, will be as easy to find as the Statue of Liberty.

Personally, I'd rather date someone with a good sense of direction.

Plagued With Guilt

The Ten Plagues of Egypt are an integral part of the story of Passover.

And no one makes them more fun to learn about than The Source for Everything Jewish.

You'll be amused for hours whether you prefer chocolate boils, locust finger puppets or bowling for dead cattle.

Yep, we Heebs sure know how to party.

And Nosh Some Hamentaschen

Purim falls on March 20th or 21st at sundown. (Two Jews, three opinions. Can't we ever agree on anything?)

For the uninitiated, Purim is another one of those Jewish holidays that's summed up like this:

They tried to kill us. We won. Let's eat.

And during Purim we eat hamentaschen (literally, Haman's pockets). Around 350 BCE, an evil advisor to King Ahasuerus of Persia, named Haman, hatched a plan to kill all the Jews. I hate to give away the ending, but the Jews survived and Haman was hanged.

The triangular-shaped cookies represent his three-cornered hat. I don't really get the pocket-hat relationship, but I do believe that the reason prune is the traditional hamentaschen flavor is to give us an excuse to kvetch about our irritable bowel syndrome.

Personally, I prefer apricot.

Pope Prius the First

The Vatican has updated the seven deadly sins to include abusing the environment.

So what does this mean for future Palm Sunday observances? Replacing thousands of freshly-cut palm fronds with replicas made from recycled plastic grocery bags?

And about those Christmas trees. . .

Dennis the Menace

That's right, Dennis Rodman is my homie. Two friends and I had a close encounter with him while we were having drinks in West Hollyweird last weekend.

When he plopped himself down next to me it was clear he was higher than the Wright brothers on a windy day. And our scintillating conversation? If only Dr. Seuss had been available to translate.

But the strangest part of the evening was when he groped my bazoom and then threw my friend Lauri onto his lap. Yep, that Dennis Rodman sure knows how to show a girl a good time.

Funnier Than a Ball of Yarn in a Water Cooler

According to The Onion, America's Finest News Source, there's a serious shortage of idioms in this country.

And that's scarier than a rabbi running a bacon-eating contest.

Shake Your Groove Thing

We homos get blamed for everything. Now an ultra-right wing member of the Israeli parliament is blaming recent earthquakes on Israel's tolerant attitude towards homosexuality.

In an article in Britain's Telegraph, Shlomo Benizri of the ultra-Orthodox Jewish Shas party said this:

"Why do earthquakes happen? One of the reasons is the things to which the Knesset gives legitimacy, to sodomy," Benizri said during a parliamentary debate on earthquake preparedness.

"God says you shake your genitals where you are not supposed to and I will shake my world in order to wake you up," he added.

If we actually were capable of such phenomena I think we'd do something much more universally appealing, like rid the world of back hair.

Less Cringing, Fewer Dunderheads

So this morning I'm in the grocery store ready to check out, and something odd catches my eye. It's a sign that reads "Express Lane - 15 Items or Fewer."

Yes, Fewer! Not "15 Items or Less."

It appears that someone in the grocery industry finally took a damn grammar class.

Once You Go Mac. . .

If you're a Mac addict like me then you'll be rushing to the theater to see the new movie MacHeads, a documentary about the Macintosh Nation.

But I'm not wild about the title. Maybe they should've called it "Gone With the Windows."

Whiny the Poo and the Semi-Colonoscopy

I had my first colonoscopy today. The procedure wasn't bad. In fact, I don't remember much after they put in the IV.

The prep you have to go through the day before is nasty, so I won't go into detail. Just imagine yourself spending 12 hours on an overdose of laxatives.

Other than the Big Purge-a-Thon, my only real complaint is that I was sent home with a lovely parting gift - three very graphic photos of the inside of my colon. I was woozy enough from the anesthesia. This I didn't need to see.

Maybe it's because in my drugged stupor, I was probably asking over and over if they'd found my missing spare set of car keys.

Jewphoria!

I just found the coolest site with the best Yid toys everrr! (No, not those types of toys.) It's called Oy Toys and sells a series of plush dog toys with Yiddish nicknames.

Of course, my favorite is Shpilkes the Ant.

But Tuchis the Donkey and Schlep the Camel are close seconds. And then there's Lox the Fish. Oy, I feel like a kid in a halvah store. Too bad I didn't find this before Hanukkah.

Nasal Gazing

Why does this woman have a shofar coming out of her nose?

Okay, so it's not a shofar; it's a neti pot, an ancient Ayurvedic nasal cleansing device. The term jala neti means nasal cleansing in Sanskrit.

I've recently started using a neti pot because it's supposed to help prevent sinus problems caused by colds, allergies, poor air quality, etc.

And, as weird as this might sound, it's really fun to pour warm salt water in one nostril and watch it come out the other side.

Yeah, it's kind of gross, and it feels a little like being surprised by high tide while napping on the beach with your face in the sand, but every morning, after my neti has been thoroughly potted, I can really breathe.

And it makes me feel a little braver about facing my next invasive adventure - an upcoming (no pun intended) colonoscopy.

A New Year's Mikvah Mitzvah

So this morning, three friends and I celebrated the new year by jumping into the 55-degree waters off the coast of San Diego. It was freezing, invigorating, and the perfect way to start 2008.

Happy New Year!

(I'm the one on the far right.)

Chili Dog - Hold the Babushka

Looks like those demented elves got ahold of this little guy.

If it's Tuesday it Must Be Belgian

I love waffles but I hate it when I see the term "Belgium waffles" on an ad or listed on a menu. Belgium is a country. Belgian is an adjective used to describe people or things from Belgium.

You wouldn't say "France fries," "England breakfast tea," or "Spain omelette," would you?

Of course, you could always call them Flemish waffles, but I doubt they'd be big sellers.

Have Yourself a Tacky Little Christmas

Well, I'd take my head off, too, if I had to wear this thing. But creating holiday sweater styles is a very serious biz, according to the Style section of today's New York Times:

We may not remember that there are real, sophisticated people coming up with ideas for these things at companies like Coldwater Creek, Talbots, Marisa Christina, Quacker Factory and Berek every year, not some committee of demented elves pulling subjects at random from Santa’s bag of tricks — i.e., ice-skating penguins, fiber-optic candy canes, halls-decking bunnies and so on.

That's because the demented elves are too busy making tacky holiday outfits for dogs.

The Driving-Me-Nutscracker Suite

Why does every company in the universe use "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy" to sell its products during the holidays?

I've heard that tune so often lately that I'll bet even the sugarplum fairy is ready for a little Springsteen at this point.

Hooked on Jewphonics

Chanukah Chanukkah Chanukka Hanuka Hanukka Channukah Channukkah Hanukah Hanukkah
Chanuka Chanukka Hanuka Hanukka Channukah Channukkah Hannukah Hannukkah Channuka
Channukka Hannuka Hannukka Kannukah Kanukkah Kannuka Kanukka Ckannuka Ckanukka Ckannukah Ckanukkah.

Now we know why there are no Jewish spelling bees.

Happy Chanukah!

Where the Streets Have One Name

Hey street-namers, what's your frickin' problem? Is street-naming the new brain surgery? Is it really so hard to think of more than three or four names for the streets of one neighborhood?

Or do you get sadistic pleasure knowing that directionally challenged people like me hear the "Psycho" theme music whenever we drive in certain areas of town?

La Jolla, CA (a few miles north of San Diego) is a good example. Why is there an Executive Drive, Executive Way, and Executive Square all in the same block? Why does La Jolla Village Drive intersect with Villa La Jolla Drive? And why in heck does North Torrey Pines Road intersect with itself?

I feel like Sisyphus, except I'm pushing my rock up the same damn street every time.

If it's Kislev it Must be Tuesday

Everyone is saying that Hanukkah is early this year. But Hanukkah starts at sunset on the same day each year on the Jewish calendar, the 25th of Kislev, which, this year falls on the 4th of December on the Julian calendar.

Next year, Hanukkah will begin on a totally different day on the Julian calendar but will fall, as it always has, on the 25th of Kislev.

Huh?

This is because the Jewish calendar is based on the Earth's rotation on its axis, how it revolves around the sun, and how the moon revolves around the Earth. It's a big, complicated formula that, if I really thought about it, would keep me up at night.

Jewish months begin when the tiniest sliver of the new moon is visible. Some years have 12 months, others 13. And a year with 13 months is called a "Shanah Me'uberet" (pronounced shah-NAH meh-oo-BEH-reht), literally: a pregnant year.

Oy, and no wonder. With such a complex calendar who could keep track of their period? I'm surprised every year isn't pregnant.

Buffalo is Where it's at

University at Buffalo, the State University of New York. WTF?

That's the official name of what I grew up calling UB or SUNY Buffalo (not to be confused with sunny Buffalo, which refers to its three days of summer). Call me nitpicky, but I have a problem with long, convoluted names.

It sort of makes UB seem like the one and only school in the entire Empire State.

As a former Buffalonian (yeah I know, that sounds like a person with exemplary herding skills) I have enough trouble defending the honor of my birthplace. And I really hate what appears to be confusing and redundant branding for a very good school.

You gotta wonder, however, about their English department.

How Jews Are Like Pilgrims

It's getting close to Thanksgiving and I can't help but notice the glaring similarities between Jews and Pilgrims.

For example:

*Some Jews wear big black hats; some Pilgrims wore big black hats.

*We got the heck outta Egypt because of religious persecution (and very unfair labor practices); the Pilgrims left England for the same reason.

*Every year we celebrate our freedom with a big meal - the Passover Seder. The Pilgrims started the Thanksgiving tradition as a tribute to their free lives in the New World.

*In 17th century New England, the Pilgrims controlled the media and economic empires. And the big machers now? You guessed it.

Vagina vs. Vajayjay - Thinking Outside the Box

You say vajayjay, I say vagina. Let's call the whole thing off. Please.

This is such a silly argument. Who cares what you call the land down under? It's yours; call it whatever you'd like.

Sox Appeal

Curse? What curse?

The Bambino is dead; long live the Best Damn Team in baseball.

San Diego Fires

I'm very lucky. I live in an urban area of San Diego that has not yet been directly affected by the fires. Many friends and colleagues have had to evacuate their homes and don't know if they'll be coming back to unscathed structures or just a pile of ashes.

If you want to help the fire victims by making a cash donation online, please visit the American Red Cross, San Diego Chapter.

Or, if you're local and want to donate goods or volunteer, please visit Volunteer San Diego.


Thanks.

Why Sports Needs English Majors

"Who has played for the most different teams in the post season?"

Or, better yet, who on the Fox Sports programming staff can put together a grammatically correct sentence? Yep, this was one of the trivia questions posed to viewers during last night's Red Sox game.

And of course, my first reaction as a Jew was, "Why is this team different from all other teams?"

Twelve Angry Menses

When it comes to female plumbing, clearly it's the ovaries that call all the shots. Even sans uterus, I still get PMS because my ovaries have gone WiFi and picked up on someone else's menstrual signal.

It just kills me. I no longer ride the tubular schmata, yet I still experience the joys of considering a trip to Krispy Kreme and the gun shop on the same day.

And Bring a Little Sweatah

I know everyone thinks we Heebs run the entertainment industry, control the media, and have our hands in all things financial.

But what most people don't realize is what we really want is to give everyone the ability to access their Inner Jewish Mother.

The Trouble with Angels

The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. What the hell kind of a baseball team name is that? It sounds like someone is taking himself a little too seriously. Who named this team anyhow? Thurston Howell III?

Yeah, yeah I know the real reason for the convoluted name change. The latest owner wanted to "re-brand" the Anaheim Angels as an LA team because LA is a more recognized market.

But a clause in the contract requires that "Anaheim" stays in the name. So now we have to deal with this silly mouthful of a pedigree.

In the meantime, I'm counting on the Crimson Hosiery of Boston to kick some serious Halo derriere.

The Sox Rock!

Last night with a Red Sox win and a Yankees loss, the Sox clinched the top spot in the AL East. The regular season is over and now begins the gut wrenching, nail biting, hair tearing post season.

And for Sox fans, October means a steady diet of beer, pizza, ESPN, and Xanax.

Nerd Club of the Air is Back!

In early August, KPBS in San Diego canceled one of my favorite public radio shows, "A Way With Words."

I'm thrilled to tell you that today, after a couple of months of hard work, co-hosts Martha Barnette and Grant Barrett, along with their producer Stefanie Levine, announced the show's much anticipated resurrection.

From what my sources tell me, the new show will be better than it's ever been and much more accessible to listeners.

So if you're a big Word Nerd like me, gather up all your questions about dangling participles, word origins, weird phrases, and punctuation mysteries, and check out their site. And don't forget to sign up for their email newsletter.

Finally - The True Meaning of Laundry Petroglyphs

About a month ago, I bought a few new bras. They seemed more delicate than my other bras so I thought I'd take a look at the washing instructions on the tag.

But all I found were three symbols that made no sense to me. There were no instructions, just these three shapes that looked like something from a pre-school lesson plan. And they were tiny, too.

So I've been afraid to wash my bras lest they explode or something. But then I found a website to answer all my laundry symbol questions.

It was like I'd just come down from Mount Sinai. Thou shalt not bleach.

Ride The SLUT

Many cities have catchy acronyms or nicknames for their light rail systems. Paris has the Metro, London has the Tube, Boston has the T, and the Bay Area has BART.

But the Seattle neighborhood of South Lake (a combination of three areas: Cascade, Denny Triangle and Denny Park) has a name for their new transportation system that should attract plenty of riders - the SLUT - the South Lake Union Trolley.

This is why we hire marketing consultants.

Avast Me Heebies!

Tomorrow is International Talk Like a Pirate Day, so naturally I had to do a little research to see if there were any Jewish pirates. Such a treasure trove of information I found!

It turns out that when the Sephardim were run out of Spain in 1492 some of them became notorious pirates. And there was even a Moroccan pirate who was also a rabbi. I'd hate to be the kid who had this guy do his bris.

One of their ships probably had a parrot named Herschel whose repertoire consisted of:

"Be careful with that sword; You could put out an eye."

"Plank, schmank; Make the prisoner call his mother."

"Discover Florida? You should live so long."

I Racked My Brain - But I Just Don't Get It

Like anyone else who doesn't live under a rock, I realize that this country is breast-obsessed.

But the Jingle Jugs Tour and its battery operated "Jugs that Jiggle" gets the booby prize for low brow and tasteless. Yeah, yeah the group gives 10% of their profits to breast cancer causes just to stay on the edge of political correctness, but give me a break!

Now anyone with $39.99, or $49.99 if you want to customize the sound, (the standard model comes with the soundtrack "Titties and Beer" by Rodney Carrington. Nice.) can own their own "trophy rack" that jiggles to tacky music.

And with the holidays fast approaching, now you've got the perfect gift for the man, or woman (you never know) who has everything.

I've Grown Accustomed to Your Typeface

Nerd. Wonk. Geek. Propeller head. Call me what you will, but I'm dying to see the new film "Helvetica." This documentary provides a veritable font of knowledge about the typeface Helvetica, and sounds pretty interesting to me.

From the New York Times review:

"Overlong but fascinating, Mr. Hustwit’s documentary posits Helvetica — a sans-serif typeface developed in 1957 at the Haas Foundry in Munchenstein, Switzerland — as an emblem of the machine age, a harbinger of globalization and an ally of modern art’s impulse toward innovation, simplicity and abstraction. Its versatility is showcased in shots of storefronts, street signs, public transportation systems, government forms, advertisements and newspaper vending boxes."

Of course, this film probably won't be up for any awards because of the obvious typecasting.

L'Shana Tova Tika Tevu

It's that thinky time of year again. Tonight begins the 10 Days of Awe, the period between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

To all my Jewish brothers and sisters - have a sweet and happy New Year and an easy fast.

Have I Got a Deal For You

I could understand it if the tickets were for a lifetime of floor seats for Knicks games, or field level seats behind home plate for the Boston Red Sox, or orchestra seats for the Metropolitan Opera.

But spending $1.8 million for a lifetime of choice seats at a synagogue in Miami?

Yep, Temple Emanu-El in South Beach is using eBay to auction off two seats in the front row that will remain in the owner's family for life. And the bidding for the coveted pair starts at $1.8 million.

I get that it's a great tax write-off and a really generous endowment for the temple, but, oy vey, that's an arkload of sheckels for a couple of seats in shul.

Then again, the winner also gets free parking and two custom made yarmulkes and prayer shawls. So, what's not to like?

Well, here's the caveat. Under the rabbi's constant gaze, there's no way you can nod off during the sermon. And don't even think about pretending to daven while listening to the World Series during High Holy Day services.

Another Shocker from the Who Knew? Files

Kissing is more important to women than it is to men.

Yep, it's true. In a study conducted by a team at SUNY Albany, over 1,000 students filled out sexual behavior questionnaires, and - guess what? - women consider kissing a key prelude to sex. (Can I get an "Amen"?)

But the guys? Kissing, schmissing.

The study shows that women are all about the lip lock. And here's part of their reasoning: If a man doesn't have the kissing thing down, then it's likely he can't, er, dance so good either. If your new guy covers your face with his mouth and shoves his tongue down your throat, you know he's probably really good at CPR. But as a fine-tuned love machine? Not so much.

The men surveyed are partial to wet, tongue kisses if they have to suck face, but can easily skip kissing altogether and go right to the main course.

And this is just one of the many reasons why lesbian recruitment is so darned easy.

Men Prefer Looks to Brains - Who Knew?

You're not going to believe this.

A recent scientific study has proven that (drum roll) men prefer hot women.

Apparently, those geeky folks in white coats at the National Academy of Sciences spent time and money to come to a conclusion that falls in the "Duh!" category.

This brilliant deduction was probably cited in the footnotes of the Rosetta Stone, and if you check out a few cave walls, there are likely several petroglyphs that deliver a similiar message.

So what's the next Big Scientific Revelation from this group? Discovery of fire changes everything?

I See London, I See France

Queen Victoria is probably having a party in her grave right about now.

Atlanta, Georgia is considering adding an amendment
to its indecency laws that would ban exposure of undergarmets in public. The point is to discourage kids dressing in hip hop style clothing, including baggy pants that sag low enough to show a hint of skivvies. Thong sightings would be a big no-no, too.

But then the proposed amendment takes it even further. No form of undies, including bra straps and sports bras, can be exposed at any time. Give me a break. Bra straps? Jogbras? There are swimsuits that reveal more than most jogbras.

And on a hot day, there's nothing more freeing (well, naked would actually be more freeing, but that's a whole other legal issue) than exercising in as little as possible, and for women that usually means a jogbra and a pair of shorts.

Plus, what's even worse, Atlanta lesbians would lose an entire summer wardrobe.

Me-ga-Dik: Truth Or Phallusy?

I don't mean to focus on the phallus, but I couldn't help but share this bit of spam I received today:

"Dames always giggled at me and even chaps did in the urban lavatory! Well, now I laugh at them, because I took Me-ga-Dik for 4 months and now my shaft is truly more than national."

So, how does one's shaft go national? He must have done really well in the regionals.

No Hos At This Hoedown

I watch a lot of baseball, and when you watch sports on television, you're subjected to ads for three things: trucks, beer, and erectile dysfunction remedies.

This commercial, showing five down home men a-pickin' and a-grinnin' as they sing about the joys of Viagra, made me wonder if it was produced by the people at Saturday Night Live.

Apparently - amid, er, stiff competition - the Little Blue Pill is trying its hand at a different approach to advertising - there are no women in the spot. Just a bunch of middle-aged guys in flannel shirts having a jam session.

And, weirdest of all, they're singing about how Viagra keeps them from straying. Now that I've got good wood on-demand, it's all just for you, baby.

Right. And the dog ate my homework.

The Frying Pan, the Sandwich and the Smoke Alarm

Relax all you Narnians; this isn't a sequel to "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." It's the Chronicles of Grilled Cheese Part 2. (For Part 1, see January 12, 2007 entry.)

After nearly burning down the neighborhood during my last attempt, this afternoon I successfully made myself a grilled cheese sandwich. And I didn't hear a peep from the smoke alarm.

Being a big geek, I looked up the recipe online (yeah, I know - only the lamest of the lame need a recipe for grilled cheese) and added one little touch. Canola oil spray, which made it taste kind of weird, but at least this time I was able to actually remove the sandwich from the pan.

Tomorrow paella!

The 3-Ounce Brain Rule

I didn't have time to buy decent snacks before going to the airport, so just prior to boarding my six-hour flight from Boston to San Diego, I stopped at a Wolfgang Puck sandwich kiosk located right outside the security checkpoint.

I knew that if I opted to fly without food, my in-flight choices would be a limp, tasteless and still-frozen sandwich for $5 and a snack box consisting of such healthy items as potato chips, a candy bar, cookies, and pork rinds for $3. So instead, I purchased a turkey sandwich on focaccia bread (which, despite its supposed lineage, wouldn't even pass as Wolfgang Puck's step-child) and a very overpriced bottle of water.

I'm well aware of the three-ounce liquids in a Ziplock bag rule. But I figured that because the sandwich stand is within spitting distance of the security checkpoint, and subject to airport and TSA scrutiny, my unopened bottle of water would be safe. And there were no signs indicating passengers must consume beverages purchased at this kiosk prior to going through security.

Silly, silly me. Once my carry-on bag reached the bowels of the X-ray machine, an alarm went off and one of the TSA agents screamed, "Bag check!" My potentially life-threatening water was whisked away to an undisclosed location, and I had to go find another kiosk inside the secure area in order to purchase a terror-free bottle.

You know what really terrifies me about air travel? I think the TSA shares one brain, and you never know which airport has it.

Wayward Word Nerds Unite!

Last week while I was vacationing on Cape Cod, I heard that one of my favorite shows on public radio had been canceled. "A Way With Words" produced at KPBS in San Diego, had aired in several cities across the U.S. for eight years, and was a font of knowledge for word nerds like me.

Taking a moment to put down my 18th lobster roll, I exchanged a few emails with my good friend "A Way With Words" co-host, Martha Barnette, to find out the scoop. The show might be experiencing a temporary hiccup right now, but it'll be airing again at some point from somewhere else. You can bet on that!

If you want to know more, visit Martha's blog.

If you're a word nerd and don't know about the show, you can visit their new website to find out about past episodes and podcasts, and to track the new show's progress. And tell all your word nerd pals, too.

P.S., Your Cat is News

I never watch television news. In fact, the only thing I watch on TV these days is either baseball or coverage of Le Tour de France.

And here's why. Tonight's teaser for the local evening news? A clairvoyant cat that can predict death.

Maybe he should get a job with Nielsen Media Research.

Comma, Comma, Comma, Comma, Comma Chameleon

I am a comma chameleon. My commas, as well as other punctuation, have to adapt to the particular style of each editor for whom I write. I'm usually pretty good with periods, question marks, quotation marks, and the like.

But commas, boy, they baffle the heck out of me.

And just when I think I have an editor's comma style down pat, it changes. All the commas I thought were needed end up swimming with the fishes. Or my sparsely punctuated pieces get a comma carpet bombing.

And serial commas? You know, the ones that should (or should not) go before the "and" in a series? Fuggedaboudit! Sometimes I just toss a coin.

If you're comma curious, visit this blog written by my good friend and language expert, Martha Barnette.

From what I understand, she has a pretty good handle on the comma sutra.

Do a Little Dance, Make a Little Love, Double Down Tonight

Mirapex is a drug that treats restless leg syndrome. People who suffer from RLS have an uncontrollable creepy, crawly or burning sensation in their legs.

According to the documentation, side effects of Mirapex could include - and I'm not making this up - increased sexual desire or the urge to gamble.

I can understand certain drugs affecting libido, but intensifying the compulsion to gamble? I mean, what are the odds?

Then again, maybe they meant gambol.

Bake Me a Lyeberry Pie

Okay, how is it possible that an adult in a customer service position for a fairly well-known website pronounces the word "library" as "lyeberry?"

And he's a tech support person, too.

I was having a problem with my online library on a site that sells podcasts, and I would think that if the guy heard the word pronounced as "library" enough times, he'd habituate.

Things like that make me berry, berry kwazy.

Take Me Out Out OUT

Last night the San Diego Padres lost to the Atlanta Braves 5-4. But the big gay contingent at the game won by a landslide.

My friends and I had no idea it was Gay Night at the ballgame when we bought our tickets, but we're really glad we could be there to further the Gay Agenda against the handful of hate-mongering right wingers who tried unsuccessfully to turn a warm summer night into a firestorm of hate and ignorance.

They stood outside the stadium in bright red shirts handing out poorly written (always an issue for me) fliers packed with incendiary lies about our unhealthy influence on children.

It was Kid Floppy Hat Night - kids under 12 were given free Padres floppy hats. I tried to snag one with my "I have a very small head" argument. Didn't work.

The haters were trying to point out to the crowd that we homos were a threat to "traditional family values" by being at the same game with a bunch of kids, most of whom couldn't tell the gay baseball fans from anyone else. (We're the ones drinking the micro-brews.)

When one of the zealous right-wingers tried to hand me a flier, I looked him right in the eye and said, "No thanks. I'm gay." One of my friends with her son in tow added, "And we have kids!"

And, by the way, the San Diego Gay Men's Chorus sang a beautifully harmonized rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner." Land of the free, and the homos are brave.

The Seven "I Wonders"

According to the L.A. Times, as of 7/7/07, the New Seven Wonders are: The Great Wall of China, the ancient city of Petra in Jordan, the statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro, Machu Picchu in Peru, the Maya ruins of Chichen Itza in Mexico, the Colosseum in Rome, and India's Taj Mahal.

But what about the Seven I Wonders? What are the seven things that people seem to wonder about the most?

Well, if I were asked:

*Why do birds confuse cars with toilets?

*Why does the person with the loudest voice, and the need to constantly hear it, seem to sit behind me on every cross-country flight?

*Why does the city's waste management crew pick up the recycling on my street only when they feel like it?

*Why can't the American League and the National League agree on the designated hitter?

*Why are iPod earbuds so big? (For some of us it's like trying to stuff a couple of Oreos in our ears.)

*Why does my WiFi network sometimes choose to ignore my computer, even when I'm two feet away from the router? And why doesn't yelling help?

*Why do some people have an innate and frighteningly accurate sense of direction, while others (who shall remain nameless) instinctively go the wrong way every time?

I Think, Therefore (No) iPhone

I may be a card-carrying member of the Apple cult, but the iPhone just isn't one of the must-have gadgets on my list. Someone even offered to give me one for my next birthday but for the same money, I'd rather have the latest Airport Extreme and a set of noise canceling headphones.

And all the hype - oy vey - you'd think the Messiah had come. (The Jewish one; We're still waiting.)

David Pogue, technology writer for the New York Times, has written several articles on the iPhone's debut. But his music video proves that even hardcore techno geeks get the joke.

If You Build It, They Will Spit

I know there's no crying in baseball, but what's up with all the spitting? Every time I watch a game on TV, the camera will zoom in on one of the players just as he's spitting something gloppy and nasty out of his mouth. Sometimes there'll be a close-up of a guy who actually has strings of drool dangling from his lips. Nice.

And it's not just the guys who keep matzo ball sized wads of chewing tobacco inside their mouths. They all do it, and they do it all the time. Before batting, before pitching, standing in the outfield, or just lounging in the dugout. It doesn't matter. Baseball is like a big, gross spit-a-thon.

And then there's the whole gnarly sunflower seed thing. If you watch closely, you'll notice ball players have a habit of throwing fistfuls of unshelled sunflower seeds in their mouths, cracking them open with their teeth, eating the seeds, and then letting the shells cascade out of their mouths.

I sure hope none of these guys are involved in paternity suits because every ball field is one giant DNA paradise.

I See Dead People

There's an exhibit at the San Diego Museum of Man that I wish I could see. It's called Bodies - The Exhibition and it's an in depth look at the human body and all its parts.

Why can't I see it? Because I'm a blood-and-guts wimp, and the idea of seeing a real live (well maybe not live) cadaver all opened up makes me light-headed. And not in a good way.

I've had a couple of medical procedures done where the doctor offered to set up a monitor so I could watch every grisly moment. Being drugged, strapped down and cut open, and then watching it all happen is just way too Hannibal Lecter for me.

Being a wimp is really disappointing; I'd love to see that exhibit. I'm sure it's fascinating and I'd probably learn a lot. And I could participate by giving a live demonstration of the art of human regurgitation. But I'd probably lose my museum pass.

It's Massachusetts, Baby

Three years ago, former Massachusetts governor, Mitt Romney, expressed his concern that his once Pilgrim-ridden state would become the Las Vegas of gay marriage.

And I'm still waiting for the white clapboard drive-thru chapels with John Alden impersonators performing an assembly line of homo nuptials.

But leave it to Ellen Goodman to put it all in perspective.

Driving Miss Moses

The Pope recently issued the 10 Commandments of Driving. At first I thought this was a joke. I mean, is he kidding? Roman drivers aren't exactly all about road rules. Just try to merge into one of their traffic circles. It's like one never-ending chariot race.

And what about the Jews? Where are our 10 Commandments of Driving? Now, if it were up to me, these might work:

*When two (straight) couples drive together, the men sit in the front and the women sit in the back

*Consult at least three different maps because the directions from your car's fancy schmancy GPS are probably wrong

*Drive 5 miles under the speed limit just to be safe

*Leave an hour earlier than necessary because "you never know"

*Wear clean underwear incase you get into an accident

*Don't take the shortcut

*When you come to a four-way stop, argue with all your passengers about who has the right of way

*Even though your 13-year-old son is now a man, he still can't drive

*If Bubbe can't see over the steering wheel, it's time to take away the car

*Driving on Shabbat is okay if you don't live near the rabbi

*Bring a little sweater

Paging Dr. Heimlich

Can someone please explain to me why some sushi rolls are so darned big? I eat a lot of sushi and sometimes the rolls are comfortably bite-sized, but other times I feel like I'm wrestling with a seaweed wrapped hockey puck.

And even though you're supposed to eat the whole piece at once, I was always taught that it's not polite to jam your mouth with food, so the only way I can consume one of these monster makis is to take it apart. But then it becomes a big mess, and I end up flailing around in my soy sauce like I'm fighting a rip current.

There's probably some secret sushi eating technique that Japanese kids are taught as soon as they begin teething. If you have any suggestions, let me know.

Me Talk QWERTY One Day

I'm so envious of people who can type quickly while not looking at the keyboard. I hunt and peck with my two index fingers and, although I'm pretty fast, I'm not very accurate, even though I look right at the keys. I think my fingers are faster than my brain.

So if I get a 4.0 in traffic school, I may reward myself with a typing class. And if I do really well in typing class, maybe I'll take a cooking class. That is if I get the okay from the fire department.

Highway Robbery

Now I know how the city of San Diego is attempting to climb out of bankruptcy. The court fees for my recent red light ticket came to $409. And that's before traffic school.

Give me a break! I didn't steal the freakin' traffic light, I drove through it.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

I think I've sat shiva long enough for Tony Soprano. It's time to let go and move on. But there's a group of diehard fans out there who insist on picking apart the symbolism of the final scene in the diner that's followed by a disconcerting 10-second black screen.

Just like everybody else, I had a WTF moment when I thought the DVR had stopped recording before the episode ended. But David Chase added that final ellipses to let us come to our own conclusions.

Was Tony shot? Was he indicted? Were the onion rings any good? And who listens to Journey anymore?

One theory is that the shifty-looking guy in the tan Members Only jacket who goes to the men's room as the scene ends does a Michael Corleone and shoots Tony when the screen goes dark. After all, when Tony and Bobby were sitting in a boat on a lake a few episodes back, Bobby tosses us a bone when he says, "At the end, you probably don't hear anything, everything just goes black."

I think if you're really losing sleep over this then you should get out the Ouija board and ask the spirits. Oh, and while you're at it, find Jimmy Hoffa.

Don't Ask Don't Tell...Don't Stop

This is something I used to wish for when I was at (all girls) summer camp.

Apparently, several years ago, the U.S. Military looked into a "non-lethal" chemical weapon that would cause enemy troops to become homosexual, find each other irresistable, start a major shtup fest, and forget about fighting.

I think we should try it out on the red states first and see how it works on the gay marriage issue.

I'm Just A Squirrel Who Can't Say No

Apparently, the squirrel population in San Diego's Balboa Park has gotten so out of hand that park rangers are giving female squirrels birth control pills. Guess they couldn't find any teeny, tiny condoms for the boys. And if I hadn't heard this from a police officer, I would've thought it was just another nutty urban legend.

At first the park service was using poison to stop the squirrel explosion, but other forms of wildlife were dying, too. Duh!

Wild Bunny #1: This looks yummy!

Wild Bunny #2: Oh, don't eat that. It's squirrel poison.

So several dead rabbits later, someone came up with the bright idea that if they could offer the squirrels worry-free shtupping, there'd be fewer varmints to deal with.

I can just imagine what it's like chasing down a bunch of squirrels every day and then trying to give them pills. How can you tell if you've given each and every girl squirrel her pill? And what if one of the smarter ones squirrels away all her pills in a tree somewhere and then sells them on eBay?

But here's what really puzzles me: Why in heck is the city spending money on squirrel birth control when an abstinence program would be so much cheaper?

I Wuz Framed

Actually, I was in several frames courtesy of the San Diego Police Department. I got nabbed by one of those sneaky red light cameras. And as much as I'd like to deny it was me, there I am in full color gripping the steering wheel with a WTF look on my face. The other three photos show my car going through the intersection as the light turns red. Nice.

I was sure it was yellow. Or amber, at least. And this whole red light camera thing is so Big Brother. Luckily, it was a good hair day.

At first I thought the big flash from the camera was a bolt of lightning since I'd promised not to run another red light the last time this happened. And then I thought it was the lights of a police cruiser signaling me to pull over. During the last alleged red light incident, I had the opportunity to argue with an actual cop. I think he also cited me for driving in pajamas (it was very early), but that's another story.

So now it's back to traffic school where I'm sure there'll be a three-hour section on how to distinguish primary colors.

The Feeling Is Mutual

Here's the latest buzz from the joy toy department. Apparently, the Vibrating Ring makes everybody happy.

Think about it. This could really soup up your Jildo.

And why does this sort of thing always end up in my mailbox? (That was a rhetorical question, by the way. No need for any smartass answers.)

Bada Bing Bada Boom Bada Gone

They're whacking everybody. And I mean everybody. Christopher, Bobby, and Sylvio are all gone. The final episode of "The Sopranos" airs next Sunday, and I've already put the black wreath on my door. Symbolically. Jews don't do wreaths, but you know what I mean.

I'm not a big TV fan, but I love "The Sopranos." I love all that existential angst layered on top of "this thing of ours." The way Tony and his boys spit out their words in that melodic (to me, anyhow) north Jersey accent. The way pious Carmella rationalizes her opulent lifestyle and stands by her man.

And the way David Chase, the show's creator, made so many of us sympathize with a bunch of misogynistic killers who all seem to have hearts of gabagool.

But next week it's all over. And we know Tony's going, too. Either by his own hand or by a hailstorm of bullets from a few of Phil's goombahs. Tony's a very bad guy and we all know what goes around comes around. But do we really want him to go away forever?

Fuggedaboudit!