Before we begin, I just want to state that I maintain that the entire thing about Sony being hacked was a publicity hoax. I don't know who was behind it. But whoever it was, it worked. This movie may not gross what it would have in the theaters; but at least it is now being overhyped and will go down in history as having some cult status.
That having been said, here is what I think. Worth the hype? Simple answer, no.
We all know the premise of the movie. James Franco and Seth Rogen, the leaders of the millenial Frat Pack, play a team of brain-dead celebrity gossip star and producer. ::SPOILER ALERT:: After a much hyped episode where Marshall Mathers III came out of the closet, they managed to secure an interview with Supreme Leader of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, also known as North Korea.
The movie makes obvious references to the famous Frost/Nixon interviews. For those unaware, David Frost was considered a tabloid journalist. Nixon only agreed to allow the interview because he thought that Frost was going to make it a fluff piece. But Frost surpassed expectations by actually digging in and playing hardball. "The Interview" makes many overt references to this. Oh, the way they make Franco's character an idiot savant--has a way with words, but still lacking not only common sense, but serious knowledge of the facts.
I was half hoping for some digs at Dennis Rodman as well. We didn't get those, at least not overtly. The scene where the reporter and supreme leader play a game of one-on-one probably was a nod to Dennis Rodman's alleging that Kim Jong-Un loves basketball and that if Obama really wanted to, he could just give Kim Jong-Un a call--they both love basketball, so they have what to discuss!
The characters were definitely endearing. The plot, on the other hand, was a bit too trite--something out of the slush pile of a creative writing class in a community college. If not for the hype surrounding it, this movie would not have stuck with me. It would have been another "This Is the End" or "Freddy Got Fingered". Except the latter also happens to be the biggest waste of a movie ticket ever.
Verdict: Not Franco/Rogen's best. Not their worst either. Has its moments. Worth watching. But if not for the hype.....let's just say this Kim Jong-Un is nowhere nearly as diabolical or memorable as Team America's "I'm So Ronery" Dear Leader Kim Jong-Il.
Monday, January 5, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Reincarnation Man
I don't believe in Karma. Never did. Probably never will.
Having dabbled a bit in Eastern philosophy, I think Karma is one of the most misused words in the English lexicon. Many have heard "what goes around comes around" but don't know the original source (Lao Tzu, in case you are curious). But there is a bit more to Karma than that. It is actually a much more intricate concept.
I forget the source. When I was in college, I was reading a piece on concepts that are lost in translation, rendered completely meaningless in other languages. The example was "karma" and "justice." Justice is as foreign a concept to the Eastern world as Karma is to the Western world. But they both accomplish the same thing. They both embody the same principle of humans getting what they deserve. To use the Jewish terminology, "same Tachlis, different Pe'ulah" (same purpose, different action).
Last week, my mother gave me a box. In the box was some old papers of mine. Letters. Classwork. Assignments. Poems. Pictures. I looked through them. I wrote those things. I recall writing them. But as I read them, I almost didn't recognize my own voice.
It was as if a stranger had once inhabited my body. For all these years, that stranger lived my life. He carried out my human subprocesses. He was my ego. But trapped under that ego was an Atman waiting to get out. The environment I was in trapped this Atman. Restraint after restraint after restraint. They wanted to turn me into someone else.
For all these years, I was doing someone else's Dharma. That someone else would have thrived if only he was in someone else's body. But that someone else was too distant.
Reading these letters makes me more painfully aware of this dissonance.
But most importantly, the key that imprisons Atman is held by only one man: ME.
I am all that stands in the way of my being free.
Having dabbled a bit in Eastern philosophy, I think Karma is one of the most misused words in the English lexicon. Many have heard "what goes around comes around" but don't know the original source (Lao Tzu, in case you are curious). But there is a bit more to Karma than that. It is actually a much more intricate concept.
I forget the source. When I was in college, I was reading a piece on concepts that are lost in translation, rendered completely meaningless in other languages. The example was "karma" and "justice." Justice is as foreign a concept to the Eastern world as Karma is to the Western world. But they both accomplish the same thing. They both embody the same principle of humans getting what they deserve. To use the Jewish terminology, "same Tachlis, different Pe'ulah" (same purpose, different action).
Last week, my mother gave me a box. In the box was some old papers of mine. Letters. Classwork. Assignments. Poems. Pictures. I looked through them. I wrote those things. I recall writing them. But as I read them, I almost didn't recognize my own voice.
It was as if a stranger had once inhabited my body. For all these years, that stranger lived my life. He carried out my human subprocesses. He was my ego. But trapped under that ego was an Atman waiting to get out. The environment I was in trapped this Atman. Restraint after restraint after restraint. They wanted to turn me into someone else.
For all these years, I was doing someone else's Dharma. That someone else would have thrived if only he was in someone else's body. But that someone else was too distant.
Reading these letters makes me more painfully aware of this dissonance.
But most importantly, the key that imprisons Atman is held by only one man: ME.
I am all that stands in the way of my being free.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
For These I Am Thankful
Good morning America from Acherland.
It was a wonderful day. I spent it with my parents, my brother, and my girlfriend. My mother was never much for cooking Thanksgiving meals, so she ordered take out. This saved me cooking. For the first time in a few years, I did not resemble a balabusta fressing over my food. So this was the most peaceful thanksgiving I've had. So now, with apologies to Arlo Guthrie, a Thanksgiving poem.
Riding on the Borough of Fair Lawn
NJTransit afternoon bus
20 miles and 40 restless minutes
One pissed off driver and 30 passengers plus
All along the Northwest bound odyssey
The bus pulls down Rt 4 out of Ft Lee
Rolls along past buildings trees and shopping malls
Passing cars that have no names
Bus stops full of old commuters
And the graveyards of childhood memories
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me, I'm your forlorn son
I'm the bus they call The Borough of Fair Lawn
I'll be 20 miles when the day is gone.
Reading Guns, Germs, and Steel wedged by the window
Turning a page a minute, ain't no one keeping track
Won't you pass the paper that reads today's news
Feel the hum of the road beneath the floor
And the sons of the transit workers
And the sons of the ticketeers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their children asleep
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the wheels is all they feel
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me, I'm your forlorn son
I'm the bus they call The Borough of Fair Lawn
I'll be 20 miles when the day is gone.
Nighttime in the City of Harlem
Changing pace out of Ft Lee
Half we home, we'll be there by evening
Through the Hudson darkness
Rolling to the Bay
And all the towns and people seem
to fade into a good dream
And the paved road still ain't heard the news
The driver sings his song again
The passengers will please refrain
This bus's got the disappearing transit blues
Good night America how are you?
Don't you know me, I'm your forlorn son
I'm the bus they call The Borough of Fair Lawn
I'll be 20 miles when the day is gone.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Now that I'm finished butchering this classic, here is my list of things I am thankful for. I am 35 years old, so I will list 35, in no particular order.
1. My family. They have been with me for everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Strikes, gutterballs, when I was the king, when I was the fool, when I was in the trough, when I was on a plateau, and when I was completely nowhere at all.
2. My wonderful girlfriend. She has brought out the best in me. I may not always be the best boyfriend out there. But she has stood by me through it all. It took me longer than Jacob to finally consummate my feelings for her. But we both waited patiently. And it all worked out for the best.
3. My friends. This list is too long to enumerate. The older I get, the smaller my list of close friends get. But better a smaller list of close friends than a larger list of asshole buddies.
4. My books. I've had a love-hate relation with them over the years. More love than hate. My attention span may not do them justice. But from them, I have learned plenty. Perhaps I have filled my head with too much useless information. But books are the friends who can never reciprocate my love for them.
5. My students. Each student is another learning experience. Aside from teaching them, I grow from each one. I can only hope that I spend many more years enriching the minds of many many more.
6. My TV. As Homer Simpson once said, "teacher, mother, secret lover." Need I say more?
7. Netflix. The consummate time waster.
8. Beer. Again, the Wisdom of Homer J Simpson, "The cause and the solution to all the world's problems."
9. Food. The quickest way to a man's heart.
10. My apartment. It gives me shelter, it gives me a place to entertain, to live, to love, and to be me.
11. My coworkers. They look out for me, they are there for me, they are great company.
12. My previous job at Starbucks. When I was at the lowest point in my life, this job helped me pick up the pieces. It was there that I became the man I am today. They put up with plenty of my bullshit over the years. They kicked my ass when I needed it. They shaped me into a fine young man.
13. City College of New York. When I first transferred there, I was a broken man. I was in between many things. It was there that I finally pulled my shit together. It was there that I finally learned how to buckle down and apply myself. It was there that I learned how to do research. It was there that I was exposed to a diverse student body. It was there that I learned how to survive in a multicultural environment. And it was there that I met the love of my life.
14. Music. Ah music. You sooth the savage beast. You make me happy, sad, and everything in between. I am so glad you are in my life.
15. New York City. The greatest city in the world.
16. America. The greatest country in the world. I may not have the best relationship with you. But you haven't given up on me either.
17. President Obama. I have not given up on you either. You have enriched many with hope who otherwise wouldn't have it.
18. My guitar. I haven't played you in a while. But from playing you, I was exposed to many genres of music I otherwise wouldn't have dreamed of touching.
19. Judaism. I may not consider myself Jewish anymore. But you did shape my early life. I have held onto some of the more important lessons you have taught me. And hey, I still enjoy a good cholent and niggun.
20. My health. It may not be what it used to be. But I have it.
21. My gym. Great way to let off stress. And it is making me more energetic. It makes me feel better about myself.
22. Video games. I may not get the modern ones. But the ones I play are possibly my biggest vice.
23. My pets. Lady the Turtle and Winter the Cat. You are great company.
24. Cartoons. Never too old to enjoy them.
25. My clothes. I wear them. They keep me warm. They keep me from being naked.
26. My iPhone. Sure, it's addictive. It keeps me from human interaction. But it is quite useful.
27. My computer. Currently a Windows Tablet. I should use it more often.
28. The MTA. I spend a good chunk of my day commuting on it. Your prices may have more than doubled since I've come to NYC. But I still love you.
29. Logic. You may not always make sense. But you help me put things in perspective.
30. Mornings. I am not a morning person. But you make me smile when I see you. I have survived another one, I like to say.
31. The Nighttime. When I really shine. When I get most of my work done.
32. Weekends. Even though I work through most of them, you give me a chance to recharge my batteries.
33. My hat collection. From yarmulkes that I hardly wear to my favorite trilby, I have a nice collection.
34. The stars. I hope in my lifetime I get to visit other systems and see how they look from up closer.
35. The world. What a wonderful place to live.
Thank you all. And Happy Thanksgiving.
It was a wonderful day. I spent it with my parents, my brother, and my girlfriend. My mother was never much for cooking Thanksgiving meals, so she ordered take out. This saved me cooking. For the first time in a few years, I did not resemble a balabusta fressing over my food. So this was the most peaceful thanksgiving I've had. So now, with apologies to Arlo Guthrie, a Thanksgiving poem.
Riding on the Borough of Fair Lawn
NJTransit afternoon bus
20 miles and 40 restless minutes
One pissed off driver and 30 passengers plus
All along the Northwest bound odyssey
The bus pulls down Rt 4 out of Ft Lee
Rolls along past buildings trees and shopping malls
Passing cars that have no names
Bus stops full of old commuters
And the graveyards of childhood memories
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me, I'm your forlorn son
I'm the bus they call The Borough of Fair Lawn
I'll be 20 miles when the day is gone.
Reading Guns, Germs, and Steel wedged by the window
Turning a page a minute, ain't no one keeping track
Won't you pass the paper that reads today's news
Feel the hum of the road beneath the floor
And the sons of the transit workers
And the sons of the ticketeers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their children asleep
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the wheels is all they feel
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me, I'm your forlorn son
I'm the bus they call The Borough of Fair Lawn
I'll be 20 miles when the day is gone.
Nighttime in the City of Harlem
Changing pace out of Ft Lee
Half we home, we'll be there by evening
Through the Hudson darkness
Rolling to the Bay
And all the towns and people seem
to fade into a good dream
And the paved road still ain't heard the news
The driver sings his song again
The passengers will please refrain
This bus's got the disappearing transit blues
Good night America how are you?
Don't you know me, I'm your forlorn son
I'm the bus they call The Borough of Fair Lawn
I'll be 20 miles when the day is gone.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Now that I'm finished butchering this classic, here is my list of things I am thankful for. I am 35 years old, so I will list 35, in no particular order.
1. My family. They have been with me for everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Strikes, gutterballs, when I was the king, when I was the fool, when I was in the trough, when I was on a plateau, and when I was completely nowhere at all.
2. My wonderful girlfriend. She has brought out the best in me. I may not always be the best boyfriend out there. But she has stood by me through it all. It took me longer than Jacob to finally consummate my feelings for her. But we both waited patiently. And it all worked out for the best.
3. My friends. This list is too long to enumerate. The older I get, the smaller my list of close friends get. But better a smaller list of close friends than a larger list of asshole buddies.
4. My books. I've had a love-hate relation with them over the years. More love than hate. My attention span may not do them justice. But from them, I have learned plenty. Perhaps I have filled my head with too much useless information. But books are the friends who can never reciprocate my love for them.
5. My students. Each student is another learning experience. Aside from teaching them, I grow from each one. I can only hope that I spend many more years enriching the minds of many many more.
6. My TV. As Homer Simpson once said, "teacher, mother, secret lover." Need I say more?
7. Netflix. The consummate time waster.
8. Beer. Again, the Wisdom of Homer J Simpson, "The cause and the solution to all the world's problems."
9. Food. The quickest way to a man's heart.
10. My apartment. It gives me shelter, it gives me a place to entertain, to live, to love, and to be me.
11. My coworkers. They look out for me, they are there for me, they are great company.
12. My previous job at Starbucks. When I was at the lowest point in my life, this job helped me pick up the pieces. It was there that I became the man I am today. They put up with plenty of my bullshit over the years. They kicked my ass when I needed it. They shaped me into a fine young man.
13. City College of New York. When I first transferred there, I was a broken man. I was in between many things. It was there that I finally pulled my shit together. It was there that I finally learned how to buckle down and apply myself. It was there that I learned how to do research. It was there that I was exposed to a diverse student body. It was there that I learned how to survive in a multicultural environment. And it was there that I met the love of my life.
14. Music. Ah music. You sooth the savage beast. You make me happy, sad, and everything in between. I am so glad you are in my life.
15. New York City. The greatest city in the world.
16. America. The greatest country in the world. I may not have the best relationship with you. But you haven't given up on me either.
17. President Obama. I have not given up on you either. You have enriched many with hope who otherwise wouldn't have it.
18. My guitar. I haven't played you in a while. But from playing you, I was exposed to many genres of music I otherwise wouldn't have dreamed of touching.
19. Judaism. I may not consider myself Jewish anymore. But you did shape my early life. I have held onto some of the more important lessons you have taught me. And hey, I still enjoy a good cholent and niggun.
20. My health. It may not be what it used to be. But I have it.
21. My gym. Great way to let off stress. And it is making me more energetic. It makes me feel better about myself.
22. Video games. I may not get the modern ones. But the ones I play are possibly my biggest vice.
23. My pets. Lady the Turtle and Winter the Cat. You are great company.
24. Cartoons. Never too old to enjoy them.
25. My clothes. I wear them. They keep me warm. They keep me from being naked.
26. My iPhone. Sure, it's addictive. It keeps me from human interaction. But it is quite useful.
27. My computer. Currently a Windows Tablet. I should use it more often.
28. The MTA. I spend a good chunk of my day commuting on it. Your prices may have more than doubled since I've come to NYC. But I still love you.
29. Logic. You may not always make sense. But you help me put things in perspective.
30. Mornings. I am not a morning person. But you make me smile when I see you. I have survived another one, I like to say.
31. The Nighttime. When I really shine. When I get most of my work done.
32. Weekends. Even though I work through most of them, you give me a chance to recharge my batteries.
33. My hat collection. From yarmulkes that I hardly wear to my favorite trilby, I have a nice collection.
34. The stars. I hope in my lifetime I get to visit other systems and see how they look from up closer.
35. The world. What a wonderful place to live.
Thank you all. And Happy Thanksgiving.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Potentially the Most Offensively Tepid Post I've Ever Penned.
I don't know what it is about this bombing in Har Nof that pisses me off the most. Is it that the victims were not the ones who are the real enemies of the killers? Is it that neither side can find a peaceful, more constructive way to ameliorate the tensions? Or is it the copious posts bleating about how much the whole world hates the Jews?
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have tried remaining silent about this issue. After all, no good has come from my discussing my point of view. I'm not going to change any minds. After all, I am already perceived as a self-hating Yid (I'm not). And so, not only have I denied my people, I have thrown out the baby, the bathwater, the crib, and most of the nursery too. Right?
After all, how can any decent human being seriously criticize Israel? If you deny the Jews (even the secular ones) their Israel, you [insert Reductio ad Hitlerum here].
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Where I stand (or shall I sit?)
For those following my other posts, you know that I am a pretty hard skeptic about the Bible as a reliable history source. This includes the traditional interpretation I was raised with.
-a one deity
-omnipotent
-omniscient
-benevolent
-loving
-has all these rules that are imperative
-belief is intrinsic
-there are chosen people
Yes, chosen people. And a chosen nation for a chosen people.
Sure, everyone wants to believe they are special. Everyone wants to believe they are loved by whatever spirits watch over them. And when bad things happen, why not blame it on the supernatural?
Israel. Palestine. Zion. Judea-Samaria. Whatever you choose to call it.
The chosen land.
Well, I don't necessarily subscribe to the biblical narrative anymore.
So why should I support Israel at all?
Answer: very minimally.
-the only fully Westernized country in the area. Sure, it is as a result of colonialism. But in this case, I would think the bad outweighs the good.
-humanitarian perspective. What other country has full rights for women, minorities, LGBTQ, and people of all stripes? Israel is much closer to that than Palestine.
-anyone who denies that the Jews had a presence in the land does not know their history. However, the Jews do exaggerate how strong their ties to the land are.
_________________________________________________________________________________
And how about the group known as the Palestinians?
If I hear one more person say "there's no such thing as Palestine", I will blow my lid.
You don't hear Hindus say there's no such thing as Pakistan. Or Turks saying there's no such thing as Armenia. And do the Tutsis deny that the Hutus exist? And does anyone deny that the Jews exist?
Okay, there are those who deny that Ashkenazim are "Real Jews;" those who say they are Kuzarim who converted en masse; they would say that the real Jews are either nonexistent or dispersed among the Sefardi/Mizrahim.
But other than that--saying that there's no such thing as Palestine is pretty damn pernicious if you ask me.
Sure, it is a synthetic definition. But aren't most regional identities synthetic to an extent?
I mean take my ethnic identities. I am an American. I live in Harlem. I was raised in New Jersey. I was born in Brooklyn. I was raised Jewish. My mother is half-Polish half-Hungarian. My father is a big mix of Polish, German, Galitzyan, and who know/cares what else. I am an ethnic mutt! And I'm proud.
Palestinian. Until the early 1960s, it meant the people living in the Levant area, what's now called Israel and Jordan. Then Jordan became a Hashimite Kingdom.
Then, the PLO gave it more specific definition. They fit it to mean those who were expelled from their land between the years 1947-50 as a result of the Naqbaa (as they call it). Later, the definition was extended to include 1967 and the West Bank.
And I say so what if they choose to self-identify as Palestinian?
So what if the people who now call themselves Palestinian were not always Palestinian?
For how many years were the Jews considered wretches without a land?
And now, they have become the former slave torturing the former master.
Does that make it right?
Gah. Too complicated to answer in one simple post.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have tried remaining silent about this issue. After all, no good has come from my discussing my point of view. I'm not going to change any minds. After all, I am already perceived as a self-hating Yid (I'm not). And so, not only have I denied my people, I have thrown out the baby, the bathwater, the crib, and most of the nursery too. Right?
After all, how can any decent human being seriously criticize Israel? If you deny the Jews (even the secular ones) their Israel, you [insert Reductio ad Hitlerum here].
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Where I stand (or shall I sit?)
For those following my other posts, you know that I am a pretty hard skeptic about the Bible as a reliable history source. This includes the traditional interpretation I was raised with.
-a one deity
-omnipotent
-omniscient
-benevolent
-loving
-has all these rules that are imperative
-belief is intrinsic
-there are chosen people
Yes, chosen people. And a chosen nation for a chosen people.
Sure, everyone wants to believe they are special. Everyone wants to believe they are loved by whatever spirits watch over them. And when bad things happen, why not blame it on the supernatural?
Israel. Palestine. Zion. Judea-Samaria. Whatever you choose to call it.
The chosen land.
Well, I don't necessarily subscribe to the biblical narrative anymore.
So why should I support Israel at all?
Answer: very minimally.
-the only fully Westernized country in the area. Sure, it is as a result of colonialism. But in this case, I would think the bad outweighs the good.
-humanitarian perspective. What other country has full rights for women, minorities, LGBTQ, and people of all stripes? Israel is much closer to that than Palestine.
-anyone who denies that the Jews had a presence in the land does not know their history. However, the Jews do exaggerate how strong their ties to the land are.
_________________________________________________________________________________
And how about the group known as the Palestinians?
If I hear one more person say "there's no such thing as Palestine", I will blow my lid.
You don't hear Hindus say there's no such thing as Pakistan. Or Turks saying there's no such thing as Armenia. And do the Tutsis deny that the Hutus exist? And does anyone deny that the Jews exist?
Okay, there are those who deny that Ashkenazim are "Real Jews;" those who say they are Kuzarim who converted en masse; they would say that the real Jews are either nonexistent or dispersed among the Sefardi/Mizrahim.
But other than that--saying that there's no such thing as Palestine is pretty damn pernicious if you ask me.
Sure, it is a synthetic definition. But aren't most regional identities synthetic to an extent?
I mean take my ethnic identities. I am an American. I live in Harlem. I was raised in New Jersey. I was born in Brooklyn. I was raised Jewish. My mother is half-Polish half-Hungarian. My father is a big mix of Polish, German, Galitzyan, and who know/cares what else. I am an ethnic mutt! And I'm proud.
Palestinian. Until the early 1960s, it meant the people living in the Levant area, what's now called Israel and Jordan. Then Jordan became a Hashimite Kingdom.
Then, the PLO gave it more specific definition. They fit it to mean those who were expelled from their land between the years 1947-50 as a result of the Naqbaa (as they call it). Later, the definition was extended to include 1967 and the West Bank.
And I say so what if they choose to self-identify as Palestinian?
So what if the people who now call themselves Palestinian were not always Palestinian?
For how many years were the Jews considered wretches without a land?
And now, they have become the former slave torturing the former master.
Does that make it right?
Gah. Too complicated to answer in one simple post.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Tip of the Mountain, part 0
The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from being seen
But that's just because he doesn't want to turn into some machine
Take a woman like you
To get through to the man in me.
--Bob Dylan
Suspend reality for a moment. Pretend that you know nothing about dating. Pretend you have never been in a relationship in your life. Pretend that you don't even know the first thing about courting a member of the opposite sex (or the same, if you prefer). Picture, for a moment, that all the rules about how a relationship should work are able to violate themselves for one brief moment. And in that moment, love can be born completely ex nihilo.
Jacob slaved 7 years for the wrong woman, another 7 for the right woman, and ended up in one fucked up dysfunctional marriage. I may as well have bided my time for a woman I am glad I ended up with.
—_______________________________________________________________________________
In my dreams, she was far from angelic. She was the opposite of the aidele maidel that I was programmed to pursue from the time I was young. She would never be the type to stay at home and clean my dishes while I earned some bread. She smoked. She cursed. She most certainly did not put up with my bullshit. I do not even remember what our first conversation was about. All I know is that we argued about something. One of many we would get into.
And somehow, I managed to get her number by the end of that conversation. Unusually smooth for me.
_________________________________________________________________________________
I sat there, almost naked in front of her. It was a hot summer day. I was wearing a worn pair of boxer shorts, and nothing else. I must have looked like something between a beached whale and a hobbit reclining there.
She sat there on her bed. She was wearing shorts and an orange tank top. She was barefoot, hair clipped upward, and with small round glasses.
How long can two young, supple ventigenarians successfully live together and not allow their sexual tensions to get in the way. If every bad sitcom and chick flick was correct, not very.
Sure, society says that a man and a woman should not cohabitate before marriage. Even if they live in separate bedrooms, never see each other naked, and never even hold hands, they have violated a sacred taboo. And even those who are more open and liberated ask what the fuck is wrong with us. Why don't we just fuck already? Or make love, if you prefer.
_________________________________________________________________________________
But sometimes, a couple is simply not ready to cross over to the other side. Sometimes, when things are rushed into, they implode.
I can only imagine what would have happened if we tried engaging in coitis early on in our relationship.
Perhaps she would find me too forceful.
Perhaps my lack of confidence would turn her off. She is probably more used to men who already have a well established sexual routine.
After all
It's not like I was a cherry. I was not.
But
Then again
It's not like I ever enjoyed sex either.
I had never been with a woman who gave me room to find my own sexual identity.
All the women I had been with were bad for me.
The wrong sort.
Yes, they expected me to already know my way around their holy of holies when I was a mere plebeian.
She might have been put off by my puerility.
Or perhaps she would have enjoyed it.
But we were not ready for each other.
Inevitably, we would get into a fight.
Things would fizzle out.
In short, she would have just been a fling. But the best damn fling I would ever have.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Pop quiz, no peeking:
What's the worst place to take a woman on a date?
A strip club is probably not the absolute worst. But it's pretty fucking bad.
This night in late August was just another night for us. She wanted to go to Atlantic City. Funds were too low. So instead, we went to a strip club.
It was a waste of $200. But the best damn waste of $200 ever.
The drinks were watered down and insipid.
The chairs were comfy.
The girls were concerned that I wasn't slobbering over them. Maybe I was too polite. They thought it was because I was with my wife and she was being a buzzkill. Actually, we are not married and it was her idea to go to the club.
They tried to make small talk with me. I was never good with small talk.
They asked me what I do. I said "special ed teacher". She said "but you don't look like a teacher, you look like a rock star!"
I guess I do look like I'm in a band. It helps when I'm trying to get into a club. They sometimes let me in for free because they think I'm with the band. I do give off that vibe.
The women were very good at what they do. They kept dragging me away from her, into the corner, and tried getting me into the champagne room. I smiled and told them that when I make champagne room money, I will oblige. Until then, I pay by the lap dance.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Our Cupid was a dancer who was on her off session. She was slightly older than the others. She had short hair, yellowing teeth, and a thick Romanian accent. She may not have been as sleek as the other dancers, but what she lacked in youth she more than made up for in experience.
She came over to us. Gave us both a dance at the same time. She caressed us both. She took off her dress. She rubbed her tits against us both. I really appreciated the lack of cellulite on her. They were probably no bigger than b-cups. They sagged slightly. But I prefer the natural look. They looked great on her.
She even kissed us both on the cheek.
Perhaps the sexiest dance we both had that night.
_____________________________________________[___________________________________
A moment alone. We were spent and almost ready to go.
I was complaining about how I just didn't have the funds to spend on more services that night.
She said "you know you could have me for free, right?"
Now, I do not shock easily. Very few things in this world actually surprise me.
My reaction must have been a paradoxical combination of surprise and "well, what do you expect?"
Or perhaps she would have enjoyed it.
But we were not ready for each other.
Inevitably, we would get into a fight.
Things would fizzle out.
In short, she would have just been a fling. But the best damn fling I would ever have.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Pop quiz, no peeking:
What's the worst place to take a woman on a date?
A strip club is probably not the absolute worst. But it's pretty fucking bad.
This night in late August was just another night for us. She wanted to go to Atlantic City. Funds were too low. So instead, we went to a strip club.
It was a waste of $200. But the best damn waste of $200 ever.
The drinks were watered down and insipid.
The chairs were comfy.
The girls were concerned that I wasn't slobbering over them. Maybe I was too polite. They thought it was because I was with my wife and she was being a buzzkill. Actually, we are not married and it was her idea to go to the club.
They tried to make small talk with me. I was never good with small talk.
They asked me what I do. I said "special ed teacher". She said "but you don't look like a teacher, you look like a rock star!"
I guess I do look like I'm in a band. It helps when I'm trying to get into a club. They sometimes let me in for free because they think I'm with the band. I do give off that vibe.
The women were very good at what they do. They kept dragging me away from her, into the corner, and tried getting me into the champagne room. I smiled and told them that when I make champagne room money, I will oblige. Until then, I pay by the lap dance.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Our Cupid was a dancer who was on her off session. She was slightly older than the others. She had short hair, yellowing teeth, and a thick Romanian accent. She may not have been as sleek as the other dancers, but what she lacked in youth she more than made up for in experience.
She came over to us. Gave us both a dance at the same time. She caressed us both. She took off her dress. She rubbed her tits against us both. I really appreciated the lack of cellulite on her. They were probably no bigger than b-cups. They sagged slightly. But I prefer the natural look. They looked great on her.
She even kissed us both on the cheek.
Perhaps the sexiest dance we both had that night.
_____________________________________________[___________________________________
A moment alone. We were spent and almost ready to go.
I was complaining about how I just didn't have the funds to spend on more services that night.
She said "you know you could have me for free, right?"
Now, I do not shock easily. Very few things in this world actually surprise me.
My reaction must have been a paradoxical combination of surprise and "well, what do you expect?"
Monday, July 7, 2014
Acher's Question
There are many aspects of the Acher story that have intrigued me ever since I first learned the Gemara in Kiddushin about Acher. According to this one (Kiddushin 39b), he saw a boy falling off a rickety ladder after performing two mitzvoth that promise one long life--honoring his father and chasing away a mother bird before taking her eggs.
But this Gemara is much less esoteric than the more famous one about him. Chagigah 14b has a very mysterious story about four who entered a Pardes. Pardes usually refers to an orange grove. I believe it has the same root as the modern day "paradise". Some even consider it an acronym for the four levels of interpretation for the bible. PaRDeS=PRDS. Peshat, Derash, Remez, Sod. The simple interpretation, the allegorical interpretation, the hinted interpretation, and the secret interpretation.
Whatever it is these four intrepid scholars were doing, it was something deadly. Without basic Qabalistic knowledge, the story does not make much sense. The story ends with Ben Azzai dying, Ben Zoma going insane, Acher tearing down the shoots, and Akiba entering in peace and leaving in peace.
After a bit of pontificating, the Gemara asks what Acher saw. He saw the angel Metatron sitting while writing down the merits of Israel. Now Acher was under the impression that none may sit while doing such an important task. Perhaps, he thought, there are two divinities.
As a punishment for not standing when Acher came, Metatron was punished with 60 lashes. And then, Metatron was given permission to strike out Acher's merits. When Acher saw that he was now doomed, he decided that he might as well enjoy the rest of his existence on this Earth. And the rest of the story is a combination of him descending into hedonism and defying his former masters/students.
And this story always troubled me. If Acher was wrong, then why did Metatron not correct him? He was not punished for sitting; he was punished because Acher was not supposed to see him sitting. So if Acher's understanding of how the angels in the upper echelons are supposed to behave was incorrect, then they should have corrected him. But instead, they punished both Metatron and him.
What gets me is that even the gemara itself does not bother to explain why Metatron was allowed to sit and why Acher's conclusion that he may have been some sort of demiurge was false.
And this, I am told, is why Qaballah is a forbidden subject for those under 40. Christianity split God into a Trinity, Qaballah splits him into 10 sefiroth. If one didn't know any better, one would think that the whole dichotomy of the Eyn Sof and the Sefiroth might very well be Gnosticism with a Yiddishe Zach.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
International Godwin's Day
Godwin's Law, coined by attorney Mike Godwin in the 1990s states that as any discussion increases in length, the chances of probability bringing up the Holocaust or Nazis becomes closer to 1. At the time, he was referring to Usenet groups (remember those?). However, given the proliferation of online discussion forums, the law now applies to all forms of mass online communication forums as well.
The original intention was a lesson in memetics. However, some have turned Godwin's Law into a meta-fallacy. The unspoken rule is that as soon as one brings up anything to do with Hitler, the Holocaust, the Nazis, or anything to do with the Third Reich, the discussion immediately ends and whoever made the reference "loses."
The original intention was a lesson in memetics. However, some have turned Godwin's Law into a meta-fallacy. The unspoken rule is that as soon as one brings up anything to do with Hitler, the Holocaust, the Nazis, or anything to do with the Third Reich, the discussion immediately ends and whoever made the reference "loses."
Shoah Business
"There's no business like Shoah business," a rabbi of mine once coyly said.
Shoah, for those unfamiliar, is the Hebrew term for the Holocaust.
In the years since the Shoah ended in 1945, it has taken a life of its own.
For many years, plenty of survivors were silent about it. It happened, but many did not want to talk about it. They had seen as close to hell on this earth. And they did not want to experience it again.
I have heard many survivor stories over the years. And so many different ways to approach the horrors that the Jews experienced in those 10 years that the Nazis were in power. Or even the 6 years that the world was at war. Or even the 3 years from the Wannsee Conferences to the time that the Americans and Russians liberated the death camps.
There is much documentation on what really happened in Europe during that period. Much has been written on why something like the Holocaust was allowed to happen. Why someone as evil and morally decrepit as Hitler was democratically elected and then allowed to do the things he did. And why so many people suffered as a result.
As a child, I could never fathom it. Every year, my school had a vigil for Yom Hashoah. They would light candles. One Rabbi would sing a tearful "El Molai Rachamim" for those who perished. Those students who lost family in the Holocaust would stand by the candles. The rest of us would watch. And we would get a speech. And another speech. And then more sad songs.
One Saturday, we were walking to synagogue. My sister was insisting that our father tell us about Hitler. I never heard the name Hitler. I was 7 years old. That name was completely new to me. It sounded like Hillel (common Jewish name, I knew a few). But my sister said "not Hillel, Hitler."
So my father, on our 20 minute walk to synagogue, told us in brief about Hitler. He told us about him taking over Europe. He told us about the death camps. He told us about the gas showers. He told us about the ovens. But then, he told us something I never expected.
He told us about Savta (our maternal grandmother).
We knew that Savta was from Hungary. That's why she spoke with an accent. We didn't know how old Savta was. Every time we asked, she would say "100". We could not even fathom her having ever been young.
But apparently, Savta had something to do with this Hitler person who did all of those bad things.
When my father spoke of the camps and the showers and the trains, I was only lending him half of an ear. For all I knew, it was some bad fairy tale. But then when I heard he was talking about Savta, he suddenly had my attention. This story was not some bad fairy tale. It really happened. And it happened to Savta too.
Savta was from Budapest. Most of the Jews in Budapest thought they were safe. They did not think Hitler would come after them. They could understand why he attacked Poland. But as far as they were concerned, they were safe where they were.
Savta and her family knew it was only a matter of time before Hitler would turn around and attack Hungary. After all, Hungary was so close to occupied Poland and Austria. They didn't know how soon. But they knew they had to get out of Hungary.
Savta and her father managed to get into the United States. Savta was the third oldest of 9. But her older brother was in the army and her older sister was not born in Hungary. So somehow, only Savta was able to get a visa. I am not completely clear on why the rest of the family was stuck in Europe (I have heard many conflicting stories; and none of them make any sense). So Savta and her father managed to escape to America. But the rest of the family was stuck in Europe.
Her mother and one of her brothers died in Auschwitz. Her youngest sister Edith (who is still alive) survived Auschwitz; she was liberated by the Russians.
Suddenly, my father had my attention.
I still could not fathom the global enormity of the Shoah. All I got was a bad guy named Hitler (not Hillel) and something happening to Savta and her family. At this point, I thought the Holocaust was all about what happened to Savta. Not until a few weeks later was it explained to me in school the global significance of the Shoah to European Jews. That many families were torn apart. It is approximated that 6 million died.
From here, the Holocaust became the greatest human travesty ever to walk the face of this earth. This Shoah became living evidence that the Goyyim hate us. That even if they act nicely toward us, if there was another Shoah they would all jump on the Jew-killing bandwagon.
Anti-Semitism and Me.
It would be very naive of me to say there's no such thing as anti-Semitism. Yes, it's out there. I've gotten beaten up for no reason other than the fact that I am Jewish. I've been called it all. Kike. Money-grubber. Big-nose. Heeb. All that lovely stuff.
I remember one time, Savta was taking us on a busride somewhere. This old Italian man stood in front of me and started commenting on the fact that I was wearing a yarmulke. This old man looked and sounded a lot like Tony, the head custodian at my school. Like Tony, he smelled of cigars and he was missing a few teeth. But Tony was a nice man. Tony always smiled at the kids (except when they were running in the hall and making noise, in which case he was scary). Tony used to bring us ice cream from Carvel when we were good.
This man looked and sounded like Tony. But he was not very nice. He was ranting and raving about how I should take the yarmulke off. He pointed around the bus and said "look, no one else is wearing one of those beanies. Your grandma isn't wearing a beanie. Why do you wear it?" And he went on and on and on degrading me, calling me names, saying I'm not human, etc. I was scared.
I asked Savta "why is he being mean?"
Savta just answered "don't listen to him. He's crazy." And there was a finality in her voice that said the discussion was over.
Fast forward years later.
I was 20 years old. It was my first semester in college.
I got a random e-mail from some guy, screen name AmeriKrap. How charming.
AmeriKrap wanted to know why we Jews are all so fucking rich. He started complaining to me about how he and his brothers all work their asses off and don't make much money. Meanwhile, we Jews are all comfortable, rich, and making him and his brothers miserable. So the first thing he wanted was for us to "share the wealth" and stop being so greedy. And he also wanted me to know that if he or one of his brothers from Paterson (the next town over from where I lived, used to be full of Jews, but since the area became dangerous many of them moved out) ever came and robbed us, we would know why.
I wish I saved the e-mail. As a naive 20 year old, I did not know what to do with it.
But there was one line in that e-mail that really struck my eye. He ended the e-mail with "don't give me any of this Holocaust bullshit." Yes, he went there. He was sick and tired of Jews doing whatever they want and then bleating about how much they suffered during the Holocaust. He reminded me that his people suffered through hundreds of years of slavery and civil rights. And so, he is sick and tired of hearing Jews complain about how much they've suffered in light of how much his people suffered.
After giving his e-mail thought, I responded. Oh yes, I responded.
It was not easy for me. I had to give it thought. This was coming from a young, rather privileged white Ashkenazi Jew. At the time, I could honestly have said I never had a friend in the black community. I had one biracial friend named Chris in 7th grade. That was it. Other than that, I was still extremely sheltered at the time. So my response back then was slightly different than the one I would give now.
I began by attempting to empathize with his feelings against Jews. I explained to him that as a young person, I mean no ill will against him or any of his brothers. I also do not support those who do mean ill will against them.
I told him that yes, at the time my father was rather well off. My father was a pretty high paid corporate lawyer who worked hard for his money. But I asked AmeriKrap to consider one thing before he passed judgement on my father. I reminded him that Michael Jordan, at the height of his career, was making $44 million plus endorsements. I also told him that the most underpaid player on the New York Knicks probably makes more money in a year than my father does. There are a handful of "brothers" out there who are much more well off than my father and do much less work than him--with all due respect to having a killer jumpshot, it is not harder work than corporate law, I said. So I asked him why not go after these brothers who make all that money? If Michael Jordan, Patrick Ewing, John Starks, et al decided to share the wealth with their brothers in Paterson, there would be more wealth to share.
As for his "don't give me that Holocaust bullshit" remark, I could not leave that one alone.
I asked him to consider this. To commemorate the Holocaust, we have a day called Yom Hashoah. My Jewish schools didn't even do much for that--a candlelight vigil, a movie, a lecture....hardly anything. But in America, February is Black History Month. Even my Jewish schools observed Black History Month. Yes, we learned about Sojourner Truth, George Washington Carver, Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass, Elijah McCoy, Martin Luther King, etc. We learned that slavery against the Blacks was a bad thing. And most importantly, a little federal holiday known as MLK Day. Yes, even my Jewish schools were closed on MLK Day. And we learned who he was. We learned why he was such a great man. We respected him.
And you do not hear me saying "don't give me any of that 'Black History' bullshit." Nor will you ever hear those words come out of my mouth.
So he should not be saying "don't give me that Holocaust bullshit." It is not bullshit to my people.
He wrote back to me.
In his letter, he apologized for his initial letter. He was pissed off at his Jewish boss. He somehow found my profile on AOL. My profile indicated that I'm Jewish. So he decided to take out his vitriol at his asshole boss on the next Jew he met.
I am not sure if he ended up changing the way he looked at Jews or not.
But he definitely changed the way I look at non-Jews.
Godwin's Day
Today is Yom HaShoah.
And I remember not only the Jews that were lost.
I also remember everyone who was a victim of any kind of genocide.
This is my problem with the way the Holocaust is taught. To many, the Holocaust is cheapened into something crazy that happened in Europe a few generations ago. But few really look at the global implications.
It's not just about the Jews who were killed. Or the Gypsys, or the homosexuals, or others.
It's not about how many Russians died defending their land against Hitler (and how many more by Stalin during his purges).
It's about genocide in any form being bad.
It's about the Armenians who were slaughtered by the Turks in 1915.
The Tutsis by the Hutus in Rwanda in 1994.
The Khmer Rouge genocide in the 1970s.
Bosnia. Kashmir. Congo.
The list goes on and on and on.
This is not to minimize the Holocaust, or the suffering of my people.
This is to not cheapen it. Not to have us only focus on the bad things that have happened to our people and to completely blank out the bad things that have happened to others.
This is to show that genocides have happened. And we are not alone. And let our remembrance of the Holocaust be also used as a springboard to ensure not only that we will no longer be persecuted; but also, that others will not be persecuted as well.
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