Sorry to interrupt your regularly-scheduled posting, but I just have to share with you the saddest little Google search phrase ever:
Thursday, August 31, 2006
My sister called me last night to tell me she’s coming to visit; that she wants to come into the office and meet my co-workers. Normally I’d have no problem with it, but she’s covered in tattoos. Seeing as how tattoos are taboo in Judaism...well, the last thing I need is to be questioned about things to which I don’t have an answer. On the other hand, it seems that Jewish people tend to do what they want. If it doesn’t fit into their current sect or “belief paradigm” they can surely fit into another.
A while back I mentioned an email I had received from a reader about her Jewish roommate who was so obsessed with pigs that he even got a tattoo of one on his arm:
"I'm not Jewish, but I live with a Jewish guy who is obsessed with pigs. He has a bunch of pig knick-knacks, a pig screensaver on his computer and he just got a pig tattooed on his left forearm. He has a tattoo of a radish on his right forearm, so he was never normal to start with..."
I responded that I wanted to interview him and write an article called The New Jew: What You Can Expect Generation X to Bring to the [Seder] Table.
Due to my sister’s pending arrival and what seems to be a growing trend that I'd like to write about in a future issue, I’ve done some quick, skimming-of-the-surface type research on the subject. Here's my quick assesment of the history backing the restriction and the responses backing the art:
1) Tattoos are forbidden due to Leviticus 19:28, which states: “You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves: I am the Lord.”
2) Some believe that getting a tattoo disgraces the memory of the Holocaust and its survivors (Holocaust survivors still bear their concentration camp tattoos).
3) Many Jews believe a tattoo will keep them from being buried in a Jewish cemetery.
Seemingly universal responses by "dissenters" to each argument against tattoos:
1) "I’m proud to be Jewish, so I wear Jewish symbols on me permanently"
2) "The tattoo is not a mockery of all our people have gone through. If people take it that way, that’s their prerogative."
3) "Not being buried in a Jewish cemetery? That's just a myth that won't seem to go away."
As in any religion, there are many Jews who choose not to translate their scriptures literally. As far as tattoos go, this practice of turning a blind eye to ancient prose certainly applies. This is what I like most about Judaism. Jews do as they please and hope their religion will follow in suit. As far as I can tell, it usually does.
All of this said, I assume my sister will walk into the office to my co-workers' collective lifted eyebrows and some rolling of the eyes. Of course, the rolled eyes will come from the ladies. My sister's quite the Catholic vixen and is always game to give another girl a run for her money.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
It occurred to me last night that this magazine could be making a hell of a lot more money if we would just rethink our strategy. We consider ourselves a consumer publication when we are, in fact, a custom one. Here are the two events that got me thinking:
1) I was watching Entourage the other night. Vince was looking for a new agent and each one he met presented him with a branding strategy, which would make his face synonymous with the Vincent Chase "brand." Each agent showed him a popular logo (Ex: Coca-Cola), followed by another popular logo (Ex: Mercedes), followed, finally, by the Vince logo (Ex: His face). I imagine this approach is pretty accurate considering it really is all about branding these days.
2) I looked through our subscription/fulfillment database yesterday and, not surprisingly, I'd say 90% of the people who receive our magazine—free—have Jewish surnames. Of the remaining 10%, I'd guess 8% carry an ambiguous last name and the remaining 2% are the result of common error. (Yes, I know I'm giving us some serious credit by only suggesting a 2% error rate. Guilty as charged.)
The most glaringly obvious examples of custom publications are the magazines you read on airplanes. For instance, American Airlines has a magazine with its name on the cover (as do many airlines). However, when you open it up to read it, the articles aren't about American Airlines. They're interviews, editorials, celebrity profiles, etc... Nevertheless, the American Airlines brand remains top of mind to the reader upon partaking in the magazine. This is genius on AA's part. They have a built-in readership, an advertising campaign that people actually pay attention to and a perfect branding strategy. On top of this, they are building a community, rather than a consumer base. Brilliant.
I would say that our magazine follows in suit, except that our "brand" is Judaism. As illustrated by the database, we have a built-in audience (Jewish people who live in "X" NYC neighborhoods). We also don't necessarily generate many articles relevant to our brand. The only mentions of Judaism in the magazine are the calendar of holidays, a brief and obligatory anecdote about any holiday(s) that falls within the month the magazine comes out and Letters to the Editor that deal with religious subject matter. Otherwise, everything else is ambiguous and the brand—Judaism—is left top of mind. Oh, and as for the building of a community element? Done.
Of course, our core source of revenue is ad dollars, whereas a custom publisher's core source of revenue is their client's marketing budget. A custom publication is usually paid for by the "brand." That's where we fall behind, although I must give us credit—we can certainly deliver a dependable niche audience to an eager advertiser. Now, if only we could get our "brand" (the Jewish readership) to actually pay for our services* on top of generating our regular advertising dollars, we would be in business. Think I should suggest it to the publisher? Yeah, not so much. He knows no one would pay for this crap.
*In this example, "our services" would be defined by continually promoting the "Jewish brand" by keeping it top of mind via our printed publication.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
As you might recall, there are two designers who work here: The Silent Designer and The Other Designer. The Other Designer is the one who was suspiciously excited when he happened upon The Silent Designer’s updated resume a few weeks ago. In fact, it was The Other Designer who originally broke the story, much to his own chagrin. He would give anything to get promoted into The Silent Designer’s spot. Alas, he has started acting as if he has already been promoted and that the The Silent Designer isn’t really here. The weird part is, The Other Designer hasn't and The Silent Designer is.
I noticed The Other Designer's “subtle” transformation last week.
We are not required to wear anything fancier than jeans and a T-shirt to work (so you can only imagine my dismay slash confusion when SuperJew wore the Fedora Hat, wraparound dress and strappy heels last Friday, as she passed out goody bags and hosted the bagel-caviar buffet). Anyway, The Other Designer has been coming into work wearing slacks and button-ups since last Wednesday. Initially, I thought he perhaps had a thing for OrthoJew. After all, he’s been extremely proactive in regards to helping her get acquainted with her new position. It seemed an obvious conclusion. But after a few days of studying his new patterns (and his new brief case!), I’ve realized that he is trying to “step up to the plate,” as it were.
The Silent Designer, on the other hand, will have none of this. “What do you think this is—Condé Nast or something?” Considering his usual silence, he’s a pretty blunt guy; one of those people who doesn't talk much, so when he does say something, it's worth paying attention to. I imagine this is why he was given the superior position in the first place. Both designers are equally talented, but The Silent Designer demands more respect than does The Other Designer.
I think what we have here is a classic case of “If you dress the part, you’ll become the part” syndrome. A lot of actors suffer from said syndrome when they go to auditions. For instance, if an actor’s auditioning for a part as a cowboy, he’ll wear boots and assless chaps to show his dedication to the role. Really though, the casting director won’t give him the part unless he can be the cowboy. The actor, on the other hand, thinks he is being the cowboy. “See, look at my outfit. I am the cowboy!”
As an aside, I’m interested in seeing what The Other Designer will wear for Halloween. I now have a hunch that he’s going to go a little bit too far with it. “But, I am a girl,” he will say as he re-stuffs his borrowed Hooters shirt and combs his long blonde wig. (He'd make a ridiculously ugly JAP, by the way).
All of this is to say that there really is no reason for The Other Designer to be going out of his way in the clothing department. I don’t know any creatives who wear slacks, no less even own them. If he wants to play the part of The Silent Designer, he should just shut up and design…in his pajamas.
Monday, August 28, 2006
A SuperJew-less office.
Today is the first day sans SuperJew, and I must admit, the saying about not missing your water 'til your well runs dry most definitely carries some weight.
Don't get me wrong, I don't miss SuperJew because I liked her. No, no, no. I miss her because she kept me constantly entertained and annoyed. My tendency to hang on to her every word became my dirty little secret. Her cringe-inducing actions...my secret vices. Oh, how I loved to hate her. It’s funny how sometimes hating a person is even more fun than liking one. How sometimes your glee piques more when someone screws up than when he or she does well. Oh, how I would shudder when I saw SuperJew bring her toothbrush and toothpaste into the bathroom after coffee; how she would sneer when someone asked her a question that was clearly beneath her. For example, supposedly she had a slight run-in with Adam Sandler (or someone – can’t remember, to tell you the truth). She bragged about it to a select few in the office, but when the topic came up again over bagels on Friday, and interest was expressed by the Israeli girl, SuperJew looked straight at her and rolled her eyes with hatred.
Besides loving to hate SuperJew, I am a bit miserable with her replacement, OrthoJew. She’s offering me absolutely no good material. Hating her is not nearly as fun as hating SuperJew. The chick does not talk; just sits there doing work. I imagine this is satisfying to the publisher, but what about me? Don’t I count for anything? She can't just sit there and work all day. What does she think this place is? I need someone to amuse me. I’m going through some serious withdrawal symptoms right now.
As such, I've got to figure out how to get OrthoJew fired and take on all future hiring duties myself. The only problem is, her work ethic is flawless. Damnit. She has no business being here. I think this whole "working while you're at work thing" is a conspiracy to make all of us slackers look bad. On that note, perhaps I will present some sort of OrthoJew conspiracy theory to the publisher and take it from there. "She's out to get us..." it will start. I'll start spreading the word to co-workers today. Perhaps I can fold a 20-dollar bill in such a way that I can prove my theory. It would be similar to how some people "proved" World Trade Center conspiracy theories by submitting telling folded bills.
I just have to figure out how to fold it so as to perfectly illustrate her sitting at her desk working diligently, while the rest of us are in the kitchen eating stale bagels, reminiscing about the good ol' days when SuperJew was here. At the very least, it will keep me entertained.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Odds and Ends for a Rainy NYC Day.
In Fake Jewish People News:
Madonna urges British government to use 'mystical' Kabbalah fluid to clean up radioactive waste.
It's so obvious. Why didn't I think of that? Read story here.
Ashton Kutcher treats religion like an old shirt. According to a source, "I think it’s getting a little old for him. [Demi] keeps on having to tell him to put on his red string."
I might be a fake, but he was way worse:
Dathan was a Jew who sold Moses out to the Egyptians, thus giving fakers a bad name for the rest of, well, eternity.
In Answer to Your Question:
Q: Hey Not Chosen, please note that the married OrthoJews will often wear a wig instead of a hat. It covers their "natural beauty" so no one but their husbands will see it. Thing is, the wigs can be FAR more attractive than their natural hair. I don't quite get the logic on that one. Would you kindly investigate?
A: Natural beauty, in this situation, is held to a higher regard than is beauty as defned by cultural trends. The wig is considered superficial beauty while the real hair is considered sacred beauty, like that which is found within a temple or similar religious institution.
Okay, fine, I made that up.
The Part of Lisa Turtle from Saved by the Bell...
...was originally slated to be a Jewish American Princess, but casting directors fell in love with Lark Voorhies and altered the part to fit her in.
Search Terms/Phrases that may or may not have brought you here (but they brought someone):
"Present to a Briss?"
"How to rid yourself of stereotypes"
"Jap Blog Princess"
"Wild XXX Girls"
"Asian doctor + Dr. 90210"
"What is a Shiksa?"
Not Chosen, Just Posin' T-Shirts are in:
Oh yeah, mugs too. For now, just my glorious logo. Character T-shirts coming soon. See SuperJew and OrthoJew duke it out on non-wrinkle cotton. The Publisher's Wife with her hair in curlers; the Redheaded Girl with the Annoying Long Island Accent talking up a storm; the Silent Designer doing the opposite; and my Future Girlfriend revoking the kneepad from her current boyfriend and regifting it to me (sick, I know). For more info, go here.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Not Chosen, Just Posin' Commercial Break
Aviva is the first member of my "go-to" group of Jewish friends to make her self known to my reading public. Why? Well, Aviva needs your money. Go figure.
In case you can't tell, that black thing on the left is representative, somehow, of Aviva on a bike. The thing on the right is supposed to be a finish line. I don't get it either.
Aviva is using me to get the word out about the Honolulu marathon she will be participating in on behalf of The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training program - a program that raises funds to fight blood and other cancers.
"As a participant, I am also raising money to help the organization in its mission to find a cure for the disease and aid those afflicted with it. I guess you could say its part of the whole Jewish tradition of tzedakah (goyim call it charity), chesed (or acts of kindness) and tikkun olam (literally means "repairing the world"). Anyway, these are all big themes for Jews around this time of year (high holidays and such)... "
I told her I would post it, because:
A). I'm a benevolent human being
B). She's assisted me in this whole learning curve and provided me with the Israel anecdote I posted weeks ago
C). Nearly everyone in Team in Training is female and many are Jewish (goes with my theme and all)
D). The acronym for Team in Training is T.I.T. (Hey, I'm a guy; this is how I see the world)
Aviva added another good reason for my consideration:
E). " It might help redeem your image in the eyes of all those bastards who called you anti-Semitic."
Seriously, there's a bunch of you who talk a good game when it comes to backing your religion. Now it's time for you to actually put your money where your tzedakah is.
*Fine, she's not really a JAP. I just thought it sounded funnier.
How did I know SuperJew was going to pull some self-centered, attention-producing act of sheer arrogance this morning, her last day? Well, it was a given to tell you the truth, but she has gone over the top. I’ve had a few last days in my time, and I can say with all honesty that I didn’t even regard the fact with so much as a handshake. Maybe an obligatory, “It was nice working with you, here’s my new contact information,” email, but never this.
Right as I sat down to my computer this morning, I saw an email pop up on my Outlook. (From: SuperJew; Subject: Bagels in the Kitchen).
I admit to biting the bait. I walked directly into the kitchen to capitalize on her blatant self-promotion (if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em). What I found there was more than a couple bagels with cream cheese packets. She had provided a complete spread, which, might I add, would give “The Last Supper” a run for its money:
When everyone had grazed the offerings, taken their share and returned to their respective desks, SuperJew, who, for some reason is wearing a Fedora hat this morning, waltzed around passing around gift bags. I shit you not. Gift. Bags. Like the office had—poof—transformed into some exclusive party, of which she is the gracious host.
Here are the contents of the gift bags:
-$50 - Gift certificate to Tiffany’s.
-$20 - Starbucks gift card
-A 2” x 2” framed picture of her and the Publisher
-A chocolate bar she had shipped in from Israel (it contains nougat; I hate nougat)
Okay, now I know what you’re thinking: “Not Chosen, you’re being a jerk. That’s so nice of her!”
I will give her credit in two regards and two regards only:
1) She included me (It's no secret that we hate eachother)
2) She included OrthoJew, who has only been here two days (and who SuperJew still refers to as ConservaJew, no doubt)
Otherwise, trust me – this has nothing to do with her being nice. Her motive is self-glorification, not altruism. Another theory of mine is that she has bad karma and she’s trying to “correct” it. I’m going to guess that her actions are the product of some middleground where both of these theories meet.
All in all though, a gift bag’s most important symbolic element is its underlying suggestion: “Good riddance, thanks for playing and the show is over.”
And, I’m so glad it is. Finally, I can put this to rest.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
I thought I’d share this email from my boss because it truly illustrates his favorite dictum: “I’m from the streets in Israel and I’ve created all of this from nothing [Yo.]”
By the way, I think this one could actually use a disclaimer. Therefore...
Disclaimer: I like and respect my boss a lot. On the other hand, comedy is not something that should be kept to one's self.
To: Entire Office
Date: Aug 24, 2006 8:07 AM
Subject: Great is Not Good Enough
Guys (that includes the girls) - I have come to the conclusion that we need to step up our game. We should not take for granted the fact that we are the best book in our market. I know very well that someone is not sleeping trying to see how they can takeaway the very niche we created.
I will be working my butt off to get into the right relationships but I need everyone to help and think outside the box. If it were your company, what would you do? You can tell me anything about any department.We cannot be everything to everyone. We have to be the most remarkable thing to our core consumers. It is time to shift this baby into overdrive.
Bosses Cheesy Signature Line
Bosses Cheesy Signature Line 2
Bosses Cheesy Signature Line 3
My advice? Oh, I don’t know - don’t let your wife fire an account executive that brings in over $100K an issue. Just a suggestion…
On that note, my friends and I talked about the firing of the account executive back when it happened. We agreed that there is nothing that could ever convince us to fire someone pulling in that kind of money for our virtual, non-existant companies.
Is my wife cheating on me with the account executive? So be it, whatever she’s doing is working.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
So, I’ve broken the Silent Designer’s, well, silence.
I don’t know what came over me, actually. I’m not usually confrontational, but I really wanted to know if he was planning to leave or not. After all, his slightest movement affects all of us—especially if he decides to take off near the time we go to print. When you work for a small company, any sudden change can throw a wrench in the system. A sick day? We’re very much screwed. That’s to say that, no, I probably shouldn’t be writing a blog right now (noted), but if I die of boredom, they will be even more S.O.L. That’s kind of my little rationalization anyway.
As it were, we ended up in the bathroom at the same time, so I had the perfect opportunity to ask him about it (after he was done, of course).
Long story short, he’s sick of the Publisher’s wife. How did I know that?
A couple of weeks ago, probably about the same time that the other designer discovered the Silent Designer’s resume on his computer, the Publisher’s wife pulled the Silent Designer aside and said, “I need you to design an invitation for my JCC group’s get-together.” She didn’t ask; she told. The Silent Designer told her that he’d do it when he was done designing his portion of the magazine. Makes sense to me.
I applaud him for biting his tongue, really. I would have easily told her that wasn’t my job, followed by a detailed account of where she could shove her JCC invitation.
From there, the Publisher’s Wife reported this response to her husband. The Publisher took the torch, telling the Silent Designer just to get to it when he could. Notice that he didn’t apologize for his wife (because she’d probably smack him around later if he did). According to the Silent Designer though, the publisher did give him a look that said, “You think you’ve got it bad, I deal with this every day of my life.” The Silent Designer said not to quote him on that though.
So, yes, the Silent Designer is looking for a new job. A more corporate one, at that. I tried to entice him with a subtle reminder that SuperJew would be gone in just two days. He laughed. He completely gets it.
The Publisher’s Wife on the other hand, she is working miracles here. She’s fired the highest grossing account executive and now she’s driving out a potential ally. Furthermore, can’t she just get the stock invitations at Target? Who the hell does she think she is?
The votes are in.
Since ConservaJew arrived this morning wearing garb similar to that which she wore yesterday, her new name will be "OrthoJew." I would love to correct SuperJew by saying, "Don't you mean OrthoJew?" But I will have to do so after hearing her reference OrthoJew as "ConservaJew," so that I can avoid incriminating myself of eavesdropping.
I'll let you know how it goes.
P.S. So, let me get this straight, Conservative Jewish girls wear mini skirts and tank tops to work? We are so hiring. Well, that is, if we find a worthy applicant. Wink. Wink.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
I could all but hear SuperJew giggling to herself when the new girl walked in today: long skirt, long-sleeve shirt, eyes to the ground. SuperJew is one of those who feeds off of the insecurity of others'. That said, I’m sure she found more than a little satisfaction in the fact that the new girl’s fashion sense can, in no way, compete with her own chic Los Angeles duds. I am certain SuperJew, in some sick and diabolical way, would like to think she’s going to leave a lasting impression on this place; that people are going to miss her and that she can not be completely replaced. Truth is: she’s not, they’re not and she can.
I have to give SuperJew some credit though. She’s been doing a good job of pretending she is helpful and knowledgeable today. Overall, I'd say her most impressive display is the one where she pretends she’s even remotely pleasant. With acting skills like this, might I suggest she consider going back to L.A.?
A few people were kind of bummed when I announced that SuperJew was leaving my cast of characters. “It’s just like J.K. Rowling killing off Harry Potter, dude! You just can’t do it,” said one. And while I admit that my blog is just as important as the Harry Potter series, I can’t do anything about SuperJew’s departure (aside from celebrate).
But, not to worry; SuperJew has unknowingly done all of us the following favor: A bit earlier, when the new girl was using the restroom, I overheard SuperJew discussing her new protégé with the Silent Designer (who has yet to quit).
“Oh my gosh, she’s, like, totally ConservaJew.”
And, just like that, a new character is born. Welcome to the cast, ConservaJew.
I was so amused by yesterday's comments that I had to do a little research...
As it turns out, there is definitely no such thing as a "Chanukah Giraffe," which is unfortunate because I think that such an entity woud give that slothy Santa a run for his money. There is, however, such thing as a "Jewish Giraffe," which is what the above creature is. Giraffes are kosher, so I guess it ultimately could make sense. Well, at least as much sense as Santa Claus does.
Onto the "Easter Spider." There is such thing is an Easter Spider. However, after not a little research, I've found out that Spiders are not kosher. You should really read a bit from the link I highlighted above. Any article that starts out as follows, is worth keeping by the toilet for future reading:
"A book of photographs was published not so long ago which shows people from around the world eating insects. (My apologies to those who are munching something right now.) "
Talk about not wanting to offend anyone. He definitely covered all of his bases by apologizing, in advance, for possibly offending those who are reading his essay while sitting in a tree, munching upon Arachnids. This guy is the embodiment of the phrase: "conscious of other peoples' feelings." On that note, perhaps he'd be interested in writing for this site?
A somewhat humorous list of other kosher versus not kosher delicacies can be found Here.
Monday, August 21, 2006
I’d heard the rumors, but it wasn't until yesterday that I witnessed the reality for myself.
The rumors concern the publisher’s two daughters. Both of them are said to be monsters who have been given no lessons in social interaction. My colleagues have gone as far as to say that the daughters are worse than their mom, but I always thought that was saying a lot considering my feelings about the lady (publishing experience acquired via sexual transmission, fired the top selling account executive, talks a lot but doesn’t back it up—you know, the typical gripes).
The two girls, 8 and 12, fit the prototype you would imagine upon hearing the phrase: “The Bosses Kids." They prance around as if this were the office they started from the ground up. Nothing is off limits, not even the employess. Yep, as it turns out, they seem to think they own us too.
My home wireless was down yesterday, which is the only reason I came into the office to do a few things that I could have otherwise accomplished in a few minutes. Everyone who works here has a key to get in on the weekends, but evidently few ever actually come in. Or, at least this is what I gather from having witnessed the publisher’s wife with her hair up in a sloppy bun and no make-up on. She clearly wasn’t expecting company. She’s one of those who’s always done up if she’s to be seen by people she knows (We can add this fact to the list of things I don’t like about her). I pretended like I didn’t notice that she looked shabby, but I could tell she was shaken up nevertheless. I wanted to say, “Don’t worry—I never think you’re attractive. Make-up or not.” Seriously though, she is the epitome of everything that scares me about marriage.
It was only a couple minutes before I sat down to check my emails that both girls came up and tag-teamed me with the questions (imagine the twin sisters in The Shining for reference):
“What are you doing?”
“What’s your name?”
“How do you know my daddy?”
These questions were legit ones and only slightly annoying. I only became annoyed when it dawned on me that I was essentially babysitting them while their mother went about her business. I'm sure it wasn't her intention, but I still made a mental note to tack my babysitting fees onto my next paycheck (as if I have that ability).
Things took a turn for the worse when I started ignoring them. I’m not really good with kids per se, but moreover, I wanted to get out of the office as soon as possible. In other words, their presence alone was annoying the hell out of me.
The girls were obviously not happy that I was ignoring them. So they threatened to fire me:
“Do you want me to tell my mom to fire you?”
“Bring it,” I told them, followed by an arrogant, “I’m the best thing that ever happened to this place.”
The publisher’s wife walked into the room at this point and, before the Shining sisters could peep out their demands to their mom, I informed her that they tried to fire me. At this, she was absolutely mortified. I was actually surprised at her reaction seeing as how it was that of a half-civilized human being. She apologized profusely for her daughters' rude behavior and escorted them out of the office. At this, they turned around to get one last look at me—the winner—and I stuck my tongue out at them as a consolation prize.
Let's just hope they don't start haunting my hallways at home. I already have a loud roommate and needy cat to deal with.
By the way, only three and a half more days.
A short detour from my usual office anecdotes...
I’ve always been a huge fan of religion, but never of the people who represent it. My family is very scientific in their approach to religion. We like to learn about it, but not necessarily to follow it strictly. We view it as a history lesson with important implications for living, i.e. not reproducing the mistakes of others, good over evil, etc…
For instance, my uncle does extensive research on world religions, gives associated lectures, teaches courses and has been writing textbooks on his subject matter for as long as I can remember. To summarize years of this research in just a couple of sentences, he hypothesizes that there is a common thread that ties all religions together; that ultimately all major religions are rooted in common truths. His mission is to identify that thread.
Last night I watched the History Channel’s presentation of the documentary “Exodus.” Seeing as how Moses has been my favorite Bible (Torah, for some readers) character since I was old enough to have one, I’d been anticipating this show all week. Long story short, my love for the story was only reconfirmed upon watching the 2-hour long documentary. But, my thoughts toward people who represent religion remain the same.
Peoples' actions turn me off to religion* ("Wait, your religion makes you act like this? Thanks, but no thanks.") It's quite unfortunate since, as I stated, I embrace the history.
In metaphorical news, last month I was walking through a mall in Florida with the girl I’ve been dating. Some random lady approached us dead-on and said, “Can I ask you a question?” I was surprised when my friend stopped and bought into the scam. Usually she’s got thicker skin than this and a radar for shifty sales techniqes. Essentially the lady wanted to introduce us to Dead Sea Skin Care products. She did a demonstration and my friend was absolutely sold. I told the sales rep. we’d think about it and come back. After we walked away I made fun of my girl for getting taken by such cheesy sales techniques. I told her she’d been had. She argued that she didn’t approve of the techniques either and agreed that they were tacky, but said she’d heard good things about the product and wanted to buy it. The sales lady’s gaudy tactics turned me off of the products, despite anything my friend could say.
My point is that the representatives of the product are just as important as the product itself. Many a person will ignore your product or misjudge it due to your actions.
And, this concludes today’s lesson.
*The current religious wars in the Middle East are an exaggerated manifestation of this phenomenon.
(That said, I’ll be back shortly with a story about the publisher’s kids, who unfortunately take after their mother.)
Sunday, August 20, 2006
FakeJew(ish Person): He'Brew? The beer chosen by the chosen people?
RealJew(ish Person): Yep, that's us.
FakeJew(ish Person): Who chose you?
RealJew(ish Person): Someone with some seriously good taste.
FakeJew(ish Person): Wow, that's an incredibly pompous tagline. But, since I'm an advocate of shameless self-promotion, I'm going to give it a thumbs up.
RealJew(ish Person): What can I say? My people have a good advertising agency.
RealJew(ish Person): You should write about going to Shabbat services on a Saturday and describe your adventures there.
FakeJew(ish Person): No, I don't want to make anything up. Plus, I'd probably trip over the details and it would be obvious I wasn't really there.
RealJew(ish Person): Trust me, half of us don't know the details. That's the beauty of being born into it; you don't have have to.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Happy birthday to me!
Okay, okay, it’s not really my birthday. Rather, it’s my first one-month birthday here. One might even call it an anniversary. Whatever you call it, though, it’s definitely grounds for celebration. A celebration of the fact that I still have a job!
Now, I know that most people don’t typically celebrate their birthdays and anniversaries monthly, but those of us with shorter life spans—we tend to celebrate the days that we’ve got. For instance, a dog is said to celebrate its birthday eight times per every one human year. And a wasp? If I were a wasp I would celebrate a few times per day given the characteristic 12-22 day average life span. Many a movie has been made about people who are nearing the end. What do these people do? They celebrate! As for me, I’m no doctor, but I'm going to diagnose myself with just a few more months here. On that note and by that logic, I’m sure you can agree that this celebration is truly justified.
I have to commend my boss on his impeccable timing. He must have remembered my birthday, because after work last night he called me in to discuss my pay increase. Originally, he scheduled the increase to occur after three-months, but after having witnessed my dedication to the cause, he offered to do it sooner. Clearly the man knows a good thing when he sees it. That thing about him being stingy? I take it back.
In celebration of me, though, I just want to list a few of my accomplishments over the last month:
1) Implementing a blog on our web site
2) Hiring a PR person
3) Creating an entire Jewish tabloid, you know, just in case…
4) Dealing with the publisher’s wife without losing it
5) Discovering what a Briss is, showing visible disgust and then simultaneously redeeming myself.
6) Seeing Jewtopia
7) Eating lox on a bagel.
8) Driving SuperJew to quit (I can’t really take credit for this, but I would really like to)
9) Almost being an expert on a morning show yesterday.
10) Remaining gainfully employed
I’d say that all of these are cause for celebration in their own rite.
Number 10, however, is especially impressive. One might even say it’s the icing on my well-deserved birthday cake.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
This guy has no idea how far the effects of his actions have trickled down. I mean, if they even affect my life...
When I started here I was asked to play sort of a “consultant” role in streamlining the functions of the magazine. Not only was I supposed to maximize the writers’, designers’ and account executives’ potential, I was also asked to “shape-up ship” in terms of giving the office more of a “magazine feel.” I understood what the publisher meant from the get-go, given that the office contains not an ounce of professionalism, or journalistic aspiration to boot. The picture was complete when the secretary who reeks of cigarettes told me that everyone who works here is a family friend's son or daughter or cousin or something of that nature. Well, no wonder it’s not professional - these people are capitalizing on their connections. It’s like an entire office of interns who snuck in the back door. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it an unwritten law that everybody is supposed to hate those people? Well, my office is composed of them. I'll let you make your own conclusions about my angst.
Coming in with experience from larger city magazines with subscription bases twice as large as our entire circulation, as well as from a niche magazine with aspirations of national recognition, my initial observations were that this magazine needed to put its name on the map. Sure, the community who reads it when it arrives in their mailbox is familiar with it, but they only read it because it’s there – covering up the coupons they plan to clip later. And while this certainly does appease our advertisers (also small time, community-oriented, etc…); it does nothing in the way of attracting national advertisers who are willing to pay top-dollar to be placed next to good content. National advertising was one of my primary objectives—one that would necessitate broader coverage and name recognition for our publication. Thus I convinced the publisher to hire a part-time marketing and public relations executive during my first week here.
My instructions: “Create leverage for us.”
Her responsibilities are general: Write issue releases, press releases and pitches; feed them to the media, try to book segments and position our magazine as an expert on whatever they’ll buy into. She and I agreed on the following motto: Even if we’re not already experts, we'll say we are, and we’ll be experts by production time. It’s been working out beautifully. So beautifully, in fact, that she booked us a segment today for a morning show! The office was buzzing and I had picked out a small team of a select few I’d have with me. I've been walking around the office glowing, telling colleagues to contain the papparrazzi and offering my autograph on their rough draft article proposals. On the show, I was going to be the “expert” and the others, my support.
Fast forward to this morning. Some jerk admits to “being with Jon Benet Ramsey when she died,” thus canceling our segment until later notice. I’m not an idiot. I know what “later notice” means. It means next August when the news is slow again (Hell – how do you think we got in??) What this means is no leverage for the magazine and the same shitty advertisers as always. And I would be fine with said shitty advertisers since they pay their bills and mine, but really, let’s do something about the ugly ads, okay?
Look, psycho killer dude, the world was fine wrongly assuming that Mr. Ramsey did it in the basement with a rope. Can you stop thinking about yourself for a minute and let the rest of us live our lives? Thanks.
If you need me, I’ll be on the phone with the owner of the Italian restaurant telling him why his three-colored picnic tablecloth-lookin’ ad can not go by the article about Dubai’s famous hotel.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
I had the opportunity to go with a friend of mine to the Reebok Sports Club for the first time this weekend. He's one of the few team members who compose the "Go-to Jewish Friends" group I organized after getting this job. He's been bragging about the facilities at his gym for as long as I've known him, but he didn't invite me until I admitted my slight infatuation with JAPs (Jewish American Princesses, i.e. snobby Jewish girls). I should add that when I did tell him this, he acted as if I had lifted a small weight off of his shoulder: "Dude, you can have them." Here a light bulb seemingly went off in his head and so was born my invitation to the gym: "You should go to the Reebok Club with me. The place is absolutely crawling with JAPS. I've seen Beyonce there once or twice as well."
Well, as it turns out, I wasn't exactly interested in seeing Beyonce. I wanted to meet a needy, whiny, self-involved Jewish girl, make her fall in love with me and then rock her world when I tell her I'm Catholic. Okay, so at least the first part's true. My first thought was that these kinds of girls wouldn't work out. After all, the very term "work out" implies, well, work. As far as I can tell, work is taboo to a JAP.
My instincts were correct. While JAPs indeed go to the gym, working out is not at all involved. The following pictures are re-enactments of what I there found. Thanks go to my model--also a component of my "Go-to Jewish Friends" group--who asked not to be addressed by name.
The JAP must always be reading a magazine while on the mats. One, because this negates the fact that she is actually engaging in work. And two, if another JAP were to see her actually 'getting into' her workout; she would be the laughing stock of the community. I don't know why this is; I just know that it is. If a JAP truly needs to workout, she does so on her own time. The gym membership is just for decoration. Oh yeah, the JAP always wears high heels when she works out.
The JAP must always seem disinterested with her environment. She can not be amused and she is never entertained by what she is doing. Her attention has to be elsewhere. Thus, it is no wonder that a cell phone is the JAP's best friend while at the gym. And, as my friend would further claim: in the bedroom, at dinner or at a movie. The JAP's cell phone is essentially glued to her face as an escape route for the undeserving reality that surrounds her.
A JAP walks, not runs, while on the treadmill. This allows her to tend to more important matters, i.e. herself. See how our model here is grooming her nails with the file. A nail file is an essential prop found in a JAP's gym bag (see Exhibit A for other essential JAP gym bag contents)
Our last installment of the JAP workout is 'Stationary Bicycle JAP' Stationary Bicycle JAP is the epitome, nay, the prototype of all that Workout JAP strives to be: Disengaged, self-involved and non-working. She achieves this goal by paying strict attention to a key area on her body (her leg in this picture). This allows her to avoid eye contact with others. Notice how she is actually using the bicycle for support! The only reason she even rests her foot on the peddle is because it works to bring her leg higher so that she does not have to bend over too far while shaving. Yes, shaving. Her back is virtually upright, whereas any other girl bends over while showering to complete the task at hand.
After witnessing such absurdities, my friend asked me if I was still infatuated with JAPs.
Me: Are you kidding me? I just created 4 new JAP Barbie© dolls* and the beginnings of what will soon be an international "workout" sensation**. I'm going to be rich!
Him: You better be, because you'll never get a chance with a JAP if you're not.
* Mattel© :You know where to find me.
**Look out Billy Blank. There's a new sheriff in town.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Not that I'm, by any means, looking forward to the sad occasion that can, in all sincerity, only be likened to a second "Doomsday," here's a subtle countdown to SuperJew's last day:
Note: I'm working on the new exercise trend I mentioned yesterday, but will have to postpone it yet another day. Despite my better judgment, the:
...is still taking up all of my time.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Sorry for the delayed post this morning, I'm busy editing the:
Oops, I mean the:
On a more uplifting note, however, I'll be back tomorrow to "oohh" and "awe" you with a new Jewish exercise trend I discovered over the weekend. You will not be dissappointed. Promise.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Chicken or Fore?
Ah, the Jewish inside-joke. And here I am trying to learn about tzitzis and Shabbat and High Holy Days and Nova lox on a bagel, when what I should really be doing is getting in on the inside-jokes. Knowing inside-jokes is key to fitting in with any group of people you don't fit in with...if that makes sense.
This occurred to me yesterday when someone said, “Don't ever buy gribanis from a mohel" and everyone laughed.
I was only halfway there. I was familiar with the whole mohel thing from my little run-in with Dr. 90210, but what the hell is gribanis?
According to my "go-to" Jewish friends, it’s chicken skin and it’s cooked with onions. Why is this funny?
Chicken skin looks like foreskin. If you buy it from a mohel...well, you get it.
Fortunately for me, when I didn’t laugh my colleagues probably just assumed that I didn’t think it was funny. I’ve said it before, but I’ll reiterate my theory that my coworkers think I’m just an ‘outside of the box’ thinkin’ Jewish man. I am simply not amused with the kitschy things that some find entertaining.
Of course, this is not true. I like the kitsch as much as the next guy. So on that note, I sent out this note to all of my Jewish friends, requesting the kitsch be bestowed upon me (their responses below):
From: Not Chosen
Date: Aug 10, 2006 5:01 PM
Subject: Hello, My Jewish Friends...
To: Members of the Tribe
I am looking for any Jewish "inside jokes" you might have. I need them desperately if I’m going to make it here.
Today I heard the line, "Don't ever buy gribanis from a mohel." If you have any other little sayings or Jewish-related puns, idioms, anecdotes, etc, please send them my way.
Thanks for you help, Chosen ones...
From: One of the Chosen
I hope you don't plan on misusing these - it would be a 'shanda fer de goyim.'
Btw, that gribanis line is from Mrs. Doubtfire – not Jewish, but still funny. The rest of that line ("never buy...) is "...too chewy."
You know the one about the guy riding a plane next to a beautiful woman, right? She remarked that she had read that Native Americans were best endowed and that Jews made the best lovers. Then she asked what his name was. His reply: Tanto Goldstein.
You want an inside joke? How about the one about how we secretly run the world. It's so inside we're not even in on it. I mean if it were true I'm pretty sure I'd be sitting on an island right now and Israel would be sending the katyushas back to Lebanon with 'mind bullets.'
Man, I feel like there's a million just not coming to mind at the moment. I'll see if i can dig up any more.
So how are you doing over there?
From: One of the Chosen
Date: Aug 10, 2006 6:06 PM
Subject: RE: Hello, My Jewish Friends...
To: Not Chosen
Not sure I can top the gribanis line...That one made me crack up. Here is my funny anecdote...
While swimming in Lake Kinneret in Israel at the age of 13, I noticed a group of older Israeli guys (pre-army) tossing a watermelon in a circle. One of them must have noticed me looking because he threw the watermelon my way, creating a mini cannonball effect. As I struggled to pick up the Vaseline-laden fruit and return it to them, I started to notice all the guys inching closer in the water. I finally tossed the damn thing back and the guy in the front quickly sent it flying back to me again as he made his way towards me. "You are American?!" he smirked. "Um, yeah" I muttered, now fixated on the task at hand. "I speak, but lo maspik" he replied. Fully translated, that means "I speak, but not enough." Clever play on words I thought, as I triumphantly launched the giant watermelon over my head and back at the ever-approaching posse of Israelis. It was at this point that I noticed that they were all chanting "I speak, but lo maspik. I speak, but lo maspik" like drones at a Yankees game mindlessly chanting "hip hip Jorge! hip hip Jorge!" Then the ring leader spoke again. "My name is Gabi. It means touch me in English." Unsure of how to respond, I doggy paddled for a few seconds looking stunned before settling on an exit strategy. Later, when I related the day's events to my friend at the time, who has a much better grasp of Hebrew than I do, she cackled. "I never really thought about it! That's actually what Gabi means!"
Ok, not sure if that's what you're looking for, but I think it's funny. Definitely ranks up there as one of the best pick up lines I've ever heard. If I think of anything else I'll let you know.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
In a strange turn of events, SuperJew marched into the publisher's office this morning, closed the door and gave him her few-week notice. It is assumed by witnesses that one of her Hollywood contacts finally came through for her and offered her a job that doesn't suck. Sources say that she got a job as a journalist with a TV network. I'll continue bringing you the updates as they arrive. This is all happening as we speak.
Relevant interviews reveal that the publisher isn't fazed a bit. In fact, he wanted to let her go because, and I quote, "I never knew what the hell she was doing anyhow." Evidently she was not producing articles as fast as the other staff writers and her ideas flat out sucked. You might recall that she wasn't necessarily a visionary either, providing a California publication with her opinion that iPods would never replace Cds. Sucker.
So, why didn't the publisher get rid of her a long time ago?
I'd say that's a fair question. I candidly interviewed the older secretary who reeks of cigarettes, seeing as how she's been here since the beginning. She told me that the publisher didn't fire SuperJew because she was Jewish. Wait, what? Everyone here is Jewish.
"Yep, he's never fired anyone. Most of these people are sons or daughters of family friends."
It's good to know that I was hired based on merit. I feel used. Used for my Judaism! Wink. (Now I know how you girls who are hired for your looks feel: Dirty, confused, taken advantage of... I kind of like it).
As much as I dislike the hag, it will be sad to see her go. After all, I had huge plans for her in this here blog. She would've provided me with more false predictions than a Jehovah's Witness craving the end of the world; more name-dropping than a guy from New Jersey trying to get into an NYC nightclub, and more drama than a stage on 42nd and Broadway. With a mouth like that, she could have been a star. A star, I say! Let's just hope that her replacement is equally disturbing, demented and uselessly useful.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
"A knish is a Eastern European snack food, popular in Jewish communities. A knish consists of a filling covered with dough that is either baked or fried. Knishes can be purchased from street vendors in urban areas with a large Jewish population, sometimes on a hot dog stand."
At the age of twenty-seven I finally received my first knish. Most of my peers had knished way before this, some in their teens and some even in their pre-teens.
Not knowing what to expect, my friends and I used to practice knishing. We wanted to make sure we'd be well-prepared for the big day. Sometimes we'd practice by rendezvousing with Indian samosas and other times we'd practice with Polish pierogis. But it wasn't until I had the real thing that I knew what I was missing out on.
My first knish came from a girl known as Aleeza. Her name in Hebrew means "Joy," and by this, I am not surprised. Her real name is Rachel, but changed it unofficially in Hebrew School. When I didn't have lunch yesterday, she did. She gave me a knish for all to see. This was her way of showing me that she thought I was swell too.
I told Aleeza that the knishes might benefit from just a bit of soy sauce. She agreed and 'spun the bottle' right to me. We both sauced up our knishes and continued knishing all through lunch. My first knish was but a brief experience, not much by today's standards... but, at least I can now say that I have been knished.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
The silent designer left early on Friday, stating that he was going to run an errand on his lunch break. He never came back. He called in yesterday. He called in late today and said he'll be in any minute. The remaining designer (who would love to take the silent designer’s position) brought this to the attention of the publisher’s wife. This is just wrong, by the way. It’s one thing to speak to the publisher, but going to his wife is a low blow. Not only is she self-righteous, but she’s also ignorant with nothing better to do than pester her husband's employees. All of this makes for a very bad combination. As expected, the publisher’s wife welcomed the drama and responded that she will gladly tell the slacker "he's gone" if this happens again. Here she rubbed her hooves together and grew horns.
But allow me to take a step back. Reading between the lines, all of this translates into the fact that we servants get a few chances around here. If I had it my way, the designer would be fired for not showing up. The design work here is a joke. A simple Quark layout. It wouldn’t be hard to replace him. Plus, it's obvious he doesn't want to be here any longer. On the other hand, perhaps this means I’ll benefit from this whole leniency movement, i.e. maybe they’ll give me a pardon after they find out I’m not Jewish.
It will go something like this:
Publisher’s Wife: “Next time you show up to work not Jewish, your ass is grass.”
Me: “Sorry—I won’t let it happen again. I’ll show up for work Jewish tomorrow.”
I'd say that sounds about right.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Yesterday a bunch of us decided to be adventurous.
Seeing as how I usually abuse my weekends by lying around, watching TV and writing—leaving the house, to me, more than qualifies as adventurous. Even more risqué and daring than leaving the house was rendezvousing with my coworkers for lunch in Central Park.
I previously vowed not to put myself in any further compromising situations. And truth be told, this wasn’t one, but it was a risky decision nevertheless and it should’ve been considered more carefully.
When I hear “Let’s go have lunch in the park,” I immediately think “Picnic.” But, the old-fashioned kind – like with a basket, some sandwiches and if I have anything to do with it, a bottle of vodka disguised as a bottle of water. Wrong. We were going to go buy lunch and bring it with.
Anybody have suggestions? I did. (Of course I did). “Let’s go to the Union Square farmer’s market and grab some snacks and rootbeer.”
Without giving even an ounce of thought to my creative suggestion, it had been decided that we were going to go to Zabar’s on the Upper West Side. I agree, this makes a lot more sense in terms of proximity, but how they all collectively sensed this was the right decision – well that’s right up there with religious unity and the collective acceptance of a heavenly message. Or something like that.
Zabar’s it was.
As we approached Zabar’s, everyone in the group started singing its praise in various forms. A couple people simply declared how much they loved it. Another two were seemingly competing for the title of who goes there most often and a solitary competitor spoke of the fact that his parents actually know (knew?) Eli Zabar and his family. Oh yeah, "Aren't our people phenomenal?" Asked another.
“Don’t you love Zabar’s?” One finally asked me, in a move that appropriately singled me out.
“Never been,” I replied.
A collective, albeit brief, hush consumed the group as we entered the deli. I’d like to think this moment of silence was a means of paying homage to the cultural Mecca at hand, but I know it was the result of the shock that surrounded my confession.
Then, Redheaded Girl With the Annoying Long Island Accent: “You’ve never been to Zabar’s?!”
I simply repeated that, “No,” I had not. I think that my nonplussed attitude hindered the pending conversation in its tracks. Thank G-d.
But moving on to the actual point of my story... Lunch orders consisted of three Nova lox bagels, one Nova lox on Health bread, one Nova lox on pumpernickel, one Philadelphia sushi roll* and one plain bagel—toasted—with peanut butter and jelly. Oh yeah, a pre-packaged flan to boot.
It was no less than a game of ‘Which Object in this Picture Does Not Belong?’
Did I miss a memo or something?**
*Philadelphia Roll: Nova lox, cream cheese, cucumber.
**Nope. No memo. Checked my inbox this morning when I got to work.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
RealJew(ish person) - I just made matzoh ball soup and I think it's bad. It tastes like lemon.
FakeJew(ish person) - I don't think there's anything in Matzoh ball soup that could go bad. Did you put lemon in it?
RealJew(ish person) - No, that's the problem. There is chicken in it though.
FakeJew(ish person) - That's probably it then.
RealJew(ish person) - I'm probably getting Salmonella poisoning as we speak.
FakeJew(ish person) - Yeah, I get Salmonella poisoning all the time. It happens. If you have a good immune system, it shouldn't be a problem.
RealJew(ish person) - Yeah, that's true.
Friday, August 04, 2006
I asked a couple of my Jewish friends for advice regarding the blog. My main concern was,
These were their replies:
1) “I don’t find it offensive, but that’s probably because I know you and I know that you’re just a harmless lit geek.”
2) “Maybe you should lay off the blog until this whole Hezbollah/Mel Gibson thing blows over. It's kind of a touchy subject. Bad timing.”
3) “You should say ‘Jewish’ instead of ‘Jew.’ ‘Jew’ is a derogatory term if used inappropriately. You’re right on the edge.”
1) As if a male working for Avon is any less geeky than being a literature junky, jerk.
2) This morning the Today Show followed the Israel-Hezbollah war coverage with an exposé on pork. The pork exposé was longer than the war coverage. I’d say that was bad timing. My blog, on the other hand - that's more like comedic relief in a time of crisis.
3) You got it. (I remember when non-Italian kids would call me a “chotch” in junior high. If I ignored them, they’d stop because it wasn’t as much fun. You see where I’m going with this?)
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Updates from that show, The Hills, are giving me a headache this morning.
"Lauren's such a dumbass. I can't believe she would give up an internship with Teen Vogue to stay the summer with a guy who cheated on her.”
“Well, at least he said that he would support her no matter what her decision is.”
“He has to say that. It’s, like, protocol.”
Then SuperJew, self-righteously (for this is the way of SuperJew), “Oh, come on, she’s always been like that. It was obvious she was going to stay.”
SuperJew is from L.A. and seems to think she’s got the inside scoop on everything going on in the film/television industry. She calls celebrities by their first names and tries to be nonchalant when discussing someone that everyone else is mesmerized by. Kind of a “been there done that” attitude. Yawn. I’d hate to remind her that if she was as “in” as she thinks, she probably wouldn’t be working at this dive. If only I could jump into a time capsule back over to Tuesday and take over the explanation of “J.A.P.” to the Israeli girl. I’d simply say, “SuperJew is a J.A.P.” I’m sure I’d gain at least a glimpse of recognition this time around.
I found out that SuperJew is a freelance writer for one of my favorite magazines, so—jealous—I Googled her and stumbled upon some stupid quote she gave a Santa Barbara publication back in 2002. It was something about iPods not having an ice cube’s chance in hell of replacing c.d. players. Evidently she’s not as much of an insider in the technology world as she is in the Hollywood one.
Seeing as how she’s basically a Los Angeles A-lister, her brilliant idea for an article was to incorporate her industry expertise to a poll comparing what Jews and non-Jews think about Mel Gibson. “It will be, like, the mag’s own kind of Gallup poll, but not.” I vote for not.
Are you serious? We’re a monthly magazine. This story will be old news by the time we come out with the next issue. In fact, it was old news as of Tuesday. I vetoed her idea right away. She looked at me as if to say, “This is war, asshole [you don’t know who my daddy is].” I told her that I could write her story right now: Jews hate him. Christians would still see his movies. Who cares?
This made me think though that the magazine should have a blog, where we can actually break news daily if need be. Otherwise, we can use it as a medium for bitching about and discussing things that are going on in the Jewish community, like, for instance, that guy who’s going around pretending he’s a Jew in order to keep a bad job.