So, if Friday night was happy hour with the Manwhore and his legion of women, then Saturday night was my friend's thirtieth birthday. She and two other friends, who were also turning thirty, collaborated to host a three-hour open bar at a place down in SoHo. It was brilliant.

There were about 100 people crammed into a relatively small room. Once I got to the bar, I decided it would be best to stay there. I became the nucleus for everyone’s drink orders and, by default, the captive victim of some retired lawyer from Los Angeles. He also refused to leave the bar. His son was one of the guys throwing the party. It was pretty uncomfortable considering the televisions above the bar were set to bad 1970s porn, and he was a dirty old guy, who really enjoyed said programs. After a few drinks he began giving me pointers about women to the tune of, “You have to employ the pencil trick.”

The pencil trick?

“Yeah, the pencil trick. If you put a pencil under her breasts and it sticks, they’re too saggy. You want the pencil to fall.”

Stuff like that. Eventually he asked me, “Are you Jewish?” I told him, “No—technically Catholic, but Agnostic.”

He was Jewish.

“My daughter tries to pull that ‘I’m agnostic’ crap too. I tell her that she’s Jewish no matter what she believes. She can’t run away from that.”

Him and I get into my current favorite discussion, the one wherein we decide if Judaism is an ethnicity, a religion, a race or all of the above.

Here’s his conclusion:

“Like I tell my daughter--if she were to have told Hitler that she was agnostic, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He would have still thrown her into his camps. There are other deciding factors we must take into consideration.”

This was a new vantage point that I considered as carefully as was possible in my current state. I liked it. But after some more thought, I realized that it was weird that this Jewish man summoned Hitler’s decision-making skills in deciding the status of his religion/ethnicity/race. Maybe it simply backed something he already believed (i.e. Judaism as an ethnicity + religion)? I don't know--just seems like a decision he should probably leave big H out of.

I got a call from the Manwhore during work on Friday. He knows I don’t pick up my cell phone while in the office, so I let it go to voicemail. I listened to his message a few minutes later while in the bathroom. It seemed urgent, so I risked occupying the stall for entirely way too long to call him back.

Him: “Do you have a second? I have a story for you.”

Me: “Sure, what’s up?”

Here he goes into a story about one of his rival physical trainers. (Real important stuff here—I’m glad everyone in the office thinks I’m taking a shit for this).

The story is this: Friday night we had plans to go out for happy hour with a bunch of friends. One of the “junior physical trainers” from his gym planned to tag along. He wrote the Manwhore an email asking if he could bring along one of his girl friends. A dumb question, indeed, considering the Manwhore’s track record. The more girls the merrier, obviously.

A bit later, the Manwhore gets an email from evil, rival, nemesis physical trainer guy (not to be confused with junior physical trainer guy):

“Hey, I hear you’re going out with my girlfriend tonight. Hands off. Wink. Wink.”

The Manwhore, who had no idea who his girlfriend was, wrote back:

“Who’s your girlfriend? You should explain the house rules to her, big daddy. I’m not dating you. Wink. Wink.”

Of course, this led the Manwhore to gleefully speculate about what this girl must have been saying about him. After all, it must have been good to elicit such a prick-ish email.

Friday night, the girlfriend marched in and gravitated directly to the Manwhore, announcing, “My boyfriend is so mad we’re hanging out.”

The Manwhore leaned over and whispered, “What a little slut.” I left shortly thereafter but here’s the outcome:

To: Manwhore
From: Me
Subject: Re: Last Night

What happened with that chick? I forgot to ask.

To: Me
From: Manwhore
Subject: Re: Re: Last Night

The chick? She broke her BF’s rule about not touching me.

OrthoJew's new mug.

BaconJew has started yet another business. In fact, he's running it right out of the office: Selling books on Amazon. I just caught him packing up Vurt, by Jeff Noon, and putting it in a company envelope, with a company label, company tape and company postage. He just laughed when I called him on it. The guy has no fear (there's nothing more frightening than having your penis chopped at six years old, and he's already gone through that, so...). I asked him how much he would make off this deal. "$2.49," he responded. ($1.00 for the book, $1.49 for shipping). At that rate, he kind of has to finagle free shipping. Otherwise, he'd be losing money. Come to think of it, I have a few books I'd like to get rid of.

In other news, I have a theory about the Publisher's Wife. I think that perhaps a number of her royal screw-ups are purposeful. She simply enjoys making other peoples' lives a living hell. Case in point: The other day when she was out of town, she "accidentally" left her suit jacket at the airport. So, yesterday the Secretary who Reeks of Cigarettes spent the entire day calling the airport trying to locate it. Come on, you know and I know that the jacket is a lost cause, but I think the joy the Publisher's Wife got from having a personal slave the whole day was more rewarding than locating the jacket

Finally, this might just be karma that the Secretary brought upon herself. OrthoJew confided in me (me!) the other day about a minor "situation." That being, she bought her own personal mug for the office since she can't stand the thought of using the "public" mugs in the kitchen. Just a day after she brought it in, OrthoJew noticed that the Secretary had it on her desk. OrthoJew went up to her and said, "Let me know when you're done with the mug. I want to use it." The Secretary informed her that there are plenty of other mugs in the kitchen. Sheepish, OrthoJew failed to say anything to her, but has been plotting to get the mug back for days now. When the Secretary sent out a mass email today saying she'd be out because her son is sick, OrthoJew ran up and stole the cup, claiming that "I feel bad. I'm going to write my name on it high school style."

In prepping for tomorrow’s brainstorming session, I thought about how cool it would be it this magazine was, well, a different magazine. Point being, I want to do a theme issue. If this were a cool magazine I would propose a “Stereotype" issue. In it, we could mix humor and serious discussions. We could present several stereotypes, explore their origins, and make people comfortable discussing them. No more taboos. “Yeah, I’ve got a big nose and I’m cheap…and that’s okay!” Well, you see what I’m getting at.

Since this is not a cool magazine, I’ll propose something boring, like the "Israel" issue or the "Heritage" issue.

However, I am willing to let HEEB steal my idea if they want it. No really, HEEB—if you’re out there—you should consider it. Then again, maybe you’ve already done it?

Shown Above: Me, doing something very doctor-esque

Yesterday afternoon the Publisher's Wife managed to trump herself. No, I didn't know this was possible either. As you know, last week she called me to bitch about something during my lunch break. Yesterday, to my chagrin, she wasn't in the office. However, at about 4:30 she called to speak to me. I was in the restroom at this precise moment, but true to form I heard a knock at the door. "Out in a minute," I yelled. Here I heard the door open, followed by a woman's voice. It was the Secretary: "The Publisher's Wife is on the phone. I told her you were in here and she told me to come get you." Needless to say, what she was calling about was not important at all.

And this prompted me to do a little research concerning my earlier diagnosis. Here's what I found:

Symptoms of Menopause:

"Women gain an average of a pound a year after the age of 40."
This is an understatement. Check!

"Low sex drive is a common finding at menopause. Often this can be treated by testosterone supplementation."
Seeing as how she's an aging Jap, this has probably always been an issue. In regards to testosterone supplements, if she's taking them then that even further explains her five o'clock shadow. So, check!

"Those infamous hot flashes are one of the first signs of menopause they are difficult to treat but are usually short-lived."
Previously discussed. Check.

"Women who suffer from PMS (Pre-Menstrual Syndrome),PMDD (Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder)or depression are more likely to experience mood swings during menopause."

If there's supposed to be an upside, I haven't seen it yet. No check here.

"Memory Problems. Did you ever find yourself looking in the closet but not knowing what you are looking for only to remember what it was when you got back to the kitchen? You are not alone."

Considering the size of her tuchus* she has clearly been back and forth from the kitchen, and no she is not alone. That thing is a lifelong companion. Checkkkk!

In my professional opinion, she should discontinue coming to work indefinitely. I would hate to find out this stuff is contagious.

*Jewish vocab alert

Since the Manwhore can't read or write, here's an informal yet proprietary interview with our Monday star:

Me: What the hell happened to your hair?
MW: I need to get it cut.
Me: Yeah, you think? You look like Sonic the Hedgehog.

Me: What's up with the Puerto Rican?
MW: Chillin'

Me: What's up with the Israeli Girl?
MW: Same old.

Me: What's up with the Greek Girl?
MW: Her sister is smokin'. Have you seen my new client?

Me: I think you photoshopped that picture. I've seen her before and she wasn't cute.
MW: That's because I've been training her.

Me: You're like a low-bill plastic surgeon, molding chicks into shape so you can sleep with them.
MW: I like her for her personality.
Me: Clearly.

Me: Are you coming over for Halo Tuesday?
MW: I'll be there.

The Manwhore isn't much of a conversationalist. He refuses to share tricks of the trade, but if you'd like to write in a question for him, he promises to answer it with as much titillating detail as he provided above.

The Mystery of the Publisher's Wife's Attitude Problem: Solved

One of the girls in the office was fanning herself off because it was especially hot in here today. She cited, "I'm going through menopause," as the reason for her sudden hot flashes. (Note: She's 24, maybe 25)

The Publisher's Wife replied, "You and me both."

Yeah, you think?

(And thus was revealed the mystery that could previously only be explained by a closet cocaine addiction and subsequent withdrawal symptoms, to be quite frank...)

The chick at the bagel shop is finally onto me. I've taken up eating lox & bagel over the past few months (yes, a hazard of the job, but I should note that I'm the only one in the office who eats these things regularly so maybe the stereotype isn't completely true--but who cares if it were?) Anyway, a few days a week I go to the bagel shop next door and get one for breakfast. They're supposed to cost $6.50 but the bagel girl always gives them to me for $2.50 and then winks. I nod and just go with it, acting like that's what I should be paying.

After about a month of this, she raised the price to $3.10, then $3.50 and then finally, today, she raised it to $4.50. While I'm still $2.00 under cost, I want to figure out why she's raising the price on me before she raises it again. I can't exactly ask her and make reference to the fact that I know I'm underpaying, or she'll start charging me full price. Am I supposed to be tipping her? Asking her out? Promising her bagel-infused sex in the storage room? This is starting to sound like a very dimented "Dear Abby" letter, so I'll stop.

I am so anxious that I even get anxiety when thinking about calling the doctor for anxiety pills.

But you must understand, the last time I visited Doc, he cussed out the people at my insurance company while I was sitting there; told me 6 very unfunny Polack jokes, and discussed “ass goblins” amongst other medical terms.

The Publisher’s Wife, however, is the primary cause of my anxiety. There are a hundred reasons why she stresses me out (the core reason being that she is innately annoying), but her ability to cause me anxiety is another story. This has been going on for a few weeks now.

Let’s use yesterday as a case study. First off, she had lunch with two of our main clients. Two clients whom, I might add, I work with on an almost-daily basis. Two clients whom she rarely works with and with whose accounts she is completely unfamiliar. Why wouldn’t I be invited? Well, obviously I didn’t want to go, but it made me curious: Is my job in jeopardy? It’s a legitimate curiosity considering she’s been coming to look at my computer screen as of late, asking what I’m working on.

Anyway, seeing as how I had no plans for lunch, I took our paper supplier up on his offer to go to Italian near my work. Considering the idiom, there’s “no such thing as a free lunch,” I’m assuming he continually treats me to lunch because he wants to continue doing business with us. Although, I’m pretty sure he's lacking in the friends department as well.

Within five minutes of sitting down, the Publisher’s Wife called my cell phone to bitch at me about something she wanted me to do when I got back. That is my solitary hour a day to breath and not think about work and she ruined it (I rarely even take lunch, so it was even worse). I had ordered some tea, which I promptly swapped for a gin on the rocks. She is so not pleasant. I sat there tense, furrowing my brow, picking at my nails. The printer looked at me and said, “Let me be frank with you, you are not getting paid enough to be putting yourself under this pressure.”

We discussed what was going to happen when I returned to the office. I told him that if she threw one of her temper tantrums, I was out. We discussed the implications of that move and they aren’t pretty considering I basically have no money saved up and, furthermore, half of Time Inc’s editorial staff has been fired so it would be virtually impossible to get a job at an NYC publication right now. Nevertheless, he convinced me that it wasn’t worth it [to stay here] and I agreed. Given all of that… the Publisher’s Wife was oddly pleasant when I returned (probably satisfied with the thought of having ruined my lunch). Of course, today is another day ad infinitum.

(I just have to keep asking myself, “What the hell does she do here anyway??”)

BaconJew—weighed down by the guilt of being called, well, BaconJew—opted to give turkey bacon a whirl. The verdict?

“Tastes like smoked deli meat.”
“It doesn’t even leave grease in the pan.”
“It’s pre-cooked. I could eat it straight out of the package.”
“It’s painted with food coloring so that it looks like bacon.”


BaconJew has ultimately concluded that because he’s Russian, he is not held to the same standards as his counterparts. Russians love their pork, evidently.

(To those of you who are wondering who the hell BaconJew is—he’s the one who, many months ago, declared that he still remembers his bris since he was six when he had it. He had to wait until he migrated here from Russia to be circumcised).

As you can imagine, OrthoJew does not agree with BaconJew and she wasn't afraid to say as much. Do I really need to tell you how the lecture went?

It, just like this post, was not very interesting.

It's funny the things that can bring an otherwise miserable married couple together.

This morning, for instance, the Publisher's Wife received a seven (seven!) page letter from an advertiser detailing how rude and incompetent she is...amongst other things. Unfortunately, I haven't yet had a chance to see the actual letter, but since I sit within arm's reach of the Publisher's office, I can hear everything. The Publisher has oddly taken more offense at the letter than his wife and has been calling up everyone he knows to complain about it. Here are some of the highlights:

"She is unfit to be around kids." (The Publisher's rebuttal: "She's the best mother my children could have.")

"She yells at people as a means of communication." (The Publisher's rebuttal: "She was yelling at him to calm down because he was freaking out about something!")

"She writes out 'G_d' in emails." Examples: "Thank G_d" "Oh, my G_d" (The Publisher's rebuttal: As if he's some kind of an angel, always trying to weasel out of payments!)

"She treats her staff like they're slaves." (The Publisher, not surprisingly, did not argue here)

"She's unpleasant and is always complaining about someone." (The Publisher's rebuttal: "That's the pot calling the kettle black." Note: He didn't deny it)

"She's often inappropriately dressed to conduct business." (The Publisher's rebuttal: "What the hell is she supposed to wear to sell an ad? She can wear sweat pants for all I care." Note: Why is she selling ads in the first place? Oh yeah, because she fired two of our three ad sales people)

Since I'm relying solely on regurgitated hatred, that's all I've got right now. It's funny to see this couple come together to combat the only thing they actually have in common: hatred. Furthermore, I should add that the Publisher's Wife is totally guilty of everything stated above (less the first one).

And speaking of spying on something that is none of my business, my Co-worker with the cheating father had to postpone her crackdown this Saturday. Her father was home the whole weekend. He must know that they're onto him.

Dearest Manwhore,

I have a request for the you to make a guest appearance on the site. Do you want to write a guest post? (I know you probably don't know how to read or write, but I can help). I'm thinking maybe it could be called "The Origins of the Manwhore" and you can talk about your evolution into what you are today. A "Manwhore Timeline" of sorts. Interested?

-NCJP

I wrote this on Thursday, but he hasn't responded and I forgot to bring it up to him on Saturday. He was in a bad mood because the Puerto Rican girl was mad at him. He came up to my apartment before we went out and she waited in the lobby. (When I say "lobby," I actually mean "the little space separating the front door from the stairwell")

When I got downstairs, I asked her why she was mad. I assumed it had to be her suspicions about another girl, in which case, I wouldn't blame her. But, no. Her belt, which was composed of multiple chains, had got stuck on her panty hose. She was trying to fix it and asked the Manwhore for help. Here he had stepped out of the cab and opened her door. She was pissed because the Manwhore didn't care that the whole world was going to see her in her panty hose. He said he just hadn't heard her. As it turns out, I'm still not really sure why she was mad.

Anyway, the Manwhore came up with a brilliant idea that night. He's going to start dating younger girls. After all, the Puerto Rican has two kids and way too much baggage; the Greek girl was going through a divorce, and the Israeli girl still wants him to move to Tel Aviv with her. So, how is he going to go about getting these girls? Easy, he's going to start pretending he's a model/talent scout from now on. It makes complete sense. He searches for new talent and lies to girls on a regular basis anyway. Now, he'll just get a fake business card and make it official. The Manwhore Timeline will be ever the more interesting if he goes through with it.

No can do today...

I explained to Harley a few days ago that updating has been a bitch lately. I have to write my posts in Outlook as if I'm writing the world's longest email, and then copy and paste. I'll be back Monday, but, in the meantime, read Harley's dissertation on the Jews loving Italians phenomenon.

Forget the Jap Workout, OrthoJew has a better idea.

OrthoJew rises from the dead; says something stupid.

To the office’s collective chagrin, OrthoJew has been pretty quiet as of late. However, when she broke her vow of silence this morning, it was exactly what one would expect (hope!) to come out of her mouth. After all, she'd been letting her thoughts brew some few days without an ounce of spillage.

The topic was treadmills. Her two cents were:

“Human beings weren’t built for running in place on a moving platform. They’re workers; their exercise should come from hunting and gathering.”

Hey, whatever works for you, cave woman. Superficially, though, OrthoJew’s not winning any fitness awards here. The Manwhore might even accept her as a client if she put out a little more (Sorry OrthoJew’s husband).

Later in the morning we all received a passive aggressive email from her highness:

From: OrthoJew
Sent: Thursday, January 11, 2007
To: Everyone in the office
Subject: If someone from ______ calls for me...

….please direct them to me, and not into someone else’s voicemail!

Thanks.

We all liked her so much more 24 hours ago.

Cheating Sees No Color, Religion

I’ve gone back and forth regarding posting about the girl in my office who is dealing with her cheating father.

Usually my conscious is pretty clear about dishing out the dirt on my co-workers, but I actually like this girl. I decided I'd go forth with the story but wouldn't tell you which coworker it is. Obviously, me giving you her fictional name wouldn’t do much in the way of helping you identify her, but every now and then I think that a reader or two might just know where I work, but are doing me the favor of keeping mum on the subject to save my ass. If so, they might also know who I work with. (Thank you, by the way, if you are doing this) Another reason I wasn’t going to post this is because I’d always heard that Jewish men were known as being faithful, so I didn’t want to burst my female readers’ collective bubble (Having sisters makes me sensitive to chicks' feelings). As it turns out, however, there are always exceptions to the rule. Sorry ladies.

Here goes. Coworker and I haven’t been talking a lot lately (not for any particular reason) but she approached me on Monday and said, “I need to tell you something personal.”

Since I’m really self-centered, I assumed that it was something “personal” about me (maybe she knew about my blog or some other office gossip?) But no, it was about her. Her mother confided in her that she thought her father was cheating. They’ve been together for 30 years now. For as long as he’s had a cell phone, he has always put it on top of the TV. Lately it hasn’t been there. Also, he’s been getting up in the middle of the night to “move the car.” For those of you who don’t live in New York City, sometimes this is necessary as one side of the street is open to parking during the day and then not open during the night. However, it would take him up to five hours to “move the car.” Mother asked daughter to figure out who the other woman was.

Now, you might be thinking that this isn’t enough to accuse someone of cheating, but if you’ve been with someone for 30 years, you pretty much know his or er routine. I mean, know his routine down to the most minute detail, such as whether he's a front to back wiper or vice versa. Coworker’s father, for instance, doesn’t have any friends. Yet, all of the sudden, he’s on the phone four or five times a day? Not likely. Then you have to factor in chicks and their detective-like intuition. When they know, they know. It’s tough to trick their intuition. Trust me, I’ve had to hear about it all my life with my sisters and my mom. Sometimes they’re so good they even know you’re going to mess up before you do it. There are tons of other indicators too: Coworker’s sister overheard Father saying, “You are the only one I love” to someone on the phone; Father said to Mother, “Why don’t we just continue living with each other and go our separate ways?” and Father’s EZ pass has racked up some significant charges over the past few months (mistress lives on Staten Island).

So, Coworker began the witch hunt by checking her father’s phone bills online, etc. She found out that the lady he’s been talking to is her sister’s husband’s mother. They’re basically related. Not only that, Coworker’s mother got the slut a job where they work…together. Coworker’s mother sees the mistress every day. If these were innocent conversations (average 45-55 minutes each), why wouldn’t Mistress mention to Mother that she had been talking to Father?


Coworker has instructed Mother not to say anything until she gets photo evidence, which she will then send out to everyone at their synagogue, not to mention friends and family. She also bought a recorder, with a recording capability of 32 hours, to stick under her father’s car seat. I commended her on her shady tactics. Didn't know she had it in her. The crack down is Saturday night. I’ll let you know.

Something interesting happened yesterday. No, I’m not talking about the fact that one of my coworkers is in the process of hiring a detective because she thinks her father is cheating on her mother and she wants photographic evidence (more on that later, though). Rather, I was googling a few of the names for the fictional magazine in my book and I came up with an odd result.

My query was: “The Jewish Something” and the top result was this: www.google.com/explanation.

Here’s an excerpt from the very detailed, albeit not overly long, explanation:

“If you use Google to search for "Judaism," "Jewish" or "Jewish people," the results are informative and relevant. So why is a search for "Jew" different? One reason is that the word "Jew" is often used in an anti-Semitic context. Jewish organizations are more likely to use the word "Jewish" when talking about members of their faith. The word has become somewhat charged linguistically, as noted on websites devoted to Jewish topics…”

Evidently the use of the term “Jew” versus “Person of a Jewish persuasion,” or otherwise, is a pretty serious matter. That was one of the first things that my Jewish friends told me when I started the site. I didn’t, at that point, fully realize the word’s negative connotations. Guess, this further confirms it.

Anyway, thought I’d share.

The Manwhore rejected a booty call this weekend. His excuse was that he didn’t want to travel all the way to Staten Island for an hour of sex, only to have to travel back. I mentioned that this wasn’t like him, checked his forehead to see if he had a fever and asked him why he didn’t invite the girl over to his place (it was the Puerto Rican girl)? This spawned a list of many rules one must follow to establish Manwhore status. “Manwhore-isms,” if you will:

1. Never invite a girl to your house. Always go to her place. Women get attached to “ideas of how things could be,” so if she sees your belongings and surroundings, she will have more ammunition to add to her vision of your future together. Trust me, she has one. Plus, 9 out of 10 times you have incriminating evidence of something lying around.

2. If you go to her house, avoid spending the night. This could elicit many tragedies, including, but not limited to, snuggling and enjoying a forced breakfast together.

3. Let another guy take your girl out and then go in for the close. Many girls will attempt to make you jealous by mentioning that another guy is taking them out. If you are put into this situation--rejoice!--and then tell her it’s fine; that you would love to see her after her date. This way, some poor schmuck gets stuck with the bill and you reap all of the benefits.

4. Be careful with tactic #3. The girl might start liking you more because you’re not jealous. It might be worthwhile to act just a little jealous so she doesn’t lose her confidence. It’s never fun to sleep with an insecure girl. They start doing weird things like asking you to turn off the lights during sex and mentioning that, “yes, the rumor’s true: I am the marriage type.”

5. Do not meet the parents, whatever you do. No need for explanation there.

6. Mention that you are sick of dating and are at the stage in your life where you are ready to settle down with someone. This tactic must be used the first time you meet the girl. It is absolutely NOT safe to use this any time thereafter. You see, if you use it on day 1, she could, in no way, assume that you are specifically talking about her. Day 2, however, is a totally different story. This goes back to Manwhore-ism number 1: She is creating some ideal and each new date is a new building block. The blocks will eventually build a monster. Use this method on a case-by-case basis.

7. If the girl says she’s a football (basketball or hockey) fan, run the other way! This could only mean two things: She’s picked up the habit for you (which is a sign that she’s pathetic and needy) or she has brothers who will eventually hunt you down and kill you. Seriously, beware.

I think that was it. I always tell myself that I should carry a notebook around for times like these, but I never do. It might be wise to print this list out and keep it in your pocket.

Manwhore Monday coming shortly. Just thought I’d share this ad with you in the meantime.

Harley just reminded me that what Catholics and Jewish people have in common is their guilt.

That said, here is our collective solution (via Copyranter):


This is easily the laziest and most efficient way for us to ask for forgiveness. I, for one, am putting it on speed dial.

Yesterday, our once-a-month status meeting lasted entirely way too long or I would have written. Actually, I attempted to start this post, but the Publisher's Wife kept on coming over to my desk, looking at my computer screen and asking me what I was working on. If she keeps pulling crap like that, you better believe the answer's going to be, "my resume." On that note, my New Year's resolution (I only have one) is to find a new job after a year here. I figure that I should experience every Jewish holiday and learn as much as I can before I go. Plus, a year is the minimum amount of time I like to have on my resume.

Anyway, I utilized my soapbox yesterday to again discuss boosting our internet traffic. Search Word optimization, online programs to engage readers, etc... We might be small, but we can create an illusion to the contrary. Plus, I don't think the Publisher yet realizes that his internet presence could be just as profitable as his print one. I spent a few days this week exploring sites that I admire and pinpointing the elements that intrigued me. I decided that our next initiative would be a simple, yet effective one. In the "About Us" section I want to add a "television" where each employee is featured briefly talking about his or herself. Most of the sites that have this feature belong to marketing or creative agencies. In these homemade videos, each employee is instructed to offer some totally "obscure" or "mysterious" fact ("I have a 125 pound pillow on my bed. It looks like a turtle") meant to make you think that they are a lot deeper than you and thus, very qualified to created a complex branding program for you. But that's besides the point. I started imagining what creative facts our staff would come up with to prove that they were funky, mentally-stimulated Jewish magazine workers who can effectively crank out stellar articles about the Shofar's ancient ritualistic roots...blindfolded. It will probably look something like this:

OrthoJew

"Hmmm... Something people might not know about me? You mean, besides the fact that my husband looks like a troll? That's a tough question. Oh, I know. When I was young I ate shellfish at my goy friend's house and it really disagreed with me. Diarrhea for days. Years later, when I realized that my religion prohibits me from eating shellfish, it all started making sense. My body automatically rejects non-kosher foods. It's like body and soul are in sync or something."

Silent Designer
"My dog's name is 'Dog.' I don't see the point in systematically categorizing living things by assigning them with phonemes and chronemes. By the way, I am not Asian like the above picture seems to suggest. Of course, there's nothing wrong with being Asian. I'm just not one. I have a friend who is Asian."

The Publisher

"Are you talking to me? I can't hear you. I bought myself these here handy dandy earphones so that I could block out my wife, I mean, noise when I'm trying to work. Have I mentioned that I grew up on the streets in Israel. Throw a rock at me, bitch. I dare you."

The Publisher's Wife

"Around the office they call me Queen B. You know, like queen 'B'itch. That's because I don't take anybody's shit. People might think that I'm stupid or that I don't know what I'm doing but it's all strategic. You see, if people think you're dumb, they don't expect anything from you. And that, my dear, is when you strike."

The Secretary Who Reeks of Cigarettes

"Hell, they've been trying to fire for me ever since I started, but I've got so much blackmail on this family, I could destroy their entire legacy. Now, be a dear and pass me a ciggy, honey."

The Israeli Girl

"I was born and raised in Tel Aviv. I have two kids and a husband. We live in Brooklyn. What else do you want to know? I don't get it."

On second thought, this strategy will not win us any fans.

Meet Rabbi Freud

I am pleased to announce that after two weeks of pure mediocrity and maybe even deafening silence in these parts, someone has stepped up to the plate and said something noteworthy. It was the Publisher’s Wife, bless her black, little heart.

A few facts about her:

-For a rounder woman (not fat, mind you—just well-fed), she has a very high-pitched, screeching voice. Upon seeing her, one would expect a throatier, fuller voice.

-After meeting someone (anyone), she bitches about them (we have this in common, evidently) and it’s downright hilarious. It’s especially amusing when she is guilty of doing the things she’s bitching about.

-Her sister lives in Israel, somewhere up North. The sister is currently visiting and is very odd looking. She has a flat face, wears glasses and even if her head is upright, she is still, somehow, looking at the ground. Her hair is scraggly, but her looks have nothing to do with this.

-One of her daughters had a “Christmas attack” this season. She didn’t understand why everything was decked out Christmas style. The Publisher’s Wife explained that they live in a Christian country and that the majority of people who live here celebrate this holiday. When her father, my boss, attended her dance practice, he brought in little goody bags with both chocolate Santas and gelt (chocolate coins, evidently). This was the straw that broke the little dancing camels back. “Even my Jewish father is celebrating Christmas!”

Given this trivia, it was great to hear the following come out of the Publisher’s Wife's mouth:

-After getting off the phone with someone: “Her voice is so annoying! How can anyone stand to be around her all day?” Hello, Mr. Kettle. Greetings, Mr. Black.

-“I just went to a PTA meeting and this lady kept on giving specific examples about her kids. I don’t care if Katy goes to bed at 9:00 every night. I don’t care if Rachel is enrolled in 50 sports activities.” Ironically, all the Publisher’s Wife talks about is her kids. Non-stop.

-“My sister and I are really different. I love her because she’s my sister but she’s from here and ever since she moved to Israel she speaks with an accent as if she’s a native. Oh! And when she speaks in English she puts the subject at the end of the sentence how they do it over there.”

-“I made an appointment for my daughter to go talk to a rabbi tomorrow about the Christmas stuff. He’s new and I don’t like him much but I’m sure he’ll explain it better than I can. He’s like a therapist.”

With a mother like this, I can totally understand why sending her to someone who is “like a therapist” would be a step in the right direction.

Another theory is that he's actually dating one of the Victoria's Secret mannequins

Manwhore Miercoles...

...Because it's the only way I could preserve the alliteration demanded by the Manwhore.

I'm late on the Christmas edition of Manwhore Monday only because I didn't know one existed. In fact, I was considering getting rid of his column all together until a Christmas miracle occurred. The Manwhore and the Israeli Girl have rekindled the old flame. I take full credit for this.

This is how it happened.

The Manwhore was in Victoria's Secret buying gifts for one of his four current girlfriends. The Israeli girl miraculously walked by the store and saw him. She texted him, "I hope she's worth it." The Manwhore--never one to lack a good excuse--wrote back to her immediately, saying that he was buying a gift for his sister. [In case you're wondering, his sister is the spitting image of him, chipmunk cheeks and all]. Now, while the Manwhore doesn't technically need to lie to her since they aren't together, the Manwhore interpreted her jealousy as a "Welcome Home" banner, which it basically was. He took her to dinner that night.

I asked him if he made her pay because, as I mentioned, the bastard doesn't like to part with his money.

He shrugged and said, "Of course," as if it was his normal protocol. Trust me. It's not.

I've always been curious as to what his "girlfriends" think their place is in his life. Do they know he's just with them temporarily or do they think he's is a long-term potential mate? There's no way it's the latter, right? Wrong.

I know this because, for Christmas, the Greek girl gave him a 80 GB iPod ($350) and the Puerto Rican gave him a Bose iPod SoundDock ($299). It's almost as if they know about each other and compared notes, although it's unfortunately (for you and I) not so. I don't know what the other two girlfriends got him. In fact, I don't even know that I've met the other two. I have an idea about one of them. He sent an email to my phone with a sideshot of some blonde girl in a spandex outfit. The text read: "This is my new client!" Perhaps their relationship was not developed enough to constitute presents at Christmas. As far as I know, the Manwhore did nothing for any of them aside for taking the Israeli girl to dinner. Hopefully we'll be seeing more of her.

In other Manwhore-related news, I got a call from him last night. "I just heard on the radio that there are UFOs flying over Chicago!" He sounded like a crazed man, but even so, I checked it out on the Internet. As it turns out, there actually were reports of unidentified flying objects over O'Hare, but nothing was confirmed. They never confirm anything. The Manwhore scoffed at me, "People in Mexico City always see UFOs. It's not that big of a deal." Since I know for a fact that the Manwhore isn't Mexican, nor has he ever been to Mexico, I'm assuming his fourth girlfriend is Mexican.

Happy New Year...

I'll be back Wednesday with the very belated Christmas edition of Manwhore Monday. Evidently he cleaned up even more than I did on Christmas.

Here's my Rosh Hashanah versus New Year's Eve Post from days of yore.