Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Because I didn't seem weird ENOUGH.

I’ve been tagged by a few people on Facebook (Hi, Yvonne!) to compose a list of 25 random things about me. If I did such a list on Facebook, I'd need to carefully tailor it, since I don't think my elementary school teacher (YES, I'm friends with her on Facebook. NO, I don't know why I accepted the request) needs to know about my navel ring. Or my Ryan Seacrest Thing. (We'll get to that in a moment.) So, I'm doing it here. This was the perrrfect activity for jury duty, since I'm bored senseless, and thus unable to form cohesive, well-written paragraphs. Before I begin, though, I got some emails/DM’s via Twitter asking me about the significance of the phrase “The Rural Juror” in my last post. It’s a fictitious and hard-to-pronounce movie discussed on 30 Rock, and…well, just watch this:



Now, here’s my list:

1. I cannot listen to the song “Proud Mary” without singing along. And by “singing along,” I mean, "in my approximation of Tina Turner's voice, and maybe kind of also doing Ike’s part in the beginning, in my approximation of a baritone voice. Maybe.” It is for this reason that whenever it comes up on my iPod in public, I quickly skip over it so as not to involuntarily break into my Tina impression. And no, you cannot see a video of this. There are some lengths to which I will not go.

2. I do not make the “hand phone” correctly. You know how most people do this?

I do this:



My thumb is…an antenna? I have no idea.

3. I was pickpocketed a few years ago. As a result, every time I look into my bag, even now, THREE YEARS LATER, my first inclination is always to assume I’ve been robbed again. It's kind of insane. Further exacerbating this is the fact that I hide my wallet so well every time, and in a different spot, that it’s virtually impossible to find, even on the best of days.

4. I believe there is a special place in hell reserved for line cutters and people who check their Blackberries mid-conversation.

5. I will occasionally drink the water that comes from a can of corn. I KNOW IT’S SO GROSS HOLY SHIT I CAN’T BELIEVE I ADMITTED THAT.

6. I love Tina Fey as much as anyone, but even I have to admit that I’m reaching my oversaturation point.

7. There was a time when I thought Ryan Seacrest was hot. IT WAS LONG AGO, I SWEAR.

8. The Little Mermaid is my very favorite Disney movie. In what is rapidly becoming a recurring theme for me, I can't sing the song "Kiss the Girl" without doing so in a really awful Carribean accent.

9. I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo, but alas, they’re forbidden by Jewish law. Although, considering the fact that I got my navel pierced when I was 19, the odds are good that I TOTALLY would’ve jumped on board the lower back tramp stamp tattoo train, and regretted it. So, thanks for helping me dodge that bullet there, ancient rabbis!

10. Speaking of Jewish prohibitions, I have never had bacon. This makes me very said, because I’m all about meat, smoky flavors, and crispy, salty things in general, so, I’m CERTAIN that I’d love it.

11. And while we’re on the subject, I choose salty snacks over sweet every time. My husband is the polar opposite, eschewing chips, cheese balls and the like for sour, gummy, and chocolatey candies with an almost diabetic coma-inducing level of sweetness. These two factors conspire to enable us to have the greatest snack pantry of all time.

12. Speaking of which, I do not care for pretzels. Hard ones, that is. Soft, chewy ones? DROOL.

13. I’m a good cook, but seriously have the worst, sloppiest technical prep skills ever. I chop, cut and dice like a small child would. You know, if a small child were permitted to handle sharp-ass Henckels knives.

14. Ever since having children, I cannot read/watch even the simplest depiction of childbirth without shedding at least a few tears.

15. The proudest moment of my childhood was when a question I submitted to 3-2-1 Contact magazine was published on their “Good Science Questions” page. The question? “How do scratch and sniff stickers work?”

16. The largest scar I have on my body is on my right knee, and it resulted from riding a bike down a steep hill, realizing the brakes were not working, and crashing into a parked truck. ONE WEEK LATER, I stepped onto a moving treadmill and shot off it, bullet-like, into a wall, reopening the wound, and thus further ensuring that the scar would be large, and stay with me for life.

17. I was in the National Spelling Bee (as I’ve mentioned in the past), but the word “judgment” always looks wrong to me, and I have to remind myself that it’s not spelled “judgement.”

18. I harbor secret fantasies of becoming a makeup artist as a side career. Then I realize I’d likely have to deal with brides on their wedding days, and I remember why I haven’t pursued this avenue.

19. I am one of the five people in the world who is creeped out by Robin Williams. Particularly in movies where he's mentoring and/or helping people.

20. I’ve never smoked “real” cigarettes, but I went through a brief stage in college where I smoked clove cigarettes. I’m sorry, but Chandler is right—you do look really cool when you smoke. (Fortunately, logic prevailed, and this phase was over in about a month.)

21. I do not drink enough water. By which I mean, full days will go by and I’ll realize I’ve only had diet soda and coffee/tea. I’ve, uh, got to work on that.

22. I cannot fall asleep wearing socks.

23. When I say that I have a really adolescent sense of humor, I truly mean that. (Exhibit A: THE DONG BANG GRILL.)

Am I the only person who finds everything about this article's title to be LIFE-THREATENINGLY HILARIOUS?

24. I…do not get the appeal of Sudoku.

25. Just once, I’d like to ask someone who has a mullet exactly what made them decide to just go for it.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

The Rural Juror

Okay, so I'm technically really more of an urban juror, but still. You'll NEVER GUESS what I'm doing tomorrow!



And yes! I'm bringing my eerily-similar-to-E.T.-finger with me!

(Seriously, what is up with that thing?)

(Why have I never noticed its freakiness before?)

(Whatever, it's not like I wanted to HEAL POTTED PLANTS WITH IT, or anything, I just had to cover up my name and address.)

And oh, yes, people. I'm a BRONX COUNTY Juror. Don't mess with me, bitches. I'ma cutchu.

There's a part of me that's all, "I saw the The Runaway Jury! This could be the trial of the century! Illegal jury consultants could've been tracking me for months, learning everything there is to know about me! They, via their numerous high-tech, possibly illegal listening devices, know I'm writing this right now! I AM SUPER IMPORTANT TO THIS TRIAL. Just like John Cusack was important in The Runanway Jury. And, you know, Say Anything."

And then...there's the other, more rational part of me that realizes this is gonna suuuuuuck. I'll likely be stuck in the "Hall of Justice" (which, isn't that where Aquaman and Wonder Woman hung out?) for three days, staring at the wall, while also actively trying not to get knifed. And in the event I actually do get called for a jury (horrors! HORRORS!), I'm going to have to pull a Liz Lemon.



If that doesn't elicit the desired effect (HOW COULD IT NOT?), and I AM a juror, my ideal case would involve: (a) a D-list celebrity; (b) a pimp, dressed in actual pimp clothes, including feather-topped fedora; (c) that dude from the Brady Bunch who faked a neck injury to try to milk Mr. Brady out of money, but Mr. Brady TOTALLY SNAKED HIS ASS and dropped his briefcase mid-trial, making a loud thud, such that the trickster quickly swiveled his neck, thus proving he could, in fact move his neck, AND THUS PROVING HE WAS LYING; or in a perfect world, (d) all of the above, baby.

One of my friends also suggested bringing one or both of my children with me so as to escape the possibility of getting selected, but that would, you know, actually entail bringing one or both of my children with me. So, that's out. All I know is that the jury summons specifically tells me not to wear "see through" clothing (Slynnro! Random quotation marks! They're "awesome"!), so I'm already looking forward to seeing the rest of my jury pool.

Think good, non-potential-juror-material thoughts for me, people!

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Good friends, lovely parties, and really weird crushes: AKA, my weekend.

First things first: Thank you, delurkers! I love you so, and promise to check out your blogs post-haste. And now, to address some of your comments:
  • The Tastefully Beaded Dress in my last post is Adrienne Papell from Nordstrom. Here’s a link. It’s been majorly marked down, so hurry!
  • I’d asked if you had any makeup-related questions for me to answer in future BeautyHacks posts, and man, did you guys deliver. A number of you asked for guidance on what to do about concealing under eye circles. I already did a post about that, wherein I discuss technique, post pictures, and give a giant tongue bath to the Best! Concealer! Ever!. The other questions you guys asked are now on my…Big Official List of Cosmetic Questions to Answer. (It’s a working title.)
J and I saw The Curious Case of Benjamin Button over the long weekend, and perhaps it’s the fact that the last movie I saw was so craptastic, or maybe it's some lingering pregnancy hormones (seven months later? No?) but I COULD NOT STOP CRYING. I never used to be a Big Movie Crier, but…holy shit. It was embarrassing. And with each tear that fell, I somehow became incrementally stupider. Such that this was pretty much my thought process throughout the course of the movie:

“I wonder when Brad Pitt shows up.”

“Ooh! Brad Pitt! But he’s so old. BOO!” [throws popcorn at screen]

“Get younger faster, OLD MAN!!”

“Hooray! He’s marginally less wrinkly!”

“Not…young…enough…”

“Hooray! Young Brad Pitt!”

“Their love is so beautifuuuul!” *sobs*

“No! No! He’s growing TOO young! Stop time! STOP TIME, I SAY!” *continues to sob*

So, yeah. I don’t know if that brilliant inner monologue really…sells you on the movie, but for what it's worth, I did enjoy it. And speaking of movies, I am sort of obsessed with this Hallmark Hall of Fame movie (shut up) set to air on Sunday called Loving Leah. I love, love, LOVE when movies attempt to portray Judaism, because nine time out of ten, it’s so far off from reality that it’s comical (see: A Stranger Among Us...this epic review of that awful movie is hilarious, and spot-on). Loving Leah brings us Lauren Ambrose starring as an ultra-Orthodox Jewish widow who is forced by Mysterious Ancient Jewish Law to marry her deceased husband’s non-religious brother. (I learned about this in elementary school in the context of a biblical story, but have never in my life heard of this actually being enforced.) They have nothing in common! They’re only doing it to make their families happy! I wonder what shall happen! Oh, and it also co-stars Ricki Lake. Um, awesome?

And since we’re on the subject of my people, I got to spend yesterday hanging out with Ali! Yesterday, was, you know, sort of a momentous day, and not only because she came to visit. We celebrated President Obama’s inauguration at Isabel’s gorgeous home with a bunch of other lovely people (including Torrie and her beautiful family), and cupcakes.

At Isabel's party

Per my begging, Torrie attempted to teach both me and Ali how to actually use our cameras, but I was distracted by an intense discussion about my necklace with her daughter Willa, so my pictures will continue to be…what they are. Which is “eh.”

After the party, Ali and I roamed around the city, and I proceeded to get us lost in our sojourn to J. Crew (I blame YOU, iPhone). We then apparently fell into some sort of black hole, as we walked well over 10 blocks without finding a Starbucks in which to sit and warm our frozen extremities. We finally arrived at one (AFTER GIVING UP AND GETTING IN A DAMN CAB), and let me tell you it was worth the hassle, because it was there that I learned two very important things: 1) The Berry Chai Latte is delicious, unlike other Starbucks drinks I’ve tried lately (I’m looking at you, London Fog Latte); and 2) ALI AND I BOTH HAVE WEIRD SECRET CRUSHES ON ED HARRIS.

You know how you think you know a person, and then you discover something awesome that makes you love them even more? Yeah, that's what the admission of an Ed Harris crush does to me, apparently. And since we haven't played that game in a while, who are your weird crushes of late? Mine are Ed Harris (obvs.), Seth Rogen (the heart wants what it wants, people!) and John Malkovich (I know. I KNOW. He has a quality, okay?)

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

I predict I'm going to lose and/or scare most of you at the "Jackie Chan Adult Film" portion of this post

This is one of those posts where I sort of catch you up, but also drink wine while writing said post, just to make it more interesting. Mmm, delicious Cabernet!

This past weekend was my little brother’s engagement party. I say “little” in the figurative sense, seeing as he is well above six feet tall. Perhaps “younger” would be the better adjective here. Anyway, I had fallen in love with this dress a while back...

...but after consulting with the family prior to the event, learned the Fanciness Level of said party, while Elevated, was not at the Tasteful Beading Level necessitating the purchase of this dress. BOO. Anyway, I pulled it together in time, and remembered this dress, which I’d purchased in the summer, but never worn.

Now, the thing about this dress is that it is basically the embodiment of all that is Mad Men, without all the adultery and mental illness. Consequently, I felt that I wanted—nay, NEEDED to find some red lipstick to go along with the chic little dress. Now, I haven’t worn lipstick in about a decade, and red lipstick in particular inevitably makes me look like a vampire whore, so this was a pretty steep order. Fortunately, one of the lovely Sephora helpers took me under his sparkly gay wing, and set me right. We tested a number of shades, and at last we found my color. He pronounced my lips to be divine, and swore up and down that I wouldn’t regret the purchase. And you know what? I don’t!

Yes, it's a bit dramatic, and I’m not saying this lipstick will be an everyday thing, but it’s always nice to mix up my look a little, and somehow NOT look like a vampire whore for once. (Or so I’d like to believe.) All in all, the dress and the makeup (and my cougar shoes! Can’t forget those!) seemed to work. Hooray!

If only I’d made a resolution to try something new, I could cross this off the list. SON OF A BITCH.

Oh, and the shade, by the way, is Nars Shanghai Express (a “semi matte warm brick red”). Though…I keep calling it “Shanghai Surprise”, which sounds like either a Chinese restaurant item, a sex act, or a Jackie Chan movie. Or, you know, a Jackie Chan-themed adult movie taking place in a Chinese restaurant. ANNNND, there’s the wine talking.

(Now that I’ve sufficiently frightened you, such that you will never take my beauty advice ever again, won’t you please go check out my latest BeautyHacks post on makeup brushes?)

Speaking of things I’ve been drinking lately, I recently tried Starbucks’ new London Fog Tea Latte. Now, I’m a big fan of their Vanilla Chai Tea Latte, and pretty much all of the drinks they make. (And I do mean that; I have a Starbucks in the lobby of my building, so I’ve basically tried everything. ENTRAPMENT!) This drink...just wow. Picture the foulest perfume you’ve ever smelled. Now add the smell of milk juuuuust on the cusp of turning. Toss in a touch of Earl Grey, and you have…The London Fog Latte! AVOID AT ALL COSTS, PEOPLE.

Also, I’m probably the last person to discover last.fm, but HOLY AWESOME. The only downside is that occasionally (like today) it will randomly play a song by Live. Specifically, A song by Live called “The Dolphin’s Cry,” which contains the worst lyrics ever put to paper by the hand of man. Lyrics like "swoon of peace,” “rose garden of trust” and “life is like a shooting star/it don’t matter who you are.” I just kept LISTENING to it, because it was just that bad. And then? I downloaded it so I could LISTEN TO IT SOME MORE. I’m pretty sure that’s a sign of some sort of sickness, no?

Oh, and because yesterday was evidently Delurking Day (and I am fashionably late!), won’t you please...do so?

If you need more specific direction, please feel free to share with me:

1) The worst song currently stuck in YOUR head.

2) Whether or not you also think Sir Topham Hatt is a massive tool. (The highest praise he can come up with for the trains is “very useful?” Really? REALLY?)

3) When you are throwing a party fancy enough for me to justify the purchase of Tastefully Beaded Dress, and also whether or not I can attend this party.

4) Any makeup/product related question you’d like me to address in the future on BeautyHacks. Just nothing about liquid eyeliner. I think we all know how that worked out for me.

5) Or, you know, just say hi.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

UPDATED: Ask a Jew! Episode 3: The Definitive Jewish Wedding Guide (according to me)

It’s time for another rousing edition of Ask! A! Jewwww! In past such posts, I’ve answered all manner of Jew-related queries, but this one is special: I noticed I was getting a lot of questions about Jewish weddings, so I opted to reserve all those questions for one dedicated post. I warn you in advance, it’s going to be long, but it is my hope that by the end, you’ll pretty much be able to conduct a Jewish wedding service with your eyes closed.

So pull up a chair (which will be hoisted into the air by four burly men, but more on that in a bit), pour yourself a glass of syrupy-sweet wine, and read on:

Before I get underway with the actual wedding process, I’ll answer a few of the non-ceremony-specific questions:

When it comes to putting on yarmulkes at a wedding, what is the proper behavior for non-Jewish men?

I think it comes down to deference to your environment. I liken this sort of thing to when Barack Obama visited the Western Wall in Israel and donned a yarmulke, or, even on a non-religious scale, if you go to an authentic Japanese restaurant, you take off your shoes. As far as I know, the respectful thing to do is to put on the yarmulke.

It's not typical for the ceremony to be held at the synagogue, right?

You know, I was asked this a lot and there’s absolutely no prohibition against it; I think the confusion is this: In our custom, for whatever reason, the ceremony and reception take place in the same location (as opposed to a Christian wedding ceremony taking place at a church, and then having the reception at a separate hall). Since a lot of synagogues aren’t equipped to handle a party of that magnitude, most people get married in a larger venue instead (for instance, I got married in a country club), and that’s perhaps where the whole “no synagogue” perception came about.

I would like to know about dresses at Jewish weddings: they must be long-sleeved, no? (My source: Say Yes to the Dress!)

I’ll say this: most Orthodox rabbis will not perform the service if the bride isn’t dressed “modestly.” Obviously, that’s a subjective term, and my (long-sleeved!) dress would have been considered Grade-A ho material in a more religious community, as my collarbone was showing. Basically, if I’d have gotten married in the summer, I’d probably have gone with a sheer-sleeve dress, or something with cap sleeves, but since it was November, I opted for the classic long sleeve look.

What's the deal with carrying the bride around on a chair?

The only explanation I’ve ever heard for this (NOT AT ALL TERRIFYING) custom is that the bride and the groom are like royalty on their wedding day, and should thus be hoisted up like a king and queen. Don't I look queenly?

I'd love to know what the ceremony looks like structure and vows-wise.

The bulk of this post will revolve around this oft-asked question. (I've also worked in a number of other questions you asked--such as the reason behind the bride circling the groom seven times, the placement of the ring on the index finger, etc.--here.) I’ll be answering this from the Orthodox perspective, since that’s what I know best. (Please feel free to chime in the comments if you had a different type of ceremony/know of additional info related to any of these questions!)

Intro

Let’s kick it off with the morning of the wedding. For starters, the bride and groom (who haven’t seen each other in a week) wake up in their respective homes. Then, if they are Ashkenazi Jews, they begin fasting; Sephardic Jews do not have this custom (see the distinction between the two groups from the last "Ask a Jew" post). The reason for this is that your wedding day is considered a “mini Yom Kippur” (i.e., the fast day that's the holiest day of the Jewish year). As Yom Kippur is considered a day of repentance and prayer, there is the thought that your wedding day—where two people are joining together to become one unit—is the holiest day of your life, and should thus commence accordingly. (Jonniker --The fast is broken immediately after the wedding ceremony, before the start of the reception.)

Kabalat Panim

This is the real start of the wedding. A Jewish wedding starts off like any other (cocktail hour! Smorgasbord!), but with one major difference: Once again, the bride and groom haven’t seen each other in a week, so the bride, with a great fanfare (no literally; like, there are trumpets, people) is brought into the main room. She is seated, surrounded by the women in her (and her soon-to-be husband’s) family and guests trickle by to greet her. (See? Here I am! I’m the one in white!)



The Chatan’s Tish

The groom is brought into an adjacent room, and he has his own mini-party called a “tish.” where the guests also come to visit him, as well. If you ask me, this sucks, but only because everyone else at the tish is drinking scotch and eating, and the poor groom is sitting there. Not drinking.

Tena’im/Ketubah

At the tish, two vital wedding documents are filled out: the tena'im (engagement contract) and the ketubah (marriage contract). Both of these documents are pretty much “boilerplate” (If you can call ancient Aramaic boilerplate, I guess); the ketubah outlines, among other things, the husband’s duties to his wife. Since ketubahs are the framework for a Jewish marriage; many couples view them as a thing of beauty, and have theirs specially commissioned by artists/calligraphers. Here’s ours:

The tena’im, while key, is sort of ceremonial, in that it used to be executed in advance of the wedding day, but now everything happens on the day of the wedding (even if the bride and groom have been officially engaged for a while, which, you know...they HAVE). Both the tena'im and ketubah are signed by witnesses, usually close friends of the bride and groom. Here’s J’s grandfather (and rabbi!) signing the tena’im document (I have no idea why certain of the scanned images, like this one, are blurry):



At the conclusion of the reading of the tena'im, the mothers of the bride and groom break a plate to symbolize that just as a shattered plate can never be fully repaired once it’s broken, the bride and groom should give the same time and effort into maintaining their relationship, and never let it “shatter.” (Any other explanations, fellow Jews? This is what I was always told.)

Badeken (Veiling of the Bride)

The badeken, in my opinion, is pretty much the best part of any Jewish wedding you will ever attend. The bride (whose cheeks, by the way, are damn near killing her from smiling so much), is still in the main room, enthusiastically greeting all the guests from her seat. And then! The band starts up an ancient (but rocking) Jewish song, and the groom, surrounded by all the men (who are singing and dancing along with the band), is marched in to see his bride. I know you weren’t THERE, but you can sort of see how excited I was:

The groom then places the veil over the bride. The symbolism here is that the groom isn’t only concerned with the bride’s external appearance, but rather, cares more about her inner beauty. A number of commenters have also reminded me that this act recalls the biblical story of Rachel, Jacob, and Leah where, at Rachel and Jacob's wedding, Rachel and Leah's father (Laban) tricked Jacob into marrying Leah instead of Rachel by covering Leah's face in a thick veil prior to the ceremony so she looked like the bride. (There's obviously some biblical backstory here, but I'm trying to keep this a relatively reasonable length.) Now, we have the groom do the veiling, so to speak, so he can make sure he got the right woman.

The bride’s dad (and in some cases, her new father-in-law) then blesses her with the same blessing he’s been giving her every Sabbath Eve since she was a little girl. On that note, this is me, crying, while my dad blesses me.

Everyone then dances the groom back out, and proceeds into the room where the actual wedding ceremony will take place.

Chuppah

The groom’s family and groomsmen take the standard walk down the aisle. The groom, accompanied by his parents, makes his way down to the chuppah (or wedding canopy) as all assembled guests arise. A chuppah can be simple (a prayer shawl held up by friends...Sephardic Jews usually have friends hold up the chuppah poles) or ornate, made out of vines and flowers, and/or fabric. The lovely Katie thoughtfully offered us this shot of her gorgeous floral chuppah:

My incredibly talented mom made ours:

The chuppah envelops the bride and groom from above, but is purposely open on all sides, symbolizing that the new home of the bride and groom should always be open to family and friends.

Once the groom makes his way down the aisle, it’s customary for Ashkenazi grooms to don a kittel, a white robe that’s worn in the synagogue on Yom Kippur, and, like the bride’s white dress, represents holiness and purity. The cantor (or honored guest...with a good voice) commences singing the traditional wedding blessing.

The bridesmaids, and bride's family walk down the aisle (per usual), and then everyone arises once again as the bride makes her entrance, accompanied by both of her parents.

You will note that my parents are holding candles; this is a custom to metaphorically “light the way” so that the bride and groom's new life together will be filled with brightness and light. The bride’s parents bring her up under the chuppah where she proceeds to circle around the groom seven times, as the cantor sings the ceremonial prayer.

There are a few explanations for the circling: 1) there are seven blessings in the Jewish wedding ceremony; and 2) you are commencing the creation of a new life together, just as God created the world in seven days. After the seventh rotation, the bride stands at the groom’s right hand side, and the ceremony begins in earnest.

The rabbi conducting the ceremony traditionally says some words of welcome to the guests, and explains what will happen. A few blessings are made over a goblet of wine, and the bride and groom drink from it. (Sephardic couples will, at this point, I believe, have the rabbi sort of drape them under a prayer shawl to symbolize their new union. Any Sephardic Jews out there? Help me out!)

The groom then recites his wedding vow (“Harei at mekudeshet li b'taba'at zo k'dat Moshe v'Yisrael”--"Behold, you are consecrated to me with this ring, according to the laws of Moses and Israel") and places the ring on the index finger of the bride’s right hand.

(The reason for this is that the right hand is considered the stronger one, and ancient Jews considered the index finger to be the one that runs closes to the heart. (After the ceremony, you can move the ring to the traditional spot on the left ring finger.) The wedding band is to be completely solid gold/platinum/silver and unadorned by any other gemstones to symbolize the pure, genuine commitment the couple has to each other.

You will note here that I am not wearing any other jewelry under the chuppah; the relationship is the “jewel,” and the couple should not be distracted by, for lack of a better phrase, sparkly things. The plain ring and what it represents is the focal point of this ceremony.

At this point, the ketubah (remember that from before?) is read aloud by a rabbi. The seven Jewish wedding blessings are then read by various honored guests. At this point, one final song is sung, and either a lightbulb or a thin wineglass (doesn’t matter what it is, just as long as it’s easily broken) is wrapped in fabric and placed on the floor, and the groom smashes it with his foot. (This is to symbolize that even now, at the pinnacle of our happiness, we still remember the destruction of our Temple thousands of years ago.)

And…that’s it! Mazel Tov, and let the reception begin!



UPDATED:

Mairim's comment reminded me that I left out a KEY part of the wedding ceremony, even though it technically takes place right after. After the recessional, as the bride and groom are marched out with everyone singing and dancing them, they do not proceed directly into the reception, but instead spend a few minutes alone together in the "Yichud Room." Technically, according to Jewish law, men and women are not supposed to spend time alone together (or even touch) unless they're married. HOLD UP. I know. I KNOW. It sounds insane. And much like with the hair covering question in the last post, I am JUST REPORTING THE RULE, not telling you I obeyed it. This is followed by people far more religious than me.

ANYWAY.

The purpose of the Yichud Room is symbolic-- to signify that now that the bride and groom are married, they are permitted to spend time alone together. I am sure that if you never so much as shook hands or spent time alone together prior to your marriage, this is a very moving and special time. I can honestly tell you, however, that J and I spent the bulk of our time in the Yichud Room breaking our fast and figuring how to get my dress off...SO I COULD PEE, PEOPLE. (So! Many! Buttons! And crinolines!) (I am SURE you now have questions about the rules and reasons for the whole not touching before marriage thing, so ask away, and I'll cover them in another post.)

Claire has asked about the reception, in terms of separation between men and women. (Claire, did SOMEONE see A Stranger Among Us, Melanie Griffith's seminal work, where she stars as an undercover cop in a Hasidic community and no, I am not kidding?) Once again, more religious Jews would have a divider of some sort down the middle of the room, separating the men and women's dancing. We didn't have that; everyone was all together.

Whew! Anything else?

(Oh, and thank you all for your kind words...I'm blushing!)

Monday, January 5, 2009

A poem about Rock of Love. No, really.

While I work on my Ask a Jew:Wedding Edition post (keep your questions coming!), please enjoy my poem about THE MOST DISTURBING SHOW IN THE HISTORY OF ANYTHING EVER. (Whenever I am simultaneously obsessed/horrified by a reality show, I tend to do this sort of thing):

I can’t recall where I first heard
About the wonder that is Rock of Love.
But I tell you this; I shan’t soon forget
This wonderful gift from above.

For who among us hasn’t rocked out
To “Every Rose Has Its Thorn”?
Bret Michaels would croon, the ladies would swoon
As the cowboy sang his “sad, sad song.”

But alas, Bret was lonely and the groupies grew…icky.
And were they still purty? NO.
So he filled up some buses with hooch and fake fur,
And a myriad of dirty hos.

Classy behavior took a leave of absence as the girls piled onto the buses.
Boob jobs abounded, as did minidresses and of course, extensions, galore.
There were many hot messes with talons and clear heels;
All of them bore the mark of the whore.

From among these skanks, Bret would choose only one;
A queen from among all the floozies.
If you ask me, I think he should simply choose
The "lady" who seems the least…oozy.

Because these girls look…well, how do I put it?
Their appearances give me bad dreams.
I fervently hope that our dear old Bret
Has received all required vaccines.

And speaking of Bret, what is up with his face?
Can you believe it once rocked a nation?
C’mon, even Axl knew when to say when
To guyliner and the foundation.

But back to the ladies (it’s why you’re all here).
Some of them seem to be…well, simple.
Like the girl who called herself an “animal traineress”
Or the one who seems to have PIERCED DIMPLES.

Cliques quickly formed (as they often do);
The “blondtourage” and the brunettes:
Ex-porn stars, Class-A Morons,
And a former Penthouse Pet.

I truly couldn’t believe it, though,
When a girl got totally wasted;
Puked Doritos and then kissed Brett, who said:
“It’s the best Dorito [he’d] tasted.”

I’M NOT KIDDING HERE, PEOPLE.
This really happened as I say it did.
A lady may have also served shots from her nethers;
But my memory’s mercifully faded.

I felt like I needed to shower after watching;
This show is really pretty bleak.
But then, I’d be lying if I tried to tell you
I wasn’t going to watch it next week.

Friday, January 2, 2009

This started as a New Year's recap, and ended up with a full-length review of Revolutionary Road. Uh, sorry?

Happy New Year to you all!

I know a lot of people did end-of-year posts, but: (a) I’m totally too late for that, and (b) my year can be summed up in one sentence: Had a baby, other good stuff happened, and happier and more in love with my husband and kids than ever. So, there’s that.

My one disappointment was my failure to execute my Master Plan for 2009: To spend a year doing something vaguely offbeat, and then writing what will undoubtedly be a bestselling memoir about my experience. I feel like every damn book I see lately is the charming and whimsical tale of author X doing X for 365 days, writing about it and landing atop the New York Times Bestseller List, and I want in. How hard could it be? Alas, I couldn’t figure out what to write about, and I'm already a day behind on this can't-miss plan, so the first person who provides me with some damn inspiration will get a cut of my (sure-to-be-massive) book earnings.

In other news, my New Year’s Eve was quite eventful. It began with my plan to get my eyebrows threaded at my trusted salon. Alas, New Year’s is apparently a Big Eyebrow Night, because my threader (threadist? Threadmaster?) was booked solid. And so, I did what any normal person would do in the same situation: I got a haircut, complete with thick bangs to cover up my bushy eyebrows. OF COURSE. I needed a haircut anyway, and really, if you think about it, it kind of makes sense. Right? RIGHT?

We then met friends for dinner at Solo, the restaurant where former Top Chef winner Hung (my very favorite!) serves as executive chef. I OBVIOUSLY had all manner of plans to get to meet him (admittedly cribbed from that episode of Friends where Richard gets into Monica’s restaurant kitchen, ostensibly to give his compliments to the chef, but really to PROFESS HIS LOVE SHUT UP YOU TOTALLY REMEMBER THE EPISODE TOO). I didn’t need to do anything, however, since at one point, I glanced up and…there he was, chatting with one of the servers right next to us. Alas, he disappeared too quickly for me to harass him, but it was still kind of exciting. Oh, and the food (WHISKEY MOUSSE, OMG) was fantastic.

After dinner, we all proceeded to the movies to see Revolutionary Road. While in line buying snacks, we were stopped cold mid-conversation by the middle-aged man directly in front of us letting rip one of the loudest, most brain-meltingly offensive farts in recorded history. Naturally, because I am five, I lost it, but my reason for pointing this out is that it was the highlight of our moviegoing experience that night. Because people, I cannot remember seeing a worse movie than Revolutionary Road.

Before I begin, I’m aware that my penchant for fart humor/movies such as Step Up may detract from my credibility, but the truth is, I do watch a number of critically acclaimed, well-regarded films. Those just aren’t as much fun to review. Nonetheless, Revolutionary Road is generating a ton of Oscar buzz, and I think it is largely undeserved. THERE, I SAID IT.

Without giving anything away (that’s not in the previews), this movie is a piece of shit, frankly, and a prime example of lazy, clichéd filmmaking by an ordinarily talented director. For starters, I think Sam Mendes already took on (and ROCKED) the whole "suburban ennui/things aren’t what they seem" topic with American Beauty. Why do a retread with what seems to be an easy mark? (MY GOD, WE GET IT. THE FIFTIES AND SIXTIES WERE STIFLING. BLAHHHHH. I know it’s based upon a novel, but still.) Coupled with that is the issue of watching unlikable characters be not only unlikable but needlessly mean to each other for an ass-numbingly long amount of time. I keep seeing reviews lavishing the old “brilliantly acted!” on both Kate and Leo, and…yeah, no.

From the very beginning, it’s made clear that Kate’s character- April, a failed actress- is bitter at her lot: Being a married mother in Connecticut. Her husband, Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio), while bored, is not openly cruel to her in any way. Sure, he says and does certain inappropriate things during the course of the film, but my point is that, at least to her, he shows support: He goes to her plays, he comes home every night, he doesn’t beat her…he appears to be a fairly reliable partner. All the same, she lashes out, harpy-like, at the slightest provocation. The "subtext" (in quotes because all of it is as subtle as a hammer to the forebrain) is that she’s pissed off at never making it as an actress, and is stuck in suburban Connecticut in her gorgeous home with her husband and two adorable children. I mean, BOO FUCKING HOO, LADY.

The trouble is, I understand how that can at least conceptually be the start of a compelling drama. The trouble is that there is almost NO BACKSTORY to this tale, except for a two-minute sequence where Frank and April meet at a party years before. That's it. We have no evidence of her being a gifted actress, and so we can’t mourn her lost dreams as she does—We just stand there watching her shrieking, being generally insane, and throwing furniture without truly understanding the source of her anger and frustration. Even fucking Center Stage 2 (which, yes, I have seen) sets up the story better than that.

Don’t misunderstand me-- I think Kate Winslet is a fabulous actress who has been criminally overlooked for some great work in the past, and in my mind, it sucks that she’ll likely get the Oscar for this, where she painfully overacts. I felt like every scene was so HEAVY with “here I go! Over here! Purposefully strolling to the counter! I! Am! ACTING!” type stuff, and it rapidly became hard to watch.

As for Leo, well, he and I go wayyyy back, and I still secretly love him to bits, despite his present doughy physique. But in this film, he gave us no reason to truly care about the character of Frank, or the future of his marriage to April. He’s all, “Oh, I’m special! I’m meant for more than this pedestrian, workaday world!” Yet, he doesn’t know what IT is that he wants to do. He just knows he wants out. Again, undeveloped backstory and an unlikable character plague him, but another strike against Frank’s character will be the fact that most people today are going to find it hard to sympathize for the unthinkable plight of the upper middle class guy with a steady, well-paying job.

The thing is, I guess, that I have no problem rooting for the jerk, or the bad guy, but the filmmaker has to give me a reason to CARE about the character's life; their success or failure. Here, bad things happened and I felt nothing. That said, when those bad things did happen, there was no shock, as every single “surprise” was telegraphed scenes before. Furthermore, the roles in general were so clichéd (Intrusive Neighbor! Crazy Guy as the ONLY ONE WHO SPEAKS THE TRUTH! Repressed Housewives! Collect them all!) that I actually fell asleep at one point, woke up, turned to my friend, guessed what I’d missed, and turned out to be 100% correct. Even stylistically, the movie had no flow; it was just like vignettes of Asshattery on Parade with Occasional Throwing of Chairs.

There were some positive things, like the costumes, the camerawork, and the return of Vinnie Delpino from…wherever it is that former childhood stars go. But overall, I think this film is incredibly overrated. As many have pointed out, one hour of Mad Men is a much more compelling take of the late 50’s/early 60’s life.

There, I just saved you $15. YOU'RE WELCOME.

(I kid, of course. I know this is not a popular opinion at all, but I really don't understand the hype. I solemnly promise to spare you my Ebert-like stylings going forward.)

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If you're still reeling from the New Year's Effect (i.e., CHAMPAGNE OVERLOAD), check out my five tips for looking better after a hangover.