A CHANUKAH EDITORIAL

[With Chanukah beginning at sundown on December 25 this year, this previously published Editorial Response is both timely and appropriate to the season.]

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the electronic-mail communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of Blog d’Elisson:

“I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there was no Judah Maccabee and that Chanukah is a load of crap. Papa says, ‘If you see it in Blog d’Elisson, it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth, was there a Judah Maccabee?” - Patty O’Furniture

Patty, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All they care about is that fat red-suited guy who schleps presents to Yenemvelt and back. All minds, Patty, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, goornisht, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Patty, there was a Judah Maccabee.

He existed as certainly as dedication and courage and devotion exist. He kicked some serious ass back in the day, Judah did, throwing the Greco-Syrians out of Judea and reclaiming the holy Temple. His struggle was a struggle against assimilation, against those who would be seduced by the pop culture of the day. He fought his battles so that we Jews would retain our cultural identity and not be swallowed up in the prevailing pagan mainstream. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there had been no Judah Maccabee! It would be as dreary as if there were no Pattys. (Or furniture.) There would be no candle-lighting then, no singing Ma-oz Tzur (or even those stupid dreidel songs), no commemoration of the miraculous rededication of the Temple. No Judah? We would even today be schmearing ourselves with olive oil and burning pig hearts as sacrifices to Zeus. And our Christian friends would have no Christmas - for the culture that gave rise to Jesus would have been wiped out. The eternal light - the ner tamid - with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Judah? You might as well not believe in fairies. Or the Matzohball That Does Not Sink. Or Eliyahu ha-Navi. You might get your papa to hire men to watch all the seder tables of the world to catch a glimpse of Eliyahu, but even if you did not see him, what would that prove? Nobody ever sees Eliyahu ha-Navi drink his wine at the Seder table, but that is no sign that there is no Eliyahu ha-Navi. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. (Although those footprints in the grass were more likely made by your Papa as he tried to sneak back into the house with a snootful of booze after the office Xmas party.) Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You can tear apart the knish and see the tasty filling inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Patty, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Judah Maccabee? Thank G-d he lived - and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Patty, nay, 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to chase the Greco-Syrians out of Judea and combat the forces of cultural assimilation, making glad the heart of childhood.

Happy Chanukah!

[Originally posted on December 25, 2004.]

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN CATBLOGGING

Friday is the traditional day for Catblogging - at least, it used to be - and it’s the day the Friday Ark sets sail at the Modulator. Friday is also the day when I post a random selection of tunes, dealt out by the capricious whim of the iPod d’Elisson shuffle setting.

Ah! Why not combine the two?

So, here presented for your delectation, is a Random Selection of Tunes, accompanied by a Random Selection of Kitty Pictures from the Archives d’Elisson.

1. Monkey!!! Knife!!! Fight!!! - Minus The Bear



2. Wacky Adventures of Abe Lincoln - #9 - Laurence Simon



3. When Velma Takes the Stand - Chicago the Musical, London Cast Recording



4. Way Back in the 1960s - Incredible String Band



5. Business Cards - Mitch Hedberg



6. Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones



7. Silverfuck - Smashing Pumpkins



8. Trio for Flute, Bassoon, and Piano - Chick Corea



9. Wild Night - Van Morrison



10. Immature - Björk

It’s Friday. What are you listening to? And what cat are you skritching?

MR. ENTERTAINER

The Missus is having a few of her Teaching Colleagues over for dinner, by way of celebrating the beginning of the Winter Break. And guess who’s cooking?

Yes, I volunteered to prepare Dinner for Four (excluding myself). And here’s what’s on the menu this evening:

• Hors d’Oeuvres: Mozzarella Balls with Sun-Dried Tomatoes, Scallops Wrapped in Bacon, Water Crackers
  
• Soup: Choice of Creamy Portobello Mushroom with Fino Sherry, or Roasted Red Pepper Tomato
  
• Salad: Mixed Greens, Dried Pears, and Toasted Pine Nuts in a Shallot Blueberry Vinaigrette
  
• Entrees: Flank Steak Pinwheels Stuffed with Spinach and Provolone, Roasted Salmon Filet with Potlatch Spices
  
• Sides: Asparagus Spears with Fleur de Sel and White Truffle Oil, Roasted Garlic Couscous
  
• Dessert: Petits Fours, Dark Roast Coffee

All of this washed down with lashings of Red Zinfandel, iced tea, and miscellaneous Adult Beverages.



Good taste. Damn, but we have it by the buttload. I’m not always overly philosophical about Favorite Flavors - unlike this guy - but I know what I like. And all of this stuff is just fine by me. Tasty good.

Of course, I’m not eating any of it. Not right now, anyway. But I am savoring a hearty three fingers of Macallan Cask Stength Single Malt Scotch Whisky, the better to enjoy the roaring fire I have built in the Fireplace d’Elisson.

I know what you’re thinking. “Gee, that’s a lotta work, El. What a sweet guy! What a honey! What a lucky lady that SWMBO must be! This, all of this, done for Love, and the Spirit of the Season!”

Harh.

Completely altruistic, am I? Not on your tintype. I am demanding expecting hoping for certain, ahhhh...rewards as a result of my labors this evening.



Now: time to serve the soup. Mr. Entertainer, dat’s me!

THE JUGGLER

This is what happens when you play with your balls all day long.

THE HYPNOTIST

It was entertainment night at the senior center and the Amazing Claude was topping the bill. People came from miles around to see the famed hypnotist do his stuff.

As Claude went to the front of the meeting room, he announced, “Unlike most hypnotists who invite two or three people up here to be put into a trance, I intend to hypnotize each and every member of the audience.”

The excitement was almost electric as Claude withdrew a beautiful antique pocket watch from his coat. “I want you each to keep your eye on this antique watch. It’s a very special watch. It’s been in my family for six generations.”

He began to swing the watch gently back and forth while quietly chanting, “Watch the watch...watch the watch...watch the watch...”

The crowd became mesmerized as the watch swayed to and fro, light gleaming off its polished surface. Hundreds of pairs of eyes followed the swaying watch, until, suddenly, it slipped from the Amazing Claude’s fingers and fell to the floor, shattering into a hundred pieces.

"SHIT!" said the hypnotist...

[Tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora to Mike Solomon.]

THE OFFICIAL BLOG D’ELISSON DICTIONARY,Volume 6.

Yet more stuff that should be in the dictionary but isn’t.

Previous installments of the Blog d’Elisson Dictionary may be found in the Archives: Volume 1, Volume 2, Volume 3, Volume 4, and Volume 5.

vox poopuli [voks poop-u-lai] (n) - The noise produced by the expulsion of flatus, especially when said expulsion takes place during a painful act of defecation.

Sure, you can always say “fart while taking a crap,” but I think this Latinate coinage lends the whole stinky affair a certain tone, does it not?

Let’s use it in a sentence:

“When I went to the can at Pappasito’s last night, I could hear the roar of the vox poopuli from the stall next to me. Guess the guacamole didn’t sit too well with that poor bastard. Just Damn!”

PREPARING FOR THE ONSLAUGHT

The days wind down before the Winter Break.
I don’t know how much more of this I’ll take
Before I go insane. There’s work to be done,
(As there always is) before there’s fun.

The “Honey-Do” list, it groweth apace.
There’s barely time to shit, or feed my face.
Schlep furniture around, down and up the stairs.
Mattresses, computer monitors, and chairs.

Clean up the debris, get rid of all the piles.
Years of paperwork, stacked for (seeming) miles.
Thank Gawd there’s a basement, somewhere I can drag
All the shit, the garbage, and the slag.

You’d think it was New Orleans, with all this detritus.
I haul it out with all my main and mightus.
Unpacking boxes in my ground-floor office,
So hurried, there is no time to drink coffice.

Why all this frantic bustling, without end?
In just a couple days, the mobs descend.
The daughters, coming home from out of town.
(It’s very nice of them to come aroun’.)

And then there’s Morris William and his bride,
Driving in from Fort Worth’s northern side.
Along with them, there’ll be our nephew William,
His Auntie SWMBO will huggim ’til she killiam.

Upon her arrival, expected to be soon,
The Mistress of Sarcasm won’t recognize her room.
And Elder Daughter will likely give a scream:
“What the hell is this? My bedroom’s clean!”

If not for Family Visits now and again,
My Living Quarters might look like a pigpen.
All this redecorating! It seems to me,
It’s like taking a broom to sweep back the sea.

For in a happy home, disorder rules.
The cats shed fur and the baby drools.
If Perfect Cleanliness to you seems fantastic,
Cover all of your crap in a Shroud of Plastic.

HAVEIL HAVALIM #49

Haveil Havalim (Vanity of Vanities) celebrates its first anniversary this week at SerandEz.

Since it’s not #52 this time around, I’m guessing that this roundup of Jewish-themed posts may have missed a week here and there over the past year. No matter. It’s a dose of Chicken Soup for the Bloggy Soul.

CARNIVAL OF THE CATS #91

Santa, my ass. Feed me.

Carnival of the Cats, Issue the Ninety-First, is up at Music and Cats. Kimberly has done a masterful job with this Litter-Box Full o’ Holiday Kitty Fun.

AMIDST THE DEBRIS

There’s nothing Matata likes quite as much as Dry Cleaning Detritus. Hangers, plastic film, paper shrouds - it’s all Potential Nesting Material to ’Ta. Here, we see her constructing a Comfy Place out of the pile of crap I put on the bed.

Hakuna, meanwhile, prefers to enjoy the morning sun as it streams through the front window.



“No detritus for me, thanks!”

DODGING THE BULLET

In life, you dodge some bullets; others find their target. All you can do is keep your cross-section as low as possible and hope that the ones that strike home are the ones that are not aimed at the vitals.

Friday evening, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I went down to Vinings and met the other local employees of the Great Corporate Salt Mine for our annual Christmas party. Yes, Christmas party. I mean, who are we kidding? Of the forty or so people there, there were three Jews (if you counted our Veep of Sales, visiting from Houston) and one Hindu. So, yes, it was a Christmas party.

Unlike past iterations, this party was bittersweet, it being the Last of Its Kind. The local outpost of the Great Corporate Salt Mine was shut down last week, with the employees dispersed to their various residences, there to set up Home-Based Offices.



She Who Must Be Obeyed was dressed to the nines. I can’t recall a time when she looked more gorgeous.

We sat at the end of a long table, SWMBO and I, along with Irish Tommy (he of the Leg that Pissed Blood) and his wife Ellen, and Fresh Meat and his wife Danae. The ladies sat, conspiratorially, next to one another.

Fresh Meat, in case you were curious, is one of the younger members of our Sales team, and the most recent transferee to Atlanta. Given that he is so young and full of Annoying Peppiness, I bestowed his Official Salt Mine Moniker upon him two years ago; he has since borne it with both pride and bemusement. His Better Half, Danae, is a slender, blonde beauty who has, in the past, modeled in Europe and worked as Gwyneth Paltrow’s body double on several of her films. If I were a more cynical sort, I could hate them…

We were having a grand old time, when Irish Tommy – who, atypically for an Emerald Isle guy, tends to talk with his hands – knocked over a full glass of red wine. I was directly in the line of fire, and that Big Purple Bullet found me. To be precise, it found my Vitaliano Pancaldi soup magnet necktie, a necktie that had survived ten years without so much as a gravy stain – and my freshly laundered white shirt. I looked like Dillinger at the Biograph.

Poor Tommy was beside himself. He was so guilt-ridden, you could have mistaken him for one of us Jews. I insisted that my wine-saturated shirt was no big deal and that the dry cleaner could remove the stain – in any event, I did not want Tommy’s evening ruined over his excessive remorse.

A shirt, after all, is just a shirt. It’s no Big Honkin’ Deal.

For I could not help but remember that, earlier the same day, I had gotten a phone call from our friend JoAnn. It was one of those phone calls that starts out with, “Just so you know, everybody’s okay.” Whenever you hear an opening line like that, look out. Invariably, the next sentence tells of some near disaster, and this was no exception.

JoAnn’s daughter Jennifer, a student at UGA, had been driving around in Athens early that morning with several friends when they hit a patch of black ice on an overpass. Her SUV rolled, flipping four times and coming to a dead halt with virtually no glass left intact, completely demolished. Miraculously, no one was hurt save for a few minor cuts and scrapes. Jennifer and her friends had dodged a bullet, but this was a fifty-millimeter round aimed directly at their vitals, compared with the dinky-ass BB that found me.

JoAnn and Gary drove out to Athens in the dead of night to pick Jennifer and her friends up from the hospital and take them back to their several homes in Atlanta. They were shaken, not so much by what had happened, but what could have happened – but which did not, thank God.

In life, you dodge some bullets; others find their target. While mine scored a direct hit, I’m grateful that Jennifer dodged hers.

CARNIVAL OF THE RECIPES #70

Caltechgirl, of Not Exactly Rocket Science, hosts the 70th Carnival of the Recipes.

You may remember Caltechgirl as one of the stalwart Replacement Bloggers for The Man of Excessive Hydronium Ions during his stint at the Dry-Out Farm. Now that Rob is back in the saddle, Caltechgirl can see to her Primary Blogging Responsibilities...including Carnival Hosting.

Lotta good stuff there, most of it with Holiday Season spin. Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, New Year’s Day...we gotcha covered.

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN

Time once again for this week’s Friday Random Ten, selected by the Whim of the Electronic Fates from the iPod d’Elisson.

What have we got on the box today, Esteemed Readers?

1. Three Easy Payments - Mitch Hedberg
   
2. Chances Are - Johnny Mathis
   
3. Rocket - Smashing Pumpkins
   
4. We’re Not Sorry - Urinetown (Original Cast)
   
5. Day Tripper - The Beatles
   
6. Our Prayer/Gee - Brian Wilson
   
7. Hora/Moscowitz Medley - The Klezmer Conservatory Band
   
8. The Hedgehog’s Song - The Incredible String Band
   
9. For You - Bruce Springsteen
   
10. Soma - Smashing Pumpkins
    

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

FRIDAY ARK #65

The Friday Ark boards today for its sixty-fifth weekly trip at the Modulator.

And don’t forget to visit Carnival of the Cats Sunday evening, when Kimberly of Music and Cats will be performing the Hostly Duties.

CARNIVAL OF COMEDY #33

The weekly Roundup of The Funny (and the Not So Funny) is hosted by Right Wing Testimonial. Make a visit and enjoy a Hearty Har-Har.

HOLLYWOOD SKY

This evening, I attended a Shiva Minyan.

For those of you who are Jewish-Impaired (that’d be most of my Esteemed Readers, I’m guessing), the seven-day period of mourning that follows the burial of a deceased person is called shiva, from the Hebrew word for seven. The bereaved family stays at home, sitting on crates or low stools, and is visited by friends, who offer companionship and comfort. And food... plenty of food.

It’s traditional to hold worship services in the home of the mourners, thus relieving them of the necessity to leave the house to say Kaddish. Because recitation of the Kaddish takes place only in the presence of a quorum of ten adult Jews (a minyan), it’s considered a special mitzvah – an obligation – to be present at a house of mourning so as to ensure that the necessary number will be present.

The service itself may be conducted by anyone who is familiar with the liturgy. If a rabbi is present, as was the case this evening, he will generally be the shaliach tzibur – the prayer leader. If not, the responsibility will fall to one of the Ritual Committee guys – like me, for instance. In this case, the loss was suffered by a family that we are friendly with, so it was an appropriate time to lend my moral support as well as my physical presence.

The Kaddish Yatom – Mourner’s Kaddish – is frequently thought of as a prayer for the dead. But it does not mention death at all, being simply a prayer that praises God’s name. The traditional association of this prayer with mourning is precisely due to its affirmation of God’s rule at a time when the natural tendency would be to turn away from Him. (“You took Uncle Stanley – see if I pray to You any time soon!”) It’s in Aramaic, with the exception of the final line which is in Hebrew:

May the great Name be magnified and sanctified
in the world that He created according to His will.

May He reign over His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days,
and in the lifetimes of the entire House of Israel,
swiftly and soon. Now let us say Amen.

May His great Name be blessed forever and ever.

Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, uplifted,
and lauded is the name of the Holy One - Blessed is He –
beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation
that is uttered in this world. Now let us say Amen.

May there be abundant peace from Heaven, and life,
upon us and upon all Israel. Now let us say Amen.

He who makes peace in his Heavenly Abode,
may He make peace upon us,
and upon all Israel. Now let us say Amen.

Evening services are not overly lengthy, so it’s only a matter of twenty minutes of davening, followed by any amount of schmoozing, tale-telling, reminiscing, and generally catching up on the Local Poop.

Leaving the house, I was struck by the view I had of the full moon with clouds racing past it. It was the kind of sky you see in the movies sometimes, the low scudding clouds flying past an intermittently visible white orb. There was a blustery wind, one that carried enough chill to make me turn my collar up and tuck my head down, turtle-fashion, during the short walk to my car. All of my senses were alive... and I was thankful. Life, as we all know, is not a Permanent Condition – the evening’s activities brought that into sharp focus, of course – and we need to appreciate the beauty of the Hollywood Sky every chance we get.

THROWING A CUERVO

My friend Dennis passed along this cookie recipe, and I couldn’t resist the urge to foist it upon share it with my Esteemed Readers.

Dennis is a notorious chocolate-hater, which is fine with me, because it means he will not be competing with me for any portion of the world’s supply. So don’t expect to find any chocolate in this excellent recipe for

José Cuervo Christmas Cookies

1 cup water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup lemon juice
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts (chopped pecans work well)
2 cups dried fruit
1 750 ml bottle José Cuervo Tequila

Sample the Cuervo to check quality. Take a large bowl, check the Cuervo again to be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink.

Turn on the electric mixer...Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl.

Add one teaspoon of sugar...Beat again. At this point it’s best to make sure the Cuervo is still OK, try another cup .just in case.

Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit, Pick the frigging fruit off floor... Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Cuervo to check for tonsisticity.

Next, sift two cups of sa! lt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check the José Cuervo. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven.

Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don’t forget to beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish the Cosé Juervo and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.

CHERRY MISTMAS

STRANGE EXPRESSIONS

No, I’m not talking about facial expressions.

I’m referring to Strange Idioms, the kind of things that sound just a little...off key.

For instance: This evening, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I braved the elements and drove to one of the region’s many fine Shopping Malls. It’s a task I dread, particularly this time of year; but, being the Good Husband, I came along to provide Companionship, Moral Support, and Package Schlep Assistance (if needed).

As we approached the dreaded Mall Vicinity, SWMBO announced that, owing to the rotten weather, she was going to park “under the neath.” By which she meant inside one of the covered parking decks.

Now, there’s a good Strange Expression for you. Under the Neath. Not underneath, mind you, but Under the Neath.

The Missus uses this peculiar locution all the time. I had to remind her that she learned it from me, years ago. But where did I get it? Inquiring minds don’t give a shit want to know.

For the answer, let me introduce you to my old friend Walter, he of a certain Very Professional Japanese Dinner in September.

Back in our High School Days, Walter and I both took German classes, and we lost no opportunity to use the Teutonic Tongue to create ridiculous new phraseologies.

In German, unter means “under”: no surprise. But there’s really no equivalent to the English “underneath,” at least, as far as we knew. So Walter made one up: Unter dem Neath, which can be rendered in English as Under the Neath. It was so catchy, here we are still saying it after over 35 years.

Walter also introduced me to another Strange Expression: Side by Each. Whereas most normal English-speaking humans say “side by side” when they are (for example) walking alongside someone else, Walter would always say “side by each.” He always claimed it was a New England thing, an expression that people would use in Vermont. True? I have no idea...but I still say “side by each” every so often, and when I do, I always think of my friend Walter.

Have you ever heard of people saying “side by each”? What other bizarre idioms have you heard?

CARNIVAL OF THE VANITIES #169

Josh Cohen, the Schizoid Sage of Multiple Mentality, has pulled out all the stops with a Firefly-themed Carnival this week. Whether you’re an SF buff or not, make it a point to go visit - there are some fine posts out there.

What with the pictures, the lengthy introductions to each post, and the well-constructed thematic structure of this Carnival, Josh has raised the Quality Bar a notch or two. Or three.

WHILE I WORK, THEY LURK

Hakuna and Matata do what they do best: Relaxing.