Defcon 1
Almost finished with last minute details for party. You know, the few things you can't do until just before it starts.
Best of the Jewish/Israeli Blogosphere Blog Carnival
Haveil Havalim, the blog carnival of the Jewish/Israeli blogosphere is now live. Go check it out here.
For past editions please click here.
For past editions please click here.
The Ultimate Birthday Party
Tomorrow we are throwing a birthday party for the dark haired beauty. That five year-old is going to get a chance to have an old time birthday party. Yes ladies and gents, our house is going to be over run with children.
Ten thousand screaming tykes are busy dreaming now of the many different ways that they are going to terrorize us. By this time tomorrow my home will look like it was hit by a class 5 tornado and I'll feel like I have gone 237 rounds with the best MMA fighters around. Great googly moogly, what have we done.
In days of yore these parties were regularly held at a home. That changed at some point in time, not sure exactly when, but it did. Someone figured out that it wasn't always cheaper to hold these affairs at home and then marketed the idea to parents. It does hold a certain allure, holding a shindig elsewhere. Someone else has to do the cleaning before and after.
But this year we decided against it. No Chuck E. Cheese or Under The Sea or any of the million other places. No tea parties or dress up parties, just a good old fashioned chance to bash a pinata and play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Although I should confess that given the chance I might have pushed to have this at Farrells.
Except I just don't feel like driving out to Egypt and I am guessing neither do most of the friends. But I have got to tell you, those parties were great. I have a million great memories from them.
Anyhoo, in spite of the chaos that is coming I am excited about the party and most importantly so is she. Five years old and she is already stressing out over what party dress to wear and what shoes. She tore into her closet and made me watch as she ran through a bunch of her favorites.
Of course I reminded her that I think she is smart and beautiful and that a dress doesn't change anything. And as expected she was so excited she had trouble sleeping so I had to climb into bed and tell her about 1,363,988 stories. Apparently I must have fallen asleep because at some point I realized that she was shaking me and complaining that I was snoring.
I suppose that if I had any sense I'd take me and my snoring and move to the bedroom now. It probably wouldn't hurt to catch a few extra winks. It is a nice thought, let's see if I follow through on it.
Ten thousand screaming tykes are busy dreaming now of the many different ways that they are going to terrorize us. By this time tomorrow my home will look like it was hit by a class 5 tornado and I'll feel like I have gone 237 rounds with the best MMA fighters around. Great googly moogly, what have we done.
In days of yore these parties were regularly held at a home. That changed at some point in time, not sure exactly when, but it did. Someone figured out that it wasn't always cheaper to hold these affairs at home and then marketed the idea to parents. It does hold a certain allure, holding a shindig elsewhere. Someone else has to do the cleaning before and after.
But this year we decided against it. No Chuck E. Cheese or Under The Sea or any of the million other places. No tea parties or dress up parties, just a good old fashioned chance to bash a pinata and play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Although I should confess that given the chance I might have pushed to have this at Farrells.
Except I just don't feel like driving out to Egypt and I am guessing neither do most of the friends. But I have got to tell you, those parties were great. I have a million great memories from them.
Anyhoo, in spite of the chaos that is coming I am excited about the party and most importantly so is she. Five years old and she is already stressing out over what party dress to wear and what shoes. She tore into her closet and made me watch as she ran through a bunch of her favorites.
Of course I reminded her that I think she is smart and beautiful and that a dress doesn't change anything. And as expected she was so excited she had trouble sleeping so I had to climb into bed and tell her about 1,363,988 stories. Apparently I must have fallen asleep because at some point I realized that she was shaking me and complaining that I was snoring.
I suppose that if I had any sense I'd take me and my snoring and move to the bedroom now. It probably wouldn't hurt to catch a few extra winks. It is a nice thought, let's see if I follow through on it.
My Childhood Home
I was tempted to begin this post with the usual crack about not being able to go back home again but it just doesn't feel right. You see, I am home. This post is being composed from the same bedroom in my parent's house that I grew up in. Right here, in this very room I planned and plotted a million different schemes.
Here in this bedroom I lay in the dark and dreamed dreams about the life I thought I was going to live. This is where I was when I decided that I wanted to live in Israel. This is where I was when I realized that I was in love with my high school sweetheart. She of course had figured that out long before and was unhappy because I refused to say those three words. This is the same room in which I retreated after I had my heart broken. This is the same room that I lived and died many different lives in.
Except it is not really that room any longer. I haven't lived here in decades and it shows. There is not one single piece of furniture left from my time, certainly not the very cool flat screen hanging on the wall. I would have died for that one. The office furniture isn't mine, nor the changing table.
About the only thing that is the same is the wood floor, but even that has been refinished since I was here, so...In the time since I left it has served as a room for the dog, my grandfather's domicile, a nursery of sorts for grandchildren and now, an office.
The house is quiet now, everyone is asleep. In the old days I would have tried to have arranged to spend the night with the boys or go on a date. During the summer of my college years I might have brought home a girlfriend. Technically she wouldn't have been allowed to stay in my room, but we would have spent a few minutes in here anyway. It would have been rude not to show her the places that had made me who I was/am.
Now I find myself sitting here dreaming about the future. Some of those dreams are quite different from those I used to have, yet some are not that different. It might not be my room anymore, but there is a quiet familiarity here that I appreciate. The shadows whisper lovingly to me and I can't help but feel like a piece of me that is missing lives on in this place.
Here in this bedroom I lay in the dark and dreamed dreams about the life I thought I was going to live. This is where I was when I decided that I wanted to live in Israel. This is where I was when I realized that I was in love with my high school sweetheart. She of course had figured that out long before and was unhappy because I refused to say those three words. This is the same room in which I retreated after I had my heart broken. This is the same room that I lived and died many different lives in.
Except it is not really that room any longer. I haven't lived here in decades and it shows. There is not one single piece of furniture left from my time, certainly not the very cool flat screen hanging on the wall. I would have died for that one. The office furniture isn't mine, nor the changing table.
About the only thing that is the same is the wood floor, but even that has been refinished since I was here, so...In the time since I left it has served as a room for the dog, my grandfather's domicile, a nursery of sorts for grandchildren and now, an office.
The house is quiet now, everyone is asleep. In the old days I would have tried to have arranged to spend the night with the boys or go on a date. During the summer of my college years I might have brought home a girlfriend. Technically she wouldn't have been allowed to stay in my room, but we would have spent a few minutes in here anyway. It would have been rude not to show her the places that had made me who I was/am.
Now I find myself sitting here dreaming about the future. Some of those dreams are quite different from those I used to have, yet some are not that different. It might not be my room anymore, but there is a quiet familiarity here that I appreciate. The shadows whisper lovingly to me and I can't help but feel like a piece of me that is missing lives on in this place.
The Shmata Queen & I Meet
For years now people have begged the Shmata Queen and I to share a picture from our first meeting. Ask and you shall receive. Behold Jack and the Shmata Queen.
Idea #265 for Wooing a Woman
This is idea #265 for wooing a woman and like all ideas here personally tested and proven to be effective.
Unfortunately this edition of wooing a woman does not come with video, but perhaps one day it will. Here is the concept:
You head down to the office of your lucky lady and serenade her with Kenny Rogers songs, while dressed like Kenny Rogers. If you really want to have fun grab some of the guys from this site and use them as your backup singers.
Unfortunately this edition of wooing a woman does not come with video, but perhaps one day it will. Here is the concept:
You head down to the office of your lucky lady and serenade her with Kenny Rogers songs, while dressed like Kenny Rogers. If you really want to have fun grab some of the guys from this site and use them as your backup singers.
I Can't Wait To Be A Grown Up
He said it with all of the earnestness and honesty an 8.5 year-old can muster, "I can't wait until I am a grown up." I smiled and said that he really could and reminded him that he needed to get his shoes on now.
He looked up at me and told me that he was moving as fast as he could. I smiled again and said that I knew, now get them on. It is the typical banter between the two of us. The two of us were in the living room of his friend's home, the end of a play date.
Just off to the side of us his friend's mother was in the middle of negotiating a truce between two of her children and trying to keep the baby from tearing off her diaper. It was clearly time to go, but the joy of being 8.5 is that those other things aren't important. In between fighting with his little brother the friend was trying to negotiate terms for my son to stay longer.
I was pleased to see that they had so much fun and had I the ability, I would have let him stay longer. But their family had things to do and so did we. So the decree was final, play time was over.
Safely ensconced inside the car he started in on me about why he couldn't wait to be a grown up and old enough to take care of himself. He didn't mean anything buy it and he didn't say anything that I had said when I was his age. But he managed to catch me at a bad moment, so I responded.
I asked him if he was ready to worry about paying for a mortgage and for school for kids. I asked him if he was ready to spend sleepless nights worrying about how to make it all work. And then he told me that it couldn't be that hard, that grown ups had money and answers.
For a moment I was thankful that he couldn't see my face because I was certain that if he could he'd know for certain how wrong that impression was. He doesn't need to know that I am not kidding about the sleepless nights or the moments of self doubt. He doesn't need to know that yesterday another friend called to tell me that he and his wife are splitting up and might it be possible for me to help watch his kids occasionally.
He doesn't need to know that the only thing I know for certain is that I really don't know anything. Yes, it is true, I am in the early to middle stages of a crisis. Stuff is going on all around me and I am not certain how to avoid getting smacked by the things flying through the air.
I keep on driving, my eyes on the road and softly explain that he needs to enjoy the time as a kid. There will be plenty of time to be a grown up. He may not see it now, but he'll spend the majority of his life on the other side of the kid wall. Funny, he keeps trying to climb over to my side and all I want to do is jump back on his.
Twenty years ago I spent endless summer nights on the beach with a girl who had dark hair, dark eyes, a nice tan and no desire in life other than to spend time with me. I had no responsibilities outside of myself.
But that was then and this is now.
He asked/told me that my life was better because no one tells me what to do. I laughed and reminded him that the grass is always greener. Sure, no one tells me what to do. I really can do almost anything I want, but there is one major problem with that.
He asked me what it was and I told him that it is called responsibility and conscience. He nodded his head and I could see that he understood the concept. "I get it dad, you mean that you do the right thing because when you don't you feel guilty."
"Yep, that is it," I said. But what was left unsaid was that you don't always know what the right thing to do is. Some situations are very clear and some are not. At the end of the day, we do our best to try and make good choices and that is it.
He looked up at me and told me that he was moving as fast as he could. I smiled again and said that I knew, now get them on. It is the typical banter between the two of us. The two of us were in the living room of his friend's home, the end of a play date.
Just off to the side of us his friend's mother was in the middle of negotiating a truce between two of her children and trying to keep the baby from tearing off her diaper. It was clearly time to go, but the joy of being 8.5 is that those other things aren't important. In between fighting with his little brother the friend was trying to negotiate terms for my son to stay longer.
I was pleased to see that they had so much fun and had I the ability, I would have let him stay longer. But their family had things to do and so did we. So the decree was final, play time was over.
Safely ensconced inside the car he started in on me about why he couldn't wait to be a grown up and old enough to take care of himself. He didn't mean anything buy it and he didn't say anything that I had said when I was his age. But he managed to catch me at a bad moment, so I responded.
I asked him if he was ready to worry about paying for a mortgage and for school for kids. I asked him if he was ready to spend sleepless nights worrying about how to make it all work. And then he told me that it couldn't be that hard, that grown ups had money and answers.
For a moment I was thankful that he couldn't see my face because I was certain that if he could he'd know for certain how wrong that impression was. He doesn't need to know that I am not kidding about the sleepless nights or the moments of self doubt. He doesn't need to know that yesterday another friend called to tell me that he and his wife are splitting up and might it be possible for me to help watch his kids occasionally.
He doesn't need to know that the only thing I know for certain is that I really don't know anything. Yes, it is true, I am in the early to middle stages of a crisis. Stuff is going on all around me and I am not certain how to avoid getting smacked by the things flying through the air.
I keep on driving, my eyes on the road and softly explain that he needs to enjoy the time as a kid. There will be plenty of time to be a grown up. He may not see it now, but he'll spend the majority of his life on the other side of the kid wall. Funny, he keeps trying to climb over to my side and all I want to do is jump back on his.
Twenty years ago I spent endless summer nights on the beach with a girl who had dark hair, dark eyes, a nice tan and no desire in life other than to spend time with me. I had no responsibilities outside of myself.
But that was then and this is now.
He asked/told me that my life was better because no one tells me what to do. I laughed and reminded him that the grass is always greener. Sure, no one tells me what to do. I really can do almost anything I want, but there is one major problem with that.
He asked me what it was and I told him that it is called responsibility and conscience. He nodded his head and I could see that he understood the concept. "I get it dad, you mean that you do the right thing because when you don't you feel guilty."
"Yep, that is it," I said. But what was left unsaid was that you don't always know what the right thing to do is. Some situations are very clear and some are not. At the end of the day, we do our best to try and make good choices and that is it.
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