The Jewish Holidays and I

My brother Robert and I grew up in a non-religious Jewish home. The only holidays we practiced were Passover and Jewish Christmas. On Jewish Christmas which coincidentally falls on the Christian Christmas we received toys that were placed under our Hanukah Bush. The Hanukah bush standing a stately 2 feet tall was decorated with blue and white lights and silver tinsel. It was quite beautiful when it was lit and probably would have looked great next to a major award leg lamp if we only had won one.

We eagerly awaited the morning of Jewish Christmas and had difficulty falling asleep the night prior. We left potato pancakes and Manishewitz grape wine on the table for Hanukah Harry to have a nosh when he alit on our roof top in his Cadillac pulled by eight horses, Moishe, Schmulie, David, Eli, Irving, Tevye, Hershel and Pedro.

My brother and I would paste black construction paper pais to our temples with Elmers glue-all so that Hanukah Harry, whom I will refer to as HH, would know that we are good Jewish Children. Elmer's glue-all is made from dairy products and is homogenized so that when you eat it you won't suffer from indigestion.  This is an excellent glue to use when you tend to eat things in your sleep.

We would eventually fall asleep and not see HH when he placed the gifts under the bush but to this day I would swear that I had detected the aroma of shmaltz (rendered chicken fat) and chopped liver in my sleep. We have heard stories of HH leaving somewhat practical gifts such as sweaters, socks and gloves but in my home we never received these kind of gifts. We received GI Joe, Silly Putty, Slinky, etch-a-sketch. Now these were meaningful gifts. We would have our GI Joes set up a perimeter replete with a slinky barrier fence to protect us as we slept and safeguard our Etch-a-sketch and other treasures.

After I grew up and became the head of my household (my wife said I could say that) we instituted a more traditional Jewish Christmas and began referring to it as Hanukah.  Instead of placing the gifts under a bush we placed them in a corner of the living room and opened at least one gift every one of the eight nights. We would mix in real gifts with some fun fake gifts. Such as a can of soup or a roll of toilet paper. Imagine the laughs that this caused. Actually only Ilana and I laughed. The kids cried. Oh, what the hell it was fun to look at their bright, cute wide eyes as they opened a beautifully wrapped box and found only a jar of bacon bits.

Have you ever noticed that during the holiday season the radios play hundreds of great songs regarding Christmas and only four about Hanukah. And three of the four were written by Adam Sandler. My kids asked why Santa Claus hated Jews.

Kids:  

Why does Santa hate Jewish people?

Us:      

We would ask why do you believe he hates Jews?  (Jews always answer  questions with a question).

Kids:  

Because he doesn't leave gifts an Christmas Day for us.

Us:      

You see, Hanukah Harry, has the rights to leaving gifts to Jewish children and  if  Santa leaves gifts he will sue him. HH has a Jewish lawyer and you know that the best lawyers are Jewish.

My daughter was one of the few Jewish kids in her class and believed in Santa Clause until she was eight. She was the last one to have this belief dashed upon the rocks. Now she is twenty four and still believes in Hanukah Harry. I don't know how we are going to break it to her. She believes that Hanukah Harry resides in a card size piece of plastic and gives gifts all year round. I hide the bills and pay them when they come in so she doesn't find out that HH doesn't exist. I know. I spoil her.

 

The other Jewish Holiday we observed and still do is Passover. This Holiday commemorates the Hebrew people fleeing Egypt and getting indigestion. My father came from an orthodox family but when his parents passed away within a short time of each other he began to question religion and God and slowly drifted away from orthodox observance. His family, however, remained religious and practiced a traditional Passover meal, the Seder, which was read entirely in Hebrew and lasted about two hours before you could begin to eat.

As we did not come from a religious upbringing neither my brother or I understood or even read Hebrew so you could imagine that the ceremony felt more like a lifetime rather than two hours.  On the first night we went to Uncle Abe and Tanta Rose's home in Fort Hamilton, Brooklyn. Tanta Rose was my Father's paternal aunt I don't remember if she spoke English. The Seder was very formal and lengthy. On the second night we went to my Aunt Rose and Uncle Bernie's home in Neponsit, Rockaway, Queens. Uncle Bernie was my dad's maternal uncle. Their home was less religious and more comfy. The Seder was somewhat shorter and she served a mean meatloaf stuffed with potatoes.

When we were first married we would celebrate Passover at my sister-in-law Rena's home in Bayside, Queens.  Her son, Boaz, was attending a Yeshiva and had aspirations of becoming a Rabbi. I thought that my days of attending lengthy Seders was over. I was wrong.

 

Boaz, who incidentally is now a prominent Rabbi, Educator and Community Developer in Israel, whom we are immensely proud of, made it his mission to ensure that we understood the ceremony. He would read the passages in Hebrew and then for our benefit would re-read it in English. Then he would provide a commentary of the readings followed by a question and answer period. After two hours of this his brothers would have no more and would do everything under the sun to disrupt his lessons and get to the eating part. To sum up Boaz's brothers, my nephews Joe, Ron and Tamir, think of the Marx Brothers on speed and steroids and you can imagine what ensued.

My wife and I now celebrate Passover in our home and have my brother's family and our nephews and nieces over. We have fine-tuned the Seder to last about forty minutes and it is read entirely in English, as God intended. We even use finger puppets to portray the ten plagues.

So, There you have it. What does Judaism mean to me? Jewish Christmas, Hanukah, eight crazy days and nights of latkes, fried donuts, brisket and gifts. Passover, eight crazy days and nights of indigestion from eating matzo and it's many incarnations including matzo balls, matzo brie and matzo pizza. And prunes, plenty of prunes.

The Great Ice Cream Wars

One of my fondest memories of growing up in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn was the preponderance of mobile businesses. In the 1960s we had the milkman bringing fresh milk, egg, butter and a bakery man who brought donuts and bread. Every Wednesday the soda man, Mr. Charney, would deliver Whiterock soda and seltzer in the old fashioned spigot bottles and even put them under the sink for you. Mr. Charney's daughter was the long raven-haired and stunningly beautiful professional dancer who starred in the club scene in the movie, Sweet Charity. Mr. Charney was very proud of his daugher.

There was also a fresh fish truck, vegetable and fruit truck and knife grinder truck that came around every week. But even more memorable than those trucks there were the mobile amusement park rides; the swing and my favorite... the whip! What a life. Technology is only catching up now to the shop at home services that Amazon and Fresh Direct bring to us today. 

Aside from the above vendors there were the purveyors of delectable frozen treats... The Ice Cream Men. There were the soft serve ice cream trucks, Freezer Fresh and Mr. Softee. Aside from ice cream cones both made sundaes and thick shakes. My mother referred to ice cream sundaes as Frappés. Both had a tremendous selection of two flavors, chocolate and vanilla and the hybrid chocolate vanilla swirl. Then there were your ice cream novelty trucks, Good Humor and Bungalo Bar. We used to sing, ¯Bungalo Bar smells like tar the more you eat the smellier you are¯. At least I think I remember the words that way. But the ones I remember the most, the nobility of the ice cream trucks, almost a bodega on wheels, were Charlie's and Huba Huba. Huba Huba's real name was George but his call to prayer was "Huba Huba". Hence we referred to him as Huba Huba.

 

I don't think you had to wait more than 15 minutes before an ice cream truck showed up ringing their bells are playing their haunting jingle over a loud speaker. All the kiddies would come running out like a pack of hyenas descending upon a zebra carcass. Charlie's was my favorite. He had an old fashioned style white ice cream truck packed with almost any ice cream or candy that you could think of. An independent sort, he owed no allegiance to any ice cream manufacturer. He carried anything he wanted to carry. Charley was probably the first ice cream truck to install an oven and sell New York style square knishes alongside his frozen treats. A modern day miracle... freezer and oven in one truck! How in the hell did he keep his ice cream cold and his knishes hot at the same time? For some reason Charlie didn't have mustard for the knish but he did sprinkle a liberal amount of kosher salt on it.

Charlie also sold pickle flavored bubble gum which frankly was quite disgusting but really annoyed my mother when I ate it in front of her. Which made it worth it to endure the nasty taste. I loved to annoy my mother and was proficient at doing so.  Yes, Charley was a true pioneer of free enterprise and know how and exemplified the American dream of business ownership.

Charley and Huba Huba were not fond of each other and tried to not be on the same street at the same time. Ice Cream truck routes are serious business. These men are trying to earn enough money in the summer months to last through the cold and harsh winter months which for some strange reason people tend not to buy from ice cream trucks. I would.

 

In nature, animals urinate on trees and the brush to mark their territory. Most animals will respect another's range but sadly, if ice cream men peed on trees and car tires to mark their territory they would be arrested for lewd conduct and most parents would not let their children buy ice cream from them.

 

What do ice cream men do in the winter. Do they go into hibernation? Do they sell heating oil? I believe that after the ice cream season is over, all of the ice cream men, their ice cream wives and little ice cream children go to the Florida gulf coast and live together in harmony in a town next to the one where the circus and carney people go to each winter. On the border where the two towns meet everyone laughs at playful folicking clowns, gasp at amazing feats of aerial acrobatics, ride elephants and eat the left over ice cream.

The hostility between Charley and Huba Huba was growing. You could feel the tenseness in the air whenever they were in sight of each other. Huba Huba would inch up his pants and develop a small twitch in his cheek. Charlie would touch his glasses, straighten his white soda jerk hat, reach for his mustache wax and twirl the ends of his 'stache to make sure the points were sharp and ready for action. Huba, I'll call him Huba for short, was about 5"10" and around 250 pounds. Charley was the ame height and weighed about 180. Huba had the size and strength but Charley had the cunning and the endurance.

The clock struck twelve (actually the air raid siren went off everyday at noon as we were living under the possibility of an imminent nuclear attack from the USSR). It was high noon.

The sun was directly above and radiating it's heat upon the sleepy, dusty streets of Brooklyn. Bragg Street was a two way street back then. Charlie came from the south. Huba from the north. They both mosied along to the middle of the street seemingly taking hours to reach that point. Huba's step van and Charlie's old fashioned ice cream truck came nose to nose and neither would give way to the other.

The towns people stayed back to watch the event unfurl. No one wanted to get close as they were afraid they might get hit with an errant ice cream novelty if they should fly and missed their intended marks. Children ran to the protective arms of their mother's. Not really, the kids loved every minute of this and were betting on the outcome. Then the finger pointing started. Each pointed finger moved closer and closer to the other's chest. Charlie touched Huba first. Huba followed with his touch. Another touch to the chest, a parry, a parry in return. Huba gave Charlie a shove. Charlie reciprocates.

The fight is over. It is a draw.

Both men returned to their mighty white steeds and passed around each other while giving one last dirty look to one another expressing their disdain and contempt.

 

Why this stupid event is etched in my brain is beyond me.

There are still ice cream men around today. I don't think their breed will ever die. Mr.  Softee is undisputably now the king of the ice cream truck scene in New York. I haven't seen Freezer Fresh in years. There are still individuals who patrol the streets of south Brooklyn in their step vans such as AJ and George. George's ice cream truck is a regular fixture around Starrett City where my kids spent their early years. George was an old man in his eighties when my son played little league baseball and my daughter played in the dirt. Passing by more than twenty years later, George is still around and looks the same which goes to show the preservative and healthful effects of ice cream. There are also gourmet trucks in Downtown Brooklyn and Williamsburg selling mushroom and garlic flavored ice cream and ice cream made from petunias and rosemary. Yuch!

I am trying to find out how to get a reality series out of the Ice Cream Men to play alongside Ice Truck Drivers and The Most Dangerous Catch. If anyone has Hollywood connections feel free to use my idea and send me the royalties.

 

 

What I did this Summer

What I did this Summer

This summer we took a trip to Cape Cod. Stupid name. No one wore a cape and I didn't see a cod whatever that is. My dad yelled bad names at all the other cars on the road who were not going fast enough. We stayed at an old and smelly motel and played miniature golf. My brother, Robert, cheated and put the ball in the hole with his hand. People who were watching laughed and thought he was cute. I was angry because he had a better score than me. That is the trip we took this summer. President Kennedy was nearby in a place called High Anus. Stupid name.

Barry Levine, 8 years old

July 1961

  Barry, this was poorly written.  C -

From 1961 until 20 years later I had not visited Cape Cod until our honeymoon. We had since been there four more times in the last five years. Some things never change we stayed in a smelly motor inn where our clothes were constantly damp including the clothes that were in the suitcase.  The only time we didn't stay in a smelly hotel was when we stayed in the Radisson (as of this summer it is now a Doubletree) with their dial-a-number beds which was significantly more uncomfortable than an air mattress.

I happen to like Cape Cod. Until recently it was a place where we were contemplating retiring to. We asked some local retirees how they handle the winters there. They said the winters are not bad. They spend them in Florida. Another woman who retired there also stated that the winters aren't bad ... compared to the average snowfall of twelve feet in northern New Hampshire where she previously resided. Interesting that we cannot get a straight answer on this question.

Thirty one years ago on our honeymoon we parked near beaches and walked by the lighthouses and watched these little sand piper birds running along the beach. We watched the fog roll in and heard the roar of the waves crashing on the shore.

Now we can't get near the national seashore beaches or the lighthouses, parking costs fifteen dollars if you are lucky enough to get there early enough before the lots are full. Traffic is backed up for miles.  All of the other beaches are private and gated off or you need a town permit to park there. Our hotel advertised that they are a short walk to the beach. A short walk of one and a half miles.

This week was a particularly good week to take your young children to the town of Chatham located at the elbow of the Cape. The Cape looks like an arm of a person showing off his biceps and ending in a fist. The little kiddies were treated to great white sharks ripping apart cute little seals frolicking willy-nilly by the rocks.

I still like Cape Cod even though I do not like beaches. I hate the sand on my feet, I hate salt water and feel that when I step into the water I will step on a crab or sea urchin, get stung by a jellyfish and get bit by a great white shark but only after I realize I forgot to take my phone from my pocket thus incurring a $169 fee to replace it when I get out of the hospital with two hundred plus stitches that were required to sew my arm back on and a severe case of diarrhea from the antibiotics to treat the sea urchin sting.

On the way from New York to Cape Cod you have to pass through one of the least inviting states in the country, Rhode Island, which incidentally is not an island. Thankfully the trip from Connecticut to Massachusetts is only forty miles. Rhode Island does not even have a Welcome sign when you enter the state. There are no service plazas, tourist information centers and the rest areas are all under construction and closed. It's like going into a restaurant that has a sign that states that the rest room is out of order but you know that there is nothing wrong with it and they just don't want you to use it.

 

Not one bathroom for more than forty miles in Rhode Island and then none for the next fifty miles of Massachusetts! And for a couple with an enlarged prostate and IBS (I have the enlarged prostate, Ilana has IBS) this is no easy task. Rhode Island only wants people who own yachts or play polo. All others are encouraged to pass on through. At least Massachussetts has a welcome sign.

We decided to take a ghost tour of Barnstable Township the second evening we were at the Cape. I like the sound of that... The Cape. Makes me feel like I am an insider, a Capester! Let me tell you about the tour but be forewarned that after reading this you may not be able to sleep tonight.

We parked our car by the old jail of Barnstable at 8:00 PM. Oddly enough we were the only couple there. We thought that possibly the tour was cancelled and tried calling the tour company but we couldn't get a dial tone.

As the sun began to set a man walks out from behind the old jail dressed in colonial garb and wearing a tri-corner hat. He introduced himself as James Otis and asked us if we believed in Ghosts. I stated that I was highly skeptical. He stated that Barnstable is one of the most haunted towns in the Americas and that after this tour he guaranteed that I would be a believer.  I scoffed at him. He returned a self-deprecating smirk and collected the thirty dollar tour fee and we proceeded.

We began our walk and passed by several old homes and the town hall. James was very knowledgeable regarding the history of the area but there was nothing that he could say or do that would convince me that ghosts actually exist. After an hour we finally arrived at the last location of the tour, the Barnstable graveyard. There was very little light from the low Moon and there was a slight rustle of leaves from the trees.

 

James asked us to wait while he entered the cemetary first. After he entered he asked us to come in. He explained that the two waist high rock pillars at the entrance were there for the pall bearers to rest the coffin while they walked around to another entrance... the living entrance. He explained that the early residents believed that if they entered with the body of the deceased they too would die within the year.

After we had entered the old graveyard James explained that there were dark entities  along with the harmless souls that resided in the graveyard. He pointed out areas of the graveyard where sightings were frequent and often horrifying. He said we could walk around for a few minutes but to come back promptly as we need to leave as soon as possible. We started to walk and then turned around mere seconds later to ask James a question but he was no longer there. I walked to the head stone where he last stood and saw thirty dollars on the floor. I bent down to pick it up and when I had looked at the gravestone the name on it was ... James Otis!

Out hearts were beating so furiously they seemed like they would burst out of our chests. We ran to the tavern that was a block away and told them what happened. They stated that there hasn't been a tour in more than ten years as too many people were badly affected after entering the graveyard that the tour company could no longer get people to take the tour. Noticing our fright they told us to sit down and gave us a cup of grog to calm our jittery nerves.

At least this is what we told the kids what happened. I still don't believe in ghosts but I do enjoy these tours. We still haven't confessed that we made up the story and since they refuse to read my blog they will never know unless one of you tell them. And if you do and I find out, well, I can be very vindictive. We did take the tour given by Derek, head ghost hunter of the Cape and Islands Paranormal Research Institute and found the tour to be quite interesting. There was a family from Syracuse, New York, who took the tour three times this week.

James Otis was a local Barnstable politician and loyalist who got fed up with the King and  stated in 1756 that "Taxation without representation is tyranny". He promptly got his head bashed in for saying that but survived the attack. This was the educational component of this blog.

No trip to Cape Cod is complete without attending a performance at the Cape Playhouse in Dennis. The playhouse is a summer stock theater that has attracted many Broadway legends and continues to do so to this day at about  40% of the price of a Broadway show. They do six shows each summer. This year we saw Nunsense. Not one of my favorites but it was done well and had scenes that had us laughing so hard it nearly ripped the stitches out of my arm reattachment.

For dinner we took advantage of the cheap lobstah (that's how they pronounce lobster in the Cape) prices and had twin lobstahs. I didn't see a close resemblance in either of the lobsters and concluded that they must be fraternal twins. Ilana is a pro at eating lobstahs now. In an earlier blog relating our honeymoon experience I mentioned her first attempt at dismembering a full lobstah. It did not go well for the lobstah, Ilana or the people sitting at the next table who should have been wearing their lobstah bibs.

One thing I do not get is the attraction of the Lobstah Roll. They take the delicious lobstah meat, mix it with mayonnaise and celery and put it on a hot dog bun and charge you anywhere from $12.95 to $18.95. For $19.95 we had the twin lobstahs, salad and french fries at Salty's on Route 28 in South Yarmouth. Ilana could eat lobstah breakfast, lunch and dinner. Once a year is fine by me I prefer shrimp.

 

Note: I feel bad about my critical portrayal of Rhode Island. If I am wrong please let me know if there is anything worthwhile to do there. By the way a welcome sign would be nice.

The Most Uninteresting Man

When I speak no one listens.
Pigeons avoid dropping lucky stuff on my head.
Man-eating animals turn away.
Mosquitoes do not bite me.
I am an expert in dueling remote controls.
Women flock away when I enter the room.
Children cry for their mommy when I enter the playground and sit on a bench.
My wife falls asleep when I compliment her.
Friends ask me to stay in the VIP room at parties. Alone.
My dog does not take food from me.

Yes. I am the world's must uninteresting man.

I don't always drink diet soda but when I do, I drink diet coke
Stay thirsty my friends.  

I do not think of myself as an interesting person. I believe I can count the fingers on one hand all of the times I have been witty and charming at social gatherings. Even on those occasions I am pretty sure that I may have been witty or charming but never both at the same time. 

Even my children did not find me interesting. I have a  bad habit of providing additional content, added value is a better word for it, on family outings or when we watched television together. For example, we would be at the Bronx zoo and walking down an area that was old forest in appearance and I would say "look kids, this is what the Bronx actually looked like two hundred years ago". By the umpteenth time we went to the zoo we would be walking down the path and before I could espout my knowledge the kids would say, "This is what the Bronx was like two hundred years ago now you don't have to say it".  My kids compared me to Cliff Klaven, the postman and veritable fountain of mis-knowledge on Cheers.

I have been accused of being a know-it-all but I do not agree with that characterization of me. I definitely know that I do not know it all. For example I will not comment on quantum mechanics with the exception of Schroder's cat who we all know is that loveable animal that lies on top of a dog house and flies a WWI bi-plane in an attempt to shoot down the Red Baron in the Peanuts cartoon strip. By the way the Red Baron survived and opened a pizza chain.

My job entails public speaking and I have always had the desire to get up in front of the crowd and tell some amusing anecdotes and jokes and at one function I prepared several. One of my previous directors was present at that dinner and made it a point to state to all at the next departmental meeting  that most people who do speak in public are better off trying not to be funny. He attended many presentations each month so I am not actually sure if he was referring to me.

Well, if you can't be funny, you might as well be interesting. People who are funny are invariably interesting. They can say anything whether accurate or not and people will tell them that they enjoyed their speech, learned so much from it and will take all of that now knowledge home and put it to good use. The speaker could have told them that a tooth brush and a fleet enema are perfect together to get into the little crevasses in your large intestine and the audience would say, "Why didn't I think of that? He is such a clever man".

But going back to the advice of the director, I do realize that speaking in public is quite different than getting up in front of a crowd at the comedy club who have already consumed more alcohol than allowed by law to operate a motor vehicle or heavy machinery.  Therefore I must stick to being informative and trying to be interesting enough to get the point across without losing the audience.

The typical meeting usually goes like this:

Me:     

I would like to tell you about a new way that the federal government will fund our programs.

Guy in the back:

Where's the goddamn donuts?

Me:       

Citibank will be investing in our property in lieu of a tax credit.

Horny 90 year old woman in the front row to the woman on her left:

He is so handsome. He has such a nice beard.

Me:

Through this partnership we will be getting many of the capital improvements that are much needed such as replacement of our aging elevators

Guy in the back:

When are they going to put out the donuts? I gotta go to the bathroom.

Me:

We will begin elevator installation next week

Woman in the second row:

We need new elevator! When will we get new elevators?

Me:
They will start being installed next week.

Same woman:

The elevators need to be replaced!

Me:

They are. Next week.

Same woman:

(feel asleep mid-sentence) z z z z z z

Obviously nobody cares as to what I am saying. I am not funny nor am I interesting. I am the antithesis of that old stock broker commercial ... "When Barry Levine talks nobody listens!". At the dinner table I would say to Ilana, "Work was tough today. I am stressed out and we need to go away for a few days. If it gets worse then this I am going to throw myself in front of a bus". Ilana would reply "That's nice. So how was work today?" I would repeat the comment about throwing myself in front of a bus and then she would ask if I need a new Metrocard[1]. 

In order to avoid conversation with me my daughter will put her ear plugs in her ears and pretend she is listening to music. Of course the other end is just hanging there not inserted in any device. I'd wave to her to get her attention and say "Alyssa they are not plugged in." Her response would be "Have you ever heard of bluetooth?". "The pirate?" I would respond. There was a time that I was a god in the eyes of my children. Now I am a boring old fart still living in the age of the boom box and Laugh-in.

In order to appear more interesting I have decided to include colorful interjections into my conversation such as Leap'n Lizards, Great Caesar's Ghost and Great Scott!  I tried Shazaam and Golly but that was received as too Gomer Pyleish. I am shooting to appear more intelligent in my conversations. You have to be careful when adding colorful interjections. I had a boss who was told that her staff did not like her because she was perceived to be stuffy and have her nose up in the air. She decided to counter this by talking to us as if she was one of us. Every other word out of her mouth was punctuated by "Freakin" and "a-hole". So she would try to make everyday conversation and say"I was on the train to day this freakin' guy had the nerve to get a heart attack and delay the rest of us from getting to work on time. What an a-hole". Yes. That is how professionals speak to each other at work.

When I don't speak I do emit an aura of knowledge and sophistication. For example whenever I am in a shopping mall people come to me and ask me where the food courts and bathrooms are.

---

[1] Metrocard is a cash preloaded card used to pay bus and train fares and occasionally buy a Big Mac hamburger at participating McDonalds.

Buying a new TV

When I had turned 50, my wife Ilana, had bought me a 50 inch Sony rear projection color TV. One inch for each year of my life. I loved having a large screen TV even though the resolution wasn't quite what I had expected. Better than our prior TV but it was not anywhere near HD (high definition) quality. The price was right. real flat screen TVs were a lot more and money and being frugal (cheap) I justified that the savings in money outweighed the resolution by using the following formula.

            (DPI) / $ * π / R2D2

The TV actually weighed 225 pounds and required three people to get it up the steps. I spent the next few years trying to upgrade the resolution. At first I bought an upscanning DVD player, then HDMI cables. To my chagrin there was no HDMI input on this set. I had soon realized that the PC Richard salesman's claim that the set was almost HD probably meant it was not HD and can never be HD. He also probably said to himself, "If you want HD shell out a few hundred bucks more you frugal (cheap) person (bastard)".

When I came to the conclusion that I would never get HD quality on this set I spent several hundred dollars on a surround sound pro logic receiver and three more speakers. If I can't have HD at least I will have surround sound. After a few more years I stopped using surround sound because the simulated surround sound built into the Sony with the built in 20 watt speakers sounded pretty good on their own. The set may not have been HD but Sony's speakers were decent.

 

After the seventh year I really wanted a new HD TV. I bought a 32 inch for the guest room upstairs and a 19 inch for the kitchen which was a quick fix whenever I had the need to watch something in HD but I pulled a response from the Ralph Kramden[i] book of logic and reasoning (lame excuses) and kept telling everyone in the household that I will not buy a new TV for the living room until they perfect 3D and the price is reasonable. Lo and behold reasonable 3D televisions came to the market. My next excuse was that the glasses were too expensive. Sure enough they came out with 3D TVs with passive glasses and TVs with active glasses under $20.

It looked like I finally had no excuses not to spend the money on a new TV. But wait... logic dictates that as long as the TV is working I cannot justify spending money on a new TV. But the kids want a new TV. I really want a new flat screen, HD, 3D TV. I had a brainstorm one day. My friend, Mark, came over and his son wanted to play with our Wii.

As many of you know the Wii gaming system has been known to be responsible for breaking many a TV set when the player lost grip of the control and the control is propelled through the TV screen. I thought to myself that this was the perfect opportunity. Not only can I get the TV  broken, but maybe Mark will give me a few dollars towards the new TV by feeling guilty! No. I never would have taken money from Mark. The excuse to buy a new TV is all I really wanted.

I whispered to Mark's son to get close to the screen and swing as hard as you can.  Mark kept telling him to stand back and use the wrist guard. He did not break the TV that night and I had to continue to endure a non HD TV.

Two more years went by.  About two weeks ago we stopped off at Best Buy after eating out at Famous Dave's for Fathers Day. My son pointed out a 50 inch plasma  that was going for under $700 and said, "Dad, look what you can get for under $1000. Treat yourself for Father's day". I told him It wasn't 3D and until the Sony dies I can't justify buying new set. My daughter added, "If you want I will break it for you". I can always count on Alyssa for a logical solution.

Two days later I get a text message from her stating, "BTW the TV is broken". Even though Alyssa lives with us we communicate better through text messages. Our oral conversations are generally limited to one or two sentences but we can text or IM to each other for hours. The problem with her timing (she claims that she didn't break the TV) was that I was home from work due to bronchitis and fever, trying to sleep when she sent the text. We were in the midst of a 100 degree heat wave which made watching TV upstairs uncomfortable as the AC does not work as well upstairs as it does the rest of the house. Needless to say I was bored being home from work, had no company and I was too sick to leave the house.

 

The TV was not actually broken.  The colors just weren't where they were supposed to be.  It was like watching bad old fashioned 3D TV without the special paper glasses.  I watched the TV anyway even though the colors were scattered all across the screen. I pretended that I was on an LSD trip which made the viewing more palatable. On Saturday I saw a 46" Samsung LED with complimentary smart blu-Ray player for $900 online at Sears and sprung for the new TV and picked it up at the local branch. 1080p, 240 Hz refresh rate, great black contrast, the 3D is great even though I have limited accessibility to 3D programming. We watched Despicable Me and Kung Fu Panda 2.

As I will be turning 60 in a year and a half my kids were let down that I didn't go for a 60 inch TV. I had to remind my son of a conversation that we had when he turned 13 and was very upset due to a size issue. "Brant", I said, "size is not everything". I think we were talking about bicycles, but being as old as dirt (I am reminded of this by my kids) I am not sure of what actually led to that conversation.

I will stand by may purchase, the price was right and the picture is great. I think Ralph Kramden would not  have an excuse not to buy a new TV today.

---

[i] Ralph Kramden was a character played by Jackie Gleason on TV in the 1950's on The Honeymooners. This was based on William Bendix's radio show Life of Reilly. The animated TV show The Flintsones was also based on the prior series. Ralph and his wife, Alice, lived in a two room apartment in Bensonhurst even though the street they lived on is actually located in Bushwick. Ralph stated he would not buy a TV until they perfect 3D.

The Fairer Sex

My friends and family will attest (I hope) that I am probably the least biased, least bigoted, least misogynistic or discriminatory person that they know. I have always made every attempt not to profile, classify or stereotype people.

Until now.

Due to my unimpeachable background and reputation I feel quite confident that whatever I propose in this essay will be accepted by you, the reader, as a legitimate observation that will stand up to the weight of my observances. And as all who are familiar with me I carry a lot of weight. An air of authority as you will. Intelligence and impeccable wit. Yadda yadda.

    The Fairer Sex: A Treatise on Womanly Values in Today's Society

Two is a Crowd

I have always known that men and women are different. Yes, women are pretty and cute and men are rugged and hairy, or is it the other way around? Aside from the physical difference there is an emotional difference and deeper than that there is a primal difference. This is a trait programmed into the cerebral cortex part of the brain of every woman living today.

Whether a woman is aware of this or not it exists in each and every one of them. Every husband, boyfriend or significant other can attest to this to another man. They may not admit it face to face to their woman but they know. A woman by nature is the Queen of her domain. By domain I mean that wherever a woman is the radius of 100 feet from her is her domain.

A man or child can enter this domain with impunity but when another unrelated woman of child bearing age enters that circle, the queen will be courteous and accommodating on the conscious level, but in the primal brain stem level she wants to rip the throat out of her potential adversary and feed her carcass to the vultures after kicking it around for a while. This idea was originally documented in the London Scientific Journal in the late 1800s as the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (see note).

To wit, In an office setting with one woman and the rest all men there are never any problems. This is an harmonious office where work carries on at a normal pace, people smile and look forward to coming to work each day. Throw another woman into the mix and as sure as the chicken follows the egg you can feel tension in the office so thick you can cut it with a knife. Put a third woman in the room and an unspoken alliance will be made between the first and second women to figuratively and sometimes literally scratch the eyes out of the interloper before they go back to their prior rivalry.

Now let us pursue a scientific poll. By a show of hands, how many people agree with me on this idea?

Let's see... 1... 2... 3...4...5...  Okay. No need to count any further as all but one of you are in agreement.

My wife thoroughly disagrees with my thoughts on this subject. But she doesn't see what I see. Ilana is the loveliest, nicest, sweetest and most accommodating person that I have ever known. Whenever another woman is around she gets visibly defensive, curt and unforgiving. You could see her neck muscles tighten, her hands open and close like a tiger testing out her claws before she pounces on an antelope. Her pupils dilate and focus on her potential victim. She starts to bare her teeth ever so slightly. If we are in a store I pray for the clerk to be accurate and to exhibit paramount customer service. Because if she doesn't I am very, very afraid of what may happen to her. I will always try to find a line with a male clerk for this reason even if it is twice as long as the surrounding lines.

Admiration

Women will look at other women at a distance and comment how beautiful the other woman is or how beautiful her clothes and make-up are. What they are really thinking  is "you may be beautiful now but in twenty years your boobs and butt will fall, you'll have jowls and have to resort to sub-standard hair coloring".

Men do not look at other men and comment " Wow, he is a handsome dude" or  "Look how beautiful he dresses and those shoes are to die for". Men don't do this with the sole exception of the men on the Jersey Shore. Men also do not wish bad things on other men aside from their bosses. We don't care about those things. We care about our wives and kids. We care about the score of the Jet's game. We care about our cars and electronic gadgets.

Ilana has always given me permission to look at an attractive women with the proviso that I can never, never touch. This is fair enough, but I have never had the courage to take her up on this offer when she is with me. There are too many news stories depicting the creative use of super glue, knives and scissors to ever consider displaying a wandering eye. If I look it will be with the fleetest of glances through the corner of my eye.

The Supermarket: Life in the Slow Lane

When men go shopping with a list they reach out to the product, pick out the cheapest one and throw it into the cart even if it's the wrong item. We don't look at ingredients, we don't look at brand names. We just through it into the cart. Men can go into the supermarket find thirty items and be out of the store within fifteen minutes.

Women are different. They don't care about the price as long as the item is high in fiber, has pro-biotics, low in sugar and no trans-fats. Women are very analytical. They will study all of the ingredients and weigh the pros and the cons before making the final selection. This process can take about ten minutes per item. This is compounded when there are ten competing brands to review and analyze.

To make matters worse, women will park their shopping cart right in the middle of the aisle so that no one can pass on either side. You can say "Excuse me" till your face turns blue but a woman's ability to process what you are saying at that time will not compute as her brain is in full Food Analysis Mode, that's FAM for short.

If you are lucky her husband will be there and he will move the cart, especially because he is bored standing around with nothing to do but wait while his wife is in FAM. As he moves the cart he will give you a look and shrug that silently says " I am so sorry for my wife's rude behavior" and I will give him the silent shrug sign in return that says "No need to apologize. We (men) are in this together".

This unconcious need to block aisles does not only apply to humans. My dog, Lady, will find the narrowest area of a room to park herself. You can have a whole room for her to rest in but she will without fail always be in the area that will make it the most difficult for you to pass through. Ever notice that whenever you follow a woman into a store they stop in the doorway to look around before they enter? Upon leaving they will stop in the doorway to look at the receipt. Not before or after the doorway. In the doorway.

By nature, women are in control of their domain. Men are given permission to be there as long as it suits the woman. Many cultures have always had matriarchal societies and they had flourished for centuries. These societies were socially advanced. They cared as a community and took care of the children and the elderly. Just as this trait causes competition between women, it also allows them to coalesce in a cooperative effort to kick the butt of any man (or group of men) who tries to usurp their authority.

With that said, I must also mention that in my home I am King of the castle. Ilana gives me permission to say that.

Note: This essay was published with permission of my wife after promising to take her out to dinner and wash the dishes for one week. Jekyll and Hyde was not really a scientific study. It is a work of fiction by Robert Louis Stevenson. Frankenstein really happened though.

The Summer of '71

The Summer of 1971. I remember it well. I would love to say it was the summer where I got my first car. The summer where I lost my virginity. A summer where there was world peace and all was right in the world.

But I can't.

I did not get a car, I did not have sex with a hot babe (or even a homely one). The police action in Vietnam was raging and 50,000 American soldiers were killed and countless injured and mutilated. Vietnam was not recognized as a war until many years later due to the efforts of veterans who were being short changed by the government with reduced benefits and medical care. I did graduate from Sheepshead Bay High School on time and Iwas accepted to a local college.

The muscle car ruled the streets. You had the Dodge Chargers, Pontiac GTOs, Ford Mustangs, Chevy SSs, Plymouth Road Runners and Challengers. There were 440 horsepower Magnums, 500 horsepower hemis, Fuel Injected 351s. Gas was cheap, engines were blueprinted and rebuilt. Flooring the gas was akin to being in the cockpit of a rocket and feeling the G forces pushing you back into the seat. Every teen or young adult who had a muscle car poured every cent of their earnings into the cars rather than their personal hygiene.

I didn't have a car, I didn't make enough at the Colonial Mansion catering hall as a waiter to afford one. My dad had a car. A 4500 pound Dodge Polara with a 270 horsepower engine. Not very powerful by the standards of the muscle car, especially since the car weighed as much as it did.

My dad loved his car especially since it had a FM radio and air conditioning. I remember the fights he and my mother had over the car's options. My mom couldn't understand why you need to pay extra for an FM radio when AM was standard. And why pay an extra $800 for air conditioning when you can roll down the non automatic windows (that would have been an extra $200). My dad spent $5,400 that year for his car. A reasonable sum for a decent and boxy family sedan.

The only problem I had with the car aside from not having 500 horsepower was that the deep throated hum of the muscle car muffler was missing. This car was virtually silent. I decided to fix that for him.

I had went to Adelman's on Coney Island Avenue and Avenue L and purchased a Thrush® racing muffler. Adelman's (which is long gone) advertised that they would install mufflers free with the purchase. After I paid for the muffler they informed me that their policy excludes racing mufflers. No problem, the Whale and the Gopher, claimed they were adept at the intricacies of automobiles and said it would be no sweat do it ourselves. The Gopher opened a garage several years later but went out of business because he did not have the first idea as how to repair a car.

Let us regress a bit...

We called ourselves the Sons of Bitchs, a name that was not very endearing to our parents or anyone else. We even had tee shirts. We were like the little rascals but bigger and heavier and not as smart. Instead of Spanky, Buckwheat and Alfalfa we had the Whale, The Goat, The Bird, The Pig, The Gopher, The Pigeon and I was the Platypus.

Mike was the Whale as he was big, powerful and white like Moby Dick. Larry was the Bird because he was rail thin with a big appetite. Mark was the Goat because he sported a goatee, actually a Van Dyke but we didn't know the difference then. George was the Pig, I was the Platypus because as per the Whale I was dumpy and weird looking which for the record I totally disagree with. I was portly, not dumpy. Ron was the Gopher because...he looked like a gopher.

Well we take my dad's car and the muffler to my backyard and proceed to dismember it. Try as hard as we might, we could not get the muffler off of the exhaust pipe. We pushed and shoved, smacked and banged it with wrenches and mallets but it would not come off. Finally Mike gets his lower half of his body under the car and with legs that can push up a thousand pounds or more and pushed until the muffler actually came off.

To my chagrin, we could not get the muffler back on and went back to Adelman's to complain. At first they refused to install the muffler as per policy but we made enough commotion that he sent us to his brother-in-law's shop on Cropsey Avenue where the Muffler was installed for an additional twenty dollars.

We get in the car and sure enough it now sounded like a real, honest to God, dragster. Even though it didn't have significant horsepower, it sounded like a Tiger ready to pounce on an unsuspecting Eland grazing on the plains of Ethiopia. We cruised down Nostrand Avenue. We cruised up Kings Highway and down Kings Highway watching people look at us in awe as three pimply kids in a loud, throaty Dodge Polara drove down the street and blasting the FM radio (my father conceded with my mother by not paying extra for a cassette player). We were cool with a capital C.

I went to pick up my father from work later that evening and needless to say he was not very happy with the alteration of the car. Did I mention that I never asked his permission to do this? I believe that after the shock wore off my dad kind of liked having a car that sounded like a mean and lean racing machine especially since my mother would have never let him pay extra for a car that could do 0 to 60 in 5.5 seconds.

About a week later we were going on a family vacation to Lancaster county to see the Amish people and eat at the Plain and Fancy Family Style restaurant and buy tons of jams and preserves from Kitchen Kettle Village to bring home and enjoy for the next year or two. On the way up there we were subject to the sound of the muffler for 3 hours and feeling our skulls vibrate. I was starting to think that getting this muffler may have been a mistake. With 10 miles to go we started to smell exhaust fumes in the car and the muffler falls off. Aside from getting the muffler off the pipe Mike's great strength cracked all of the other pipes were they were welded together.

We ended up going to a service station where my dad had to purchase a new muffler, a cross over pipe, a hump pipe, a tail pipe and other things I didn't even know existed. Thank heaven they didn't have catalytic converters back then. I am sure in today's dollars this would have cost him at least $1000 to repair. My dad was no longer happy. This is a fine way to start a vacation that he looked forward to for months. His employer, the cheap Colonial Mansion, only gave him two weeks a year for vacation and their idea of a week was only five days.

My dad forgave me. I never altered this or any other vehicle he owned again, except for a cassette player and a steering wheel cover. I did, however, rip the bottom out of his subsequent vehicle by playing Rat Patrol on a street that was being repaved. I never confessed that one to him.

The Host to disseminate Erroneous Yaptrap

Ever since I was young my brother, Robert, and I recognized that there was a reprehensible plot to control our thoughts and actions. We were subject to the incessant bombardment of propaganda from our leaders such as...

Vietnam was not a war

The Russians will drop an H-Bomb on us tomorrow

The average American family is as depicted on Father Knows Best and the Donna Reed Show

Corporate America cares for you

America made the best cars

Iraq had weapons of mass destruction

USA has the best and most efficient medical care system in the world

And so on. As the years passed I had learned that we had been fed this drivel so that concerned parties could increase their power base and financial interests. Yes, there may have been a modicum of truth here and there but all-in-all these were gross overstatements designed to scare the bejeezus out of us and keep us in line.

I don't consider myself one who falls for  conspiracy theories and I am adamantly against most. I believe that we landed on the moon several times, Israel was not responsible for the attack on the World Trade Center, The Earth is 4 1/2 to 6 billion years old, the dinosaurs died out 65 million years ago* long before the ancestors of man came into the picture and that we perfected time travel in the 1940's in a attempt to assassinate Hitler but failed miserably.

No matter how nefarious the above attempts to control us has been there is even a darker attempt to control us through propaganda. Instead of feeding us with erroneous information regarding items to control our political, moral and social beliefs there has always been an attempt to force our behavioral patterns and mold us into a cookie cutter ideology. Whenever you try to get to the source of the information we are informed that THEY say these are true. Who are THEY?

I am proud to say no matter how hard THEY tried to get me to fall in line, THEY have failed. It has been my belief that the United Nations was behind this on their quest to dominate the world and increase their black helicopter fleet and their army of agents wearing black. I went through the UN's website looking for a summary of the responsibilities of UNICEF. I have learned that the C in UNICEF stands for Children which confirms that this plot starts here as this propaganda is directed initially to Children.

Some of the propaganda that  I grew up with were:

Swallowing apple seeds or orange pits will cause a tree to grow out of your navel when you are asleep (a blatant attempt by fruit growers in this country to stop people from planting their own orchards).

Smoking cigarettes around children was not detrimental to their health (pandering to the interests of tobacco farmers and cigarette manufacturers)

Butter is bad for you but oleomargarine and hydrogenated trans-fats are not. (The FCC... Fake Food Council)

Getting drunk on alcohol is not as bad as getting high on marijuana (Republicans)

If you cross your eyes and someone slaps you on the back your eyes will remain in the crossed position. (Teachers trying to keep kids from enjoying school. School is serious business)

Masturbation causes poor vision and hairy palms. (Organized religion). My nearsightedness is congenital and I do not have hairy palms. Thank you.

Drinking cold soda after eating hot soup will crack your teeth. (Tooth whitening product manufacturers) This one may be true as I always drank cold soda when eating soup and as of the last count I am down 17 teeth.

Even today when someone tells you something they will start by saying "THEY say..". And once again I must ponder the question... Who are THEY?. While continuing my search into this question at the United Nations website, particularly the UNICEF page, I could not conclusively say that this propaganda is coming from that source. I believe it started there but now I believe that this has escalated into an enormous black plot to control EVERY FACIT OF OUR EXISTANCE! Until I can find out who is behind this plot I will refer to this nameless and secret organization as T.H.E.Y...

The Host to disseminate Erroneous Yaptrap.

I am convinced that Bankers, Detroit and  members of the Tea Party are behind this plot. Whether or not they have the backing of the United Nations is no longer of any significance as their power and influence has increased a thousand fold over the past twenty years. 

Knowledge is power. In order to keep them from learning any more about me I buy everything using cash. I have lined my walls with aluminum foil to thwart their eavesdropping and mind reading devices. I speak on the telephone in code. For example when I call my wife to tell her I am going to the grocery store I say "Ilana, look around and make sure no one is reading your lips. I am going hunting and gathering. Good bye" and hang up quickly before she can utter a single word.

Dammit! Now they know my code speak! Why did I write this in my blog? Now I have to get a new code for going to the grocery. I better be careful before I know it there may be men in black knocking at my front door. Wait. There is a knock at my front door, let me see who is there. I'll be right back....

... Two men in white coats are out there! Thank god they are not wearing black. Well I must say goodbye for now. But before I do, promise me one thing... you will not fall victim to stupid conspiracy theories, tea party rhetoric, vote for Obama at the next election and always keep a look out for... THEY!

Note: The opinions I have wrote about in this essay do not necessarily reflect the beliefs of my brother, Robert.

* The Flintstones were actually an advanced humanoid race that exhibited ecological friendly technology who did exist along with the dinosaurs but are not directly related to the humans who exist today or to our Australopithecus ancestors. The TV show is not animated but actual footage found in archelogical digs in Prospect Park.

This posting was a collaborative effort with Alyssa Levine whose intelligence, charm, sharp wit, neurosis and paranoia compliment my twisted views.

Weddings, Spiders and Nazi Zombies

Chuck
Stephanie, I love you so much. I am so glad we washed up on this beach and found each other.

Rose
Yes, Chuck. The smell of the sea, the waves crashing to the shore. I can't imagine anything more beautiful.

Chuck
Oh my god, what is that out in the ocean moving to the shore?

Rose
I don't know but suddenly I am scared Chuck! Really, really scared!

Chuck
They're people Steph. Blond haired people and lots of them!

Rose
And they are wearing Nazi uniforms!

They hear a voice shouting from behind, it is the voice of Peter Cushing, playing a crazy old man who alleged he was a SS Commander on a top secret German project during WWII.

Crazy old SS Commander
Quick, Chuck, Rose. Run! Zey are Nazi zombies zat ver asleep under the ocean all of these years and they somehow ver awakened and cannot be controlled. Ve must get off of this beach. Mach snell!

SPOILER ALERT: The movie ends with everyone getting killed by the Nazi Zombies except for Rose who gets away in a dinghy and ends up in an asylum for the insane after being rescued.

Ψ

Shock Waves is a movie that holds a special place in our hearts. This was the first movie that Ilana and I saw together after we were married. A great movie to see while enjoying the charms of Cape Cod and it's beaches on our honeymoon.

As many of our family members and friends know (or will know after reading this). Ilana and I knew each other as acquaintances and friends for approximately one year before we wed in August 1981. We dated approximately eight weeks. We planned to get married in November 1981 however, Ilana's sister Meri was visiting from Israel and didn't want to make another trip in three months so she very persuasively had us move up our plans.

Ilana and I wanted a very small, intimate wedding with just immediate family and closest friends. Her sister Rena offered us the use of her home and backyard for the wedding.  We were thrilled!  This was the wedding that Ilana always wanted.  Then Meri took us aside and said, "Mom always wanted to have a big wedding for you. A small wedding would sadden her". We agreed and within two weeks we arranged a wedding for 148 people at the Shell Bank Jewish Center, hired a caterer and a band, Ilana found a wedding dress and had all of her fittings within a one week period and we called all of our guests.

The wedding day had come. It was a beautiful August day. Ilana was waiting for her parents to pick her up. They lived a block away. She waited. Fifteen minutes went by, then another fifteen. After forty five minutes she tried to call her parents to find out where they were but the phone went unanswered. They were an hour late and Ilana was starting to panic. A car service driver was waiting in the driveway for his fare and started a conversation with Ilana. After hearing her concerns he said he would stay and drive her if they didn't show up. They came a few minutes later. When Ilana asked her father why they didn't answer the phone, he stated that Meri didn't want her to know that they were running late.

Back on track, I am at the Jewish Center when Ilana arrives. Her mother yelled at me to look away as seeing the bride before the wedding is bad luck and she ran Ilana into the bridal chamber like a Secret Service Officer protecting the President of the United States. After a half an hour, the Rabbi calls me into the bridal chamber to verify that Ilana is the person I am supposed to marry before she put down the veil. This custom comes from the biblical story of Jacob being snookered into marrying the wrong sister. Ilana's mom didn't realize that the Rabbi had invited me in and jumped in front of me and was about to kick my butt out of the room but was intercepted by the Rabbi who assured her that it was alright. The Rabbi then had me sign the marriage contract, the Katubah, which I had discussed in a previous blog.

The wedding ceremony was now about to begin. As Ilana, beautiful and well-coifed, entered the room to walk down the aisle.  Due to the swiftness of the wedding preparations there was a sudden hush as everyone expected her to be extremely pregnant and ready to drop.  When they saw that she was flat bellied there was a collective "Whew" and Ilana continued down the aisle. The Rabbi referred to her as Eileen, Elaine, Elona, Yolanda, and Ellen during the next twenty minutes. After getting through a massive giggle fit (everyone thought she was trembling in fear) we were pronounced Husband and Wife.

Next the reception began and all of our guests were awaiting the grand entrance of the newest happily wed couple and the band leader announced "Let's give a great big hand for... Ilana and Robert!"

Robert! Where in the hell did he get Robert from! Somewhere there is an announcement in a newspaper of the Elaine Kushner and Robert Levine wedding. The food was terrible (the Jewish center insisted we use their glatt kosher caterer), the band was off key but until the birth of my kids that was the best day of my life.

The next day we headed off to Cape Cod. We had reservations at the Windjammer Inn.  The brochure showed that it was a beautiful inn along the beach. A perfect haven for honeymooners. When we made the reservations they had informed us that the main inn was solidly booked but they had rooms at their romantic and modern annex.

Due to heavy rains the trip took longer than we had expected and we decided to eat in a restaurant called Lobster in the Rough before we reached the inn. The server orally went through the menu explaining in a very heavy New England accent the difference between the Cull with no claw, the Claw with one claw and the Haul with two claws. After going through the whole page Ilana looked at her and said "Huh?" To the untrained ear cull, haul and claw sounded like " the awl with and awl, the awl with one awl and the awl with two awl". After repeating the second time Ilana looked at her, hesitated a moment and said "Huh"? The server was somewhat taken aback and I, who can communicate in New Englandese, decided to place the order for two hauls with two claws for all which sounded like "Two awls with two awls for awl".

I also noticed quahogs on the menu. Admitting that I was not acquainted with that term I asked the server what they were and she said they were baked clams. Oddly enough they were sold individually. I ordered six. The server was dumbfounded, attempted a smile and wrote down the order and walked off shaking her head.

Baked clams in Brooklyn usually come six or eight to the order and they all fit very nicely on a 10 inch plate. What the server did not make clear to me was that quahogs are actually chowder clams that have a diameter of six inches and are piled about four inches high with chopped clams and breading. The order was brought out on three large plates. The other patrons were wide eyed with wonder as how we were going to eat all of them.

Yes, I ate all six.

After I had finished the quahogs the server brought out the lobsters. Ilana had never ordered a whole lobster previously, only broiled tails that were already split. These lobsters were served boiled and unsplit. Ilana puzzled over how to attack the lobster and tried stabbing it with a fork. I must regress somewhat. Instead of individual tables the restaurant had tables arranged in rows of four to six across. As Ilana tried stabbing the lobster with a predetermined force calculated to go through the shell, the lobster slid out from under her fork and ended up across the row of tables and finally stopped next to another couple. Nonchalantly I had walked over, apologized and retrieved the lobster.

Once we checked in at the inn's main building we proceeded two blocks to the modern, romantic annex. The annex was previously a small motel that was last redecorated and furnished in 1940. It had a black and white TV, two well worn single beds and a sofa sleeper. The only channel we could get on the TV was showing a B horror movie called Shock Waves.

We shared one single bed that night. In the morning we had received a wake up call. On the first ring I started to get up and looked down at my sleeping bride. On the second ring, Ilana startled and jumped up smashing the top of her head into my eye. We started to get dressed and Ilana went to the bathroom. All of a sudden, I hear Ilana start to scream. As I ran into the bathroom. Ilana was on the toilet bowl surrounded by hundreds of baby spiders hanging on strands of webbing. With great aplomb I rescued her from a horrendous fate and carried her to safety. Actually I didn't carry her but it makes a better damsel in distress story.

We found that the Sheraton in Hyannis had a vacancy and we checked out of the Windjammer and checked into a small suite with a king size bed, a love seat and a mechanical fireplace. The rates were pretty much the same as the Windjammer and the hotel manager learning that we were on our honeymoon and of our ordeal apologized that he couldn't do more for us and had a basket of fruits and a bottle of champagne waiting for us. We had tickets to see Dionne Warwick at the Melody Tent in Hyannis. Aside from the Melody Tent being ridiculously overcrowded with no knee room, Dionne sang only three songs and spent twenty minutes transfixed on a spider hanging from a strand of webbing over the stage. I believe that she was psychically trying to befriend and communicate with it.

The rest of our honeymoon went without a hitch, which is a contradiction as you can't get married without getting hitched. We visit Cape Cod quite often, however much has changed. The Sheraton and Windjammer are no longer there but the Melody Tent is where we left it and right next door is the Paddock Restaurant where we ate our first king crab legs.

A year or two after we were married, my mother-in-law came to us and said, "Out of curiosity, I know that you always wanted a small wedding, so why did you change your mind?"  Ilana informed her that she had the larger wedding because that was what Meri said that she (her mother) wanted for her. Her mom said "No. I thought the small wedding was a wonderful idea. Meri came to me and said you really wanted a big wedding". To this day Meri would not admit that she engineered this. We love you Meri, everything worked out fine and we will always have great memories and laughs of our wedding day and our honeymoon and the Nazi zombies.

The Marriage Contract

When a Jewish man and woman get married they enter into a pre-nuptial marriage contract. This contract is called a Katubah. Being that the Katubah that I had signed is in Hebrew and I do not speak, read or write in Hebrew, I have no idea what kind of contract I had entered into. Ilana does have a knowledge of Hebrew, winked to her mother and had a look on her face that I would assume the devil would have when he got hold of your soul.

When we were married I had no idea that I would have to sign this document. I had asked the Rabbi what I was signing and he just laughed. I turned around and looked into the faces of everyone who was present when I had signed it and they had all whispered to each other and laughed as well.

Thirty years have passed since I had tied the knot and signed the document. To this day I have not found a translation of the Katubah but I can say that from the knowledge that I have amassed over the past thirty years I believe I know most, if not all of the rules and regulations I had agreed to.

The first thing Ilana said to me after I signed the contract was "What is mine is mine. What is yours is mine". This is most likely the first paragraph and the premise of the Katubah. The next item on the Katubah is that the wife gets to spend an obscene amount of money by buying mezuzahs for every door way in the house. For anyone who does not know what a mezuzah is, it is a small decorative holder that contains a hand written parchment scroll reciting a prayer to protect your home. The holder can be a cheap piece of plastic to an expensive piece of artwork. The mezuzah is then nailed to the doorway at an angle. Regardless of the holder, the parchment which is written by a certified scribe is quite expensive. Ironically, the only room that doesn't have a mezuzah in the doorway is the bathroom and that is the room where I need the most amount of luck. Instead of a mezuzah, I must count on prunes and laxatives to have a meaningful, religious experience.

The Katubah to my understanding also states that it is the husband's responsibility to go into the backyard each weekend and pick up about five pounds of dog droppings. Every second weekend I am obligated to mow the lawn. The Katubah is not one sided, it also spells out the obligations of the wife. The wife does laundry every Sunday with the exception of towels. Laundry is a complicated process and must be done just so. Towels are the only exception. Any idiot can do towels so that is why it is relegated to the husband.

Ilana has made laundry into an art form. When she finishes it smells springtime fresh and is soft and fluffy. Ilana divides the wash into eight separate loads. Work clothes; blues, green and grays; jeans; reds and purples; white underwear; color underwear; delicates and Towels. Each different load has many different settings from sturdy to delicates, hot, warm, cold, combination of hot and cold; fast spin; long spin; rinse once, rinse twice; add softener or not; when to add bleach or not. The permutations are mind boggling. I for one do not wish to master this art. My idea of doing laundry is taking everything, shoving it all into the machine in one giant load, add soap and hit the on switch.

When you get through the washing process you now have to consider the drying process. Some clothes shrink in the dryer. Some melt. What gets hung to dry (aside from the husband after signing the Katubah)? Then comes the folding. Have you ever tried to fold a fitted sheet?  I read somewhere that Thomas Edison and Albert Einstein never mastered this. E=MC² actually was an attempt to quantify the laundry process but Albert Einstein changed his direction to understand the beginning of the universe which was  in his eyes a much simpler process.

One of the other  responsibilities that is delegated to the husband in the Katubah is doing the dishes, pots and pans after a meal. I am very good at this if I must say so myself and I take great pride in this task. On this evening I went into the kitchen and found all of the pots and pans clean and dried and all of the dishes placed into the dishwasher. This was a clear violation of my rights as spelled out in the Katubah. I had felt violated. I confronted Ilana and laid down the law. The law of the Katubah! I said in my best Tevye to Golde voice "I don't do the laundry and you do not do the pots and pans!"

All in all I believe that I have mastered my responsibilities that I had agreed to in the Katbbah. The Katubah actually is designed to protect the rights of the wife and is essentially a one sided document. Contractually or not, I gladly accept my responsibility as husband and seeing a smile on my wife's face is reward enough for me. The traditional alternative would be handing over four hundred zuz if she ever wanted to leave me. I have no idea what four hundred zuz is in today's dollars.