My very own piece of cyber earth where I can rant and rave. A place where all shoes are accepted and loved (except for ones from Payless of course).

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Happy Halloween from the NAACP

There are many things to love about Utah. The wonderful climate. Mountains with perfect powder. Friendly people. However, there are many things about Utah that leave me shaking my head. This Halloween I have noticed the overuse of a word in Utah that I am certain would not be so freely used anywhere else in the country. The word in question is Spook. I hesitate even to write that word on my blog for fear of being accused of being a racist. For those who don't know (a.k.a. my neighbors...) Spook is a VERY racist term for a black person. Arguably worse than the “N” word.

When I first noticed that people in Utah apparently didn't know what this word meant I was at a craft fair with some co-workers. One of my co-workers, Tracy, was in a little booth that sold home goods. She came out shaking her head and sent me into the same booth. Specifically to look at the doormats. To my horror there was a doormat that read, "Spooks Welcome." I felt like someone had just punched me in both my eyes! Was this a left over from the 50’s? I looked around the rest of the booth thinking I would see pointy white hats for sale, along with signs meant for posting by drinking fountains reading, “White’s Only!” Fortunately the booth did not have anything of the sort, and had a decidedly Halloween theme. They were not selling doormats to the KKK, they were just attempting to be clever. And failing. Miserably.

As the holiday approached I noticed the use of this word all around my neighborhood. A sign down the street proclaiming, "FREE! Safety tips for Spooks!". A sign in a window with big orange letters, "Spook children welcome!" The local ward posting signs on my door reading “Trunk or Treat. Spooks of all ages welcome!”

On the bright side, at least all the references to Spooks were friendly and welcoming. I saw no signs that read, “Die Spook, Die!”

For further enlightenment on the subject please visit: www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=spook.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Eat your heart out, Oprah!

Last night marked the first monthly Sundance book club meeting, which I held at my new house. I have to admit the weeks leading up the book club were very nerve wracking for me. I worried that people would hate the book (we read Good in Bed, by Jennifer Weiner). I wondered what I would do if nobody wanted to discuss what they had read. What if I was the only one who actually read the book? What if nobody had a good time? What if everyone cancelled at the last minute? What if I ran out of food? What if everyone didn't like the food? As you can see, hosting a book club is not as easy and fun as you would imagine.

However, despite all the potential for disaster, I am pleased to report the first book club was a slam dunk! Everyone came right on time, most everyone loved the book, the food was great and the atmosphere social and festive. Each and every one of us had an opinion about what we had read. It wasn't just a group of people reading their favorite paragraph (I've been to that kind of book group before...YAWN). We analyzed, debated and had an actual discussion. Apart from the quality of the discussion, I was really struck by the quality of people I work with. I actually like everyone I work with. I enjoy spending time with them both in and out of the office. Don't get me wrong, we have definitely had the occasional bad apple, but they never last for very long.

The next book we are reading was picked by the one and only Susan, dollcake extraordinaire. We'll be reading "The Sex Lives of Cannibals” written by J. Maarten Troost, which I have been informed has nothing to do with either Sex or Cannibals, so it should be an interesting read!

As if to prove that the universe is constantly trying to maintain balance, I read in the November issue of Details magazine that short pants on men are actually now in style. The lingering nausea over the thought of men in short pants is indescribable...That’s what I get for having a great book club I suppose…men in pants that are too short.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

God Bless America....Literally

I was just walking through the parking lot and came across what is quite possibly the most disturbing bumper sticker I have ever laid eyes on. Even more disturbing than the time I saw a car with literally hundreds of yellow "Support Our Troops" ribbons all over it. The new world champion bumper sticker in sheer disturbingness reads, "God is not Red or Blue. God is an American." Now everyone please close your eyes and imagine me with my mouth hanging open, shaking my head in sheer amazement... Enough said.

Parenting 101

Yesterday I had to go the Doctor. I hate going to the Doctor. It's always such a frustrating (because they make you wait FOREVER), degrading (you have to sit on the crinkly paper and get weighed) and generally irritating experience.

While waiting in the lobby for my appointment there was a very haggard looking woman there with her 4 children. I think the kids were trying to re-enact a scene from Lord of the Flies. They were running around, throwing magazines, hitting each other etc... Calling each other clever names like, “Poopie eater” and “Doo doo head”. The mother had finally had enough and grabbed one of the little kids by the arm and said, "If you don't sit DOWN RIGHT NOW, I'm going to tell the Doctor to stick a needle In. Your. Eye!" Can anyone say Mother of the Year?

Well that took the fire right out of that little boy. He sat right down and looked like he was going to cry. In fact, I felt like I was going to cry too. She was really scary. What kind of parenting is that? I know we all think those kinds of thoughts about children from time to time, but who actually says them? I must admit I was pretty grateful though for some peace and quiet and if it took the threat of a needle to the eye, so be it.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Shabbat Shalom!

“The “J” party is cancelled.” Shoshuna looked a bit miffed to learn the singles mixer at the Jewish Community Center had been nixed due to lack of RSVP’s. Shoshuna is my new friend from Manhattan. She is hillarious, and to my knowledge the only Jew living in Utah County. She had talked me into going along for moral support.

“That’s a bummer.”

“Don’t be too sad though. The coordinator, Debbie, says they’re holding a “gathering” at her mother-in-laws house that same night. And we’re invited! You’ll come right?”

“Hmmmmm. At the mother-in-laws? I don’t know…”

“You have got to come. Don’t make me go by myself.”

This is how I found myself sitting next to Sho in her Jeep, traveling to Salt Lake for a party at a person’s house neither of us had met.

“So is there any topic I shouldn’t bring up,” I asked. “Any topics that are taboo in the J religion?”

“No topics I can think of. Anything goes. Well, except Hitler. Don’t talk about Hitler.”

“Duh.”

“It should be fun. They probably live in some massive house. There will be great, traditional Jewish food, probably catered, and hopefully some single men!”

Thirty minutes later we arrive at the house, and I must say the neighborhood and house were somewhat surprising. The front yard of the house was overrun with weeds and the grass was dry, brown and looked as if it hadn’t been mowed in weeks.

“You’re sure this is the right address?” I asked.

“Yeah. I checked it twice.”

As we were sitting there getting ready to go inside another guest arrived. He parked his car, got out and I noticed two things immediately. First he was wearing a yarmulke. Secondly he was a long haired man! There was a sick ponytail coming our from under said yarmulke. “Great, a long haired Jew. Maybe he’s single Sho. Perhaps you will meet your husband here tonight.”

“Sick doll. No way.”

We get out of the car and go inside the house. My first impression was that they had a lot of…stuff. Stuff everywhere. On the floor, on the couches, on the shelves. Everywhere there was stuff. It looked like someone had taken a bag of trash, put a bomb inside and let it explode. There were pictures all over the walls of old men with long white hair. They were all haphazard on the wall. It looked like someone wearing a blindfold had just tossed them toward the wall and they stuck.

After we were introduced to everyone we were informed that we’d be making Sukkah’s. Truth be told, I’m still not sure what a Sukkah is, but it involved threading plastic grass through a u-shaped plastic frame, and then hanging little plastic pumpkins with yarn from the pieces of grass. They ended up being centerpieces on the tables. Tres tres strange to my non-Jewish eyes. From the look on Shoshuna’s face, she was just as puzzled as I was.

As we’re making the Sukkah’s I overhead two women beside me talking about an old couple that was hit by a car while crossing the street downtown. I lean over and say, “Did the old couple die?”

“Shhhh,” the younger woman hissed at me. “Don’t say that word around the children! We spell those words. D.I.E. And yes the couple is D.E.A.D.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She then went back to talking with the other woman. Not 13 seconds later I hear her say, “And I was at the store and they were all out of rolls and I was like what the f***.” I nearly fell off the couch. She could say the “F” word in front of children but wanted me to spell die? Whatever.

Dinner was set to start at 7:00 and we finally sat down to eat at 8:30. By this time I was starving. On the table in front of me was a paper place setting including a small plastic shot glass sitting in the center of my plate. “This looks promising.” I thought to myself. Also on the table was a platter of deviled eggs, with a strange mixture of raw baby carrots and pistachios in the shell in the center of the plastic serving dish.

I leaned over to Sho and said, “Are deviled eggs traditional Jewish food?”

“Uh Uh.” I could tell from her behavior that this was not a typical Jewish Shabbat dinner. I also learned that the little shot glass was for wine which would be blessed as part of the prayers.

While we’re getting settled down I’m handed a baby-pink yarmulke to put on my head. Now for anyone who has never had to wear a yarmulke, it is much more difficult than you would imagine. It’s like balancing a book on your head. You can’t move around too much or it will fall right off. I felt like I was newly enrolled in charm school. So on top of the strange mixture of carrots and nuts in front of me, I now had to worry about not flipping my pretty pink yarmulke into someone’s deviled egg.

Once everyone is seated the prayers began. First there was a prayer / musical number by all of the women present. Lots of wailing and waving of the arms. Very puzzling. Then everyone got up from their chairs and went around hugging each other. As I am not one for physical contact with strangers and desperately trying not to move around too much for fear of dislodging my yarmulke, I closed my eyes hoping everyone would think I was praying and leave me alone. Luckily I managed to avoid the hug squad. Next there was a prayer / musical number by a man with white hair. This prayer / song went on for AGES. Then all the men sang something. Then everyone around me started reciting something else. Then it was time to drink the wine. I’m figuring, wine in a shot glass = a wine shooter. So I took it like a shot. Completely forgetting the yarmulke, which flew off my head like a Frisbee when I threw my head back to drink the wine.

After collecting my yarmulke I lean over to Sho, “Do I have to put this back on my head?” I said, gesturing with the rose colored head Frisbee.

“No, you can take if off now. You only need to ke….”

“WE WERE ALL SLAVES IN EGYPT!”

WTF??? I look around and crazy white haired man just decided that it was the appropriate time to shout, “We were all slaves in Egypt.” No lie. I swear on the Bible and the Torah that is exactly what he said. I nearly choked on my deviled egg.

Following the declaration of slavery, they passed around the appetizers. As the plate came my way I became very confused.

“Hey Sho, are Chinese egg rolls a traditional Jewish dish?”

“Mm Mm.” With an emphatic shake of the head. “I don’t know what’s going on! This is like the Jewish twilight zone. I swear that this is NOT how a normal Shabbat dinner is! I promise!”

Dinner was just as horrific as I was expecting. There was a large bowl of what looked like steaming dog food, but was really beef stroganoff made with hamburger. “Sho, is Beef Stroganoff a traditional Jewish dish?”

Again the head shake. “Mm Mm!”

I took enough food to not look like a total snob, and pushed it around my plate enough so that it looked like I had actually eaten some of it.

“Hey Chris!” I look down the table to one of the other guests at our table. “Do you like bourbon?”

Bourbon? What? “Maayyybbbee.” Anything to make this night more tolerable. Before I realize what’s going on I have a bourbon and diet coke sitting in front of me. Come to find out there are two little things that make even the most horrific dinner party tolerable. Bourbon and Diet Coke.

After three more Diet Cokes and bourbon I’m feeling pretty good. That is until I see a woman’s entire breast as she’s trying to feed her baby. This isn’t even the worst part. She’s breast-feeding right next to my cashmere sweater! The thought of breast milk on my sweater almost made me hurl. The thought of breast milk period made me want to hurl.

I had had enough. “Sho, there is an exposed boob by my sweater. We are leaving!”

We pack our things up and step gingerly over the badly stained carpet, careful to avoid the dried bits of food that dotted the carpet like little land mines.

Inside the safety of the car I say, “So, um, that was interesting…”

“Interesting!? That was horrifying! That house was filthy. The food was bad, and not even Jewish. My mother would just die! She would have left. The only thing they could do to make that house even somewhat livable is take a match to it. Ugh!”

"And what was with that guy that kept talking to me in Hebrew! Hello, I no speaky the Hebrew!"

"He wasn't speaking Hebrew! He was hearing impaired!" I thought Sho was going to have a coronary she was laughing so hard.

Overall the night was a total bust. No good food, no single men, no nice house and a bunch of crazies. Oy!

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Worse than a Mullet??

What is the deal with men with long hair? I think they formed a secret union and decided, as a whole, to follow me around all day long. Everywhere I turned there was another long haired man. At work. The gas station. Target. Blockbuster. Then finally at WalMart. Long haired men all over the place. ICK. They were flipping their hair. Stroking their hair. Twirling it. Running their fingers through it. One guy even did the Cameron Diaz hair flip from Charlies Angels.

And everywhere they went I’m sure they were shedding. Probably shedding all over the produce. Getting a long hair in your food is bad enough. Naturally, you assume it’s a long girl hair. Now imagine it’s a long man hair! I’m getting nauseated just thinking about it.

Now don’t get me wrong, some guys can pull off the long hair look. Not many, but some. Brad Pitt for instance. But only in Legends of the Fall, not Interview with the Vampire. So unless you are Brad Pitt and starring in Legends of the Fall, do us all a favor and run, don’t walk, to Fantastic Sams.

Ps. On a whim, I decided to google “Men with Long Hair.” This is what turned up. http://the-light.com/mens/longhair.html. I read through this and almost peed my pantaloons!

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Say WHAT?

A couple of months ago I was taking out the trash and had a very disturbing run in with a little girl on a purple scooter. Just before said encounter I had purchased a new pair of fantastic red Crocs. For those who don't know what Crocs are, push the rock from under which you are living off your back and run, don't walk, to your nearest Nordstrom. They are possibly the most comfortable shoes know to man.

I was very pleased with my new shoes and was wearing them every chance I could. So as I'm walking out to the dumpster I see the little girl happily scootering toward me. I am feeling especially hospitible in my new Crocs so I say hello. (New shoes always soften my stone heart. Temporarily at least.) Typically I treat children as I would the homeless. Don't look them in the eye, and they will leave you alone.

Me: "Hello"
Little Girl: "uhhhh"
Me: "Hellllloooo." I am not going to let this little girl snub me!
Little Girl: "Your shoes are stupid."
Me: Totally speechless.

I nearly died! All I could do was watch her scoot away with my mouth hanging open. That little brat just told me I had stupid shoes! I had about 15 emotions hit me at once. First I wanted to hit her with my bag of garbage. Decided against that for obvious reasons. Next, I thought about swearing at her. However, calling a little girl "the C word" is somewhat frowned upon in our culture. My next thought was perhaps the most horrific. What if the girl was right? What if my shoes were stupid? Could it be possible. Was I so far gone that I needed a little white trash girl to tell me I had stupid shoes. After all, don't we all tell our parents how out of it they are in the style department? Had I crossed the line into bad shoe land without realizing? The line so many of our parents, co-workers and fellow Americans had crossed before?

NO NO NO! I had GREAT shoes. That little girl was just plain old evil. And even if my shoes were stupid, I had a right to wear stupid shoes. I am young, successful and have worked hard for my money, and if choose to spend money on "stupid shoes" that is my right. Hm! One thing I wouldn't spend money on however is a stupid purple scooter! So put that in your pipe and smoke it, little girl!