I began cooking some years ago, drawn to the kitchen\’s rocky shores by the twin muses of economy and romance, shall we say (because it sounds so much better than the twin demons of cheap and horny).
I\’ve now spent a total of 24 hours in something called \”down dog,\” but I\’m still terrible at yoga.
I had to buy a present for my sister recently. Shopping for women, if you don\’t happen to actually be a woman yourself, is a nightmare.
I\’ve noticed that when men go shopping for clothes, there is a sense of purposefulness about it. We\’re going to the store to buy something, some specific thing in response to a specific need. A shirt. I need a shirt. We march in, try something on. If it fits, we buy it and march back out. No squealing, no cooing, no fanfare. We take care of our needs. There is a sense of accomplishment. We live from shirt to shirt.
The reason I am limping is because of a small man named Shen Hsu. That\’s not entirely accurate. I went to see Hsu because I was limping. He performed a variety of ancient Chinese medical practices on me, including acupuncture and a form of massage that could easily be mistaken for torture. I\’m still limping. Now I\’m limping a little differently, on what used to be my good side.
It is simply amazing that the Jewish people have managed to survive as long as we have, given our utter inability to do anything.
My friend Roth is dating a girl named Erica. By religion, she is Swedenborgian. He\’d never even heard of this (neither had I), until she came along and spelled it all out for him.
My cousin Barry, who is 27 and looks like a scale model of Michelangelo\’s \”David,\” is dating a 21-year-old Skechers model. Skechers is a line of shoes and clothing that I have never worn and generally think look ridiculous. You can\’t swing a cat on Melrose Avenue without hitting someone in Skechers. If you\’re wearing Skechers, I\’m too old for you.
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