Cheech and Chong are on Mad TV, and, well, I have something to confess: Stoner humor is apparently just as funny today as it was when I was fourteen years old.
Either that, or Mad TV’s writers got way better.
Sorry. But it was really funny. Who is that Bobby Lee guy? High-larious.
I can’t stop reading my archives. The personal posts, the humor posts, a few of the news posts, but mostly, the old stuff about my life four years ago.
Really, it’s fascinating. I mean, I know that four years ago, I was working for Kelly Temporary Services, as well as teaching religious school and the climbing gym. I know I was working seven days a week and still not making enough money to cover the bills every month, so I was taking “loans” from my credit card companies to pay the bills. But reading the accounts of what was going on as events were going on is like having a window into my brain from four years ago. Memories fade; blog posts remain. For all I know, blog posts may be forever—it’s entirely likely that my blog posts will outlive me.
One thing I’ve noticed about my reading old posts is that this time, unlike many other times, I haven’t been shuddering at the bad writing of yesteryear. Either my writing has finally reached a point that I’m utterly comfortable with, or my overdeveloped sense of self-criticism is finally in remission. Don’t care which one is right, just as long as it stays like this.
And may I say that I really, really, really am enjoying the comments. I miss the fluff and the silly puns in discussions. This one even has reader haikus about snow. (And that post also has a picture proving that yes, I did have my hard top on less than five years ago, contrary to a certain someone’s wrong opinion of how long my hard top was in his garage—two years, dude, two. Not five.)
So bear with me, people, because I keep finding posts that I want to bring back into the public view for my readers who weren’t here four years ago.
I have posts that are older than hundreds of thousands, no, millions of blogs. That’s the fast-paced age in which we live.
And then there’s the personal factor. I’m glad that I have the many-faceted blog that I see in the past, and a little sad that I stopped writing so many personal posts. I’m not quite sure why. I think it has a lot to do with going back to work as a web manager. Working on a computer for eight or more hours a day does drain your ability to post, and so I’ve been concentrating on the Israel posts and easing off on the personal ones. I think perhaps I should bring back the everyday doings of my life, as well as (Rahel will like this) adding more cat pictures. It seemed to work quite nicely four years ago.
Of course, a little encouragement in the comments won’t hurt a bit. Because then you’ll get more posts with content like this:
During lunch, I realized that one of my main purposes in life is to feed meat to Rebecca. When we eat at Hi’s, she gets her share of my roast beef sandwich. When we eat at Brock’s, my job is to give her skinless chicken (God forbid there should be skin or crust on it), cut to bite-sized pieces. (She refused to eat one that she felt was not cut small enough, until I cut it smaller). I also have to give her various side dishes, such as hush puppies and green beans, and don’t even get me started on Chinese food. That girl has eaten at least half my chicken and broccoli every time we have Chinese for lunch. You know the old saying about being hungry an hour after eating Chinese food? Well, with me, it’s because Rebecca has eaten my lunch. I have never seen a child who can hold so much food in such a tiny stomach.
The funniest moment of the day: Rebecca was showing off her belly button, so I commented on it, which, of course, got Max to raise his shirt. “I see your belly button,” I told him. “I have a penis,” he told me.
I could not stop laughing.
This post will doubtless be around long enough to embarrass Max during his teen years. Oh, well. He’ll have to dig in my archives to find it.
This post was first published on January 12, 2005, during the time when I was working seven days a week. One of those jobs was temping for Kelly Services.
Regular readers know I’ve been temping lately. One of my temp jobs is helping out at various seminars in the Richmond area. I had no idea how rich and varied the seminar field is. In the past few months, I’ve worked quite a few different seminars, ranging from software training to property law to childcare to—well, let me tell you about it.
This morning’s workshop was titled “Self-Mutilation.” It was about adolescents who cut themselves. I’d heard of the problem before, and so didn’t really raise an eyebrow at the subject matter. However, registration this morning was a bit unusual. The problem involved signing in. Over a hundred people approached the registration tables, wanting to be sure they were at the right conference (we did not have a giant sign, only literature on the tables). But they were also hesitant to ask at the wrong table, which is understandable. Picture this conversation:
“I’m here for the Self-Mutilation conference.”
“What? This is the Phillip Morris Team-building workshop, you sick freak!”
So here we are, two temps sitting at the registration table, and people walking up afraid to ask if they’re in the right place. Sometimes, they would see the program on the table, their faces would light up, and they’d say, “Oh, this is the right place!” After a while, I could see them trying to figure out what to do, so I’d start:
“Self-Mutilation?”
“Yes.”
“Name, please?”
The hotel employee whose job it was to change the notice boards with the day’s workshops came up to the table and asked for the name of the conference. He was clearly intensely uncomfortable talking about the subject at all. So we had a short conversation:
“What name should I put in the notice board?”
“The conference is on Self-Mutilation”
“How about if I just put S-M?”
“No, then people would think it’s about sadomasochism. How about you just put [name withheld] Center?”
He went off, clearly relieved he didn’t have to have “Self-Mutilation” sitting in that board for twenty-four hours. And I got yet another story to tell people.
This post was originally published on September 7, 2004.
As my regular readers know, the Hulk makes appearances on this blog from time to time. During my time off, I had the opportunity to discuss the election with him. Our conversation went something like this:
Pass the sunblock, Hulk.
Why girl need to put goo on skin? Hulk never need goo on skin, look at Hulk. Green as can be!
We’ve been over this before, Hulk. I’m merely human.
Bah. Girl puny human.
Fine. I’m a puny human. Puny humans need sunblock.
Girl want Hulk to put goo on back?
No! Er, no, Hulk. Last time you tried I wound up half a mile in the ocean.
Bah. Hulk got girl out before shark eat her.
You know, Hulk, sometimes you’re—
[Cue: airplane flying up coast, bearing a "Vote Kerry/Edwards!" banner]
What plane say?
They want us to vote for John Kerry in the election.
What election?
An election is how we get our leaders.
Leader! Hulk hate Leader! Leader very bad. Try to kill Hulk many times with squishy men. Hulk can’t punch squishy men.
No, not the Leader. Our leaders. Like the president.
Who president?
Bush. Our president is Bush.
President is bush? HAHAHAHAHA! Puny humans led by plant!
[sigh] No, Hulk. The president’s name is Bush.
That stupid name.
No argument here.
Why plane want different leader than Bush?
That’s what we do. Every four years, we have two people run against each other to see who will be our leader.
They run into each other? Hulk like that!
No, um, they go around the country and make speeches and try to get us to vote for them.
Speeches? Bah. Talk, talk, talk. Hulk bored with talk. Hulk like to smash. Leaders smash?
Well, we are at war. So you could say that some of our leaders smash.
This Kerry smash?
No. He doesn’t want us to be at war. He’d stop us from smashing—er, fighting in Iraq.
Do Bush smash?
Bush is the one who sent us into Iraq, so yes, Bush smash.
Bush smash. What Kerry do?
Well, he talks. Rather a lot, come to think of it.
Bah. Talk, talk, talk. Puny humans talk too much. Hulk tired of talking. Hulk want to smash. Hulk like to smash. Hulk vote for Bush. Bush smash! Hulk smash! Hulk is the strongest one there is!
Okay, Strongest. Let’s stop talking and get some Italian ices.
Girl put money away. Hulk get this one.
If you suggest topics in the comments, the Hulk may come back more frequently.
This post was first published on July 29, 2004. It is just as relevant today as it was four and a half years ago. And the reason I’m republishing it: The Egyptians are calling Avigdor Lieberman “racist.”
For the past sixty or seventy years, if not longer than that, the Arab nations have been indulging in one form or another of Jew-hatred. I don’t see how we can possibly re-educate those whose very institutions regularly deny the existence of the state of Israel. I don’t see how we can reform those whose governments sponsor a multi-part miniseries during the Arab equivalent of sweeps month (Ramadan) that echoes the lies of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, with their media insisting the series was truthful. And if you go to Google News today and look for the phrase “horseman without a horse,” you will find this article on Al-Jazeera, which calls the Protocols “an allegedly anti-Semitic television programme” that was “loosely based on The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, a controversial document that has never been corroborated.”
That article is dated July 16th.
A quick look around MEMRI will show you case after case of institutional Arab anti-Semitism. And MEMRI presents regular updates on the presence of anti-Semitism in the Arab and Muslim world.
So the shock and surprise expressed by the UN’s European’s ambassadors at the negative Arab reaction to a UN resolution on anti-Semitism is particularly annoying. All they had to do was open their eyes in their own backyards to see the Muslim hatred of Jews.
NEW YORK – Arab states at the United Nations are trying to foil a proposal to raise a vote condemning anti-Semitism in the General Assembly this September.
At a closed meeting held recently in New York, UN ambassadors from Arab and EU countries met and the Arabs made clear that they do not accept the initiative for the UN General Assembly to condemn anti-Semitism.
The blunt language used by the Arabs describing their opposition, and their plans to use diplomatic means to prevent the resolution from reaching a vote, shocked the Europeans, said a UN source.
According to UN sources, the Arab delegates were also critical of a UN seminar on anti-Semitism held last month. A senior Western diplomat said that among the Arabs who spoke with the Europeans was PLO observer Nasser al Kidwe, and he was particularly outspoken in his objections to a UN General Assembly resolution on anti-Semitism.
The source said Kidwe attacked the content of UN Secretary general Koffi Anan’s speech to the seminar last month, particularly Annan’s pride in the cancelation of the 1975 Zionism equals racism resolution. “The Europeans were depressed when they left the meeting,” said the source.
I would like to hear what kind of blunt language they used, frankly. I would very much like to hear the Arab ambassadors to the UN expressing the kind of Jew-hatred we know they already hold. I’d like to see it plastered on the front page of the New York Times. But then, I’d also like to win the lottery.
Jordanian Ambassador to the UN Prince Ziad Hussein argued that the resolution would reinforce the tendency to call any criticism of Israel, anti-Semitic. Moroccan Ambassador Mohammed Banone, said that the seminar against anti-Semitism was a terrible idea and a decision would only divide the world body. Arab League Ambassador Mahamas Hani warned that a UN resolution condemning anti-Semitism would have a negative impact on the Middle East.
The proposed resolution would issue a general condemnation of all forms of anti-Semitism and acts of intolerance, incitement and harassment. The decision would also call on member countries to take steps to block anti-Semitism.
Major countries have already committed to voting in favor. Last year, an Israeli initiative for a similar resolution failed.
Of course the Arabs would have to vote against this resolution. The Protocols are bestsellers in Arab nations, and their Friday sermons nearly always condemn or call for the deaths of Jews. How could they vote for a resolution against anti-Semitism, when hatred has become a part of their way of life?
Shame, once more, on the United Nations. Shame, once more, on the European nations that allow this hatred to continue. And shame on the European ambassadors who are so ignorant that they don’t recognize the depths and read of this hatred.
This is why Israel exists, and this is what “Never again” truly means: Never again will Jews leave their fates in the hands of others. Because every time we have done so in the past, we’ve regretted it.
This post was first published May 2, 2002.
Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that from time to time, I’ve been taking the Hulk perspective on various problems, specifically the Middle East. Well, when you take a hard look at things, I’ve realized that there is no problem so complex that you can’t apply the Hulk perspective to it. Let’s give it a try:
The problem: The standoff at the Church of the Nativity. Palestinians refuse to come out unless allowed to go to Gaza or stay in the West Bank, no Israeli arrests allowed. Israelis want to arrest or exile to a foreign country known terrorist leaders; the rest may go free.
The solution: Hulk smash Church wall! Hulk smash puny humans with guns! Hulk not smash puny humans without guns! Hulk take puny humans out of Church! (Editor’s Note: If the IDF doesn’t pull back while this happens, Hulk will smash them as well. He never was much good at differentiating between groups of men with guns.)
The problem: Anti-Semitism is rampant throughout France. Synagogues have been burned down, Jewish children attacked, bombs placed in cemeteries. Jean-Marie Le Pen is now a viable candidate for the presidency of France, and French Jews fear for their safety.
The solution: Hulk smash puny Frenchmen! Hulk smash man with woman’s name! (Why man have woman’s name?)
The problem: The United Nations would like to send a “fact-finding mission” to Jenin to determine whether or not “massacres” occurred. The Israelis refuse to allow a committee of people already known to be hostile to Israel into Jenin, and also refuse to allow the committee to interview their soldiers. Kofi Annan wants to disband the committee rather than make any changes suggested by the Israeli Cabinet.
The solution: Hulk smash puny humans! Hulk smash puny UN! Hulk smash Kofi-man! Hulk smash! Wait–didn’t Hulk smash UN before? It near river, right? Uh-oh.
The problem: The world media is extremely biased against Israel, choosing to yammer about massacres without evidence while subsequently ignoring the evidence that there was no massacre. People like Robert Fisk make up facts on a regular basis, while Oxford poets discuss their desires to see “Brooklyn-born Jews” shot. American newspapers ignore major pro-Israel rallies and put on the front page pro-Palestinian rallies, even if only sparsely attended.
The solution: Hulk smash puny newspaper men! Hulk smash puny editors! Hulk hate Daily Bugle! Daily Bugle mean to Hulk! Hulk SMASH!
The problem: Pedophilia is rampant throughout the American Catholic Church. It has seemingly reached epidemic proportions, finally forcing the Church to admit there is a problem and take action to remove the priests responsible. (Editor’s note: Okay, it’s not the Middle East, but it’s hot right now. Shut up.)
The solution: Hulk smash puny men in funny clothes! Hulk smash!
The problem: Yassir Arafat refuses to keep his word, won’t clamp down on terrorist activity, indeed, has been traced to payments to suicide bombers, the importation of 50 tons of weapons on the Karinne A, including C-4 to build more terror bombs, and has not even tried to negotiate in good faith to end the conflict in Israel.
The solution: Hulk smash ugly man in head-scarf! Hulk smash! And–phew–ugly man need bath! He smell worse than Hulk!
The problem: Saudi Arabia fears for its image. Fifteen of the nineteen suicide bombers came from Saudi Arabia, Osama bin Laden is a Saudi Arabian, Saudia Arabia is the largest financier of militant Islam in the world. They’ve hired an American ad agency to improve their image in the United States.
The solution: Hulk smash Saudi Arabia! Hulk smash bad men!
And there you have it. The Stan Lee Solution, starring The Incredible Hulk. If you think my theory doesn’t work, then email me the most complicated problems you can think of, and I will attempt to find the Hulk’s answer to any problem that comes my way.
Seven years ago today—months before Instapundit existed—I launched Yourish.com. Here’s what I wrote in that first post:
Blogging. The new media term taking the Net by storm. Short for Weblog, to Blog is to put up a web site that chronicles your thoughts, your activities, your life, either in the hopes of enlightening yourself and others, or because your ego is the size of Montana.
I’m hoping it’s the former.
I’ve had this domain for several years and done nothing with it. Now Blogging is going to get a chance.
This site will undergo many style changes in the upcoming months, as I have no real idea what I’d like the end product to look like. What I do know is that I’ve spent several years in the industry and know the difference between a point, a pica, and a pixel. I know that the Internet is a wealth of information and misinformation, and anyone can discover just about anything online if s/he looks long enough. I know that my mindset has undergone many changes in the last few years, and will doubtless undergo more as I get older. Growth is change. Stagnation, to me, is worse than death. If I cannot change, just dig me a hole, throw me in and cover me with dirt.
Okay, I’m shuddering at the seven-year-old prose, but that’s because as a writer, I can’t stand most of what I wrote years ago. The style changes aren’t just visual.
We’ve had style changes, and will have another one soon. I was trying to get it done by today, but life got in the way. I’m not as married to anniversaries and deadlines as I was years ago.
In the last seven years, this blog went from being a fairly personal, diary-type blog with bits of current events thrown in to what you see today: A blog that devotes itself to Israel and Jewish issues, with bits of personal events thrown in. A blog with some superb co-bloggers (Snoopy and Soccerdad), with room for more in the future, I’m sure.
I’ve added podcasting to my online repertoire, and gained hundreds of new friends, and thousands and thousands of readers. This blog went over 2 million hits on Sitemeter earlier this year, which lowballs my stats, and which I started a year or two after I started this blog. I’d venture to guess my readers my hit count is about a third higher than sitemeter says. One thing that hasn’t changed is my pages-to-hits ratio. It’s always at least 1.5, and often close to 2. When you read, you really read around here—Sitemeter says I have nearly 3 million pageviews.
I gave up trying to figure out my wordcount. But I’m thinking that’s in the millions as well—a long essay post is often about 800-1000 words, not counting quotes. It’s pretty easy to hit seven figures when you post pretty much every day for six years. (I didn’t post every day the first year.)
I don’t know if I’ve got anyone from the early, early days. I had a few dozen readers at first, then about two hundred per day, then a steady climb up until about a year ago. I’ve stayed pretty static. I get about 1,800-4,500 hits per day, depending on which stat counter you use. I think I’ll split the difference and call it 3,000 readers per day. It’s not that big, and not that small, and I appreciate you all coming back day in and day out. My biggest challenge is trying to read your minds. I’m thinking I must have succeeded somewhat, because I’m still here, and you’re still here.
If you senior Yourish.com readers want to shout out your handles and how long you’ve been reading in the comments thread, go ahead. I don’t require real information, or even an email address. Just give yourself a name of some kind, and tell all the young whippersnappers when you started reading. I know one of my most faithful readers found me on my first blogiversary. Can anyone call pre-April 2002?
Anyway, here’s to seven more years. At least. And yes, there will be cat pictures. Some of you will complain, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And even if you would, well, my blog. My cats. My rules. I may be a benevolent dictator, but I am a dictator, nonetheless. Seven years and counting.
Michelle Malkin has an item today about demands from the Gulf to pass laws forbidding the insulting of Islam.
Combined with the recent re-publication of the Danish Mo cartoons, these unacceptable acts of free speech have Muslim “scholars” demanding that heads roll.
About two years ago I saw a similar idea proposed by: A Jewish professor at an American university (under Jewish auspices)! Robert O. Freedman of the Baltimore Hebrew University recommended an International Religious Court of enforce civility among religions. LGF quoted from the article and wrote
It takes a lot to make my jaw drop these days, but here’s an op-ed in Baltimore’s Jewish Times that achieved this near-impossible feat.
The Volokh Conspiracy also quoted from the article, but was more clinical.
As you might gather, my reaction to this is much the same as my reaction to the “Defamation of Religions” argument I criticized below. Interestingly, unlike Prof. Ali Khan’s work, Dr. Friedman’s argument doesn’t even mention the possibility that the nation in which he lives might be constitutionally barred from going along with the orders of any such court.
My own problem with Dr. Freedman’s suggestion was whether this court could be a forum to take action against Muslims who destroyed shrines of other religions or if it was only meant to address Muslim sensitivities. And if it was the latter, would Muslims be able to take action against a country that allowed an apostate to live in its borders?
Crossposted on Soccer Dad.
I’d forgotten that I can be very, very funny sometimes.
I need to get back into this habit.
Don’t think this will go anywhere in the JIBs, though. I didn’t see a category for cats.
This post was originally published on June 18, 2005.
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA—An arrest warrant was issued in Wisconsin for the murder of a bluejay by Tigger Yourish of Richmond, Virginia.
Following the highly unsuccessful attempt to allow hunting of feral cats, the Cheeseheads are looking for more publicity and have seized on the murder of innocent birds by domestic cats.
“Domestic cats are fed by their owners. They don’t need to hunt. It’s murder,” said J. Goldberg, a spokesman for the Friends of Cat-Haters of Wisconsin. When asked how they expect cats to overcome their instinct, the spokesman said, “Instinct, shminstinct. It’s murder, murder I tell you! They’re not like dogs. Dogs don’t hunt animals for no reason.” When asked about the many breeds of hunting dogs who kill rabbits, moles, squirrels, and other small animals, Goldberg said, “Well, dogs are different. Dogs are, uh, well, they’re not cats!”
Meryl Yourish, owner of Tigger, said, “Oh, please. It’s bad enough he killed the damned thing before breakfast. I don’t think anyone should have to get rid of a dead bird before they’ve even had their breakfast.”
The alleged killer, when questioned about the murder, said, “Mrowr?”
Yourish said there is no truth to the rumor that the anonymous tip was placed by Gracie. “I know she wants to be an only cat, but to go this far? I don’t think so.”
Gracie could not be reached for comment.
All those litmus tests in the neighborhood reminded me that I need to bring my old Terms of Use page into the modern era of this blog. So here are the terms, slightly updated. And for your information, yes, some people really did link me with that great phrase below.
Terms of Use: Yourish.com
By reading, linking to, quoting, printing out, or in any way making use of Yourish.com’s content in any means, place, or forum, you agree to the following:
1. All original content of Yourish.com is copyrighted by Yourish.com’s owner, presently Meryl Yourish, and is not to be used without permission except as provided herein. In order to get my express permission, it will be necessary to bribe me. Acceptable bribes will be (but not limited to): Yukon Gold potato chips (the regular kind, none of those frou-frou flavors), Godiva Grand Menthes (many, many of those) or other plain Godiva chocolates (I don’t like the ones with nuts in them), backrubs, videos and DVDs of all Sondheim’s plays available (tickets to performances of Sondheim works may be substituted), Hersheyets (I cannot find them anywhere anymore, and I love the Hershey’s version of M&M’s), and an exact copy of the needlepoint in my vet’s office that says “Home is Where the Cat Is” (I can’t do needlepoint. It takes patience. I have none.).
2. Permission is granted to quote, cite, link to, print out or otherwise use Yourish.com content, so long as you comply with the terms below (and above! My bribes! Don’t forget my bribes!).
A. All quotations from Yourish.com will include credit to Yourish.com or to Meryl Yourish and, wherever practicable, a hyperlink of the form http://www.Yourish.com … to the site. Plus, you have to post, “Meryl is the kewlest person ever11! She rUlez, d00dz!1!11!”
B. In exchange for the access to Yourish.com content described above, you agree not to sue Yourish.com for its content, whether original or linked or quoted from another source, in any court, on any grounds whatsoever in law or equity. (I really like that last. You’re screwed, dudes.) Should you violate this agreement by filing such a lawsuit, you agree to pay Yourish.com’s owner or owners the sum of one million billion jillion gazillion dollars (how many zeroes is in that?) as liquidated damages, in addition to paying for everything else, and, oh, while I’m at it, my cats need a new Kitty Condo, I want a bikini top for my Jeep, another VCR, the third fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD, tickets to the World Series, and gift certificates for trainers and massage therapy at the Richmond JCC. You have to pay for that, too. And I want a kitten. No, wait, scratch that. Too much trouble to raise. I want you to raise the kitten, only now make it four of them, and I get to visit and play with them whenever I want.
C. Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah. (I think this one means you owe me more money.)
D. If you are a corporation, you have to pay two million billion jillion gazillion dollars, plus give me a lifetime supply of Godiva chocolates, and now I’m seriously thinking about making you hire me male escorts anytime I damned well please, for the rest of my life.
3. If you do not agree to these terms of use, exit the site immediately, destroy all copies of Yourish.com content remaining in any form on your computer, any other computer or network device under your control, in print form, or on any information storage or retrieval device that you possess or control. Print out whatever copy is left, apply salt and pepper, cook at 350°F., then eat it warm. Then execute the following affidavit and send it by certified mail to Yourish.com, Richmond, VA, uh, wait—you think I’m going to give you my address? On the Internet? Yeah, right.
Affidavit
I hereby certify under penalty of perjury that I read everything on this page and agree with it (well, except maybe for the male escort part, I’m pretty sure that’s illegal), and (all right, maybe I don’t agree with the exact form of payment, because nobody really knows what a jillion is. Or a gazillion.) and I understand that action contrary to these statements constitutes both perjury and a violation of the Yourish.com Terms of Use, subjecting me to possible civil and criminal liability. (And almost certainly the ridicule of my peers for being stupid enough to sign something like this.) (HEY! I HEARD THAT. I’m right HERE!)
__________________
Signed (include date)
__________________
Witnessed (notary)
Notary Seal:
My commission expires: ______________
(If anyone gets what that stuff up there means, let me know. On second thought, never mind. Nobody’s gonna really print this out and mail it to me, anyway.)
Meryl’s always saying “Just die already” to Holocaust deniers, anti-Semites, and unrepentant Nazis.
Well, he took a long time to do it, but French collaborator Maurice Papon eventually caved in.
Don’t put a headstone over his grave… build a urinal trough.
This postwas originally published on May 24, 2002.
The Times is running scared
Meryl Evans forwarded me this story, which did, indeed, bring a smile to my face. (Thanks, kiddo.) The New York Times boycott is apparently working, and working well, as are selected boycotts around the nation, including one of NPR. Jewish groups are urging a boycott of the Times, the Washington Post, and the LA Times due to biased coverage of Israel. The article cites, among other things, the two skewed pictures the Times printed in the article about the Israel Day Parade–the ones that made it appear there was a much bigger crowd of Palestinian protestors than there actually was. That would be the one the Times actually almost apologized for.
Intense public reaction to coverage of the violence of the Middle East conflict has prompted unusually harsh attacks on several news media outlets and has led to boycotts of The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times and The Washington Post.
Broadcast news operations, including CNN and National Public Radio, have also been criticized. The general manager of one public radio station, WBUR-FM in Boston, said it had lost more than $1 million in underwriting and pledges this year — nearly 4 percent of its annual budget — because some supporters of Israel encouraged people not to give.
[...] The swift communications of the Internet era apparently help fan the intensity of the criticism.
[...] James Zogby, president of the Arab American Institute, echoed such criticism, but said he would not encourage a boycott. To do “what the Jewish community has done, to incite their members to boycott, to feel so injured that people work themselves into a lather over press coverage does damage to the possibility of discourse,” he said.
Okay, let’s recap: The boycott is working well enough for the Times to run an article about it, and for an NPR station to lose a million dollars in pledges and contributions. The Internet is partly responsible for the boycott’s swift enaction and success. And a leader of an Arab American organization says that boycotts are a bad thing. Discourse, he says. Talk. (Not that any Arab organization would boycott Israel, no. Nor, indeed, would the enitre Arab world. Nuh-uh.)
So the obvious bias is already there–mean ol’ Jews boycott the Times, good ol’ Arab Americans–or at least their leaders–want to talk.
But here’s where the article gets really, well, boycott-worthy.
While the the pro-Israeli Committee for Accuracy in Middle East Reporting in America, or Camera, studies newpapers for evidence of bias, Palestine Media Watch has been monitoring the coverage of newspapers like The Philadelphia Inquirer, The New York Times and The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
Like pro-Israeli critics, the pro-Palestian groups focus on issues of balance and equivalence and on common vocabulary. Ahmed T. Bouzid, the president of Palestine Media Watch, argued, among other things, that the word retaliation was often used about Israeli attacks on Palestinian targets, which, he said, “frames it as a reaction to something, not an action initiated by Israelis.” He said he was pushing to eliminate mediocre journalism, not charging bias.
Look at the first words of each paragraph. Notice how the pro-Palestinians are groups, but the pro-Israelis are critics. Notice that “While the pro-Israeli Committee … studies newspapers for evidence of bias [emphasis mine]“, “the pro-Palestinian groups focus on issues of balance and equivalence [emphasis mine] and on common vocabulary.”
Indeed. Look what happens when you focus on common vocabulary. Look at the stealth bias. The quote from the Palestinian group? “He said he was pushing to eliminate mediocre journalism, not charging bias.”
Un-friggin’-believable. Even in an article about media bias, the Times is biased.
The New York Times. Don’t buy it, and drop your subscription. You need to read it? It’s free on the Internet.
This post was originally published in February of 2005.
The wandering Jew
Masked Boy: Go back to Germany! [unintelligible]. Get [the hell] back to Germany!
The world does not like the Jews. Oh no, they say reflexively, that isn’t true. Some people don’t like Jews, but certainly not everyone. No, not everyone. But indifference and inaction is as good as anti-Semitism, because the end result is the same: Dead Jews.
Sixty years after the Russian liberation of Auschwitz, 500 Russian journalists and 20 politicians sent a letter to their Prosecutor General, asking for an investigation into, and outlawing of, Jewish organizations in Russia. Why? Because they are “extremist.” Because they are “anti-Christian and inhumane, which practices extend even to ritual murders.” They even blame Jews themselves for anti-Semitic acts that have taken place in Russia, to “take punitive measures against patriots,” whatever that means. It doesn’t really matter what it means; the interpretation is clear: Jews are always to blame. Jews bring punishment upon themselves.
The Russians would know about things like this, because they have a long, bloody history of anti-Semitism. The Russians would know about this because they are the authors of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, the Czarist forgeries that have been used against Jews for nearly a century, and are even now being promoted in Muslim nations as the truth behind worldwide Jewish conspiracies. The Russians would know about this because even now, the Prosecutor General said he would not follow up on the charges because 19 of the 20 legislators withdrew their support from it—not because the charges were baseless and anti-Semitic. Because the letter was withdrawn.
The Russians do not like the Jews.
Europe does not like the Jews. Last year, the European Union commissioned a report on European anti-Semitism. When it was finished, they refused to release it. They said it was flawed. The real reason? The report showed that much of Europe’s anti-Semitism was attributed to its Muslim immigrants, and the Europeans are reluctant to portray Muslims in a bad light—even when the facts demand honesty and openness. The report was released anyway, and published by many Jewish sites—but overlooked almost entirely by the rest of the world media.
In Holland, soccer fans chant “gas the Jews.” Dutch soccer fans have been yelling anti-Semitic slogans for decades, but now they’ve added this charming phrase: “Hamas, Hamas, Jews to the gas.”
French anti-Semitic attacks have nearly doubled. And for some time, the French were refusing to admit there was a problem. Now, they’re making an effort to stop the synagogue fires, physical attacks, cemetery desecrations, and nonstop anti-Semitism from Muslim immigrants in French schools.
Europe does not like the Jews.
England does not like the Jews. In 2003, the Independent published a cartoon of Ariel Sharon eating palestinian babies. The cartoonist ultimately won an award for it. Tom Dalyell accuses a cabal of Jews of running Washington, mentions that Jack Straw has a Jewish heritage, then says he’s not an anti-Semite. Anti-Semitic attacks are up sharply in Great Britain, egged on by a media outcry against Israel. (Remember, Great Britain was the loudest and shrillest about the massacre-that-wasn’t in Jenin.) Muslim leaders boycotted Britain’s commemoration of the Holocaust. Rabbis are attacked and beaten on the streets. Synagogues are being burned down. A London community is suffering a series of anti-Semitic physical attacks. Cemeteries are desecrated. And diplomats complain that Israel, that “shitty little country,” is the cause of all the world’s problems.
England does not like the Jews.
Muslims do not like the Jews. Really, this category is almost too broad to enumerate. But let us use mathematics, one of the Muslim world’s proudest achievements. In 1948, there were 150,000 Jews in Iraq, 75,000 in Egypt, 100,000 in Iran, 30,000 in Syria, 20,000 in Lebanon, 38,000 in Libya, 105,000 in Tunisia, 55,000 in Yemen, and 140,000 in Algeria.
Today, the total population of Jews in all of those countries numbers less than 20,000.Muslim anti-Semitism? Yeah, we’ve got that.
Muslims do not like the Jews.
Palestine is not for Jews. An Israeli statesman tells an anecdote: The graffiti in Europe during the 1930s read “Jews, go to Palestine.” The graffiti in Europe today says”Jews, out of Palestine.”
The two-state solution is under attack, with much of the world starting to get behind the one-state solution, a “completely democratic” state, with all palestinian refugees (including, of course, third-generation palestinians who were born in different countries entirely) flooding the state of Israel and creating, in effect, a palestinian state with a Jewish minority. In other words, no state for you, Jews. No state for you.
Palestine is not for Jews.
Jews, go back to Germany. Germany’s Jewish population was in danger of dying out, at fewer than 30,000 only a few years ago. Then the German parliament enacted a law that allowed generous Jewish immigration from Russian Jews fleeing persecution, and the population is now at 200,000, close to what it was before the Holocaust. That, however, appears to be the limit of Germany’s patience for Jewish immigration. They don’t want any more Jews in Germany.
And so the circle closes, and the Jews are left outside.
The world does not like the Jews. The Jewish philosopher Emil Fackenheim says that Jew hatred has three stages:
You cannot live among us as Jews.
You cannot live among us.
You cannot live.
The world does not like the Jews.
This post was originally published on June 6, 2005.
We caught up with the Dark Lord of the Sith, who took a few minutes out from his busy publicity schedule to talk with yourish.com.
MY: Well, the story is now complete, and your legion of fans knows how and why you stepped into the black suit.
DV: Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny. I’ll bet you make bunny ears on blind people for laughs.
MY: Lord Vader, we’re curious to know what you think of the movies, and how your story has been told.
DV: You know the saying “History is written by the winners?”
MY: Yes.
DV: Hello, I didn’t win, y’know? That Lucas got almost nothing right, not even my name. I mean, Anakin? Annie? Annie? What kind of man calls himself Annie? First they get two of the worst actors in the universe to play my younger self, then they ruin my name and call me Annie! It’s enough to make you want to use your Sith powers to make sure that Lucas will never write another decent script so long as he lives.
MY: So what is your real name?
DV: It’s Leonard. Lennie! A nice manly name. None of this Annie crap.
MY: So what else did Lucas get wrong?
DV: I have never in my entire life—until now—ever uttered the word, “Yippee.” When Qui-Gon bought me out of slavery, I believe my words to Watto were more on the order of “[bleep] you, you stinking sack of [bleep] [bleep] [bleep]!”
MY: Whoa, family blog here!
DV: Edit it out, you [bleep].
MY: Lord Vader, how did you come to the dark side of the Force? What was it that really turned you bad? Was it truly your inability to find a good anger management class?
DV: Oh, don’t be ridiculous. The Sith Lords are no darker than your average Republicans. The Emperor wasn’t an Emperor, the Rebellion wasn’t a Rebellion. It was all politics. Palpatine won a closely contested election, and the Jedi got ticked. The Sith may have controlled the Chancellorship and the Senate, but the Jedi had the damned media behind them. And the academics, and they’re the ones who write the history books. The truth is, I started out with the Jedi, and Palpatine ultimately converted me to the Sith. The Sith political party, not some scary cult that went around lopping off people’s hands.
Plus, the Jedi were starting to talk about raising taxes and getting all touchy-feely on me. And then there was that insufferable Yoda. The creature never learned how to speak Galactic properly; always mangling his sentences. You have no idea how boring it was to sit in a Jedi council meeting and listen to him drone on and on. And Mace Windu? Listen, the man had fourteen mirrors in his home. Conceited? Hey, one of his padawans once pronounced his name Windoo instead of Windu, and Windu had him exiled to Tatooine to go undercover in Jabba the Hutt’s organization.
MY: Wait a minute, wait a minute—are you saying that the Sith and Jedi are only political parties? That there’s no Force behind either of them?
DV: Sorry to burst your bubble, bubelah, but I did tell you that Lucas got nearly everything wrong. And, ah, Palpatine and I didn’t kill the Jedi. The party died out of its own volition. There we are at war, and the Jedi are advocating diplomacy over force. Idiots. If someone’s shooting at you, saying, “Please stop shooting at me” has a proven one hundred percent failure rate. Come to think of it, the Sith and Jedi disagreements are not unlike the current battling going on between Republicans and Democrats, only our Jedi weren’t stupid enough to put a Howard Dean in charge. That snot-nosed son of mine—
MY: You mean Luke Skywalker really was your son? And he really defeated you in battle?
DV: I lost the election to him. You try and try to bring your kids up in your traditions, and the damned tree-huggers in the Jedi school system totally ruin them for you. He broke with me and ran on the Jedi ticket.
MY: You were elected?
DV: Of course. I was Palpatine’s Vice-Chancellor. We beat the Jedi twice, a fact that Lucas—who, I might point out, is a Democrat—seems to have overlooked in his films. But we didn’t win big, so Windu kept crying about a recount, then the lack of a mandate, and then the Jedi party used their influence in the media to beat up on us and make us look like the bad guys. They even tried to say we started the tariff war with the Trade Federation. So not our fault. We were all for free trade! It’s the Jedi that wanted to impose tariffs on everyone. So of course the Federation started taxing our goods. Everything started costing more, then my kids teamed up against me, and, well, you try to win an election when the cost of living is rising and your own kids are calling you Dark Father. After a while, people only heard “Darth Vader,” and that was that.
MY: I’m still trying to process this election stuff.
DV: Yeah, so are the Democrats. Get over it already.
MY: Okay, current Earth stuff: Bush or Kerry?
DV: Please. Bush.
MY: Favorite TV show?
DV: Lost. Oh, and Desperate Housewives. I’m a sucker for a nighttime soap.
MY: Who do you think will run for president in ‘08?
DV: Hillary. Definitely Hillary. Though she may find some surprises waiting for her.
MY: Meaning?
DV: Let’s just say that Luke and Leia weren’t my only kids. Padme may have dumped me, but she’s not the only fish in the sea. My second wife and I retired here after I lost the election, and, well, that’s all I’m saying for now. Except that he was born in the USA. And he’s a Republican.
MY: Thank you, Lord Vader, and, uh, may the—
DV: Oh, shut up.
The diary of Iseema bin Laden was first published on December 4, 2001
Editor’s note: The original entries in the diary of Iseema bin Laden were smuggled out of Afghanistan several weeks ago, through Pakistan, and then to a source in Saudi Arabia, rumored to be a brother of Iseema who once lost half a million dollars to him in a poker game. The hand-written entries have been verified and are definitely the work of Iseema Bin Laden. We are able to publish the excerpts and are working with our source to bring you more up-to-date entries, which we expect to arrive any day now. The problem is the Afghan version of Federal Express: traveling over the mountains via horseback. And that’s better than the Afghan Postal Service: donkeys.
A brief biography of Iseema: He is Osama bin Laden’s half-brother. They have the same father, different mothers, but apparently are nearly identical in appearance. They apparently also spent their youths in a similar fashion, although Osama is the elder of the two by about a decade. Iseema was attending Harvard University until shortly after the September 11th attacks, when his family sent a private plane to take all the bin Ladens home. Sources say that the family was unhappy with his young man’s behavior, particularly after having to pay for repairs on local hotel rooms after Iseema’s fraternity parties. Sources also report that the family was unhappy with Iseema’s reputation as a playboy.
15 September 2001: The Patriarch’s idea of a sick joke, I suppose. After I fell asleep on the plane, nobody woke me up when we got to Riyadh. Instead of flying to Jidda, they put me on a plane to Pakistan, a thousand curses on that benighted nation. Worse still, when I got off the plane, some of Osama’s men met me and “escorted” me to the religious center of town. There armed mujahadeen put me in the back of a truck and we started driving into the mountains. I’m apparently headed to Afghanistan to talk to Osama. I don’t know why; he always hated the way I trailed after him like a puppy when he was back home being the young, rich playboy. Perhaps the Patriarch thinks I will get religion. More likely he thinks I will get killed by one side or the other.
They confiscated my Scotch, but I convinced them my vodka is water. The Taliban guards are not great thinkers. I have two of them believing that waterfalls never empty rivers because when everyone is asleep, the water travels back uphill when no one can see it. This might not be such a bad time, after all. One has to make the best of things.
18 September 2001: We are at one of Osama’s hidden camps. I’ve found out why I’m here. Osama is surrounding himself with look-alikes in case the Americans catch up with him. I curse the day I was born! Why couldn’t I look like my mother? May the fleas of a thousand camels infest his beard and the Patriarch’s.
No one knows quite yet what the Americans will do, but there is great eagerness for the battle. The Taliban is filled with idiots. When I try to explain to them the kind of weapons the Americans have, the mujahadeen simply laugh and say that Allah will defeat the infidel. Yes, he could, with an American army and American weaponry. I learned to keep my opinions to myself after Mullah Omar overheard me praising the Americans. His stare reminded me of Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter. That, and his guards’ access to and fondness for using whips, is giving me pause.
21 September 2001: If any day is worse than the others, it is the Sabbath day. Not only must we pray, but we must listen to Omar drone on and on about our mission from Allah and the destruction of the infidel. Worse still, he seems to always be looking at me during the sermons, and so I may not nod off. Yesterday he caught me kissing Azra, and had his men give me twenty stripes with the whip. I asked him why they didn’t beat Azra; he insisted that I was the one corrupting her. He’s hated me since I got here. I’d never seen the man before, how could I know who he was? It was sheer habit to ask the first man I saw to take my bags to my room.
28 September 2001: Pulled through.
3 October 2001: It’s getting pretty ripe in these caves. Between moving from cave to cave, the drought, and Osama’s lousy hygiene, the only thing good I can say about the burqa is thank Allah it covers up body odors. I can’t tell who smells worst, the mujahadeen, the horses, or the women. My money is on the mujahadeen. Oh, for a single stick of deodorant!
5 October 2001: Fell asleep during Omar’s sermon. Couldn’t help it. There are only so many times you can listen to him vilify America before you automatically tune it out. Woke up chained to a wall in a small, dark room. Well, at least it’s quiet here.
6 October 2001: Out of solitary. Stable duty. Wish I was back in solitary.
7 October 2001: The bombing started today. Mullah Omar kept “accidentally” running into me. I said nothing. Went to talk to Osama late in the evening; found a woman in his room, excused myself. The woman removed her veil; it was Osama. Apparently he likes to dress in women’s clothing to relax, and the American bombs were distressing him. “Tell no one or you die,” he said. Let me tell you, seeing Osama bin Laden in a burqa makes one want to die.
12 October 2001: Made it through Omar’s entire sermon. The look of disappointment on his face was worth it. Made the mistake of smiling on my way out of the room. Mucking out stables again tomorrow.
16 October 2001: Got into trouble again today. Damn those all-covering burqas! I saw Azra in a side tunnel and slid my hand across her behind. It turned out to be Amarah, who was grateful for the attention, but is one of the prime reasons the burqa should be implemented: Her face could stop a battleship. Send her out to do battle with the Americans and we’d beat them without another shot fired. Alas, I had to pretend it was her I wanted in the first place, else she’d have alerted the guards and Osama would have had me beaten again. Now I’ll probably have to marry her, unless the Americans find us first. They should color-code the burqas. Perhaps I can find a packet of Post-it notes in my baggage, if I could only find my suitcases. Then I could label the women with them. But no, Omar would realize it was I and have his men beat me again.
The real problem is these damned caves. You can’t exactly lose yourself in a crowd when you can’t be in a crowd. Oh, sure, we’ve got lots of corridors and some small rooms, but it’s not like the market in Riyadh, or even in Kabul. Kabul. You know I’ve sunk low when I’m wishing I was in a backwater like Kabul. Next thing you know I’ll be praying they move us to Kandahar or Jalalabad.
17 October 2001: O Allah, in the name of the Prophet, peace be upon him: Please let us move to Kandahar or Jalalabad! The American bombs are dropping nearer and nearer; I know I wasn’t born to die with my fundamentalist big brother. I have places to go, people to meet, women to marry! Not to mention I think Amarah is going to tell my brother I asked for her hand in marriage. It isn’t her hand I want, and it wasn’t marriage I was thinking of.
To be continued
This post was originally published on August 2, 2003.
I stayed at Heidi’s last night. Woke up bright and early because Worf got into the compost can, which is a small garbage can of the type that you have to step on for the lid to open. Heidi used to keep a great glass bottle half-filled with pennies on top to prevent Worf from opening it. So one day Worf knocked the entire bottle off the top of the can. Then Heidi put the pennies into a metal scoop (sorta like those scales). Worf figured out how to knock that off last night. So this morning, because this dog is nothing if not bright, he knocked the scoop of pennies off again. I got up, shooed him and the other two dogs out of the kitchen, and started cleaning up the compost, as everyone else was still asleep, probably because the guest room is closest to the kitchen. I do believe they planned it that way. Sure, what does it matter if their guests get woken up by the dogs? It’s not like they have guests every night.
The dogs immediately take advantage of my distraction by running into my room and seeing if I have smuggled any food. I have not, but that wouldn’t stop Sparty from tearing apart my pocketbook. So I run into the guest room and shoo the dogs out of my room and this time, I close the door behind me. I finish cleaning up the compost, put the compost can in the TV room so the dogs can’t get it again, and go back to my room.
The door is locked.
It locked behind me when I closed it. I am locked out of my bedroom. Inside are all of my clothes, my computer, and my glasses. I can’t even read. Or watch TV. Not without sitting inches away from the screen. And anyway, I don’t want to read. I’m tired. I want to go back to sleep.
Nobody else is awake. I have no idea where the little tools to unlock the doors are. So I lie down on the couch in the Great Room, because the couch in the TV Room, although more comfortable, smells like dog because, well, the dogs lie on it a lot. Heidi gets up about half an hour later, sees me on the sofa, and says, “Did the dogs wake you up?”
We will stop here.
This post was originally published July 29, 2004.
I’m having a bit of a blog ennui problem again, so while I figure out what to write, I thought I’d simply conduct interviews. But since I’m really suffering from ennui, I didn’t want to actually interview someone. So I thought I’d try to interview myself. MQ is Meryl the Questioner. MA is Meryl the Answerer. Just so you don’t get confused over which of us is which (although most of the MQ excerpts should end with a question mark, which looks like a button hook, in case you needed that explained to you).
MQ: Let’s start with something simple. How old are you?
MA: You have got to be kidding.
MQ: No, really. How old are you?
MA: Shut up.
MQ: Why don’t you want to tell me how old you are? Have you got something to hide? Is this supposed to be a big secret or something? I could find out if I really wanted to.
MA: Don’t forget, when I get embarrassed, you get embarrassed, and I’m just about to tell everyone about the time when you were a kid and you really had to go to the bathroom and—
MQ: You’re single, right?
MA: Right.
MQ: Why?
MA: What are you, my mother?
Originally published November 19, 2003
An Egyptian asks: Why am I a Zionist?
I received a letter from an Egyptian named Heba yesterday. I’m afraid I don’t know gender of Egyptian names.
Hi Meryl, hope this email makes it past the trash can. I have a few questions here to ask, which are sent in good will and not meant to be offensive, so I hope they don’t come out that way. First, I would really like to know why you defend Zionism so much? I know the history of the Holocaust and other acts of persecution of Jews all over the world, but if you conceive that Jews have a right to create an independent state, don’t you think the Palestinians should have that right too? I fail to see how a people who have been subjected to so much torture and prejudice over the years can allow themselves to subject others to it.
In your critique of the Guardian’s article on the Turkey bombings you made fun of the author because she wrote of how the Jews there felt and what they thought, while the actual Jews who lived there obviously felt otherwise. So, my point is, what’s happening to the Palestinians and what’s reported is not a bunch of lies, I am Egyptian, living here in the Middle East, and I have met and known too many Palestinian refugees to know for fact that it isn’t so. For heaven’s sake, I had a classmate with a scarred arm because of a bullet shot at her when she was 3 years old by an Israeli soldier- that was of course right before her parents moved here to Egypt.
So, what I’m saying is that I would really like to understand Zionism and Zionists. For instance, you’re American, so your country and state is the U.S. so why do you need another country to call your own? Judaism is a religion like any other religion and can be practiced any where like any other religion, and if Jews aren’t allowed to do that then they should fight for their right to do so and not move somewhere and start a state. So what I want to understand, from a seemingly intelligent and well read person, is why you support Zionism, because I have met Jews who don’t.
This has been a bit too long, I apologize. Hope I don’t get some sarcastic thrashing on your website.
Let’s take the points one at a time, and Heba, I’m not sarcastic to people who are looking for straightforward answers.
Originally published on May 5, 2004
Meirav was two
This is Rebecca. She is two years old. I see her frequently, usually every Thursday. Sarah and the twins and I run errands in the morning and have lunch in the afternoon. This picture was taken at one of our favorite spots in the West End of Richmond.
There are a few more pictures of Rebecca sprinkled throughout this weblog.
Meirav was two. She and Rebecca have something in common. They’re both Jewish. Meirav lived in a town in the Gaza Strip with her three sisters. Rebecca lives here in central Virginia with her three brothers. Rebecca giggles a lot, and dances a lot. I’ll bet that Meirav giggled and danced, too.
Folks, one of the things that is preventing me from putting some posts up is the amount of time they’ll take to convert. Link-heavy posts like “Meirav Was Two” are going to take a while to get to, even though most of the links are dead. Hm. Or maybe I shouldn’t reproduce dead links. That’d be, well, stupid.
Anyway, go ahead, make some more requests. I’ve got a few ideas of my own, but no time for it probably until after the High Holy Days (Mom’s coming to town).
Originally published on April 28, 2003
The last word on Aziz and Tacitus, dudes
Judith Weiss wrote a wonderful summary of what went down, but I realized that I need to sum up for my own readers, in my own way. Go to Kesher Talk for the links if you think you need more information. I’m like, too beat after writing this.
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Originally published on June 11, 2005
Alex Bensky, the uber-commenter, has an explanation as to why groups like Human Rights Watch are so focused on Israeli human rights violations, and rarely on violations against Israelis:
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I won’t be converting my HTML archives into WordPress blogs, but I will go back and choose some of my best posts and reproduce them here, now, for new readers and for reference (and searches) back.
If you have a favorite post from my pre-WP days, post the URL in the comments, or email me. I’ll get it onto the new blog when I get the time.
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