American Royalty

At last, America has royalty again.

I watched the inauguration today with absolute fascination. I'm trying not to become an Obama worshipper (as opposed to a simple Obama supporter), but frankly I can't help myself. I am finding myself being pulled into the eddy of the Obama mystique. What is it exactly? Is it the history making event of the first African-American president? Is it the interplay of working class values, progressive idealism, and honest academic credentials? Is it the subtle balance of his cool demeanor with his boundless energy? Is it his focus on intellectualism and science? Is it the stunning beauty and keen intellect of the Obama women?

Incidentally, I am waiting to see which of the Obamas becomes one of People Magazine's 100 Most Beautiful People. My money is on Sasha and Malia sharing a spot.
But to quote the movie Airplane!, "That's not important right now."

How about that inauguration ceremony?

First and foremost, Obama's speech was excellent. It was dire and foreboding, yet still hopeful and empowering. It was everything we wanted to and NEEDED to hear. I think it could be paraphrased thusly:

Thank you. Now we have a lot of work ahead of us because we are up a creek without a paddle. And this situation is not accidental. We got here because nobody stopped the actions of a few greedy, rich elitists. But don't worry. I am going to undo every stupid thing that the Bush administration did. You don't believe me? Watch my dust. And I'll need your help.

Or something like that.

There was a lot to like about the rest of the ceremony. Aretha Franklin proved she is still the Queen of Soul even when singing such patriotic ditties as, "My Country Tis of Thee." And I still have goosebumps from hearing Yitzhak Perlman, Yo Yo Ma, and Anthony McGill (the winner of the Avery Fisher Career Grant) play a beautiful arrangement of Simple Gifts by John Williams. It was as if the inauguration planners started one-upping each other just to see if anyone would rein them in.

"I think we should get Yitzhak Perlman to play. He's good right?"
"OK, if you get Yitzhak Perlman, than I want Yo Yo Ma."
"Cool! How about we also get Anthony McGill? He's good too."
"Yeah! Yeah! McGill...didn't he win some big award? And then they should play something by...uh...Mozart?"
"Naa. Not big enough."
"Uh, Bach? Copeland?"
"No, not contemporary enough. C'mon think big."
"John Williams?"
"Yeah! John Williams! And then we'll get Aretha Franklin to sing something patriotic! Cool!"

Etc., etc., etc.

I liked Rev. Joseph Lowery's benediction, although I did a doubletake when he started to get all 70's on us at the end. When he said, "If you're yellow, be mellow," one of my coworkers, who was born in China, starting singing, "They call me Mellow Yellow."

The only low point to me was Rick Warren's invocation. It could have been a good invocation with an important message on religious and ethnic diversity, but it is cosmically impossible to get an evangelical preacher to give an ecumenical speech without mentioning Jesus. And to think that the central theme of his invocation was inclusivity and tolerance. I love good irony.

I wonder if it was coincidental that the scriptural verse Rick Warren picked to start the invocation was the Sh'ma, the most important Jewish affirmation in the liturgy. ("Here, Oh Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.") I can only hope so. It earns him back some points.

But other than that, the ceremony was flawless...or as close to flawless as an inauguration will ever get.

If y'all will excuse me, I need to go sit down and fan myself.

Who Were You When?

I never got around to posting a blog last November after the general election. You would think that I would have something to say, anything...but frankly, there was just TOO much to say. I was thinking of simply writing "YAHOOO!" and leaving it at that, but even that seemed too trite.

And then, while I was thinking of pithy comments for my blog, everyone seemed to beat me to the punch. Everyone else commented on how this was a historic occasion, that we never thought we'd see the day, that hope had been restored to our country, that the rule of the conservatives was over, etc., etc., etc.

I thought about writing, "Ditto!" but I think someone else wrote that as well.

And then everyone started talking about where they were when they heard the news. People of all races and genders were out in Harlem and Chicago and many other cities braving the cold to rally support for Obama. Some people were asleep at home, and didn't find out the news until the next morning. Some were sitting shiva, some were shouting "Baruch hashem!". It was a wild night by any accounts.

Shirah and I started whooping it up early in the evening when the Vigo County election returns were reported. As many of you may have heard, Vigo County has voted for the winning presidential candidate in every election since 1960, and it has voted closer to the national margin than any other county. So, we didn't need to wait for John Stewart to call the election. We KNEW that we had won. Way to go, Terre Haute, Indiana!

You don't hear THAT very often. (Forgive me, Shirah.)

What I have not heard much discussion on is the following question: WHO were you when you heard the election results? Frankly, this is a much more telling question. Were you a black woman in her mid 70s who never, ever, ever thought she would see this day in her lifetime? Were you a young high school student (of any race or ethnicity) who just couldn't see why Obama's race should have anything to do with his qualifications? Were you a member of the academic elite who saw Obama as a return to reason and intelligence in this country (finally, finally, finally)? Or were you a member of the affluent elite who saw Obama as a threat to your hard saved, hard earned, or more likely, hard inherited dollar?

Were you a staunch ultra-right conservative who saw Obama as the beginning of the end, the fall of morality as we know it? Or were you a staunch ultra-left liberal who saw Obama as the end of the beginning, marking a return to morality in our country?

Who were you?

I welcome your comments, good, bad, or ugly.

Chag Sameach!

A belated Chanukah Sameach. And a Happy Gregorian New Year.

War, Inc.

Shirah and I just watched the movie, War, Inc. tonight. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time. It's an intelligent, funny, hard core political satire. No wonder it did so poorly at the box office. It was way too ambitious for American audiences. Luckily, it has made over $1 million in US DVD sales, so hopefully it will find its audience somewhere.

I was reminded of Wag the Dog, a political movie that in fact did very well at the box office. However, Wag the Dog had a couple advantages over War, Inc. First of all, it had the megastar wattage of Dustin Hoffman and Robert De Niro...together. Second, the movie clearly explained what it was trying to do, and it didn't deviate from its central theme throughout the film. Audiences clearly knew what they were watching. It was easy to write the blurb.

War, Inc., on the other hand, is much more frenetic and disjointed. It's primary theme is the outsourcing of wars to private contractors. What would happen, the movie asks, if an ENTIRE war was outsourced to a private contractor? Furthermore, what would happen if a Middle Eastern teenage pop icon found her life controlled not only by the world press but also by a war zone, a patriarchal culture, and her own need for self-actualization? And what would happen if a CIA hitman, who was thrown into the 'Emerald City' in Turaqistan, was trying to carry out a hit while dealing with his own personal demons, self doubt, growing conscience, and distraction by a left-wing reporter (Marisa Tomei, one of my favorite actresses)? And where exactly is the fictional country of Turaqistan? And why does Ben Kingsley have a southern U.S. accent?

See? No wonder American audiences couldn't follow it.

Roger Ebert did not like the movie. Roger Ebert did not understand the movie. Roger Ebert has difficulty with complex plots. Fine. That's his own problem.

Bottom line...War, Inc. is a very funny, very ambitious movie that frankly should have received much more attention. It has a top shelf cast (John Cusack, Joan Cusack, Marisa Tomei, Hilary Duff, Ben Kingsley, and Montel Williams in a surprise role), it has clever writing, it has lots of action and explosions, and it has a sharp political message.

Just don't watch it with Roger Ebert. You might have to explain it to him.

Happy Thanksgiving

Egads. Two months have passed without a blog entry. Why is it that good habits, like exercising, eating right, and blogging, are so much harder to get back into once you get out of them? It just isn't fair. I got out of the habit of staying up late and eating too many desserts over the summer, and now I'm right back into them like no time passed.

Speaking of writing, my Yearly T'ruah (our family newsletter) never got written for the High Holidays, so I am going to make sure it gets sent out before Chanukah. We still call the newsletter the Yearly T'ruah, even when it gets sent out during Purim (in March) simply because it reminds me that a) Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are the most important holidays of the year, b) you're late, you idiot, you're late again.

It keeps me humble.

But anyway, we're gearing up now for our Friday Thanksgiving meal. As I mentioned in previous blog entries, my inlaws always have our big meal on Friday so my sister-in-law can have Thanksgiving dinner with HER in-laws on Thursday. It's a simple fix that works for everybody's schedule, and it usually results in having non-traditional meals on Thanksgiving proper. Last night, I made a spinach, tomato, and feta frittata.

Thanksgiving is always a communal affair with my in-laws. No matter who is actually hosting it, the cooking responsibilities are evenly distributed for our Friday meal. This way, no one is stuck with all the cooking duties, and everyone feels a connection to the meal. Furthermore, this way there are more compliments to go around. ("Oh, you liked the salt and pepper? Thank your uncle. He brought them.")

This year, we have a new addition to the family...and therefore, a new guest at the meal. My niece Rowan is 2-months old, which means that she will be the center of attention. Naturally, this means that her sister Dana, who is almost 3, will be forced to dump her plate of food on her head at some point during the meal to regain her rightful place as focal point. This, of course, will result in both of my sons laughing hysterically until one of them starts choking, repositioning one or both of them as the new center of attention. And then Rowan will start crying because there is too much noise. And then we will all have pie.

I wouldn't have it any other way. Happy Thanksgiving.

Chag Sameach!

Chag Sameach! Lshana tova tikatevu! Have a happy and healthy new year.

Yellow Belt

It was Friedrich Nietzche who wrote, "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." I've been repeating that to myself a lot lately. It has become my new mantra. To me, it's much more upbeat than, "This too shall pass."

This past Saturday, I was muttering it over and over again as I tested for my first Krav Maga belt level. This was not the 2-hour "wait for your turn, get up do your thing, go sit down" testing that Omri did when he took Taekwando. No, this was 5 1/2 hours of continuous, strenuous, sweat-pouring, heart-pounding activity. This was hard core. This would have made Nietzche whimper.

But I made it through, and I am feeling pretty proud of myself. As I said previously, sometimes you have to meet 40 head on. Sometimes, you've got to push yourself to the limit, hit the wall, and keep on going.

And once I can get up again, I'll do my victory dance.

YouTube Video of McCain-Palin Love Tryst

...would be a totally ludicrous headline. But who reads past the headlines anyway? Certainly the mainstream media has done a horrible job presenting a fair and balanced view of the candidates. How many times have the newspapers called McCain a maverick despite the fact that he voted with Bush 95% of the time (FactCheck.org). Or, how about the media replays of Fox News's false claim that Obama is a Muslim (not that there's anything wrong with that...).

So, here is my underground suggestion for the blogosphere. Let's start publishing blog titles that claim ludicrous rumors. We can explain in the blog text that we simply made up a rumor, but as long as we spread the headlines, the supporting text won't matter.

The headlines should be just within believability. "McCain Loses Count of Personal Jets," is a good example. "McCain and Palin Secret Vegetarians" is a little too silly. I mean, what kind of nut job would be a vegetarian?

Getting it Right

Today I had a rare opportunity. I got to see people get it right. Not just partially right, not just satisfactorily right, not just, "well, that's as much as I would have expected," but unequivocally, amazingly, spot on. Today, I volunteered at the St. Mary's Child Center in Indianapolis.


Deborah Wood Associates, the parent company of my employer CME Enterprise, is working with St. Mary's this year as part of our company's community service project. Once a month, different employees sign up to go volunteer at St. Mary's and work with the children: reading books, playing with the kids, basically doing whatever the teachers need. Today, my department volunteered.


St. Mary's Child Center works with children ages 3 to 5 years old who are, "at great risk for a wide range of social, emotional, economic and environmental problems." This not-for-profit organization provides half-day education and meals for children throughout the Indy metro area. Parents pay whatever they can afford. Some pay as little as $2 per week.

One might expect such a place to operate at the lowest possible standards. it doesn't. It operates at the highest. Following the Reggio Emilia educational philosophy, St. Mary's introduces its kids to art, reading, science, drama, and basically anything else it can use to engage the kids and help them learn. I sat in a classroom with 4 year-olds who were counting numbers and reciting the days of the week in song. The kids were well-behaved, lively, and friendly. The teachers were clearly dedicated to the kids, to the learning philosophy, and to education in general.

As I said, they got it right.

Please check out the St. Mary's Child Center Website, particularly their wishlist page where they list items they need for the school. Also visit the volunteer page to see how your company, or you yourself, can help.

Breaking Away

The Zev Winicur Monon Milestone Bike Ride this past Saturday was an unqualified success. The weather was absolutely perfect: no rain, just a slight cloud cover, warm enough to convince you that it's still summer, but not hot enough to melt copper. And, yes, I rode the entire 34 miles of the Monon round trip.

Some friends of mine, a family of four, joined me on the bike ride. To keep their identity private, I will only refer to them as the Pitt-Jolies: Brad, Angelina, Vivienne (10), and Marcheline (9).

The Pitt-Jolies are pretty avid bikers despite their protestations that they really hadn't done much biking this summer. Of course, "not doing much biking," did not affect their ability to ride circles around me. I take pride in the fact that I was able to ride further than both the 9-year old AND the 10-year old. The 9-year old only rode 16 miles, and the 10-year old only rode 28 miles total. Hah!

Are you smarter than a 5th grader? Can you bike further than a 5th grader? And are you proud of yourself?

Both Vivienne and Marcheline did AMAZINGLY well, especially considering that when I was 9 years old, I had just removed my training wheels. I think I was able to ride a mile to school and back when I was 10.

I came home after the bike ride and told my kids that I didn't want to hear them complain when I made them walk around the block.

The Age of Ascension

In the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode, "The Icarus Factor," Lt. Worf is depressed because he has reached the Age of Ascension, and he has no Klingon family to share it with. As it turns out, the standard celebration for the Age of Ascension is to walk through a gauntlet of particularly nasty looking Klingons who stab you repeatedly with pain sticks.

I never understood that episode until today. Today I turned 40. Happy Birthday to me.

Although I do plan to celebrate in style with my family this Sunday, I spent my birthday this evening doing two back-to-back Krav Maga classes. I'm kind of tired now and very sore, but it's a good kind of AAAAGH. I highly recommend facing major birthday milestones by getting your tuchus handed to you. It is very therapeutic.

This Saturday is the Official Zev Winicur Monon Milestone Bike Ride. I will undoubtedly be tired and sore Saturday evening, and my plan to drink multiple beers at the Broad Ripple Brewpub after 30 miles of physical activity is of questionable intelligence. But I'm going to do it anyway. And I'm going to enjoy myself. And Shirah is going to drive me home.

Maybe I won't be celebrating with Klingon pain sticks. It doesn't matter. I've found a way to face 40 with a lion's roar, a pounding of the chest, and a triumphant smile.

Of course this raises the stakes for 50. Maybe I'll go pick a fight with Mike Tyson. Anybody else game?

Happy Birthday, Shirah

My wife Shirah is five weeks older than I am. That means that any birthday-related "cleverness" I feel obliged to perpetrate on her will come back at me five-fold in five weeks time. This is one of the reasons I am always nice to my wife in July.

I am nice to her for other reasons as well. Not the least of which is that she has put up with me for 16 years. Some would say this entitles her to a purple heart. Others would say that in 4 years she is eligible for parole.

So, to celebrate her 40th birthday (yes, the cat's out of the bag...but you all figured that out when I said she was five weeks older than me...oh, never mind) I threw her a party. She decided that she wanted a fiesta theme, which meant that we had a vegetarian taco bar, enchiladas, tropical fruit salad, guacamole, roasted corn salsa, cayenne pepper picante, horchata to drink, and baklava for dessert.

OK, so maybe baklava isn't exactly fiesta food. OK, so maybe it isn't fiesta food at all. A party is a party, and she knew what she wanted. Besides, I've developed a certain reputation for my baklava. Play to your strengths, I always say.

She insisted on other non-fiesta desserts as well; Hoosier desserts from her youth. So, I made peanut butter squares and chocolate oatmeal bars. Both recipes are good. I mean sinfully good. And there are still leftovers in the refrigerator. This is bad. Very, very bad. If you'll excuse me, I'll be right back...

We tried to make the party as kid-friendly as possible. I mean, c'mon...we had tacos and soda. We rented a room at the Post Road Park Banquet and Meeting Facility, which has a convenient playground right outside the building. So, when the kids got antsy waiting for someone to entertain them, I took them all outside into the 90 degree heat and schvitzed while they ran around the playground. Meanwhile, my wife stayed inside the air-conditioned building and chatted with the adults.

Yes, I love my wife. I just hope this all comes back to me five-fold in five weeks time. I'd even settle for some peanut butter squares.

Saddle Sores

The Official Zev Winicur Monon Milestone Birthday Ride grows ever closer. Thankfully, I'm getting closer to my 30 mile goal. I biked 25 miles today along the Monon, so with any luck, I should have no problems fulfilling my goal on August 19. Of course, I'm feeling very, VERY sore today.

Again, if anyone wants to join me on my bike run, the invitation still stands. You don't even have to be nearing 40 to join me. You can be a young pup or an old timer. I don't care. You just have to keep up. Or, more importantly, not make me look too bad.

Roasted Sweet Potato Burritos with Homemade Tortillas

Here is another off-the-cuff recipe that came to me in a moment of inspiration. The homemade tortillas would probably have come out better if I had a tortilladora (tortilla press), but I was able to roll out the tortillas between two sheets of parchment paper nonetheless. As it is, the rough edges of the tortillas give them a more nouvelle cuisine appeal.

SWEET POTATO FILLING
1 large sweet potato
1 16-oz can tomato sauce
1 cup granulated textured vegetable protein (TVP)
1 Tbs ketchup
2 green onions, diced
1/2 green bell pepper, diced
2-3 Tbs canola oil
1 Tbs chili powder
1/4 cup prepared picante (preferably Pace)

Peel the sweet potato and cut it into 1/2 inch-size squares. Coat the sweet potato with 1 Tbs canola oil and place under a broiler for 5-10 minutes, flipping the potatoes every 3-5 minutes until they are tender and browned.

Mix the ketchup with 7/8 cup hot water and add TVP. Mix until TVP is completely rehydrated.

Saute the green onion and bell pepper in 1-2 Tbs oil until lightly browned. Add tomato sauce and stir. Add picante sauce and chili powder and cook sauce for 5 more minutes. Mix in rehydrated TVP and sweet potato.

HOMEMADE TORTILLAS
2 cups masa flour
1 1/4 cups water
1/4 tsp salt

Mix together flour, salt, and water to make a soft dough. Knead dough for about 2 minutes. Divide dough into 16 equal parts. Keep covered with damp cloth to keep dough moist. Line a tortilla press with two sheets of thick plastic wrap. Place each ball between plastic and press until tortilla measures 5 to 6 inches in diameter. Alternatively, you can roll out the ball between two sheets of parchment paper, although this is a lot trickier.

Preheat ungreased skillet. Cook tortillas one at a time for 50 seconds or until just barely brown. Turn, then cook the other side for another 50 seconds. Cover tortillas with cloth napkin to keep soft and warm.

Spoon about 1/4 to 1/2 cup sweet potato filling along a line just off the meridian of the tortilla. Wrap the tortilla around the filling and serve.

Happy Birthday, Micah!

Happy Birthday, Micah! May you grow older and wiser but never bitter nor jaded. May the world continue to delight and surprise you. May you always see the best in others and help them to see it in themselves.

And may you always be able to charm the socks off of everyone and anyone. It's a valuable skill to have. Don't lose it.

Six years old. Wow. That's six-tenths of a decade. It's like having your very first birthday again...and again and again and again and again. It's old enough to play Laser Tag. I know this because you've reminded me...again and again and again and again.

It amazes me that even as Micah grows older and smarter and more eloquent (using big words like "artificial sweetener" and "inedible"), he never seems to lose that wide-eyed fascination of the world. I pray he never does.

Two weeks ago, Micah and I went to the Bill Monroe Bean Blossom Bluegrass Festival. After spending all Saturday at the festival, we camped overnight in our deluxe-ish Eddie Bauer tent. It was Micah's first time camping. It was a BIG DEAL. He was fascinated by everything: by the informal jam sessions throughout the campground, by the talented players on the stage, by our sleeping bags and inflatable pillows, and by learning to brush his teeth "the camping way" (pouring water from a bottle on the toothbrush, brushing his teeth outside the tent, and spitting on the ground). I got to experience camping all over again through his eyes.

And I could never tell just what would get his attention. There he was in the midst of the music festival, Bluegrass all around him, big bag of kettle corn next to his chair, having watched me erect our tent, having watched our neighbors play mandolin, banjo, bass, and dobro right in front of him...you know, the full experience. He climbed into my lap, gave me a big hug, and peeked over my shoulder at the people behind us. "Cool, Cheez-its!" he said as he spotted the crackers the people behind us were snacking on. He said it the same way I might have said, "Cool, a Lamborghini!"

Naturally, the people behind us offered him Cheez-its. After all, Micah still can charm the socks off of anyone.

Pavlov's Disc

Do other men have a Pavlovian response to a Frisbee? If you are holding a serious discussion on politics, family, work, entertainment, or world crises, do you suddenly break away the moment someone waves a plastic disc at you and says, "Go long"?

I thought about this yesterday at our departmental team building outing. We had a grand old time on the grounds of the Indianapolis Museum of Art (IMA) discussing each of our five greatest strengths according to the Strengths Finder 2.0 book. We ate box lunches from Panera Bread, engaged in a couple of team building ice breakers, such as the human knot, and then got into a heady discussion about how we can complement our team's strengths and work with the strengths of the other departments in our company.

And then someone pulled out the Frisbee.

All pretense of professionalism was gone. All four men took to the field and tossed the disc back and forth with greater or lesser levels of skill (I was lesser). And all four women stayed behind, conversed, and watched the men. It was as if someone rang the bell and the dogs started salivating.

Luckily, not one of us tried to catch the Frisbee in our teeth. Stimulus-response be damned. Our dental insurance isn't THAT good.

Announcing the Official Zev Winicur Monon Milestone Birthday Ride

I am so proud of myself. This past weekend, I biked 14 miles up and down the Monon Trail in Indianapolis. Yeah, sure, I know. A third of you are saying, "Only 14 miles? So, what? I eat 14 miles for breakfast." The other third are saying, "Are you NUTS? At YOUR age?" And then there's that third third who are saying, "Nice job! You go, dude! We are SO proud of you!"

The rest of this blog is for this last segment of the population. The rest of you can go eat your 14 mile breakfast someplace else.

Of course, I am feeling it. Oy, am I feeling it. My posterior is, shall we say, rather saddle sore. I was already feeling sore last Wednesday at Krav Maga class when our teachers, in an effort to train us how to do roll falls the correct way, took us outside to practice on the pavement. The good news is that my previous Aikido training from a decade ago kicked in, and my roll falls were flawless. The bad news is that I am nearing 40. Generally speaking, the untrained 40-year old body does not like to do roll falls on the pavement followed by 14 miles of torture to your tush on an uncomfortable bike seat.

Yes, you heard it right folks. I'm nearing the big 4-0, a.k.a. my second 39th birthday. August 13. Mark it on your Outlook calendars now.

About a month ago, some lovely ladies from my high school graduating class sent out an email informing all of their friends that they were celebrating turning 40 by participating in a 100 mile bike ride in California to raise money for some disease state or another...diabetes or breast cancer or coronary disease. I honestly can't remember. That's not the point. The point is that these ladies are meeting their midlife by pushing their bodies to the limit. They are embracing their age with a show of strength and endurance. They are telling the world that they are still fit, fetching, and fabulous. They are making me look really, really, really bad.

Even if I wanted to join them in California, there is no way I could whip my body back into shape for a 100 mile ride by August 13. Sure, I've lost 15 lbs. in the past three months. Sure, I've built up some muscle by going to Krav Maga twice a week. Sure, I regularly exercise my stomach muscles by lying on the floor and letting my children jump on me. But 100 miles? Nobody eats 100 miles for breakfast.

I figure that the best I can do is 30 miles. That's twice the length of the Monon Trail in Indianapolis and Carmel. I think that with some practice runs and a more comfortable bike seat, I can easily tackle the Monon. In fact, I'm setting Saturday, August 16, as the official day for the official Zev Winicur Monon Milestone Birthday Ride.

You are all invited to join me, of course. In fact, I would love the company. Nothing provides incentive for a massive physical endeavor than someone else alongside you preventing you from wussing out. I plan to start at the Frank and Judy O'Bannon Old Northside Soccer Park at 9:00am at 16th Street and Lewis Street, bike south for 0.25 miles to the start of the Monon Trail, bike north for 15 miles until we hit 146th Street, bike back down south to our waiting vehicles, and then drink two entire canteens of water. If you come, bring your own water and sunblock. And bike. And cushy bikeseat.

Afterwards, we can all go out for beer at some nice local establishment, such as the Broad Ripple Brewpub. The first round is on me, but only if you all agree to order a GOOD beer. I'm not about to pay for your Bud or Miller Lite. I'm not going to have you embarrassing me. This is serious business, and life is way too short to drink that swill. Besides, let's face it...I'm not getting any younger.

My apologies

My mother was very surprised to see the picture on my last blog entry. She is waiting for me to post enough articles to send the image downward.

My wife, on the other hand, had no problem with the picture. Rather, she chastised me for the many punctuation errors that appeared in my blog entries. She realizes that I tend to write late at night (when I am at my sleepiest), and she has begged me to have her proofread my articles before I publish them. I am not sure just how that will work. "Shirah. Shirah. Shirah, wake up. I need you to proofread my diatribe against Bush's tax policy." Yeah, like that's going to happen.

Since I have offended both my mother and my wife, It is likely that I have offended many of you as well, either with my imagery or with my grammar. I apologize profusely. In the future, I vow to pay better attention to my apostrophes. And I'll try to limit the pictures of scantily clad women to one or two per month.

Its the least I can do.

Um...I mean it's the least I can do.

Succubus On Top

Now that I'm a successful professional in the continuing medical education industry, I feel that I need to convey a sense of professionalism both in the office and on the road. So, on my flight home from the MedBiquitous conference last weekend (an organization that promotes technical standards for medical education), I should have been reading the latest issue of the Journal of Continuing Education in the Health Professions or perhaps some photocopyied journal articles about clinical guidelines for antiplatelet therapy. You know, something that would have said, "Wow! That man is truly a professional. I'll sit next to him so that some of his professionalism will rub off on me."

Instead, I was burning my way through a paperback sporting the less than family-oriented image pictured above. I was doing my best to hide the cover on my lap so that parents wouldn't pull their children away from me. Unfortunately, my perpetual smile and constant snickering probably wasn't doing anything to label me as "sane" or "safe."

This is what happens when you read Richelle Mead's books. They are definitely for those of us who felt a deep void in our lives when the show Buffy the Vampire Slayer went off the air.

Succubus Blues and the sequel Succubus on Top are urban fantasy novels that tell the story of Georgina Kincaid, a succubus living in modern society. At night she goes out tempting men into sexual relations so that she can suck some of their life force out of them and send them on the road to eternal damnation. During the day she works at a local bookstore and organizes the booksignings. Naturally, her profession as a succubus messes with her desire to have anything resembling a normal life. She wants to develop a long term relationship with one of her favorite authors, but this is complicated by the need for absolute celibacy...you know, so she doesn't drain away his life force. Wacky highjinks ensue.

The books are wildly entertaining. They are not what I would call high literature, but Mead is very good at creating quirky characters, snappy dialog, and interesting explorations of religious and fantasy mythology. One of my favorite characters is her boss, Jerome, a demon who's immense power is balanced by his strange decision to take on the appearance of John Cusack. You get the idea.

The third book in the series, Succubus Dreams, is coming out in October. With any luck, it will coincide with another conference. I can already feel the airline passengers edging away from me.

Happy Birthday Israel!

A belated Happy Birthday to the State of Israel. 60 years old. Amazing. So young!

May you live to 120...and beyond.