First-Time Impressions of a First-Time Dog Owner

The outdoors is covered in dog pee. That's all I have to say.

Don't Tell Me What to Do

OK, so I sort of agree with the premise of this article that Orthodox women wear a lot of black and that maybe we should expand into other colors. Or at least feel like we can expand into other colors. This comes from a girl who just bought orange shoes, so, yeah, I like color. 

But. You know what I hate? Men telling women how they should or shouldn't dress. (Though, this article about women wearing leggings under their skirts was far worse.) Because, dudes, tznius is hard. And so much of tznius has nothing to do with halacha per se but is all about level of comfort and sensibilities and whatnot. So let women make their own decisions. 

And trust me, there are enough women telling women what they should be wearing in any case. 

Menorah Seasonal Confusion

All our stuff, including our menorah, is currently in storage after our latest move, so I spent some time looking for menorahs instead of writing my dissertation. This probably wasn't the best use of my time, but that's neither here nor there. We didn't find one we liked enough to buy, so we're using a cheap-y tin menorah this year, but here are some highlights from my fruitless menorah search:

I like Christmas and all (I really do—it makes me a terrible Jew, I know, but the lights are so pretty and the candy is so delicious), but this might be pushing it a little too far.

Shoes. Another thing I really like. But also something that probably doesn't belong on your menorah.

Nothing wrong with pomegranates, but what the heck do they have to do with Chanukah? Rosh Hashana was a while back.

Um, what? Goldilocks and the Three Bears eat latkes?

I guess I'd maybe get this if you got married on Chanukah. Maybe. But should my menorah remind me that I'm married? Because specifically at this time of year I might forget?

Does Anyone In the Neighborhood Want My Leftover Cholent?

So, firstly, just to get this out of the way: Yes, I recognize that the word Listserv is a registered trademark and most e-mail lists are not actually Listservs with a capital L. However, since I handed in my copy editor stripes over four years ago and since I am now a super-busy, slightly (well, let's say slightly) lazy grad student, I am going to use the word Listserv when I mean e-mail list. Because, I'm sorry, e-mail list just doesn't have the same ring to it (nor does garbage receptacle instead of Dumpster or acetaminophen instead of Tylenol. Just saying). 

So, now that that's out of the way... Z and I have been living in a truly lovely community. The people here are incredibly friendly and we've been all in all very happy here. In this community, there is a Jewish Listserv. Now, this Listserv has served us well: It found us the house we're living in and it transported our meat for us from Lakewood.

But this list is also ridiculous. Firstly, last week someone offered their leftover cole slaw on the list. Now, if you have boxes of hand-me-downs or kitchen appliances or an old computer to offer up, the Listserv is excellent. But leftovers? I have some leftover cholent in my fridge, anyone want it? Anyone? I think I'll offer it to the whole community. First come, first served.

Also, I am left with the nagging feeling that nobody actually reads this Listserv. Lots of people post on it, but that's different than actually getting through to people. An example:

Now, after the first e-mail was sent, don't you think the second guy should have just e-mailed the first guy who clearly had his coat? Well, he would obviously have done that. Had he read the Listserv.