How desperate?

I clicked onto comedycentral@email.comedycentral.com and actually thought about making a video and trying to get “discovered”.  Then I could leave the practice of law and, yet, not disappoint my mother (may she rest in peace).

Then I realized that it was just a gimmick (su-u-u-u-u-r-r-pri-i-i-ise!!!) to watch the Daily Show with Jon Stewart.  Thank G-d I have my day job still.

But still I am thinking about what kind of correspondent I would be. Senior Middle-Aged White Jewish Woman With Impulse Control Issues Correspondent?

What would I talk about?  I think people would be interested in some lesser known Jewish cultural and religious customs.  In fact, it would make even the crazy, anti-muslims bigots in the country start thinking that Islam is mainstream.

I thought of a few topics:

What to wear on Tu B’Shevat?  That’s Jewish Arbor Day.  One has to be careful not to have clashing shades of green.

Digestion. Why is it a cultural imperative to wait one hour after lunch before going back in the pool or the ocean? Even highly educated people still hold to this bubbemeisa (Yiddish equivalent of “old wives’ tale”).  Why?  Because — G-d forbid — a freak accident occurred and someone who didn’t wait the one hour got a cramp in the water and drowned, then all of the guilt that has amassed since being thrown out of the Garden of Eden (we have original guilt, not original sin) will come crashing on your head.  So, doctors of all things know better than to stare down history and Jewish karma (forgive the mixing of metaphors).

Maturity. How is it possible to be a man under Jewish law and still have to ask your mother’s permission to have a play date after school?  Answer: boys are born as gods, grow up to be princes and then graduate to manhood (Bar Mitzvah), all by the time they are 13.  No wonder they have such problems as they age.  They peak too early.

Circumcision.  Do you know what people do with the foreskin afterwards?  A little known fact — the foreskin is buried under a sapling or small tree (but not small like a bonsai tree) and when the boy is ready to get married, the branches are cut from the tree to make the wedding canopy (chupah).  We know firsthand, because my father-in-law made us store it in the freezer for months until he had a chance to go to the country house and bury it.  Needless to say, there was nothing ELSE in the freezer and we got rid of the refrigerator as soon as possible.  The echo of generations of screaming babies in our refrigerator could be the subject of a made-for-TV movie.

So it is a vicious cycle:  moyel (ritual circumciser) cuts boy, boy grows up and cuts tree, tree beats scissors, scissors are used to cut the next boy’s foreskin . . . and so on. . . and so on.

Ok, I have to stop now.  When I start making rock, paper, scissors ooky, I know I have gone, at warp speed, off the reservation, on my way to hell.  Anyone need a ride?