Double Triangle: Jewish Food, Life & Community

Ride Like the Wind

Wed, 24 Feb 2010 09:31:41 -0700

It?s another sunny Sunday afternoon in the San Fernando Valley and we?re home from lunch. Beautiful Eema is napping, I?m watching a vampire movie, Twilight, in the guest room, and The Good Boy and the Sweet Sweetheart are each in their rooms for a rare hour or so. By rare, I mean hardly ever, as our children love nothing more than carrying on a 15-hour conversation with us, usually beginning at 6am and seldom interrupted. We do love spending time with our kids, discussing their toys in great detail, their plans for future stardom, and the inequality between what one got and the other seemingly didn?t, but sometimes we just need some downtime at some point over the weekend. This is one of those times.

It doesn?t take long until the children are at Beautiful Eema?s side tugging at her, asking her to go outside with them so they can ride their bikes and scooters. It?s a reasonable request, and she tells them that she will do so in an hour. They then turn and make a bee-line to the guest room where I?m located and make the same request of me, as they don?t really want to wait an hour. I quickly pause the movie, to prevent any bloody vampire mutilation action from being witnessed by the kiddies.

These days, it?s not all that common for children not to have friends living on the same block, and even if they did, they could not just go out to play alone. A parent would be needed to supervise them out of concern for their safety. This fact is at the heart of the lack of downtime that parents get and, to a great extent, parents are often the sole source of entertainment for their children.

So, I head out with the children to the cul-de-sac. I roll up the garage door, set up a chair, and open my laptop. The Good Boy pulls out his bike, and the Sweet Sweetheart rides her scooter. But after falling twice, I decide that maybe she?d better switch to some other activity while she and her clothing are still in one piece. She takes out a soccer ball and begins to bounce it. It rolls into the street, and she follows, as a car begins to turn onto our block. I yell to her that there?s a car, and she barely responds. The car slows and comes to a stop, parking.

The Sweet Sweetheart continues pursuing the ball, and I make the point to her that we always stop and go onto the sidewalk when a car approaches, as we?ve done for the past 7.5 years of her life. She agrees, and continues to bounce the ball.

I should explain that although we live on a double cul-de-sac and there are relatively few houses on our block, it?s truly amazing how much traffic there is going in and out whenever our children play outside. It seems that absolutely every single car on the block (two or three per family), is in a state of constant traveling at all times. Every parked car will pull out, and every missing car will return within any given half-hour.

Sure enough, a few minutes pass and another car turns into the block. The Sweet Sweetheart drops the ball and pursues it into the street as the car approaches. She is oblivious to the car, and I yell again for her to come out of the street while the car nears. She reluctantly (and slowly) does so, and I decide I don?t want to keep on yelling in the street, so I take the children back inside. I look forward to getting back to my movie.

At that point, Beautiful Eema comes down the stairs and is instantly flanked by the children who besiege her to go outside with them. I explain why we came back in so soon, and I happen to notice a cup sitting on the kitchen counter, filled with half-frozen blue Lysol. While I was watching the movie, thinking that the children were in their rooms, they were actually making ?perfume? out of the fragrant Lysol, and actually had placed their chemistry experiment into the freezer for a while. I groan and air out the freezer, hoping that our frozen food hasn?t been affected by the fumes. I?m glad that things seem normal inside the freezer, but I?m less than thrilled at the prospect of a serious mishap at any time.

Beautiful Eema agrees to go out with the kids, and asks me to remove the training wheels from the Sweet Sweetheart?s bike. The bike is a small, pink, girly one, and used to have a small plate on it saying ?Cutie.? I highly doubt that the Sweet Sweetheart is ready to ride the bike without training wheels, and my skepticism and lack of enthusiasm for the project is multiplied by the half-frozen, poisonous cup-o-Lysol I encountered in the kitchen just a few minutes ago.

Nonetheless, I rummage through my toolbox and find a wrench for this project. I first pump up the pink and white tires, then proceed to unbolt the training wheels. I hand off the bike to the Sweet Sweetheart and quickly beat a hasty retreat inside the house, preferring not to witness the likely carnage. Just in case, I take a mental inventory of our supply of bandages.

As I take an incoming phone call from my brother, Beautiful Eema takes over, supporting the bike, and the sweet ladies of our family proceed to spend close to an hour circling the cul-de-sac in that manner. The Good Boy follows them on his big-boy bike. I watch through an upstairs window.

I still recall the time I removed his training wheels. The Good Boy decided one day that he?s ready to ride unencumbered, and after experimenting with the bike of a friend, simply got on his bike and rode off into the sunset. There wasn?t really any learning curve or falling. He just got on the bike and rode it, pretty much perfectly ever since.

As the hour progresses, I watch in amazement, as The Sweet Sweetheart breaks away from Eema?s support and rides freely, balancing without any problem. She repeats the process, then begins to circle the block like a pro. The Good Boy is dispatched to tell me the good news, and I walk outside to enjoy the sight of the Sweet Sweetheart riding like the wind, and to relish Beautiful Eema?s accomplishment.

I could write a whole separate article about the concept of letting children reach their potential and being allowed to try and fail at various things so that they learn to be self-sufficient adults, as I?ve written in the past.

For now, suffice it to say that I am proud of my sweet beautiful ladies, and I?m enjoying the moment.

Blame it on the Economy?

Wed, 17 Feb 2010 15:07:45 -0700

It's a beautiful day in Southern California and I gaze out of my office windows. There are mountains, trees, and luxurious Mediterranean-style houses with red roof tiles as far as the eye can see. Calabasas is an idyllic town, and I've always enjoyed spending time here. It's a refuge from the "real world," in a way. In the rest of the country, many people are in dire financial straits, while Calabasas is awash in money and the tranquility that financial stability often brings.

During the past year, I must have heard a million times how the economy is causing all sorts of pain. Most people, including me, are eagerly awaiting a return to greater economic activity as it was before the Great Recession. Still, I really can?t complain. We?ve done very well. Instead of sitting around waiting for Godot, we've streamlined our business operations and expanded our company's offerings.

Today, I hang up the phone in disbelief more than once. I'm on a mission to hire various contractors to do some maintenance work on our house. Here's how it went:

First, I called an air conditioning specialist to assess the condition of my system and install a simple component, before the intense summer heat arrives. The repairman arrives without an installation crew, changes the air filters and leaves without doing the installation. He underestimated the need for a crew rather than a single person. It?s not the first time this has happened, and instead of allowing him to reschedule, I don?t pay the company and proceed to call his competitor for a bid.

The competitor arrives on the scene, and makes the case for a $25,000 multi-system replacement rather than a $1,000 component. I smile and promptly show him the door.

I then call a contractor to repair some water damage that has accumulated over the years to our backyard wooden gazebo. I set an appointment. In the meantime, the contractor calls twice to reschedule. The second time, I tell him that it won't be necessary to continue to coordinate this meeting with his busy schedule. After all, it's only money, so why would I expect someone in the hardest-hit industry to actually show up to give a bid to a willing customer.

I then proceed to attempt to find a window blinds repairman to fix a broken blind in my house. After extensive research both online and through the Yellow Pages, I reach one of the few blinds repair companies in my area, only to be told that they only provide repair services for blinds that they sell. They won't touch my bought-elsewhere blinds.

I continue to attempt to spend some money on those repairs, in sort of my own economic stimulus plan. Spend some money, put people to work, I think naively. Ha! There's always a reason for the people who need the work the most not to take on the work.

I nod my head in disbelief as I continue to admire the sunny beauty of Calabasas. Maybe it?s not always the recession that is to blame for people?s financial misery. Maybe tomorrow some recession-struck contractor will do me the great favor of accepting my thousands of dollars in business. Who knows? Maybe not... Damn that terrible economy!

My Father's Yartzeit

Sun, 14 Feb 2010 14:35:03 -0700

There?s a yartzeit candle burning in a glass jar, sitting on top of our kitchen counter. Its little flame flickers about and dances on a small pool of melted wax in the center of the jar. In the dark, the candle casts quickly fleeting shadows, as I stare at it sadly, wishing there was no need for it to be there. It really shouldn?t have been needed at all, but unfortunately I?m reminded that?s not how life works.

The candle is in memory of my father z?l, who passed away twelve years ago today, according to the Hebrew calendar. Although it?s been more than a decade, there has been a certain joy in my life that is gone, and an empty space that cannot be completely filled. Although I?m extremely fortunate to live an excellent life, since his passing, there has not been a single day during which I have not thought of my father. Most often, it?s more than once a day.

At the age of 44, I?m supposed to have all the answers to life?s questions, or at least that?s what is expected from a middle aged man, like me, married with children, running a complex company. The truth is different. It?s a real eye-opener just how many times every day I?m forced to admit that I have doubts about the many questions I face. Where do I really want to live, which school my children should attend, how much more to work to produce each incremental business gain, what to do about philanthropy, how to be most helpful to family members, and the list goes on and on. I really don?t have all the answers I wish I had.

When my father was alive, I could just ask him. He always seemed to have answers for me. Some absolute, some not. But at the very least he knew to point me in the right direction, and it was very comforting to have his advice. I could always count on him to have my best interests at heart, with no reservations. And as a Harvard-educated attorney, my father was one of the smartest people I've ever met.

So now when I face difficult decisions, I often wonder what my father would say, what he would do in that particular situation. When it comes to pure business, I rely more on my own judgment, but when it comes to issues of the impact my actions would have on people, I search for my father?s point of view. He excelled at showing amazing kindness to a degree that was so selfless, that I am still amazed at the extent of it.

His passing was an unimaginable loss to my family, and he is sorely missed, not just on his yartzeit, but every day.

One of the things about my dad, though, is that I'm certain that he would never want to be a source of sadness to his family. I know that he would want us to remember the good times with him and how much he loves us and we love him. He would wave his hand dismissively and tell us to be as happy as we can and enjoy the the time we have with our families.

When the time comes, I want my family to know that I feel the same way. No sadness, please. Count your blessings and celebrate life.

Tragedy in the Community

Sun, 14 Feb 2010 10:29:10 -0700

This past weekend was marked by a tragedy of massive proportions. There?s a family with three children who attend the same school as my children, and one who attended the New Jewish Community High School in our neighborhood.

On Friday night, while the rest of the world enjoyed the beginning of Presidents' Day weekend, this family?s oldest son was killed in a car accident. He was seventeen at the time of his death. According to local news reports, he was a passenger in a car with two of his friends, both sixteen, when the car apparently went out of control, and he was ejected from the car and hit a parked vehicle. He was instantly killed.

We are not extremely close friends of the family, but my son is in the same class as the brother of the deceased. In this particualr school, there are a small number of children in each class, and so we?ve known the family relatively well over the years.

The tragedy caused shockwaves throughout the entire local Jewish school community. At the funeral, there were more than 1,000 people in attendance.

Beautiful Eema and I paid a shiva call to the grieving family, accompanied by the Good Boy and the Sweet Sweetheart. Both under the age of nine, this was their first real encounter with the topic of death. Thankfully, they reacted well, not fully comprehending the situation. Children have a unique concept of time, and they cannot grasp the finality of death. It's probably a good thing that they cannot, because as final as is death, so is the sadness of the loss infinite. I'm glad they were spared.

I shook the hand of the father and told him that I just didn?t have the words to fully express how sorry I was for his loss. I watched his mouth tremble, fighting off the urge to weep. I, too, would have broken down at that moment, and so I avoided looking into his eyes. He is a young, self-made highly successful businessman, maybe five years younger than I. His house is beautiful and luxurious, filled with games and provisions you would expect to find in the home of a happy, active family.

From my unfortunately numerous encounters with death, burial, mourning, and grief, I knew to some extent what this man must have been going through, but not fully. I?ve seen good people die young, children losing their parents and grandparents, wives grieving for their husbands, and other heart-breaking losses. But this had to be different.

As I shook the hand of the father, I knew that those hands had just carried the coffin of his teenage son, and laid him to rest in a freshly dug grave. I knew that he must have smelled that earthy smell as he lowered the coffin, and pushed the dark brown moist earth to cover the coffin, feeling like this just can?t be real.

I know that he felt like it must be someone else?s life, because this was impossible. I knew, because I felt those very same feelings on more than one occasion, burying loved ones. But this was different. This man, through no fault of his own, was forced to live every parent?s worst nightmare ? the loss of a child.

We walked back to our car after shaking his hand, and hugging the mother. Our children climbed into our SUV and Beautiful Eema and I stood there to ensure that our own children were buckled in, safe and sound. We drove away silently.

Swirling, Spinning, Twisting

Mon, 08 Feb 2010 16:59:03 -0700

It's five o'clock on a Monday afternoon, and I'm gathering steam for the next phase of the day. I give some brief thought to the past couple of hours since I left my office to pick up my kids at their school. Driving through the West Valley, I raced several phone-holding-and-talking mothers in their SUVs, a few gardeners whose equipment perilously hung from the back of their pickups, and the occasional motley crew of high-schoolers zigzagging across the road at speeds far too excessive to be intended to bring them home to do homework or study for tests.

I arrived at my children's school to pull up in the line of cars parked around the yard waiting to load their respective dependents and whisk them away to all kinds of extra-curricular pursuits. To my left there is a basketball game in progress between the Heschel Day School and my children's school. A handful of parents cheers their teams. The other team scores, and our Head of School looks grim.

Within a few minutes, the children pour out into the yard and begin to board their overpriced chariots. My children are called, and I throw their backpacks into the back of my own overpriced SUV, and urge them to be seated and buckle up for safety. The line is quickly moving. We need to get going and make room for the next car.

As we arrive at home, the phone rings. Beautiful Eema is on her way home from work, and wants to ensure that the children are suited up for their Karate class, by the time she will arrive at home.

Ten minutes to go.

I head upstairs and rummage through the children's closets to locate their Karate shirts. Found. Good. We're on schedule for the perfectly synchronized handoff. I rush downstairs and tear off pieces of soft challah, and pack them in two small bags, as a snack for each child to be consumed en route to Karate class.

Finally, the Good Boy, the Sweet Sweetheart, and Beautiful Eema are in the family SUV and it's backing up and out. The garage door rolls shut, and quiet descends on the house. I stand there catching my bones as if a hurricane just blew through the house, spinning, twisting, throwing the whole place into chaos, then unceremoniously gone in seconds flat, leaving the people behind to wonder what just happened.

I click open a can of Cherry Coke Zero, and flip open the lid of my laptop. It's a good one, and I'm instantly connected to the Internet. My RSS feeds instantly update and my email flows in. I discover that upwards of twenty-five messages have arrived since I left my office, but luckily, most of them do not require a response from me, which is my favorite type of email. Yes, in theory I work less than full-time. In reality, it ain't necessarily so.

Before I know it, the clock on the microwave blinks to 5:07. The garage door begins to grind as it opens. I can hear it from the kitchen. In a minute, the children will burst through the door that connects the laundry room to the garage, then they'll fly through the doorway and into the kitchen.

They're back. They're exhausted. They're drained. They're in the mood to argue and taunt each other. I'm not.

Beautiful Eema enters the house and reaches for the portable vacuum cleaner to do a once-over where the children ate their on-the-road snack, as she wants it clean for her day to volunteer to drive one of our children's classes to a field trip. We don't like it when other parents pack our children into dirty cars, and we make sure that ours is clean for those occasions.

Me? I calculate what needs to happen before I get to relax again despite the return of the swirling kidricane.

Thankfully, tonight Beautiful Eema is making dinner instead of me. I'm off the hook and left to sit in the family room long enough to contemplate the sheer quantity of activity that fills my life these days. I know it's the same for so many families, and I often wonder how do they all manage to do it. The only answer I can think of is the tremendous love we as parents have for our children. That's the only force in the universe strong enough to motivate us to live in a restless state of perpetual motion. And the only force powerful enough to cause us to overlook what madness it is. And I do mean that in the nicest sense of the word.

Delicately Balancing The Truth

Sat, 23 Jan 2010 17:04:40 -0700

It's evening time and I'm sitting in our kitchen, having dinner and chatting with Beautiful Eema and our kids, when the conversation turns to the topic of politics. For a change, it's not me bringing it up. This time, it's the Good Boy. ?Is Obama going to take away all our money?? he asks.

Good question, I think to myself, realizing that an answer is required, not a vague, dismissive one. It was a few months after the presidential election and the children were well aware of the issues involved, at least the important ones. From the serious faces of the TV pundits and most other adults, they surmised the potentially deep effect the elections could have on our family and on the rest of the country.

The answers are swirling in my head. In truth, I can say that the President will not tax all our earnings, but he certainly made no secret of intending to "redistribute" a major part of it to his voters, and that's what the Good Boy alluded to.

"No, not all our money, but he wants to take away a lot of it," I answer.

"Why does he want to do that?"

"He doesn't believe that people who work hard for their money should be allowed to keep all of it. Instead, he wants to take it and give it to certain other people."

I immediately catch myself, not wanting to specify which people exactly he wants to give our money to. No answer I can give will sound politically correct if repeated by our children at some other time and place.

So, instead of bringing up the realities of class warfare, racial discrimination, and Socialism vs. Capitalism, I try to put a positive spin on it, as I see Beautiful Eema's alarmed expression from across the table. I take her cue and try to spin being robbed by the President as some well-meaning charitable philosophy.

?The President wants to help out less fortunate people by giving them some money so they'll have it for their families,? I say.

?Why don't they work and make money like you and Eema do?? the Sweet Sweetheart chimes in. She knows that my wife is among the few moms of her class who work.

I tell her that some people aren't able to work, because they're not well enough or they need to care for very young children.

?How about those who can work? Will they also get our money from Obama??

I sigh... Well, there it is. They're getting to the heart of the matter. Truths that cannot be discussed with young children. Racial, social, financial, and political matters are minefields, as they can be misinterpreted if not repeated verbatim with all the sophisticated nuances that are required to be politically correct.

Telling the children the truth about certain topics requires an amazingly delicate balance. In part, because there is no absolute truth, only a subjective one formed by one's own life experiences.

To some extent, I want to convey to my children the so-called wisdom I've acquired in my life. I want to teach them what I consider to be the truth, so they will be protected from danger and better prepared to make their own judgments. But on the other hand, I want my children to have the benefit of creating their own truth based on their own observations. So I tread lightly when it comes to these topics.

In the end, I tell my children that some people can't find jobs because the economy is bad, and I remain silent about the other half of the truth. Sooner or later they will learn all the facts and form their own opinions, which may or may not necessarily match my own version of "the truth."

Back to Books and Penny Lane

Sat, 09 Jan 2010 18:06:29 -0700

In the past few weeks, since I got a Kindle, I've started reading novels again. It's been good. Reading books is a pleasant pastime for me, and part of my enjoyment is simply the idea of grabbing any chunk of time and turning it into downtime.

You see, I'm a busy man. Why, I don't know. In theory, I work fewer than 40 hours a week. I like to think of myself as being "20% retired." After so many years of working 14-hour days and building a successful company, I've gradually cut back on the time I spend at the office and I spend more time with my family.

I've seen several people my age suffer from life-threatening conditions, and others have died at a very young age. That's why a big part of my own definition of success is having time for things other than work. Time to breathe. Time to read. Time to sit at Starbucks, and enjoy a Frappuccino with my beautiful wife. My goal is to shave off more and more work time each year while raising my income. Wouldn't that be nice??

So far, I've read 'Pirate Latitudes' by Michael Crichton. Excellent. Fun and interesting 15th century Caribbean pirate adventures without the nuisance of a deeper meaning. I'm now halfway through 'Beautiful Creatures' by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl. Witchcraft, mystery. All good stuff.

The main measure of success, though, is having the peace of mind to enjoy downtime while still balancing work and family. That's the real trick.

* * *

A few evenings ago, I stumbled across 'Penny Lane,' the 1960s chart-busting hit by the Beatles, recorded in their pre-LSD, pre-Hare-Krishna, and pre-Yoko days. It's a great song with a catchy melody, memorable lyrics and it's a relic of a long-gone era. The song would be laughable these days as anything other than toddler-aged children's music.

If I had no idea who the Beatles were and what a classic Penny Lane is, I would guess it to be in the same genre of Rafi's Baby Beluga or the Wiggles' Hot Potato. (If you have no idea who these are, you probably haven't had pre-school age children in the past ten years).

As I listened to Penny Lane, I tried to answer the question of why wholesome songs like that have been replaced by hard-edged, angry songs about teenage pregnancy, gang wars, and violence. I don't really know that answer, but I can speculate. The change became apparent to me in the 90s, when Grunge music became very popular. No more innocence or sweet catchy melodies. Just pain and anguish. All around the world was changing: The Internet had arrived delivering the good, the bad and the ugly beyond belief at a data rate of 9600 Baud.

Instead of wearing colorful peace-sign T-shirts, teenagers began to wear baggy pants and shaved heads reminiscent of prisoners at the state penitentiary. The trend continued for more than a decade, and I suppose that the music scene has reflected that.

Don't get me wrong. I still enjoy many newer artists. There's still plenty of talent and great music being produced. But the days of sweet, innocent songs like Penny Lane are long-gone.

Never mind. Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes, there beneath the blue suburban skies.

I'm Kindled and Avatar

Sun, 03 Jan 2010 23:01:43 -0700

I'm Kindled

Over the past week, I?ve become the proud new owner of the Kindle, which is a thin, flat rectangular electronic device, about 8 inches high by 5 inches wide, that can download books from Amazon.com.

The Kindle resembles a small tablet, which displays the downloaded books in a way that is reminiscent of a paperback. It can store about 1,500 books, show the typeface at any size you want, and weighs just a few ounces so, as a new user, I?m impressed.

As some of you may recall, I typically head to the gym a couple of times each week. To fight the boredom of my exercise routine, I?ve tried listening to an iPod, watching the gym's TV and, lately, even reading novels. Whatever works. But balancing a book on gym equipment is not an easy task. Turning the pages becomes a challenge to fit each half of the book into the thin rails of the machine, and as I battle my inclination to jump off the machine, stop exercising and go order a pizza, I?m not looking for more challenges from the book-holder. Enter the Kindle. It fits into the railings with no problem, and instead of turning pages, you just click a button and the next page appears on the screen. Book balancing problem solved.

Of course, the Kindle isn't exactly a brand new product. It was introduced at the end of 2007. Ironically, even though my business relates to new technology, I?m usually late to purchase new electronics -- at least later than most of my friends. Better late than never...

Avatar

Since my children were born, virtually every movie I?ve seen in a theater has been a children?s movie. It?s incredibly rare that I manage to go out to see a movie that is rated anything other than G in a theater. Instead, I just watch Movies On Demand on cable, which is pretty convenient, but I wind up seeing movies several months after their release.

Yesterday, however, I headed out with the Good Boy to see Avatar in IMAX 3D. He was thrilled to go see a ?big boy? movie with his dad, and without "the girls." After seeing the previews in which US Marines and space aliens blast each other with various super-sized weapons, it was decided that this is of no interest to girls, and that it?s only a "boys' movie." Right on...

It?s Sunday morning, and instead of sipping my coffee leisurely in bed, I am greeted by the Good Boy. He?s excited about it being not just a typical Sunday, but Avatar Day.

The plan is to make it to the 10:45am showing of Avatar in IMAX 3D, in the hopes of avoiding the sleepy and hung-over masses whom we mistakenly believe will only reach the theater for the later showtimes.

We arrive at the theater by 10am, purchase tickets and head to the concession where we purchase vastly overpriced but delicious junk food. We head into the theater and are able to get great seats. After all, the whole reason for going to the theater is to enjoy the visuals and sound system, and our timeliness is rewarded. Ultimately, the movie is sold out. Every seat is taken, except for the ones reserved for our pop-corn, nachos, and candy.

Including marketing costs, Avatar is a half-billion dollar production by director James Cameron. Yes, that?s billion with a ?b? and yes, we?re talking about a movie, not an Obama social spending plan.

As one could expect from such a price tag, the movie is beautiful to watch. The plot is not among the greatest of all time, but it flows well and doesn?t detract from the movie?s enjoyment.

Avatar is an environmentalist tale set in the future when man can travel further into space. It is set on a distant moon-planet, which is inhabited by a plethora of wildlife and tropical forest plants and trees. It is also inhabited by a race of giant blue creatures called the Na?vi People. They resemble a cross between upright-walking cats and monkeys. They are strong, nimble creatures who live in communities centered around large trees, and they hunt with bow and arrow. The Na?vi have sacred grounds and are generally meant to represent native American Indians in their spiritual connection to the earth, trees, and all living creatures.

The bad guys are the humans, sent by an evil corporation (representing bad, environmentally insensitive capitalism) and evil US Marines, which are all too eager to kill the Na?vi People with powerful weapons. The bad guys want to destroy the scared trees and evict the Na?vi from their land, which happens to be situated atop a rich deposit of exotic metallic ore which resembles dog poop (really).

Humans can?t breath the planet?s air easily, so they mixed human DNA with Na?vi DNA to create Na?vi-looking bodies remotely operated by humans. The bodies are referred to as "Avatars," hence the name of the movie.

The hero is an Avatar who learns the ways of the Na?vi and falls in love with their culture and with one of their females. She's the blue one in the photo.

*** Spoiler Alert: Stop here if you haven?t yet seen the movie ***

Our hero leads a military resistance against the evil Corporation and drives the bad guys off the planet.

*** OK. End of Spoiler Alert. Continue reading ***

The main greatness of the movie is in the beautiful world of nature on the alien planet. The special effects teams have really earned their keep with colorful, detailed animation. The planet is often viewed from the vantage point of flying on the back of a giant bird-like creature which glides through the air. The backdrop is a better computer-generated world than found in any other movie or video game, and the visual experience alone is worth the price of admission.

The Good Boy and I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. When I think of it, I realize that this was the first time that we are together enjoying the same grownup movie. He's now just a few months away from his ninth birthday and he's a good-natured, happy boy who makes for good company.

His excitement at seeing a great movie and his eagerness to hold my hand when walking through the busy parking lot are as real as it gets. Even though kids don't yet have a sense of how quickly things change forever, they seem to sense that their time with their parents as young people is limited and they make the most of it. These are not emotions marred by having adult-level worries or responsibilities, or even teenage angst. It's so nice to see.

The Year That Was

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 11:44:02 -0700

The last two weeks of December always feel different than any other time of the year. The children are off from school, which changes our schedule, business activity at our company is sporadic but significant, and end-of-year business administration kicks into high gear. We prepare to close the books on the year that was and prepare for the year that will be.

Every year, I wish that everyone in our industry would simply declare the end of December a holiday, so we could all just take a well-deserved break from the action. Nothing will be affected. There will be plenty of time for business to resume afterwards. But, alas, there are always end-of-year transactions that need attention, and there is no rest for the weary.

Around this time, we tally up the final score. The business battles we won and the battles we lost seem to melt into a uniform mishmash of the past, and all that is left to tell the tale is the bottom line figure on the company's financial statements. In my mind, I analyze an imaginary balance sheet of income vs. aggravation. Happily, against all odds, this year turned out well.

Our company did much more than just weather the economic storm, and there is less business-related aggravation than ever. Over the last couple of years, we upgraded our staff and we have seen much better results. Everything runs smoother than ever before, to the point that I am able to work part-time and enjoy my free time much more.

At the same time, raising our children seems to have gotten easier, as it does every year. They?re more capable of doing more things independently, and they haven?t yet reached the obnoxious teenager stage. I?m so proud of them, and I try to enjoy this window in time as much as possible.

This week, my wife and I took our seven year-old daughter to the bank so she could deposit some of her Chanukah Gelt into a special bank account. We?re a business-oriented family and we believe in teaching our children the value of money and to understand how money is made, as well as how it can be saved and invested for the future.

The Sweet Sweetheart calculated ahead of time how much she would spend on buying pajamas for her Build-A-Bear, and how much she would put into savings. As we entered the bank, I smiled as she walked confidently, with a sense of purpose. She filled out the deposit slip and walked it over to the bank teller. She carefully watched him count the money, and she double-checked the receipt to make sure that her $41.34 was properly received and processed.

On the other hand, her brother, The Good Boy, decided to spend all his Gelt on purchasing more toys despite already having received plenty of those for Chanukah. He understands the concept of interest on savings, but doesn?t believe that the interest on $40 justifies foregoing the extra toys. At this time, the banks are offering the lowest interest rates in history, so he is not alone in his considerations. Many American feel the same.

I would have preferred that he spend some of his Gelt on toys and save some, but he?s not yet seen his ninth birthday, and delayed gratification is an advanced concept. Instead, he?s incredibly eager for the arrival of his new toys purchased with his own money.

For me, one of the most important things in the past year is how wonderful it?s been to spend time with my beautiful wife. She?s an incredibly adorable, lovely woman who's been a true partner to me in every sense and I owe much of our success to her. By December 31st, we will have watched the sun set on New Year?s Eve fourteen times together. I wish for a hundred more with her.

Thank God we've been very fortunate and the year that was, was very good to us. I only wish the same goodness for all the people we love.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like... Chanukah.

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 09:59:56 -0700

So, here we are. Chanukah 2009. Our home is covered with toys and decorations, which is ironically one of the many weird effects of the Christmas holiday on us as Jews.

Every American knows that the "holiday" season has virtually nothing to do with a religious experience. Instead, 'tis the season for a commercial bonanza. The sight of Christmas trees being displayed publicly means it's time to shop. And, as Jews, we're presented with certain challenges.

Chanukah and Christmas coincide with one another. All TV channels are crammed with commercials showing shiny, happy children at the foot of a big, ornate Christmas tree happily reaching for their meticulously wrapped presents. The children's cheeks are flushed, and their smiling faces are filled with anticipation. The commercial touts the twelve days of Christmas and the joy of unwrapping a surprise gift on each of those days.

Okay, hang on for just a moment... Twelve days??? Sounds all too similar to the eight days Chanukah, doesn't it?

So, now, we're challenged not only with trying to redirect our children's attention from Christmas to Chanukah, but we're also faced with competing holidays, one of which (not ours) promises joy and presents for eight days. Well, to make a long story short, we've decided to provide presents for our kids for all eight days of Chanukah.

There are some "major" presents and "not-so-major" presents, but there are enough presents wrapped and placed in a special Chanukah corner of our house to last for the eight days. Boy, talk about the miracle of Chanukah. It's not really about a tiny amount of oil lasting eight days for the Maccabees. By us, it's more that keeping up with Christmas has forced us to invent a new tradition of eight days of gifts for each child.

On a related note, the Great Recession seems to have taken a toll on the holiday of Chanukah. American merchants are generally very politically correct, adding a Chanukah menorah to counterbalance the dominant Christmas trees in their stores and malls. But this year, I can hardly find a menorah. I get the impression that with smaller budgets for marketing, the stores have cut back on the expense of placing menorahs.

I certainly do respect the holiday of Christmas and I'm truly glad for anyone who celebrates it. Why not? On the other hand, I also can't help but feel alienated by having only Christmas decorations at stores and no menorahs. I get the message that the merchants don?t want my business, so I've taken it elsewhere.

A few weeks ago, we were at a large mall in Thousand Oaks, CA. There were no menorahs in sight, just a giant Christmas tree and Santa milling about in a winter wonderland scene. So, we decided to spend several hundred dollars for presents at Amazon.com, not at the Thousand Oaks mall.

I felt like saying to the shop owners, "You don't need my stinkin' Jewish money? No problem guys, I'll have it spent in no time flat by Amazon, quicker than you can say 'Judah Maccabee', Jew know what I mean?"

Restaurant review: Manhattan in Brooklyn

Mon, 11 Jan 2010 20:23:14 -0700

Superbly presented, delicious fare. Ample portions, friendly service, nice ambiance. Suitable for a family dinner as well as more intimate one on one dining.

Restaurant review: Business Lunch

Mon, 21 Dec 2009 21:11:52 -0700

Great pizzas, great salads, great soups, great sushi, great wraps. Prices are fair, portions are decent. Nice place for a hearty lunch in midtown Manhattan.

I must try it, sometime, for a fast dinner.

Restaurant review: Nice Atmosphere, Good Food

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 14:12:49 -0700

I arrived at The Cow on a Sunday night at dinner time. My friend Jonathan was in town, and we were in the general vicinity, so we decided to stop by.

The best aspect of The Cow Jumped Over the Moon is its location. There is no better location in Beverly Hills, and probably no better location in all of Los Angeles. Parking was very convenient, as there is public parking in the building. Very reasonably priced valet. The location is basically in the heart of Beverly Hills, right near One Rodeo Drive. This means that the restaurant is surrounded by a super select bunch of stores and good class people.

The atmosphere at The Cow is pleasant. It?s elegant without being too elegant, so you?d feel comfortable whether dressed for business or in jeans. There?s a setup for live music although none was playing while we were there. That?s OK -- the noise from a large family with young children provided enough audio stimulation?

The Cow Jumped Over the Moon is a dairy restaurant and its specialty is really kosher sushi. There is also a reasonable selection of Italian and American entrees, as well as a decent selection of appetizers. We ordered an eggplant pizza to split as an appetizer, and it was a good thing we split it, as it was basically a full-blown meal by itself. Although the service was good, it did take quite a while to get the appetizer. In the meantime, there was a bread basket.

Both Jonathan and I wound up ordering the Salmon Puttanesca. It was a good-size piece of salmon, grilled, on a bed of steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes. The salmon was topped with a tomato-based puttanesca sauce with capers. We asked for the salmon to be well done (cooked through and through), and it arrived just as we ordered it. It was a nice dish with a good balance of flavors and it was satisfying, although not overly exciting. I would probably order it again, but I don?t crave it as is the case with exceptionally good dishes.

During the meal we were asked several times if everything was to our satisfaction and it was.

When I asked the waiter what the house specialty would be, he explained that the main attraction was the sushi, especially the Sunshine Roll.

Restaurant review: New York's Prime Kosher Steakhouse

Sun, 29 Nov 2009 08:51:23 -0700

Great food, great presentation, friendly service, pleasant looking. All the above sounds good, but does not even begin to do justice to this eatery.

Best steaks I've ever had, not cheap but worth it!

Restaurant review: Food Masterpieces

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 18:52:16 -0700

If any of the great 16th century painters were to come back as a chef, he would surely ply his trade at u cafe. They make make dairy and vegetarian sandwiches I ever tried. Their grilled tuna is incomparable, the fritatta's looks and taste is undescribable delicious. Their cakes are excellent

Restaurant review: Great food, great atmosphere

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:54:43 -0700

Intimate, romantic atmosphere, with live music on some evenings. The food is very good, the prices very fair. Located in the Upper West Side, it's an upscale establishment you'll want to return again and again.

Restaurant review: Good restaurant....rude customers

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 05:03:14 -0700

This was my first experience at a Kosher restaurant...I went with my husband and kids. Pizza was great, staff was funny and having a good time but they were all friendly and helpful and the dining room was pretty neat with the murial of Europe. There was a table of 4 sitting next to us and these customers couldn't be any more rude to the staff. From the minute they sat down they did nothing but complain...here are some of the comments that we overheard;

"The prices are high"

"This restaurant should give salads and soups for FREE to the guests"

"Our server is singing"

Here are my suggestions to anyone who is reading this....

#1 - If you can't afford to dine out or expect to only pay $10.00 than stay home and have a microwave dinner

#2 - Don't expect free soups or salads.....do you think the owner of the restaurant gets that stuff for free...It's a business people, they are there to make money

#3 - Since when is it a crime to have fun at work...if the staff is singing or dancing or even doing cartwheels in the dining room then good for them...having fun at your job is a great thing....

So if you are reading other reviews that state the owner or staff is rude than I would probably bet my life that the customer(s) were 3 times more rude to start with!!!!

Restaurant review: The Best Fro-Yo in SoCal. By Far.

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 21:13:52 -0700

OK. Here it is: The best frozen yogurt in SoCal. These people really know how to make frozen yogurt that tastes like ice cream.

Yozen Frogurt is a chain of frozen yogurt stores started by a local husband and wife team. The atmosphere is really nothing to write home about. In fact, it would be good for the owners to consult a restaurant designer, as there are several amateur restaurant owner mistakes evident. So, this store's success is based on product, not style.

Their claim to fame is that their frozen yogurt has the consistency (creaminess and sweetness) of soft-serve Dairy Queen-style ice-cream, not sour, icy yogurt as is served at most other frozen yogurt joints.

Yozen Frogurt offers a large selection of flavors, although my favorite flavor is Country Vanilla. It doesn't sound as exciting as other flavors, but it is the most ice-cream like. In fact, I would never guess that it's anything but ice-cream. Except that is has less than half the calories and fat.

Living in the San Fernando Valley, one can't help but make a comparison between Yozen Frogurt and Menchie's, which is another popular fro-yo chain. I might write about this in detail later, but for now, suffice it to say that Menchie's wins hands down for decor and being a "destination" with superior atmosphere and concept. But as for the product itself, Yozen Frogurt blows Menchie's away.

Restaurant review: Don't waste your money on this place!!!

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 13:46:28 -0700

This was very disappointing. It looks like it would be a good place, but it is the exact opposite!

We started with no soap in the women's bathroom, not a good sign. Then some of the items we tried to order off the menu, we were told they don't have. Finally we settled on a large pizza for two people. We were told to take a seat and the server brought us water.

Twenty minutes later our pizza came in a togo box. Confused, we asked for plates. We were told we couldn't eat pizza in the restaurant. The server couldn't explain why. We asked to speak to the owner. The owner said it was his policy to save money. He didn't want 15 teenagers coming in, ordering one pizza and staying for hours.

We were two starving people and the restaurant was EMPTY! He insisted we leave and would not make an exception. Even though NO ONE informed of us this crazy rule when we ordered the pizza.

The owner made us leave and called us "crazy." The co-owner tried to smooth things over, you could tell she was embarrassed, but we didn't care.

The previous review also had an issue with the owner. We should not support rude restaurant owners like this one. Your experience will not be a pleasant one at this restaurant. Save your money for a place that deserves it!

Restaurant review: Middle of the Road Middle Eastern

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 13:36:25 -0700

The Hummus Bar & Grill in Tarzana is located near some of our favorite places to eat, so having noticed it on several occasions, we finally decided to try it.

First, the basics: The restaurant is a casual, attractive place, with about 1/3 of it occupied by the open cooking area, which is populated at all times by a group of busy cooks and waiters. It serves Israeli cuisine, complete with items like skewered chicken thigh and beef, malt beer, Moroccan fish, Turkish coffee and, of course, hummus, falafel, and shawarma.

Pretty much, every waiter and waitress is Israeli, as matched by an almost exclusively Israeli clientele.

As soon as we were seated, a waitress brought small plates with chickpeas & tahini, pickles, salsa, and a laffa that overflowed onto the table. The laffa was the best, and the rest ranged from reasonable to unappealing.

After taking our drink orders, the waitress apparently moved on to bigger and better things than providing us with service. Getting her attention to ask her to take our order was not possible, despite our repeated attempts. Finally, another waitress shouted for her and persuaded her to take our order.

We ordered a Moroccan fish dish and a grilled chicken, with sides of rice and salad, as well as a plate of pine nut hummus.

The food arrived within a reasonable amount of time, although I sent back my chicken breast to be grilled a little more. It wasn't actually undercooked, but I did order it more well done than usual and did not receive it that way initially.

The hummus plate looked great. It did not have a strong, typical hummus flavor, but was excellent. The Moroccan fish (which was actually salmon), looked very appetizing, accompanied by potatoes and other seasoned vegetables and herbs. It was very good, although a bit too spicy.

The grilled chicken also had a good appearance, but was fairly tasteless. I would not recommend it. The sides of rice were good, although plain.

Again, it was challenging to get the waitress' attention during the meal, as she did her best to avoid making eye contact with her customers. You never know: Those darn customers may start demanding service or order more food if you make contact.

I attempted to finish the meal with a Turkish coffee, but it arrived so incredibly hot that it simply took too long to cool down to a comfortably drinkable temperature before we had to leave. Oh, well...

Overall, the Hummus Bar & Grill in Tarzana is a so-so place to eat. It's okay, but certainly not exciting in any way. I would probably eat there again just for variety sake, but not as a first choice.