Science Comedian

The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Yarmulke

August 2nd, 2008

I’m a Jew from Texas – a rel­a­tively rare breed, we can’t even prop­a­gate in the wild.

So, before my migra­tion to North­ern Cal­i­for­nia – which is counter to the east­ward migra­tory pat­tern char­ac­ter­is­tic of my kind – a migra­tion which, over time, deposits us in the Sun­shine State like cal­cium car­bon­ate on a sta­lag­mite – I had the oppor­tu­nity to make soci­o­log­i­cal and psy­cho­log­i­cal obser­va­tions of an uncom­mon species.

I hope to some­day pub­lish my find­ings and share with the world these curi­ous and fan­tas­tic tales.

The work­ing title of my book is The Man Who Mis­took His Wife For a Yarmulke.

Smoking in California

August 1st, 2008

Both my par­ents smoked cig­a­rettes while I was grow­ing up, and I grew to dis­like them (the cig­a­rettes, not my parents).

I’m a non-smoker, but not a mil­i­tant one. In fact, I think some of the smok­ing restric­tions here in Cal­i­for­nia are a lit­tle extreme. Maybe even comical.

My favorite exam­ple is the San Fran­cisco air­port. The only place you are allowed to smoke is in a spe­cial glassed-in room. It’s like a ter­rar­ium, in which you can view the smok­ers in a recre­ation of their nat­ural habitat.

If you haven’t seen it, get to the air­port; it’s worth the price of admis­sion. They have a loung­ing area, and a pac­ing area (because the smok­ers need their exercise).

If you come at the right time, you might see a cou­ple out bask­ing on rocks, or fight­ing amongst them­selves. Groom­ing each other. You see the par­ents bring­ing their kids up to read the lit­tle plaque: Homo emphysemas.

The only thing they don’t have is one of those coin-operated machines so you can buy cig­a­rettes to toss out to the smok­ers. That would com­plete your zoo experience:

“Hey, check it out! He’s smok­ing the one I threw! Isn’t that cute? Oh my god, that male smoker is try­ing to mount that female smoker! They’re try­ing to make lit­tle smokers!”