Retired barber Joe Godlewski says he was inspired by television chefs who repeatedly recommended kosher salt in recipes.
“I said, ‘What the heck’s the matter with Christian salt?’” Godlewski said, sipping a beer in the living room of his home in unincorporated Cresaptown, a western Maryland mountain community.
[…] Rabbi Sholem Fishbane, kosher administrator for the Chicago Rabbinical Council, said marketing Christian salt as an alternative to kosher salt reflects, at best, ignorance about Jewish dietary laws.
"at best, ignorance" HELLO! Congratulations to Rabbi Sholem Fishbane for showing more restraint in his response than I would have.
Just looking back through my posts today. I hope I didn’t freak anybody out. I might have freaked myself out a little, but I think it was worth it. I’ll try to wrap it up tomorrow, but I might actually have to get some work done.
This one is MUCH harder than I thought it would be. I love everything you post, but I can’t figure out how to make that meaningful to you. I love the nature shots, the insights into your life, everything…hmm… sorry if that is disappointing
I’m having trouble putting into words what I like about following you. It has something to do with the GenX dilemma (you are GenX, right? I am, and I think it takes one to know one). This sort of self-depreciating, slacker mentality combined with having grown up and procreated and having to kind of come to terms with the fact that you are worthwhile and pass that on to your children. Maybe that doesn’t resonate with you, but I think that is because I’m not saying it right.
I always feel really good when I get a “like” from you, because, for some reason, I’m under the impression you are a very discerning person. What have you done to give me that impression…well besides posting a video of your finger puppet berating you? I don’t know.
You are amazingly beautiful. You are so beautiful that I feel bad mentioning it first thing, because I wonder if you hear that all the time and if it makes you uncomfortable. You are also astute and witty and gifted. I was pretty surprised when you started following me.
WOW. This is terrifying and cathartic at the same time.
I almost feel ridiculous even posting this one, because I think everyone thinks you are awesome. I, of course, know it to be true because of the Mr. Abernathy incident. The thing I like best about your twitter, is for some unknown reason, when I read your tweets I feel like I am sitting in an oversized chair, in a bookshelf lined room, with a snifter of whatever people drink out of snifters. Is that weird?
You are a great mystery to me, and I have a feeling you like it that way. I also get the feeling you would win the award for least likely to care what someone else thinks about you. However, I love your wit and I love your photos.
You rock! Your photos are so good it makes me nervous to post my crappy iPhone pictures, but then I realize you aren’t judging me, and I like that. I love your pictures of Todd, because I can see how much you love him in the photos. That makes my day. Plus I really like GCPOYT!
I woke up in the middle of the night wondering why I didn’t want to do any Secret Tumbls (I know, right? What is up with that?). It is certainly not because I don’t have anything to say. It came down to the fact that, if I were going to say something, I would want you to know it was about you. I haven’t had the, “Is that one about me?” anxiety that other people have had, because I honestly know that I wouldn’t stick out enough for that (and that is totally ok by me, I realized in high school that I was never going to stick out, for good or ill). However, I have been possessed by a burning curiosity as to who certain ones are about. I can only imagine what it would be like if I thought one of them might be about me.
I was inspired by Daniellei to do a Not-So-Secret-Message-Tumbl for her, so I thought maybe I would continue the trend, and post them, so people can get some not-so-secret lovin’.
This one is EASY. I think I’ve already made it clear that I have a ginormous girl crush on you. I find everything you post hilarious or touching. You are stunningly gorgeous. You seem to be down on your hair sometimes, but it is beautiful. I think in real life I would be intimidated by your awesomeness.
Turns out we live just a few blocks from each other, but we’ve never met. I keep thinking I’ll bump into you, but it hasn’t happened yet. I don’t know the etiquette on this. You seem, not only funny, but interesting as well. I hope I meet you someday.
I used to work in a dockside bar that was, to put it mildly, a little rough.
It all began after I moved to this well-known (and utterly crap) port town. The town itself was bad enough, rammed full of ne’er-do-wells and a smorgasbord of freaks, but the closer you got to the port the worse the punters became. The vile clientele that poured through our doors was continuously topped-up thanks to the convenient location of the bar. It was the first watering hole the transients clattered into as they stepped off their ships onto terra firma. Some of our customers wouldn’t have looked out of place in a zoo and a couple still make me shudder when I remember how nauseating they were.
The bar itself was a monumental shithole. The drab interior got wrecked most weeks by the locals fighting with the fleeting (then fleeing) masses. The owner had tried to add a pointless touch of sparkle by hosting live acoustic jazz bands most nights, but the contrast between the music and the atmosphere was laughable. Imagine a clarinet concerto in the aftermath of the Brixton riots and you’ll be halfway there. My job as chief barman was without question the worst means of paying my rent I’ve ever had.
I’d only been working there for six months but I’d just about had enough, what with having to blindly ignore the constant criminal activity and put up with the ebb and flow of human detritus that wafted through. I’d developed a bit of a cunt’s attitude to my customers, as it was the only way to get through the nights. The final straw came on a particularly busy shift. To give you some idea of the kind of bullshit I had to put up with, earlier in the day I’d endured a full sweep of the place by the authorities to assist them with a fucking manhunt. It was definitely not shaping up to be a good evening. I was serving a particularly short-fused customer with the motley jazz band in full swing when the door swung open. I knew at once we were due for big trouble.
It was a group of four drifters who looked *completely* out of place; that is, they looked relatively normal compared to our usual patrons. The first problem was that two of the members of this group were obviously flaming homosexuals and this was *not* a gay-friendly bar. The taller chap was a sight to behold. He was worryingly camp, wearing a lurid gold outfit that Liberace himself would have sent back to the shop for being too ostentatious. The short, fat one was relatively straight-acting but I’d already made my mind up. This feckless bling-clad mincer and his stumpy companion were attracting exactly the wrong kind of attention from the burly crowd assembled in front of the bar. I had to do something quickly, so I made it clear that I wouldn’t be serving either of them. The young bloke in the group had a quick word and thankfully, the sad-faced queers retreated rapidly towards the exit in order to avoid what otherwise would’ve ended with a merciless beating. I felt bad, but it was better than clearing up their body parts.
The other two gentlemen stayed in the bar. The old fellow wandered over to one of our regulars and started chatting, which was a little strange as I knew the guy couldn’t speak English at all. It seemed that they were acquaintances though, so I turned away from the bar for a moment to collect my thoughts. Almost as soon as I’d turned around, I felt a tug at my shirt. It was the young guy again. He gave me an understanding nod but didn’t actually say anything. I still felt rather grateful and relieved for his swift help a few moments earlier, so I handed over a free drink which he silently accepted.
Barely ten seconds later, it all kicked off. One of the foreign dockhands in the bar spotted my act of charity for this stranger and took exception to his special treatment. I turned to see this fearsomely-ugly thug march over to shove him hard and begin a drooling tirade of unintelligible drunken aggression. One of the dockhand’s mates joined in with the intimidation tactics. They were both very drunk, but I overheard him slur something about a criminal record followed by a death threat. That was par for the course in this place. The young stranger kept cool, but the altercation had obviously unnerved the poor chap. Before he’d had a chance to think about retaliation, his elderly friend had left the chit-chat with my regular customer and stepped into the situation himself.
The old man tried his best to calm things down, but by now it was too far gone and a fight was ready to break out. Without any further warning, the dockhand’s mate grabbed the younger guy and flung him across the room into a table full of drinks. I spotted a gun being produced so I ducked behind the bar, where I then heard a terrifying scream. The commotion died down and I re-emerged to find the assailant lying on the ground, one arm completely severed and the old man standing there wielding a glowing energy sword. I watched blankly as he returned it to his belt, my customers continued with their business and the band continued playing their god-awful music as if nothing had even happened.
Like I said, it was a fucking shithole.
It took me way too long to get this. I’m going to blame the fact that I was out late last night.