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| pdog |
quote:
jb wrote:
I thought Jews did not name their kids after someone who was alive?
I know I don't... If my next is a girl, she gets my Grandmas name, who passed late last year. Charlotte, Charlie for short.
[Edited by pdog] |
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| jb |
We . as Jews, are not permitted to name our children after someone still alive. This is most unusual. (see Edgar Bronfman Jr)........................................developing. |
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| gypsy |
Fight Film Sucker-punches Max Baer, Jewish Boxing Icon
By Forward Staff
June 10, 2005
It's been a bruising week for "Cinderella Man," the new Ron Howard boxing drama. First came the disappointing box office showing — a distant fourth in first-weekend revenues. Then, the film's star, Russell Crowe, allegedly flung a telephone at a New York hotel concierge. All the while, Jewish boxing fans have taken aim at what they call the film's oversimplification of the story's villain, the Star of David-wearing Max Baer.
"Cinderella Man" chronicles the fall and rise of Depression-era heavyweight champion James Braddock (Crowe). In the climactic sequence, the movie depicts the 15-round fight between victorious underdog Braddock and menacing, beady-eyed Baer (Craig Bierko).
But a longer view makes it difficult to see Baer as a stock villain.
A mere two years prior to the bout at the film's heart, in June 1933, Baer was the underdog when he faced the German Max Schmeling. Hitler had come to power a few months earlier, and the Nazis were busy smearing Stars of David on Jewish-owned stores. When Baer strutted into the Yankee Stadium ring, his trunks sported a prominent Star of David. He then proceeded to demolish Schmeling, knocking him out in the 10th round.
This pugilistic victory, coming in the depth of the Great Depression and amid rising antisemitism in Europe and the United States, lifted the spirits of Jews throughout the world.
It is, of course, not difficult to understand why the film's screenwriters, Cliff Hollingsworth and Akiva Goldsman, would have felt the need to flatten out the Baer character. A Cinderella story begins to lose its punch once the evil stepmother becomes lovable — and the Cinderella here is Crowe's Braddock, not Bierko's Baer. Only the most attentive of viewers will spot Baer's star here (it is far smaller than the one he actually wore), and the question of the boxer's Jewishness goes all but unmentioned.
But obscuring Baer's star, boxing experts say, blurs our view not only of Baer but also of early 20th-century boxing and the place of Jews in it.
The boxing world of the 1920s through the 1940s was rife with Jews, both inside and outside the ring. According to Mike Silver, curator of an exhibit on Jewish boxers now on display at Philadelphia's National Museum of American Jewish History, by the late 1920s, nearly a third of all prizefighters in the United States were Jews, and Jewish fans made up a central component of the sport's fan base. Baer was the only Jewish heavyweight champion of the period, but there were 27 Jewish titleholders in all. It is important to note, Silver told the Forward, that not one major bout during boxing's golden age was held on a major Jewish holiday.
Indeed, some argue that Baer, who had a non-Jewish mother and a half-Jewish father, was encouraged by his manager, the Jewish Ancil Hoffman, to wear the star in the Schmeling bout simply as a way to excite Jewish spectators.
"As Jewish boxers in Germany were fleeing for their lives, gentile boxers in New York were clamoring to be Jewish," said David Margolick, contributing editor at Vanity Fair and the author of a forthcoming book on Max Schmeling and Joe Louis. "The boxing culture of the 1930s was one of the few instances when being Jewish was good business."
For Jeremy Schaap, host of ESPN's issues-oriented news show "Outside the Lines" and the author of a book on the Baer-Braddock matchup, Jews in Hollywood — where Baer himself starred in a number of films — were "enormously proud of a guy who literally wore his Jewishness while they suppressed it."
But it's not simply on Jewish grounds that critics have taken issue with "Cinderella Man" and the harsh portrait that it paints of Baer. Chief among Baer's defenders has been his son, Max Baer Jr., who played the role of Jethro Bodine on the TV series "The Beverly Hillbillies."
According to his son, whatever could be said against the senior Baer, he was never petty or mean spirited, contrary to the movie's depiction.
The younger Baer described his late father as a cocky man, "sort of like Muhammad Ali," who liked to clown around and who would rather party than train.
"My father hardly ever bore a grudge, and after he and another fighter would beat each other to a pulp, my father would go to the other guy's dressing room and invite him to a party," Baer said. "After he lost the world championship to Braddock, my father said he was glad that the title went to a guy who had to support a large family."
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| pdog |
quote:
gypsy wrote:
Napoleon Dynamite.
Speaking of this. I hope you return to the Couch...
Regardless!
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| jb |
Gypsy=Classy |
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| Joey |
Fiji has a Charlie Manson like quality over society's marginals and lonely, overweight housewives...
W- W- W- What ?!?! ... Oh , sure :
" WHAT IS THE 'STAR OF DAVID'?
The Magen David (Shield of David, or as it is more commonly known, the Star of David) is the symbol most commonly associated with Judaism today, but it is actually a relatively new Jewish symbol. It is supposed to represent the shape of King David's shield (or perhaps the emblem on it), but there is really no support for that claim in any early rabbinic literature. In fact, the symbol is so rare in early Jewish literature and artwork that art dealers suspect forgery if they find the symbol in early works.
Scholars such as Franz Rosenzweig have attributed deep theological significance to the symbol. For example, some note that the top triangle strives upward, toward God, while the lower triangle strives downward, toward the real world. Some note that the intertwining makes the triangles inseparable, like the Jewish people. Some say that the three sides represent the three types of Jews: Kohanim, Levites and Israel. While these theories are theologically interesting, they have little basis in historical fact.
The symbol of intertwined equilateral triangles is a common one in the Middle East and North Africa, and is thought to bring good luck. It appears occasionally in early Jewish artwork, but never as an exclusively Jewish symbol. The nearest thing to an "official" Jewish symbol at the time was the menorah.
In the Middle Ages, Jews often were required to wear badges to identify themselves as Jews, much as they were in Nazi Germany, but these Jewish badges were not always the familiar Magen David. For example, a fifteenth century painting by Nuno Goncalves features a rabbi wearing a six-pointed badge that looks more or less like an asterisk.
In the 17th century, it became a popular practice to put Magen Davids on the outside of synagogues, to identify them as Jewish houses of worship in much the same way that a cross identified a Christian house of worship; however, I have never seen any explanation of why this symbol was chosen, rather than some other symbol.
The Magen David gained popularity as a symbol of Judaism when it was adopted as the emblem of the Zionist movement in 1897, but the symbol continued to be controversial for many years afterward. When the modern state of Israel was founded, there was much debate over whether this symbol should be used on the flag.
Today, the Magen David is a universally recognized symbol of Jewry. It appears on the flag of the state of Israel, and the Israeli equivalent of the Red Cross is known as the Red Magen David. "
http://starofdavid.20m.com/index.html
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| telecaster |
I will never forget the episode where Jethro moved into his little trailer on the beach to be a "playboy"
Side splitting hilarity
[Edited by telecaster] |
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| gypsy |
quote:
jb wrote:
Gypsy=Classy
Thank you, jb. You are a true gentleman.
Here is Max Baer, donning the Star of David on his boxing trunks.
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| gypsy |
Max Baer Sr. was a big/tall man with all the pluses and minuses that go with that:
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| Bloozehound |
quote:
gypsy wrote:
Shouldn't you be out having sex with some fat lonely mentally-challenged woman?
well I dunno gyps, are you available ?
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| gypsy |
quote:
Bloozehound wrote:
well I dunno gyps, are you available ?
I'm a man. |
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| Joey |
quote:
gypsy wrote:
I'm a man.
 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Damn ! That is the SECOND time that has happened to me .
" Ten Minutes Till ' Pub Time " Ronnie ! "
Jersee ! |
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| gypsy |
quote:
Joey wrote:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Damn ! That is the SECOND time that has happened to me .
" Ten Minutes Till ' Pub Time " Ronnie ! "
Jersee !
joey, YOU know that I'm all woman.
Five minutes to go! |
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| Bloozehound |
quote:
gypsy wrote:
I'm a man.
]
ohh kinky, I luv it
just keep it tucked, baby
cuz if I see any floppin, I'll stop the boppin |
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| Fuc*ing Andrew |
I don't know Bloozehound, you sound a lot like Fiji Joe. As a matter of fact, you are Fiji. Did Lugar send you here to wreck this board? |
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| Bloozehound |
quote:
Fuc*ing Andrew wrote:
I don't know Bloozehound, you sound a lot like Fiji Joe. As a matter of fact, you are Fiji. Did Lugar send you here to wreck this board?
I have a confession to make...
Her name was Karen, and we first met in psych 101
She was gnarled young thing; wheelchair-bound, head cocked permanently to her left, crusty fingers twisted into half-knots, long, atrophied legs, a seemingly endless trickle of spittle running from the corner of her mouth.
Despite her physical curse (MD, compounded by palsy), she was intelligent and very funny, and always added lively, in-sightful input to class discussions.
One might say she stood out from the crowd, in more ways than one.
About the third week in, I began to notice Karen staring at me from across the room. Each time our eyes met, she'd shyly curl her thin, purple lips into a smile -- the sort of smile that said "I know I'm a hideous, drooling freak but, please, Dear God in Heaven, won't you please smile back?"
Out of pity, I smiled back.
By mid-semester, Karen and I had become friends. I'd wheel her into the quiet hallways of the student center and we'd talk for hours about life's injustices, about our radically different childhoods, about health, about disease, about the future. I often found myself weaving whole-cloth tales of my "hard" childhood, if only to buffer the sting of her heart-wrenching tales of a little girl with a incurable, crippling disease; the brutal taunts of the other kids, the endless hours of tests, treatments and therapies. all of which she'd recount without a hint of self-pity.
As the winter passed and spring approached, Karen and I became exceedingly close, despite the suspicious leers of her roommate (a particularly bitter cripple named Jen) and the barbed guffaws of my beer-soaked buddies, who couldn't understand why I -- the most selfish, wretched womanizer on campus, would spend so much time with this woman.
We started studying and shopping together. I helped her pick out her clothes and try them on, cooked for her, even helped her in and out of the bathhtub and scrubbed her back. And, although she consistently referred to me as the "big brother she'd never had," I could see, very clearly, that she was pining for more.
Needless to say, the thought of making love to Karen had crossed my shallow, polluted little mind on occasion, but was each time snuffed by the inescapable mental image of her pale, twisted limbs, her labored breathing, the stringy, clouded saliva running from her mouth... the image of fucking a sideshow attraction.
There were times when we were together that she charmed me to the point I wanted to take her in my arms and ravage her, let her feel my hot, pounding heart against hers, but the Images would flood as if through a shattered dam and submerge me in guilt-ridden disgust.
One hot night in July, my roommate, Captain Forehead, and I were hosting a keg party at our mobile home a gigantic, aluminum monstrosity we'd dubbed "Phi Kappa Trailer." The festivities were in full swing when I found myself, quite inexplicibly, thinking about Karen, undoubtedly sitting alone in her dorm room.
With a few drinks under my belt, I put on my Good Samaritan mask and decided that she might enjoy herself, so I picked up the phone and invited her to come to the party as my "date."
She giggled like a child, accepted, and I hopped into the old Dodge Charger to pick her up.
Once back, she asked Cappy (who, by now, had also grown quite fond of her, tho' he stilled privately referred to her as "tire tread" don't ask me why) for a glass of beer from the keg, the first time I had seen her show an interest in booze. After assuring Cappy that the alcohol wouldn't cross-fuck the effects of her meds, he tapped her a tall, frothy one.
It would be the first of quite a few, much to my surprise.
As the party went on and the drugs and booze flowed, the usual antics abound, a fistfight out front, a visit from the Carbondale PD, a complete stranger taking his squeeze into Cappy's bedroom for a quick shag, some drunken chinese guy going into our medicine cabinet in search of who-knows-what (ObSidebar: Cappy regularly mined the cabinet with a rat trap before such parties. Sure and audibly enough, the fucker got his fingers snapped just prior to Cappy literally *throwing* him out of the trailer and onto the front lawn, head-first).
There I sat as the hours went by, getting drunk as a widowed Irishmen next to Karen, whose usually ashen complexion was now rosy with alcohol. She drank her fill, laughed at the jokes, flirted with the guys and did her damnedest to be a part of it all, but I could see her broken gaze eventually returning to the other girls at the party scanning their figures, studying their shapely, limber legs...
As the night began to give way to morning, the last of our guests stumbled out the door, and I found myself coked to the gills on the couch with Karen dozing on my shoulder. Cappy had long since passed out in the backseat of his Impala out front with some skanky local broad who'd wandered in, and our neighbor, Crazy Dave (RIP. old soldier), was busy throwing up in the kitchen trash can. I lifted Karen up and took her into my room, settling her gently on the bed.
As I turned to leave, she stirred.
"Checks?" she mumbled, "Let's do it."
I froze in my tracks, unable to turn toward back toward her waiting for those vile. monstrous images to flush over me waiting for an excuse any excuse to get the hell out of that room.
For whatever reason the booze, the dope, my conscience (perish the thought of the latter, eh?) the excuse didn't materialize.
The images didn't come.
Instead, I found my face flushed, my temples pounding, my cock swelling and throbbing in my jeans. God help me, but I wanted her, diseased, mangled, pathetic creature that she was...
I wanted her.
I turned around and faced her in the reddish glow of the sunrise, filtering through the two-dollar curtains and leftover cigarette smoke. My hands and voice trembling in perfect sync.
"Karen you're drunk. Get some sleep," I stammered
"Checks," she said again, more urgently. "I need you to do this for me. Please"
"But, Karen, I...."
I saw in her eyes a precarious, triangular balance between desire, desperation and total defeat.
I couldn't fight it. Somewhere between animal lust and human pity, I knelt over her and kissed her. Her lips parted wide, and my tongue slipped deep into her steaming, sour mouth. She gasped and pulled me down on top of her with her gnarled arms, running her twisted fingers along my temples, through my hair...
Before long, I had wrapped myself around her atrophied frame, and was peeling her clothes off. She was grunting and panting like a coyote in a leghold trap, licking my neck, sucking my earlobes, whispering how wonderful it felt to be held ...
Fighting off an army of swirling psychological demons, I pulled her jeans and panties down with one, swift tug and tossed them to the floor. An instant later, I was licking and sucking her flattened, pasty breasts, trailing down her sagging, pock-marked belly with my tongue, forcing my face between her lifeless, white thighs, and kissing, then sucking, her mushy, reeking snatch.
She reached up and tried to hold fast to the nightstand as I lifted her legs over my shoulders and dug in with my chin. My tongue, numb from the combination of cocaine and vaginal acids, ran wild circles inside her as her bushy pubes filled my nostrils. She began to shudder and sob for air as I ran my face under her ass cheeks and let my tongue part her sweaty black bunghole with wet, darting thrusts.
"Put in in my mouth," she whispered, as she lost her hold on the nightstand, and her arm, like a withered autumn tree branch, quivered and bounced to the side of the bed.
I stood at the headboard and, cradling the back of her head with one hand and her chin with the other, slid my cock between her lips. A thin, sticky stream of spittle leaked from the corner of her mouth and onto the pillow as she drew me in, purring hungrily as I pushed the shaft in, running along the inside of her cheek and distorting her already twisted features. I stiffened as her teeth clumsily scraped a alyer of flesh from the head, and she looked up at me like a frightened child.
Cock stinging, I pulled out and ran the bottom of it along her face and over her lips; she gently soothed and kissed it, then drew back, grinning up at me like one of Jerry's Kids at the telethon fireworks show.
I climbed back over her and lifted her bony white legs into the air. Slowly, I slid my cock into her and began pumping -- slowly and gently at first, as she smiled nervously up at me, then furiously hard as I felt my stomach knot and my throat close...
I pulled out just in time to splatter her belly with jism to swat the divebombing demons from the air then collapsed in a drug-marinated heap beside her, panting for breath in the unbearably thick mixture of mildewy summer air and sexual stench...
I layed there for an hour as the cocaine filtered from my system cursing the dented, aluminum walls, cursing the demons... cursing myself...
Cursing her
That afternoon, As she waited in the car and I, pale and ill, folded her wheelchair into the trunk, Cappy stuck his head out the bathroom window and looked down at me with a wide-eyed, almost horrified gaze.
Karen and I remained close for the next two years, until she transferred to a special school for the handicapped out east. We still exchange an e-mail now and again (Glub help me if she ever runs across this post). Her condition has gone, quite predicatably, from bad to worse though, as was always her style, she takes in all in stride, even joking about it. She doesn't have a boyfriend, but tells me of a lad in her physical therapy group that she's got her eyes on.
We never really talked, face-to-face, about what happened which, to this day, leaves me to wonder what she thought of the whole experience...
Cheerio! |
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| glencar |
quote:
LadyJane wrote:
SOME of us never left RO!!!
Now...anyone else having trouble accessing the Couch?? I got in this morning at home, but can't from the office. Yous?
LJ.
LJ, I've had trouble accessing posts off & on. Highly disturbing. I just knew I should have clicked on his banner ads! |
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| J.J.Flash |
Christ, believe it or not....I've spent some minutes reading the post above Blue's..... |
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| Joey |
" cuz if I see any floppin, I'll stop the boppin "
Pure Genius !
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| voodoopug |
quote:
Joey wrote:
" cuz if I see any floppin, I'll stop the boppin "
Pure Genius !
sup joey
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| Joey |
quote:
voodoopug wrote:
sup joey
SUP PUG
 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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