Here’s a painful memory.
It was the Spring of 1998. I was going out with this Jewish woman I met at synagogue. I brought her over to the hovel for the first time and like a chivalrous gentleman, I showed her some of my interesting websites, including one about Dennis Prager.
As she sat reading, she burst into tears. “But you admire this man?” she said. “And how you write about him! Oy!”
Later, I held her close on the floor. I didn’t have a bed. I just slept on a sheet on the carpet.
Nearby was a big stack of AVN magazines.
There was a lot of yelling outside.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” she said.
She was perturbed about my blogging and felt like she needed to set some limits. So she told me what type of photos I was allowed to take if I was going to date her.
The next day, I went into an office in the San Fernando Valley where they were shooting a movie. I snapped some photos of the forbidden variety and put them on my blog.
“Well, that didn’t take you long,” she said that night on the phone. “I guess you’ve made your choice.”
