I know Hollywood isn’t known for its functional relationships, but what has gotten into our hot Jewish icons?

First, Scarlett Johanssen divorces “Sexiest Man Alive” Ryan Reynolds. Actually, in spite of his truly amazing abs, he’s always seemed like a tool (Two Guys and a Girl and A Pizza Place, anyone?) So maybe this isn’t so bad. No kids, and he’s not Jewish anyway. The Jewish single men of the world best get themselves some haircuts and start a’courtin’ Miss ScarJo, nu?

But then there’s Oscar winner Rachel Weisz, who married Harvard-educated director Darren Aronofsky in 2002, a had a sweet little boy named Henry and appeared to be a perfectly happy Jewish family. Then she had to go and jump the Bond guy (who, in spite of his smoldering performance as ass-kicking Pole hiding from the Nazis in Defiance, is not Jewish.)

And this one REALLY hurts: Natalie Portman, who’s got the world buzzing about her performance in Black Swan (directed by poor Darren Aronofsky), who was the nice Jewish movie star I thought I could count on to be sensible, the one damn example I had to hold up to my children that not every child actress turns out to be an embarrassment to her mother, is knocked up and engaged to French choreographer Benjamin Millepied. No, that is not a Jewish name (though it does translate into “a thousand feet,” which is a ridiculous/fabulous name for a dancer.) Look, I wish them happiness doing their tragic ballet thing together, but I sure do hope that kid gets a b’nai mitzvah.

As much as this mishegoss appears to be an epidemic, El Yenta Man has nothing to fear of this Jewish wife’s decampment. First off, EYM’s abs make Ryan Reynolds look like a couch potato. And anyway, Sean Connery will always be my favorite James Bond, and he’s so old just fantasizing about it makes me think about Depends.

I tend to shy away from the inevitable lists that appear that last week of the year on websites since they activate a neurosis that I must read every single one of them to catch up on all that I’ve missed before I can start the new year, which might put me way into March.

But Tablet’s 100 Best Jewish Songs managed to override the crazy because it’s just SO amazing for its breadth, depth and sheer audacity (Really, Sacha Baron Cohen’s “Throw the Jew Down the Well”? And what’s up with placing The Shema after Al Jolson’s “My Mammy”? At least it’s one up from “White Christmas.”)

Embracing the greats (Manilow, Streisand, Diamond), obscure shtetl folksongs, Israeli anthems and wackadoodle pop culture icons (Beastie Boys, Amy Winehouse, P-Funk) in the same giant hug, this amalgam is a gleefully awkward mash-up of the sacred and silly. Particularly #37, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”:

Johnny Marks’ “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” is the Christmas song-as-Jewish-wish-fulfillment fantasy. It’s the story of a social outcast with a funny schnozz who saves Christmas, earning the love of the goyim and a place in the history books.

Of course, we are Jews, and there’s bound to be some contention. Judging from the cheeky tone of the editorial, this list wasn’t so much meant to be definitive as it was to be entertaining. A reader in the comments section points out that this is really only a list of Ashkenazic tunes, meaning the traditions of the world’s Sephardim was ignored—IMHO, the Ladino “Ocho Kandelikas” could have replaced Adam Sandler’s “The Chanukah Song.” But including Beck’s “Loser” as a “schlemiel’s lament”? Classic.

Here’s the simple list of the 100 Best Jewish Songs, but you must check out the full descriptions for fascinating background and some major chuckles.

Seeing as some of these songs are on the Glee Wii karoake game that “Santa” left on the TV, I feel much less guilty for the crime of throwing my children a Christmas bone. Off to tackle “I Say A Little Prayer” (sung by Aretha, written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David) with new ruach.

This morning at 3am, I was lying on the front lawn watching a red shadow creep across the moon.

If this had been 1991, this might have been attributed to a bad acid trip followed by cheap Mexican food. Back then, seeing the moon go dark on the Winter Solstice would have been proof positive that the world would be ending very soon, and there was little point in thinking about getting a real job or paying the rent on time. I would have attributed the double whammy of the shortest day of the year coupled with the Lunar Night Goddess being robbed of her light as an omen that The Great Evil had finally taken over the world. I probably would have hunkered down right there in the leaves and grass and prepared to disintegrate or be eaten by robots or for whatever fate awaits those of us who don’t get Raptured.

Of course, I would have woken up stiff and cold with a homeless guy peeing in the bushes next to me, the world still chugging along on its inexact, yet very much existent, path.

Nearing up as we are on 2011, I spent last night’s astronomical exhibitions with my son tucked under my arm and the dog snuggled in my lap, a wholesome family moment that I never could have imagined back in the bad old days when I wore angst like my favorite pair of patched-up Levi’s. My mind tried to work its way into some alarming significance about the deep darkness all around, but I wasn’t really listening. I was busy marveling at how we view time as linear because we are born and then we die, but if we really look, the universe is built in cycles, with no beginning and no end—the moon endlessly spinning around the Earth as the Earth does its eternal dance around the sun. Perhaps someday it’ll all spin up together in the cosmic blender as a frozen margarita of hydrogen atoms and wormholes. But last night the celestial bodies all lined up for a few minutes, then kept on their merry ways, just as they’ve been long before they had monkey-minded humans to witness them and surely will long after we suffocate ourselves in our own garbage.

There’s no denying that twenty years has taken its toll on this monkey body, and twenty more will surely bring more aches, wrinkles and dimples in the wrong places. If I’m still here in twenty after that, then I’m definitely going to start smoking again. Laying in my own front yard (I’ve got the mortgage to prove it) with my family, unsure of the future but ready and willing to entertain it, I came to a realization I would have liked to have shared with my 19 year-old self: Get up and go home, asshole. Ditch creative writing as a career choice and major in mechanical engineering, because in the future everyone will be a writer with their own things called blogs but there will be a ton of bridges that need rebuilding. Start a savings account. The end of the world is for pussies.

Just in case you stayed in your lovely warm bed last night:

2011 Winter Solstice Lunar Eclipse from William Castleman.

And because that lunatic on the grass weird angsty girl still kicks around in this bag of bones somewhere, here’s a little something for her:

Big ups to my homegirl Excruciatingly Normal for turning me on to Kveller, a new Jewish mother site out of New York with delish blogs, advice and community for pregnant Jewmamas to those with preschool aged kids. ‘Course, that’s not me anymore, since Yenta Boy is grousing around like a real adolescent with his Justin Bieber swoop and Facebook page, and Little Yenta Girl just lost her first tooth.

The link EN forwarded had “Blossom’s F*cking Nuts, yo!” in the subject line and led to a guest blog by Mayim Bialik, kid actress turned brilliant neuroscientist and now big ol’ lactation advocate, evident from the post’s title: “I Breastfeed My Toddler. Got A Problem With It?”

Nope, neither me nor EN have a problem with breastfeeding a two year-old, since we have both experienced the alternating joy and sheer insanity of breastfeeding a small person who walks and talks. EN’s still nursing her little boy and though mine have long forgotten the boob, all of their robust health, keen intelligence and emotional security speaks volumes for this practice.

EN thought it was crazy that Mayim’s kid doesn’t eat solid foods yet, which means mama is still providing all the nutrition. Me, while I am super behind my girl Blossom’s commitment to attachment parenting, which involves extended nursing, toting your little hairless monkey around in a sling and co-sleeping, felt annoyed that the woman already has her freakin’ phD in brain science and gets to attend red carpet functions for which she can afford a babysitter, she has to be a perfect mother who cooks vegan snacks, too? Way to make an underemployed mother of two feel like an inadequate, self-absorbed sloth for letting my kids watch TV and feeding them instant oatmeal for dinner last week because El Yenta Man was working late and I just could not make myself go to the store for broccoli.

Mayim’s post ignited quite a riot in the comments section and a witty plea from fellow Kveller blogger Carla Naumburg to “get real” about the dirty truth of parenting. I agreed—if you’re not the kind of mother who’s truthful about the tears, the exhaustion, the evil thoughts of driving your children to their grandparents’ and leaving them there forever, then you kind of suck.

But this morning, Mayim posted a response to Carla’s, detailing her painful nursing experiences and getting no sleep and losing it with her kids, though her hissed “Just go to sleep already” really makes my constant use of the F-word look worthy of a visit from Child Services. I’m impressed with her willingness to face of the criticism for her original post, I’m guessing she could handle it quite well, or she wouldn’t have had the chutzpah to write it in the first place.

Anyway, it was fun to visit the old days of cuddling up and nursing someone’s boo-boo, and I just adore EN and Mayim and Carla and Kveller.

And I’m damn glad my own kids are old enough to be at school all day while I go have a glass of wine at lunch.

Thank you all who entered the Yo! Yenta’s Gone Nuts Chanukah Contest with your tales of gift-giving gone oh-so-wrong. If the folks at Oh Nuts! would let me reward all of you, I would—even those freaks who say they don’t like chocolate.

El Yenta Man and I had a quite a few chuckles sifting through your entries of creepy candlelabras, stinky candles and gross grandma sweaters, but one entry in particular had us both snorting sweet tea out our noses: Beth Van Tosh’s Santa g-string given to her by her 80 year-old mother-in-law.

BVT, you win $25 to use at Oh Nuts! as well as a recommendation on a gift for your mother-in-law next year:

Really, nothing says “please limit your visits to three days” than a Chappy Chanukah thong.

Now that our holiday is over, Imma ready to let the rest of the world get down to the business of Christmas while I enjoy a nice, quiet Shabbat picking wax out of the carpet. Shabbat Shalom!

I know y’all are busy. There’s eleventy billion other websites out there competing for your attention, and I am super grateful you’ve chosen to spend a few moments with me (an average 1.7 minutes, according to Google Analytics.)

Sometimes I even get to run into you local readers in person, like at the JEA when I’ve just finished a sweaty workout and I’m really hoping you don’t stand too close to me because I can’t remember if I actually used the deodorant this morning or just looked at it before Little Yenta Girl ran into the bathroom with a fork entangled in her hair because she wanted to comb it like The Little Mermaid, or, in the parking lot at Publix after I’ve just flipped you the finger for swooping into my parking space (really sorry about that, Miz Bernice, I didn’t realize it was handicapped. Next Thursday, Senior lunch is on me.)

You’re always so nice and gracious, and it really throws me for a loop that there are so many of you out there. I can’t read the Googly Anal report thingies very well, but it seems like there’s more of clicking around in here than just my mother, so I’m kinda flummoxed as to why last week’s Oh Nuts! Chocolate Contest was such a flop. Only a handful of you entered, and of those, NOT ONE of you left an email so I could contact you. Was it too easy? Too contrived? Your snubbing is feeling as bittersweet as old gelt. You’ll click on a ridiculous Facebook ad about winning an iPad, but the idea of free chocolate does not entice you?

So, I’m thinking “do-over.” And this time, let’s make it a little more interesting:

Yo, Yenta!’s Gone Nuts Chanukah Contest

Open a new tab and visit the Oh Nuts! and pick a favorite treat.

In the comments section of THIS POST THAT YOU ARE READING RIGHT NOW, paste the URL (just copy and paste the address) of your treat—look, the Oh Nuts! people need their props!

Then, please entertain me with a few words about the very worst, inappropriate and/or crappiest Chanukah or Christmas present anyone ever gave you. I want to know about six-toed socks, lacy panties from your bubbe and racist fruitcakes. Live animal tales and office holiday “white elephant” horror stories are especially welcome.

Don’t forget to put an email; I promise I am not competent enough to sell it or use it for anything other than alerting you if you’re the winner. On Thursday, Dec. 9, after Yenta Boy’s fifth grade band performance, the entire Yenta Family will pick one entrant to win $25 of Oh Nuts! dollars to spend—thas’ alotta candy.

C’mon, gimme your goodies in the comments below, and may your sixth night of light be sweet and bright!

I gotta say, the 5771 Chanukah spoof offerings are killing it this year! Check out yeshiva heart throbs the Maccabeats and their festive take on the ubiquitous “Dynamite” :

Erp, that sufganiyot accident at 2:33 is giving me flashbacks of last night’s JEA Chanukah Party. Speaking of which, what an amazing turnout—every facet of our complex, colorful community was represented and Prodezra Beats had the house jumpin’! As Savannah’s self-proclaimed kvetchiest Jewish outlaw, I am super stoked to have been a part of such warmth and wonder. You can read El Yenta Man’s decidedly unkosher take on the event in the comments section here.

Also: For the chocophiles who are wondering what’s happening with the Oh Nuts! contest, there will be an update on Monday. Until then, enjoy nights 3,4 & 5, Happy Snerfday to El Yenta Man and our dear amiga Cori in ATL and a deLIGHTful Shabbos to all!

After you watch this superfab Chanukah mash-up from NCSY and a cappela man band Six13, you’ll never sing the words “dreidel, dreidel, dreidel” the same way again…

“Eat, Pray, Kvetch”—surely there are several people on your Chanukah list who would wear this shmata with pride. Sheesh, now I gotta think of a new title for my autobiography…From RotemGear.com.