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See if you can guess who these seder plates might belong to!
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Here's the first:
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Here's number two:
Okay, okay those were easy. This next one is a little trickier:
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Stumped?
It's Mary-Kate Olsen's!
All right, you have done pretty well so far. Here is your final one. Think carefully now....
Well?
Give up?
It's Madonna's! Esther is SERIOUS about her Jewish holidays!
This weekend is the Coachella Valley Music Festival, the equivalent of heaven on earth for cutting-edge music lovers. The following is an uplifting tale about the five people you meet when you get there. Feel free to forward it to everyone in your address book so they can print it out and put it on their refrigerators for daily inspiration.
THE FIVE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN COACHELLA
…Or so they claim. All you know is that a sweaty, bearded man is waving a tambourine in your face, prancing about in a white tunic with precious else underneath. You ask him where the falafel stand is. He stares at you, blissfully blank-faced, then responds in song, screaming “Sun, sun, sun! Up, up, up! It’s a big, big, big sun and it’s rising up, up, up!” You walk away, confused, annoyed, and still hungry.
Stumbling away from a Chemical Brothers performance in the 120-degree Sahara tent, you seek refuge in the zen-like oasis of the VIP section. That is when you meet Andy Dick…Or so they claim. All you know is that a sweaty, bearded man is waving a tambourine in your face, prancing about in a white tunic with precious else underneath. He then stumbles off to hotbox a Port-o-Potty, licking Seth Greens face on the way. A drunken, barbituated Mischa Barton stops screaming at her boyfriend long enough to say, “God, how embarrassing.”
And goddamnit they look fucking hot and who the fuck is that bitch they are with and why of the 30,000 people walking around this gigantic polo field did you have to run into--“Oh! Hey! Yeah! Great shows… Better than last year? Oh, ha. No, I doubt that. Well…uh… Maybe I’ll see you at Bloc Party later? Right. Ha ha. Well, see ya…” They walk away. You decide to skip the Fiery Furnaces, they bug the shit out of you anyway, and you make a beeline for the beer tent.
A short time after the sun has descended to just above the mountain range surrounding you, and the sky has turned twenty shades of rose and violet, and a warm wind blows against your skin, and the little yellow pill with a picture of the Tide logo on it has been swallowed and digested, and the first strains of your favorite band come sailing through the towering speakers, you see them: The Most Beautiful Human Being You Have Ever Seen In Your Life. And you wonder if they know it. And you wonder what it would be like, to be with that person, forever. And even if you never speak one word to them, you realize something: you have never been happier in your life.
Towards the second hour in the search for your car, you move past the denial and anger stages and enter a third, more accepting stage where you realize you will be spending the evening sleeping in a field full of screaming drunk people and cars. It is at that moment that you see him: That Dude In The Parking Field You Recognize From The Beginning of the Day Who You Think Parked Near You, who at this moment also happens to be The Most Beautiful Human Being You Have Ever Seen In Your Life. You call out to him. He remembers you. It is him. You ask him if he knows where you parked. He does. Minutes later, you find your car. You apologize to your car for having earlier called it “A Motherfucking Black Honda Civic, the World’s Most Non-Descript Piece of Invisible Shit,” and you caress the dashboard as its dependable engine fires its pistons, carrying you safely back from where you came.