Last night Leah and I went to go see a movie at the Siskel called Zorro's Bar Mitzvah. I assumed it was going to be a fun-loving romp about a young Zorro having his bar mitzvah. Man, oh man, was I wrong.

It turned out to be a documentary, following three young men and a young woman, as they prepared for their bar (and bat) mitzvahs. One of the young men wanted to have a Zorro themed celebration, and that's how the movie earned it's title.

At one point in the movie a man who filmed parties (weddings, birthdays, bar mitzvahs) commented how he'd never had a bar mitzvah of his own and now he was stuck filming them forever, and how it seemed like destiny. "That's so sad," Leah whispered to me. "I never had a bar mitzvah," I whisper back to her. "I hope that's not how I end up. Filming bar mitzvahs."

"You never had one?" Leah asks in a whisper. "Do you ever feel like less of a man?"

"On a regular basis," I confess.