True Stories

I cannot confirm the veracity of this story:

The hot studly husband lay on the bed sleeping peacefully and happily when his wife walked in. With a preternatural warning, sensing his spouse's presence, he rolls over on his side facing away from her.

"Oh it's like that, is it? You don't love me any more?" she asks, amused.

"Nope."

"Fine." Setting a glass of water down on the nightable, she gets into bed.

At which point, a loud, audible release of gas is heard. Soon, a fragrance fills the room. "Oh, so not only do you not love me anymore, but you want to kill me, is that it?"

A blissful, relaxed smile shines from his face. Another release of gas is heard.

"Oh my god. I really am going to die tonight," she moans as she turns out the light.

finis.

Let me insist that I cannot attest to the veracity of this story, except to say that the man in question is, in fact, married and that he had, that day, consumed large amounts of nuts, cheese, garlicky food and beer.

Passover Lessons

If there's one thing I hate more than unions, its organized religion. So you can see why it was with some trepidation that I accepted my friend Josh's invitation this week to a Passover Seder. I tend to mouth off and say completely offensive and inappropriate things all the time, including times when I don't necessarily mean to, and since he informed me that Passover would involve drinking four glasses of wine (at least), I imagined that after that fourth glass, something completely wrong would come out of my mouth:

• "So, where are the pork chops?"
• "Now that that's done, you know what be great? Fetish porn!"
• "Or we could just make some porn with you girls right now! Anyone here have a camcorder?"

As it turns out, I managed to complete the evening without offending anyone. I think. I haven't talked to my host since then, and while it's likely that he's simply loaded down with work, it's also possible that Josh has decided to pretend he never met me.

But here's what I learned while attending my first Passover Seder:

• I don't care which New York deli you've visited, you haven't lived until you had a homemade version of matzo ball soup
• The Manischewitz family has much to atone for. That wine is horrible.
  
• The Seder, essentially a combination of a Jewish meal along with religious ritual and education all rolled into one, is quite beautiful. It's good to see people honoring their traditions and commemorating their history and trying to make the lessons within relevant to today's life. If all practices in Judaism are as heartwarming, meaningful and not-cloying as this one, it wouldn't be such a bad religion. Not like, say, Catholicism, which advocates child molestation, pedophilia and the practice of stuffing coathangers up women's cunts and rooting around. I'm talking about you, El Salvador.
  
• Of couse, I might have found the Seder more heartwarming simply because I was drinking so heavily throughout it. That's a clever tactic by whoever came up with the customs of a Seder. Get'em drunk and they'll be more receptive to sentimentality. Or maybe the excessive drinking is just Josh's contribution to the whole thing.
  
• There's a little symbol that you can find on wine labels that signifies kosherness. Is that a word? Anyway, just a random fact that isn't that useful to me, but I like random facts.
• Slivovitz is horrible, just horrible. It's a (kosher, of course) Hungarian plum brandy that has a turpentine-y taste that adds to a Manischewitz hangover and makes you nauseous because as you sweat the next day, that Slivovitz scent oozes out of your pores, making you smell like a hobo who's been boozing on ... well, turpentine. It was, on Josh's suggestion, my contribution to the evening.
  

It turns out that I did, in fact, make a joke about pork, now that I think about it. Something about how this was all very beautiful (I was quite drunk) and I'd consider converting (I said, I was drunk) if it weren't for that no-pork rule. At which point I was told that Reformist Jews do, in fact, allow the eating of pork. I wonder how they feel about crab and lobster.

And I did, in fact, learn something else that's useful. As I do whenever I'm in NYC and the subject of Judaism comes up, I ask those present about whether they know of a truly old-school Jewish deli that still serves schmaltz as a condiment or appetizer. As a condiment, schmaltz is an herbed, liquified chicken fat that you (I've heard) use in much the same way you might pour gravy on mashed potatoes or ketchup on a sandwich; as an appetizer, it is chicken skin wrapped around a little ball of spiced chicken fat, that is then deep fried. Oh sweet imagined rapture! Until now, my queries have been unsuccessful -- in fact, few people even know what I'm talking about. But this time, a girl at the dinner told me that one such place does exist, just west of Times Square in a hotel restaurant, of all places! I can't remember where she said it was exactly (one more time: I was drunk), but I can always call Josh and ask him to ask her.

Plus, Josh said he needs to get laid and since she was pretty cute, this gives him an excuse to call her up again.

It occurs to me that perhaps this Seder involved more drinking that was strictly necessary (though I was assured that four full glasses of wine are mandatory for all adults, regardless) since Josh and many of his guests were of college age. (There were a couple guests who had been in the post-college working world for a while, but mostly these were collegiates.) But it was nevertheless great.

Saving the World

Just my random thoughts on how to make the world a better place:

The Environment
I bet we could get a lot more people interested in cleaning up the environment if we just made them listen to John Denver songs. The ones I would focus on are "Sunshine On My Shoulders," "Rocky Mountain High," and "Take Me Home Country Roads." Anyone who hears any of these songs is guaranteed to be inspired to protect the forests and the trees and the rivers and oceans and the critters and ... Well, let's put it this way: I'm a city boy. I have fun hiking and doing outdoorsy things, but I never once considered moving to a cabin in Colorado -- until I watched a John Denver retrospective on PBS. The man's a genius on the level of Mozart or Rodgers & Hammerstein: pure beautiful melodies that are so simple and basic that you might think, "Any moron could write this song." So why didn't you?

Non-violence.
I have an surefire way to reduce violence between men: squadrons of hot chicks in slutty outfits. The other day I was walking down the street and coming toward me was a Guido that I normally would sneer at and beat the shit out of at the slightest provocation. And the feeling, I'm sure, was mutual. But then we both noticed a hot chick in biker shorts and a sports bra finishing her ride right across the street -- all blonde and sweaty and tight and toned. And when we both realized the other guy had seen the chick, we exchanged a grin and noverbally communicated the following profound concept: "Man, I wouldn't mind getting me some of that." I bet if we got some hot scantily clad chicks walking down the street in the Palestinian territories -- or anywhere in the Middle East, for that matter -- the conflict would stop as the Jews, the Shiites, the Sunnis, the Christians would all just stare and immediately realize they all have something in common. Hell, it would be almost instantaneous, because we all know those poor guys don't get much gawking time when they're out in public. (and yes, I know this isn't an original idea: see the shower scene in "Undercover Brother" for a similar suggestion.)

That's all.