Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Why Jews Shouldn't Drink

Whenever I drink too much, a few things happen.

1. I'm drunk.

2. I somehow become even more Jewish (i.e even more annoying).

3. I'm loud (surprise!), but not just any kind of loud, the worst kind of loud, the performative kind of loud; where I shout instead of speak, and end every sentence with the word "bagel".

4. Anyone that snubs me, or walks passed me without saying hello is considered anti-semitic.

5. I brag about my accomplishments. Of which I have two: 1. I was once voted “Most Outrageous” during graduation ceremony at the New York Center for Broccoli Studies. 2. I was awarded "Least Racist Detainee" by the head social worker at San Quentin (where I spent two weeks one summer- but that’s another story).

6. I have “one way conversations” wherein I talk to you for 20 minutes about that time I swore I had Leprosy "but turns out it was just crabs."

7. I make statements and back them up with stories instead of facts.

I'll say things like like: "Every Jew has the right to say their father is a lawyer."

And then I'll tell a story about how I once threatened a librarian with that line.

" I tried walking past the check-out desk with a bag full of un-scanned books ( I even threw in a few Holocausty tear- jerkers at the top of the pile), only to hear the alarm wail like my brother when he didn't get a Playstation for Hanukkah. I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly stuck in the back of my head."

"Don't bother charging me", I told the librarian, "my dad's totally a lawyer".

"Turns out the librarian was Quaker. Who knew?" (I throw my arms up for dramatic effect.) "Apparently Quakers don't have feelings."

"It's true!" I'll shout, as you back away. "I read it somewhere online"

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Will My Soul Look Cute In Heaven? : A Meditation On The Afterlife

I have been reading a lot about near death experiences lately. Fascinating as they are, all of the accounts I've read can't seem to evade the most unfortunate cliches; "white lights", "tunnels", "life reviews" etc.

And don't get me started on book titles; you can basically put any preposition before the word death and it exists as a book about the subject: "beyond death" "alongside death" "underneath death" "totally into death"

Dying shouldn't be a verb, as it is not active enough, especially when thinking about other, more thrilling verbs like "face-punching" or "quilting".

When I get to heaven, will my soul be attractive? I hope my consciousness is hot. Shit, if I want to survive up there, my soul better look good. Otherwise, what else have I got? Kindness? Boring. Virtue? Over it. Great soul- boobs? CHECK.

Do religions mix in heaven? I've always wanted to try out Greek Orthodox, as I have a thing for lamb and hair gel.

Do you think they have Karaoke in heaven?

Does heaven mean being stuck inside a giant YouTube video where a bunch of Koreans sing 'I believe I can fly' in front of a giant green screen? I can imagine that. Who doesn't love singing Karaoke surrounded by a bunch of angelic cats and happy basketballs? Who? Find me this person.

Is heaven's backdrop one giant green screen?

Because every religion seems to have a different take on the whole heaven narrative.

I imagine the following scenes


Moses is your psychologist. You are lying on a giant pink sofa in the clouds. Suddenly god storms in, flushed with embarrassment "Pink, Moses? Seriously?" God says "Are you gay or did they give you a discount on this thing?"... " I'm really sorry about him" God'll whisper to you. "I'd get Woody Allen, but I don't have the heart to kill him yet. He really did redeem himself with Midnight in Paris"


Giant techno pool party, virgins drinking virgin cocktails, Saddam Hussein is belly dancing to ABBA.


Heaven is a lonely expat bar in Kyoto, tucked into one of those wet, black alleyways. There are rice-balls instead of clouds and god's penis is a giant chopstick laser which beams down on the empty patch of dance floor no one ever uses.


All-you-can-eat buffet with a twenty piece band called "Lionel Richie and The Richies" made up of twenty Lionel Richies. They'll be singing "All Night Long" . On eternal loop. (here is the song).

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Three Things I Thought You Should Know I Don't Like

1. When someone says "we exchanged bodily fluids"

Why do you have to say it that way? Going that far to evade the word 'sex' seems strange; as though you were a parent explaining the act to your child: "You see honey, sometimes mommy and daddy put on lab coats and exchange urine samples in bed. It's a very natural urge. One day you'll feel it too."

2. When your mom tells you to "keep your head up"

Does it make you feel good? or does it make you want to say "no mom, you keep your head up" and then uppercut punch her Mortal Kombat style?

**Be sure to use her cellphone minutes and call Thailand as she writhes on the floor.

3. When you're eating late at night thinking no one is watching until god takes notice.

"I know you ain't about to cover that chocolate in butter. I know you ain't." He'll say (he's a Diva)

You take a remorseful pause and give god puppy eyes. He doesn't budge. "Do you wanna come up here earlier than you're supposed to?" he'll say, "Is that really what you want? .... pssshht, and yo ass hasn't even been to a U2 concert."

Sunday, November 20, 2011

College Life in England or A Letter in a British Accent

Dear Reader,

Just writing to let you know that I’m doing well here at Uni. Above you'll see a picture of my dorm room. I’ve grown quite comfortable with it. In fact, I practically never leave!

You know how sometimes going out can be more depressing than staying inside? When you've stayed indoors for so long, leaving suddenly isn't as fun as you'd imagined. In fact, leaving feels like a chore. The sight of a crowd only makes your face sour, the very expression a reinstatement of your hermetic tendencies.

Can’t be bothered to go out.

Not when my room has everything. You’re thinking it’s too small reader, I know, “a speck on the campus map” you’d probably say, but I say its compactness serves it’s multi-purposeness. And that makes it feel much bigger really, dare I say bigger than a king’s bedchamber! It’s all about imagination, reader.

My desk, for example, is quite long and takes up about half of the room. “A waste of space”, you might say, reader. But I think not. I can place whatever I fancy on it; piles of books, my lava lamp, toiletries, newspapers, multiple coffee cups, a fish tank, and even a large oven. I could open a bakery in here if I pleased. I can do anything in my room.

Indeed, my bed is quite narrow. But it’s in such close proximity to my desk that it’s less of a bed and more of a comfy office chair. Which is great because I’ve never been able to afford one.

Did I mention there is a bathroom?

You wouldn’t think there’d be room for it, and in fact, there really isn’t, but somehow they’ve managed to squeeze one in. No walking far to get there. Just get out of bed, stand up, open the door, and you’re in the bathroom.

I have many interesting associations with my room. I sleep here, I eat here, I panic over assignments here, I take those dreadful late-afternoon-naps-where-you-wake up-in-the-darkness-and-suddenly-realize-how-alone-you-are, I read, I write, I stick my head out the window to feel alive.

And there is the kitchen, of course, which I venture out to now and then.

I think the best part about living alone, is that I can eat late at night without anyone knowing (“as though that ever stopped you” you’d probably say!). I can use the stove, microwave and grill all at once and not one person will give a shit. I can leave the fridge open. Hell, I can put myself in the fridge. Who cares if nobody’s around?

Okay, better get some sleep. It’s getting late and I have an important meeting tomorrow in my room (I’ve opened an office in here).

Missing you to pieces, reader.


Your faithful blogger

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Sh'ello(shalom + 'ello) From England

Listen, I'm sorry. To put it simply, I've been avoiding you. Honestly, for a while, I just didn't feel like talking to you. I thought about going gay so I wouldn't have to blog anymore, but my heterosexuality is just too overt (my sunken Jewish eyes and vocal aversion to lesbians are probably the main give- aways.)

So why have I been avoiding you? Well, isn't it obvious? I've been busy working (watching TV online) and reading(watching TV on television) and well, living (watching TV naked). Can't I live?

Okay, I'm in England. I moved here two months ago. After graduating college and taking two years off to think about working, I was spent. One afternoon I was helping my niece with an English assignment, and I said to myself You know what? I really do like this English business. I think I'll go and get another degree. And here I am. In England. Getting an MA. I don't have a niece.

I'm not really "getting" an MA so much as I'm "taking it up". That's right, I said "taking it up", like a cooking class; pay enough and you can get someone famous like Gorden Ramsey to teach you how to braise scallops and then beat the verbal shit out of you with his unfounded rage.

I've been reading a lot of Freud lately. In an attempt to quell my sexual desires(which I have an excess of, apparently), I've been listening to Radiohead while lacerating my lips with a tree branch. It's the only logical conclusion.

What I'm trying to say is, I haven't made any friends yet. I know, you couldn't tell. But here I am, telling you.

I told my mom that I didn't have any friends and she said not to worry, that maybe I should try making friends with "verbs", and I said mom, you can't make friends with verbs, and then I thought maybe she wanted me to befriend some Native Americans because they use verbs in their tribal names (running horse, floating cricket, etc). But then I thought about it some more and I realized she just wanted me to leave my room.

Stay tuned.



Thursday, December 16, 2010

Blood Clots

It's all about strokes these days.

In fact, the other day, I was watching a video of a neuroanatomist who had a stroke. She had a big clot in the left hemisphere of her brain, and one morning she woke up to realize she couldn't speak/ understand language/ the boundries of her body, etc.
She was happy, for a moment, she said.

I mean, when you think about it, she's clearly saying that the left side or the "analytical side" of the brain is Jewish. We'd all be secretly happy if it were gone.

I recently read a study comparing the left side of the brain to a Jew on ritalin.
One patient who had a clot on his right hemisphere, exhibited extreme emotional discomfort and irritation, and at one point, it was noted, he yelled "please, for the love of god, stop talking". When the patient was asked who was talking, he replied, "I don't know her name, but she has a nasaly voice and, for some reason, I feel she has a big nose." He continued, "She asked why I wasn't in graduate school. 'Your brother Joshua has a PHD!', the woman kept yelling. And then she went on about the holocaust, and diet soda. I couldn't make her stop."

In conclusion, if I lost the left side of my brain, would that make me a Christian by default? Because I would be fine with that.

Maybe Christianity needs to expand their conversion process to include the induction of blood clots. Because, come on, a fucking priest waving a stick over my head and sprinkling water on my face isn't going to erase 23 years of guilt. A stroke will.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Small Teeth

Wouldn't it be funny to describe someone as having small teeth? As though small teeth said something about your personality. Like, Oh he has small teeth? Yeah, he's gay. And he is gay, but that is just a coincidence.

Girl 1: Yeah, I met a guy with small teeth yesterday. You know those kind of guys.

Girl 2: Yeah, Totally