Monday, August 29, 2016

Kosher, Smosher

             “Oh, so Mister I Wanna Be a Gentile is too good to eat his mother’s cooking anymore. Hah!”
              Moisha winced at the slap across the back of his head.
“I told ya Ma, it’s not you.”
“It’s not me he says,” she slammed a pot on the stove and yanked the refrigerator door open. “He wouldn’t break his mother’s heart. Oh no, not Mister I Wanna Eat Like a Goy, Mister Just Call the Rabbi and Ask Please Ma.”
She stomped past him again, getting in another teeth-rattling smack for good measure.
“Don’t do that Ma!”
A frozen chicken narrowly missed his nose, and landed on the table with a thud.
“Fine, you don’t want Borsht. I’ll make matzo balls. You love my matzo balls.”
“Ma, no. Stop it.”
Moisha covered his face with his hands. “I don’t want any of it Ma.”
The silverware drawer closed with a crash and Moisha moaned.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said, “but if your father, God rest his soul, was alive to see this he would plotz. He would fall down in his bed and refuse to get up.”
Safely hidden beneath his hands, Moisha mouthed the words along with her.
Sadie threw up her hands. “Morris, you see what you left me with? A pisher of a son who breaks his mother’s heart. You hear me Morris?”
“He hears you, Ma,” Moisha said. “The Goldens in 2 B can hear you, and that’s  seven flights down.”
“Oh and you’re a funny man now?” Sadie said. “Henny Youngman you are?”
“Ma, I don’t even know who that is,” Moisha said. “Look, I said I’d eat at-“
“You think I’m gonna let you out of the house young man?” Sadie said. “After that thing, with the cross, last week? Your father is turning over in his grave.”
“Ma, I’m twenty-seven, and it wasn’t Father Riley’s fault. There was this girl-“
“Oh there, there it is. Morris, do you hear this? Mister Goyim wants to go eat with some shiksa poopsie that he found somewhere.”
Sadie smacked him in the back of the head again.
“Don’t raise your voice to me, young man!”
Moisha rubbed his eyes.
Sadie slammed herself into the other kitchen chair; her red wig wobbled ominously.
“Tell me the truth Bubeluh. She’s a Catholic, isn’t she? That’s why that no good priest has been by here every day this week. You met her one of those late nights going who knows where and now she’s got you hooked through the pupic.”
“Ma, I’m a mortician, for God’s sake. I’m always out at night.! And there isn’t any girl, I told you.”
Sadie waved him away. “Go on then, break my heart. Go do whatever it is you’re going to do, Mister Nazi sympathizer.”
“Ma, you know-“
“I don’t know from bupkis,” Sadie said.
Seizing his chance to escape, Moisha  bolted to the bathroom in the narrow hall. Without glancing at the cracked mirror he grabbed another pin for his yarmulke and turned to go.
“Stop and talk to Rabbi Cohen,” Sadie yelled from the kitchen, “He wants to see you.”
“Right Ma.”
Moisha paused, took a deep breath, and fled.

The priest was waiting for him at the curb.
“Look, I told you,” Moisha groaned, “Don’t follow me home! You’re making my mother crazy.” He fumbled in his pocket for a minute and pulled out a silver rosary. “And take this back. It’s not working.”
Father Riley reached out, his hand shaking a little, and took the string of beads before Moisha dropped them.
Moisha winced. “And don’t think I don’t see the bottle in your hand Father. This is a $300 dollar silk suit from the Men’s Warehouse; I paid for it working overtime. Don’t even think about messing it up.”
“You’re going to hell,” Riley said.
“I gotta go, Father. Don’t bring anymore garlic down to the funeral home; my boss says you’re stinking the place up.”
The priest made the sign of the cross with one shaking hand.
Moisha sighed, and ran his tongue across his fangs.

Maybe it was time to become a Unitarian.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Another Not Funny Day

A Daily Prayer
Please Lord,
help me to remember today
that I am not the Potter,
but the Potter's clay.
Let Your miracles come through my hands,
and Your words through my lips.
Show me how to do Your will and not my own.
Help me to serve with joy, remind me
that all credit is Yours and not my own,
and stop my mouth before I take accolades
for what You alone have done.
As I go through my day,
allow me to lift those who have fallen
and light the way for those in darkness.
Today and every day,
help me to be what You have created
and through whatever comes
allow me to laugh.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Well, just when I thought life had calmed down a bit, G-d snickers and Moisha the Hip-Hop Hebe has made a new friend.

Well, I say friend, mostly because "equally guilty party and co-conspiritor" is too much of a mouthful. If Moishe is the guy wearing the yarmulke with the propeller on top, D-man is the goy next to him- the one in the Viking helmet.... with horns.

Why me?

Monday, April 5, 2010

Moisha and I have bought a house.

What kind of house? the sensible among you ask. Surely a nice ranch with fireplace and hardwood floors. Or perhaps a delightful Cape Cod, with cozy nooks and...

You do know us, right?

130 years isn't old for a house? Right?


It really isn't as bad as you think.

It's worse. Much much worse.

I should have known we were in trouble when our lovely realtor, carrying the briefcase he made during arts and crafts at a local mental institution, got out of his car with a grin.

He was warm; he was personable; he was friendly. I didn't ask why his case contained a bid offer, two sets of handcuffs, a gold pocket watch and those syringes of sodium pentathol. I'm sure there was a reason, really.

I'm getting very sleepy.

Now where was I again?

Anyway, I'm sure I believe him when he says we spontaneously signed the papers while dancing with glee. I was doubtful about the glee at first, but he was quite firm on that point. He is such a nice man, but he does have a rather odd medical condition- he apparently is overcome with fits of maniacal laughter at absolutely random intervals.

The suffering some people have to endure.

Anyway, the house.

2FB, 4BR, galley kitchen, mud room, spare kitchen, shutters nailed to the bathtub....


Oy vey.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

I have lost my flipping mind.

Along with Moisha, whose real name is Hebrew for "Does that look crooked to you?", I bought a house.

Of course, it's not just any house.

It's a 130 year old farmhouse, in a town where if ya see four Jews it's me and Moish and a big big mirror.

My friends are a bit divided on this move.

Some think we're nuts, others lean toward dumb and nuts. A few real rebels are going for "insane"... and dumb.

One of my dearest friends actually wrote a small skit detailing her worries about the move- she took the part of "Best Friend Wearing Body Armor and Microbraids." In a moving scene BFWBAAM attempts to get directions to my new home from a local gentleman. As I recall the dialogue was as follows:

"Excuse me Mister, can you tell me where them Jews went?"

"Yeah, sure Missy. First you take three lefts and then a zig zag at the place where the farm used to be. No, wait. It's easier if you turn right where that cow got hit, then... Aw, forget it. Just grab a'holt of this white robe and follow me- when you see the burning cross you found it."

I told her to shut up and bring marshmallows.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

If I Had Been Along For the Exodus...

Secret Diary Year 39 Wandering in Desert:

Day 35:
Sand. Wandering. Yusef found a dry leaf. Tribe stopped for 5 hours to admire dead leaf- first thing we have seen in 6 years that wasn't beige. Food- rain of manna; again.

Day 37
More freaking sand. Wandering. Tribe walked backwards for 3 hours to "improve team building." Moses is a weirdo. Food- guess what- iittttt's manna.

Day 39
Slightly darker sand. Tried marching in straight line. Found footprints after 8 hours- great excitement. 2 hours later, found Schlomo's sandal and the leftover's from last night's manna. Are back at starting point. Crud. Returned to wandering. Food- built temprary houses out of manna- ate rocks. Rocks tastier.

Day 40
Lighter sand. Wandering with occassional falling over. No water. Moses smacked rock with stick- rock gave water- tasted like wee. Noted small ocean crawling with lobsters, shrimp, clams, and catfish. Gentile tribe camped on shore- wearing linen and wool clothing and eating bacon cheeseburgers and wine. Going to make friends...

Day 40, 2 hours later
Have gotten ropes untied and made Yusef put me down. Moses is a bastard.

Friday, May 16, 2008

Ohhh, colors...

In between eating paste and running with scissors, I have been having fun playing around with oil pastels, trying to come up with something interesting to put on the wall. I think the hybiscus is going in my office and the Lighthouse is going in the bedroom..