I was given an aliyah on Shabbes, which was a surprise and an honor. I also saw gay, Orthodox Santa, which is always superb.
Earlier this week, I found a well-loved used copy of Erotica Judaica: a sexual history of the Jews by Allen Edwardes and began reading as soon as I could. The problem was that “as soon as I could” was late last night, after an exhausting day, as the rain pounded on my windows. With all due respect to this fine and compelling book, I was out like a fucking light. Details to follow, though, as I know them.
Last night I was a bellydancer, a perky anchorwoman and a gothy contestant in the Miss Persia pageant for a deliciously wrong Purim play. Good, (mostly) clean fun. This afternoon, I’m off on a Hammentaschen score. A little trip to the Jewish ‘hood will be very welcome…
This town has been taken over (for the time being) by the drunken Irish. I’m not kidding you. The streets have been jammed all weekend with vomiting, drunken jubilation. I walked past an Irish pub, over-run with fratboys and blonde girls with fake IDs and was whistled at. Barf. On the inside, I said, “I’ve heard about Irish cocks, you filthy potato sucker, and I’m not interested!” However, what actually came out was, “Pssh. No fucking way.” After all, if someone called me a latke-licker or a Manischewitz-swilling Horah dancer, well, first I’d laugh, then I’d probably not appreciate it very much. Nah. On second thought, I’d just laugh. Anyway, I managed to only walk another ten feet before vomit nearly splattered on my shoes. Not my vomit. A woman near me shook her head and said, “What that fuck is wrong with goyim?” and I laughed, thinking it would be a swell t-shirt. Nice, no. Funny, yes.
It is unfortunate that my favorite color is green and that I wear it constantly. I have taken to donning black only this week, lest the Irish-Catholics mistake me for one of their own and spit booze all over me. Not bloody likely, but why take such chances? I’m just saying— you really don’t hear about a lot of drunken-disorderlies being issued on Purim and that’s a day we’re commanded to guzzle. Commanded! Again, I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’.
Then, just as I was nearly home-Shalom Bayit-home, I stopped off for Thai take-out. I sat at an empty table waiting for my order and overheard the most inane chatter coming from a date table. You know, I am all for passionate discussion and playing devil’s advocate and all that shit, but these two were so committed to buzzwords and soundbites that I wanted to yak. This is the kind of I-only-read-the-headlines intellectualism that makes me nuts. Read, really read. Try, really try. I’m plenty Left (obviously), but I hate seeing people being swept into a movement just for the sake of being part of a moment. I wish people took issues individually. I wish people took the time to read different opinions. I wish people took the time to sit and consider.
I listened to her speaking, and her Republican-in-hippie’s-clothing boyfriend, while facing the windows, watching the rain. I thought about how annoying it is when men and women are discussing something interesting and men raise their voices slightly, probably subconsciously, to be intimidating. Sure as blood, she softened her voice. I stared and listened to cliche after cliche until I heard her fling a word across the table with venom and contempt as she labeled a coworker. I faced them, but stared plainly. On the inside I said, “You seem like nice enough people. Try to think of more needs than just your own. Try to understand an issue before you dismiss it.” However, what actually came was a look of sadness and pity and worry. Potato sucker.