I Drink for a Reason

by David Cross

  Anyway, I’ve gotten off the subject that started this whole mishegas; Jews, me being a Jew, other Jews, and me being not a Jew really but an atheist. So with that in mind, I present the following, which is funnier in the “ha ha” way than what just preceded it.

  ASK A RABBI!

  The following is reprinted with permission from Jews! magazine.

  Hello! Gut Yontif! My name is Rabbi Yahuda McSeigleman, and I am a board-certified rabbi. I am a fifth-degree belted rabbi and am recognized worldwide for my cinnamon-sugar chometz. I have studied the Torah (which is sort of a Jewish Koran) under the tutelage of Rabbi Shmuley Mochebittzen and “Swingin’” Dick Reynolds. I have been doing this column for almost seven years now, and I have been asked to compile a “best of,” if you will.

  As a brief introduction for those not familiar, “Ask a Rabbi” is a biweekly column that I have been writing for Jews! magazine wherein I hope to shed light on a very complex, aged, and spiritual culture. Many of the traditions and rites of the Jewish people are misunderstood or are not understood at all. It is my pleasure to answer any and all questions regarding these truly fascinating and extraordinary people. Here are some of the more frequently asked questions I’ve received over the years.

  Dear Rabbi,

  How come Jews, the ones with the black coats and hats and curls, have such a difficult time understanding the protocols for flying on a public airline?

  Tanyan Sturtz, Akron, Ohio

  Well, Tanyan, you’re referring to the ultra-Orthodox Jews who practice a stricter, and therefore more honest and correct, form of Judaism. While it may seem “annoying” or “impolite” to disobey the increasingly frustrated pleas of the stewards and stewardesses and captains and, eventually, other passengers of the plane, it is perfectly in their right to behave this way. This is because Jews are not bound under the general rules of the Federal Aviation Administration. They were given a dispensation by the Supreme Rabbi and Official Potentate Supreme and may do as they see fit. Sometimes that includes standing in the aisles, walking around distributing homemade kosher foodstuffs to other Jews, and standing up and putting their Torahs in plastic wrap while the plane is ready to taxi away from the gate. Sometimes they will also pretend that they don’t speak or understand English while holding up the flight for everybody. While this may appear “rude” to the layman, it is really within their rights as a holy, holy people. “Holier than thou” is actually appropriate to say.

  Dear Rabbi,

  According to the Mansfield Stereotype Study in ’98, the Jewish people have supplanted Puerto Ricans as the loudest culture. How did this happen? They usually shuffle along mumbling quietly to themselves in ancient languages, and Puerto Ricans are loud as shit. They’re always yelling to people even if they’re just two feet in front of them. Even their bicycles have boom boxes built into them! What gives?

  Gene Garber, New Hope, PA

  Ah, yes. The Mansfield Stereotype Study. If I had a dollar for every time this study has been cited, I’d have enough money to start my own bartering school to teach Jews how to effectively haggle with shop owners to get lower prices on their wares! That’s how many times this Stereotype Study has been cited!! Gene, the findings of this study were thoroughly debunked almost immediately after it came out. It had numerous mistakes, the most egregious one being the inclusion of “noise made while eating” into the final factored study, which pushed the Jews ahead. As you know, only reformed, and some conservative, Jews are allowed to eat whatever they want without fear of retribution. When Jews who keep kosher are included, the list of available “noisy” foods plummets. No ribs, crab legs, Arby’s Beef ’n’ Cheddars, shrimp cocktails, oysters, crispy bacon, moules et frites, cheesesteaks, etc. etc. When the sound made by eating is not taken into account, the Jews rank 16th on the list, just behind Canadians and just ahead of the Dutch.

  Hello Rabbi,

  I was wondering if you could settle a bet I have with my wife. She says that Orthodox Jews are required by their God to perpetuate the species within such a small gene pool that there is rampant inbreeding, and this is why most of them are unattractive with terrible eyesight and teeth, while I say it’s simply because they are ugly that they are the only ones who will have each other. Help! A lobster dinner’s riding on this! Thanks.

  Biff Pocoroba,

  Piedmont, North Carolina

  Well, Biff, guess what? You’re both right!! Ultra-Orthodox Jews have created an extremely insular society where there are arranged marriages between few choices, so people who share the same gene pool often procreate, resulting in genetic deficiencies such as the aforementioned poor eyesight and scoliosis. Where “unattractive” is subjective and in the eye of the beholder, it would be disingenuous of me to pretend that they are often, not always of course, but often physically repellent to “normal” people. Let us remember, the Jew is not a unicorn! He is not a mythical creature that is beautiful to look at but nonexistent. The Jew is a living, breathing human being at least half full of life! Let us celebrate that!

  Dear Rabbi,

  I have lived in New York City for the last seventeen years, and since I moved here I have seen and continue to see the same Winnebago RV driving around Manhattan with the phrase “Moshiach Is Coming Now!” painted in large, faded letters on the side of it. I know that the word Moshiach means “Messiah” in Hebrew, but I’m confused as to their definition of the word now. Can you explain?

  Pasquel Perez,

  New York City

  Pasquel, I have been asked this question a number of times, and the answer has always surprised people. Simply put, these people don’t know what the word now means.

  Dear Rabbi,

  I live in Los Angeles in a section heavily populated with Orthodox Jews. And it occurred to me the other day when it was particularly hot (it was 101 degrees—this is a desert, don’t forget!) that the Chasidim are perhaps the people on this planet that are being hurt the most by global warming. Because wintertime is the only time those people don’t look absolutely ridiculous! And now that’s being taken away from them. As I looked at them walking along in their seven layers of heavy woolen clothes and fur hats, I thought, “There but for the grace of God go I.” What do you think of that? Ironic, huh?

  Mark Lemke, Los Angeles, CA

  Mark Lemke? From Temple Baruch Ben Yisrael on Fairfax? That Mark Lemke?

  Dear Rabbi,

  Uh… yes.

  Mark Lemke, Los Angeles, CA

  Why did you write such a thing? This makes no sense to me?

  Dear Rabbi,

  Well, look… the Talmud teaches us so many wond—

  Stop it! I’m a Rabbi myself! I know when you’re stalling and don’t have a real answer.

  Dear Rabbi,

  What? What stalling? I’m asking a legitimate question! If I were to—

  Mark Lemke, Los Angeles, CA

  No, no. You are a reformed Jew, pushing a liberal, progressive agenda, and this is unacceptable! You are trying to interpret the strict word of the Torah and “update” G-d’s word to make sense in your enlightened world! Didn’t you read the preface to this piece!? Go to hell, infidel!!

  A Short Request to Lame Friends

  I’VE ALWAYS FELT THAT LIFE SHOULD BE MORE THAN JUST A SERIES of unfortunate mistakes based on stubborn, lazy ignorance resulting in niggling little minor tragedies of what “could have been” begat from choices not made. I think life should be for the living!! And by that I am not saying no to zombies. I just mean that those who actively search out knowledge and experience should get the limited supplies of life-saving drugs or the last bit of oxygen before those who don’t. And when we’re faced with a life-or-death situation and we are called upon to prove our worth, please spare me your lame-ass lone drug story that you tell every fucking time someone brings up their acid, mushroom, DMT or whatever anecdote. Yes, of course! We all know. You were “totally high” off that pot brownie that one time and you thought you were gonna die and you almost faint
ed when you realized that you forgot it was your great aunt’s birthday and you were all going to the Ponderosa to celebrate and you nearly lost your shit when you saw Regina Conkle there but luckily she didn’t recognize you and you were so paranoid that you just knew that everyone who worked there totally knew you were high, blah, blah, blah. I appreciate that you’ve been high and “out of control” before… once, but you do realize that I’ve heard you trot out that same story at least forty times before. And that’s just me!

  You seem to have only one story for each vice applicable. There’s that drug story of yours. Your “drunk” story when you went camping in senior year and drank so much hunch punch that you threw up while you were trying to make out with that girl from Spanish class and you passed out on a frog and killed it and your friends had you convinced that you were supposed to go on a road trip to Vegas and it was your idea. And your “crazy sex” story about when you met that “totally hot” hippie girl in Vancouver who said she was a witch (the good kind) and was on her way to go to clown college the next day and she dragged you into the walk-in cooler in the hotel kitchen, but then she wouldn’t let you go down on her and then cried after you fucked her. Yep, heard it. Thanks…

  I’m just asking you to be a little more judicious with your stories. At least mix up the range of emotions and excitement a little bit. Please don’t always pause and look away from us at that one part in the story where you describe the feeling of complete and utter irrelevance with your place in this world as you stared through the train window leaving Barcelona and you thought about killing yourself and how you’d do it before you ultimately snapped out of it and made friends with the African woman sitting next to you and how you should really make an attempt to get in touch with her. That’s all. Just please try not to do at least that.

  Thanks for you time and consideration,

  David

  Things to Do When You Are Bored

  I’M ALWAYS AMAZED AT MY OWN ABILITY TO GET BORED. IT SHOULD be almost impossible in this day and age. Jesus, even if I ended up living on a chunk of ice floating just off the Greenland coast I would have, at the very least, memories of thousands of TV shows and movies and video games etc. etc. And that’s on top of my real-life memories that have nothing to do with stupid little stories. How lazy am I that I actually toss my game controller aside, step over a pile of candy-coated magazines, click off whatever hilarious website making a witty point about whatever celebrity is in trouble for flashing her beaten snatch today, and stand arms akimbo looking out my window to Avenue A and pout like Donald Trump, shouting “I’m bored!” to the beautiful heavens above? There’s no excuse, young man (me)! Get out and make something happen! Put down your “graphic novel” and get out there and make your own fun! Seriously! Here are a few ideas to get you (me) going:

  Murder someone who deserves it. Try it. I bet it’s way harder than you think. You can’t leave a trace or you will be living in fear of every knock on the door, every phone ring or fax noise. Although, come to think of it, you probably would never be bored again. Maybe I’m starting off too advanced. Let’s step it back a tad and rethink this. How about these ideas:

  When an employee at a store (the Gap, or anywhere where you are hounded as soon as you enter by someone seeking a commission as a supplement to their minimum wage) comes up to you from behind and asks you if you need any help, act completely startled. Jump a bit and say, “Oh! You scared me!” and laugh a little but to yourself. But don’t stop laughing. That’s the key. Laugh for about a minute and a half, always looking to the employee for some assurance, and then, in as smooth a transition as possible, start crying. Cry softly for a minute and then fall to the floor and take a nap, crying yourself to “sleep.” Then refuse to leave until someone brings you a glass of warm milk. Buy one sock. Immediately return it.

  If you are on a long flight, bring onboard one of those S & M black leather, one-piece masks with no eyeholes and just a zipper for the mouth. Wear it, and when someone inevitably complains, explain that it’s your “sleep mask” and you would appreciate not being disturbed. Try to do this in an aisle seat and keep your head as far out into the aisle as possible. At some later point, order a glass of wine and drink it with the mask on through your zipper hole. Then, with the mask still on, complain about how the movie is not “family friendly” enough. Also fart and get frustrated at not being able to smell it.

  Wear an iPod or any mp3 player (or a CD Walkman is even better) with big, noticeable old-school headphones, but don’t have anything playing. Walk into a shoe store (or again, any store where you are annoyingly followed all around the store by an employee) and slightly bop your head to the “music” and hum a little and then every once in a while sing something about “getting shoes” or “shoe store.” When the employee starts to strategically align him- or herself so that they can ask you if you need any help, pretend you don’t see them and try to get them to follow you through as much of the store as possible. But always be enjoying your “music.” As the employee gets farther away (but still when in earshot) start singing a little louder and completing more verses. Pick up shoes, considering them, while singing “lazy motherfuckers in the shoe store. Need to get my shoes, but I don’t know what to do. Why can’t I get no help? All I want to do is get a new pair of shoes.” Etc. etc. Keep doing this until the employee, now confused, comes over and taps you on the shoulder. Make a big deal about being into your song and not noticing at first. When you do notice, turn your iPod “off,” and take your headphones off as well. Smile and acknowledge them. When they ask if you’d like any help, just smile and say, “Oh no, I’m just killing time while my girlfriend is trying stuff on.” Then, put your headphones and iPod back on and start singing even louder about how the “dumbass shoe store clerk don’t know how to help me. All I want is these Rizzeeboks in a size ten and a half. Can I get some goddamn help here?”

  Make a sandwich at the store. This is inspired by the opening of a Joe Namath movie I saw when I was a kid, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. The movie was called C.C. Rider, I think, and like most great movies of my generation, it was based on a novelty song. This is something that I’ve actually done before, and again, it’s ballsy without being dangerous to anybody and has a mild, yet satisfying “fuck you, Mr. Corporate Suit and Tie!” quality that I would hope even the most uptight supermarket manager would be able to objectively appreciate. The title says it all; it’s pretty much self-explanatory. Just walk into the supermarket and head to the bread section. Grab a split roll, go over to the condiment section, squirt a little mayo or mustard or whatever you like (some people like capers—me, not so much), then head over to your lettuce and tomato bin/aisle place. If you want tomato, you’ll have to grab a plastic knife from the cutlery aisle. Take what you need (but need what you take!!!) from there.

  When attending a Major League Baseball game at any park where they sing “YMCA” during the break where the grounds crew comes on and tidies up the playing surface (I know they do this in at least Yankee Stadium as well as Ted Turner Field), turn to the people in your section and, with a big smile, shout out about how this song celebrates anonymous gay sex. “That’s what you’re singing about right now! Do you know why it’s ‘fun to stay at a YMCA’? It’s because gay men can anonymously engage in anal and oral sodomy! That’s what makes it soooo fun!!” Then mention how you are going up to the men’s room into the third stall from the left, the one with the smoothed hole at about cock level, and you will be masturbating if anyone would like to re-create a fun “YMCA” moment. But sternly point to a young boy and say, “Not him, though. He’s too young.”

  Next time (and every time) you are in a hotel/motel/Holiday Inn (say what?!), take the Bible and inscribe, “Best Wishes, [Your Name Here].” Then make notes randomly throughout the book, circling passages and writing things like, “WTF?! Is this for reals? Bullshit!” etc.

  The Golden Age of Cowardice

  I SUPPOSE WHEN MY FUTURE CHILDREN (HA
MISH, 8, AND Dartagnan, 4) put down their holo-bears long enough to spend some time with their G.O.D. (Good Old Dad) and get around to asking me their inevitable and predictable questions, like “Dad, when you were a kid like me, what was it like?” or “Dad, was water ever free?” or “Dad, what was a polar bear again?” I suppose that I will smile, trying not to belay my weak fondness for nostalgia, pick them up, gently place them on either knee, and say, “Kids, your father had the privilege of living in the greatest time of cowardice this country has ever known.” I will then take them to the “End Justifies the Means” Monument in Washington, D.C. and show them the majesty of the hundreds of thousands of lumps of hard, carbonized charcoal which represent the lives lost in the “Global War on Terror Part II: The Reckoning”© rising skydomeward that form the statue. I will stand with them as they view its majesty and explain: “Kids, on 9/11® America was attacked. After a brief nap our president eventually addressed his nation and urged the citizens he was sworn to protect to go shopping. Which is how we came to have the extra double-wide freezer downstairs.