Don't Annoy Me in the New Year

Remember when you were little, and the big deal was to stay up until midnight to watch the ball drop? How many of you are now of an age where you go to bed at 10:00 pm on New Year’s Eve confident the ball will drop without any assistance from you?

As kids, we fought sleep with every bone in our bodies, and as adults, all our bones want to do is sleep, which brings me to my secular New Year’s resolution: Get more sleep!

That is the only resolution I will make. All the others are just bull shit; however, I do have a few resolutions that are affected by others’ lack of resolutions.

For example, I plan to unfriend anyone on Facebook who posts more than one political rant a week. In addition, I plan to unfriend anyone on Facebook who comments on my posts, which are mostly jokes, as if they are gospel. Or worse, have to one up me with some ninety-word sermon on why I am wrong.

 

Rule Number One: I am never wrong.

 

Rule Number Two: if I am wrong, refer to Rule Number One.

No more humorless friends. I also plan to unfriend anyone on Facebook who sends me messages telling me how he would like to rim me. Do I need to see that first thing in the morning in my notifications folder?

Who says that to a stranger? And let’s face it; if you have never met someone in person, you are strangers. Imagine walking up to a good looking guy on the train and saying, “Hi, I would like to lick your anus.” Better yet, I want to be there when you do that, so I can film it for America’s Funniest Homosexual Videos.

Now, let’s say you finally meet your virtual rim-fantasy friend in person. How do you greet each other? Does he turn around and bend over? Do you?

In the real world, I plan not to engage annoying people in conversation again. This could go both ways I assume. Some of the people who fall into this category are those who get all their news from blogs, written by unattractive people who don’t bathe and have not changed out of their bathrobes since Clinton was getting rim jobs from Monica. Did she send him a notification ahead of time?

For the record, I bathe, and I don’t own a bathrobe. You will just have to imagine what I am wearing.

I also plan no longer to engage with those who are full of negativity. The Eeyores of the world. I grew up with Eeyores. I cannot stand them. My father saw the black soot covered lining in every cloud. Beverly Sills said you should get rid of all the negative influences, and when you really think about it, all you really have are two or three good friends. The rest are acquaintances or sources for a loan.

And while I am on a roll, the ones who when you ask them how they are doing, actually tell you. I don’t care if you had a loose bowel movement this morning, if your cat had a migraine, or if your ass hurts from being in a sling in someone’s basement all night. Wait a minute. That last one might be a good conversation starter.

I went on a blind date around ten years ago, set up by a friend of mine whom I unfriended in the conventional way sometime later. I met my date at an Indian restaurant in Woodley Park. He was very attractive, tall with dark hair and all that. After the usual I’m from so-and-sos and I went to school at so-and-sos and I work at so-and-sos, he told me he was kind of tired from his activities the previous evening. He then went on to tell me how he went to his first sex party and performed oral sex on fourteen strangers. After making a mental note not to kiss him good night, I skipped completely over appalled and disgusted and went straight into journalist mode. Having never attended a sex party (to this day, I have not been invited to one either), I was curious about the logistics involved. Where does one put his wallet and keys? How do you protect the furniture? What do you serve? Who stays to clean up? Do you wear name tags? I received a great deal of information, and I never went out with Mr. Electrolux again.

What I forgot to ask was why he kept count?

Where was I? Oh yes. When someone asks how I am doing, I say, “I can’t complain.” Why complain? No one is going to listen. I do have the advantage of having a blog, so I complain here.

There are others on my list: Whisperers – people who are always huddled in a corner whispering for hours on end. Questioners – people who investigate you (I have to admit I catch myself doing this sometimes, and I find myself annoying when I do; just ask Devon). Awesomers – people who say “awesome” all the time; these people say “whatever” a lot, too.

As you can see, I have no resolutions, but thanks to me, if you want to remain my friend, virtual or otherwise, and be a better person, you have a lot of work to do.

It ain’t easy being perfect. If I can make the effort, so can you!

Have a very Happy New Year! May it be filled with joy, happiness and good health. If it isn’t, don’t tell me about it.

If you took most of the above seriously, before I unfriend you, follow me, get on my email list, and buy my damn books – go to www.miltonstern.com.

Barbie’s Malibu Dream House It Ain’t

I don’t Christmas shop. Big surprise I know, but my nephew is eighteen years old, and he would rather have cash than some ridiculous gift his fifty-year-old uncle thought would be perfect for a young American boy, such as the English Leather gift set, which includes cologne, aftershave and soap on a rope. How ridiculous is soap on a rope? Have you ever tried washing your feet with soap on a rope? If you can, Devon and I would like to make a video of that. Enough said.

Back in my day, there were gifts for boys and gifts for girls. While you may think I was drawn to girls’ toys, you would be sadly mistaken. I liked toy cars and trucks. My favorite was the Fire Truck Pedal Car Uncle Stanley gave me. When I was four years old, my brother and I were watching TV when a commercial for the Fire Truck Pedal Car from American Pedal Cars aired. I told Alex I wanted one. He said, “Go downstairs and ask Uncle Stanley to get you one.” He thought he was funny getting me to go downstairs and ask for a present because if you ever asked my parents for anything, you got the “we grew up during the Depression” speech – which was more like a scream and a yell than a speech – and you were made to feel like the most rotten kid on the planet, and sometimes you were spanked. No wonder three therapists quit on me.

Well, I marched downstairs, interrupted the grown-ups’ conversation, and said, “Uncle Stanley, can I please have a fire truck for Hanukah?” He smiled at me and said, “Sure.”

I went upstairs, and my brother, who thought I would return in tears, was shocked when I was smiling. But then, I worried. I didn’t ask for a Fire Truck Pedal Car; I asked for a fire truck. “Oh fuck me,” I said. However, I didn’t press my luck by going downstairs to clarify my request. I just waited patiently for the Festival of Lights.

 

Well, Uncle Stanley, who was the polar opposite of his brother, my father, delivered. I had a shiny red Fire Truck Pedal Car. My first car! I drove it around the house all night. The next day, I drove it all over the yard. Around this time, my mother decided to have the shutters painted green, and the painter drove a white 1965 Ford Econoline van. He parked it in the driveway and blocked the path I had created with my first car. I was pissed. I think that was the first time I cussed like a New York cab driver while behind the wheel – “Goddammotherfuckinpieceofshitvan blockingmygoddampath fuckingsonofabitchasshole.” I still yell that when I am in a traffic jam.

Now, I was a car freak from an early age, but there was another toy I always wanted, but I never dared to ask for it. I got my Fire Truck Pedal Car, so I quit while I was ahead. That didn’t stop me from yearning. Remember the little wooden fake kitchenette, complete with oven, refrigerator, sink and cabinet that all the little girls had? I wanted one of those kitchenettes. It would have been perfect in my bedroom, and I would have created the most fabulous studio apartment in the Ivy Farms neighborhood in Newport News, Virginia. Alas, it was not to be because in the 1960s, one didn’t let his son wear a dress to school, call himself Melissa or have a dream kitchenette.

Interestingly, I never wanted to play with dolls. Dolls reminded me of babies and children, and even when I was a baby and a child, I didn’t like them. GI Joe wasn’t that buff then, and my mother thought he was a doll, so I never had one of those either because it would make me Gay.

How is that abstinence education working out for you, Mrs. Palin?

This morning, Hasbro announced they were going to market an Easy Bake Oven for boys beginning next year. Rather than being pink and purple, the boys’ version would be blue and black. Aren’t those the colors of the leather community? Or is it law enforcement?

I am pleased that Hasbro is making an easy bake oven for elementary school safety patrol officers or future dungeon masters, but what about all the little Gay boys out there who also want an oven.

Well, I have a few suggestions for my friends at Hasbro, Mattel and Milton Bradley.

Let’s start with that Easy Bake Oven. They should create one in chrome with black knobs for little Gay boys. Instead of that stupid light bulb, it will have convection cooking, a flat-top range and a plate warmer. And, let’s do away with that nasty cake batter. Gay boys limit their carbs and never eat cake. Instead, provide a quiche mix with a gluten-free crust (for their Lesbian playmates). For families on a budget, you can add the decorator pie plates from the Martha Stewart collection at K-Mart, and for those in the one-percent category, plates from the Ina Garten collection at Lord & Taylor.

While you are shopping for the Easy Bake Oven, look for the Gay version of that miniature wooden kitchenette I lusted after as a young wanker. The Ever-So-Fabulous Kitchenette would feature cabinets in dark cherry with Corian countertops and brushed aluminum hardware, complete with recessed lighting and include a complete set of All-Clad Stainless Steel cookware.

Remember that Fire Truck Pedal Car I loved so much? You should, it was only five paragraphs ago. For the little Gay boys, a BMW pedal car in charcoal, complete with GPS and the premium sound system. Why a BMW? Even pretentious Gay child assholes need toys for practice. For the rest of them, a Volkswagen Jetta pedal car will do. The adult versions leave the factory with a rainbow sticker permanently attached.

A favorite has always been Barbie’s Malibu Dream House, a pink monstrosity if ever there was one. No wonder Ken left her for Italian New Jersey Barbie’s Dream House Down the Shore. Ken needs a little Guidette snatch now and again. That Dream House comes with its own detached free clinic.

For our fabulous boys, let’s create Bruce’s Mid-Century Modern Palm Springs Dream House. All the furnishings would be from Levitz of Southern California, circa the 1950s, with lamps and accent pieces in coral and aqua. Parked in the driveway would be a Sherwood Green 1959 Imperial Crown convertible, and out back by the pool, would be Rock Hudson and Doris Day dolls sunning themselves on chaise lounges.

Due to the nature of this blog, I have to suggest an option for future trailer park queens. For them, I give you Rick’s Mobile Dream Home in Jessup. It would be a luxury double-wide with a gourmet kitchen, sunken living room and two Chevys in the driveway – one a pick-up truck and the other on blocks. Around the side, would be two buff boys sunning themselves by a plastic pool.

Now, Milton Bradley, you need to do something about Monopoly. This would be an easy fix. Instead of hotels and houses, have boutiques and summer rentals. For nine months out of the year, when you land on someone’s property and there is a boutique, you have to buy something. For three months out of the year, if you land on someone’s rental, first you pay rent, and then you have to cause insane drama with anyone else who has landed on that summer rental. If you play correctly, by the end of the game none of you should be speaking to each other.

Finally, GI Joe. Yes, the little soldier my mother thought would turn any boy queer. It is a good thing she didn’t live to see today’s juiced-up GI Joe. Now, that DADT has been repealed, GI Joe needs a new buddy – GI Steve. GI Steve’s body would be a little more cut (that no carb thing again), and his uniform would be more tailored to accentuate his V-shape and bubble-butt. GI Steve would have one additional accessory for when he goes on R&R – a camouflage square cut. Well, as long as we are giving him a camouflage square cut, give GI Steve a penis, too. Make it a nice circumcised one. It is all about the marketing.

I would offer a suggestion for a Gay version of the Barbie Beauty Salon, but I think it already is the Gay version of the Barbie Beauty Salon.

Here’s to hoping that shopping for that nephew who makes you wonder is a little easier this year. While straight girls are difficult when it comes to gift giving, Lesbians are a breeze. If your little niece shows Lesbian proclivities, just buy her a Sears Craftsmen starter toolkit. Every year, buy her a new tool, and when she is an adult, she will be ready to tackle the world … or at least repair it.

Here is to hoping there is an Easy Back Oven in your future.

 

If I have offended anyone with the above suggestions ... good!

Buy my book, and the royalties will be your Christmas present to me!

By special request, I am re-running my holiday blog from last year:

CHRISTMAS IS THE JEWISH CHRISTMAS — THE EIGHT MYTHS OF HANUKAH

I love Christmas with all the songs, decorations and lights, especially the lights, and the tackier and more overdone the house, the better.

When we were kids, our parents would love to take us around in the car and look at all the lights. This is where I first learned the word umbeshrian — which according to my mother, meant overdone.

We even had a Christmas tree in our house when I was little, and when my mother accidentally barbecued the den one December, she was most upset about the loss of her Styrofoam snow man with two elves standing next to him.

Now, that I own my first home, I have also strung up some lights — blue and white of course, to celebrate the season. Before you start in on me about decorating for a Christian holiday, keep reading ...

(About 11 years ago, I gave a drash during Shabbat services on Hanukah, where I presented for the first time my “Eight Myths of Hanukah.” A few years after that, I was asked to present them again. For your reading pleasure, I present them for the third time.)

Introduction

Many people do not realize that Jesus was not born on December 25. He was born September 11, 3 BCE, which on the Hebrew calendar for that year was Elul 1.

To make a long story short, in the year 380, Pope Damasus I made it his goal to have all Christians in the Roman Empire yield to his authority, and he convinced the Emperor to issue an edict requiring them to practice the religion of Rome, Catholicism. Damasus I was also seeking to lure the people away from the pagan rituals honoring the birth of the sun god on December 25 at midnight by demanding attendance at a memorial in honor of Christ’s death — in other words, the Mass. The people confused this Mass with the pagan solar birth rituals conducted at that same time, and gradually, the Christ-Mass became associated with the Nativity, hence, Christmas. Somehow, many of the symbols and customs remained, most notably, the Christmas tree and fruitcake.

Did you know all fruit cakes were actually baked before the year 380? That is why they are so dense and hard to slice.

In the United States, Christmas wasn’t even celebrated during our country’s first 94 years because in England, it was celebrated with excessive drinking and lewd and lascivious behavior. Not unlike a Tuesday night in my mobile home.

As a matter of fact, Washington crossed the Delaware on December 25, 1776, to attack the British in Trenton because he knew the Red Coats would be hung … over.

Americans wanted to reject all things British, so Christmas and afternoon tea were the first to go. I wish we kept the tea.

Congress met on Christmas day every year until after the Civil War. Americans complained there were no federal holidays, so on June 26, 1870, Christmas was officially made a federal holiday. However, you can thank the Jews for something else. We invented the weekend. You know: God worked all week then rested in Boca.

So, to all my Jewish friends out there, hang up those Hanukah lights this weekend because Christmas is not a religious holiday; it is a federal holiday, and we want to be patriotic!

Now, I present:

The Eight Myths of Hanukah

1. Hanukah is the Jewish Christmas. False. How many times have I been asked, “Is Hanukah the Jewish Christmas?” Let me set the record straight. Christmas is the Jewish Christmas. Mary and Joseph were Jewish, Jesus was Jewish, and at least one of the Wise Men was Jewish — the one that brought the fur.

2. Hanukah is the holiest of Jewish holidays. False. Hanukah isn’t even a religious holiday. The holiest of Jewish holidays is April 24, Barbra Streisand’s birthday. The second holiest Jewish holiday is December 29, the wedding anniversary of Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme.

3. Hanukah is another Jewish holiday where they tried to kill us, they didn’t, so we eat. True. Also known as the Festival of Lights, Hanukah is an eight-day Jewish holiday commemorating the re-dedication of the Holy Temple (the Second Temple) in Jerusalem at the time of the Maccabean Revolt of the second century BCE, which brings us to ...

4. Hanukah commemorates the miracle that one day’s worth of oil lasted eight days in the Holy Temple. True. But, this is hardly a miracle because I witnessed my grandmother doing the same thing with one tea bag.

5. During Hanukah, children get a gift every night for eight days. False. If you grew up in my house, you got a gift the first night, then for seven nights, you heard about how awful it was to grow up during The Great Depression. The ritual of gift giving is actually very American, since Jewish children in this country are totally exposed to Christmas customs.

6. Hanukah is a holiday when Jewish people eat bland, colorless foods that are fried in oil and difficult to digest. True for ALL Jewish holidays. On Hanukah, we eat latkes (potato pancakes) or sufganiot, if you are Sephardic. Sufganiot are similar to jelly donuts. I am part Sephardic, so I like donuts, just not jelly ones.

7. There are many popular songs about Hanukah, and Jewish people know the words to all of them. False. Other than “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel,” there are no other Hanukah songs we can sing, except for “The Hanukah Song,” by Adam Sandler, which brings us to Number 8 ...

8. Steve & Eydie and Barbra Streisand have recorded Hanukah albums. SO NOT TRUE! Would you believe Steve and Eydie have recorded a Christmas album, and Barbra has recorded not one but two Christmas albums?! And all those Christmas songs we hear on the radio are mostly written, and oftentimes performed, by Jews! Oy vay! This brings us back to myth Number 1, proving once again that Christmas is the Jewish Christmas!

So, from my Trailer Park to Yours, here is wishing you a very Happy Jewish Christmas and a Merry Hanukah!