Saturday, December 25, 2004
Drop kick me Jesus through the goalposts of life
Up at the obscene hour of 10:30 chez les grandparents in Kansas City. Waiting for the California tribe to arrive from the hotel so Christmas morning can begin in earnest--with bagels and smoked salmon. Aight.
Last night was a wee Christmas eve party, with all three tribes in attendance, the full complement of New York, Kansas and Los Angeles in attendance. Minus the endless political flareups between those who remain steadfastly liberal and those whose "centrism" keeps pushing the center rightward, it was a lovely meal with excellent food. Bartended, as usual, and learned, at last, the wonders of Peychaud bitters, which I had to send away for. It's a wonder to me that this stuff is not in common circulation; I think I prefer it to Angostura. Produced a very memorable Grasshopper for Jacob with bottles of Creme de Cacao and Creme de Menthe which--swear to God--are actually older than I am. It was really quite something.
It occurred to us this morning that we have no idea what the goyim eat on Christmas morning. Somehow I don't think bagels and lox is quite the norm.
You know that inane little epigram of Bosie's? "How odd/Of God/To choose/The Jews?" Well, someone, not sure who, once retorted:
Not odd
Of God;
The goyim
Annoyim.
Finished Portnoy last night. My father says he once wrote a book report on it in 9th grade. His teacher was not amused. When I am teacher I think I shall make it required reading. "She put the id back in yid, and I put the oy back in goy."
Last night was a wee Christmas eve party, with all three tribes in attendance, the full complement of New York, Kansas and Los Angeles in attendance. Minus the endless political flareups between those who remain steadfastly liberal and those whose "centrism" keeps pushing the center rightward, it was a lovely meal with excellent food. Bartended, as usual, and learned, at last, the wonders of Peychaud bitters, which I had to send away for. It's a wonder to me that this stuff is not in common circulation; I think I prefer it to Angostura. Produced a very memorable Grasshopper for Jacob with bottles of Creme de Cacao and Creme de Menthe which--swear to God--are actually older than I am. It was really quite something.
It occurred to us this morning that we have no idea what the goyim eat on Christmas morning. Somehow I don't think bagels and lox is quite the norm.
You know that inane little epigram of Bosie's? "How odd/Of God/To choose/The Jews?" Well, someone, not sure who, once retorted:
Not odd
Of God;
The goyim
Annoyim.
Finished Portnoy last night. My father says he once wrote a book report on it in 9th grade. His teacher was not amused. When I am teacher I think I shall make it required reading. "She put the id back in yid, and I put the oy back in goy."
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Major rager
There is a party here tomorrow night, my lieblings. Quite a party it is shaping up to be. Come in jingle jangle at 8:30. If anyone wants that which is not rum or vodka based they should bring it themselves. Also if anyone has a decent shaker please call me tonight; I have had it up to here with this absurd cylindrical contraption we have here; it simply cannot cope with egg white, and I simply cannot cope without it.
So, to anyone who didn't get the invitation the first time around because the P-ostman, obliging as he was, may have been momentarily remiss, an ode:
Yearly we rejoice
With festive voice
As the year ends
This time for friends
At last to gather
Or, rather,
Drink,
And spew Bailey's into the sink.
In the dwindle of December's
Dying embers,
The night of the twenty-two,
We hope that you
Deign to pay a little visit
(Shall I let you know what is it?)
To the sanctum of the Ashworthshaus
To drink, dance, carol and carouse.
Come around half past eight,
But if you'd rather be late,
Half past nine
Is also fine.
We hope to see you on the night,
So repondez, s'il vous plight.
Gaudeamus igitur
As visions blur.
--Samta Claus
So, to anyone who didn't get the invitation the first time around because the P-ostman, obliging as he was, may have been momentarily remiss, an ode:
Yearly we rejoice
With festive voice
As the year ends
This time for friends
At last to gather
Or, rather,
Drink,
And spew Bailey's into the sink.
In the dwindle of December's
Dying embers,
The night of the twenty-two,
We hope that you
Deign to pay a little visit
(Shall I let you know what is it?)
To the sanctum of the Ashworthshaus
To drink, dance, carol and carouse.
Come around half past eight,
But if you'd rather be late,
Half past nine
Is also fine.
We hope to see you on the night,
So repondez, s'il vous plight.
Gaudeamus igitur
As visions blur.
--Samta Claus
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