Tag Archives: new york

It’s A Hell Of A Town

19 Jan

This is going to be the exact opposite of yesterday’s post, and it’s going to be depressing and probably offensive, but it will be real, which, of course, will make it more entertaining for you. (Smiley face goes here to pretend this is a joke.)

For the past few years, I’ve been living a lie. Most times, other people have believed it. For a long time, I tried to believe it too. But I can’t fight it anymore. You’ve probably guessed it by now, and you’re right. I’ve been living out of New York.

It’s odd, but it’s probably my darkest secret, other than raping old people at the JCC, and I don’t tell anyone. Except all of you, but you’re not really people. No offense.

I moved out of New York to go to Yeshiva and see if I could learn better there. I did for a little, but eventually I realized the problem wasn’t in which Yeshiva I went to and gave up. I should have gone back to New York then, but I didn’t, and even though it’s clear to me why, it’s not easy to explain. I guess I felt like I’d escaped. I’d escaped my father being in control of me, I’d escaped the competitive New York lifestyle. I’d just escaped everything that bothered me and now I was going to be able to be myself for the first time.

My true self. The one that wanted to study psychology in college, and make scientific breakthroughs that would fix the world, and lecture in Washington, and appreciate art, and have a funny yet informative radio show, and live in a coastal town in Maine with a beautiful wife who had a PhD in something cultured and my three blond children and a pet monkey who wore a tuxedo and helped me solve crimes.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go as planned. I hated college, just like I’d hated Yeshiva. My grades dropped from awesome in Intro to Psych to just barely passing in Psych 301- “Motivation” (Yes, God’s truly hilarious). I was once again resentful and depressed, this time at college, but I still didn’t go back to NY.

I’d get a job without college and make enough money to live in this nice, friendly town, with a decent Jewish population, and best of all, no pressure to be something I’m not.

Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s willfully ignoring the elephant in the room. The elephant that just got bigger and bigger every time I failed. The elephant I kept quiet with statements like, “I don’t care about these things. I’m meant to be a salesman, writer, repairman. I’m happy living in this small town with people who have small town dreams. I’m one of them too. Who needs to live in Manhattan like all my friends from elementary school and go to fancy restaurants and parties and museums, and spend summers in Antwerp, and go skiing in Swiss towns I’ve never heard of, and collect old seforim and have my children play violin? That’s empty and doesn’t bring you happiness. Happiness is a state of mind. I’m healthy, I’ll have enough money to get married, I have things I enjoy.”

That kind of talk works during the day. At night though, your mind fucks with you by telling you the truth. I dream I’m a shining dragon that everyone fears. I’m a slick Wall Street broker with a chauffeured black BMW. And I don’t wear polo shirts and jeans from Land’s End, I wear black Armani suits with wool so fine it shines. I’m in my old school, only now it’s a giant mansion in Manhattan attached to the never-ending fantastically huge park I played in as a kid, and I own it all. That’s when I wake up in the middle of the night and the despair really hits home. And there’s nothing I ever want to do again. And I pick up my phone and lie there searching randomly around the internet hoping I’ll find some connection to my dream, real life somewhere out there. And then I get up and go drink some coffee and write this on my blog and have a cigarette and try to make it through another day with my fucked up, make believe universe gradually moving into it’s position on the sidelines of my mind to bark and snarl and laugh at me until  tonight when it gets to run wild and rip up the delicately constructed, normal-styled life I’ve tried to erect, yet again, in the 16 hours of daylight it was gone.

Talking To NY Girls

20 Jul

Go ahead. Make eye contact again. I dare you.

Guest Post by RealFunnyJew

I never thought the time would come where I would be fully living out my all-time yeshiva fantasy. The classic one that Frum Satire is always talks about, with the willing girls and locked apartment doors. Where worrying about a near approaching Rabbi was not a problem and where the booze ran freely, yet weed was still taboo.Now I didn’t hook up- please, God isn’t that kind- but I did get to hang out with girls. Real. Live. Girls. With boobs.

Yes. Now I know you think I’m joking, but for me a simple Shabbos dinner with some post Bais Yaakov/current Stern girls is no small situation. This is my time to shine, to put on the moves, and show them what I got in high hopes of ending the night of with a sexual encounter, which as far as I’m concerned could be a simple handshake. Oh God, just one…tiny ounce…of flesh contact. Please? Of course, it did not happen, I mean unless you count Shoshi passing the chicken where I “accidently” skimmed her finger nails as my fingers scraped along the white porcelain for a wee bit longer than I should have. Ohhh yeah, gimme some of that fingernails action, babe.

I wasn’t always this desperate. There was a time in my life when I left my BFF’s Shlomit and Sheva and Yafit to go to Camp Mogen Avraham in the Catskills, a camp where I knew absolutely no one and simply went because I thought that the idea of a camp with other Jewish boys my age (and at the time, I assumed girls) would be quite a bit of fun without the supervision of parents, but that is a separate story. At this camp I distinctly recall debating the hetero-phobic kids in my bunk that being friends with a girl was no big deal. It’s normal, why would anybody care? I swear to you, I believed every word that I was saying, and would get into screaming fights with the other folks who would disagree. I had one ally, a black kid called Preston who had a girlfriend – ride on man, ride on. Much respect.

Regardless, I went on with this theory in my head that talking to girls was socially acceptable and the people at camp were just simple minded – which they were, no doubt – until I was fourteen years old shadowing at the Wisconsin Institute of Torah Study. There I learned that the anti vagina view was mainstream:

“Wait – why can’t we have a cell phone?” I asked Rabbi Cheplowitz, possibly the scariest man alive, the only man to ever make me a pee a little while engaging in a staring contest.

“You will talk to girls, of course.”

“And that’s not allowed?”

“…”

I wasn’t accepted. But the journey for the right yeshiva went on, and my worst fears were confirmed. Girls are the devil. Satan is a stupid Christian value- girls are where it’s at.

Needless to say, after three years in yeshiva and going into my fourth, with minimal contact with the females, I found myself leaving the table of girls who I’m never going to get any action with to make my way to the bathroom to down some of my dwindling supply of morphine pills from my last surgery just to make it through the meal.

Gay Marriage Pass…No, Wake Up! It’s Not Another Post About Gay Marriage.

27 Jun

Dovbear has been reporting about the ongoing battle the Yeshivish world has been engaged in to stop gay marriage from passing in New York. See here and here. His retort is pretty sharp as well, but really, does anyone not gay care about this? Also, why is the right-wing leadership saying it’s a war against religion?

My take, having been in the system, is this. The Yeshiva world is very insular. Ideas originating on the inside are chewed over and over, but anything on the outside is left there until someone drags it in. The Yeshivishe velt still thinks they’re fighting a battle against secular values creeping in because, like the Japanese soldier  from WWII found hiding in the jungles of Guam in 1972, nobody told them the war was over.

Well, here goes: The war has been fought and the other side won. All gay people want is to have sex with other gay people and not be hated for it. The only guys still fighting to take down religion are paranoid old hippies who don’t matter anymore. You can leave the jungle, nobody gives a crap about the war anymore.