Chap.22 The Beamish Rabbi Levite

Chapter 22

The Beamish Rabbi Levite

Rabbi Klein wasn’t a huge fan of Joshua, as he helped him study his Haftorah portion for his Bar Mitzvah, but he didn’t treat him like an ineffectual jerkoff, moronic putz of the most deplorable either. He recalls, Rabbi Klein even making warm hearted comment about his friends during a mini-summation of Joshua’s character, which makes him smile now, because it was before certain friends tried to depreciate his TV writing break, after he was hired as the Head Writer in charge of writing all the TV host music video reads for WWE Chris Jericho, on VH1 Classic, America’s Hard 100 years later, inquiring, “Did they even pay you for it?” No, they just paid Joshua in cum stained, zebra print Spandex, from David Lee Roth, the Hard Rock Café, choose to pass on in favor of an autographed empty bottle of Slash’s Jewy curl activator.

Joshua met Rabbi Sarah at a nearby Synagogue in Mahopac, NY recently who was funny, and very personable, coming off like a flat chested, higher IQ Judy Gold. He had no idea if she was a bush muncher or not. Still, he loved how she made the Saturday Synagogue services very upbeat, welcoming and business casual without stripping the house of worship of the deep-rooted holiness preening through the flawless, stainless glass windows, with the original super Jew, Jesus Christ in sight. But what bothered Joshua about the Rabbi, was a conversation over some Challah noshes after the service, when he tried to gain a stronger grasp, on why Jews got so tense when the mere name of Jesus was brought up in conversation, especially when Joshua would get into his Pescatarian schtick about how if a diet of fish and veggies was good enough for Jesus, the original super Jew, it was good enough for him. Back then, when Joshua references his pescatarian diet, he was basically referencing his diet of Fish Fillets from McDonald’s, Smoked Salmon scrambles made from home, veggie loaded soups with a stream of sneaked in lentils from his wife, and the occasional Fried Shrimp feast, draped in golden, glistening, panko breadcrumbs from nearby Stu Leonard’s in Danbury, CT, before he went all in on the Kosher diet, to obey God’s law, show some mastery over his carnal appetites and feel like a less all over the place Jew for a pleasant change of pace. Not too long ago, Joshua took a break from reading his kids the Old Testament book, with some accompanying, colorful pictures for kids because the wrath of God in the Noah’s Ark Story, he could tell was freaking out his a 9 year old, daughter, so he decided to lighten the mood and start reading to his daughter Matilda and her 2 younger brothers from the Bhagavad Gita, later inspiring Joshua to write a pilot titled Horsing Around With Hinduism, about a talking horse trainer who helps whip his stand up comedy act into shape, before taking his act on the road for Barnstorming Farmer’s Markets USA. One time over a reading of the Bhagavad Gita, Joshua’s daughter, askes her Dada, “What’s meditation Dada?” Joshua says, “A bunch of breathing exercises, with a mantra for some thrown in between, to make your feel like a less all over the place Jew.” Daughter says, “You’re not very good at meditation are you Dada?”

Now, Joshua was being called into Rabbi Levite’s office in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. He saw Gold Medal wins from the Great American Beer Festival, hung prominently on his office study walls throughout. Joshua also notices a signed framed record cover of Hello Nasty, the last Beastie Boys Album, which Joshua always considered an underrated classic. Later, Ad Rock from the legendary Beastie Boys trio had called the record, the Beastie Boy’s finest and Joshua agreed. An old school Hebrew School bud, who showcased Jappier preppy tastes than Joshua did later in college for the sole fact he always rocked the matching brown belt, in perfect unison with his brown berks, always commented on Joshua’s rock solid taste, after he went off one of his impassioned rants about how the movie Bugsy, was Warren Beauty’s best film by far, and on par with Godfather 1, 2 and even Carlito’s Way for that matter. “Ester and Scarsdale is none of your business”, Joshua was fond of acting out in front of his old school Hebrew friends, when they got older and drank away another Christmas college break at local bar JP’s in Hartsdale Village, proving Jews could hold their liquor better than most, even when you combined major weed puffage in between, proving, some of the chosen people had more brain cells to burn than most. Joshua also noticed, a signed autographed picture of Vin Diesel and the Rabbi during his shooting of the film, Knockaround Guys, where Vin Diesel, plays a bad ass Jewish knockout artist and gives the intimidating, pysch out speech of all time, before unleashing his freakish Hank Greenburg walloping strength and knocks this poor hick’s skin off his face, all over the bar room floor, “500, 500 fights, 500 street fights and youcould consider yourself a legitimate tough guy. You need them for experience, to develop leather skin, so I got started.” Rabbi Levite, comments on Joshua’s eyes fixated on the Rabbi’s pic with Vin Diesel. “Super smart guy, Vin Diesel, huge fan of our people. Loved the Vin man in the overlooked Sidney Lumet gem, Find Me Guilty. Vin was a bouncer at the Tunnel during my hard-core Ecstasy phase back in the day. He’d kick the shit out of Ryan Reynolds after funneling a 12 pack of Molson Canadians, easy. How can I help you Joshua? I hear from Golda you’re a budding scribe on the rise.” “Rabbi, I’m questioning my desire to hide behind the page forever. What I love best about the art of creation is tapping into the divine and surprising myself on the page instead of doing pre-written jokes of mine on my Do It All Dad Year Podcast, dad friendly entertainment for you and me. My great, Aunt Marion saw me do a stand-up comedy set at the Broadway Comedy Club ages ago, and I’m not one to let others labels limit my creative firepower, but her insisting, I was more of a rant type guy, stuck with me. Then, I recall my best bud growing up Ari, insisting I could be a good stand up but a great writer. I also think about what Neil Simon said about how when you’re a comedy writer, you’ll always be relegated to the kiddy table, which I don’t mind so much, because I prefer the company of children over most adults any day of the week, especially my own. Still, I’m so tired of hearing lines such as, “the jokes write themselves,” which they never do. Plus, I’m so tired of giving 2 shits about the opinions of so-called friends regarding any new material I create, when I’m still not getting paid for it. Joining a bunch of other 40 to 50-year old’s for singing lessons, to sing Allman Brothers tunes, doesn’t do it for me either. I just want to be my unique, original, semi-ranty, super punchy self and become a semi working artist before I die. Please, interject anytime before I run out breath Rabbi, I’m begging you.” Rabbi Levite says, “So you want to do more than just write behind a computer, because it makes you like an ineffectual, Jewish pussy like the rest of us artist types in our tribe, correct? “That’s correct, Rabbi”, Joshua says. Is it my fascination with Jewish tough guy stars like Bugsy Seagal and ones who play them like Vin Diesel in Knock Around Guys, a dead giveaway?” Rabbi says, “Fret or fight, that is the question. My advice is you fight by any means necessary for what you believe in Joshua. God didn’t make you to be more a indecisive Jew than Jared Kushner at the salad the bar at the Bellagio. You were a born a star personality, I can feel it, so make your inner light shine the best way you know how. And try to limit your IPA intake to the weekends, because they’re 400 calories hop bombs and the camera adds ten pounds to your enormous yet well proportioned head. You should give my younger brother, Solomon a call, he’s a hipster Hasid who just launched his own brewery and he’s looking for a big viral video idea for his new flagship release the beer, the, The Great Jewish American Pale Ale. He got a perfect score on his Barron’s chemist exam, after taking it the 6th grade, graduated John Hopkins in 2 years flat with a degree in Microbiology. You can be the branding bashert partner he’s been looking for. Or you can relearn how to read Hebrew and get a Bar Mitzvah again to exert your manhood in a more erudite way.” Joshua says, “I got 3 kids Rabbi, out of state of grandparents on both sides and I still haven’t recruited a Jewish Godmother, who could make up for my religious education shortcomings. I’ll give Schmendel a call instead. Thanks for your help Rabbi Levite. You’re the best of the rest.

Chap. 21 The Last Temptation of Adderall

                                                               Chapter 21

The Last Temptation of Adderall

When you receive an 8th place medal in the 50-yard dash for E Day sometime in 1980’s, before Helicopter moms ushered in the era of participation trophies for all, Joshua was bound to become obsessed with the topic of speed.  Being the last kid in his class to get into the puberty party and bloom under his Fruit of Looms didn’t help his fixation with being a permanent slow poke in life from the start. Losing his virginity Sophomore year in college, as he fumbled to put a condom as if he was being forced to fire live rounds from an AK-47 during Crips appreciation pledge month only rubbed in what a laggard in every sphere in life he had become. Taking forever to construct a freaking thesis statement for his big paper on French new wave star director Francis Truffaut before he possessed enough confidence in his own latent powers of expression didn’t make Joshua feel like any less of a mental cripple, combined with his surging intake of Moroccan Hash and 75 dollar an eight weed from Hawaii out of a coconut hukkah for 420 the day before wasn’t helping his cause either.

Later, after transferring to Ithaca College, eventually getting into esteemed Roy H. Park School  of Communications, Joshua discovered the glorious, endorphin rush of snorting crushed up Ritalin up his nose to loosen up his yak pipes and write all his thesis papers for media studies like divine powered, extra flowy, angel on it.  Fast forward to Joshua’s time for working for an IT Staffing agency Adam Jacob Associates, located on One Penn Plaza, high up on the 34th floor overlooking the top of Madison Square Garden, his old school yet younger IT recruiter brother in arms Kyle, from Colorado, whose girlfriend he nicknamed Miss America, who was very impressed with Always Sunny In Philadelphia spec script, The Gang Got Outsourced, got personal. “So JK, if you had to choose your favorite drug, what would it be”, Kyle asked with excitable anticipation. Without a second passing, Joshua didn’t have to think about the answer one bit and said, “Ritalin, easy, I love to write on the stuff.” Then, his recruiter bud Kyle fires back in a state of total, bemused, befuddlement, saying, “You’re favorite makes you want to work?” Joshua laughed long time.  As the years progressed, Kyle would always tell Joshua in the city, whenever they’d meet for a brew and a one hitter outside for old time sake, he’d say, “I tell all my friends, you’re going to have your own show on HBO one day.”  Joshua always relished this unsolicited for compliment, of the classiest, coolest order. But Joshua’s IT staffing boss, had other ideas of Joshua’s so -called improved performance on the Ritalin, time release Adderall, legalized prescription speed. Larry was prescribed Ritalin but never took it much, Joshua wasn’t but he’d give Joshua some pills if he asked but was never pleased with results. “You sound like shit on the phone on this stuff JK”, Larry would say. Joshua knew he was right because on Ritalin he became more insular, cerebral, socially withdrawn, a shell of his normally rambunctious, funny man, hot pitching, NY self.  But Joshua’s obsession with his need for speed, didn’t end there.

Now, 3 unplanned kids, later, Joshua was taking time release Adderall, which is younger brother described as the holy grail of Adderall, him being the most versed brother in the speed department, developing a taste of the nose candy back in Junior High, from runs to Washington Heights, before his parents sent him to boarding school in Avon, CT, not really thinking that move through, considering his new group of friends there, had easier access and more money for drugs on a much a grander scale, but nobody’s perfect. Plus, it wasn’t Joshua’s parents fault, they couldn’t trust their second born to do his homework after watching Facts of Life and Different Strokes while they worked full time jobs, doing their best to advance the American Dream in a cushy post Clinton economy pre 911, a major, prolonged recession and the fucking Coronavirus, end of record high employment times.   On Adderall, Joshua was very productive, he wrote thousands of joke his Do It All Dad Year Podcast as he fed the Twitter machine with religious fervor, to test out his latest and greatest truth bomb joke blasts for the ages. Still, Joshua knew he sounded much better of it, knowing his tendency to talk much faster than most, despite his deceased Jewish Grandma’s words of wisdom, constantly buzzing in his ear, “Slow down and take it easy, will you.”  Joshua possessing some level of self-awareness, knew what an easily irritated asshole he could be on all the mighty Adderall also, so he’d give his prescription for his wife to hide. Then, they’d fight one, day, he’d feel like a belittled, stay at home dad eunuch again, so he’d go a hunt, for the latest and greatest hiding spot, to reclaim his magical speed pills to resume writing like a funny man Jewish angel again. But then one day, Joshua read a quote by famed writer, Rod Sterling, the creator of the TV Show, the Twilight Zone, another Ithaca alum, who said, “You’re not a good writer, if you need a drug to be one.” The line shook Joshua’s otherwise rock-solid mojo to its core.  Even in college, Joshua wasn’t never at peace with being dependent on a drug to perform well. Later, he never performed stand-up comedy on Adderall at the New York Comedy Club in Manhattan. After his 1st bringer show, a kid from high school, gave him a backhanded compliment even Joshua could accept whole heartedly, saying, “Great show Joshua, that was amazing, and I don’t even like you.” That line still cracks up Joshua to this day.  When Joshua wrote his 30 Rock spec script, The Kings of Comedy, which made him a Recommended Writer on TV, he wasn’t on Adderall ever.  It was impossible for Joshua not to reflect on his glorious comedy wins, which had nothing to with freaking Adderall whatsoever. Plus, if Joshua was now a true believer in God, it was in best interest in say goodbye Adderall and no longer raise his kids on speed, because deep down he knew he wasn’t born into this world to become a dependent, bitchy diva speed freak for hire. Last, whenever Dada would be particularly snippy around the kids, telling them to pick up their magnet tiles or Safari of stuffed animals scattered on the floor, looking someone dropped the atom bomb on top of FAO Schwartz, his kids were already familiar enough with his bitchy, gruff mood swings on it, from not giving his cranked up brain a rest from in his ordained day of rest on Saturday, stating in unison, “Daddy is on Adderall again.” Funny line but Joshua had to stop this vicious, careering hampering cycle of anger issue deepening dependence on the so-called alluring, powers of the all mighty speed devil known as time release Adderall before it was too late.


The Cape Cod Interloper

Chapter 19

The Cape Cod Interloper

Joshua was never intimidated by wealth or overly impressed with Ivy league degrees, mainly because he knew at least 4 kids who got into Harvard out of his high school graduating class of 99 students, and the 4th kid, mush mouth, Sanket Bulsara, only got in through class petition only, despite him boasting the lumbering, personality of a sinus challenged Mr. Snuffleupagus. Al Gore, another Harvard Alum, couldn’t even beat W by a wide margin because he couldn’t even be bothered to project an aura of patriotic, God loving sincerity without barreling into his portly yet pretty faced wife for a kiss more at the Democratic National convention more forced than Michelle Obama’s befuddled look of appreciation after Melania gave her a beautiful, turquoise, Tiffany gift box at the White House on Inauguration day with the number of her hair stylist inside, considering she couldn’t even bothered to have her army of 5 stylists, prop up her hair, regardless of her no longer being proud of her country or not.

It wasn’t until Joshua attended the wealthy enclave of Lake Forrest College, on the North Shore Illinois, until he was in the presence of real descendant wealth. All his friends, there either attended private schools in Honolulu, Manhattan or in boarding schools back east in Connecticut or the Berkshires, which boasts more rehab centers per square foot, than Portlandia has safe spaces for shooting up heroin or even Lens Crafters for that matter, knowing how slamming high octane, IPA’s at 8 percent in rapid succession will put strain on any four eyed hipster’s eyes trying to make out the chalkboard written specials for fried Kale Pickles that tames the smokiness of Rogue’s Shakespeare Stout on tap better than you think. In college, he learned his Hawaiian roommate for 2 years there attended Punahou on the big island of Hawaii, which Obama attended prior. In his act Joshua would dare to make the fun of the hopeful one, insisting, “Obama renamed ISIS, ISIL, so they’d sound more startup friendly in the NY Times. So that’s an Obama accomplishment for you. Also, if Obama is such a good baller at Basketball. Then, why did her ride the bench an all Asian private school in Hawaii. Last, did you most Americans think Obama a was a better president than George Washington. But I don’t see good old Georgie gifting Iran 150 billion dollars out of the freaking blue with nothing but power of his phone and pen, for more overseas manufacturing jobs for Build A Bear, to make their economy less reliant on the sale of hair removal products for the Kardashians. Kim Kardashian will be taking the bar soon to become a criminal justice lawyer. Criminal Justice Lawyers are so hot right now. Also, Bruce Jenner wasn’t asexual when he was married to Kris Jenner, but I’m sure he stayed harder longer, after he got Kris to cut her short eventually, so she’d look more like a dolled-up Ralph Macchio.”

Joshua’s friend Cling, another boarding school kid, who was total preppy stoner, who knew how to use his fists, worked as chef in Nantucket for the summer, so he was never hurting for cash either. Paone, who also loved Dice, attended a private school in St. Louis, who never met a Birkenstock’s he didn’t like or the even more well-off Pam who rode equestrian horses out of the freaking womb. Joshua did have a friend Jim, who was from Wisconsin, who didn’t drip inherited wealth compared to his other buds but in retrospect, could’ve easily attended some prestigious, private, Catholic school there, knowing he wasn’t enough of a Brainiac to get into Lake Forrest on a full scholarship, but was literate enough know hair metal shredder’s White Lion, were at their core, a Christian metal band, citing lyrics, which proved his assertion and everything, which made hair metal crooning loving Joshua feel like a bigger, degenerate, spiritual bankrupt, clueless Jew than before.

Joshua also had spent the one summer in Chatham, in Cape Code, Kennedy country, during his 1st summer of self-reliant independence after his sophomore year of college, paying his own way, outside of the leased, Forrest Green Grand Cherokee, his parents decided to lease him out of the freaking blue. Joshua loved blasting I Found A True Love by man and half Wilson Pickett in that car, especially the part, where he can’t contain his sheer electric state of ecstatic rapture, declaring with the utmost pride and loving tender satisfaction, “I can shout about her, yeah, yeah.” Because after Joshua made his 1st ever big time hook up request of God off the sandy white shores of Cape Cod by his lonesome, heart reeling self, stating, “God, I need a romance of some kind already God. Please, thrown me a bone already, I’m dying over here.” Only days, later, the original striking beauty in his life, Katie King, glided into his heart in one beautiful seamless motion, as her silky, smooth, blond straight hair draped over his muscular yet feminine shoulders, looking the most statuesque southern beauty imaginable, with sultry, rounded lips, who was a double major at Duke University, the Harvard of the south, who could kick the shit out of Reese Whitherspoon during a debutant spelling bee in the 9th grade guaranteed. Joshua was rocking his semi long, fluffy long haired look, practicing a guitar chord his friend Sam just taught, him as she entered the back patio of Skyler’s parents house who had a beer delivery man who came twice a week, including Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, the pale ale that never gets stale, Harpoon IPA, Pete’s Wicket summer brew, you name it. Actually, back then in the summer of 96, there were only a handful of specialty craft, breweries, which Joshua became intent on sucking down with divine commandment commanded fervor. This didn’t please Joshua’s stiffy snot roommate from Williams College, an athletic, tall, waspy, blond haired 6 by east coast liberal arts standards, would introduce him to casual forms of Anti-Semitism, dropping lines such as “Take your banged up Jeep and go back to New York already.” Translation, Jews aren’t welcome in Cape Cod Kennedy country moron. She also expressed her disdain for Joshua drinking the lion share of the beers despite them remaining untouched by the 4 other housemates, Joshua was rooming with temporarily at Skyler’s parents house for one free month, before they all moved into another house, they’d all contribute rent for that summer. Joshua was doing his drunk hand thing with Katie, where he starts touching a girls hand without being intentional or predatory about it, as he could feel the collective gentile gaze look of abject horror despair among his other female roommates also who attended McGill College, up in Montreal, as they thought, “Who does big head Jew, think he is, flirting with such a ravishing, southern belle beauty in our midst like he’s fucking Jeff Goldblum crushing on Laura Dern in Jurassic Park for Christ sake. Reality is Katie was way hotter, prettier, sculpted, towering blonde dame than Laura Dern, considering the fact Katie’s mom was Miss South Carolina for a reason. Then, out of nowhere, when Joshua wasn’t sending tingles of sparkly summer love through tips of Katies’ classical pianist trained, beautifully elongated, strong tan fingertips, the Williams Wasp hits him with, “Put the beer down already. Haven’t you had enough already? There’s 5 other people who live here you know. Translation again, “You don’t belong here, you grubby, greedy, lushy Jew.” Still, Joshua got the last laugh, because his summer romance with Katie bloomed, and his friend Sam from Lake Forrest, found him a cheap room at this older ladies house off the main drag of Chatham, as he spend the majority of his nights in Katies’ arms in her spacious, air apartment way closer the beach with her cute, feisty, southern fierce smart, roommate Briana who chose to forsake AC for the topless bra look whenever he was around. God couldn’t have made Joshua a bigger believer in his divine powered giving grace, by ushering Katie King into his heart during the summer Fugees hit the airwaves, to wash away any remnant of heart beaten scare tissue for being a sad, single romantic, lost at sea prior, which was killing him loudly more than ever before. Joshua and Katie were love birds; his heart had finally taken flight to heaven on earth. The could kiss for hours, held hands in town instantly, even compelling his own mother to comment after they took them out to dinner once, saying, “Son, seeing you with Katie, blissfully in love, put me at ease, making me think my son will be ok after all.” Although the real show topping highlight during the Summer of Katie was his southern belle angel, tell her sweet Joshua, “I love how happy you make me feel.” Joshua felt the same because thanks to God, answering his 1st , big time favor ask prayer, he could shout about her, yeah, yeah.

Chapter 18 The Spiritual Bankrupt Jew

                                                              Chapter 18

                                                The Spiritual Bankrupt Jew


Sure, when Joshua lived in LA for six years, he always tracked down some random Synagogue on Yom Kippur, even on the UCLA campus one year, where he spotted the Blossom gal, during her stay at home Jewish housewife years, before the Big Bang Theory sent her salary demands into heavenly heights, thanks to the continued emergence of nerd power in Hollywood here to stay.  Still the entire concept of a real, pulsating Godly presence in his heart, body and soul only emerged after he fell in love the craft of writing joke heavy stories and serving lady laugh with all his freakish, crazy Jew, wailing might.  Specifically, Joshua was fond of paraphrasing singer songwriter, rock legend of the Bowery, Lou, waiting for my man and I got to balls sing about it, motherfucking Reed, when he described his creative writing process by stating, it’s a spiritual release, because my lyrics are way smarter and deeper than I am in real life. That’s exactly how Joshua felt about the entire act of creation since he wrote his first Friend’s spec scrip by himself, without the assistance of his girlfriend writing partner, Erica who couldn’t compare to what powers of higher power might, he’d channel from God whenever he took the deep dive into emotive, expression land in his mind and onto the keyboard again. Joshua would occasionally write out ideas with a fancy felt tip pens from Staples, which he’d charge as his big-time lavish business expense while working as an IT headhunter in Century City and beyond, so his handwriting developed a smoother, more defined, less all over the place, crazy man Jew sprawl. But Joshua was definitely born for these digital times because with the aid of machine gun lap top to blast out his torrential downpour of far flung ideas and flowing streams of back and forth dialogue driven thought, he’d be up shit’s creek without a paddle, because his regular handwriting stroke would never have been able to keep up, period, nor be legible let alone presentable to the archaeologist, Josh Bernstein, his wife’s dreamy celebrity lay, despite his Master’s Degree in Hieroglyphics, making him capable of deciphering the most obscure, unrecognizable letter shapes in the whole universe.

Joshua attempted to express this sentiment once, in front of his parents, Cousin Stanley on his father’s side and his partner, but it was received better than a resurgent herpes sore on the spot. His converted Mom who hadn’t attended synagogue now, in a gazillion years since her breakdown senior in high school over abandoning her southern, Christian identity for the semi-upper middle-class strata of east coast yenta gossipy land USA.  Joshua was talking about his time back in California calling it his spiritual home, because that’s where he found God, writing and creating, believing in his powers of creation, which he equated with believing in God himself, which was in sharp contrast to his time growing up back east, “a spiritually bankrupt Jew”, who never had any philosophical conversations about God growing up with his friends from Hebrew School nor possess any deep longing need to acknowledge his glorious, beauty making presence on daily basis or feel compelled to even watch Yentl HBO, with any real impassioned, must pay homage to overtly looking Jewish entertainers desire.

This is why Joshua cared about the need to recruit a strong, practicing, Jewish Godmother to assume control of his kid’s Jewish education once his writing or comedy performing career, took off, eventually sometime this millennium, knowing his wife was a lapsed Catholic, who was more in the nature concept of God, than actually following his 614 commandments, despite her not feeling the compulsory need to uproot her life in the service of pleasing God, because she was already on the front lines of life, revitalizing blue faced babies, in the NICU, while her more self-obsessed stay at comedian husband, spent more time checking for retweets, until he got off Twitter for good, deciding this year, he wouldn’t hide behind a computer for the majority of his time, to exert his wise ass New York witticisms with some occasional A list hardcore hitting punchlines disseminated in between about fake news Fro Collin Kaepernick for instance.  “Have you ever seen a bi-racial afro that large before? Slash gave it a shot and it was a total flop. Lenny Kravitz another famous bi-racial Jew, never made his fro bounce that way”, Joshua would say on Twitter and off to anyone wearing a MAGA hat in public, in the more safe space confines of upstate New York, during a recent summer holiday trip to Lake George and lose money on the horse now nicknamed Harlan the Hack at the nearby iconic horse track in the eloquent, southern genteel, white shutter prominent, gem of an Upstate village city, of never to be confused with the boarded up shit box of Binghamton, Saratoga Springs.  Was Joshua a beneficiary of white privilege, never having to take out students’ loans to pay for once cent of his five years of private college tuition? Does the Pope forgive and enable pedophilia among his ranks too readily?  At the same time, F. Scott Fitzgerald, didn’t go out of his way to buy his polo shirts at an outlet store in Lake George either.

Teaming up with a Jewish Godmother to impart a Jewish education to his 3 unplanned, God given bundles of unsurpassable beauty and non-stop hilarious spewing joy, was more important than ever, since accepting the fact, neither grandmother was up to or cared about fulfilling the task of being a designated, reserve Jewish educator for his 3 kids. But why give a Jewish Godmother and not a Jewish Godfather the honor of giving his kids a Jewish education? Because most men, Jewish included, were about as deep as the eighteenth hole. Plus, Joshua at a recent open mike in Pleasantville, NY, when he bombed the place to the ground on proven laugh yanking material done other where, made him realize, life is too short to waste your breath and time on trying to entertain fake news smart, fat comedy nerds spaced out pills and it’s also incredibly gay. No, Joshua always got more turned on by making woman of class, smarts, and sophistication laugh long time, as their spastic, booming, eloquent bodies convulsed with laughter, as their lost in dreamy land, enamored, sultry, burningly intense yet soft spewing eyes, begged for more.  On a train ride on Metro North, Joshua got the idea of spending more time impressing  a higher strata of swanky MILFs both gentile and Jewish after doing at least 20 minutes of random, disjointed yet some cohesive streams of material on an older 60 something, well off blond woman, who he met a the nearby Hayfields Market, in the epicenter of horse riding country in North Salem,  sporting horse riding leather boots, which looked like they cost more than their Chevy SUV, used or not. She said, “Your material is dynamite, smart and really funny. I see you performing in a tux at some country club dinner.” Joshua couldn’t disagree one bit. But doing his bit on how he wished LaVar Ball was his substitute dad growing up because he’d make sure he lost his virginity before his younger brother did, on a bunch of WASP gentiles, who for the most never cared enough about pleasing the black man, the point where they’d wait for 3 hours to audition for amateur night at Show Time the Apollo, only to bail after reading an article of how Nipsy Hussle was a peerless talent on par with socially conscious street poets of Nasty Nas, because of his association with other heralded west coast rappers like Snoop Dog, whose brain hovered a notch above porn hood hell.   According to Jewish tradition, if a father were to die prematurely, while his kids were still growing up under their parents roof, it was the Jewish community’s job to impart the Jewish education but within the ritzy, bucolic, farmland rich country of North Salem, there wasn’t much a Jewish community to be found.  So, Joshua did what any do it all dad would do in his circumstance, assume ownership of the situation and follow through with the predominant mantra, novelist Ayn Rand lived for, preached and embodied, which was making the decision to no longer live for the sake of a man. No, Joshua’s wife didn’t have a sudden sex change, but she was the sole breadwinner for the past 3 years and counting, since their lucky number 3 Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, was born, and Joshua became hellbent on ensuring his kids received the dreamy, hip, proud, Jewish Godmother, knowing those role models to emulate were becoming a dying breed among the 1.7 million Jewish New Yorkers at large, scattered throughout the Island of Manhattan, yet joining the Jewy Manhattan Book Reading Club in their gorgeous, more money than God conjuring town house on the Upper East Side, 2 blocks down from Madonna’s, all knowing, Kabbalah blessed, rotating Latin junior swallowing snatch was an attractive place to give Joshua sustained stiffage from the start.





Chapter 12 The Herring Cart Provider


                                                                   Chapter 12

The Herring Cart Provider

Joshua’s family wasn’t flush with entrepreneurs but his Great Grandfather Fishil was one, who could afford to take his 4 daughters to the Yiddish theater every Sunday during the Great Depression because of his successful Herring push curt business, the food truck precursor of his day.  His 4 daughters would heckle the actors boring them to death at the Yiddish theatre, for doing another annoying reenactment of Anton Chekhov’s Three Sisters because the writing in it was more dronish dreary than crowd pleasing funny. “Jewish doctors aren’t funny.” “You call this high art.” “Russian dramatists are overrated.” “Where is Milton Berle when you need him?”  “This play stinks more than an egg salad sandwich on the subway.”  At the time, Joshua’s other great Grandfather’s was out of work during the depression because there wasn’t much work for Horse Collar makers in the Lower East Side in the 1920’s either, knowing the Budweiser Horses weren’t even conceived yet. As a result, all his Great Grandfather Murray could afford to feed his family during the Great Depression was potatoes 3 times a day. Once the depression was over Murray, couldn’t stomach the idea of eating another Knish at Yona Schimmel’s ever again, let alone swing by McSorley’s for a beer and complimentary cup of potato leek soup, for Saint Patrick’s Day.

Joshua definitely got his height and abnormally large hands from his Great Grandfather, Fishil. Some would say, Fishil was larger than life, who enjoyed a hearty laugh and a crisp, German pilsner more than most of fellow Jewish brethren after schlepping his herring push car from Houston to Essex and back, especially knowing he didn’t have the luxury of sporting orange crocks like a wannabe Mario Batali in the making. Out his 4 daughters, Joshua’s grandmother, Ethel looked most like Fishil, inheriting his huge, beamish smile, firm, pronounced cheery cheek bones and special glint filled light.  Ethel tried to follow in his father’s Entrepreneurial footsteps when she was retired from working as high-ranking assistant for Pfizer and went on an art buying spree, during her manic yet happy and productive bi-polar high, years. In particular, she was found of southwestern Indian American art with her only son Steven, who was celebrated for his cannon of an arm on the stick ball streets of Pond Place in the Bronx but uncoordinated in other ways, earning the boyhood nickname, Trips on Curbs, before his best friend Sil who became the head DA leading the Office of Special Narcotics, reporting directly to head DA, Robert Morgenthau himself, renaming my father, the Colonel, after he fell in love with Joshua’s mother at Lake Forrest College on full paid scholarship who hailed from Louisville, Kentucky.  Growing up, Joshua’s mom told her son, “Kentucky is known for 2 things, horses and pretty woman.” Joshua replies, “Keep your sundress on mom, before you tell me Dad is hung like Seabiscuit.”

Joshua was staring at picture of Fishill standing tall and proud over his herring pushcart one day in his home office and an idea emerged. Why not create a food truck business for his kids to get involved with, but what could they sell, now that Joshua was following God’s commandments, sticking to a Kosher diet only? Last time, Joshua checked only 1.7 million Jews lived in New York City and in the year 2020 they were about 34 practicing Jews left, after all the older altacockers eventually died out. All of Joshua’s old school buds from High School, talked a big game about identifying with being Jewish because of their heightened appreciation of Marc Marcon’s Jewy, neurotic neurosis on display podcasts or with Albert Brook’s push over laced self-hate, in Defending Your Life.  But they didn’t perform Shabbat, keep Kosher or even fast on Yom Kippur for that matter. All they did was act smug superior in all spheres of life, claiming a connection to the use of humor for a persecuted group of people, despite never having to make a cold call in their life or exhibit even a smidgen of balls, by trying out their so called exalted funny man, chosen status at an open mike sometime in their ho hum, I do ad sales to encapsulate my whoopty freaking do existence. Some sold life insurance, others were financial advisors, or non-trial paper pushing lawyer peons, in the grand, whatever, who cares,  sweep of their lives, who had less interest in eating Kosher than a radical Jihadist has for Madonna’s stretched out beyond repair, camel toe dipping snatch, looking like it dipped onto a landmine in the occupied territory while fantasizing of being stuffed by former Miami Heat’s center Ronnie Seikaly for old times’ sake. But those old school high school buds still appreciated barbeque brisket from Virgil’s in Times Square or their grandmothers for that matter, assuming, she wasn’t a full blown Jappy Grandma from the five town in Long Island who never met a takeout menu she didn’t like. Joshua missed cheese steaks the most since he started his Kosher diet. But what if Joshua could find a hipster science wiz from Bronx Science or a Yeshiva school in Crown Heights, to create a killer mock cheese wiz substitute for brisket smoked cheesesteak and only accept exact cash, ten dollars a pop for the Do It All Dad Hero. Joshua’s son genius artist son Jerimiah could design the truck, his bashert agent Daughter Matilda, could be his PR agent, running his social media feeds, booking him appearances on the Today Show to promote and sell the shit of out it. And his youngest, Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo, could co-star in the commercials, Joshua would craft, funny, scripture inspired, commercial for, who would help minimize Joshua’s New York bred assholeishness, ensuring he’d come as more commercial friendly and less Crazy Eddy than before. Plus, Joshua could put his handsome mug to good use and be the face of the franchise, becoming a new age, food personality like the late great Anthony Bourdain in the process, without going out of his way, to display his erudite, hyper articulate, punk rock culture rich leanings in your face nearly as much. Plus, Bourdain adopting New York City as his adopted hometown, originally hailed from New Jersey, whereas Joshua was born in NYU Hospital on the day of Easter no less. Carrying on the spirit of Fishill as a Do It All Hero Pusher personality, could be his way of making his indelible, big deal mark, getting him invite to tables at Rao’s in East Harlem one day after all.



Chapter 11 The Spoiled Sheltered Bum

                                                                     Chapter 11

The Spoiled, Sheltered Bum

Growing up Joshua’s father was very fond of the expression, “You’re very generous with my money.” A very funny line indeed. Still, Joshua never asked his Dad for a fancy Bar Mitzvah party with strobe lights, a smoke machine, accompanied with a twice as smoking, inhalable, Italian looking, big haired MC with the boobs to match. Nor did Joshua ever grow up demanding his working parents, to pay his tuition at a private, posh,  liberal arts college off the sandy, pristine, deep blue, dreamy shores of Lake Michigan because he felt entitled to exploit his parents combined 400K annual income for all it was worth. That’s what younger brothers are for, who ask Mom and Dad for wedding money without getting married yet to finance his restaurant in Colorado to support his big shot, lifestyle, in order to keep his self-serving ego afloat.

Reality is though, growing up in the well off suburb of Edgemont, NY only 30 minutes north of Manhattan, while being shipped off to sleepaway camp in Kent, CT to bunk with even more well off, spoiled rich kids, from yenta breath country in Long Island, who owned multiple tennis rackets and had California Rolls and fancy tins of flavored popcorn, caramel always being the best, brought up by their parents during Visiting Day, didn’t help counteract the perception of Joshua’s blessed, young man existence so far in life, being pampered, spoiled from the start.  Alright, so Joshua was never shipped off to Military School like a young Donald J. Trump or ever confused with the spoiled rotten, kid Eric from the Toy who during his time back from military school, asks Ned Beatty to wrap the black man nighttime janitor played by Richard Pryor, insisting, “Daddy, told you to get me anything I wanted in your store.”  But it was impossible for Joshua to not feel lazy compared to his fellow bunkmates at Sleep Away Camp, who were all amazing 4 sports star athletes, that excelled in baseball, soccer, tennis and basketball without ever coming off across overtly putzy nor appearing to break much of a sweat in the process, always remaining, cool under pressure.  Chad, who could smack a tennis ball with his eyes closed, with extreme top spin to the point, where you’d throw out your vertebrae trying to land a racket on it as it roared over your head like a fucking Blue Angel during an Air Show in Stewart Airport for Christ sake.  Mitch, could dribble the soccer the ball with both feet just as good, Harlan could go yard from a first pitch fastball from both sides of the plate and Matt Plotkin who do the same while also putting on a pump fake clinic in the post, if he wasn’t burying more high arching jumpers from all corners of the court from way downtown during Color War or winning intercamp Championships like a future Danny Schayes in the making, with the sporty Jew fro top to match.  Still, Joshua was capable of showing heart, despite faking an ankle sprain injury one summer because his fat ass reared on bacon and egg cheeses, jars of  Oreo cookies, in addition to chicken cutlets sandwiches with Russian Dressing, and non-stop servings of frozen pizza bagels and slices with double cheese from Genaro’s couldn’t handle the grind of endless suicide drills without coughing up a lung.  One year during Color War, they reenacted the World Cup, Joshua playing for Team Cameroon, proving even back sometime in the late eighties, white privileged Jew boy camps were more inclusive than you think.  One the camp counselors Lloyd from Australia, whose body was no temple either, looking like a slightly taller, balding Elton John on holiday only his early twenties I’m assuming, even commended his scrappy, slide tackle heavy hustle. “Joshua, normally, I see watch you spend more time trying to swat away gnats in left field than trying to run line drives hit in your direction. Plus, I don’t know you who taught you table manners, but you eat cereal like a total, slurpy slob. Still, today, you’ve shown some actual hustle and no longer such as spoiled slob in my eyes.” Joshua replies. “Thanks Lloyd. I always wanted to impress Elton’s John’s zero talent body double, who can’t afford hair plugs just yet.”

Joshua had rekindled a friendship with his bud Perry, who he met while working as a Production Assistant on World’s Wildest Police Videos, back in Manhattan, after bumping into him a bookshop on Crosby Street in SOHO, after he got let get go as well paid editor for the LA Times, during the recession post 911. Perry being more than familiar with Joshua’s severe lack of job stability, was still impressed by his more impassioned worth ethic involving his own writing passion projects he wasn’t getting paid for yet like his American Dad spec script, Death of An Astronaut, about the only astronaut who never made to the moon after Obama pulled the plug on NASA, inspiring Perry to proclaim. “I’ve never met anybody more self-motivated than you are.”  If I wasn’t getting paid to work, I would smoke weed all day really.” Perry was being modest but complimentary and good friend all the same time.  Joshua had no choice but to be self-motivated. Lenny Bruce had a showbiz Jewish mom who booked him club gigs. Don Rickles had a doting mother who supported his showbiz ambitions every step of the way. Joshua had banker mother, who didn’t think enough of his creative abilities to make it as writer or comedian despite his ability to make her laugh constantly without even trying. Perhaps, his mom assigned too much value to her son’s learning-disabled status in elementary school, which prematurely branded him as a knock kneed, mental slow poke, with penmanship on par with a heroin addict dozing in and out.  Joshua was always very sensitive about his less than stellar handwriting, at times wishing he attended a Catholic private school growing up, so the Nuns could’ve have smacked his handwriting into tip top shape. Just to avoid the brutal exchanges on the subway, heading back to Brooklyn once, where some little Hassid kid next to him, glances at his chicken scratch scrawl in Joshua’s notebook as he tries to develop more jokes about how if he took PHD’s at camp, he would’ve have struck at a more accelerated speed, before he hears. “What language is that Hebrew.” Joshua fires back with. “Yeah, it’s Hebrew Schmendel, I write deli reviews for the Kosher Planet.”  At the same time, when his mom told her son a restaurant in Park Slope one day, she couldn’t respect his decision to purse a career in comedy, she thought, “He can’t write his name legibility, after having 30 years of fucking practice but he thinks he’s talented and funny enough to be a big deal comedy writer, now that’s hilarious.”

Now, Joshua was a stay at home dad and father of 3 for almost a whole decade, still working on his writing craft, writing pilots, spec scripts, books, blogs, endless jokes, recording hundreds of podcasts, commercial video scripts, and thousands upon thousands of jokes with still no financial relief in sight. But Joshua’s father was more old school. He didn’t care for the term stay at home dad. He preferred the expression sheltered bum. But until Joshua became a financial provider for his family, bringing home more than Morning Star veggie bacon to make bomb BLT’s on good old fashioned country white, with a dollop of homemade sage infused mayo on top of diced olive oil bathed cherry tomatoes with ample salt and pepper spreadage on top, he couldn’t entirely disagree with the prognosis.




Chapter 10 The Comedy Gold Mobile



Chapter 10

The Comedy Gold Mobile

Joshua loved his used Forest green, Honda Accord, with beige leather interior and sunroof, to take for pleasure cruises to Hermosa Beach when he used to live in his rent controlled West Hollywood flat, in his early twenties after college, wearing no shirt but shorts and flip flops, singing out loud to Brian Wilson’s Pet Sounds, “I kissed her face when her face looked sad.” Later, when Joshua lived in Sherman Oaks, he met Brian Wilson at a star filled Starbucks off Laurel Canyon and told the hulking, hunched, slab of surf rock genius in a dated Tommy Bahama shirt, “Pet Sounds was the soundtrack to his life, in Southern Cal” and he sputtered out of cliché land faster than he got stuck in it, as the prince of sad happy, self-obsessive rock, nodded his head, barely getting a huff of annoyed disgust in the process.  At this point, his Honda Accord sounded like termites rattled within his dashboard as he drove to open coffee shop open mikes in Santa Monica, only to learn the comic’s comic, Dave Attell had some help from his dad, when he started out in stand-up from an open miker, thereby making Joshua feel a tad better about his floundering foray into open mike stand-up comedy throughout Southern California without any imminent signs of joke writing himself out of this endless blackhole of despair just yet. Still, there were moments, where Joshua exhibited flashes of comedic potential and steely might. Once, when doing an open mike at the Rainbow Room on Sunset Strip, infamous for being a drinking liar and under the table blow job haven for hair metal sleaze shredder bands like Ratt, Joshua scored his 1st discernable, room enveloping laugh out loud from a saver one liner about how he loves black people, because they don’t discriminate against pussy, after his joke about Ron Artest being the new spokesperson for Colt 45 bombed, after the fighting medley in Auburn Hills, in Detroit after he went after a heckling fan in the audience while cups of beer flew.  Joshua also did his 1st outside open mike in the garden patio area at some bar east of Highland and scored a huge laugh, after making fun of the kid who performed prior who was a musician. Joshua says, “Let’s give it up for the kid in the Jeremy video”, which catapulted him into the audiences hearts, making them root for his success, which was his experience every time the first words out of his mouth got a laugh whether it was planned or not. He even did an inspired bit about how Jews treat God like a booty call, who only call God whenever they’re in the mood to pray, while acting a phone call with God on stage and everything.  Also, once he ran into actor who played Schilinger in OZ on HBO at Fat Burger on Ventura Blvd and got him laugh when Joshua said, he was so broke, he couldn’t even stare at an actress on Melrose without being fined for insufficient funds.  At the same time, Joshua also has less found memories, scrounging the back of his disheveled, alignment maligned, Honda Accord for loose change to eat cracked pepper Turkey cutlets Atkins style also. In that same Honda Accord, Joshua drove back to his apartment in Sherman Oaks, after getting fired from his bartending job at fancy French Restaurant in West Hollywood, with a baby grand Pianist on Christmas Eve, only to feel liberated after taking a couple of shrooms with his dear roommate friend Jay, having the time of his life feeling up a tree in some random park, before the cop lights shone from the distance and darkening Joshua’s at peace with the world moment in a terror inserting moment minute.  One time, when Joshua was living in Sherman Oaks, as the crystal meth was still working the way out his system, he actually had a dream, which he remembered, highlighting his 2 big time loves so far, being Katie in the Cape and Summer in Hermosa, and how he’d meet his lucky number 3 on the Island of Manhattan, which turned out to be his Anna, nicknamed snuggle up his shaft in his set once at the Broadway Comedy Club, which is old school high school buds at the time laughed at long time, unlike everyone else in attendance.

Joshua never got into writing sample Curb spec scripts or stand up comedy for fame, money and new tight puss selection galore. His vision was only to excel in the field of comedy, so he never had to return to the thankless, time sucking, non-builder, predatory, existence being a journey man IT recruiter, 3000 miles away from home, had become for him. Till this day, Joshua will never forgive himself, for spending the entire day of Yom Kippur during his 1st year of headhunting for an IT agency on Wilshire Blvd. in Westwood, not to attend synagogue, to give God a running tally of his wrongdoings or to pull his Honda Accord off of PCH to cast his sins into the mighty, majestic pacific, skipping stones, out on the rugged, terrain, with that pristine sun splattering his face, but organize his lead cards and pour through Los Angeles Business Journal articles for new IT directors to cold call.  Whenever Joshua would have a meeting with one of his clients like the IT Director Ed from WellPoint Health Networks in Woodland Hills, or with Mike from Amgen, he’d make them laugh, and they’d commend him on his aggressiveness and get kick out of his colorful, off beat New York personality. Ed Johnson from Well Point even arranged him an informational sit down with their corporate communications department, which thrilling for the second, he met a sun spotted, chesty, tough as nails valley, pantsuit, MILF, who failed to give Joshua sustained stiffage though after she tried to intimate him by talk of being able to uphold Chicago AP guidelines, which left him cold to the bone and turned off completely, so intimate she did.

Joshua’s great Aunt Marion from the Lower East Side, gave him college graduation money for that used Honda Accord, so it was never really one he could take prideful claim to be his own, despite his trips to Vegas, taking in the lights from an hour away, with Frank blasting, filled him pre-partying giddiness all the way, making every day out in the windy, desert bloom, feel like Valentine’s Day for a dirty white boy, accustomed to freezing his balls back east 24/7 only to bust out the tie dye Dead shirts when he attended Lake Forest College on the North Shore Illinois, once the 50 degree weather hit.  Now, Joshua already fulfilled his dream of writing for TV for Viacom, in his city, playing the role of Hair Metal Historian, but they weren’t paying him for his funny man comedy writing jobs really.  Now, being a father of 3 Joshua had a new vision of owning a Porsche Comedy Gold SUV one day, earned from the profits of his 2 self-published books and comedy CD Resist This, which never materialized. It was time, to come up with a new plan of attack to will this new dream into reality, which required Joshua to do less Crazy Eddie and more commercial friendly. And the only way to do this was suck his ego, view his children as door openers and get his kids involved on comedy act on a much grander, serious scale. Because why should Michael Lohan exploit his kids for all their worth and hog up all the fun in the process? As usual, Joshua would listen to his 9 year old daughter Beshert Agent, Matilda, and follow her commands as if the closest thing the word of God, especially when she said, “Daddy, I know how you can make money and get your Comedy Gold Mobile for us. Get a sponsor for your father son dish review show, Better Than Boobie and start dressing up baby less bumish on camera and you’ll be made in the shade, daddy, made in the shade. “ Joshua didn’t call his precious daughter, his Beshert agent, meaning his substitute, nurturing, Jewish mothering agent, who was put on this earth, to make sure her Do It All Dad didn’t quit on turning his special brand of funny into money just yet.







Chapter 9 Art Sells Genius


Chapter 9 

Art Sells Genius


Joshua loved getting laughs because every laugh was a win and on again, off again stay at home dads, 3 unplanned kids later for the past 9 years could use all the wins they could get.  He also loved how a winning joke screamed touchdown because the desired result is “ha, ha”, not, “interesting or I didn’t care for it.”   Getting laughs also made Joshua feel unique, because he had dedicated almost 2 decades of his life to assume mastery of his craft, taking workman like pride, in maximizing his funny man essence and powers of imagination to best of his God given ability. Also, on a baser level, Joshua became addicted to scoring laughs from rehearsed one liners or inspired riffs in the moment, synthesizing the scattered observations and punchlines of years past, because it made him feel like less all over the place Jew. Feeling less out of control was important to Joshua because since being the only schmuck with a stutter, who graduated from a top communication school at Ithaca College in 99, he’s been fired than a Palestinian Sling Shot.  Joshua overcame his stutter through cold calling through the entire Los Angeles Business Journal Book of Lists, for 12 hour a day for 6 months straight, with any supreme confidence horizon in sight. Joshua was already sensitive by nature to begin with, so cold calling IT directors twice his age at 22 grew hair on his sack and transformed him into the funny man father he is today. The reality is, when he met his future wife as a digital sales rep for Citysearch in Manhattan, on Barry Diller’s balcony overlooking Central Park, above Carnegie Hall, he was fearless, literally hitting on at least 3 other girls before starting a conversation with Anna, as unromantic as that sounds. Anna was just out of college, working for Barry Diller’s SVP Of Mergers and Acquisitions.  Actually, Anna was engaged when their eyes first met, which Joshua had no clue about, till months after the fact. Still, it’s a testament to how the love train isn’t something, which is booked in advance. Anna dropped the L bomb first, one sweltering August night, in her one bedroom in Greenpoint, on Monitor Street. The best Joshua could muster in the moment was, “I have very strong feelings for you but.” Later, Joshua’s heart finally too the bungee jump lunge and told Anna he loved her to, as the walls in her old Brooklyn apartment began to pulsate with actual heart thumping motion, you see on a half an eight of magic mushrooms in college, minus the Jim Morrison black light posters.

Anna used to invite all of her friend to Joshua’s bringer shows at various comedy clubs, throughout Manhattan like the New York Comedy Club, Broadway Comedy Club, even the Comedy Cellar, before Joshua got banned from performing there, for going over his allotted time by 5000 hours. For once, Joshua got off to super strong start, doing Heather Mills material and how he doesn’t miss all the driving in LA but he did miss road head, especially along the Pacific Coast Highway, once you enter Malibu, where you see a sign that says, Malibu 27 Miles of Scenic Ball Blistering Bliss. Soon after, Joshua scored a huge crowd work inspired laugh, after pointing out a girl in the audience, stating, “Did you just call shot gun?” The crowd roared with approval and laughed even more after Joshua stated in playful, carefree manner, “Just playing, I wasn’t getting any c stares up here.” But then Joshua got into trouble once he started ignoring the light, which is a sign to wrap it up, and got cocky feisty, saying, “The light already. I only invited my own private militia.”  It would be one thing, if Joshua wrapped up is set in the next minute but he went prodding on and on, till after he wrapped up his set, the MC, got up in his face, cursed him out and told him he’d never perform at the famed Comedy Cellar again. He was correct although after Joshua got his TV writing break writing all the TV host intro’s for America’s Hard 100, ranking the greatest hair metal and hard rock videos on VH1 Classic, he decided to drop by the Cellar and grab a drink. He ordered a Wild Turkey. The bartender asked Joshua, would you like it neat? Meaning no ice, and Joshua replies, “A Wild Turkey neat, who do you think I am Nick Nolte?” Another dude behind the bar took a sudden interest in Joshua and asked, “Are you a comedian? Joshua replies, “Open miker turned Hair Metal Historian is more like it.” It turns out the guy behind the bar worked the door and is the guy you see greeting Louie at the start of his show Louie, before he enters the Comedy Cellar. He told Joshua, “The drink is on the house.”  All of a sudden, Joshua felt like a real comedian again because art sells baby. Still, this was 14 years ago and Joshua’s stand-up comedy album, recorded from home, Resist This, consisting nothing but A plus jokes, cherry picked from his 156 Do It All Dad Year Podcast episodes, was getting him nowhere fast. Plus, his two self-published books, Do It All Dad Does Jokes and Controlling My Kids With Comedy, A Love Story weren’t flying off the shelves of Amazon’s online store either. Joshua needed to “innovate or die” again like his old recruitment sales owner boss Terry used to pound his cranium, stressing the importance of picking a race to win and sticking with it, so Joshua wouldn’t constantly feel like such an emotionally drained, tumultuous, all over the place Jew. The exact words of wisdom Terry imparted to Joshua almost 18 years ago was, “Joshua, you’re very eclectic. And from a guy who grew up on a ranch, I can say with the utmost confidence you have the makings of a star race horse, but pick a race, stick with it, and stop being such an indecisive, all over the place Jew for once in your life.” But now Joshua had experienced the freedom of being his own boss for too long and been spoiled rotten on the stay at home comedian dad front, enveloped in the most beautifying circle love from his 3 pitch perfect kids, who’d stroke, his now grey specked beard, after another all-star meal creation, to be later, promoted on his father son dish review show Better Than Boobie on YouTube, like his latest and greatest Mexican Lasagna dish, made with corn tortillas, homemade tomato salsa, sautéed black beans, shredded pepper jack and specs of Cabot habanero cheddar, promoting yummy dances galore from his 3 biggest fans in the universe outside of God, who he must have made laugh hard for giving such a special circle of love, only the funny man righteous clowns could be blessed with in the face of so many family members and other ex-friends, relishing him being off the success, money making radar of life but not just yet. Once, Joshua made a homemade pizza for kids with some roasted cherry tomatoes from their garden, with fresh cut specked shards of scattered basil on top of the cream filled, burrata cheese, which didn’t get too gooey or messy on top, inspiring his 9 year daughter Bashert agent, to ask, “Daddy, I know you still really want to be a stand up comedian, but can’t you be a pizza maker in heaven instead. Maybe, there was way where Joshua could still make his mark in his world ,marrying his love of creating yummy dance generating meals, scoring laughs, all while creating a family business, all of his kids could be involved with, so he could become a true Do IT All Dad rising from unemployed slug to paid stud in his dream Comedy Gold Porsche SUV mobile just yet.






Chapt. 8 The Jewish Godmother Recruiter


                                                               Chapter 8

                                                  The Jewish Godmother Recruiter 


Joshua’s, Beshert, daughter agent wasn’t done selling The Jewy Manhattan Book Club on why her do it all dad would prove to be an MVP addition to their book club in no time. “Look, I understand, all you are you high powered, big city woman, who formed a book club, you don’t have to hear the opinions of know it all blah breaths who still read op-eds in the NY Times, expecting any type of deepness enlargement in the process. Does my Dad suffer from loud man’s disease? Yes, what interesting New Yorker worth spending any quality of time with, isn’t? Does my dad have a temper? I wouldn’t compare to Tony Soprano, considering the fact he grew up the rough section of Scarsdale, NY, Edgemont to be exact. Actually, his parents raised him in Forrest Queens before buying a colonial in the Edgemont, NY school district because now, he’d have a room to cry himself to sleep upstairs, which always makes the moans of despair easier to bear. My dad looks like Hugh Grant on stilts, minus the horse teeth, have I mentioned that yet? He actually gets confused for being English plenty because he dresses, dapper, business casual British, rocking Ted Baker button downs, both short and long sleeves better than duh face Orlando Bloom ever could. Plus, my dad thinks Yiddish but delivers, not just hilarious, but hysterical trains of thought in nothing in perfect annunciated English, minus the nasal, dronage prominent in Paul Reiser and yenta breaths like Jerry Seinfeld or even weird, weak Howard these days for that matter. The summer before I started Kindergarten in North Salem, NY, where we live now, daddy enrolled me in comedy camp at home because summer camp wasn’t an option because Daddy was still so broke, his Hebrew name was under Judicial Review. We made a bunch of commercials together for his creative tech staffing firm, Standup Staffer, Been Talent Hooking Since Y2K and all them are hilarious from start to finish. He made a great director and my all-star performance in F The PC Police, Say Goodbye To Palo Alto and Blond Power were all big hits. I only required 2 takes max, for each, one in case you’re wondering. You’ll love this bit. What’s a mentor Daddy? Someone who points out your flaws to work on to help you become the best version of you.  Does that mean mommy is your mentor? Because she’s always pointing out your flaws? Like, how you’re so selfish, loud and annoying. I got it kid. I don’t need a mini clone of mommy in my life right, thanks.  The Rev Bob Levy, even completed the comedy work we did together, who used to be a head writer for the Howard Stern show, before Howard fired him because he didn’t like the Rev plugging his stand up comedy shows on the air despite him paying him a paltry salary to make Howard come off as punchier, edgier and less blah brained, fake news deep in real life. You throw Hillary softball questions on your show because his ghoulish, tranny conjuring wife, would dump him to the curb, if he stopped getting invited to Jimmy Kimmel’s house for more 2 bite Chicken Parm dinners. The exact compliment from the Rev Bob Levy, always the funniest and most vicious roaster on the Howard Stern Show, outside of Nick Dipaolo, who also sucked my Dad’s Louie spec script, was, “You got it kid. Funny, relaxed.” And Nick Dipaolo, you know smarter, smoother, just as hilarious Dice, who only drops f bombs for occasional emphasis like my Do It All Dad, doesn’t go out his way to stroke funny man Hebrew descendants of Abraham either.”

Ester, the gorgeous, exotic, long black haired, black leather panted fitted, bootylicious recruitment owner of Silicon Alley Staffers, dares to break up Matilda’s killer flow. “So, Matilda, do you need a job? You’d be animal on the phone and even more impressive in face to face meetings with CTO’s in Manhattan, who couldn’t resist your irresistible mix of punchy, Punk Brewster panache and zero bullshit directness, via Tatum O’Neal in the Bad News Bears. Granted, we’d have to work on the taking breaths between your long-winded pitches, to assess whether the other side is still listening or hasn’t been overwhelmed by sheer force of personality overload yet. Matilda replies. “I appreciate the offer Ester but the only talent I represent is my daddy. I have zero interest in selling the billable brain of power of coders for a living, even though I like to code, during computer lab at school because I’m also wired like that. Once, my grandfather on my mom’s side, big referral for my dad when worked for Robert Half in Manhattan, was an ABAP developer who needed subtitles in order be understood. My father would’ve had an easier time penning a Bollywood Musical than making a placement fee on this guy.”  Also, Big Tech firms like Google make it impossible to be a patriotic, loving American these days who support Israel’s right to defend itself against radical Islam’s non stop kidnapping of Jewish Children in UN funded tunnels and nonstop rocket attacks in their backyard, whenever the whim washes over their demented, twisted souls again.  Also, enough with Israeli aggression, if you shoot 700 rockets into Israel’s backyard, don’t expect an edible gift basket in return, with a thank you note written in Farsi.  Alte, the comedy club owner interjects.  “Have you considered doing stand up comedy for a living kid? Your timing is impeccable, and your material is A grade all the way.” Matilda replies. Thanks for the offer, but my killer comedic timing is direct result of spending so much time with stay at home dad for the past 9 years and counting. Plus, he’s always sampling material on strangers at the post office, deli, bookshop, anywhere outside of the house away from Mama really. Dada always says the world is your stage like Shakespeare says, so there’s no reason to limit your gem joke dissemination to Park Slope lesbo coffee shops or at some townie Irish bar among a bunch of burn out, hicks in Northern Westchester either. Did you know the mayor of New York City is married to a woman who used to be hard core Park Slope lesbo? Yet we’re supposed to believe garlic breath converted her? Golda, the woke, libertarian radio host interjects. “Matilda, your voice projects so well. Would you be interested in being my intern this summer? I hate the mayor of NY more than Jim Acosta wannabes at CNN. Does CNN just shove a mike in front of anyone with good hair? Who doesn’t look too Tommy Lee alt-rightish?  Matilda replies. “I plan on getting a sports scholarship and dunking out in school by the 6th grade, so I’ll have to pass because all that time on my bum will take away from basketball camp and my rigorous box jump schedule my dad plans on doing me with this summer, to help conquer his white man’s disease once and for all.”  Freida, the star Soul Cycle Instructor of SOHO Equinox, interjects. “Matilda, you’re core physique is fantastic and I don’t think you’re capable of running out of breath. Would you consider teaching a Soul Cycle Class for our older baby boomer clientele, so they’re not easily intimated by much younger instructors, with already filled out hard bodies? But before you answer I wanted to thank for emailing me your proposal to meet with you on the behalf of your father. In all honesty, prior, we never considered adding another member to our Jewy Manhattan Reading Club, but we don’t get cold emails from 9-year-old requesting a face to face meeting with our club, ever either.” Matilda replies. “Teaching Soul Cycling sounds fun but not if I’m just teaching baby boomers on how to feel better about being out of state, virtual grandparents, who refuse to identify with even the part time occupation of Grandmother, because it infringes upon their spacious lifestyle away from Uni Brow Maddow on MSNBC.  My dad always blames Facebook for making Baby Boomers, the laziest grandparent generation of all time. Lifting a finger is liking a picture.   My dad also just another piece published on the Good Men Project, The Last Self-Loving Jewish New Yorker, securing his good guy non-divisive status but not really. The piece is a letter to God about my dad apologizing for breaking his spiritually elevated, Kosher diet as of late, because mommy, a gentile, pushed the issue and he didn’t want it to become one, ruining their date to see Cheap Trick at the Capital Theatre on Valentines’ Day.  Can I borrow someone’s phone? I’ll read the piece to you right now.  4 phones come flying at Matilda and she manages to catch every single one. Matilda says. Just one is fine, here we go. And don’t worry about my Dad, he got a great spot. He’s with my two younger brothers now at the Lego store by 30 Rock.  He wrote a 30 Rock script that made him a Recommended Writer on TV Writer ages ago, back when he used to live in Brooklyn with mommy, then girlfriend, when Lena Dunham had much skinnier arms and wasn’t so full of herself.

Not To Marry Gentiles (Deuteronomy 7:3-11)

3 unplanned kids later with my gentile wife, it’s a little late for that God, sorry. I never mastered the art of the pump fake. I did marry the mother of my 3 kids under a Chuppah, built by my hippie bud Marshall from Ithaca College. You know Cornell’s mentally challenged, next door neighbor. I even had Jewish naming ceremonies for three of my kids, my last one being for my lucky number 3, Samuel Teddy, Yitzhak Kornbluth. Because I love the story of a hundred-year-old Sarah getting knocked up well past her eggs’ expiration date, like Sarah Silverman 10 years ago. And unlike other, so-called brilliant comedians like Sarah Silverman, I at least outgrew, my truly tasteless jokes phase at sleepaway camp in Kent, CT. Despite me needing the comedic relief, knowing I was the 2nd worst athlete after the Sheik’s son from Great Neck and to had endure the insufferable elitism of the blah breath kid from Dalton on the Upper East Side, who thought reading a book on Jim Morrison at 15 was the height of deep probing thought. Compared to portly, freckle faced Stork, who read op-eds by Peggy Noonan on how Regan wouldn’t be anybody without her writing his aw-shucks, smile inducing witticisms because he was just an over the hill pretty face, yokel from Northern Cal, who looked good on a horse. If stand up great Bill Hicks wasn’t impressed with Regan’s speaking prowess, then Regan must have been a zero-talent dope, with or without Peggy Noonan pushing for him to name our space missile defense system Star Wars over Space Force instead.

I’ll get to the point now God. I broke my Kosher diet streak of 4 months at a gastro pub in Portchester, NY 1 hour before seeing the legendary pop rock band Cheap Trick with my wife for Valentine’s Day and I feel awful about it, sick to my stomach really. I don’t care how scrumptious my wife’s Shrimp and Grits were or the Duck Roll wrapped and fried in paper thin won ton paper, stuffed with the most non-sour pungent, highly delectable shreds of Sauerkraut nestled inside each bite from Gentile heaven.

It all started with my gentile wife, originally hailing from Brisbane Australia, urging me to try one bite of her Shrimp and Grits, knowing full well, I’ve been a proud beneficiary of my spiritually elevated, Kosher diet regulated meals as of late. We wanted to get married in Australia on Mother’s Beach, yet my mom shot down that dream. On the phone she says to me, “Son, Australia is a long flight from New York and your father doesn’t love you that much.:”

But back to my Gentile wife pushing me to take a bite out of her Shrimp and Grits. I wouldn’t say it felt like she was trying to hard sell me on still giving the Passion a shot after all these years, knowing my younger Jewish brother broke his Mel Gibson movie strike and rushed to see Apocalypto opening weekend. Now, I wouldn’t say my wife’s repeated attempts to make me try her succulent forbidden, Gulf Shrimp felt like total overkill. But her big, bulging eyes became more enraged, the more I resisted a bite out of her deveined, broth rich, fleshy, chunky cooked morsel of southern love accentuated Shrimp.

I know you’re the one and only true God, who I worship with all my fighting, loving, funny man heart. Still, the Capital Theatre has been a tremendous source of joy for me, starting with seeing the final Grateful Dead show via simulcast from Soldier Filed there with an old school bud from High School, making me feel like I was at the actual concert in Chicago along with every other over the hill baby boomer, who loves to name drop celebrities they bump into at Dead Shows like the famed Bill Walton, to feel cooler by association. Truth is, Cheap Trick rocks out way harder than the Grateful Dead, they’re twice as melodic on most songs, explaining why they’re called the American Beatles for a reason. Plus, being a big Dead Head set list guy, I searched online for some recent Cheap Trick set lists, giving me the distinct impression they were going to replicate almost the entire set of Cheap Trick at Budokan, which is a legendary live album, that will transform the most hardened Gen X adult today into a true believer of the kick ass restorative powers behind hearing live, rambunctious, soul man blasting rock and roll.

So, while my wife just urged me to try one bite of her shrimp. Implying, it’s Valentine’s Day and we’re out on a date, while my mother was in town to babysit our 3 kids, which is a biannual production, so I should feel morally obligated to relish my Gentile blessed, Jesus approved Shrimp and Grits, more than growing closer to God through sticking with my Kosher diet, knowing I don’t have to do any of the slaughtering or blooding draining of cows myself. Still, all I heard in my stoned, semi paranoid head at the time was, come on, come on, try the Shrimp and Grits already, you uppity, fake news believing Jew. Then, I started to justify why taking a bite wouldn’t be the end of the world, stating, some married couples in Miami Beach go to swinging clubs on Valentine’s Day, so our thing can be my wife force feeding me shrimp and andouille sausage but having me act like I love it. For all the talk of us chosen people being the pushy ones Lord, I don’t feel gentiles get enough credit for being just as guilty of this charge if not worse. And I’ll take the Crusades for 500 Alex.

So knowing my mom was in town to babysit our 3 bundles of sunshine and my wife had gotten us the tickets to see Cheap Trick in the 1st place, I relented and tried her super scrumptious Shrimp and Grits because I feared it becoming an issue. Ruining our time together to see Cheap Trick at the famed Capital Theatre, where Janis Joplin performed her last show, which I wanted to avoid at all costs. This issue being my wife branding me as the obstinate, all knowing, morally exalted, big headed Jew. So I divorced myself from my ego, thinking, one bite of shrimp away from the house wasn’t indicative of me turning my back on you Lord because of my commitment to resume my Kosher diet the following morning, with dreams of duck rolls becoming a glorious remnant reminder, of the thrill offered by being a bad boy non-conformist, living to rock out to Cheap Trick without a worry in the world, living for the killer opener of Hello There and Come, Come On while not sweating the loss of my chosen, funny man father status just yet.

Still, when we got the Capital Theatre on the main floor, to see Cheap Trick blow the roof off the building, I lost my airy, spiritually elevated lift as of late. Granted, the fries, duck roll and vanilla bean porter, followed by an Anchor Steam on tap for old times sake before they assumed the stage didn’t help. But we had a great time together at the show Lord and I grew closer to my wife as a result, despite her nudge, playing a slight role in me veering me away from your Moses transmitted commandments. And deep down I know your main concern for us chosen people marrying Gentiles, is them driving ourselves away from you Lord, because of the odds of raising our children Jewish, falls dramatically in half, especially when our wives refuse to convert to Judaism, because they don’t believe your Jewish putz embedded DNA is the end all to the be all either.

But again, my gentile Australian wife was cool with the Jewish naming ceremonies for all three of four kids, which not every Gentile would. So, I’m not going to freak out over this gentile terror alert moment just yet. Still, my beautiful, super funny, ultra-chill wife from the land down under, also made me potato latkes from scratch for Hanukah with parmesan, which does wonders in addition to making me a Kosher Matzoh ball soup, using a real-life Kosher chicken for the stock, despite her being a veggie loving, practicing pescatarian 99 percent of the year. Thereby, proving my Gentile wife is capable of seeing through loving Kosher eyes. Even Kid Rock will give my wife an Amen on that one. More importantly, the night where I said goodnight to my Kosher diet and hello to intermarriage peer pressure at 43 years old, was more of a direct result of me not respecting your law for the night, versus fearing my wife’s semi- pushy wrath, which I didn’t want to ruin Cheap Trick, 42 years after they caused a tsunami of teenage shriekish joy at Budokan back in the day, which I wanted to experience on my own live in person, without rocking the Hello Kitty purse in the process.

Abandoning my Kosher diet for a night for Cheap Trick was a shame. It still taught me how much I need your love Lord, which requires me to make you the center of my universe, instead of the reverse. I should’ve shown your dietary laws as much love as my love of not wanting my wife to ruin Cheap Trick for me on Valentine’s Day. Surrender Shrimp and Grits, I must because I want you to love me back twice as much for making you feel like the center of my universe instead of Cheap Trick, as much as they rocked out with such divine powered authority.

The Jewy Manhattan Book Club is left enraptured in head spinning awe and incredibly moved in the process after hearing such a fresh, assertive, original, funny Jewish, disruptive, literary voice, that got them off from start to finish and Joshua’s 9-year-old Bashert agent feels incredible sense of calm and intense prideful satisfaction in knowing her reading of her dad’s piece helped seal the deal.

Matilda adds. “But the real reason my dad wants to join The Jewy Manhattan Club is to find a potential Jewish Godmother for my and 2 adorable, hilarious younger brothers and if anyone can appreciate my dad being the last funny man self-loving Jewish New Yorker in this age hysterical, resistor, kiss ass resistance, it’s you fab 4.”

Ester speaks on The Jewy Manhattan Book Club’s behalf.  “We’d be honored to have your dad join The Jewy Manhattan Book Club. But I actually like boozy, highly alcoholic, overpriced cabs from Napa. I’m pretty petite so they go straight to my head, but they also take forever to breath, so I like the anticipatory self-discipline it gives me. We just cracked open a delectable Polly Fume from France. Would you like to take a sip?”

Matilda says. “But it’s not spring break yet.” The entire room cracks up. Alte the comedy club owner replies. That’s hilarious Matilda, Ivanka Trump’s daughter would’ve just said something boring in Mandarin.”



Chapter 7 The Jewy Manhattan Book Club

Chapter 7

The Jewy Manhattan Book Club

Joshua’s Bashert, daughter agent, got a face to face meeting with The Jewy Manhattan Club in their 3 floor townhouse monthly meeting spot on the Upper East Side on 72st off Madison Avenue, only a couple of skips down the street from famed French Restaurant Daniel and the even more iconic Carlyle, known for its infamous piano, lounge bar area where Woody Allen used to play with Dixieland band uninterrupted even after he was caught stashing naked polaroid pics of a 9 year old Soon Yee, to tap for future story idea inspiration, involving some creepy old dude banging a girl half his age, in a prequel such as Crimes and Misdemeanors, the early years. Joshua finds very empowering to bash his comedic role models of yesteryear, insisting, the only thing missing from those 9-year-old Soon-Ye polaroid pics, stuffed in Woody’s top sock drawer was a shot of her crying on the cover of Time magazine. But since Joshua learning this harrowing fact about Woody’s secret stash of nude pics of Soon-Ye, in some Woody bio he read, his moral parenting stance after his Bashert agent daughter, Matilda, Shoshana Kornbluth was born, was insisting his daughter only watch Woody Allen films with him which came out pre-Soon Yee, so Broadway Danny Rose was still kosher in his book. At the same time, Joshua also applied the same rule to the King of Pop Michael Jackson, only allowing his daughter to listen to Michael Jackson music which came out pre-Jackson 5. At least then, his curated anti-pedophile play list rules, was black and white.

The Jewy Manhattan Book Club consisted of and older Israeli woman, Alte who owned a comedy club in Greenwich Village, Laugh Yanker Long Time, Ester, a fetching, chesty yet tall, striking Persian girl in her mid-thirties, who owned the top Silicon Alley start up recruitment agency in Manhattan, Freida, a Mexican Jewish, petite girl in her late twenties who taught the most popular soul cycling class in SOHO and Golda, a three time divorced, former Democrat, turned, syndicated, Libertarian, radio personality host who recently picked a war with legendary shock jock Howard Stern, calling him weird, weak Howard since his nauseating apology tour for asking why Robin Williams would pull such a slacker Gen X move and start banging his nanny behind his wife’s back, while never having to leave the couch .

They formed this book club to study the great American Jew club, but were feeling rather uninspired as of late. Michael Chabon never did it for them in the 1st place, despite his haunt free, dreamy, piercing, eyes, screaming, I’m more well-adjusted, less socially anxious, erudite Noah Baumbach, without packing as much crossover motion picture appeal. Philp Roth had his time under the sun, but cranky, pill popping, atheists of yesteryear writing books about Nazi’s taking over America felt more played out than Woman in comedy retrospectives on sloppy seconds Showtime. They tried to get into Norah Ephron but could give to shits about her self-conscious, laugh free asides about her hickey free, gay turning neck.  Norman Mailer trying to recreate the wraths of war at 24 when he wrote The Naked and The Dead failed to moisten them up for more droll, endless descriptions of modern warfare they could give too shits about. If only Gore Vidal’s wit, could’ve been rubbed off on good old Norman during their bitch spats on Dick Cavett show through sheer osmosis.  Joshua recalls the poet of skid row, Charles Bukowski sucking off Dick a little bit once, claiming he came off the least overt hackish, compared to other edgeless late-night talk show hosts who came into prominence aged before 911 happened and well before HIV went viral and Magic made it disappear, before YouTube was invented and Steve Jobs rocked the grandma jeans to work inventing Casual Friday, all by himself, without the reliance of his nerdy serf minions one bit. But now they were studying Ayn Rand’s book Alas Shrugged, which argues for man to use the power of reason to pursue his own happiness while refusing to sacrifice his shot at fulfillment in the service of others, which all of these highly, successful, educated, Jewy New York woman could identify with, all having to endure their laundry list of insufferable, boorish men, who couldn’t handle not being the lone big deal Manhattan hot shot in the relationship. The entire Jewy Manhattan Book club as eyes on Joshua’s Bashert agent, daughter as she takes another sip from her Chamomile tea, with honey and hints of Lavender. Matilda places her teacup on its coast under emerald green Tiffany reading lamp, composed and poised to pounce. Matilda pitches, “My dad, used to sell wine in Southern California, so he knows the difference between an old vine Zin and another overrated, dehydrating, highly alcoholic Cab from Napa Valley. So, you’ll know he can carry his weight in that Jewy Manhattan Book Club department.”