Chapter 29 The Path of Most Resistance

 

 

Chapter 29

The Path Of Most Resistance

 

Joshua never underwent Psychoanalysis.  Still, it didn’t take some fake news deep shrink who majored in Psychology at Tufts, to realize Joshua pursued the comedic pursuit of making strangers laugh for a living because being shipped off to sleep away camp in Kent, CT 3 months a year every summer, without any burning desire to attend, never gave him the impression of being the center of his parents universe.  It’s not as if Joshua was such a perpetual drag on his parent’s time after they came home from work. He’d hear them talk about their workdays over dinner and then retreat to his room to play with his blocks, bang his GI Joe toys together way past the appropriate age to do so, as he used to Gung Ho to turn Cobra Commander into his personal gimpy, bitch in his own innocuous, pubescent form of Pulp Fiction. When Joshua got a bit older, he’d organize his Basketball card collection, consisting of almost every rookie who played for the original USA Dream Team, MJ an the Bird, MJ combo rookie card excluded, because together they cost more than ounce of Maui Wowie. That’s so good, you take only one hit of delicious, crystal flecked green, watch the entirety of Pink Floyd Wall Sophomore Year in college and think you comprehended all the symbolic nuances from start finish, back when Roger Waters was more pro wall but no so much in Israel’s case to prevent more blatantly unnecessary death. Later, after Joshua in Junior High, he’d decorate the walls of his bedroom with an unoccupied top bunk, with cut out pictures of all his Hair Metal Gods from Circus Magazine, which included non-pretty boy faces such as the Freddy Kruger of shredding Mick Mars from Motely Crew. But sometime in the early 1990’s, Joshua’s parents decided to repaint his lost in fantasy island room. The Italian painter took one look at Joshua’s wailing wall of metal and says, “There’s a lot of dolled up men on your wall.” In Joshua’s Heavy Metal High pilot trilogy, which he pitched to the EVP of VH1 Classic in Manhattan, his character replies to the Italian painter with, “I’m sorry are blush covered cheeked Bret Michaels from Poison not manly enough for you Dominick I Ain’t No Fag Scholanti.”

Joshua would never forgive himself for letting his father bully him into inviting his friend Ari to see Motley Crew in the 6th grade at the Nassau Coliseum, during their revitalized, hit heavy Dr. Feelgood tour, with Warrant as the opening act, after promising his closer friend Coop, with his far deeper ties at the time.  Coop didn’t talk to Joshua for a solid 5 years afterwards and they hung out plenty in Elementary School, going to movies at Movieland in Yonkers all the time because Coop was an only child, whose parents were both Lawyers, at the same law firm, the father owned, so the could afford a pair of smoking hot, au pairs from Switzerland who tasted good inside and out guaranteed.  Coop was a mensch. Before he became a top realtor in Manhattan, he was the Nino Brown of weed dealing at Hartford University and would let Joshua’s younger brother, sell major weight for him back home and let him off the hook no problem if he was ever light 500 here, 800 bones there. Plus, when Joshua had his stand-up comedy bringer show at the New York Comedy Club, Coop’s presence among his high school class of 99 caused the biggest stir. Coop also delivered the most touching, emotive praise after Joshua’s friend Ari, who was still a mensch in his own right, simply stating in a stupefied, teetering on awe inspired state, “Awesome.” Coop approached Joshua outside the New York Comedy Club and said, “Great show, very funny stuff bro” with all knowing stony Buda assurance. Joshua replied, “Thanks Coop, but I’m still so broke my Hebrew name is under Judicial review.” Coop refused to give into Joshua’s feeble attempt at self-deprecation, which never captured his true funny man essence entirely and says, “Stick with it, you’re funny.”

Understand, this is more emotive encouragement Joshua ever received from his own flesh and blood, being his younger brother and 2 parents. But as they says, the 1st hilarious Bat Men Lego movie, you get to chose your friends, not your family and Coop’s push for Joshua to continue down the pursuit of getting Lady Laugh off long time was a noble pursuit worth fighting for with all this funny Jew bone, God blessed might.  Joshua developed a later in life, cast iron dense strong friendship with adopted valley brother Jay from Southern California, who knew the real him inside and out and gave him an even more rousing, inspirational, Mick type pep push from Rocky when he said, “Never lose your edge JK.”

 

Now, Joshua was 43 turning on 44, still pursuing the path of most resistance. His parents wouldn’t acknowledge his debut comedy record nor would his younger brother. Joshua’s wife claims to overhear portions of his Do It All Dad Year Podcast from downstairs because he’s such a loudmouthed, crazy man Jew, but 150 episodes in, had never listened to one from start to finish.   When Joshua had moved back from LA after living out there for 6 years, in West Hollywood, Hermosa Beach and Sherman Oaks in the valley, another old school high bud saw him do an open mike set at some shit hole bar east of Madison Square Garden in Midtown east, total no man’s land and he said with stupefied bewilderment, “You’d be ok with dying alone. You’re really in no rush to be in a relationship again ever.” The reality is, ever since Joshua fell in love with making Lady Laugh, laugh, he never felt alone again.  God didn’t give Joshua 3 unplanned kids to have panic attack over it. If Joshua was out with his 3 kids by themselves, which was often, a stranger would say, “You got three.” And he’d say, “All 3 were unplanned. Obviously, I never planned the art of the pump fake.” Then, Joshua would hear the same random stranger comment on how pretty his lucky number 3 Samuel is and he’d reply in a relaxed manner because he was accustomed to the unsolicited praise so often by now, “He’s a very pretty he. I envision a future where he’ll be fronting a Poison cover band no problem” These lines would generate streams of laughter every time. Joshua wasn’t ready to relinquish his God given edge just yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 28 You Can’t Fake Chemistry

Chapter 28

You Can’t Fake Chemistry

Joshua never cared for Scientists too much. When he dozed 2 minutes into the Making Of The Dark Universe at the Museum of Natural History, his daughter Matilda whacked him in the rib with her forearm hard with menacing disgust, prompting her Do It All Dad to yell in his defense, “God only made Neil deGrasse Tyson interesting in 2 minute bursts at a time, all right.” Albert Einstein helped make the Atom bomb, which put an official end to World War 2. The “Big One” also resulted in make out moments galore along the Canyon of Heroes on Broadway, honoring America’s greatest generation and our last large scale, big deal military victory against a formidable foreign power, cranked up on Crystal Meth, pre-fake news and the era of HBO becoming must see TV for more resistor hued, Nazi revisionist, fictional TV series fare because she lost despite getting the debate questions in advance. So Joshua didn’t hate scientists all together.

Atheist know it all twats like Stephen Hawking, didn’t make Joshua warm up to bean breath British physicists either. But Obama gave Stephen Hawking the Presidential Medal Of Freedom despite the award being the highest American civilian honor possible. So Joshua must possess a very low opinion of star fuckers from Kenya, I guess. But what really turned off Joshua from scientists besides the computer ones who worked for IBM to develop technology, which made it easier for the Nazi’s to identity his European Jewish ancestors before they were shipped off to death camps, was the dweeb brewer of Six Point Brewery in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Who during the tour of his brewery, touted himself as the improv chemist genius of hoppy amalgam fermentation. But back to IBM for a second. Joshua lived in Croton Falls, NY with his wife Anna and 3 kids, who would’ve been thrown into the gas chambers in Auschwitz, so knowing IBM had a major R&D facility in nearby Somers, NY, he was quick to point out IBM’s Nazi profiteering past, at the local brew bar upstairs at Italian grocery store DeCicco’s, if he overheard some IT folk talk about programming or coding of any kind and impose his material on them, regardless if they were engaged in a dialogue prior or not. Joshua says, “Hey guys, this is my impression of a Computer Scientist at IBM testing the artificial intelligence of Watson the Super Computer, who won at Jeopardy. Hey Watson, are you aware of being named after the scientist Dr. Watson, who developed technology for the Nazis, who made it easier for the Kraut breaths to identify Jews being shipped off on trains to slaughter? Watson compute replies, “No shit Sherlock.” But if you didn’t know that, you probably didn’t know Hitler had a framed picture of Henry Ford on his desk, despite the Model T, being a poor man’s Mercedes Benz, Hitler’s preferred drive by car of choice.”

Climate Scientists alarmists trying to give his 3 children eco anxiety didn’t inspire Joshua to embrace the scientific community at large either. On Joshua’s debut comedy record, Resist This, he did a bit about imagining a debate on climate change between Trump and Greta Thunburg, which any NPR devotee believer would have a psychotic meltdown over, his wife included, in a NY Minute. In the bit Trump says, “Fracking reduces our carbon emissions Greta.” Greta says, “So Neil Young is full of shit now? Trump replies, “Neil Young doesn’t take showers to reduce his carbon footprint. So, that much you share in common babe.”

Again, Joshua was waiting to meet with the Rabbi’s highly touted, master brewer brother Schmendel but this time it was at the DBGB Kitchen & Bar, on the corner of Bowery and Houston, which is easily confused with the CBGB bar of yesteryear, when model turned singer songwriter, ambient rocker Debbie Harry pleaded on stage, to her latest hunk on a stick, “Call me”, pre-smart phones and Steve Jobs inventing nothing but casual Friday. One time, Joshua’s kids discovered a gift from Mama for Dada, including a pile of cue cards with typed written notes and heart and froggy stickers placed on them throughout, including loving homages in his honor such as, “I love the depth of your soul.” I love the way I can’t imagine a day without you in my life.” “I love how you kiss blondie.” After Joshua’s 9-year-old daughter discovered this card in particular, she asks her dear Dada, “Who’s Blondie Dada?” Dada replies, “Easier on the eyes than the Ramones, next question.”

Schmendel makes eye contact with Joshua at the bar, sporting the Hassidic beard, a Kippah and a rocking Faconnable bomber, black leather jacket. “Joshua get’s up from his bar seat, “Schmendel, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Schmendel says, “Thank God, another too tall Jew exists besides me.” Joshua says, “Growing up my Jewish father from the Bronx would always kvetch, “Joshua, why can’t you have taller friends?” And I’m thinking, because all of them Jewish or Japanese American. Plus, you didn’t ship me off for 3 whole months every summer to a big man basketball camp in Zaire.” Schmendel says, “What beer are you drinking? “Joshua says, “I like to try local beers, because I’m obsessed with freshness, so I went with some IPA from Queens. But can we stop calling Queens hot? Compared to Manhattan and Brooklyn, Queens is the sloppy 3rd Kardashian sister. You know the extra greasy one, whose actually OJ’s daughter. Who’s easy to pound at 3 in the morning like a lamb gyro in Astoria. And I don’t buy the fact Bruce Jenner when married to Kris Jenner was asexual. But I’m positive, Bruce stayed harder longer, after he convinced his wife Kris Jenner to cut her hair short, so she’d look more like a dolled-up Ralph Macchio. And if I see Transgender Father’s Day trend on Twitter one more time, I’m breaking my Chic-Fil-A strike for good. Either you’re involved father or you’re not Nipple Tits. Getting shafted shouldn’t be such a shock to your system anymore either.” Schmendel finishes laughing, “You don’t have many friends do you?”, Schmendel says. Joshua laughs, “The majority of my old ones are gone, that’s correct Schmendel. Apparently, certain fake news friends who only like you when they can feel smug superior, east coast elitist in comparison.” Schmendel says, “Join the club. You can’t be a self-loving, Trump supporting, funny many Jew in New York these days, without being looked down upon like some blissfully ignorant, uninformed degenerate, deplorable of Jew of the lowest order.” Joshua says, “So your parents hate you more than ever to? Join the club. So, I need a mock cheese wiz for my Do It All Dad Hero Kosher Cheesesteak Truck. Can you help me? I know you’re a master brewer, but I figured your background in organic chem, food sciences and microbiology at John Hopkins University, could figure out a killer recipe in no time. I’ve been stalking on you LinkedIn in case you’re wondering. It’s my old school IT recruitment agency background shining through.” I can still help you come up with a killer viral campaign for your great, American Jewish Pale Ale in exchange.” Schmendel says, “Joshua take it easy. You had me at mock cheese wiz for my Do It All Dad Hero kosher Cheesesteak Truck. I’m a father of 7 myself.” Joshua says, “And I thought I was stuck up shits creek without a paddle.” Joshua orders an IPA for his Jewish brother in arms and raises his glass for a toast, “To meant to be chemistry, L’Chaim.”

Chapter 24 Memories of Meh Brisket

Burnt anemic, miniscule steaks was Joshua’s idea of eating Kosher, growing up in the hilly, leafy, pine tree rich, Colonial and Tudor lined streets, of Edgemont, New York. Sure, his converted mother made Brisket on a special occasion for Rosh Hashanah, cooked in margarine but not butter because of the rule prohibiting mixing dairy and meat, accompanied with a killer, sultry yet sweet onion based, brownish, teetering on Burgundy red gravy, which beat kosher ground meat burger night, minus the melted Landa Lakes American cheese on top any day of the week. Understand, Joshua’s mother was a good converted Jewish wife, who found the time to make Kosher prepared meals, ready to be served around 6:30 almost every night, even after she started commuting to the big city again to work as a high ranking Loan Officer  JP Morgan Chase  in their corporate office in Midtown Manhattan, which was no easy feat to pull off, on Adderall or off. Still, Joshua felt a tinge of sadness on his mom’s behalf, when she recently asked him what was his favorite meal growing up a kid, which had nothing to do with his Dad’s  hurried, half ass scramble eggs on some random Saturday morning before basketball practice before more hamstring tightening suicide drills ensued. If Joshua was reared on more than just P and J sandwiches throughout elementary school and got off his ass to jog around the local track instead of trying to win Metroid on Nintendo or beat Mike Tyson in Mike Tyson’s Punchout one more time, than others could, his hamstrings wouldn’t have felt like mint jelly after running suicide drills his 1st day of Basketball practice, seeped in Mineral Ice all over either.  But now that Joshua was a parent of 3, in charge of getting his kid’s breakfasts and lunches ready every day before school and realized there’s only so much time in a day to be a do it all dad mom, especially when he made the extra effort to make all of his dish creations for his Pescatarian raised kids with, love, so he could inspire more yummy dances from kids as they’d all run around the kitchen table through the adjoining living room and back, declaring, with soul glowing glee, “Best daddy ever”, or simply proclaim, “This is so yummy, I don’t want to stop eating to run around, proclaiming best daddy ever.”

Making homemade hummus sandwiches for his kids, with ground up sesame seeds in place of pre-made, always chalky tasting Tahini, fresh lemon squeezes throughout, in addition to generous heaps of salt, and a diced up garlic bulb thrown in between, in addition to a vibrant, pinch of fresh grated carrots on top of good country white bread, was the least Joshua could do for his kids playful radiance and around the clock shrieks of joy, giving him nothing but generous, long lasting tastes of heaven on earth.  Using pre sliced cheddar slices for his kids peach jam sandwiches on good old country white bread wasn’t good enough for Joshua, regardless if those cheese slices were sliced and shipped from the Cabot cheese company in Vermont. No, Joshua insisted on not circumcising his children’s collective, endlessly budding happiness one bit, by forgoing the easy, half ass route in favor of taking only a couple of extra minutes to bust out the good old cheese shredder and grate some Seriously Sharp Vermont Cheddar for his kids Peach and Cheddar sandwiches on Country White Bread that morning, because he knew it imparted a juicer, fresher, more delectable, highly superior bite. Plus, Joshua incorporated feedback from his kids when Mama just plopped the pre-cut cheddar on instead, realizing, the extra effort always paid off. “God is in the details”, is what Joshua would sear into his children’s creatively jacked craniums ad nauseum, which he picked up from a book on songwriting by the legendary scribe Stephen Sondheim before his bundles of happiness spewing joy were born.  “God is in the details”, which explains why Joshua took such tremendous pride in his headline hooker prowess on display when The Good Men Project published a myriad 24 of his blog on parenting this past year, encapsulating the true definition of click bait, including such A plus titles such as, My Clown Origin Story, written after he saw the new Joker film, What Gen X Parents Understand, Wishing My Son’s Birthday Never Blows, Children Are Family Upgrades, Pride On My Side, The Last Self-Loving Jewish New Yorker, Born Again Newborn Dads, alright fine the last title is a tad long winded confusing but you should get the gist by now.  “God is in the details”, furthered evidenced by the tremendous nachas he received from getting his son’s Social Security card in the mail, reading, Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. Understand, the Yiddish word nachas is exclusively used to describe the swelling of sweet, prideful emotion, a Jewish parent derives from their kid’s accomplishments like getting into Cornell, early acceptance or Billy Crystal signing on to do a movie with your infinitely less talented, dweebier seed of a son. But not every Jewish dad, native New Yorker or not has the gaul to name their 1st born Arthur Morrison Kornbluth after the most charismatic, dark prince of poetry rock, who’s easier on the eyes than Patti Smith, that being, Jim, mother fucking, Mojo Rising Morrison.  Plus, similar to the self-proclaimed Lizard King, Joshua wasn’t one to follow the rules of so called, normal, Waspy, lobotomized, monotone you to fucking death, bourgeois behavior either, knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to break conversation with his old school recruiter bud, Gary mid stride while passing the corporate office of JP Morgan, only to hail down the great comedy writer actor and operator of Triumph The Insult Dog, Robert Smigel and proclaim, “Hey, Smigel, next time you see Sandler, tell him to put you in more of his films already. Joshua always loved Smigel’s brief cameos in Adam Sandler films like him playing he borophyil science teacher in Billy Madison, or the once aspirational hand model turned cell phone salesman in Don’t Mess With the Zohan. But Joshua didn’t stop there, feeling the compulsory need to impress Smigel with new schtick, fresh off the press, so Smigel would feel extra blessed. Joshua noticed Smigel wearing a Brooklyn Nets hat and says, “I thought you were  aKnicks fan, Smigel. I used to lived with my girlfriend now wife in Park Slope, Brooklyn ages ago, back when Lena Dunham had much skinnier arms and wasn’t so full of herself. I’m a father of 2 now. Just named my son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. For a moment, I considered giving him the middle name Brooks in honor of the great Albert Brooks but then I changed my mind because I didn’t want to give my son the permission to be a Jewish pussy.” Smigel laughs out loud long time. In the end, Joshua pitched his impossible to remember website of old, DearDada.com without a business card to share at the moment.  Being an oasis of organization was never Joshua’s forte but fearlessly bombarding famous actors, stand up comedians and WGA represented writers was.  Sometimes, his cold calling conjuring, celebrity reach outs didn’t always materialize so smoothly.  Once, Joshua was with some old high school buds after having a couple of J&B scotches on the rocks in his system, Rodney Dangerfield’s preferred, reasonably priced, scotch of choice and bum rushes the comic’s comic Dave Attell outside the Comedy Cellar smoking a cigarette with another of his black comic buds, Joshua didn’t recognize and still doesn’t considering he never thought enough of him to remember his name afterwards despite him delivering the far superior laugh line to anything Joshua uttered during this punch drunk love, wannabe make out session with the personification of zero bullshit cool Dave Attell. Joshua goes into this lengthy, roundabout summation of Dave Attel’s career going, “I knew you were doing late night sets at the Cellar for 10 years at 2 in the morning in front of 2 sailors in town for Fleet Week, if Allen Ginsburg, hadn’t tied them up captive in his rent controlled apartment in East Village just yet”, blah, blah, blah. Then, finally without flinching, Attell says in a ball busting yet strangely uncomfortable manner, “Thanks a lot Ryan Seacrest.” Which, still makes Joshua laugh till this day, making him realizing the highly under-appreciated, under-celebrated talent of distilling the bare bones, funny essence of a moment in real life, with such razor sharp, crystal clarity, only a battle hardened, 300 a shows a year comic, can fart out at will, when the moment calls for it like the great Dave Attel.  But again, the best line of this evening, was uttered by Dave Attell’s black comic friend sitting next to him, outside the Cellar, who after taking in Joshua’s long winded, career retrospective of Dave Attel’s career, where he just finished sucking of the totality of his career peaking arc for all it was worth says, “What am I chopped liver?”

It was impossible for Joshua not  to reflect on these random encounters with the upper crest of Jewish entertainers on the Island of Manhattan, as he stared down the menu at the Polo Lounge.  Sitting across from Silicon Alley, Executive Search owner star Ester as Spike Lee enters the bar, Joshua got visibly annoyed scrolling through the menu, not seeing much to order outside of buckets of caviar, knowing a corned beer on marble rye with melted Swiss wasn’t going to cut it either, since Joshua decided to be more a stylish, proper Mensch and fear God’s wrath for not sticking with his God commanded Kosher diet, despite it meaning bullshit to fake news good guy guardians of morality like Bill Maher, who never would’ve been accused of pussy grabbing in the age of meto because he’s only 4 foot 2.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 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, Stained Glass Windows, without 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.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. 20 The Crown Heights Connection

Chapter 20

The Crown Heights Connection

The Jewy Manhattan Book Club represented Jewish pride, pride in New York City being the muse for many successful, celebrated Jewish working artists, including singer songwriters like Lou Reed, Neil Diamond, novelists such as Ayn Rand, stand up comedians such as Don Rickles, Broadway playwrights like Neil Simon, Arthur Miller or Tony Kushner if Upper East Side society fixture business gals were in a more forgiving, generous mood than usual. Tonight, the focus was on Ayn Rand’s highly controversial novel, Atlas Shrugged, which clocked in around thousand plus pages, which made Tony Kushner feel terse in comparison for the 1st time in his charmed, theatre penning life.

Golda, the fire breathing, conservative radio host got the book club discussion of Ayn Rand’s novel Atlas Shrugged, underway. “First, I hate this title. Atlas Shrugged, I bet it made Jack LaLanne limp at 1st glance of it. Also, why would an author write a one-thousand-page novel? Does she enjoy time working with her Editor at Random House that much? Did Ayn Rand think her writing was in the same league as Tolstoy? Filling 4 hours of dead air on the radio every five days a week, in the pursuit of never boring your audience to sleep is much more difficult feat to perform. Now, I’m thinking David Foster Wallace wore all those bandanas to cover his initial misaimed, self-inflicted gun shout wound, resulting from trying to plow through this heap of philosophical nihilism, to justify her scruple free existence during some writing retreat at Kenyon College, all expenses paid. Ayn Rand found a married man to bang her and struggled so much at the end she had to collect social security, just saying.” Alte the comedy club owner interjects, “Ayn Rand’s writing is like Joan Rivers on Adderall, minus the colorful, punch flourishes of schtick along the way.” Frieda the Soul Cycle teacher star of SOHO Equinox expresses her opinion on the book, “I think everyone is being hyper critical of Ayn. She was no beauty by any stretch of the imagination. Still, she became a successful screenwriter in Hollywood in the 40’s, way before Nora Ephron, divorced acne scar face Bernstein, and wrote her divorce tale, turned Hollywood snooze feast Heartburn. I like Angelica Houston better when she looks sheik dowdy, rolling perfect joints in West Anderson films.” Ester, the Persian owner, of star executive tech staffing firm, Silicon Alley in NY moves the conversation toward the positive attributes of the ideas expressed in the book itself. Ester says, “I love the line, “wealth is a product of man’s capacity to think.” Personally, I’d prefer she’d use the pronoun woman, but nobody’s perfect. Joshua enters late to the Jewy Book Club meeting, with a bottle of Cab Franc from Rutherford, California in hand. All the woman stand-up the moment once they hear Joshua knock on the door awaiting his presence, knowing he’s running behind a couple of minutes for his first Jewy Manhattan Book Club Meeting. Ester, answers the door. “Hi, Joshua, for a second, I didn’t think you were coming.” Joshua replies, “And miss the opportunity to give you grand dames a chapter sample reading of a lifetime from my upcoming Novel, The Great American Jew Novel, Chapter 3, Gimmel Be Good. Joshua is so anxious to read the sample chapter Gimmel Be Good, he doesn’t bother to take off his prized leather bomber Faconable jacket, which he bought from the 1st writing check, he ever received, after getting paid to write all the TV host music video intros for VH1 Classic’s America’s Hard 100 in Manhattan. Joshua says, “I brought a cab franc from North Fork Long Island, it’s pretty young, so it won’t need time to breath like Hillary Hammer Time Cankles on the campaign trail in 2016.” All woman the woman in the Jewy Manhattan Book club, crack up in unison, sharing zero love, for that evil, cackling wench. After Joshua places the Cab Franc down on the kitchen counter, he whips out his smart phone and stars to read, Gimmel Be Good. Gimmel Be Good is a story about the kid who invented the dreidel game to distract the Romans from his forbidden Torah stories, so they’d think, another degenerate Jew gamble kid, nothing out of the ordinary here. All the grand working gal dames of the Upper East side spit out gobbles of laughter again. Joshua starts to read a sample chapter from his upcoming novel, Gimmel Be Good.

Gimmel Be Good

Once upon a time there was nice Jewish Boy, Michael the Greek Kornbluth. Every day, he’d study his Torah as God commanded him to do so. He’d refrain from intermingling with fetching looking gentiles like the Princess of Persia because he didn’t want to turn away from God, which was guaranteed to happen, whenever the porcupine puss princess interrupted his Torah studies again, forcing him to blow off Tefillin to mount her booty luscious round of mound from behind instead. Michael The Greek Kornbluth’s only vice was betting on the Greek Chariot Racehorses. He’d study the Greek Chariot Racehorses Forums, detailing, past racing performances and odds with divine powered zeal on par with his Torah study. Because one day, with his winnings, he’d wanted to become the head financer behind restoring the great 1st Temple destroyed by the Romans, because following in his father’s footsteps selling quicksand maps and Hebrew Alphabet blocks wasn’t going to get the job done.

One day, the Hellenization of Israel got ugly fast. Now, there was a new Greek Ruler in charge who claims to be a descendant of Arie’s Anti-Semite brother, who had a worse credit rating with Jewish money lenders, than Alexander’s Great, trust fund baby with Cleopatra, Lenny Kravitz Junior, no Jewish lender in Israel wanted to show any royal respectful love his way because he already blew through his fortune on the loser Chariot Horseraces and on a wind powered hashish farm in Damascus, resting on top of a pile of quick sand. The new Greek ruler in charge of Israel now, Pontificutus The Putz was in charge. A new hot shot Rabbi, Rabbi Mason, moonlighting as standup comedian on the rise came up with the nickname and it stuck like the fake news rumor of Jews heckling the Romans into crucifying Jesus despite Twitter not being existence yet.

Now, with Pontificutus The Putz in charge, any Jew caught studying the Torah at home was sentenced to death. But first those Jews would be forced to eat ham and cheese sandwiches for 20 days in a row, washed down with rotten camel’s milk, till they puked up their innards, establishing the roots of Greek hazing to be used on the American Greek university level centuries later. Circumcision was now banned, despite Alexander the Great, never being into the Greeks at the spa, sporting the inch worm hiding its head in its holster look. But Michael The Geek Kornbluth loved to study his Torah because he knew it made God Happy and he loved to grow closer to God every day, yeah, yeah. What’s a poor white Jewish boy, who can do long division equations with eight zeros in his head like a young Donald Trump without any startup investment money growing on olive trees in his favor to do? Michael had to come up with a diversionary tactic, a new gambling game to play at home, to divert attention from his cherished Torah studies, but knowing his stellar reputation as betting advisor to top Greek Senators around, coming up with a new gambling game for kids to shift focus away from their forbidden Torah studies wasn’t enough.

So why was Pontificutus the Putz such a Jew hater again? Because he was a slower runner than they? Because he was bankrupting his kingdom from all his non-stop gambling losses on Chariot Racehorses and loser bets on the Gladiators versus gangs of rock throwing Palestians from the neighboring Syrian Slingshot League. Never being confused as a professional gambler great like future great, Arnold the Brain Rothstein. Pontificutus the Putz also got herpes from a half Jewish prostitute, just like Hitler did before his herpes sores inflamed his desire to annihilate all of Europe on Crystal Meth. Also, similar to Hitler, Pontififcutus the Putz, had artistic ambitions, he even applied to art school in Athens, but he got rejected because his sculpture creations were crude like the Swastika symbol for instance. I don’t care that it was a photoshopped Hindu symbol. The Swastika still looks like a 2 stick figures doing a sixty-nine on Crystal Meth. Still, Pontificutus the Putz, bulldozed his way to the top and became a ruthless ruler of the Greek army for a guy who can pass for a little Greek landlord Astoria in Queens, NY any day of the week. What made Pontificutus the Putz such a killer warrior turned general, was his color blind, condition, so all he saw in life, was black and white death. Plus, the herpes always seemed to flare up before every major war against the Turks, he’d pierce with a spear as easy as an inserting a skewer into a fresh out the womb piece of Lamb Shawarma.

So how does a nice Jewish boy from Tel Aviv earn the nickname Michael The Greek Kornbluth. Well, he was genius at picking the Chariot Horseraces, making fortunes for all Greek senators who would ask him for race advice, in exchange for wine and challah for his hapless Dad, Joshua Kornbluth, who was known as the Willy Loman of quicksand maps and alphabet blocks. Michael’s father Joshua would get too wrapped into telling Gentiles Versus Jews jokes, to be taken seriously by even Jewish customers. He’d say, “What’s the difference between Jews and Greeks? Jews are in no rush to pledge their allegiance to the God of loud rain. Too soon for Zeus jokes. I don’t know why I waste my breath.”

Today, was different, because the Super Bowl of Chariot Racehorse races was happening and Pontificus The Putz needed a winner, or else, his army would take him out Marc Anthony style for backing such a perpetual loser after all these years, regardless if he’s related to Arie’s anti-Semite brother or not. Pontificus the Putz, enters Joshua’s, humble hut abode, which made a young Luke Skywalker’s adopted home on Tatooine look like Trump Tower. Michael The Greek Kornbluth, hides his Torah underneath his pillow and replaces it with some alphabet blocks his father carved himself but with Greek letters on it instead of Hebrew ones. Michael spins the dreidel. Potififcus blurts, “What are you playing with there Michael? Is your dad selling Hebrew Alphabet blocks that spin now? You do realize that’s not Kosher anymore kid? Then, Pontificus picks up the dreidel an says, “Oh, the letters are Greek.” Michael replies, “With you in charge, everything is Greek to me.” I tan nude at the beach like I’m a Greek senator on Holiday at the Red Sea.” “Alright, enough small talk, Michael, I a sure bet for the Chariot Race this Saturday”, Pontificus the Putz says. Have I got a horse for you Pontificus, named, Gimmel Ge Good. You haven’t heard of him yet because he’s a black horse from a Kibbutz in the Golan Heights, they say he’s faster than Hermes with a horny Medusa on his tail. He’s a 15-1 long shot, let it ride.”

Gimmel Be Good did good and won the race. And Michael the Greek Kornbluth was able to resume Torah studies without any interruption again. His father Joshua was granted a performance space to do a one man play, Greeks Versus Jews, which received much nonstop praise, Plato’s grandson, called the one-man act, “Socrates smart, flush with big time, funny man Jewish heart.” More importantly, Michael The Greek the Kornbluth, later changed the lettering on the Dreidel to Hebrew Lettering, knowing Greeks were on the look-out for Bibles whenever they raided Jewish homes and had a harder time recognizing Mythological bullshit than basic Hebrew lettering for that matter. And pretty soon, the Maccabees had enough of submitting to the Greek way of life, and reclaimed Israel as their Jewish homeland again.

Michael The Greek Kornbluth wasn’t able to parlay his billion-dollar betting brain and help finance the restoration the great Temple of King David. But more importantly, he was able to help preserve the roof over his head, that he shared with God and his dear Aba Joshua, which was that much important, since their mom died from childbirth along with his newborn brother, who he never got to study the Torah with. At least now, every night, dear Abba, Hebrew, for father, could study the glorious reflection of the all mighty in his son’s Michael’s, worry line free face, and give thanks and praises for the most high, for giving him the divine gift of fatherhood, which made dear Abba feel more blessed than the rest.

The End

Ester is the first one to speak. “You’re a really talented writer Michael. Are you represented by William Morris Endeavor?” Joshua laughs. “I wish Ester. I wanted to make a strong 1st impression, proving a funny man Jew writer is who has every justified right, bash less punchy, fake news deep, Jewish writer luminaries sucked off the literary establishment back in the day at large. Golda interjects, I know a very funny, hipster rabbi in Crown Heights, who fashions himself as a less marble mouthed Jackie Mason, whose chummy with the editor of Tablet Magazine, who I can totally see publishing your historical short story with a mix of magical realism thrown in. His name is Rabbi Levite, he’s also a real foodie and loves his double IPA’s to unwind after intense Zohar tutorials with Ron Pearlman’s kids, you know the CEO of Revlon, Ellen Barkin’s West Village Townhouse bequeather. He’s not as hardcore Hassid as other rabbis in Crown Heights. Plus, he’s a too tall Jew like yourself, so he won’t resent your big man funny stature from the start either.”

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 16 The Natural Birth Coach Bust

                                                                Chapter 16

The Natural Birth Coach Bust

 

Prayer wasn’t a central fact of Joshua’s life throughout Hebrew School, after his Bar Mitzvah and especially not during college. Praying the porcelain God of puke control was never his style either, opting instead to pull the good old fashioned trigger finger instead, whenever the uncontrollable hiccups emerged like the time at Ithaca when he puked out a lung after polishing almost a handle of Bacardi rum with his old metal shredding loving bud JT seconds after listening to Jimi Hendrix blow the amps out to pieces as his paratrooper buddy from the army, drummer Buddy Miles sang with soul man bursting bravado, Them Changes, on the famed Band of Gypsies show from the famed Filmore East before Jimi choked away his dying of light, ironically enough.

When Joshua’s daughter Matilda was only 4, she stepped on her new pink Disney guitar, promoting her dad to say, “You never step on a guitar Matilda.” Matilda replies in a nonchalant yet bare bones, direct manner, “But Jimi played with his teeth.” When they used to live in Scarsdale Village, Joshua would push Matilda on the swing, which overlooked Metro North train tracks heading into the village, which always inspired her daddy, to start singing, Here My Train Coming from Jimi Hendrix, blues, his second favorite Jimi album after Band of Gypsies, singing, “Pretty soon, I’m going to buy this town and put it all in my shoes. It’s what I’m going, to do. It’s what I’m going to do.” Then, the funniest girl in the universe, without it even being close, says “How can you fit an entire town in your shoe?” We’d roll in Target in nearby Mount Kisco, NY and she’ take one look at the Target logo and ask, “Daddy do people shoot arrows at Target?”  They used to make Vine videos together, when she could only string 2 words together. Daddy asks. “Matilda, do you have a nookie problem?” She’d take out her nookie and with pitch perfect timing say, “I’m a little obsessed.”   Before she was born, after mommy was in labor for felt like five years, after mama’s attempt at a natural child burst turned out to be total debacle from the start, Joshua prayed to God that night, asking God, to make sure his wife survived child birth and to do everything in his power  to make sure his knock knee putzy, white man’s disease plagued DNA skipped a generation God forbid.  Now, Matilda is breaking high jump records in the 3rd grade at PQ in North Salem, NY and the best athlete in her class is crushing on her hard, whose grandfather turns out to be a hall of famer NHL star who played for the New Jersey Devils, never having to endure the brutal, taunting chants of 1940 heard at Rangers Devil Games in the early nineties before the mighty Messier, called out his shot and won game 7 at the Garden, before being serenaded down the Canyon of Heroes on Broadway as bigger Hockey God in the Big Apple than even the great one Wayne Gretsky would ever be.  Joshua and his wife Anna should’ve had their doubts about the likelihood of her giving a natural childbirth after learning halfway into their natural birthing class, that the teacher never gave birth before, to nothing but more breathing mantra bullshit. Still, Joshua does recall an intensely real meditation exercise class in once, where he envisioned typing in his home office off Hermosa Beach, as heard the waves crash, as his yet unborn daughter hopped on his lap out of nowhere, in a state of pure, happiness spewing, snuggly, bonding bliss.

Hebrew prayers never did anything for Joshua in Temple growing up, because he could only read Hebrew back then but had zero idea what the translation was, without reading the English translation in his prayer book, which was instructive but at same time stripped the holiness packed oomph of the communal experience at large, even at reformed synagogue in Scarsdale, NY, where the command of Hebrew language was on par with the basic car mechanics 101 like not knowing how to change to a tire as Clint Eastwood whispers in your ear fumy disgust, “Worthless Jew.”

Now, Joshua was married to girl who was raised in a Catholic household by a mother born in Manchester, England, who since moving to Delaware with her family, attended a rundown yet quaint, Ukrainian Church in Delaware, who she made fish balls for out of cod and almond meal, which Joshua enjoyed plenty, whenever the price was right at Shoprite. What Joshua didn’t enjoy was his terse, borderline mute at the diner table future English father in law getting his panties in a bunch of over his future son in law in the making scoring big laughs from their guest, showcasing star powered charisma at it’s finest, only to hear, “He talks more than the other one.” Meaning, shut this fucking loud-mouth Jew up already, so I can back to hating resenting my wife’s never-ending ballooning ass in my head again. Why did my daughter have to dump her borderline catatonic, blond, Nordic fiancé from Indiana for this Howard Stern wannabe?  Joshua also didn’t enjoy his mother in law forcing his kids to grace in their own fucking home back in NY because A) It wasn’t her home B) She knew Joshua was raised Jewish C) Her opportunity to instill a religious education for her own children had passed D) It wasn’t very Jesus like when she chucked a butcher knife at her husband, when they lived in Australia because, she couldn’t handle being a stay at home mom, fondling avocado’s the size of Babar’s nut sack D) Her grace prayers not once included any shout outs in his own parents honor and E) The grace prayers were very general and bland, lacking all personal, zesty pop on par with every other birthday card she ever wrote for her grandchildren, with the salutation God Bless, nothing more nothing less.   God bless, yes Joshua being a father of 3 who achieved his dream of writing for TV in Manhattan on Vh1 Classic’s America’s Hard 100 made this do it all dad feel more blessed than the rest, but not in the mother in law department, especially after learning from his kids about the time they were forced Eucharist behind his back once, which isn’t even Kosher in Bill Maher’s book. The Christian kid prayer books and Fisher Price Little People Christmas Toy action figures didn’t warm Joshua up to his mother- in-law’s, domineering, Jehovah Witness type pushy ways either.  One year for Christmas, Joshua’s mother-in-law went out of her way to get her granddaughter, a giant plastic toy chest with no toys in it. Joshua immediately empathized with his daughter’s awkward, perplexment, assuring her, “Don’t worry Matilda. When we get back home to Jew York. Will up the toy chest with your 8000 Chanukah gifts. Joshua’s daughter also scored some white socks from the bargain bin at Target that year, which screams grandma’s heart wasn’t into again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13 The Comedy Grant House

Chapter 13

The Comedy Grant House

 

When Joshua still used Facebook, he posted a pic of his son Jeremiah pretend sleeping in cardboard box on the living room floor of their Comedy Grant House home, with the caption, “By now, I’m using to living out of boxes”, poking fun at this being their 3rd home in 3 years. During an interview for a Content Marketing role in Stamford, CT with the research, advisory, behemoth the Gartner Group, their in-house recruiter asks Joshua. “Will commuting be an issue after working from home for the past 3 years?” Joshua replies, a pleasure cruise through the windy, bucolic back roads of Bedford, NY and Stamford, CT after looking after his kids for 3 summer in a row without central AC would feel like a 5-week rave in Germany.” Reality is, Joshua wasn’t emotionally prepared to dump off his precious, 3-year old Samuel to some random day care in a hurried flash just yet. They continued to grow closer as their bond became more iron clad, every day, yeah, yeah. He was the happiest boy in the universe and his do it all dad knew he played a huge role in accentuating his super charismatic, bouncy buoyancy everywhere they’d go. “Funnier dad, happier baby”, his unemployed stay at home comedian dad would proclaim to anyone point out how happy is baby boy was whether they were the nearby Harvest Moon to pick up farm fresh eggs, the post office, to send Joshua’s comedy CD Resist This, to the likes of Kid Rock and every comedy club owner in Manhattan worth giving a shit about, or at the deli to pick up his Pap’s Tall Boys, the old school hipster beer of choice at this point, an vastly underrated pilsner according to a big time beer snob like Joshua, who never pounded more than 2 Pap’s Tall boys in rapid succession. Last time at the deli, Joshua get’s some Pap’s tall boys and recycles some older material, trying to make it anew, for an upcoming open mike. “Normally, I’d get the 90-minute Dog Fish IPA, but it takes me 90 minutes to finish my second. Also, can’t they make toothpaste which tastes like Coors Light, so I don’t taste anything afterwards. But seriously, I gave up drinking beer this summer because it got embarrassing, spending so much time hungover, recycling, empty reminders of my lushness, as entire Rocky Marathons on AMC pass me by.”

At the fancy, Italian Grocery store DeCicco & Sons in Sommers, NY, Joshua’s son Samuel would be hit by older, chesty Italian woman in Juicy sweatpants 24/7. They’d say lines like, “You’re are so gorgeous. When you get older, you’ll have 3 girlfriends to juggle.” Joshua says. “If James Woods had this kid’s face, your estimates wouldn’t be so conservative. But don’t worry, he won’t be leaving the house for Junior High without his backpack stuffed with pre-poundage consent forms to the brim.”

Joshua’s son Samuel was also a beneficiary of what they call, attachment parenting, which is turning your bed into a 24/7 milk bar for the foreseeable future.  Joshua equated attachment parenting to, “planting seeds of self-esteem on steroids.” On a rare occasion, Joshua would let Samuel cry it out in bed, if he put them intentionally after he wrecked his big brother’s magnet tile creation again, prematurely, while refusing, to acknowledge, he “felt bad” about it because his do it all dad had no intention of enabling a monstrous, anus hole psychopath who identifies with a bunch of Punisher vigilante wannbes in ANTIFA, rocking their social justice righting hoodies.  Joshua always talked all 3 of his kids like grown adults out of the womb. As a result, they behaved beautifully in public because their dad held them to a higher social standard than ANTIFA and was never afraid to point out when they were being whiny buzz kills, sucking him dry. Joshua trained his kids well. When Joshua picked his daughter Matilda when she attended pre-k in Scarsdale Village, precious Matilda would say, “Can I get a treat, I was fuss free daddy, fuss free.” On Joshua’s Do It All Dad Year Podcast, he’d always wrap each episode, by using his catchphrase, controlling our kids with comedy, can make our kids great again and my 3 fuss free kids for the most, are living proof of it.” Nickname creation was an effective technique Joshua used to control his kids with comedy. Matilda, was Deltoids Dawn Strong, Striking Beauty, Female Flash, 10 Homer Daily, Big Beat, Enchilada, if Daddy wanted her get some undies on already, “so the Chinese underworld had less to see.” Jeremiah was Art Show, later morphing into Art Show USA. Before he was born, Joshua came with Art Show and his big sister, started sweating his mojo rising already, with her baby brother not even out the womb yet, and declared, “No, it’s my show.”  Other nicknames for Jeremiah included, Feather Foot, Twiggy, when his Dad, playfully stretched his legs out, saying, “Are you ready for Kumite Twiggy”, which was a reference, to an blondie English model from the eighties and the classic Van Dam movie Blood Sport back in the day. Samuel his youngest was Chosen Curl Was Bound To Woo, Head Banger’s Ball, Snuggle Beast, Little Pig, whenever he’d snort to make daddy laugh, although Do It All Dad’s personal favorite nickname was Jabba Hut, Hut, Hut In The House, which Matilda, Jeremiah and Daddy would call him whenever he stuck his abnormally thick tongue out in public or at home. Thus far, the only home Samuel ever knew was Dad’s Comedy Grant House.  Joshua called the house the Comedy Grant House because they got after his all-star nurse wife, applied for an affordable housing grant, and got it. And ever since they moved in Joshua turned into his new comedy making factory machine, intent on making the entire universe laugh for a living on his blog and podcast, making the best of what God blessed him with, for sticking with serving lady laugh with his funny man might, despite there being no clear payday in sight. The mailman at the Post Office, was smitten with Samuel, always telling, Joshua, “He’s so good. You’re going to miss him so much once he starts Kindergarten.” But that wasn’t happening tomorrow. Recently, Samuel defended his Dad’s honor, after I had to explain mama broke his blue, yellow and red toy train gift from Hanukkah, which they picked up together at Union Square, because she threw at his big Jew head, after a conversation about telling her parents about raising them Jewish. Samuel says to Mama in the most direct, heart warming yet means business way, “Don’t throw my train at Daddy again. He’s my best friend.” And best friends find a way to hang out together no matter what, to build each other when they’re down and to make each other happy in their company. It was time to take their father, son dish review show Better Than Boobie, on the road and now Joshua had the idea to do it, with his 9 year old Beshert daughter agent, also known as Billion Dollar Brain to ensure this food truck comedy road show was bound for Do It All Dad glory.

 

 

 

 

 

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.