Posts Tagged ‘Massachusetts’

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A Lesson in Tipping

April 4, 2008

Today I had the most awkward tipping experience of my life. Instead of following in my footsteps (since I’m an archetypical role model), learn from my mistakes as a dumbass and avoid these moves.

Out at Breakfast with my friend Bagel, I wanted to pay for our breakfast to thank him for putting me up in his house.

Mistake #1: Failure to look at the bill
* In my haste to be such a thankful friend, I totally didn’t look at the bill, instead pulling out my wallet and pushing his hand away like the total assclown I am.

Mistake #2: Forgetting Credit Card
*It was about this time I realized I didn’t have my credit card or license on me. So I now have my wallet out, insisting I pay for the meal, but I have no frigging idea how I’m going to actually pay for it. Meanwhile, the waitress is standing there awaiting payment since I told her I had it covered.

waitress

Mistake #3: Grabbing any dollar bill available
* The meal was only $9.50, and because I have the luck of a protester in Tiananmen Square, I pulled out a $10 bill. Think about the repercussions of that one…

After I awkwardly place the money in the waitresses hand, I look at Bagel and smile (the whole time cycling through contingency plans for how I’ll tip this girl.) When she returns, she has this really odd look on her face. She holds out her hand and asks, “Uh… did you want… the $0.50 back?”

Now, I feel like a total asshole. Fortunately, while she was busy figuring out the change, I managed to scrape up $1, a quarter and 4 pennies. What’s that? I sound like a cheapass? Well, do your math, putzy. $1.79 is over a 15% tip. So maybe I was a little too trigger happy in pulling out my wallet, but consider me the Norman Frigging Rockefeller of breakfast tipping.

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A Mohel and his Meat

March 29, 2008

While visiting Massachusetts, I went with my friend, Bagel, to his weekly meeting with a local Rabbi. Bagel meets with the Rabbi to learn about the laws of Judaism, and I was fortunate enough to come in on a discussion of Kosher Laws.

kosher kitty
A recent photo of the Rabbi

Everyone always asks me why Jews keep Kosher and if I’ve ever eaten bacon.
1. Jews keep Kosher because of laws set in place centuries ago to prevent illness due to the consumption of certain types of food, such as pork, shellfish, etc. (Plus, pigs are like superheroes to us…)
2. Yes, believe it or not, I’ve eaten bacon, ham, cheeseburgers, shrimp, lobster and anything else that blatantly breaks the Kosher laws. (You don’t have to keep Kosher to be considered a good Jew. Besides, we have the FDA now.)

Circle U

So the Rabbi is teaching us about the Kosher laws, enlightening us on laws regarding the preparation of meat and reasoning for not being able to eat pork, shellfish and, yes, even human flesh. (That’s right, despite his delicious Plasma Noodle Soup with Matzah Ball recipe, Jeffrey Dahmer would not be considered Kosher.)

As I’m learning about these laws, I feel compelled to ask the Rabbi a question. I interrupt his explanation to say, “Excuse me, Rabbi. This is a random question, but I’ve been meaning to ask someone in your profession for a long time.”

Rabbi: “What is it you want to know?”
Me: “Well, here’s what I don’t understand. When I was younger, my cousin had his circumcision. My brother was his godfather and had to hold him while the Mohel did his things with the scissors.”
Rabbi: “Yes?”
Me: “Well, my brother’s holding my cousin, the mohel snips his tip and five minutes later, the entire family is eating a fresh tray of cold cuts. What’s the deal with this “snip-tip, eat-meat” tradition or can you at least tell me what goes best on a Kaiser roll with onion and tomato?”

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Life on the Lake: A Tale of B&E

March 28, 2008
Lake Shot

There’s nothing better than a “lobstah” meal with the family. Cracking shells and shooting lobster shmegma all over family members’ faces are some of those small things in life that bring me ultimate joy. It’s especially entertaining when it shoots right near the eye, but I digress…

Lobstahs

The lobstah dinner was only the beginning. I’ve only had a handful of chances to get to know my Uncle Fester. He has a family of his own, and it’s pretty difficult to get together when I live 3200 miles away. On this special night, I not only got to go to a local watering hole and “people watch” all the townies as they drank away their sorrows, inhibitions, marriages and bladder control, but good ol’ Fester made sure I got the full hometown experience.

As we drove home from the bar, we were reminiscing about when I was little and how he used to torture me (or as he calls it being a good uncle.) The one memory that stands out the most is the Wine Bottle… When I was a little “husky” kid, any food or drink in sight was fair game for consumption. Fester took advantage of my youthful gluttony and set out a wine bottle on top of his fridge. Whenever I’d come over the house, he’d say, “Hey snappahead, you wanna try this wine?” Without a second thought, I’d nod my head emphatically, licking my lips and waiting for that sweet nectar. He’d hand me the bottle, making sure it was right up to my face, and uncork it, releasing the smelliest, raunchiest, most pungent fart right into my nostrils. It seriously singed my nose hairs, but I digress…

So we’re driving, reminiscing about family and farts, and Fester pulls a quick louie, almost running the car into a ditch. We pull to a stop:

Fester: “Hey Butthead… you hungry?”
Me: (somewhat intoxicated) “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Fester: “That’s what I wanted to hear. This is what I like to call Life on the Lake!”

Without waiting a minute longer, we walk up the stairs and pull our own B&E right in the neighbor’s house. Fester b-lines it to the fridge, pulls out a bunch of plastic containers and throws me a jug of apple cider, “Make it a good chug, nibblenuts.” I down a good quarter of the cider, as he starts shoveling left over Chinese food into his mouth. “Food kinda sucks,” he musters between bites. He looks in the fridge and has a look of total disgust on his face, “Where’s the frigging beer? Screw it! Leave the fridge door open and follow me.”

Downstairs we open the fridge to find an open case of Milwaukee’s Best (ugh) and a brand new case of Miller Lite (ehhh). “Beast? What kind of shit is this?” he says as he throws the case of beer across the basement. He rips open the new package of Miller Lite hands me two and takes two for himself.

Back upstairs, we’re digging into Chinese, as he starts to nibble on a sparerib. All of a sudden I hear an enormous belch accompanied by the sound of a sparerib bone bouncing off the window. “You good, buddy?” he asks as he places the empty Chinese containers back in the fridge.

I nod, and we head to the car, driving a good 20 feet to our own driveway. Fast forward about 30 minutes when we get a call from the neighbor, Kenny, as we’re sipping on Grand Marnier: “Hey I’m having people over. Get the hell over here you sack of shit.”

We walk inside the door, looking at the kitchen we had just raided no more than 30 minutes earlier. It’s full of people, laughing and drinking. Kenny walks up to Fester, double fisting a Bloody Mary in one hand and a beer in the other. “What can I get you assholes? Beer? Some Mary Mix?”

Uncle Fester, with a completely straight face, looks at Kenny and says, “Got any spareribs?”