Narishkeit

In my mind the headline reads Cancel Christmas Because I Beat Up Santa Claus but I know that part can’t be true because headlines don’t use ‘I’ in them, or at least I can’t remember any that did.

But then again after recent events bits and pieces of my memory are a bit of a blur so maybe I am wrong.

It Is Hard to Say You Beat Up Santa

There are relatively few good ways to tell most people that you beat up Santa Claus.

Most of them start with he was drunk, aggressive and getting too friendly with my wife/kids but those are hard to come by.

My story isn’t quite like that. The jolly old man wasn’t making eyes at my woman or doing bad things to my kids so I don’t have any reasons other than I just don’t like him.

Something about that guy just chaps my hide. Maybe it is because as the Jewish kid I know he automatically puts me on the naughty list.

Once upon a midnight dreary when I found myself in a state between weak and weary I started thinking about how unfair it was not to be gifted with whatever sort of gifts are given to the other team.

Since I am a peace loving fellow I figured the best way to go about this was to figure out who Mr. Claus reports to. Once I had that information it would be easy to encourage him to share some loot with me.

When I began my research discovered the 1-800-Ask a Gentile hotline. I dialed the fine folks over there and much to my chagrin learned it didn’t work. Every time I called I got one of those error messages about the line not being in service.

Since my one track mind isn’t easily dissuaded I called the Vatican and asked to be connected with the pope.

Apparently he isn’t available to take calls nor is he willing to return them, especially when they are of a frivolous or silly nature. I don’t know about you, but a guy who wears a funny pointed hat shouldn’t chew on the butts of other people who enjoy silly.

Anyhoo, time passes and I am stumped. Mrs. Hackleshmackle, the librarian from my high school called me an idiot and said she don’t have to put up with my nonsense no more.

There ain’t no one at the Library of Congress who will answer my question nor is there anyone at the Smithsonian. But like I said, I am determined so I figure I’ll go to the local mall and ask the guy who is playing Santa Claus if he can help me out.

So I head on over to the Short Hills Mall and find myself talking to an elf who has a real Jersey attitude. I say, Snooky, I got no time to deal with an elf who smells like she doused herself with a combination of kerosene and Chanel Number Smellslikecrap. Just tell the fat guy I need to talk.

I don’t even want to tell you what sort of response I got, but it was pretty vulgar. Fortunately Santa heard us talking and he waddled over and what he said shocked me.

That fat old man used a series of four letter words in a fashion that cannot be described as friendly or jolly.

Well, no one gets a free poke at me so I told Santa that if he didn’t apologize I was going to kick his ass.

Jersey Santa didn’t take too kindly to that so he vaulted over the candy cane fence and came straight for me.

Santa, I ain’t one of your elves. The sarge told me he loved me because I am a hard charger with a head full of rocks. Step back or risk having your bag of coal shoved so far up your ass a match and a burp will start a fire.

Needless to say Jersey Santa didn’t take my advice but he did take five fingers in the mouth, a boot to the ass and a hard right to the gut.

Had there been a window he probably would have been defenestrated, but sadly luck was not on my side.

I’d like to say I got through the moment unscathed and unharmed but that wouldn’t be true.

Two of Santa’s elves jumped me from behind. One of them bit my shoulder and the other grabbed a hold of the kind of package that requires more TLC than they gave it.

And Santa, well he surprised me with a hook shot that almost knocked me on my ass. I have to give him credit for that one, it was almost as good as he got.

Twenty-five years later I still don’t get anything on Christmas nor have I ever figured out who Santa’s boss is. But I got some good memories and I didn’t get arrested, so I guess I got that going for me.

Editor’s Note: This post has appeared in various forms on this blog and elsewhere from time to time, most recently here. Based upon comments from the past I’ll remind you it falls under the narishkeit category and may or may not be true or exaggerated.

If you enjoyed this you might try It Wasn’t Worth Getting Arrested and The Flying Clown.

Won’t be long before the terrible beauty of November is eclipsed by a midnight moon and I’ll roll into the final month of a year that has been filled with as many ups and downs as any I can think of.

Flip on iTunes, turn on The Immigrant Song, close my eyes and think about what stories to share with you. I participated in NaBloPoMo, the blog every fucking day of the month exercise…again.

Sometimes I wonder it is an appropriate writing exercise for a man who has multiple blogs because I update all of them on a regular basis and though I  am a proponent of the value/importance of writing regularly I have come to appreciate the beauty of disconnecting from my electronic gear and world.

Why You Should Never Blog About Sex With Clergy Members

Sometimes we talk about the importance of being part of a community and how it can help you become a better blogger. While there is merit in doing so I am not one who likes to be labeled or pigeonholed as being part of one group which is why one of my favorite posts is Do I Need A Tribe or Must I Have a Label?

There is a line in it about Sister Mary Incredible but nothing about sleeping with a woman who would one day become a rabbi. Is it wrong that I want to say I am responsible for helping her find God?

Don’t tell the Shmata Queen about that one because she might forget I am not invisible and come looking for me. And if she opens her eyes and discovers mine staring into hers she might ask questions no one really needs to know the answers to. Or she might ask me if I am baiting her by writing these words.

If she did ask I’d smile and tell her it just doesn’t matter and then she’d yell at me and I’d tell her to close her eyes and ask her heart not to try not to stomp on mine when she closed the door.

And then I’d apologize and she’d ask me why I do that and I’d say because I can’t pull her pigtails and she’d roll her eyes at me and I’d say you know we can’t stay angry with each other.

Damn woman.

*****

Three beers and two shots of something that burns your throat do a fine job of giving you liquid courage not that I really wanted or needed any because I am good at coming up with this crap without any assistance.

Probably should have mentioned earlier that sometimes I exaggerate, embellish and or elaborate in ways that are designed to engage. Call that a long winded way of trying to find more ways to suck you in and keep you reading.

Johnny Cash is singing In My Life and I am smiling because it is so very appropriate for this time and this moment.

FWIW, I am not aware of having ever had sexual relations with a member of the clergy but I admit to wanting to have a story about Sister Mary Incredible.

Who wouldn’t want to share a tale of nunsense.

Movies & Children

Saturday night my daughter asked if we could have a family movie night. I said sure and asked her if she still wanted to see Guardians of The Galaxy.

I wasn’t certain if she would like it but some time back she complained that she was the only kid in her class that hadn’t seen it and said it was unfair I had taken her older brother.

When she pushed me to take her then I told her she needed a better reason than “because everyone else did it” and we let it go.

Anyhoo when she asked me if we could have a family movie night I thought Guardians might offer a painless solution, something that we would all agree up and it would have been fine had it been available for rent.

Turned out the damn flick was available for purchase only so I apologized and said we would have to make another choice.

She said ok but told me she wanted to see it more now because she likes the soundtrack. Somewhere between Hooked on a Feeling and Fooled Around and Fell In Love she decided it is something she needs to see.

Sunday morning rolled around and I told the kids if they finished their homework we could go see something at the AMC. The kids said the  Penguins of Madagascar was a good movie but I know it for being a great place for taking a nap.

Do Things Happen For a Reason?

I can’t play the guitar nor sing but if a genie gave me a bunch of wishes those would be on my list of thing I want.

That is because a good storyteller wants more than one way to tell the tales he sees in his head and feels in his heart. But sometimes I think I wasn’t given that particular gift because it would have made some things too damn easy and many things have come easily to me.

It is kind of funny to say that because as often as I say life is too damn hard I have to say how easy it has been. That doesn’t mean I haven’t had rough moments or that there aren’t times where I wonder how the hell I am going to get myself through a particular moment because that crap has been around more times than I can tell you.

This moment now, this moment before midnight is one of those. One of those times where I want to go look up at the moon and ask the universe to give me a straight answer about why things are cocked up and twisted.

If you told me to hold the castle for a while I’d nod my head, tell you to pull up the draw bridge and recite some kind of oath, maybe something like this.

Maybe I’d be like Raoul in Phantom of The Opera or maybe Gandalf would appear and share some sort of inspirational vision with me. Hell it would be cool to have Dumbledore come out of the sky and provide some sort of wisdom I could hold onto.

But none of those things have happened and none of those people have appeared.

It has always been just old Jack, his heart and common sense.

Most of the time that has been enough.

But if the universe did answer, if a voice did come from the sky I think it would say leave your comfort zone and trust your feet to help you dance to the song of your heart.

 

‘Come at me bro’ is universally recognized as a poor way to open a conversation yet there are those who see it as both appropriate and practical but not I.

If you read She Saved My Heart you know that even though the Grinch is my hero I still possess a shred of compassion and own a tiny black heart that much like the little engine that could never quit(s).

But those truths aren’t enough to prevent my inner Taurus from feeling the need to stomp, gore and trample those who make the mistake of gaining the wrong sort of attention from me.

The Telephone Rang

The telephone rang twice during the late afternoon.

The first was a butt dial that disappointed me because I didn’t get to listen to anything interesting, educational, informative or exciting. And everyone knows the best part of being butt dialed is getting to listen to something special.

Call number two came from a man who said he had found my resume online and thought I had the qualities of someone who would be successful.

“Hello, Mr. Steiner, I am in receipt of your resume and I believe you have the qualities of someone who could be successful. Would you like to hear about this opportunity?”

I was fairly certain I knew what he was going to sell me but I figured I would make sure by listening to what he had to say.

“What would you say Mr. Steiner if I told you that I could offer you an opportunity to be your own boss and make a very fine living?

“I’d wonder if you were about to tell me that you were going to give me control of my dream to own 16 McDonalds. Do you know how many Chicken Nuggets and Big Macs I can eat?”

He surprised me by not slowing down and told me he wasn’t going to fulfill my dream by providing me with 16 McDonalds but that he would tell me about how I could earn enough to buy 16 on my own.

“Well Mr. Steiner if you are open to learning something today than I can tell you about how this would be possible on a part-time or even a full-time basis.”

I might have grown slightly irritated when he wouldn’t allow himself to be pulled off of script to play along with my dream and tried to tell me about a great opportunity that was only available if I was open to learning.

Part of that is because I didn’t have to do the math to know that no one makes enough cash in a year to buy 16 McDonalds working part-time and that even full time would be a stretch, at least it would be being a broker.

Don’t tell me that I am being close-minded and that it is possible because I know it is. I know that if I got licensed to sell stocks or life insurance I might have the contacts to make that kind of money.

Maybe my pal Froah Damonkeylover is a multimillionaire who decides he is willing to help me make my year by helping me hit the jackpot but it is not likely.

There is a much better shot of me buying a house in Cleveland and agreeing to deal with flaming rivers and frigid rivers than of hitting that jackpot.

Anyhoo I decided it was time to cut to the chase and asked the fine fellow on the phone if he was talking about a position that was salaried or commission only.

That was when he tried to explain that bonuses and residuals and a sense of satisfaction made a salary less attractive and I responded by laughing.

You Aren’t Open

“Mr. Steiner, you aren’t really open to learning about new opportunities are you. That is really a shame because this one is special.”

“How long have you been with the company? What else have you sold? Have you been working for more than 5 years? Between studying for the license, taking the test and waiting for the state to acknowledge I passed we are probably talking about a realistic start date of some time in January right.”

I suspect the rapid response and multiple questions caught him off guard, but he tried to answer.

“I have been with the firm for almost a year and selling different items for about five. You can have a license in about three weeks.”

I told him I had interviewed with one of the major players in the industry and they told me it would be at least five weeks and said I had more faith in that response because it came from someone who had been in the field for more than a decade. And then I told him I was disappointed that he wouldn’t go off script and kept insisting the unlikely and improbable was possible.

“Mr. Steiner, I don’t think it is appropriate to ask all these questions over the telephone and not in person. I don’t have time to answer them. You need to stop asking them and come in to meet with me.”

His “Come at Me Bro” response earned him a full Steiner drubbing which would have been far more fun to do in person but I wasn’t about to give him the time.

“Let’s establish a few things here, you called me. It is not my fault or my problem if you don’t have time to talk. Someone needs to retrain you and help you understand that when you contact prospective employees you are selling the company and the opportunities it offers. You can’t do that when you insult the prospects and or get upset when they don’t react/respond as you want them to. I am among the best salespeople you have ever met because I know when to tell the story and when to shut up and listen.”

You Met The Worst Salesman Ever

“Mr. Steiner, I don’t believe that. I believe that people leave you thinking you met the worst salesman ever. If you are so good at your job why are you on the phone with me looking for work.”

“Maybe it is because I own 16 McDonalds that I earned from working hard and now I am the Duke of Burger Flipping and Earl of Mcnuggets.”

Sadly there is no more tale to tell because we were disconnected, it was too bad because I was about to really say ‘Come at me Bro.”

How many blog posts have headlines that reference Mel, the chef on Alice. Actually I am not sure if Mel actually said the best defense is a good offense or not but if he did Flo would have said to kiss her grits.

But for the sake of the post I’ll share a story about my youth and one about the present.

My mother tells me when I was a wee lad I went through a phase where I would walk up to other children, introduce myself and then hit them. I’d say I was a hit on the playground but it is an awful pun and my mother wouldn’t appreciate it.

There are still a few moms who think I am an awful child but as a kid of the 7os I am happy to ask if any of them actually paid attention to what we kids were doing because in those days you could send your kid outside while you popped a couple of Valium and smoked Virginia Slims with your box of wine.

I’ll let you decide if I am exaggerating or not.

When my mother asked me why I hit those other kids I told her I was worried they were going to hit me so I hit them first. No, I wasn’t paranoid at all, they were out to get me.

Anyhoo…

About The Offense And The Defense

Earlier this week a dude decided to mix it up with another dad blogger and we unleashed the hordes upon him. Let me tell it is a frightening sight to see 983,322 men wearing cargo shorts and carrying parenting gear come running at you.

The sounds of the huffing and puffing from the well padded are barely heard by those bastards who still wear the same size 32 inch jeans they wore in college.

We carry a variety of armor and ordinance with us. The diaper brigade is armed with biological weapons while the Toddler crew uses Thomas The Tank Engine rifles that uses fat conductor caliber shells.

Those are pretty nasty, but not as bad as what happens when you step on one of the Lego mines with a barefoot.

But none of that compares to what happens when the older fellas roll out the angry teenage girls brigade. I have seen grown men run in the opposite direction of those eye rolling, laser eye glaring look of death throwing girls.

Anyway, your old friend Jack not being of sound mind or body doesn’t always exhibit the common sense or maturity a crotchety old men has earned so during these dust ups you can sometimes find him at the center.

This week was no different.

I know. I should hang my head in shame for jumping over the bridge to troll the trolls but sometimes an almost middle aged man feels the need to show the young bucks he can still run with them.

And that my friends is part of the reason why the picture from my statcounter is up there.

One of those trolls spent almost two hours checking out my blog.

The Past Meets The Present

It is possible it was an innocent visit and that the dude was just curious to see who the unhinged lunatic was. Perhaps they were trying to ascertain if I was in a beserker rage.

You can’t blame them. How many times have you seen a father wield strollers in either hand with the sort of skill I do.

It would be pretentious to say it is all natural so I won’t say it but I do have lots of practice. I have been known to change diapers one handed, while holding vomiting toddlers and keeping a watchful eye on the three other kids that are having a pretend lightsaber fight.

I was prepared in advance for such a thing, so the kids knew that when dad said he was using the Force on them they had to pretend to be frozen in place for at least 90 seconds.

Of course 90 seconds is 30 seconds more than I need to change a diaper so that left me with ample time to enter the fray with my own lightsaber.

I was a whirling dervish out there which is probably why that other parent’s kids entered the battle. Everyone wants to take on the best and if they hadn’t been cheaters they would have acknowledged I won.

Anyhoo I thought about the visitor and wondered if perhaps they were going to launch their own attack upon me. The one they unleashed upon the other dad blogger was a poorly written and pathetic attempt at parody.

So I thought that maybe they might try the same thing with me and then I decided they would never do such a thing. Except there was this little voice that yelled at me that maybe I was wrong.

Echoes from more than forty years reached through the decades and said “better safe than sorry” so I shrugged my shoulders and screamed “BATTLE!”

Ok, I didn’t scream but I thought if he did try to launch his own poorly written parody of me I would be ready for it by putting out a post that showed I own real estate inside his head that I picked up for free.

No one spends two hours plotting unless they really like the reading in which case ignore all the stuff that came before this and accept my gratitude.

Either way I win. Woohoo!

I am beginning to wonder if I should be allowed to walk freely among people or if perhaps I need to wear a sign that warns people that I my bite is worse than my bark.

You’d think that a guy who wrote “You never want to look back upon your day while sitting handcuffed in the back of a squad car and wonder how it could have gone to hell so quickly” would be cautious about how he behaved in public.

Surely he wasn’t interested in wearing a pair of silver bracelets again. You’d think he wouldn’t want to explain to another judge how it is not his fault he got into another fight.

It wasn’t worth getting arrested for beating a man with a salami. Sure it makes for a great story but when you realize that it is not the only tale of you engaging in fisticuffs you have to accept that people begin to question your self control.

You can try to distract them with 69 Reasons Why Fathers Make Better Lovers but eventually you touch upon the time you beat up a surly, drunk and horny clown at a birthday party and people wonder if maybe you have self control issues.

Can’t blame them for asking, especially when you talk about blogging without shame.

It’s The Dumbest Way To Get Arrested

If you ask me to pull a card from any deck I can promise you I am going to pull the Joker every time. Can’t tell you if it is good luck or a curse because there is enough black in my ledge to balance the red.

But then again that is what it looked like before this last incident.

The only thing I hate more than food shopping is doing it in a crowd which is why I chose to hit my local establishment for a couple of beers and some wings.

I figured by the time the game ended the grocery store would be mostly empty and I was mostly right. Mostly because I chose to hit the produce department at the same time as a group of college boys did.

Don’t ask me to explain why they were staring at the lettuce and checking out the melons and not buying beer because I don’t get it either.

I can’t explain that any better than I can tell how two of them and I started exchanging artillery fire in the aisles. What I can tell you is that if you ever get into it in the store don’t try throwing cantaloupes at your adversary, especially if he is me.

That is because I can throw green apples harder, faster and more accurately than you can. If you are smart you’ll take cover or if you are young, dumb and stupid you’ll let me come at you and eventually I will use a pile of watermelon’s to destroy you.

You can’t imagine how dumb you’ll look after you get hit by several 8 pound melons.

The thing you have to remember is that eventually someone is going to call the police because you are fighting in the market. Said police will come and give you silver bracelets and you’ll think that a watermelon war is the dumbest way to get arrested.

Later On

Later on your public defender will ask you to explain yourself so he can provide an adequate defense and you’ll quote Sean Connery’s character in The Untouchables.

Malone: You wanna know how to get Capone? They pull a knife, you pull a gun. He sends one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. *That’s* the *Chicago* way! And that’s how you get Capone. Now do you want to do that? Are you ready to do that? I’m offering you a deal. Do you want this deal?

And then your PD will look cross eyed at you and you’ll try to explain that you were minding your own business and that it started when these other guys made fun of you dancing.

When your PD asks what you were dancing to you’ll say you started with Paul Revere by The Beastie Boys and explain that what really set you off was when Barry Manilow’s Weekend In New England came on.

The PD will ask why that song is on your phone and instead of giving him a civil answer you’ll jump across the table and start slapping him because you think he questioned your masculinity.

And when push comes to shove you’ll admit that maybe you lack impulse control but demand that you aren’t charged with assault because you are entitled to defend your person and your taste in music.

Epilogue

My shrink says I shouldn’t talk about these moments in the third person because it makes it easier for me to disconnect and not be accountable. I told him that he shouldn’t talk to me that way and he asked if I was going to hurt him too.

I told him talking like that was a good way to get a beating and he kept doing it so I proved I am a man of my word. I don’t think my Freud wannabe will do that again.

Editor’s Note: This was 32 minutes of flash fiction I wrote just for the heck of it. I have never been arrested or beaten anyone up with fruit or processed meat.