Last night, just when I planned on kicking back on the official Virtual Memories fainting couch and reading some of Herodotus’ Histories, I got a call from my buddy Adam, who was planning on going to some chanukkah parties in NYC.
Before I left the house, I considered grabbing my digital camera, but thought, “Ah, I’ll end up dropping it in the sink when I’m washing my hands, like I did in NZ.” So I left it on the hall table.
I seriously regretted this decision two hours later when, at the Manhattan Jewish Experience party, we were treated to the rap stylings of “50 Shekel.” You can’t imagine how dismayed I am that I don’t have any photos of this for you. When he went onstage, I was in the midst of explaining to a Frenchwoman how NYC is sorta defined by plasticity, by the capacity of reinvention, both in its architecture and in its inhabitants. She gestured up at the stage and said, “Say no more.”
After this party, Adam & I headed down to a club near 12th St. for another gathering of Jews (as well as some, um, members of the lost tribe, if you get my meaning). We gallivanted and debauched in a fun way. It was fun to be clubbing at a time when most of New York was asleep. While the gentiles were having their dreams of sugar-plum fairies, a girl took one look at me, grabbed me by the lapels and pulled me close so we could dance to Sean Paul. It was a little Jewish wonderland. I just wish it hadn’t been so loud.
The lowlight of the evening, though, had to be when Adam & I double-teamed some poor girl on the dance floor, a la the Butabi brothers. Or maybe the real lowlight was when we were hitting a street-meat kiosk at 2am. It’s all a bit of a blur, I’m afraid.
Anyway, for any of my Christian friends who are so bored that they’re actually reading this on Christmas day, I want to extend my wishes for a good holiday. God is love, and the constant unfolding of creation is our daily miracle.
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