This post contains unabashed racism

My lab partner is not bad for a shvartze. He speaks with black rhythm, but his accent is white. Plus he has nice glasses, which give him an intellectual appearance. Oh yeah, I forgot the main thing: he knows stuff and knows how to think. So, all in all, he's not bad for a nigger.

Anyhow, we had finished our lab experiment and were heading to elevators, when he met his friend. The friend was disgruntled. He was bored in class. Stupid teachers! Making him do experiments he had already done last semester. yeah it sucked. he had done it before, and now he needed to do it again. "Why didn't you pass last semester?" my affable nigger friend asked his glum nigger friend.

"I dunno," the surly young man pouted. "All my friends were getting B's, B+'s. I even tried contacting the teacher, got his phone number, and his e-mail address even. but he said there was nothing he could do. i got like a forty on the final. and all i wanted was a C."

"And all he wanted was a C," I repeated to myself comiseratingly. Darn those smarty pants geeks, with their high-falutin' demands for A's and B's. Here he is, a simple man, asking only for a C, and even that the teacher can't give him. Harumph.

Do not read this post. It is nonsensical.

If he would take the movies off the name of the earth the face of the master and man of the world below because that's just the way it is and we have never done anything different but who knows? Perhaps tomorrow will be different. Perhaps the sun will shine brighter, and the birds will chirp louder. Perhaps the mother of all life will shine like a dove over the lights of Zion, and the people will cheer, and the children will laugh. Perhaps the light of the darkness will spill into the canister of the old shovel pushing the mannequin into the sea and covering with the depths the meaning of yore and killing all who stand in her path of hell and destruction, because I am him and he is me, and there is no separation above nor below from the prop tower to the basin to the steppe to the tones. From the water to the valley; from soup to nuts, and the rockets fly over the little girls, and they all take themselves over the brook, dipping their little toes over the rocks with the moss and the anteaters slurping, with his agile finger running over the keys, in an avuncular sort of fashion with sour faces and light sprinkles.

ATTTENTION BTS AND NON-GEZHES: Fry out and increase your odds of getting married

I haven't posted in I don't know how long. I'm sure that nobody is going to read this anyways. So this is purely for my own entertainment. A deranged man speaking to himself. Writing sentence fragments. Committing the unforgivable sin of blogging about blogging. The horrific circularity about it. I'm now bloggging about blogging about blogging. This can keep on going forever. STOP!!!!

Well, now back to our regularly scheduled programming. I have a simple solution for the victims of the shidduch crisis, those steadily aging spinsters of the frum world. They should just fry out. This will increase their marketability, as I shall proceed to demonstrate.

One of the causes of the shidduch crisis is that more boys are frying out than girls, leaving fewer good boys to marry the many good girls. When a girl decides to marry a fry guy, she stops shopping in a market which is experiencing a shortage and moves into a market experiencing a huge surplus.

And the fry-guys market's surplus is way greater than the good-guys market's shortage. Allow me to illustrate: suppose 2% of guys fry out and 1% of girls fry out. Thus, if the pre-frying shidduch pool contains 1,000 specimens of each gender, the post-frying shidduch pool contains 980 guys and 990 girls. Thus, one out a hundred girls stays single.

But what happens on the other side? The fry-guys-and-gals shidduch market contains 20 fry guys and 10 fry gals. So half the guys go galless. When a girl stops looking in the frum market and starts looking in the fry market, she goes from having a 1% chance of staying single to having a 200% chance of getting hitched. I must be fudging the math somewhere, because you can't have a 200% chance of anything happening. Whatever. I don't know. The point is that she stops being a moderately undesirable commodity and becomes a hotly desired commodity.

What I've said until now is rather elementary. Anybody can understand this point with a little bit of observation. Now comes my real chiddush. (OK I apologize for sounding Yeshivish. Listen, I wasn't planning on having you read this anyways. Do I need to apologize to my non-existent readership?)

My chiddush is relevant to the BT girl considering returning to her old wayward path (pardon that frumkeit-induced statement of value). Girls compete with each other in the frum-shidduch market. And the BT girl has a disadvantage. Her father never urinated in Nevel, and a spinster she shall remain. When the BT girls fries out, she not only vastly improves her odds (as any girl who leaves the fold does) but she now has an edge over her FFB peers. Moreover, her edge over the FFBs is precisely the edge which they had had over her.

In the frum world, the FFB says to the BT, "You just came into this society. You don't really fit. Until you die, you will mispronounce 'Rebbe' and forget whether there's a mussaf on Chanukah. You will never have childhood memories of getting lekach from the Rebbe. You were never taught parshah by Morah Beracha. I fit in and you don't. And you won't."

In the fry world, says the BT-turned-fry-girl to the FFB-turned-fry-girl, "You just came into this society. You don't really fit. You will always say 'by' instead of 'at' and 'learn' instead of 'study.' Until the day you die, you won't know [I don't know what the FFB won't know, because I myself don't know it. Y'all get the point]." You never made paper-plate pre-Thanksgiving turkeys in kindergarden. I fit in and you don't. And you won't"

In the frum world the FFB gets the good guy and the BT gets the loser. In the fry world, if the wayward BT wants former-frummies, she's zapped up before the wayward FFB.

There's only one issue: BTs are flakey. Pardon my over generalizing. If you're a BT, and you're reading it, I'm sure you're a non-flake. X% of BTs aren't flakes, and you and everyone you know and everyone you are related to are among that percentage. But overall, BTs are flakes. If you then fry out, does that indicate an additional lever of flakiness? I suppose one who frums in and fries out belies an inability to make important life decisions right the first time. I mean, what does that mean? "I thought I'd discovered truth, but then I realized it was false"? You should have realized. If you jumped at this crap once, who knows what other crap you'll jump at? I never actually met a BT who fried out.

Y'know what. Let me modify my chiddush. (Sorry for the yeshivish. But the word is a useful word in this situation.) Let's not compare BTs and FFBs. Let's compare gezhes who fry out and and non-gezhes who fry out. The edge which I claimed earlier puts the BT ahead of the FFB actually puts the non-gezhe ahead of the gezhe. Plus, the non-gezhe who fries out does not have the presumed flakiness of the BT. Yay! Hook me up with a fry non-gezhe, and let's get married!

A Plagiarized anecdote, which illustrates my fundamental theory about Life, the Universe, and Everything

An Orthodox Jew, a Hindu, and an atheist went for some barbequed steak. The Orthodox Jew wondered if his steak was kosher; The Hindu wondered how many thousand gods were inside the steak. The atheist just enjoyed his steak.

Stuff is what it is. That doesn't sound very profound, until you compare it with the religous view: things aren't what they are. All gashmius is nishtalshel from ruchnius; It looks like the world isn't ready for Moshiach, but reall it is, because the Rebbe said it is; etc. To which I say, "It is what it is; no more no less." The steak is a steak. Enjoy it!

An X-rated Question About 21st Century Life

Why is it that most spam is about penis enlargement and fake Rolex watches? There are lots of industries out there that presumably would want to make money from spamming. Why are davka penis enlargement and fake Rolex companies doing this? I usually get 4-6 penis enlargement solicitations every day. Haven't they realized yet that I'm not interested?

My Epiphany: Why My Children Won't be Religious

I've got my issues with religion, but I always felt that religion is good for those who are able to buy it. If you can swallow all those myths/fabrications/legal fictions/laws/restrictions/beliefs/warped ethics, that bundle of bullshit, then I think you’re going to have a pretty happy life.

First of all, whenever anything goes wrong you can blame—or rather thank—God. You missed the train? Well, obviously God wants you to be on the next train. Or purify the Kingston Avenue station’s air a little longer. Or miss your appointment. Or whatever. Point is: God’s always watching out for you, making sure you miss the trains that you’ve got to miss, and make the trains that you’ve got to make. If you play the numbers 770613 every week, and the week you don’t play them, 770613 wins the jackpot, well God has a great plan up his sleeve that will work only if you don’t play 770613 punkt this week. You can trust God.

When things go right, it’s not just a-sheesh-that-was-lucky occurrence. Rather God Himself is peeking out from behind the clouds saying, “Great! I got a chance to repay my faithful servant Yukel Todres! Oh, I’m so glad he passed his test/found five dollars on the street/recovered from cancer! Y’know I almost killed him last week. His friends and family members were only producing an average of 92.3 chapters of Psalms a day—and the quota for lung cancer sufferers is at least 300 during the first two weeks of chemo. It’s a good thing they put his name on www.misheberach.com--those additional 37 misheberachs on Monday and Thursday and 423 on Shabbos just put him over the top!”

In short, Someone’s always looking out for you, making sure everything happens just when it should.

When it comes to decisions, religious people again have it easy. Should I go to LA or Toronto? Should I buy a Dell or Compaq? Should I accept the new position, or keep my old job? Should I get divorced or stay married to the bitch? Should I post something on my blog or read what some dead rabbi has to say about cooking chickens in human milk? (It’s prohibited because of ma’aris ayin in case you were wondering.) There is no such thing as a hard decision for a religious person. You weigh the factors, think it over a couple times… then ask your mashpia, follows what he says, and live happily ever after, because you know that no matter what, you got a guaranteed correct answer because your mashpia told you to do it. Great, isn’t it?

Of course religious people never need to ask themselves any hard questions, but that’s an entirely different subject.

The point is that religion a great security blanket for adults—if you can buy it. B’avoinoiseinu horabim (English: because life’s a bitch), some of us ask the tough questions, forcing us to make hard decisions and not allowing us to blame everything on God’s will. Well, it’s a tough life being a disillusioned yeshiva bochur. But once you taste the forbidden fruit (i.e. Richard Dawkins) there’s no going back into the garden.

As you can imagine, with my moderately benign view on religion, I thought that if any of my children would feel the need to BTify themselves (English: stick their heads in the ancient Talmudic/Hassidic sand) I would be thrilled. That child would have an easier, simpler and more certain life. Not to mention, s/he’d get along a lot better with the extended family.

Well, something happened today that changed my view forever. Today I met a bochur who works in my little brother’s yeshiva. My little brother just started yeshiva, and I’m very anxious to see him do well there—I wouldn’t want him to go through the hell I went through in that yeshiva. Anyhow, the bochur comes over to me and tells me how my little bro is doing.

Bochur: You’re brother is doing great!

Me: Cool! I’m glad to hear that!

Bochur (thinking that he’s sharing good news): I was sitting next to him at a farbrengen (English: indoctrination session) and he was pashut crying that Moshiach (English: Rabbi M. M. Schneerson, 1902-1994) isn’t here yet. He wasn’t doing it to show off, he really meant it!

Me: !!!!!!?????

And then I had my epiphany: When you’re religious, your life is not under your own control. Do you want to eat that split-pea soup—the one that was cooked in a dairy pot—together with a hot dog? Sorry, two dead rabbis argue about what another dead rabbi meant. So buddy, you got no choice but to listen to the more stringent of the two because we can’t, heaven forfend, risk disobeying the original dead rabbi (the one whose words we can’t understand). (Now in Yeshivish: it’s a machlokes Rama and Mechaber how to teitch the sugya of Dagim shealu beka’arah. See Code of Jewish Law, Yoreh Deah 95.)

Not only do dead rabbis tell you what to do. They also tell you what to believe. That's right, some guy who never stepped foot in a laboratory, knows more science than Albert Einstein. Did some dead rabbis say that bugs can form spontaneously from rotting garbage? Well then, we’ve got no choice but to believe it. Yes, I heard about Lois Pasteur, but how could Lois Pasteur know more than those ancient Babylonian rabbis? Look at it this way: just because no scientist ever saw spontaneous generation, doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Maybe those bugs are still generating themselves spontaneously as much as they did in Talmudic times, just they punkt can’t do it in a lab. The lab environment just doesn’t do it…

Or maybe those dead rabbis just didn’t know what they were talking about.

No way! Can’t be!

Listen, who are you fooling? Aren’t you the same one who said that bacteria couldn’t have generated spontaneously out of the primordial soup, because of irreducible complexity and the wondrousness of the DNA? Don’t kinim (that’s the bug that the Talmud says generates spontaneously) have DNA much more complex than ancient bacteria?

Well, I’m just gonna believe the Sages. After all, in Deuteronomy it says concerning the sages “You shall not turn away from the words which they tell you right or left.”

Hmm, it was the Sages who told you that’s what that verse means, no?

Sorry dear readers, I just got carried away arguing with myself. I am Jewish after all, and arguing is in my blood. Anyhow, the point is that if the rabbis tell you “This is how it is!” then that is how it is.

And that’s why I felt nervous after hearing that bochur’s report. For me, Yeshiva was one long pain in the ass, with a couple interludes of euphoria as I deluded myself that I was climbing towards heaven. After every interlude, I always fell back to earth with a thud. I’m glad that my brother isn’t going through that. He is enjoying the benefits of religion which I wrote about earlier.

But his life is not in his control. If some dead rabbi (in this case the Lubavitcher Rebbe) tells him, “You have to be ‘crushed and broken’ because we’re still in exile,” (see Ma’amer V’ato Titzaveh) he has to listen. He has no choice but to crush and break himself. Then that same rabbi says, “Moshiach is coming ut ut (English: Messiah is coming in 1992. Oops, 1992 was 18 years ago, well we’ll figure that one out eventually). Be happy and rejoice, because it’s happening right now!” Now my little bro has to be happy and joyful and crushed and broken simultaneously. It is doable. Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochi’s son (English: a figment of Moses de Leon’s imagination) did it—it says so at the end of Iggeret Hateshuva (English: a figment of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi’s imagination).

Even if it’s theoretically doable, it’s still very hard. Some people (think Detroit) just try to crush and break themselves. Other people (think Tzfat and the yellow circus in 770) just try to be happy and joyful. Nobody can just opt out of the entire mess, saying “The Messiah is the figment of some people’s imaginations (Isaiah, his cronies, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, and Pat Robertson). I think I’ll just live life and forget about your delusional happiness and joy as well as your never-to-be-relieved brokenness.”

No siree-sir. Opting out is not an option. If the Rebbe said it, then that’s how it is. It’s the sad truth. My brother can keep on crying (sincerely) that Moshiach hasn’t come. I think he’s gonna be crying for a long time, and there’s nothing he can do about it. His opinions are not his own. Once you accept the yoke of the religious authority (Hebrew: Kabolas ol) you lose all autonomy. And that is not something I want for my children.

Sheesh

Nu, I should have already started this blog, but I didn't. I'd really like to blog, but I'm just not finding the time.