brother-in-law karaoke

today the masses of family-in-law converged upon our house, filling up the living room and dining room for possibly the first time ever. (here i should note that the terms "living room" and "dining room" are location-specific, meaning that, in new york city, the only way to divide a postage-stamp-sized living room from a postage-stamp-stub-sized dining room is by putting a bookcase that takes up half of both rooms but does, nonetheless, create the illusion that you have a normally-segmented (though microscopic) house.
annnyway....

itta spent the afternoon babysitting niece and nephew, and i spent it finishing the passably beta version of the candy in action website. then tonight, my in-from-melbourne brother-in-law dov and i went off in search of a bar.

i'd passed this lounge/bar/internet cafe a bunch, so we went there first. turns out the "bar" part was...well, false advertising. "we might apply for beer," said the hostess. "what do you think?"

we walked around. we found a place that, according to a hipster on the corner, "might be sketch or might be not." we took our chances. dov's tall. i have payos. who in brooklyn would be threatened by us?

so we went into the bar. dov asked them to put on the eagles game. three people worked the TV until green uniforms appeared. and, as the bartender returned with our drinks, she bore a deathly serious countenance as she told us:

"it's karaoke night. and you are both going to sing."

we did. eventually. dov kept flipping through the book, asking should we do this? we can't do this. and telling me that his voice wasn't good. then i signed myself up, and i told the host that he was going to sing "land down under" right after me.

i went up. we were the only white people in the bar, did i tell you that? and the only people who had gone before sang mary j. blige. i was freaked out. usually, when i do karaoke, i do cheesy white-people songs. the dixie chicks and madonna are my friends. alanis. god, alanis. but tonight i did stevie wonder. signed, sealed, delivered. and everyone started clapping along with me. after i was done, dov sang, and he even hit the whistling chorus. and then a middle-aged man sang a note-perfect rendition of luther vandross.

and we all felt like we'd earned our keep in this world.

candy, cooking, and what not to do at parties

before i forget, let me tell you that Candy in Action is signed, sealed, on its way to the printers, and you can pre-order it from me or from amazon through that link there. if you order through on amazon by clicking through my page, i get a very tiny percentage, so yes, it's cool if you do that. if you order through me, of course, mention if you'd like to have me write anything special.

a mere few hours before shabbos, and we are both in the kitchen cooking up a mad storm. as if there were any other kind of storm, especially in cooking. we have carrots so big, i almost stabbed itta's stomach with one. no hard feat, of course, since it's getting bigger than christmas, and hard to avoid, especially when carrying armfuls of spices with names like Pottery Barn colors.

last night at the Jewcy party, i spent a good deal of the night getting drunk with marty from ROI 120, and having him introduce me to people in the most abrupt of ways:

MARTY: "Hey, this is Izzy. She's the one who pays you and tells you when your stuff is shit."
ME: Oh. (pause) Was it?
IZZY: (longer pause) Erm, what was your name again?
ME: Matthue. Matthue Roth.
IZZY: Oh, no. Mostly not, anyway.
Me: (sigh of mostly relief)

toward the end of the night, i pitched them what i remember as being a sequel to my memoir in maybe a hundred and fifty columns. i remember being really excited about it, but i wasn't the person whose reactions i should have been watching.

important things in the waking world

I'm still getting over that bar with all your friends,
lying here in pajamas
and stretched upwards,
cradling my head
and I'm trying to hold onto
my dream. You said we all

sleep fetuslike. In my dream
I was a fetus, when we all went to
a bar and brought us our orders.
I was the one who had the embryotic fluid.
Duh.
They set an egg in front of me. Last
night, I dreamed I was guest-starring
on Buffy.

i feel like the intersection of
all the matthues, a lonely desert
crossroads of two long highways.
But I'm just the crossroads itself:
no length, no depth, just a small
inclusion of substance.

I'm wearing my pajamas. I barely
ever wear my pajamas to bed
anymore: they're for entertaining,
not sleep. People keep intruding on my
night-time. No lights out for me.
Now, when I fall asleep I'm always
naked, half-undressed, or changing.

And my hair is getting longer. I can
already hide my eyes in it, like
a pillow I carry around during
the day. The fluffy back of my head,
like goose feathers, something
to keep me warm in winter.
Keep me warm in winter.

Last night I dreamt you were Buffy,
the vampire slayer, and I was a friend
of your friends', Willow's internet
pen-pal. I was your love-interest
for the season. I tried to read the
lines so we'd be friends, so we'd never
start kissing. I liked your friends, I
knew them so well, how Xander would
flinch and Willow would clap like a girl when
you killed vampires.

I've always been out in the cold,
known so many gangs but never worked
with anyone. When the wind comes, I go
into fetal position, living off my
own warmth. When we go to restaurants
I forget to bring my own food and I listen
to my stomach growl, thinking perhaps
that I'm digesting my own fat, in
the absence of kosher food, living off myself
until something better comes along.

And I don't say much when your friends
talk, I like to listen
and think of our bar-nights like episodes.

common

i never treasure quarters anywhere so much as new york, where one of those silver discs will buy you a bag of potato chips, pretzels, rippled Dipsy Doodle corn chips or, occasionally, even weirder fare. party mix is what i eat (constantly, constantly) when i write. tonight, erez and i both stacked up on day-glo orange spiral things, grabbed some Tastykakes as dessert, and sped off toward the brooklyn memorial highway.

we sat on this little catwalk by the river, stared at manhattan across the water, and watched it sparkle back at us. erez was curled up against the metal gate and my feet dangled over, scraping the water like teeth and nails.

presently the police came and took our IDs, walked around with flashlights and looked at us sternly for trespassing on city property. the people on the other end of the pier kept insisting that they lived here, only they'd never changed their drivers' licenses. at the time it seemed like the absolute dumbest thing in the world. eventually they waved us away, handed us back our licenses and told us they were letting us off with a warning. they looked like nice guys, honest, just tired. we could relate.

then we drove down the road, to the actual park, where the water was right up against us. glittering boulders got smaller and smaller and ran right into the water. a bunch of punk rock kids sat on the rocks, swilling 40s and combing their mohawks. i thought of hava, sneaking out after hours to visit them.

i'm in new york. it's always felt a little bit like a nightmare and a little like a dream. it's never felt like home. but now?

we've got a book in common, baby.

i'm learning yiddish from children's picture books about the Vilna Gaon. wish me luck.

Tremble With You

I tried to paint the sky my own colors
when I was five I took
a ladder, bucket, brush, and magic
markers just in case

I don't know how I got to the topmy body barely as big as the rungsbefore my father carried me down to the earth. InHebrew school that week
we learned how G-d created a
separation between dirt and sky

but I never stopped trying
to break it.

Later I learned how to break rules
and later, I learned how to follow them
I ran with the midnight graffiti gangs
who always stop on red

cause when you look legit,
the cops stop watching
I got to the point where
the only rules I followed
were the rules I cared about

and that -- I want to tell you --
is how I found G-d.

I found G-d lookin' for an imaginary friend
I found G-d dumpster diving for a new life
I found G-d the night I let my body move with the music
instead of standing still
and fighting it.

I found G-d the night I found out
all my best friends were dykes,
girls who'd never want

my body or anything like it
but they hung around
for the punch lines anyway.

Sandy, some days
I want to walk with you
through the Castro
to my synagogue

i'll show you where i sit
on the men's side, where
everyone but me is gay

and I don't get
how they keep it
up

believing in a law
that doesn't believe in them
until Irving says

"the Rabbis had it right
they just never knew how good it felt
to give head"

And I want to tell you
how deeply I agree,
how God in my fantasies
has long long legs
and a short short skirt
I'll tell you all my secrets
and how the warranty on the girl
in my bed tonight
isn't covered under Jewish law

but G-d is still my security blanket
who I trust the way
i trust gravity and my grandmom
i think you'd understand that

I could clutch you tight too
your film might be my bible
telling every story of rebellion
i'd like to make my own

how we talk about God
with words usually reserved
for talking about sex

but instead we wake
and lace the mornings after

with prayers that paint the passion
of every Friday night.