Passover Of The Living Dead
Now that B. is officially part of the family, there was no way for her to get out of coming to my family's Passover seder. As I have been part of the family since birth, and am in charge of the matzo ball soup, and have absolutely nothing going on all day*, there was no way for me to get out of going over there early.
A couple of friends of mine came of their own free will. I think it had something to do with the free dinner and wine.
Matzo ball soup is about the only thing I make, and I take it very seriously. I interrupted Mom's nattering about all the stuff I could pick from the garden and put in the salad to ask about soup vegetables.
"Do we have any onions?"
"No."
"Carrots?"
"No."
"Celery?"
"Why didn't you tell me you wanted them?"
"Because we have this same conversation every year, and I keep thinking you'll remember."
In the end, she recalled that there was one carrot out in the garden. The chicken broth already had some veggie flavor to it (yeah, I use pre-made broth -- I'm not that obsessive), so I tossed in some freeze-dried onion and garlic flakes, fresh scallions, some pepper and a bunch of random herbs from the garden and kind of hoped for the best.
With Dad out running errands most of the afternoon, I spent a lot of time getting stuff off high shelves for Mom. She did drag out the stepladder when she launched her search for Elijah's cup.
"I always put it right here," she whined. "It's. Not. Here."
"Maybe it fell."
"It. Didn't. Fall."
Dad found it when he got back with the kugel and tsimmes. Of course, it turned out to be nowhere near where she was looking. He complained loudly about this.
(Yes, they ordered a lot of the food. Obviously, I get my food non-obsessiveness from somewhere. Anyway, it was all at least as good as we would have made.)
G. showed up and I assigned him to the salad. Mom hit the ground running with a series of demands for their anniversary party.
"Mom," he said, "put it in an email and send it to us."
"But --"
"That way we'll have everything together in the same place."
"But --"
"Mom, that's the only way we'll remember everything," I said. "Otherwise, you'll have to do everything yourself, because we won't remember."
Normally, Mom would have launched into her lecture about different learning styles, and how she guesses we're just visual learners instead of whatever she is, but B. arrived and threw Mom off-track.
I think the seder was another of those Jewish things that B. resists on principle, but once she finds out what's going on she kind of digs it. She'd been to one of our seders a few years ago, but all she remembered was that G. kept telling her that there was a lot of wine involved. (Though since she had to be up at some ungodly pre-dawn hour, she was going to stick to juice.)
My friends filtered in. The cats made themselves scarce, as they always do when there are too many feet around.
Turns out that one of my friends had read the Four Questions as a kid, so that meant that Mom and I didn't have to deal with all the Hebrew and Yiddish ourselves. It's transliterated into English, but it still throws people off. (My other friend in attendance isn't Jewish, but she is from Brooklyn, which is almost the same thing. Just without the Four Questions.)
Our hagada has a passage in Yiddish which isn't transliterated, and I'm the only one who can read Yiddish. So read it I did. Mom thinks i'm getting better. She usually criticizes my accent or lack thereof. Yeah, Ma -- I don't see you reading all those squiggly Hebrew letters.
The wheels really came off around the obligatory singing of "Go Down, Moses". "Hey, one I can sing!" B. noted brightly.
"When Israel was in Egypt land..." we sang.
"Let my people go," most of us intoned.
"Let my Cameron go," my brother sang.
It took a few minutes to explain to the parents and B. why G., my friends and I were laughing.
The rest of the evening was uneventful, though B. was just a little too enthralled with the particulars of my friends' food allergies. I now know my friends on a whole new level. I kind of wish I didn't. Thanks, B.!
Mom brought out a torte for dessert. Apparently, they don't have tortes where B. comes from.
At some point, I mentioned that on Friday night, this movie theater near my house was showing a bunch of horror trailers and the like at midnight, followed by a screening of Night Of The Living Dead.
"Let's go to that!" B. said to G.
"Have you ever seen Night Of The Living Dead?" I asked her.
She hadn't.
This was going to be interesting. My friends looked like they were sorry they were going to have to miss it. That, or like they never wanted to eat dinner with B. again.
--
Friday night.
"I'm actually voluntarily hanging out with my brother and his wife," I told my roommate, a bit mystified.
"That's not a usual thing for you, is it?" she asked. No, not so much.
The plan was for me, B., G. and former 'maid (hi!) to meet up at the theater at 10 and maybe go get a drink. I was about to walk to the theater (yeah, I said "walk" -- it's only a few blocks, and on a Friday night I wasn't going to get much closer anyway) when G. called. They were just then leaving their place.
Yup. And when I'm late, it's a catastrophe.
After we got our tickets, former 'maid and I walked to a diner to nosh and wait. This place isn't the tops of local cuisine, but they do serve beer and have some vegan options for former 'maid. We'd just ordered those beers and I was trying to get out my ID when my brother called for more directions. I asked him to hang on, but he didn't seem to understand the concept any more than he did the concept of reading street signs. Ever try to have two conversations at once while holding a cell phone and extracting an ID? It's not easy. Fortunately, the waiter seemed used to it.
The kids finally joined us. B. declared that they'd parked on a "dark, scary alley". B. started talking. And talking. And talking. She only interrupted her discourse on the local ice cream truck (comes by three times a day and attracts many "gangbangers") to ask our poor server many, many questions about the dessert options. Really, what does she think is usually in bread pudding? Fish? In any case, they were out of all but two of the pies, so B. and G. each got a piece of one. B. took a bite and started trying to compute how long the pie had been in the dessert case. G. just kind of shrugged and drank his beer. I guess he's learned to pick his battles.
Maybe it's true about guys marrying their mothers. Except somehow, I can't see our mother insisting that cows lay eggs. (Don't ask. I didn't.)
B. really does come from a different world than we do.
As we walked to the theater, B. somehow got to talking about how the checks that our family had given them were lovely and much appreciated, but they were all in these "denominations of nine". Guess that answers the chai question.
The audience was probably smaller than it would have been on a night with better weather, but the theater was as full as I've ever seen it for a Friday midnight show. The host announced that because the first part of the program featured so many trailers, they were going to forgo the trailers for their own coming attractions.
"What's a trailer?" B. asked.
"It's the 'coming soon' commercial-type thing," I replied. I think my brother supplemented that, too.
"Ohhhhhhh." B. had just never heard the term "trailer" -- which seems kind of odd, given that she's lived in SoCal all her life, but whatever. Different world.
The host introduced a very special guest: Judith O'Dea, one of the stars of Night Of The Living Dead, who was absolutely thrilled to be doing a surprise Q&A. Unfortunately, I can't tell you all that much about it: One of the first questions was about how much of the dialogue had been ad-libbed, and G. had to explain to B. what ad-libbing is. ("Ohhhhhhhh.") He did it quietly enough, but my attention was split between listening to Judith O'Dea, not listening to B. and G., and sending a text message to a guy I know who's a huge Romero fan to see if he had any questions for me to pass on. (He didn't get back to me. What else is new? I really shouldn't bother. But that's a whine for a different blog.) I do remember her saying that when the movie first came out, exhibitors got complaints that the movie was frightening to children. Well... yeah. She also talked about hanging out with George Romero (a regular guy from Pittsburgh, it seems) and casting an African-American man as the male lead (he had the best audition of any actor who came in to read for it, which was really what Romero cared about).
The trailers were fun. The movie was... well, it was Night Of The Living Dead. Out of the corner of my eye, I occasionally saw B. glancing over to me to see how I was reacting. I don't think she expected to see my expressions of pure glee. Night Of The Living Dead! A beautiful print, on a big screen! Zombies! I'm not all about the clever comedy, you know.
Being a budding doctor, B. didn't wince too much at some of the grosser parts towards the end of the movie, but I think I did hear her shudder at a couple of points. Or maybe that was me. There's a bit after the truck explodes that always gets to me, even when I know it's coming up.
As we left the theater, B. chattered enthusiastically about the movie. She'd liked it, but she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that all the main characters die. "He made it through all the zombies, and then he gets shot in the head! They didn't even wait to see if he was a zombie!" Yup. You'd shoot him, too, if you'd been beset by zombies.
The kids peeled off to head to their car. B.'s "dark, scary alley" was an average side street. It wasn't particularly well lit, but I certainly didn't see anything scary or alley-like about it.
Like I said, different world.
--
A few nights later, I was talking with one of my friends who'd come to our seder. "I like your brother's wife," she said. "She should hang out with us!"
It's tempting to corrupt B. by dragging her out to karaoke nights and sketch comedy shows, but... no. I don't know if I could handle explaining everything to her all the time.
"This is a very strong drink. It's probably stronger than anything you've ever had, but it tastes good. Sip it slowly. I drank mine quickly because I have experience. Now I'm going to go up and sing. The boys will all stop and stare. Some of them will stare because I'm good and stacked, and some will stare because I'm doing an uptempo song which will prompt my friend here to get up and shake her groove thang. Then some guys we know will pretend that they didn't know until just now that we're here, and come over and join us. If they offer to buy you a drink, turn them down. You shouldn't be more than halfway done with your first one at this point if you want to be sober enough to drive home at one-thirty. Us? We know what we're doing, and we know a 24-hour diner within walking distance. It's fun not being married!"
"We're going to a sketch comedy show. There will be profanity, and possibly some nudity. Brace yourself. Then we will wait until our friends in the cast come out to greet us, schmooze a little, and either get drinks at the restaurant next door or go to this one guy's apartment across the street, where he will show us a movie he made and which the rest of us have all seen many, many times. There is profanity, and nudity. Brace yourself."
Could be interesting, but... no.
*Have I mentioned that I'm, um, between jobs right now? 'Cause I am. Resume available upon anything resembling a request.
A couple of friends of mine came of their own free will. I think it had something to do with the free dinner and wine.
Matzo ball soup is about the only thing I make, and I take it very seriously. I interrupted Mom's nattering about all the stuff I could pick from the garden and put in the salad to ask about soup vegetables.
"Do we have any onions?"
"No."
"Carrots?"
"No."
"Celery?"
"Why didn't you tell me you wanted them?"
"Because we have this same conversation every year, and I keep thinking you'll remember."
In the end, she recalled that there was one carrot out in the garden. The chicken broth already had some veggie flavor to it (yeah, I use pre-made broth -- I'm not that obsessive), so I tossed in some freeze-dried onion and garlic flakes, fresh scallions, some pepper and a bunch of random herbs from the garden and kind of hoped for the best.
With Dad out running errands most of the afternoon, I spent a lot of time getting stuff off high shelves for Mom. She did drag out the stepladder when she launched her search for Elijah's cup.
"I always put it right here," she whined. "It's. Not. Here."
"Maybe it fell."
"It. Didn't. Fall."
Dad found it when he got back with the kugel and tsimmes. Of course, it turned out to be nowhere near where she was looking. He complained loudly about this.
(Yes, they ordered a lot of the food. Obviously, I get my food non-obsessiveness from somewhere. Anyway, it was all at least as good as we would have made.)
G. showed up and I assigned him to the salad. Mom hit the ground running with a series of demands for their anniversary party.
"Mom," he said, "put it in an email and send it to us."
"But --"
"That way we'll have everything together in the same place."
"But --"
"Mom, that's the only way we'll remember everything," I said. "Otherwise, you'll have to do everything yourself, because we won't remember."
Normally, Mom would have launched into her lecture about different learning styles, and how she guesses we're just visual learners instead of whatever she is, but B. arrived and threw Mom off-track.
I think the seder was another of those Jewish things that B. resists on principle, but once she finds out what's going on she kind of digs it. She'd been to one of our seders a few years ago, but all she remembered was that G. kept telling her that there was a lot of wine involved. (Though since she had to be up at some ungodly pre-dawn hour, she was going to stick to juice.)
My friends filtered in. The cats made themselves scarce, as they always do when there are too many feet around.
Turns out that one of my friends had read the Four Questions as a kid, so that meant that Mom and I didn't have to deal with all the Hebrew and Yiddish ourselves. It's transliterated into English, but it still throws people off. (My other friend in attendance isn't Jewish, but she is from Brooklyn, which is almost the same thing. Just without the Four Questions.)
Our hagada has a passage in Yiddish which isn't transliterated, and I'm the only one who can read Yiddish. So read it I did. Mom thinks i'm getting better. She usually criticizes my accent or lack thereof. Yeah, Ma -- I don't see you reading all those squiggly Hebrew letters.
The wheels really came off around the obligatory singing of "Go Down, Moses". "Hey, one I can sing!" B. noted brightly.
"When Israel was in Egypt land..." we sang.
"Let my people go," most of us intoned.
"Let my Cameron go," my brother sang.
It took a few minutes to explain to the parents and B. why G., my friends and I were laughing.
The rest of the evening was uneventful, though B. was just a little too enthralled with the particulars of my friends' food allergies. I now know my friends on a whole new level. I kind of wish I didn't. Thanks, B.!
Mom brought out a torte for dessert. Apparently, they don't have tortes where B. comes from.
At some point, I mentioned that on Friday night, this movie theater near my house was showing a bunch of horror trailers and the like at midnight, followed by a screening of Night Of The Living Dead.
"Let's go to that!" B. said to G.
"Have you ever seen Night Of The Living Dead?" I asked her.
She hadn't.
This was going to be interesting. My friends looked like they were sorry they were going to have to miss it. That, or like they never wanted to eat dinner with B. again.
--
Friday night.
"I'm actually voluntarily hanging out with my brother and his wife," I told my roommate, a bit mystified.
"That's not a usual thing for you, is it?" she asked. No, not so much.
The plan was for me, B., G. and former 'maid (hi!) to meet up at the theater at 10 and maybe go get a drink. I was about to walk to the theater (yeah, I said "walk" -- it's only a few blocks, and on a Friday night I wasn't going to get much closer anyway) when G. called. They were just then leaving their place.
Yup. And when I'm late, it's a catastrophe.
After we got our tickets, former 'maid and I walked to a diner to nosh and wait. This place isn't the tops of local cuisine, but they do serve beer and have some vegan options for former 'maid. We'd just ordered those beers and I was trying to get out my ID when my brother called for more directions. I asked him to hang on, but he didn't seem to understand the concept any more than he did the concept of reading street signs. Ever try to have two conversations at once while holding a cell phone and extracting an ID? It's not easy. Fortunately, the waiter seemed used to it.
The kids finally joined us. B. declared that they'd parked on a "dark, scary alley". B. started talking. And talking. And talking. She only interrupted her discourse on the local ice cream truck (comes by three times a day and attracts many "gangbangers") to ask our poor server many, many questions about the dessert options. Really, what does she think is usually in bread pudding? Fish? In any case, they were out of all but two of the pies, so B. and G. each got a piece of one. B. took a bite and started trying to compute how long the pie had been in the dessert case. G. just kind of shrugged and drank his beer. I guess he's learned to pick his battles.
Maybe it's true about guys marrying their mothers. Except somehow, I can't see our mother insisting that cows lay eggs. (Don't ask. I didn't.)
B. really does come from a different world than we do.
As we walked to the theater, B. somehow got to talking about how the checks that our family had given them were lovely and much appreciated, but they were all in these "denominations of nine". Guess that answers the chai question.
The audience was probably smaller than it would have been on a night with better weather, but the theater was as full as I've ever seen it for a Friday midnight show. The host announced that because the first part of the program featured so many trailers, they were going to forgo the trailers for their own coming attractions.
"What's a trailer?" B. asked.
"It's the 'coming soon' commercial-type thing," I replied. I think my brother supplemented that, too.
"Ohhhhhhh." B. had just never heard the term "trailer" -- which seems kind of odd, given that she's lived in SoCal all her life, but whatever. Different world.
The host introduced a very special guest: Judith O'Dea, one of the stars of Night Of The Living Dead, who was absolutely thrilled to be doing a surprise Q&A. Unfortunately, I can't tell you all that much about it: One of the first questions was about how much of the dialogue had been ad-libbed, and G. had to explain to B. what ad-libbing is. ("Ohhhhhhhh.") He did it quietly enough, but my attention was split between listening to Judith O'Dea, not listening to B. and G., and sending a text message to a guy I know who's a huge Romero fan to see if he had any questions for me to pass on. (He didn't get back to me. What else is new? I really shouldn't bother. But that's a whine for a different blog.) I do remember her saying that when the movie first came out, exhibitors got complaints that the movie was frightening to children. Well... yeah. She also talked about hanging out with George Romero (a regular guy from Pittsburgh, it seems) and casting an African-American man as the male lead (he had the best audition of any actor who came in to read for it, which was really what Romero cared about).
The trailers were fun. The movie was... well, it was Night Of The Living Dead. Out of the corner of my eye, I occasionally saw B. glancing over to me to see how I was reacting. I don't think she expected to see my expressions of pure glee. Night Of The Living Dead! A beautiful print, on a big screen! Zombies! I'm not all about the clever comedy, you know.
Being a budding doctor, B. didn't wince too much at some of the grosser parts towards the end of the movie, but I think I did hear her shudder at a couple of points. Or maybe that was me. There's a bit after the truck explodes that always gets to me, even when I know it's coming up.
As we left the theater, B. chattered enthusiastically about the movie. She'd liked it, but she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that all the main characters die. "He made it through all the zombies, and then he gets shot in the head! They didn't even wait to see if he was a zombie!" Yup. You'd shoot him, too, if you'd been beset by zombies.
The kids peeled off to head to their car. B.'s "dark, scary alley" was an average side street. It wasn't particularly well lit, but I certainly didn't see anything scary or alley-like about it.
Like I said, different world.
--
A few nights later, I was talking with one of my friends who'd come to our seder. "I like your brother's wife," she said. "She should hang out with us!"
It's tempting to corrupt B. by dragging her out to karaoke nights and sketch comedy shows, but... no. I don't know if I could handle explaining everything to her all the time.
"This is a very strong drink. It's probably stronger than anything you've ever had, but it tastes good. Sip it slowly. I drank mine quickly because I have experience. Now I'm going to go up and sing. The boys will all stop and stare. Some of them will stare because I'm good and stacked, and some will stare because I'm doing an uptempo song which will prompt my friend here to get up and shake her groove thang. Then some guys we know will pretend that they didn't know until just now that we're here, and come over and join us. If they offer to buy you a drink, turn them down. You shouldn't be more than halfway done with your first one at this point if you want to be sober enough to drive home at one-thirty. Us? We know what we're doing, and we know a 24-hour diner within walking distance. It's fun not being married!"
"We're going to a sketch comedy show. There will be profanity, and possibly some nudity. Brace yourself. Then we will wait until our friends in the cast come out to greet us, schmooze a little, and either get drinks at the restaurant next door or go to this one guy's apartment across the street, where he will show us a movie he made and which the rest of us have all seen many, many times. There is profanity, and nudity. Brace yourself."
Could be interesting, but... no.
*Have I mentioned that I'm, um, between jobs right now? 'Cause I am. Resume available upon anything resembling a request.
posted by sib at 6:58 PM
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