Not Chosen, Just Posin'

I just got a job with a Jewish magazine. I'm not Jewish. They think I am.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

I’m retiring this blog and this job. I’ve accepted a position with another company and I’m here only until the end of the week. Giving a two-week notice is for pushovers.

I realize that it’s a sad day for Fake Jews everywhere. I didn’t even get to sit in on a Seder dinner. I’ve still got a yarmulke, though, so let me know if you need me to fill in.

I was going to do a FAQ here, but I’m too lazy. Plus, the main questions I get are these:

Q: Are you an anti-Semite?
A: Yawn.

Q: What’s your name?

Q: Where do you work?

Q: Why are you such a self-promoting asshole?

Q: Can I give you a blow job in the back of a cab?
A: Totally.

Anyway, it was fun. I learned a lot. I’m still writing the novel [would like to write non-fiction but would hate to get sued for slander] and getting down to the roots of the whole “Jewish as a religion or an ethnicity” argument. My methods are, of course, dubious, but pretty interesting if you’re into that stuff. And if you are into that stuff, sign up for updates on the green box to the right. Email me if you want. That means you, Emily Gould at Gawker. Last I checked you were going to let me feel you up. Max at the Post: You can out me at some point.

In my next incarnation I’ll be a failed Jewish editor who somehow scored a high-paying job at an advertising agency by lying about his experience and giving false references. Or maybe this is me. You never know with these things. Stay tuned.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Apprarently BaconJew is feeling quite rebellious due to his bacon-eating habits. He has honed in on this unique quality of his and turned it into a self-promotional marketing campaign.

Given that it’s the Chinese Year of the Pig, BaconJew has started branding himself the year’s official mascot. He has bought a pig-laden watch and several pieces of pig apparel – some of which I suspect he created from iron-on transfers. Everything he writes, he dates as such: "March 20th, Year of the Pig". I think he’s somehow managed to add the following image to all of his email signatures:

Last, but certainly not least, when someone calls his cell phone, it oinks.

OrthoJew, quite frankly, is sickened by the whole thing.

I am sickened by the fact that I just heard the Publisher’s Wife telling someone she was cute.

In context: “Well, it doesn’t matter; I’m a lot cuter than [male’s name].” As a very heterosexual male, I can’t name a single guy that she is “cuter” than.

Monday, March 19, 2007

I will be out of town with very limited access to this high maintenance blog today, March 19th. If you have questions regarding the Manwhore or any other of my various areas of expertise, please feel free to email me here.

Friday, March 16, 2007

New scheme alert!

The Publisher's Wife is already planning her annoying daughters' bat mitzvahs. They're probably eight or nine years old, so she's way too ahead of the game (read: has nothing better to do). She has the date and the place already booked. I overheard her talking to her friend on the phone about it today and she suggested they take a week off to go food and wine tasting for it. Brilliant!

I'm going to do the same thing but instead of a bat mitzvah, I'm going to say I'm planning my wedding. I just don't look old enough to have a 13-year old. Anyway, I plan to eat for free at every single event hall in Manhattan. Considering I don't plan on staying here too much longer, the food should hold me over until I find another job.

Reluctantly I admit: The Publisher's Wife is a genius.

Thursday, March 15, 2007


A while back our very own strict religionist mentioned how she thought that humans should fulfill their exercise regimens by hunting and gathering. Now she has confessed that while she’s still not willing to buy a gym membership, she is working out daily to the exercise channel. “How do you get your cardio?” “I do Tae Bo with Billy Blanks.”

The associated imagery is painful.

…has been very depressed lately. Reason being, he came up with his best invention yet, only to realize that it has already been invented. He was really tired at work one day and had this idea to have places where you can go and sleep during your lunch break. They would be cleaned after each use and you could buy a yearly membership, guaranteeing you, the customer, a quick nap whenever you need to recharge. The Silent Designer, who spent some time in Korea, informed him that they had those over there. OrthoJew added that there is such a place in the Empire State Building as well. They’re called “Sleeping Pods.”

The SmellyDesigner
Speaking of inventions, one of the SmellyDesigner's friends came up with a new product: Can' A Bliss. It's weed-scented fragrance spray. Because, you know, why wouldn't you want to smell like weed? Duh.

In other smelly news, the Silent Designer reported that the Smelly one rolled her chair over to his desk the other day to ask him a question. Upon taking a wiff of her musky aura, the Silent Designer claims to having almost puked on the spot. “What are you, some kind of hippy?” He asked her. Not bashful at all, she told him that marketers have conned Americans into thinking that they need deodorant when, really, the body eliminates the smell naturally if you give it the chance. “Your body hasn’t eliminated any smell.” He responded. Smelly and OrthoJew should really compare notes/philosophies.

The Publisher’s Wife…
…is getting sued by the Account Executive she fired last year. Despite being dismissed for no good reason, the ex-sales girl is claiming that the Publisher’s Wife put her in physical harm.

The Publisher…
…is getting sued by a slew of freelancers who haven’t been paid

…am looking for a new job.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

The new trend for spring, at least in this office, is conferences.

I have successfully finagled my way into a conference every week for the past few weeks. Of course, when you work where I work there are both pros and cons to attending these things.


-Conference = Day off. I usually stay just long enough to give a 2-minute report to the Publisher. Then I leave.
-Free food
-If you’re lucky, free drinks
-Free bag of stuff (i.e. proof that you were there—make sure to bring it in the next day for the boss to see)
-Business chicks (They're aggressive and well put together)


-My name tag says the name of my company.
-No one really has any need to “network” with the guy from the Jewish mag (i.e. “Where are you from? Oh, excuse me, I have to go say hi to someone over there”)
-Speakers covering obvious material you already know so as to appeal to an audience of varied experience
-Free bag of stuff (Guys shouldn’t carry around tote bags)
-Business Chicks (They're annoying and in-your-face)

Yesterday, I stayed until about 12:00 at which point I ran into the Paper Guy. He was there trying to swindle business, but wasn't having much luck. Evidently that’s what people do at these things--try to get business. Hmm. My timing was impeccable: He needed a drink. I needed a drink, and so we were off. After a gin on the rocks, I ended up calling the ex and saying some really polished, polite and educated things. All in a day’s work, I guess.

I took the subway home and got off on the wrong stop. I ran back on only to get laughed at by two Asian chicks. Wait...

By 2:00 I was sitting comfortably on my couch wondering why there’s nothing on TV during the day. Anything is better than being here though.

That said; if there are any conferences that you think I should be at, please let me know. I imagine I’ll agree with you.

Monday, March 12, 2007

In Which the Manwhore Becomes a Caricature of Himself

The following is a mass email the Manwhore sent to all of his friends to discuss a bachelor party he attended. In lieu of flat out bragging that he was, indeed, at a bachelor party this weekend, he disguised his glee as a set of "tips" for us should we ever be invited to one. Gee thanks, Manwhore.

The Manwhore's letter (the recipients of which were not blind copied), was appropriately followed by another of our friends who wanted to "thank" us all for being there for him the last few months as he was studying for the GMAT. "Thank you for your support, which allowed me to get the following scores [attached]." Bastards--both of them.


I flew to Chicago for the weekend. One of my buddies is getting married and he had his Bachelor party out there. It was the first, though I am sure not the last Bachelor party I will be at. I learned a lot of key lessons about what to do or not do:

1). Don’t let the Bachelor keep his cell phone (no matter what he says).
[Translation: "He's going to try to call his woman. Hello, Bros before Hoes! That's why it's called a bachelor party! Woo!]

2). Have 1 person on Bachelor duty at all times or else you run the risk of not seeing him fall down stairs and off of cars (both times onto pavement).
[Translation: "We got sooo drunk, bra..."]

3). Don’t bring TOO much money.
[Translation: "These people clearly don't roll how I roll."]

Note: The Manwhore's a personal trainer; does not roll how he rolls either.

4). Have your Bachelor party in Vegas or Paris or something. Not in your home town. At your buddies house. It depresses everyone. Or, at least, depressed me.
[Translation: "There were no strippers. The groom is Mormon. Clearly not an expert partier like myself."]

5). Don’t try to take the Bachelor out afterwards. Especially if he is bleeding from more than one part of his face.
[Translation: "Dudes just can't hang with me. I tend to punch people when I'm drunk."]


Please note that the Manwhore capitalizes "Bachelor" as if he's talking about "God." Perhaps this is because Bachelorhood is the Manwhore's religion? Amen.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Today ended as the Publisher's Wife brought a cd over to the Silent Designer's desk. She asked him to print out the saved pics of her golfing; print them out, and then mat them so that the end product is a seeming "action shot" of her taking a swing. She's hanging it on the wall at her house. Oh, the poor Publisher.

The reason the Publisher's Wife even has such a series of pictures is because she had the photo team, who was supposed to be shooting a model for our cover, take them of her while the model waited. When the crew was actually shooting the intended shots, the Publisher's Wife kept ordering them to "hurry, we don't have a lot of time." Then, as they passed an ornate bench, she had them take a picture of her reading the mag while sitting on the bench.

Now we have no good shot for the cover and the Silent Designer is pissed at all the photoshopping he's going to do--most likely to delete the Publisher's Wife from the background, where she was all but putting bunny ears behind the model's head to keep the attention focused on her.

In the meantime, if anyone has a good method of getting the Dumbshit Ad Guy to stop singing, "We're blogging now. We're blogging now," I'd be open to hearing it.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

The Publisher and his wife are taking up photography in order to cut costs. I imagine their photos will be almost as interesting as an Art 101 student's still life sketch of a vase on a table by a book.

On the same note, the Pub's wife and I were talking earlier about the budget for an upcoming photo shoot. She mistakes herself as someone who is A) Important B) Powerful, C) Glamorous D) Well-respected, and E) An Industry Legend. Here is her monologue about the 'Good Ol' Days':

"Back in the day I had an RV that would expand into multiple rooms where we got the models changed. I remember being in Miami. I had an assistant who, when i would say, 'it's time for a drink,' she already knew that she would have to drop her ass in a cab and go get me this specific drink that they only made in one place in Miami. It was a frozen drink so she had to be quick, 'cos it was hot. Yep, I just snapped my's time for a drink. Off she would go."

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Sans serif and Serif on the same page? Why, I never...
Guffaw. Guffaw.

The Smelly Designer is helping us update the website--blog and everything. The annoying ad sales guy (the only one who is left; the only one who should have been fired at all) is exerting his opinion and assumed importance, by making observations about her progress. I think he assumes his commentary on the matter is considered productivity. This is not the case.

As an aside, I've noticed that the smelly designer has a man face. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Giselle has a man face, too, but she's still attractive. She-man. Ha.

So, here's the email from the ad guy to the smelly She-man designer (sic everything):

Smelly Designer,

Just taking time to go thru the site…with the new blog and all. I am aggressively beginning to try to sell space on the site… [Ed's note: You only sold 6 ads in the last issue, what makes you think you can sell space on our 50 hit per month website? Thanks.]

Observation: Do you want consistency with typeface/font? Open the site to the current issue page. I see what looks like an arial/clean-edged typeface on some features and what looks like times-roman on others…

Best regards,
Dumbshit Ad Guy

Bless her smelly little heart, the Smelly Designer gave it right back to our self-important slacker:

Dumbshit Ad Guy,

These are issues that we are looking at. The blog was put up in a about 2 hours, of course there are going to be issues. The old site was made by someone who didn't know what they were doing. The files are extremely unorganized. There are a ton of other things that are wrong with the site and changes are being made in the near future. The site is going to be restructured in due time.

By the way, where are you going to sell ad space? The site currently does not support ads. Let me see your media kit with dimensions before you attempt to "aggresively sell."


Tuesday, March 06, 2007

I had a conference all day, but I picked up a new piece of Jewish trivia:

Acording to a cab driver in Las Vegas, the reason the Venitian has so many security guards is because it's owned by Orthodox Jews.

This was the Publisher's Wife's piece of trivia, actually. No one at the table got how the security guards and the Orthodox Jews correlated. Neither did she, which made everyone wonder why she repeated the anecdote.
Here were the resulting responses:

"Was the cab driver Muslim?" (No)

"Is the Venitian open on Saturdays?" (Yes)

"Why do Jews supposedly have more security guards than their counterparts?" (Something about 9/11)

"Oh." (Oh)

Monday, March 05, 2007

First off, the Manwhore is seeing the Israeli girl again, again, again. Judging by his delivery of the news (“She’s all psycho and jealous now”), he’s pretty unenthusiastic about the whole situation. All involved unanimously replied, “Any girl who dates you has to be.” True. True.

Fortunately for him, the Israeli was doing Purim stuff on Saturday. Since the Manwhore had brilliantly suggested they "take it slow," he didn't have to participate in the festivities. "I would but we're moving way too fast, baby."

Off the hook, we walked into our favorite bar on Saturday night and before we even ordered drinks, he was making out with some chick. Yes, yes—typical Manwhore fashion. It’s not as if the Manwhore needed to order drinks, though. Being the cheap bastard that he is, the Manwhore’s preferred method of getting liquored up is walking up to random girls, offering them a little, “Hi, how you doin’?” as he starts drinking from their straws. Usually he’s half way through their drinks before they catch on. It’s a good way to save money if you can stand to sip on cosmos and appletinis. I, for one, can not.

The Manwhore ate for free that night as well. After the festivities, we went to a 24-hour diner to get gravy cheesy fries (highly recommended), but before they arrived, the Manwhore was leaning into the next table, stabbing a girl’s spaghetti with his fork; twirling it and letting it drop into his mouth. He chewed it dramatically to make this act seem part of his stand up routine, when in reality he was starving and not willing to foot the bill. Also, you have to take into consideration that this diner was the last leg of our Saturday night tour. If he didn’t find a girl to take home there, he’d have to wait until, God Forbid, Sunday. Somehow the Manwhore’s whole spaghetti thing was charming in comparison to the scumbag sitting at a table across from us. When the waitress asked said scumbag for his order, he replied, “an omelet.” When the waitress asked the scumbag what he wanted in his omelet, the scumbag screamed (warning…racy material to come…), “I want pussy on my omelet!”

Before the scumbag was kicked out, the Manwhore went up to introduce himself. I think he might be replacing me with a more fitting friend.

The Manwhore went home with the Spaghetti chick.

Update: The Manwhore cried like a little girl about me posting the Israeli's picture, so I had to take it down.

Friday, March 02, 2007

Ask and you shall recieve, oh anonymous commenter! I planned on writing about all the crap I mentioned earlier, but the Paper guy, bless his little heart, just took me to lunch and we drank a lot. A lot, I say. I have yet to tell him I make none of the buying decisions, but at the rate I'm going with the free drinks/food, I would be a fool to do so.

So, what I'm going to do for you is this. I'm going to give you a recipe for Hamantaschen or "Hamen's ear." I don't know about you all, but this whole "ear eating" stuff seemed weird until I realized we Catholics eat little wafer's that are supposed to be the flesh of Christ. There you have it. That said, I've bolded the problem area of this recipe.

3 1/4 cup sugar 2 cups all-purpose flour 2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/4 teaspoon salt
8 tablespoons unsalted butter or margarine (1 stick), cut into small pieces
1 egg, lightly beaten
3 tablespoons fresh orange juice
Filling: 1/4 pound dried figs, chopped
1 1/2 cup water
Teaspoon fresh lemon juice

Mix it together and don't fold it like the one pictured above or you're going to hell. Merry Purim.

Yeah, not so much...

There is one more implication of the Jesus Tomb finding that I failed to report. That would be:

Jesus = Elvis

Let me explain. According to “fans” everywhere, Jesus is still alive. Same goes for Elvis.

Christians: “The Lord is King.”
Music Lovers: “Nope, Elvis is king.”

While we still don’t know definitively who the real king is, we do know that if Jesus = Elvis and Jesus is dead, then Elvis is also dead
. And while we're at it, Jesus = Tupac = dead.

I'll return with BaconJew's newest invention, OrthoJew's new workout, and news of the new lawsuit that kept me away from my computer all day yesterday...

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