On 6/10/07, Jeff Abrahamson <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
I have a Casablanca ceiling fan I need to pass on to someone else.
I was sitting in the Green Line Mennonite Coffee Shop and Gin Joint the other night drowning my sorrows in a double Vanilla Chai Latte Con Molto Passionato, with a cigarette glued to my lower lip. Unfortunately the Green Line has adopted a no-smoking policy, so my Gaulois wasn't even lit, which deepened my depression even more, which was already pretty deep after observing the funky Village specimens drifting in and out, or, more frequently, plopping themselves down at a table and busily pecking away at their laptops. Don't know how those nice Goshen kids can turn a profit, with all of these writers taking up table space for the price of a 3-buck fairtrade cocktail or a hemp power bar. At any rate, I was wallowing in gloomy thoughts of times past and feeling pretty darn cynical when in walked this skinny blonde chick, must have been all of 60 years old, but still there was something smart and stylish about her. Despite the fact that she looked like just another wealthy real estate agent or university president slumming it in the Village, there was something familiar about her. Then it hit me. "Of all the Mennonite coffee shops in all the towns in all the world, you had to walk into mine," I remarked with an aching heart, but with all the brio I could muster. She pulled up a chair at my fake-marble topped table. "Rosso, you've gotta help me. My son's bar mitzvah is scheduled for next week, and the rebbe has just cancelled due to a leg which he broke skiing in Aspen." "Amy, do I look like a rabbi to you? You know I converted to Mennonitism in sorrow after you left me for that schlemiel." I pointed my cigarette meaningfully at the putz she had dragged in with her who was hovering uncertainly at the bar. She tried to gaze meaningfully into my eyes. I looked out the window at the whores and drug addicts across the street in the park. I sipped at my chai. Time went by. Finally, Amy got up and went to the bar and spoke to the barrista, Sam. "Play it Sam. Play "As Time Goes By". The atrocious coffee shop muzak ground to a halt, and the old familiar strains filled the air: "You must remember this, a bris is just a bris...." Disconcerted and considerably less than soigne, I abruptly knocked over my table and carefronted the crusty barrista. "Dammit, Sam, you know I told you never to play "As Time Goes By" again!" Just then a bunch of Conservative Mennonites marched in, stood on the tables, and began singing "Gott ist Die Liebe" in excruciating four-part harmony. I hustled Amy out onto the sidewalk and lit my Gaulois. "OK kid. There's a new synagogue in town called Kol Tzedek. Can't vouch for their theology, and they've got a lady rabbi, but maybe she can do the job for you." Just then a west-bound 34 trolley came looming out of the fog. I gave Amy a token, and one for her schlemiel. "48th and Baltimore. Tell em Rosso sent you." She gave me that soulful gaze, and my heart broke into little pieces again. I drained my chai. "Here's lookin at you, kid." -- Ross Bender http://rossbender.org
