Below The Fold

It would have been 30, except Passover fell on Baur’s birthday last year, and we had already purchased the tickets to Vegas for it, before we realized the conflict. Don’t worry. Like a good Jewish mother, mom reminded me repeatedly over the last year about the transgression.
Regardless, given the choice between spending Passover seder with my family or completely obliterated on a craps table in Sin City… well, it’s a no-brainer (I won’t say which way I lean, just to allow my parents the illusion that I’d pick family first…) At least there, the liquor doesn’t come with a side of peel-your-esophagus-raw horseradish. Unless you want it to.

18:45—Run into little sister’s soon-to-be-ex boyfriend in front of the building. Exchange pleasantries and wonder if he owns a collared shirt. Head upstairs with wife and friend and three photo albums Baur was supposed to use to humiliate me at my 30th birthday. One of the few times I’m thankful for his occasional shiftlessness…

18:47—Greet mother in the kitchen, marvel at the seating service for 16 she has managed to cull out of an impossibly small space in the living room. Pop out onto the patio and exchange pleasantries with New Guy and Uncle Bill. Actually, “Pleasantries” where Uncle Bill is concerned are known to the rest of the world as “insults.”

18:55-19:00—Argue about who’s sitting where. Field numerous complaints about inconveniently located end table from wife. Move said end table. Ma passes out yarmulkes while Pop again makes jokes about using a staplegun to keep it on my head. Henny Youngman winces somewhere.

19:03—Pop makes first uncomfortably forward remark using the term “Broad,” to refer to New Guy’s wife. Ma winces in the kitchen.

19:05—Seder begins. I butcher the Kiddush as my Hebrew is extremely rusty. Pop downs his “first” (I believe other cocktails were consumed prior to my arrival—rumor had it, Uncle Bill began his slow burn some time around 17:00) glass of wine. Wife re-discovers cherry Mogen David/Soda water mix and is elated.

19:08—Pop makes his annual “I washed my hands” joke. Henny Youngman cries out in pain somewhere.

19:12-19:42—Paragraphs out of our dog-eared and wine-stained Hagadahs that I’m pretty sure mom got free with two cases of Maxwell house coffee when I was 7 are read in succession by those in attendance. With the poor lighting and aging eyes of some of those present, it begins to drag horrifically. I read the section of the Dyanu through quickly, hoping to avoid the inevitable “singing.” No such luck. More wine is consumed. Much more. Much, much more.

…more to come…