the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Tag: Hanukkah (Page 2 of 2)

The Third Annual “Thank Your First Commenter Day”


Much like the Pilgrims thanked the Indians after they had their first decent meal in the New World, I like to use Thanksgiving, not only as an excuse to stuff myself with turkey, but as an opportunity to thank the first blogger who ever commented on this blog.  This individual is the one who transformed Citizen of the Month from a dopey journal where I write about nonsense to a… uh, dopey “blog” where I write about nonsense and others read it!

I can’t believe that I’ve been blogging for three years already, and I’m up to thanking my THIRD commenter. THREE YEARS?! Three years without getting a penny from blogging! Three years without feeling up one female blogger! What the hell am I doing this for?! But like those hardy Pilgrims, I continue on and face my demons, doing the hard work to build something worthwhile, never asking for thanks, just knowing that one day my ancestors will be in the Social Register, discriminating against YOU at the country clubs in Connecticut.

Oh, right. And for the comments. I love my commenters!

My first commenter with Terry Finley. It was a short relationship. After his one comment, we lost touch, and he abandoned his blog. Still, we always remember our first, don’t we?… unless it was really, really bad. But Terry was pretty nice. Here was his comment:

Nice blog. Thank you.

Our health is really important.

Check out my blog.

Terry Finley

My blogging career was underway.

My SECOND commenter was The Reluctant Optimist (well, actually he was called something else at the time, but then he changed his name, worrying that his frequent posts about big-breasted women might sabatoge his work with the United States Military. He is very special to me, especially since he is a MALE reader who still reads this blog.

This is what I wrote about him last year:

At first glance, TRO and I have little in common. He is a Southerner, a former Air Force Officer who served with the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. But blogging can make strange bedfellows, and despite our differences in political views at times, we immediately bonded over our love for buxom brunettes. Now, THAT is what the true meaning of the blogosphere is all about. So, thank you TRO!

(TRO — Loved that recent photo of Selma Hayek (you’re never gonna get a date if you spell her name as Hyack. What an actress!)

Surprisingly, his first comment shows no evidence of our future friendship (or does it?):

Two problems with your post.

One, this was not hard news. It wasn’t news at all. Evidently it was fiction.

Secondly, an inflammatory story like this can cause violence — especially in the middle-east where violence is inflamed quite easily. Comparing it to the questionable effects of a video game is faulty logic at best and disingenuous at worst.

And the Arab “street” believes it because they keep hearing it from the liberal anti-American media as well as their own anti-American outlets.

That’s why blogging is so great. It always surprises you!

This year, I will thank my THIRD COMMENTER – Richard Heft.  This is a unique situation, because Richard is actually a “real life” person, someone who knew me B.B. –“before blogging.”   He was good friends with Sophia before she met me, and then we became friends.  I only  have a few real-life friends who ever come to my blog.   Although Richard doesn’t have a blog himself, he comes by every once in a while, showing off his brains and wit. Naturally, his first comment was about some esoteric foreign movies.

One of the problems with concepts like the YMDB is that you really need two lists: my list of “Favorite” films (which always starts with ABBOTT & COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN) bears no resemblance to my list of “Best” films ever made (which starts with TOKYO STORY, SUNRISE, OR CHILDREN OF PARADISE, depending on the phases of the moon).

I’ve never seen THE GREEN RAY (I assume it’s a French adaptation of the Green Lantern comic book; what else COULD it be?), but I’ve always filed LIFE & DEATH OF COLONEL BLIMP under “mammoth but minor.” It’s basically a long (long!) propaganda film, with memorable performances by Livesey and Walbrook, but I’ve never felt the urge to watch it a second time. For WWII-era Michael Powell movies, I much prefer A CANTERBURY TALE and THE 49TH PARALLEL.

And for you and Dinah to hook up, Neal, you’re going to have to brush up your Mizoguchi and hone your Ozu.

Thank you, Richard, for being my third commenter and a good friend, even if no one understood what we were talking about during that post! And “Dinah” ended up being Communicatrix, but that’s another story.

Who was your first commenter? Or second? If you want to thank your first commenter for Thanksgiving, it’s easy. Just go all the way back into your archives and there he or she is — waiting for you!

Other thankful bloggers:  Kapgar, Danny, Ascender, Elisabeth, Otir (thankful in French, which is sexy), 180/360, Nance, and Not Fainthearted.

P.S. —

My father loved watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. At the end, he would call me over, yelling all excitedly, “It’s Santa Claus!” I don’t understand why this middle-aged Jewish man loved Santa Claus so much. At the hospital he worked in, he dressed up as Santa Claus during every Christmas and went to the children’s ward to give gifts. He was the scrawniest Santa Claus ever, in his thick Woody Allen-type glasses.

Thanksgiving means the start of the Holiday Season, not only because Macy’s wants to sells me stuff, but because that’s how I remember it. I remember the enthusiasm of my father… and we didn’t even celebrate Christmas!

So, coming up LATER THIS WEEK — two announcements about upcoming events:

1) The First Blogger Holiday Arts and Crafts Sale (bloggers — sell your artwork, doo-dads, and knitted hats AS GIFTS — at the biggest promotional blog post ever! Right here on Citizen of the Month!)


And, of course… The 2007 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert (can we make it even more fabulous than last year?!) I’ll try to improve on last year’s lame Hanukkah “Latkes song.” Take out those instruments and get ready to sing!

(Sign up will begin shortly. Kyran is already practicing her Jingle Bells)

Jamelah, 2006 Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert Poster Girl

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: A Charlie Brown Blog Post (for Ninja Poodles)

Message from Time Magazine


This week, we chose YOU as the Person of the Year because:

 “In 2006, the World Wide Web became a tool for bringing together the small contributions of millions of people and making them matter.”

Three days later, the editors here at Time Magazine have decided that the Year of “You” has officially ended, due to an online blogger holiday concert that started out as a day for holiday cheer, but quickly denigrated into a night of chaos, violence, and protest.


Events at the concert unfurled quickly as two female bloggers sang similar versions of “Santa Baby.”  Fists started flying after Pam of Nerd’s Eye View called Erin of Villanovababy a “Britney wannabe who should stick to her stupid blog.”  Erin of Villanovababy simply said, “Pam is a blogging bitch who can stick her ukulele up her ***.”

Several bloggers were asked to leave the Hyatt Hotel on LA’s Sunset Strip after trashing the “Presidential Suite” in an after-concert bash. 

“I’ve never seen such sick depravity in all my years as hotel manager.  It was like a wild drunken orgy, except they used their laptops!” said Richard Ortiz, a 25-year veteran in the business.

Many bloggers were disappointed in the management of the concert.  Outcries of nepotism were heard because bloggers were only allowed to perform one song each, but Sophia Lansky of Redondo Beach, was allowed TWO songs.  An anonymous caller, a disgruntled blogger who goes by the alias of “Brooke,” said that Ms. Lansky isn’t even a blogger.  Further research revealed that the Ms. Lansky is the separated wife of the concert organizer, Neil “Neilochka” Kramer.  Requests for an interview were refused.

Disruptions to the concert are expected to continue this evening as Al Sharpton prepares to lead a large protest march against the Holiday concert. 

“Despite being called a Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert, not ONE song for Kwanzaa was included in the festivities.” said Mr. Sharpton. “It is not surprising that this concert was organized by someone named “Kramer.””

Time Magazine deeply regrets picking ordinary people to be Time Person of the Year. 

“If this is what happens when bloggers get together, forget this s**t about YOU.” said a senior editor.  “We should have just picked Tiger Woods!”

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Blogging the Big Event

The 2006 Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert

poster girl Jamelah


Ellen performing Jingle Bell Rock

Digital Father performing O Holy Night

Psychotoddler performing Sevivon

Becky performing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Elisabeth and Claire performing il est ne le divin enfant

Sheana and Colleen performing The Dreidel Song

Fitena performing Silent Night

Mr. Fabulous performing Blue Christmas

Villanovababy performing Santa Baby

Sophia performing Hanukkah, Oh Hannukah

Heather B performing O Come All Ye Faithful

Tiff performing The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)


Nelumbo performing Up on the House Top

Non-Highlighted Heather performing Silent Night

Sophia, post-accident, performing Ocho Kandelikas in Ladino

Qatherinn performing A Christmas Song

Neil performing How to Make Latkes!

Stuntmother‘s son, Daniel performing Jingle Bells.

Danny performing Hanukkah, Oh Hanukkah

Caryn performing The Chipmunks Christmas Song

Paintergirl performing Rock and Roll Round the Christmas Tree

F.D. (from Therapy Doc) performing Dovid Melech (more here)

Pam performing Santa Baby

Chana‘s daughter performing Ocho Candelikas

Doris and Edda performing We Wish You a Merry Christmas

photo by Leesa

photo by Jenny

photo by Chantel

photo by Two Roads

photo by Michelle

photo by 3T

photo by Pearl

photo by Orieyenta

photo by Nics

photo by LeahPeah

photo by Smitten

photo by Pam

photo by Sarah

photo by Claire

photo by Edgy Mama

photo by Tamarika

photo by Leezer

photo by V-Grrrl

photo by Chloe

photo by Neil and colorized by Sarah

Mistletoe 101 for Jews


Happy Hannukah!   Thanks for the emails wishing me a happy holiday.   As  a Jew, I like Hanukkah, but at the same time I realize that it is a fairly minor holiday blown out of proportion to compete with Christmas.   Jews have been treated like shit in so many countries  throughout their history, that we are truly lucky to live in a country where the populace actually acknowledges our little holiday.

I’m pretty confident in my Jewishness that I don’t feel threatened by a Christmas season that seems to start the minute you eat your last bite of stuffing at Thanksgiving.  I can enjoy the carols and the festivities without feeling the need to convert or praise Jesus.   I know some Jews have “Christmas” trees in their houses, but I wouldn’t go that far, just because that seems a bit too much of “wanting to be part of the crowd,” like wearing a Von Dutch cap because you saw Justin Timberlake wearing one on Entertainment Tonight.  The Pope may wear what looks like a yarmulke, but I doubt he is at home lighting his menorah.

Just like Jews worry about the influence of Christmas on their kids, some Christians worry that they can’t celebrate their holiday as openly as they would like to.   I’m still reading bloggers grumbling about the use of “Seasons Greetings” rather than “Merry Christmas.”  Frankly, this issue is so 2005.

I’m all for Christians enjoying their religious holiday.  It doesn’t bother me if someone says “Merry Christmas.”  It DOES bother me that most of the complainers about the “War on Christmas” come from conservative commentators such as Bill O’Reilly and John Gibson.  Their interest in Christmas has more to do with politics than religion.  It is all part of a family values agenda.  Pushing for the public display of Christmas goes hand-in-hand with conservative ideology against the rights of other minorities, such as gays and women.  Whenever I read a 20-something talking how much he hates being politically-correct over Merry Christmas, I know this person is going to end up being a suburban “family values” person who watches FOX news every night.

Janet at The Art of Getting By wrote an amusing piece about how much it must “suck to be Jewish during Christmas.”  Personally, I don’t like eggnog, so I am jealous of the mistletoe.  Like being part of the “mile-high club,” kissing under the mistletoe is one of my unfulfilled fantasies.  Just in case I find myself at a Christmas Party this year, what exactly are the “rules.”  Can you kiss anyone standing under the mistletoe?  Do you HAVE to kiss the person?  What happens if she has a cold sore?  Can you bring someone under the mistletoe under false pretenses, just to kiss her —

Neil:  “Come here, Anne, I want to show you this new coffee maker in the kitchen.  Tricked you!  We’re under the mistletoe!  Give me your tongue!”

Washington Irving, famed early 19th Century writer, helped popularize the mistletoe tradition to Americans in “Christmas Eve” —

Here were kept up the old games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple, and snap dragon; the Yule-clog and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and the mistletoe with its white berries hung up, to the imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids.

The mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses and kitchens at Christmas, and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When the berries are all plucked the privilege ceases.

Hot cockles!  Kissing the Girls!  Plucking Berries from the Bush!

Now you know why Jews are really jealous about Christmas.  Kissing under the mistletoe.  If you try kissing someone over the menorah, you just get your hair on fire.


A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  LL Cool Jew (more Jews!)

The Miracle of Kew Garden Hills – The Final Chapter


(from The Miracle of Kew Garden Hills – Chapter Two) 

Nick took my mother’s other hand.

“Your mother and I are friends… ” he said.

“Very good friends…” added my mother.

It suddenly became real to me.   This was Santa Claus.  And Santa Claus was a horny older guy leering at my mother’s figure!

“Mom?”  I gasped.  ”Are you doing it with Santa Claus?!!”

“What kind of question is that to ask your mother?!” she answered.  “And I’m a adult.”

“But I’m shocked,” I stammered.

Nick laughed his “Ho Ho Ho.”

“How can someone who writes about his penis all the time be such a prude?” he joked.

“But, Mom?” I cried incredulously.  “What about Dad?  It’s only been 15 months since he passed away.”

“Your father would be the FIRST person to want me to date again.  Being over 65 is young today!” 

I began feeling dizzy.   My mother gave me her kindly smile.

“Think about every Christmas since you were a child.  What did your father do at Queens General Hospital?”

“He would dress as Santa and visit the children’s wing.”

“He was the funniest-looking Santa ever,” Nick added. “He was so skinny… and those Woody Allen glasses!  But he was the best!”

“So who better to take on as a lover…” said my mother, “than the REAL Santa Claus?!  Your father would be impressed!”

I turned towards Nick, still defiant.

“And what about you, Nick?  Aren’t you still married?”

“Technically, I am still married to Mrs. Claus.  But we are, uh, separated.  Although we still live near each other in the North Pole, and love each other, we can still date, but… it’s all very complicated.  I’m not sure if you can understand…”

“Oh, I can.  I can…”  I replied.

My mother took me by my arm and led me to the living room couch.  It was in perfect condition for an old couch because of the plastic that covered it for 30 years.

“Mom, are you sure you know what you are doing?” I asked.

“Is there anything wrong with Nick bringing some “joy” into my life?” she said.

I shook my head, confused.

“I don’t understand.  How did you and Santa… uh, Nick… meet?”

“At Shirley’s house.  It seems that Nick is quite a whiz at Mah-Jongg and came over for a game.”

Nick sat down across from us.

“My mother, Miriam Clausiwitz, god rest her soul, played Mah-Jongg every Tuesday when I was growing up in the Bronx.  I  can still hear the click of the tiles and the chattering of the women.  I even taught the elves how to play!  Oh, you should see some of their competitive tournaments!”

“My head is spinning” I said.

My mother gave me a hug.

“All is good, Neil.  The world is good, despite your bad experiences on the plane and the cab ride over here.  People ARE good.  We just forget to look at the positive side sometimes.  I don’t know if it will work out between Nick and I, but I’ve learned so much from him.”

“And I’ve learned so much from your mother.” said Nick.  “She’s a wonderful woman.  And so full of energy!   Be inspired by her, Neil.  It’s up to you and other wonderful bloggers to spread the joy throughout the blogosphere.” 

“You mean the Holiday Concert?  The Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Holiday Concert?”

“Yes, Neil!  The Holiday Concert on your blodge” said my mother, beaming with pride.

“It would be a mitzvah!” echoed Nick.

I could hear MUSIC coming from upstairs, but it wasn’t coming from the apartment upstairs.  The music was surrounding us.  It felt spiritual. 

“That music?” I said as I looked for the source.  “It sound so familiar.  It sounds like the soundtrack from “Gunga Din” my father’s favorite movie.”

“It is your father… !” said Nick. “From the beyond! 

My mother listened carefully, as if she understood. 

“I think Artie wants to say that he loves the Holiday concert idea.   It could be a Holiday tradition, just like when he used to dress up like Santa Claus at the hospital every year!”

Suddenly, I heard my father’s voice calling out to me.

“Go ahead, Neil.” he said.  “Make the announcement about the concert already!”

“And what about Mom and Santa Claus?  What should I do” I asked my father.  “Doesn’t it make you upset?  Doesn’t it make you jealous?”

“Nah.  If Elaine passed away first, you don’t think I would be shtupping other women by now?  Besides, what’s there to be jealous of?   Have you seen the tiny size of Santa Claus’ c**k?!”

“You are too funny, Dad.  I love you.”

“Go and put up the sign-up sheet,” he instructed me.  “The Holiday Season is upon us.  Let everyone “Be of Good Cheer!”

ANNOUNCING THE FIRST ANNUAL BLOGGER Christmahanukwanzaakah HOLIDAY CONCERT — December 20, 2006

(sign-up sheet coming later)

The Miracle of Kew Garden Hills – Chapter Two


(from The Miracle of Kew Garden Hills, Chapter One)

“Here’s what I want, Neil.  Have you ever thought about hosting a Holiday Concert on your blog, where other bloggers spread the joy by sending in holiday music and songs they recorded themselves?”

“Host a Holiday Concert?  Me?  But I’m Jewish!”

“So am I, Neilochka…” said Nick.  “So am I…”

“Who else do you think they could get to work on Christmas Eve?” he laughed.

“And how exactly would this Blogger Holiday concert work?” I inquired.

“Ho Ho Ho.  Easy as fruitcake.  Tomorrow on your blog, you would put up a sign-up sheet.  Bloggers could volunteer to perform a holiday song for Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa.  They can sing or play an instrument, or both.   They could send the finished piece over the internet either in .wav or MP3 format, edited or unedited.  I’m sure you can help explain all this.  Even with all those Playstation 3s I’m hearing about, I’m not much of a techie.”

“And when would I hold this Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert?”

“December 20 sounds right.”

“And what about those bloggers who can’t sing or play an instrument?”

“You mean the talentless ones?  They could always send you a photo of their menorah or Christmas tree.  Just NO KITTENS.”

“What did you say your name was again?”

“Nick.  Although some call me Kris Kringle.  Or Santa Claus.”

“Santa Claus?!  You have to be kidding?”  I cried, my eyes rolling in disbelief.

The elevator door opened.  My mother was standing down the hall, waiting for me, much as she used to when I would come home from school.  I grabbed my suitcase and rushed towards her, trying to get as far away from this nut as possible.

“Hurry, Mom!  Let me in and then close the door behind us!”

“Hello, Neil,” my mother said in her usual cheerful, comforting voice.  “And hello, Nick.”


I twirled around like a dreidel and saw Nick following right behind me.

“My Sweet Elaine.” Nick purred, as he took my mother in his arms.  They kissed, passionately.

“MOM?!  What the…!!!”

My mother took my hand, sensing my concern.

“Neil, I was going to tell you later about Santa… uh, Nick.. but… but…”

Nick took my mother’s other hand.

“Your mother and I are friends… ” he said.

“Very good friends…” added my mother.

It suddenly became real to me.   This was Santa Claus.  And Santa Claus was a horny older guy leering at my mother’s figure!

“Mom?”  I gasped.  “Are you doing it with Santa Claus?!!”


The Miracle of Kew Garden Hills


“Would you mind switching with me?” asked the well-dressed gentleman sitting directly behind me.  I had just boarded the plane at LAX.  “They mistakenly put my wife next to you.” he continued, smiling at the elegant woman to my right.  “Of course,” I said, always eager to help a married couple so clearly in love.  We switched seats, and I sat behind the gentleman.  Within five minutes of taking off, the man leaned his seat all the way back, blocking most of the space needed for my long legs.

“Some thanks” I mumbled to myself.

I bought these tickets at the last moment, so I had no choice but to switch planes at Dulles.  Once we got to Washington, there was a delay and we had to circle the airport for fifteen minutes.  I was getting nervous about missing my connection. 

As we started our descent, a flight attendant made an announcement on the loudspeaker, “There is one passenger who needs to connect to a flight to JFK.  Could you please raise your hand?”

I meekly put up my hand.  The flight attendant pointed me out and the rest of the plane looked in my direction.

“When we arrive at the gate,” she continued, “would everyone be kind enough to stay in their seats and let this passenger exit the plane first?”

“How nice.” I thought.

The plane landed.  The moment the seat belt sign went off, everyone completely ignored the previous announcement and stood to get their luggage from the overhead bins.  I was trapped in my seat.

The flight attendant spoke into her microphone again, this time with a bit more emphasis, “Could everyone please return to their seats and let the passenger who needs to make his flight to JFK deplane first?”
The grouchy passengers grumbled as I made my way down the center aisle.  I weaved my way past the obstacle course of opened bins, luggage in the aisle, and dirty looks, I heard a wife complain to her husband, “Why didn’t he take a STRAIGHT-THROUGH flight like everyone else rather than make us all wait?!”  It was apparent that the other passengers really didn’t give a damn whether or not I made my flight.  Not only that, they wished me DEAD for making them wait ten seconds.

Now I have several wonderful blogging friends in the Washington D.C. area, so I’m not going to make any generalizations about the residents of our nation’s capital. 

And to be honest, my arrival in New York was just as unfriendly.

Once at JFK, I wheeled my suitcase to the taxi stand.  There was a long line of cabs waiting to pick up tourists for the $45 trip to Manhattan.  Some unlucky cabbie got stuck with me — a local fare staying in Queens.

For most of my trip home, I had to endure this cabbie’s dramatic monologue, which consisted of “F***k, F***k, F***k, I waited for twenty f**king minutes for this s**t!” said over and over.

I finally made it home and overtipped the cabbie out of guilt.  He zoomed off without a thank you. 

I stood in front of my familiar old apartment building, but I didn’t feel any joy.  Instead, the trip had just made me depressed. 

I thought of that gentleman who shoved his seat in my face as a thank you for my switching rows with him.  I remembered the callous passengers on the flight to Dulles, so selfish they couldn’t wait a few seconds to let me off the plane.  I saw the face of the disgruntled New York cabbie, who ruined my welcome home with his obscenities and hateful stares.  Is this humanity?  Is this the best we can do?  People suck!  I could feel any empathy for the human race drain out of my body, like the sweat does when I’m in the San Fernando Valley in August.

I entered my apartment building.  The elevator was waiting and I got inright away.  As the elevator door was about to close, I heard a voice calling out, “Hold it!”  I quickly pushed the “Door Open” button, and a hefty man jumped inside the elevator.

“Thank you, kind sir,” he said.

This hefty man was a odd looking guy.  He was at least 65 years old.  He had thick white hair, a long white beard, retro Ben Franklin glasses, and extremely red cheeks, almost like sugar plums.  When he laughed, he did this hardy “Ho Ho Ho” that sounded a bit fake, but at the same time it was very endearing.  He said his name was Nick. I never saw him before, so I assumed he was a new resident in the apartment building.

“Did you just fly in?” he asked.


“What did you fly on?”

“Jet Blue.”

“You name yours Jet Blue?”

“Huh?  It’s an airline.”

“Oh, yeah, I should try one of those some day.  Can’t be any worst than listening to Rudolph and Prancer argue all night about their “alternative lifestyle.””

This strange man was making me nervous. 

“Do you… uh… live here?”  I stammered.

“Oh, no.  I came here to see you, Neilochka.”

“Me?!  How do you know my name?!”

“Oh, that.  Don’t take this the wrong way, but I see you when you’re sleeping.  I see you when you’re awake.”

I started reaching for my cellphone to call 911. 

“You’ve been a very good boy this year, Neil.” he said, smiling.  “Well… except maybe for you, uh, “decorating your Christmas tree” a little too often in the morning when you wake up.  But hey, even I send out the Mrs. for some gingerbread cookies when I want some alone time.”

“Who the hell are you?”  I demanded.

He laughed his oddball “Ho Ho Ho.” 

“It sounds like you’ve had a terrible trip to New York, my friend.  And you’re beginning to doubt the good in humanity.”

“Is this elevator broken?”

I started pushing buttons at  random. 

“Life can be harsh.” he continued in his deep voice.  “Many lose hope at this time of the year.  They grow depressed as the days get darker and nights get colder.”

 “Well, thanks, but I have my Prozac for that.  I’m going to call the police now for help.  I think we’re stuck.”

“Neilochka, you are stuck, but not in the way you are thinking.   You are stuck because you are not seeing the joy of life.”

“What joy?”

“Ah… what if there was a way you could find this joy of life again and help others as well… help others see what is wonderful with the world…”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.  Maybe you should move to Los Angeles.  You can make millions giving New Age seminars.  What do you want from ME?”

“Here’s what I want, Neil.  Have you ever thought about hosting a Holiday Concert on your blog, where other bloggers spread the joy by sending in holiday music and songs they recorded themselves?”

“Host a Holiday Concert?  Me?  But I’m Jewish!”

“So am I, Neilochka…” said Nick.  “So am I.”


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