I'm dreaming of a white christmas

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas/Just like the ones I used to know"

Are you? Are you really? Before the early 1940s, nobody was really dreaming of a white Christmas. Sure, folks thought about Christmas and all the things that came along with the Christmas season. Presents, family gatherings, sending Christmas cards, a visit from St. Nicholas... well starting in 1823 when that poem was first published. But the concept of a "white Christmas" didn't become "a thing" until a Jewish immigrant named Irving Berlin wrote a song called "White Christmas." Before that, Christmas songs were mostly religious in nature. "White Christmas." made its public debut on Christmas Day 1941, just a few weeks after the infamous attack on Pearl Harbor. Popular singer Bing Crosby sang the song on his radio show. He recorded it the following May for inclusion on an album released ahead of the holiday-themed motion picture Holiday Inn, which debuted, inexplicably, on August 4, 1942. The song performed poorly in its initial release. Bing Crosby wasn't especially thrilled by the tune, commenting during the recording session: "I have no problems with that one." But as Christmas 1942 approached and Holiday Inn gained traction, it topped the charts and became an international hit. It went on to sell fifty million copies, becoming one of the best selling singles of all time.

But, how many folks in later generations, even know why they want a white Christmas? They certainly don't want a white Christmas in Australia, where it's summer in December. So, a white Christmas is purely a Northern Hemisphere thing. Before Irving Berlin penned that beloved Christmas song, the concept of a white Christmas was barely a thing. It was alluded to in Charles Dickens' classic novella A Christmas Carol. Snow and wintery weather was described, but it was not the main focus of the story. It merely offered a setting in which the action took place.

I used to work with a couple of women who were very nice, very sweet, but not too bright as far as where their holiday traditions originated. First of all, they marveled at the fact that I was Jewish. They had never known anyone — anyone! — who didn't celebrate Christmas. They questioned me about holidays that they had never heard of, as though I was the Jewish equivalent of the Pope. (By the way, there is no Jewish equivalent of the Pope and if there were, it sure wouldn't be me.) When Christmas time would roll around, the questions were brought up again. It became tradition. "You don't have a Christmas tree?," they'd ask, as though they were asking how I was able to breathe without lungs. I'd explain that, of course, I had a tree, but I just keep it in the backyard, growing in the ground with the other trees. Being the sarcastic jerk that I am, I would often return the questioning, with a little bit of Josh Pincus attitude. "Why do you want a 'White Christmas'?," I'd innocently ask. "There wasn't any snow in the desert when Jesus was born." The two women would exchange blank looks and then look at me. They'd frown and furrow their collective brows, hoping that would force a convincing answer the front of their brains. Finally, one of them replied. "Well, you know..... it's nice for the kids." 

What? What does that mean? How did that attempt to answer my question? How does that explain your tradition? Jeez! I went on and on and on about Judah Maccabee and his ragtag band of soldiers fighting off the Greco-Roman Assyrian army (or whoever they fought) and how the oil in the temple lasted for eight days instead of just one and why we eat fried food to commemorate the "oil" aspect of the Chanukah story. Okay, okay... I fudged on some of the details, but at least I was far more convincing than "It's nice for the kids." That made as much sense as yelling English into the face of someone who doesn't understand English to get them to understand.

I get frustrated by "traditions" that are blindly followed by people who don't even know the reason why they are doing what they are doing. There are so many Christmas "traditions" that are dragged out every year that have absolutely nothing to do with the birth of Jesus. A lot of them were borrowed from other cultures. There is nothing wrong with that. But if you don't understand why you are doing these things, you kind of look like a dope. Even an excuse of "Well, my parents did this, so I'm doing this" is better than "Uh... I don't know." I had another coworker at another job who would talk about all of her cherished family traditions as though these rituals were handed down from generation to generation... only to discover that her "traditions" were read about in a magazine during her train commute into work that day.

If you are "dreaming of a white Christmas," good for you. If you like snow, that's fine. If it's because a songwriter told you to over eight decades ago, that's fine. If it's because "Uh... I don't know." Well, as they say in the South: "Bless your heart."

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

sympathy for the devil

According to a recent news story, 49-year old Swati Goyal had just boarded a flight from Florida headed to Las Vegas. Just before take-off, a male flight attendant approached Ms. Goyal to explain that "the crew" had found the T-shirt that she was wearing offensive. He continued, expounding on her options — either cover the shirt up or leave the plane. At first, Ms. Goyal thought it was a joke. Ms. Goyal's husband thought it was a joke... until they spotted "a very angry-looking female flight attendant" standing nearby, glaring at the couple with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Ms. Goyal was dumbstruck. 

The male flight attendant then asked "Do you know what 'offensive' means?"

Ms. Goyal bristled. "Yes," she began curtly, "I’m a foreign-born minority woman. I know what my T-shirt means and my T-shirt is not offensive." The flight attendant reiterated. "If you do not remove or cover up your T-shirt, you will be asked to leave this airplane." Ms. Goyal eventually complied. Her husband was wearing several layered shirts, so she borrowed one and concealed the T-shirt-in-question behind some buttons and opaque cloth. Later, she commented that she had often worn the shirt and it usually evokes chuckles.

By the way, this is the shirt she was wearing....

Swati Goyal, it seems, is a proud atheist. She is a member of the Satanic Temple, which contrary to its name, does not advocate the worship of Satan. Actually, it does not even believe in a "Satan" figure. Instead, the Satanic Temple "encourages benevolence and empathy among all people, rejects tyrannical authority and advocates practical common sense and justice." The Satanic Temple sells these shirts as ironic commentary. However, it is an actual, recognized religion... just like yours.

Ms. Goyal clearly — and rightly — saw the demands of the staff of American Airlines as discrimination based on religion. After the flight landed, Ms. Goyal contacted American Airlines' corporate headquarters to complain about the treatment she received. The customer service representative listened quietly as Ms. Goyal spelled out her humiliation. Then, the corporate rep did not apologize, but referred to their policies for passenger conduct, citing the airline’s Conditions of Carriage position on “offensive” clothing. That position is: "not allowed," although American Airlines does not specifically explain what constitutes an offensive piece of clothing. I suppose they'll just know it when they see it.

This is a perfect example of everything I dislike about religion. I believe the basics of any and all religion is: "love each other" and "everybody get along with everybody" or some variation on those simple ideas. However, the followers of any given religion usually display vicious and condescending attitudes as they try to convince members of other religions that their made-up deity is better than your made-up deity. They readily dismiss beliefs that differ from their own, finding them "offensive" despite someone else having those "offensive" beliefs as the basis for their own religion. Considering that many religious groups are the object of so much prejudice, they practice an awful lot of it themselves.

I have seen a number of T-shirts that offend me, but I would never impede on anyone's right to express their beliefs, even if they don't gel with mine. On a recent cruise, I saw a guy wearing this shirt...

I find this shirt offensive, mostly because, as many military veterans have opined, the sentiment is misplaced.... and, contrary to popular belief, not everyone is a Christian.

I find this shirt offensive, as well...

Religion is a very personal thing. I would prefer if everyone kept it on a more personal level. Good for you that you love Jesus and all he has done for you, but isn't this display of gratitude best kept between you and your "higher being?" C'mon.... a little discretion goes a long way.

The shirt I find most offensive, is this one...

Ugh! I can't stand his voice.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

Read more here: https://www.miamiherald.com/news/local/community/florida-keys/article238235064.html#storylink=cp

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

Here it is, the week of Thanksgiving and The Hallmark Channel is deep in the throes of its annual Christmas celebration. 

In 2001, greeting card giant Hallmark decided to enter the cable television business. The fledgling network continuously gained viewers with its decidedly "family-oriented" programming. As of 2015, Hallmark Channel reaches approximately 73% of homes that own at least one television. Their programs are definitely skewed to lure viewers away from the Lifetime and the OWN Network (mighty media mogul Oprah Winfrey's foray into cable television).

In 2010, Hallmark produced a series of six original Christmas-themed movies and broadcast them, appropriately, around the weeks leading up to the late December holiday. More recently, their output of Christmas movies has increased exponentially each year with 2018 offering nearly two dozen made-for-Hallmark movies. In addition, they show all of the movies from past years – all day, everyday – kicking off their "Countdown to Christmas" promotion long before anyone in their right mind actually begins counting down to Christmas. It seems to start just as most people are tossing their last empty bottle of sunscreen into the recycling bin.

While I haven't seen a single one of these films in its entirety, Mrs. Pincus has. Every. Single. One. I have seen a few minutes of each one, however, because they are on at least one television in our home, seemingly from the second week of October until well after the New Year. Mrs. P loves 'em. They are, for her, what some folks refer to as "a guilty pleasure." I dislike the term "guilty pleasure" because it implies that you try to hide your affection from friends and family for fear of embarrassment (like my affinity for "The Night Chicago Died"). Mrs. Pincus enjoys these movies as a mindless escape. They are joyful distractions from the everyday grind of dealing with unreasonable eBay customers, people who double-park at the post office and tedious family issues. She does not hide the fact that she likes and watches these movies, just like I don't hide the fact that I still watch reruns of "iCarly." We like what we like.

I have seen bits and pieces of a number of these movies and, honestly, I cannot tell one from another. They are literally cookie-cutter productions that borrow unashamedly from other, more famous, stories. The films are usually set in some charming, soap-opera looking hamlet called "Paradise" or "Hollyland" or "Mistletoe" or some other blatant Christmas-y reference. They star either Jennifer Love Hewitt or Candace Cameron Bure or Lacey Chabert or grown-up Winnie from "The Wonder Years," or some other attractive actress who looks like one of those aforementioned actresses. Oh, and there's the celebrated Brooke D'Orsay, a veteran of numerous Hallmark Christmas movies for several years now. (Don't ask me what else she's been in.) The male co-stars are usually some rugged-looking, pleasingly-scruffy hunk who looks like the second runner-up in a Blake Shelton look-alike contest. The revolving plots usually focus on a disillusioned young woman who returns to her quaint small town to rediscover the true meaning of Christmas after becoming jaded and cynical by life in bustling New York/Chicago/St. Louis/Los Angeles (all shot in some Canadian big city doubling as a United States metropolis). Some of them tell the story of a hapless young woman finding out that she is a distant relative of Santa Claus and must help the venerable holiday figurehead overcome a time of great distress. Others throw together an unlikely couple who, at first dislike each other, but, in two hours time (plus commercials) experience the magic of Christmas and live happily ever after (and after and after in countless annual re-broadcasts). And, of course, there are the bald-faced rip-offs of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" and reworkings of Frank Capra's "It's A Wonderful Life." Every so often, one of these movies features a sad appearance by a noted actor whose career hasn't quite taken the path they envisioned. A grizzled Tom Skerritt showed up, playing second fiddle to Candace Cameron Bure. Cantankerous Brian Doyle Murray was Santa Claus in one and Oscar winner Shirley MacLaine appeared with Sex and the City's Kristin Davis in another. 

The Hallmark Channel Christmas movies usually find their way to our bedroom television late at night. For years, my wife and I have always had a television on all night in our bedroom. I've gotten so used to it that, if it goes off (due to a cable or power outage), I wake up from the silence. Now, I am slowly lulled to sleep by the dulcet tones of some of the worst dialogue delivered by some of the worst actors I have every heard. But, I have to thank The Hallmark Channel. I have had some of the most restful nights of sleep during the marathon broadcasts of their Christmas movies. And If I ever decide to really investigate the intricate plot twists and turns, Hallmark has graciously published a series of novelizations based on a selection of their movies. 

Happy "Eight More Weeks of Christmas Movies on Hallmark." Sweet dreams.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

tell me are you a Christian, child?

My wife has been operating an eBay store for — gosh! — I don't even know how long. Years ago, when she first started, I used to help pack the merchandise that she sold. That was a long time ago and the process of running an eBay store has evolved into — well, closer to running an actual store. And Mrs. Pincus runs things in much the same way she ran her parents' general merchandise business in a Pennsylvania farmers market for many years. She has a designated day for listing, a designated day for packing and specific times to take shipments to the post office. However, due the the global reach of eBay and her participation in international sales, Mrs. P has been unable to limit the hours dedicated to answering customer (including potential* customer) inquiries. She regularly checks email and quickly replies to any and all questions. I have awakened in the middle of the night to see my wife's face illuminated by the glow of her cellphone. "What are you doing?," I'll groggily ask, knowing darn well what she is doing.

A lot of  questions regarding the items that my wife has for sale can easily be answered by reading the listing a little further past the title. Mrs. Pincus routinely answers questions about an item's size, color and other components — all of which are included in the brief description a mere mouse-scroll below the title and photo. But — as we have come to learn — people don't like to read. They like to be read to. Rather than exert a little investigative effort (very little), they like to be told by someone who has done the investigating for them (commonly known as "Let me Google that for you"). However, not every question can be anticipated. Mrs. P does her darnedest to include every possible measurement, every shade of every color and every piece of pertinent descriptive information, but, sometimes you get that one question that results in a good head-scratching.

Recently, Mrs. Pincus offered a plastic novelty magnet in the familiar shape of a bottle of Heinz ketchup for the reasonable price of $7.99. Feeling extra generous, an "or best offer" was added to the price.  Dated 1982 and manufactured by a long-defunct company called Arjon, this cute little magnet would be a welcome addition to anyone's novelty magnet collection (and before you ask — yes — there are plenty of folks who collect novelty magnets). One such collector contacted Mrs. Pincus with a two-part question about the Heinz ketchup magnet. The first part was "Would you do a 'Buy It Now'?" This is a feature that a seller can set up to enable a quick purchase for a price that is agreed upon by both parties. Mrs. P does this quite often. Part Two of the query was a bit more..... unusual.

"Are you a Christian? We are." This was followed by a little smiley face comprised of a colon and a closed parenthesis.  

Mrs. P was taken aback. Of course, she wants to sell this stuff. That's why it's on eBay in the first place. Of course, she doesn't want to lose a sale at the cost of offending a potential buyer. So, Mrs. P replied in a firm and diplomatic way — way more diplomatic than I would have been.

Like most folks who freely promote their religious beliefs as though they were discussing the weather, they are either convinced that everyone shares their beliefs or they feel they are doing the Lord's work, convincing a lost lamb to join the comforting fray. Either way, it is always a losing argument, usually met with cheerfully narrow-minded reasoning and unwavering commitment. They will never ever see the other side of the argument. There is no "other side," as far as they're concerned. This case, of course, was no different, as this revealing response shows:

First comes the sermon, the stirring message of reaffirming faith and back-handed enticement into the ways of their dogma. Then, back to business, because — well, they obviously want that magnet. (perhaps as an offering). But they also feel a divine obligation to save another poor soul from the fiery grip of Satan. So, they offered four bucks on the magnet. Mrs. Pincus politely declined the offer, hoping that this exchange would now continue as a business discussion, but she knew it would not. She replied, attempting to make her position clear. 

But, as expected, they were not finished. They would not rest until our eternal, everlasting spirits were fully accepted into the Kingdom of... of.... Everlasting Acceptance. Their parting salvo was phrased this way, still mixing business with religion to their very last breath... er, offer

By the way, if you'd like, the beautiful 1982 Arjon Heinz Ketchup magnet is still available on eBay. 

Shipping is extra. Religion is too.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*A potential customer is anyone who asks a question about an item, though hasn't necessarily made a purchase... or has even hinted at making a purchase. Mrs. P has learned to treat every inquiry as a paying customer. Who knows? The goal is to get them to end up as one.

holiday, oh, holiday and the best one of the year

It's time once again for the big, year-end, holidays. Everyone (well, almost everyone) is celebrating something. Most people will be observing some level of Christmas. A little over five million people will be lighting some sort of menorah in celebration of Chanukah (or Hanukkah or Chanukkah or Chhannnukkkkah or whatever). After the Christmas and Chanukah festivities have ended and all the dreidels have been packed away and the Christmas trees have been kicked to the curb, some people will be celebrating Kwanzaa. (Unclear estimates put that number anywhere between two and thirty million.) Muslims already had their traditional festival in the summer, as Ramadan and Eid-al-Fatr both fell in July.

Last weekend, Mrs. Pincus and I experienced the two extremes of the holiday season within a few hours of each other. In the afternoon, we joined my son and his girlfriend for the 12th Annual "LatkePalooza" held at a downtown Philadelphia Jewish community center. The event was sold out. I didn't even know that eleven similar events had preceded this one. For fifteen bucks, attendees clamored to sample latkes (fried potato pancakes, traditionally served on Chanukah) offered by a dozen different area restaurants. Some of the sizzling goodies were pretty average, not able to hold a shamash to my mother-in-law's version. Others, however, like the lox and pickled beet-topped morsels served by Philadelphia newcomer Abe Fisher were a delight. The Cajun spin from Catahoula was delicious as well, although the spicy apple sauce topping was a bit too much for Mrs. P's palette. The event was supplemented by a four-piece band playing family-oriented songs (with a few holiday-appropriate tunes sprinkled in the mix) and an awkward magician who was unable to hold anyone's interest. We observed a number of restaurants packing up their equipment well-before the 4 PM closing time. It seemed that the attendees descended upon the latkes with the efficiency of a swarm of locusts, wiping out the surplus in just forty minutes. The vendors appeared pleased with the prospect of an early exit. 

"They won't revoke my
synagogue membership
for this, will they?"

With the room nearly empty, we, too, exited and made our way to our next destination - a Christmas tree decorating party. (I was later informed that it was not a "party," but instead, should be referred to as a "spire." When I questioned the term "spire" in reference to an intimate get-together, I was told in the original text message it was actually a "soire," but auto-correct changed it to "spire." So, it stuck.) Our pal Kathy asked a select few of her "inner circle" to, essentially, come over and decorate her tree while she watched. Having never had the opportunity to decorate a Christmas tree in my Jewish household or among my Jewish friends, I watched as well. Mrs. P, whose family's Jewishness outranks me in spades, took a front-row seat for the activity, as she nursed a glass of sparkling cider. As the only Jews in a roomful of long-time Christmas celebrants, we were warmly received and the overall tone of the evening was one of snarky joviality. After a while, Mrs. P bravely joined another guest in adorning the tree when a "Gone with the Wind" ornament was produced from the packed box of decorations. My wife's favorite film is the epic Civil War tale and she knew she'd probably never get this opportunity again. Afterwards, everyone dined on a delicious, serve-yourself meal of homemade chili and a vegetarian-friendly corn soup. There was a miscommunication when we questioned the ingredients of the homemade cornbread. The preparer cheerfully rattled off the various components — flour, baking soda, etc. Satisfied, my Kosher-observant wife and my vegetarian self simultaneously popped warm slices into our mouths, when the guest suddenly remembered that she had smeared the pan with bacon grease prior to baking. Mrs. P and I exchanged wide-eyed panicked glances, although we were comforted in the fact that Jews don't acknowledge the existence of Hell and eternal damnation. We get enough guilt from our mothers. We also steered clear of the cornbread for the rest of the night.

As the evening moved on, conversation bounced around, ranging from favorite holiday movies to various and diverse holiday celebrations to convincing me to allow my hair to go back to its natural color, a suggestion I quickly dismissed. Considering that my spouse and I had just met the other guests mere hours earlier, we were as close as childhood friends by evening's end, even hugging when we eventually parted.

Maybe this will become an annual tradition. And depending on when Eid-al-Fatr falls in 2015, perhaps someone will bring a plate of baklava. I don't think there is anything to decorate or light.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

they're all precious in His sight

I suppose Liv has to be Facebook friends with Mary, her son-in-law's mother. I guess it's the polite thing to do in the Internet Age. So, Liv accepted the friend request and continued to go about her Facebook business — viewing family pictures, playing Candy Crush, you know — just like anyone.

One day, on a daily check-in on Facebook,  Liv received an invitation from Mary. It was for an event called "Son Rise Music Festival," a celebration in song featuring performances and bands with a decidedly (nay, overtly) Christian slant. Liv, who is Jewish, declined the invitation. Mary responded, curious as to why Liv would not be attending. This is the exchange that took place:

Mary: Why aren't you going to Son Rise?

Liv: It's my grandson's birthday the same weekend, besides — I'm not really interested in a Christian music festival.

Mary: What do you mean?

Liv: I'm not Christian, Mary. I'm Jewish!

Mary: You believe in God, right?

Liv: Yes.

Mary: Well, then you're Christian!

Liv: No, Mary, Jews believe in God, but we don't believe that Jesus was the Messiah and we don't believe that Jesus was the son of God.

Mary: You don't? I thought everyone believed that.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com