THE TYGRRRR EXPRESS

Tonight begins Yom Kippur.

The bottom line is like many people, I am far from a saint and hopefully not a complete screwup that God regrets creating.

I have a long way to go, and to quote the theme from Smokey and the Bandit, a short time to get there.

I need to remind myself that while my blog gives me a platform, that comes with responsibility. I should not get personal, go after families, or engage in slander or libel. I should remember that politicians I disagree with are my opponents, never my enemies.

With regards to my parents, I should remember that plenty of people don’t have them. I thank God I do, and should tell them that more often. My inheritance will not be much, but I want to make my own fortune. I hope regarding what they have, that the last check they write is to the mortuary, and that it bounces.

Then again, advocating check kiting on Yom Kippur might not be wise.

I have the best friends a guy could ask for. I need to appreciate them more and let them know that.

As for romance, the Miami Shark is the love of my life. Some readers of my blog observe that I have a habit of pointing out other hot women and making salacious comments.

In real life I am in a monogamous relationship with a woman I love very much. While she knows this, I want the entire world to know that sophomoric comments about other hot women aside, no other woman comes close to the Miami Shark. She is the love of my life.

I have come to the conclusion that I am obsessed with pursuing wealth and power. This may not be very admirable. I vow never to let my pursuit of this lead to me ignoring the people I love. I also vow never to hurt other innocent human beings in my quest to get what I want. Lastly, I vow to remain the same person and not become corrupted by such power.

I am not a patient person. Lord knows I have to do better.

I also promise to continue being sincere. I will not pretend to stop engaging in bad behavior that I know I will continue to engage in.

I hope to one day be a pillar of my community. As I keep reminding myself, I have so much work to do.

Lastly, I vow to offer one more totally socially unacceptable comment before Yom Kippur starts to get it out of my system.

Delaware Senator Christin O’Donnell offered very sensitive comments about a very sensitive subject.

All I will say is I am not going to touch that one.

I think I just did.

I apologize for that remark.

As for the rest, I was very sincere. I appreciate those who tolerate me despite my many flaws.

May Almighty God weigh my good against the bad and keep me around for awhile.

I could help matters by eating healthier, but that falls into the insincerity category.

To the Jews of the world everywhere, I wish you a peaceful Yom Kippur.

To good people everywhere else, peace and blessings to you and your loved ones.

eric

Today is the second day of Rosh Hashanah. Again I will be in Temple in New York.

This pre-written column is just my thoughts on one line of thought I have.

A recent experience had me thinking in ways that disappointed me. One person sent me an email wishing me a happy Rosh Hashanah. I thanked him for his support, and that I appreciated Christian support for Israel. He seemed confused, asking If I thought he was Christian. I have known him a few years, and always assumed he was. It turns out he is Jewish.

He has never hid his Judaism, but I always assumed he was Christian. For one thing, he is Republican. For another, he is very tall. Also, most people in America are Christians.

Yet the real reason I thought he was Christian was that he is overwhelmingly pro-Israel.

Despite the fact that I am a Jewish Republican who is staunchly pro-Israel, I still figure that when I meet somebody who is Republican and pro-Israel, that they are Christian.

That is a sad commentary on my part, but maybe if more Jews were loud and proud I would feel differently.

I hope on this Rosh Hashanah Jewish pride flies loud and proud.

Happy Rosh Hashanah to all Jews and thank you to others for your support.

eric

As Americans get prepared to eat hot dogs and steaks on the grill, Labor Day represents more than a celebration of the American worker (especially ones not held hostage by union thugs).

Labor Day is the last Monday without NFL Football for 17 weeks.

Yet even on a day as important as this, some lies and rumors need to be debunked.

First of all, Labor Day has nothing to do with pregnancy.

More importantly, I am not in labor.

I know people have seen pictures of me, and know that my “diet” consists of buying bigger clothing. Some have pointed out that I am in my third trimester. If it is a boy, I am going to name it “gut.”

For those who think trying to birth a baby is painful, try getting out of bed in the morning when one is really tired and the sheets are really comfortable.

So Labor Day should honor people like me, because ending sleep and starting the day will be a labor in itself.

For those who think that Britain has anything to do with this, that is Labour. Elitists like to add extra letters to words for no reason. Average neighborhoods have harbors. Rich neighborhoods have harbours.

I would say more, but let’s be honest. Labor Day for most people is a day off and nothing more.

Ironically, obstetricians will be working.

As for me, I will be eating several hot dogs and hamburgers because if I have been wrong all this time and really am with child, eating for two allows me to expand the waistline.

Off to relax until the real pain hits on Pepto Bismol Tuesday.

eric

I was watching the news when I heard the commentator discuss the situation in Afghanistan.

I kept hearing that phrase over and over when I drifted away from foreign policy.

What was the hidden meaning of “the situation in Afghanistan?”

Obviously people are finally taking my advice and sending the cast of Jersey Shore to dangerous world war zones where they can be eliminated.

Mike Sorrentino, also known as “the Situation,” is finally being sent to Afghanistan.

Now if only Snookie were sent to Iraq, pop culture would be slightly less vapid by an infantecimal amount.

(She spells it “Snooki” without the “e.” I am right, she is wrong.)

I have never watched the Jersey Shore. As a lifelong New Yorker growing up, I have nothing to say about New Jersey. Outside of Governor Chris Christie and a girl I liked at Summer camp in the 1980s, the state is worthless.

(Please do not cite Springsteen. He does nothing for me, although I did like Bon Jovi and Skid Row.)

The Situation in Afghanistan would be a great reality show. One minute he is flexing his muscles and preparing to fight, and then he realizes that the Taliban have guns and are unimpressed by his celebrity.

Snookie could finally get romantic with a goat. It could teach her Pashtun, and she could teach it…well, not everything has to be reciprocal.

She could show them the naked pictures she took of herself. They would then try to stone or behead her since even showing ankles is forbidden under Shariah law.

While it is tempting to have the entire cast waterboarded, coercive interrogation methods should only be used to extract vital intelligence information. I do not picture Snookie offering anything vital, informative, or intelligent, at least not from a security standpoint.

I do not know if any of these people are connected to Mr. Big (actor Chris Noth, not the 1980s rock band), although deporting the cast of Sex and the City would be fine as well.

So let’s have the Situation in Afghanistan along with the rest of them, and may none of them ever return.

America can be great again if we just dumb down the rest of the world to levels below us.

eric

On August 26th, 1990, I boarded a plane from New York and landed in Los Angeles.

I landed, looked at the beautiful sky, looked at the postcards, did a triple take, and realized that everything I had been told was true.

The first words out of my mouth contained expletives.

“Holy (redacted), I am never (redacted) leaving.”

It was like God had created a perfect city for me to run and play in.

No more shoveling snow (although my dad would remind me that he shoveled it and I stayed indoors. I specifically remember shoveling it once or twice) ever again.

I remember culture shock and almost getting into a fistfight with a store clerk. He asked me to give him my bag, and I said no. It was explained to me by one of my new California college classmates that he would give me the bag back once I left the store. He was just trying to prevent shoplifting. I thought he was trying to rob me. I gave him the bag grudgingly, and checked my things thoroughly when I got my bag back. The classmate explained that I was from New York, as if I was the one acting strange and not him.

I remember November 13th, 1990 when the Los Angeles Raiders when into Miami against the 8-1 Dolphins on Monday Night Football and just rammed the ball down their throats. Bo Jackson and Marcus Allen ran right at them, and the defense hounded Dan Marino in a 13-10 Raiders win. That night in Los Angeles was the first day it rained, and I had been there almost 3 months!

Normally I hate the rain. LA was in the midst of a drought, or as I called it “nice weather.” Yet when everybody made a slip and slide on the grass, I took part. Hot rain is better than freezing rain.

I remember being in a Jacuzzi in the dead of what would normally be winter. I had my soda and my fake cigar, thinking that I was living like Robin Leach in “Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous,” while my relatives back in New York were freezing their hides off.

I remember going to the guys for a fraternity party and ending up in the wrong building, accidentally ending up at a sorority party. There were 500 giggling, tipsy girls, and 4 guys. One of my friends realized we were in the wrong building and suggested we should go. I looked at him and said, “Go? What is this ‘go’ thing you speak of? You mean stay.” We did end up leaving, although I enjoyed feeling my way through the crowd on the way out. My bad habit of forgetting to empty my pockets before doing laundry rendered the phone numbers I collected indecipherable.

Yet as August of 2010 comes and goes, I still find myself struggling to answer the basic question…where am I from?

It seems so easy to answer. Yet to this day I have never told people that I am a Californian or an Angeleno. It just never felt right.

Los Angeles has been very good to me. I have friends here I will have for life. One of them I met the day my plane landed, and another one I met a month later.

I was definitely not a Californian then. It would have made no sense. I told everybody I was a New Yorker, because that is all I ever knew.

Some people would insist that I was never a New Yorker because to them, Manhattan is New York. For the uneducated, New York City in terms of geography is a tiny sliver of New York State.

When people would ask me where I was from in New York, I would say “Brooklyn born, Long Island raised.”

I only lived in Brooklyn a few months. I lived on Long Island for 18 years. Yet I never really bonded with Long Island. To this day I tell people that if you have never been, save your money because there is no reason to go whatsoever. My home on Long Island was always 20 minutes away from “something.”

This is where the geographically uneducated would mention the Hamptons. That was where the wealthy people lived. I was middle class, and have only been to the Hamptons 2 or 3 times in my life. So again, Long Island really did not offer much. Manhattan did nothing for me, and I still find it overrated.

Having said that, my favorite comedy movie of all time came out days before I left New York in 1990. Bill Murray played a clown who robbed a bank in “Quick Change.” The reason he robs the bank to begin with is so he can have enough money to finance his escape from New York. Several times he looks out the window and says “God I hate this town.” That love-hate relationship with New York defines me. I prefer living in Los Angeles, but identify and bond more with New York.

Brooklyn is where my passion is. I am very proud of my Brooklyn heritage. I did not grow up there, but that is where I was born, and where much of my family lives today. All of my family lived there except m parents, who escaped to Long Island.

I still vacation in Brooklyn. I go to Coney Island, home of the Original Nathan’s Hot Dog stand and the Boardwalk.

To say I am a Brooklynite would not be honest. It had the biggest impact on me, but I was not raised there. I spent a lot of time there visiting my family. Although my grandparents are gone, I still feel their spirit inside of me when I go to the park. Some of the 90 year olds recognize me. To have those people come up, touch my check, and hug me, is warmth I cannot feel anywhere else. They tell me how much my grandparents meant to them, and how much I meant to them.

Yet now I am 38. I have lived in Los Angeles 20 years, more than the 18 in New York. My friends wonder when I will just say I am an Angeleno. Yet I still tell people I am a New Yorker living in Los Angeles. Would I live in New York again? No. The weather is horrible. I don’t do cold weather. I would be bicoastal between LA and Brooklyn. I would say it that way because between LA and NY sounds pretentious, and I am not some Upper Westside snob. Manhattan looks down on Brooklyn, but Brooklyn is as real as it gets.

While LA has a reputation for phoniness, my friends are real, and they were raised here. As one of my friends reminded me, Los Angeles has been very good to me.

I just know where my emotions are.

When the 1992 LA riots happened, I watched the city burn. I was in college, and only blocks from the burning. The city I lived in was on fire, but I was like “cool.” It was interesting to watch. There was no emotional connection.

When 9/11 happened, I was in Los Angeles. Even though the planes hit Manhattan and not Brooklyn, it was my city that was attacked. It was personal. My friends from Brooklyn and Long Island were attacked. Like when we were kids, if you attack one of us, you attack all of us.

As soon as I could I flew back to NY, and still fly every 9/11, usually to NY. 9/11 reaffirmed the bond I had with my home state. Terrorists did not just attack a state. They attacked mine. It was personal.

To this day, I travel all across America. People ask me where I am from. I start out by saying that I live in Los Angeles. Yet then I quickly tell them, “but I was born and raised in New York.”

Los Angeles is associated with Hollywood and the entertainment industry, which I loathe. Los Angeles has the Lakers, who I detest. New York has Wall Street, which runs through my blood. I love it. I was a Wall Street guy for 15 years, although my dislike of cold weather had me working out of my firms’ LA offices most of the time. Yet sometimes I did work on the actual Wall Street itself, and it was a rush. Nevertheless, I am a car guy, not a train guy.

Everything about LA appeals to me in terms of lifestyle more than NY. Although I live in a highrise condo building in a nice area. My NY friends tell me that for a guy who would never live in Manhattan, I sure live like an Upper Westside guy. That is one step less revolting than being from Hollywood. Hollywood is 15 minutes East of me, and my car only goes West.

My NY accent was less thick than my cousins because my parents were schoolteachers. My mother taught English, and “gangster talk” was not permitted in the house. I once said “nevah” and my mother explained that it was pronounced “never.” I learned quickly to round off my r’s properly.  My accent comes out when I get angry or excited. When watching football, the accent comes out strong, although my cousins still think I have gone soft living in LA.
Living in NY, I was always a Raiders fan because as a kid I liked the logo. In 1980 the Jets and Giants were both 4-12 while the Raiders were about to win the Super Bowl.

(I do root for the NY teams to do well in every sport, preferring the Mets to the Yankees since my grandfather loved the Mets. I am fine with the Knicks. I prefer the Rangers over the Islanders, again my bond to the city being more than where I grew up. Yes, I hated the Islanders when they were winning championships every year. I am no bandwagon fan. )

Yet even though I had never been to California, they were always the Oakland Raiders to me, not the Los Angeles Raiders. I enjoyed seeing their games in LA, but was glad they moved back to Oakland because of tradition.

Tradition. That is what it is all about. Tradition is the way that Nathan’s Hot Dog tastes on the Boardwalk. It is how real NY Pizza tastes.

It is how I feel when sitting around the table with cousins for the Jewish holidays. They still live across the street from where my grandparents lived. That is how it should be.

I have a great life in Los Angeles. I have the best friends a guy could ask for. My children will be Angelenos, although we will vacation in Brooklyn on occasion so they can get a taste of their heritage.

Yet 30 years from now I just don’t see myself being an Angeleno. My parents retired to South Florida, but I am not a Floridian. I’ve never lived there.

As 20 years has turned me from a college kid into a young man, I freely admit that I love living in Los Angeles. Yet who I am runs deeper.

I am a New Yorker living in Los Angeles.

I am Brooklyn born, Long Island raised.

I was Brooklyn born near Coney Island, not too far from Sheep’s Head Bay, still vacationing by Neptune and West 5th St, walking distance to the Nathan’s and the Boardwalk.

That is my story. That is who I am. That is where I am from.

Once  a New Yorker…a Brooklynite…a Coney Island kid…always.

eric

I recently had the pleasure of attending my 20 year High School reunion.

Given that this is a very boring topic for those who did not attend my school, I have decided to throw in some gratuitous references to pop culture that have absolutely nothing to do with this column. This is done in a very subtle manner solely to increase blog traffic. I love it when imbeciles link to my column based on word searches without actually reading the column.

Although I am proud to have been born in Brooklyn, I actually attended school on Long Island. I have always said that for those who have never been to Long Island, save your money because there is no reason to go whatsoever. For those who live on Long Island, pretend to be offended while secretly admitting I am right. Growing up, my home was always 20 minutes from “something.”

Thankfully I was able to take part in a political function before the reunion, since business trips are what I do.

While my school experiences absolutely sucked on virtually every level, the best thing I did was go to my 10 year reunion. The nice people showed up, the creeps stayed home, and I buried the demons. Going to my 20 year reunion, I was completely at peace.

(The fact that I was successful, and therefore significantly more handsome, certainly helped matters. Sleeping with a smart, hot girlfriend also makes me more pleasant than I was growing up.)

The reunion was a fantastic experience. The two ladies who did most of the work should be given the equivalent of gold stars for the refrigerators. The slide shows they put together were brilliantly done.

The music was pure 1980s, which was fitting for the class of 1990. Although the dj did screw up by playing one song from that infernal LADY GAGA (for those wanting more updates on Lady Blah Blah, I say…well…blah blah), the rest of the night he remembered what generation was being represented.

As for me, I am on the road 300 days per year, and was glad to be able to fit this event in between San Diego and Arkansas. To mark the occasion, I broke out my 1980s style Miami Vice turquoise suit. The reason why I dressed like that is simple. I can. Most people can’t pull it off. Next time it is pink or yellow. Everybody else was dressed normal. Their loss.

Two of my fellow students I grew up with both attended the 10 year reunion. At that event, they ended up falling in love. At the 20 year reunion they were a married couple with a child. If that does not justify attending reunions, I cannot think of what does.

A sad occurrence was seeing one of our former class presidents being at less than full capacity due to a tragic car accident shortly after graduation. I hope God looks after him always. His attitude is very positive, which is admirable.

A sadder occurrence was that the son of one my favorite schoolteachers growing up gave us the bad news that his father had died 2 months earlier. I let him know how much his father meant in my life. I am sure many students felt that way, and I hope this gives the guy a bit of solace. Whether a person is 6 or 60 or 38, we are never prepared for losing our loved ones. I have my parents by the Grace of God, but still miss my grandparents.

One girl was there in a wheelchair. I did not ask about the circumstances because it was not my business. At the end of the evening I approached her, and received the most positive surprise of the entire night. Her husband, despite never attending our school, knew me from when we were 6 years old. For 2 years I attended a private school with him. He and I still had memories from 1978. He was not at this reunion, but thanks to FACEBOOK, we are now in touch.

The reunion was a reminder at how fleeting everything is. Seeing people with physical and mental handicaps before age 40 was frightening. Their sunny perspectives made it less painful to think about.

In addition to those in attendance, focus was also on those not attending. One of our classmates is currently in Afghanistan. He comes home soon. Rich, thank you for your service, and in advance, welcome home.

There were 2 girls growing up I did not get along with. Both were at the reunion. I took one of them aside, and said to her, “I was a real pr*ck to you growing up.” She laughed hysterically and said, “I was not that nice to you either.” She is now married with a stepchild, and the one reason I hated not getting along with her growing up was because both of our mothers got along very well. She and I took a picture together, and my mom was very happy. She wants everybody to like everybody.

The girl I liked when I was in 5th grade was there. She does not share my politics. Yet she is every bit as nice and sweet as when we were kids. Even back then I had great taste in girls. Her husband hit the jackpot.

The girl in 12th grade who scared all the boys to death was there with her husband. She laughed when I reminded her how tough she was. She still is that tough. She laughed when I pointed out to her that 4 different boys congratulated me for merely approaching her in school. Apparently getting shot down in flames was a badge of honor, since the others were to petrified to even ask.

Not one person at the reunion within earshot brought up any idiocies from today’s culture. Thankfully the 1980s did not infect the world with SNOOKIE, J-LO, LILO (which apparently either means LINDSAY LOHAN or a character that hangs out with Stitch, whoever that is), or PARIS HILTON.

Some of the people in the room had read my blog, and told me that they agreed with my politics. I am glad this was done privately, because I really wanted it to be an apolitical evening. I slipped once when at the end of the evening one of the attendees said they looked forward to seeing me one day on CNN. I corrected them in a laughing way and pointed out, “not CNN…Fox News.” Except for that one remark, I was thrilled that the evening was apolitical.

Politics was mostly absent, but economics was not. Many people could not attend the reunion because of the tough economic times. I am doing reasonably well, but I am under no illusions that at any moment things can change for anybody. I was thankful that enough people were in a financial position strong enough to attend.

While there was talk about doing a 30 year reunion, I hope they do one at 25 years. The difference between age 43 and 48 is very large. 43 is still relatively young. 48 is pushing 50. At 38 this was our last reunion where we were still “young.”

Some of the people did not age. Others gained stuff (weight), lost stuff (hair), and in the best cases, found stuff (love, marriage, and children). The best aspect of the reunion was that the people who showed up with spouses and loved ones from the 10 year reunion were with the same people a decade later. In an unstable world, the graduating class of 1990 seemed fairly stable in that department.

The one thing I will take away from the reunion more than anything else was that it was worth attending. For those who are thinking of skipping their reunion because of a lousy childhood, don’t do that. No matter how painful a person’s past, a pleasant present can beget a very bright future.

The temptation at this point is to Facebook everybody, say hello once or twice, and then not communicate again until the next reunion. I hope I do better than that. I hope that despite having an insanely busy life, that I appreciate these people by keeping in touch, at least 3 or 4 times per year.

They are a part of my life, and I have positive memories of them all. As we get older, the bad times fade away and the good times get enhanced. Adulthood and maturation humble us, which makes us better people.

May God forever shine his light on and bless those who attended my 1990 class 20 year reunion. If they represent even a small slice of America, then the best days of this nation itself are still in front of us.

eric