Read Online I Just Want My Pants Back by David Rosen - Free Book Online

interested in: my imminent role as rabbi. They had actually met Stacey and Eric on a visit out to Cornell. “Your son is finally a rabbi, Mom, just like you always dreamed!” I joked. We weren’t a very religious family, to say the least. Judaism was, for us, more Woody Allen, less Abraham and Esther. I had been bar mitzvahed and all that, but at the time it was really just about getting heaps of gifts and playing “Coke and Pepsi.” We never, ever went to services; to me temple seemed like a building where men went to show off their new cars and women their new dresses and jewelry. Our cantor had even had an affair with a woman from the congregation. Now he owned a Mercury dealership on the way to the airport.
    I shot off a few more e-mails to friends; maybe I could have lunch with someone or at least make plans for the weekend. It wasn’t like I was changing the world at JB’s—just the toner. Nights held a lot more interest.
    I yawned and looked over at the office clock again. It had hardly moved. I forced myself to try to do something productive. I scrolled back in time until I spotted Stacey’s e-mail with Scott Langford’s info in it, and took a crack.

Scott—
Hi, it’s Jason Strider from Cornell. Hope all is well with you.
I heard through the Cornell grapevine that you landed at Fader—major congrats on that! Don’t worry, I’m not writing for a free subscription. (Although, if you can give them out easily…) But, I was wondering if you had any inkling how one could apply to be a music reviewer there?
I doubt you’d remember, but I DJ’d up at school. It was an eclectic show called “The Mostly Phenomenal and Fully Enjoyable Jason Strider Power Hour.” I played everything from the obscure experimental, like Moondog, to the ironic, Menudo. Mostly though, I focused on all things Indie. Each week I’d review several new releases, in detail, on the air.
Anyway, I’d appreciate any guidance you can offer on the reviewer thing. Thanks so much, Scott.
Go Big Red!
Jason

    I looked it over and did a spell-check. It seemed to make sense. I mumbled “Fuck it,” and quickly clicked SEND . For a moment I had the sense of fulfillment one gets after completing a chore they’ve left undone for far too long, like doing the dishes or burying a body.
    The moment passed. I leaned back in my chair and looked around. What else could I be doing right now? What would I be doing six months from now? I tried to see what my life would be like five or ten years down the road, but invariably it was impossible to see anything clearly. How did people do that? I had trouble picturing what I was going to eat for dinner.
    I just didn’t want to spend the bulk of my waking hours on this planet yawning and sighing and waiting for five o’clock, all for the little bits of green paper that eventually blew out of my life and into the hands of cabdrivers, bartenders, drug dealers, and bodega cashiers. But I hadn’t found a reasonable alternative yet. And it wasn’t working at some “real” but equally uninspiring job until ten every night so I could afford more expensive jeans and double desserts. Although lately I’d thought I heard Tina mumble when picking restaurants that a certain place might be too expensive. Too expensive for me, is what she meant. There just had to be some way I could beat the system.
    The computer made the duck-quack sound informing me I had a new e-mail. Jane? Langford? Nope, it was Eric. Not only was he around for lunch, he wanted to buy me lunch. He hadn’t yet seen me since I had been anointed his rabbi, and he wanted to thank me. Was I available?
    Fuck yes, I was.

     * * * * * 

    E ric and I finished up our lunch specials at the sushi place around the corner from my office and made our way back out to the street. The sun was beaming down and we basked in its warmth like sated lions; the soup, salad, and raw fish had filled us to the bursting point. Eric was really tall, I remembered now