Mitch Blum

Another entry in a series of love letters written to random people that I don’t know. Think of it as nothing less than a celebration of humanity!)

Dear Jesus Is Lord Guy,

Please know that today and forevermore I love you.

I love how you stand outside of every sporting event and music concert in Boston handing out your pamphlets offering me the choice between heaven and hell. I love how you don’t presume to tell me to pick heaven, but you kindly offer me an option. I really appreciate that. I’ve never quite figured out whether you frequent big events due to the crowds or because drunk people are more receptive to your message or because drunk people need to be saved most. Does it even matter?

I love you because you’ve been doing this every day for as long as I can remember. As a matter of fact I can’t recall the last time I went to the Orpheum or the Garden and you weren’t there. Honestly, it wouldn’t be a show without you.

I love you because you be-dazzled the bag that you carry your pamphlets in with the same ‘Jesus Is Lord’ message that’s on your vest. Most people don’t appreciate the importance of consistency and simplicity when delivering a message. But when I see you, I know where you stand on the whole Jesus issue. Well done.

I love you because you use every square inch of your body to deliver that message. You’ve got the hat, you’ve got the pinny, you’ve got the front placard, you’ve got the rear placard and you’ve got the bag. A NASCAR driver could take lessons from you on using all of the available real estate.

I love you because you’re in great shape. While my weight has yo-yo’d up and down over the years, you’ve always maintained that trim figure. Hey, maybe that’s shallow, but I really respect a man that takes care of himself.

Obviously I have a few questions for you, like: ‘what motivates you to do this every day?’, ‘how many people have you saved over the years?’, ‘how do you pay your rent?’ and ‘have you killed any prostitutes?’, but those can wait for another time.

Jesus Is Lord Guy, I sincerely consider you a Boston icon, seeing you makes me happy and makes me feel grounded to this city that I love so very much.

Either way, I just wanted to say that I love you. And good luck with the whole salvation thing.

Love Always,

Mitch

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Over the years I have clearly established my bona fides as a legitimate tough guy. And while my lifetime street brawl record stands at an unimpressive 0-1-0 (please bear in mind that there were extenuating circumstances,) I like to think that I haven’t been involved in more street brawls precisely because most people recognize my substantial badassness.

Sensei Harry Rosenfeld of Freehold, New Jersey obviously trained me well. Some would say that he trained me too well. I like to think of myself as one of the most accomplished green-belt-with-two-stripes karate experts in the Northeast. Look, 4th place 12-and-under sparring ribbons don’t come easy.

Many years ago, I learned a valuable lesson from a wise, kind, bearded, young spiritual master with long hair. He encouraged me to turn the other cheek. Sometimes, taught my Sensei, the best way to win a fight is to not fight at all.

And while I may possess only a small fraction of Sensei’s impressive knowledge (I was tragically forced to quit karate after an unfortunate incident at Hebrew school) I felt that it was important for me to pass along whatever meager wisdom I have before my untimely demise. Today’s lesson will focus on knowing when to turn the other cheek, or as I like to call it:

A List of People I Don’t Mess With

1) Naturally, all lists of people not to mess with begin with the standard warning to stay away from crazy hat people;

2) It’s smart policy not to pick fights with people that use a little igloo cooler as their lunchbox.

3) Similarly, don’t pick fights with people that eat lunch at 10:15. (Usually from a small igloo cooler.)

4) Tattoos are always helpful guides. I never mess with a neck tattoo wearer or anyone with a tattoo of a bloody dagger that says “a deal is a deal” in that scary gothic font.

5) You might be surprised to learn that I DO mess with people with droopy pants. Now, I’ll confess that I was initially terrified to learn that the droopy pant look is an homage to prison (no belts in prison), but I also learned that people with droopy pants have trouble running after you.

6) Never, ever mess with a woman in a hockey sweater (jersey), especially if she’s got a mullet.

7) I used to be scared of people that liked ‘80s heavy metal (e.g. Judas Priest) until I grew up and realized just how gay heavy metal was (e.g. Judas Priest).

8) Generally, I try to avoid most of the fighty countries south and east of Spain. Let’s just say that if I was running the U.S.’s foreign policy apparatus the phrase: “we didn’t really want that land anyway” would be heard a lot more frequently.

9) I used to mess with the Scientologists, but when you learn about the bridge to total freedom and start operating at a higher thetan level, well, then, there’s a lot less to make fun of, isn’t there?  Or maybe you’re just a suppressive person?

10) Babies. Their creepy little eyes look so human. It’s unnerving!

I hope you found this guide helpful. May I suggest that you clip-and-save it for future reference?

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Q: What is the ‘Fat Boy Shuffle’?

A: The Fat Boy Shuffle (FBS) is a dynamic physical movement that deceptively gives the appearance of hurrying-up when walking but doesn’t involve any actual hurrying-up.

Q: When does one employ the FBS?

A: The FBS can be employed at any time when one is walking in the street but it is best used when someone in a car lets you cross in front of them.

Q: How does one perform the FBS?

A: The FBS is easy and fun to do! First, wave and smile at the driver as an acknowledgement of their generosity. Secondly, lift your knees up high when walking so that your legs appear to be moving faster. Finally, swing your arms vigorously to give the appearance of increased effort. Note: you should swing your right arm back when you lift your left knee up and vice-versa.

Q: Why should one do the FBS?

A: The FBS is a majestic sign of civility that has been tempered by laziness. To whit: you are at an intersection. A car comes and decides to let you cross. As a token of appreciation you want to acknowledge the driver’s generosity by hurrying-up across the street. But you really don’t want to break into a trot (which could jeopardize the sweat shield) so you bust out a FBS.

Q: What is the ‘sweat shield’?

A: That’s easy. The fresh feeling garnered from your morning shower is officially declared over when the first bead of sweat is produced. That feeling of freshness is actually created by a microscopic layer of soap between your skin and clothing. This layer of clean soap is the ‘sweat shield’. Sweating destroys the sweat shield and eliminates the fresh feeling until you shower again. Your daily goal should be to preserve the sweat shield for as long as possible.

Q: Do you recommend bar soap or body wash?

A: Body wash, always. With a loofah, if possible.

Q: Who can do the FBS?

A: Anyone! You need not be fat or a boy to employ the shuffle. All you need to be is mildly polite and lazy.

Q: So why is it called the FBS?

A: Because it was named after a well-mannered fat boy who lazily shuffles across the street when cars let him cross in front of them.

Q: Can I meet this well-mannered fat boy?

A: You already have!

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Old man in the Mustang
What are you doing
Waiting at the train station
Each and every morning

Why do you sit there
You’re not dropping off
You’re not picking up
But you’re always there

Why do you wait
On the little side street
Like a creepy stalker
Who are you stalking

Is it your ex-wife
Or a former friend
Are you trainspotting
Or planning a hit

One thing I know
Is that you’re quite old
‘cause you have a navy cap
On the back window sill

I would love to ask you
Why you’re always here
But I’m afraid of you
Old man in the Mustang

(Even if it’s a new Mustang
Made out of cheap plastic
Instead of a bad-ass Mustang
From Nineteen Sixty Eight)

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Growing up my greatest desire in life was to have long hair. I didn’t care about fame or fortune. I didn’t dream about power or prominence. I just wanted long, flowing locks. Back then, long hair stood for something important. It stood for rock and roll.

When grown-ups spotted a man with long hair they would inevitably think of him as a derelict or remark that he looked like a girl. Not me. I saw a rebel. I saw a free thinker. I saw the man that I wanted to become.

By the turn of the decade (the decade being the 1980s) rock and roll was under assault. Punk, disco and new wave conspired to make rock and roll seem dated and irrelevant. But for us, the last generation raised on The Beatles and the Stones, on Zeppelin and the Who, we still held on to the dream. We wanted to live the rock and roll lifestyle of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Sure, sex wasn’t happening and allergy shots were the drugs of choice, but we could still rock.

And nothing said rock and roll more than long hair.

Once I was old enough to throw off the shackles of my mother’s stylistic tendencies – she who seemed to favor the Prince Valiant haircut and polyester jumpsuits for her boys – I knew that I would immediately commence OPERATION: LONG HAIR. I figured that I’d hit shoulder-length by 15 and Crystal Gayle by graduation.

And then a funny, horrible thing happened. My hair, finally given the chance to grow DOWN decided to grow OUT. It was clear that I had the curse of our people – the dreaded Jewfro.

I should have known better. One of our favorite family stories involved a young Woodstock-era uncle, a bottle of hair relaxer and some panty hose. What a fool I was to think that I could break the curse and achieve the long hair. Nope, the closest that I would come to being rock and roll was Art Garfunkle.

In other words, not very rock and roll at all.

As my Jewfro grew I grew to resent it more and more. Every mousse, gel and random cream that I found in my father’s vanity failed to tame the beast. All of my academic, athletic and romantic failures could be traced back to that accursed Jewfro. That goddamn chia pet on top of my skull was the bane of my existence.

Luckily, over time I began to accept my lot in life. Sure, I’d have moments of delusion where I’d try to grow my hair out and convince myself that it looked good, or I’d get angry at it and cut it too short. But time has a way of softening the hurts of life and I began to embrace the ironic use of facial hair to compensate for my inability to do anything even remotely cool with my hair.

Of course, time also has a way of teaching you painful lessons, and as my forehead continues to grow and my hair line continues to shrink, I’ve begun to miss that old Jewfro. We sure had some good times together. And while long hair is clearly better than a Jewfro, a sweet Jewfro is assuredly better than being bald.

So, some advice to our young male readers: don’t hate your Jewfro. Celebrate it. Love it. Revel in it. Because, as the saying goes, you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

And besides, Bob Dylan has always sported an amazing Jewfro, and you can’t get any more rock and roll than that.

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Congratulations!  Your decision to pursue a career as an officially licensed cab driver in the City of Boston will provide you with an exciting and lucrative opportunity filled with mystery, intrigue and fascinating strangers.

As Boston is a world-class city steeped in history and tradition it’s important for you to recognize the vital role that hackney drivers play as community ambassadors.  Oftentimes you will provide visitors with their first and last impression of Boston, so please make it a positive one!

To that end, following are 5 simple guidelines that will assist you in providing exemplary service to the assorted tourists, business people and drunken college students that fill our streets looking for a ride.

1) Vehicle Upkeep

By law, you are required to keep the “check engine” light lit at all times.  Your patrons will appreciate the uncertainty that accompanies riding in a potentially dangerous vehicle.  And remember, the light says “check engine” not “check engine NOW.”  You can address any alleged mechanical problems whenever you feel like getting around to it.

For the health of passengers smoking is not permitted in any vehicle unless YOU want to smoke – then roll down both front windows and enjoy that sweet, sweet nicotine.  Don’t worry – you can cover up the smell by hanging multiple stinky trees from your rear-view mirror.  We recommend the vanilla.

2) Passenger Safety

In order to keep abreast of any potential emergencies, it is recommended that you wear a Bluetooth headset and stay on the phone with your girlfriend at all times.  Please feel free to argue with her.  If the fare tries to interrupt your conversation by providing directions or instructions, point at your ear and make it clear that you’re on the phone and they are bothering you.  Some people are so rude!

3) Collecting Fares

First off, never tell the passenger about any additional charges for tolls.  It’s important not to disclose what the bonus charges are actually for or riders might begin to realize that they frequently get charged for bridges and tunnels that they never actually used!

Also, thanks to that meddling Mayor Menino, all cabs in the City of Boston are now required to accept credit cards for payment.  But that doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it!  If a passenger attempts to pay by credit card:

First, say “credit card?” in a sad and questioning manner.

Then say “you don’t have enough cash?”

If they still want to pay with a card, you can always pull out the timeless classic: “machine is broken.”

If the passenger keeps insists on paying by credit card (jerk!) then at least try to get the tip money in cash or drive away before they can get their luggage out of the trunk.  That’ll learn ‘em.

4) Providing Receipts

If the passenger asks for a receipt when paying, always ask them “how many do you need?” with a wink.  If they accept your offer for multiple receipts then you know that you have a passenger with questionable ethics.  Now is the perfect time to offer them a great deal on meth or tranny prostitutes.  Remember – it’s not a receipt, it’s a test!

5) Choose Your Own Adventure

Let’s be clear here: you’re a taxi, not a bus.  Why should you have to drive to parts of the city that you don’t like or pick up passengers that look sketchy?

May we recommend a proven technique that we call ‘profiling’?

(Please note that ‘profiling’ is a catch-all term and doesn’t necessarily apply to refusing rides based on a person’s race.  You may also wish to avoid: ugly people, BU students, old ladies going to Shaw’s, Bruins fans, etc.)

One Final Note

You know that the South End and Southie are two different places.  We know that the South End and Southie are two different places.  But they don’t know.  A simple rule of thumb is that the South End is where you take fares looking for the “shortcut” to the airport and Southie is where you take people looking for those overpriced fancy restaurants.

We hope that you found this Quick Start Guide helpful.  Best of luck in your new endeavor!

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If you like Boston-centric humor, you might enjoy these hilarious essays as well:

In Defense of Jaywalking in Boston

How to Drive Like You’re From Boston

Riding the Rails, Boston-style

The Boston Sports Fan’s Guide to Choosing a Jersey

Fight Club Discovered North of Boston

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Why didn’t anyone tell me?

The other day, at the supermarket, my son and I were surveying the snack cake aisle, looking for a delicious dessert treat for the week. As I’ve mentioned many times before, I have a weakness, nay an addiction, to snack cakes.

(Please note that when I say “snack cake” I mean Hostess or Drakes snack cakes – not those low-rent Little Debbie knock-offs. )

I’ve always loved snack cakes. Case in point: as a child, my parents were dismayed by my lack of skills or interests, so they “gave” me a hobby. I was conscripted into being a coin collector. In truth, being a coin collector isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. Basically, people from my extended family would bring me back foreign coins whenever they traveled overseas. I would briefly inspect the coin and then throw it into a little plastic McDonaldland trashcan bank in my closet. That was the extent of my hobby. One day, when I was around eleven years old, I took the entire collection to a local bank in an attempt to turn it into real money. I guess the exchange rate between the Bahamian quarter and the US dollar wasn’t very strong in the early ’80s, because I recall getting about $2.50 for the entire trashcan. I promptly biked over to the local Kwik-e-Mart and spent the haul on a Suzie-Q, a Chocolate Cow and two games of Ms. Pac-Man. Best money I ever spent!

So where was I? Oh yes, the supermarket. So we’re going through the snack cake options and I see this disturbing note on the Drakes box:

“Drakes by Hostess”

WHAT? I’m outraged. Globalization has gone too far this time. You know, I don’t get too worked up about cloning or GMOs, about international monetary fund policy or off-shore tax shenanigans in the Cayman Islands. But this is completely unacceptable. Hostess and Drakes are mortal enemies! And now the noble Drakes duck has to live with a Hostess logo under him?

So, in memory of a free and independent Drakes, today I present to you …Rating the Snack Cakes!

Hostess

Twinkies: always dependable, it’s the golden cake with the creamy filling. It’s a little sticky on the fingers, but quite light and tasty. Twinkie the Kid is one cool cowboy, too. 8 (out of 10)

Chocodiles: The holy grail of snack cakes, the Chocodile (and its pimped out mascot Chauncy) is now only available west of the Rockies. It’s a chocolate-covered Twinkie and it’s spectacular. Why are we denied this sublime pleasure on the East Coast? 10

Suzie-Qs: Great song, great snack, the Suzie Q is hardcore. It’s a big rectangular chocolate cake with tons of creamy filling. In my high school people used to separate the halves and try to get the Q to stick to the ceiling in the cafeteria. 8

Ding Dongs: round chocolate coated chocolate cake with creamy filling. The combination of chocolate cake and chocolate coating is heavenly. 8

Cupcakes: poorly designed. The chocolate top often separates from the too-dry cake. And the golden version is a travesty. 5

Ho Hos: a sophisticated treat with an unsophisticated name, the Ho Ho is a fancy swirled cake and cream combination covered in chocolate. Best saved for dinner parties or holidays. 8

Donettes: the powered version is as bad as the chocolate version is good. Either way, there are better donut options in the world (e.g. glazed pop ‘ems). 6

Sno Balls: creepy and dry with a terrible mouthfeel. Only eat when desperate! 3

Fruit Pies: Fruit Pie the Magician is a cool mascot and the pie is pretty good, but I prefer the two mini pies (Drakes style) over the one big pie.  As far as flavor preference goes you’re talking cherry, apple, blueberry.  6

Mini-Muffins: When did they invent this travesty? Are parents supposed to think that this is a healthy option? Absurd. 3

Glazed Honey Bun: my preferred breakfast in school, it’s a sticky mess but it’s well worth it. And it’s even better warm. 8

Drakes

Devil Dog: inexplicably popular, the Devil Dog is sahara-level dry. It sticks to the roof of your mouth, too. 4

Yankee/Sunny Doodles: chocolate and yellow cupcakes, sans icing. Cupcakes just aren’t that great, come to think of it. 4

Ring Dings: these are really just Ding Dongs, but they’re also known as King Dongs (awkward!), King Dons, and Big Wheels, each with it’s own mascot – the Indian Chief Big Wheel and King Don himself. 8

Yodels: Yodels are the same as Ho Hos, with a European-style name, making it even more sophisticated. These are for fancy dinner parties with the boss or country-club friends. 8

Funny Bones: I love Funny Bones. Once again the marriage of Chocolate and Peanut Butter rocks my world. I’d probably opt for this bad boy on death row, it’s so good. 10

Coffee Cake Junior: more of a breakfast treat, the coffee cake was a mature way to start your day. It’s a little dry, but it has a nice flavor and it’s a change from the chocolate-cream combination. 6

Fruit Pies: it’s just a personal preference, but as mentioned above, I like the two mini-pies over the one big pie. Fruit pies are good for when you’re dieting, obviously, because they’re made with fruit. 6

I’m speechless. Here I was all outraged over Hostess owning Drakes and yet it’s clear that Hostess has always owned Drakes, at least metaphorically. Better selection, better taste and better mascots (except for the Chief. I loved that guy.) And if it wasn’t for Funny Bones, Drakes wouldn’t even be in the running.

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