At shalosh sheudos (third meal) today, a new friend said to me, "All my friends ask me, ‘Is it true Luke Ford davens at the Happy Minyan?’"
I’m still singing.
Lila li. Li lalalalilili, bum, bum, bum.
That place rocks.
I took a friend from childhood there Friday night. It was his first time in a synagogue.
Throughout the service, I gave him helpful remarks such as "We’re on page 232, goy."
"We’re on page 590, goy."
"Stand up goy."
"Turn around goy."
"Don’t cross your legs when you pray, goy."
He eventually got annoyed, which made me very happy.
My mate’s the biggest goy ever. It was his first time wearing a yarmulke.
You can put a kipa on a goy but he’s still as dumb as bricks.
Frankly, Friday night, he was as much use as an abo in a beit midrash.
When a Maori looks into a Talmud, you can’t expect an angel to look out.
My mate’s dad was the president of the college (Avondale) and my dad chaired the religion department. Yet we were both out of the cool circle. The apex of the pecking order was Arthur Patrick and his family. Their son Leighton (he had a bunch of totally hot older sisters) was a year ahead of me. When he befriended me, I thought that was the coolest thing ever.
I used to walk miles to the Patrick home to borrow books and learn how to ride horses.
I’ve always been lucky having cool people adopt me and raise me up out of my own muck.
Here’s a young Russell Crowe in an ad for Avondale College:
