Jew For Jesus

Ever since I left that place where I got paid per blurb, I've had little desire to write. Well, to write reviews. More correctly: to write blurbs.

But today I got my first (ever) Christmas present. And, at the very least, it deserves a blurb. (Not that it needs it; everybody loves it, it's already a star.)

At first glance: it's creepy. Superficially creepy. Something about the stickers and the short shirt sleeves. And the camp. And the cartoons. But the songs. Oh, the songs. In general I'm a serial listener -- and every night last week I played only "Sister Winter" as I walked home from the subway. It's a soundtracky song -- if only my walk was being filmed. "That Was The Worst Christmas Ever" is also perfect and pretty, and a little bit cheesy, in a terrific and triumphant way. But the essays. Oh, the essays. RM is RM -- all stoic and fantastically repetitive. And SS, if he's to be believed, is the suburban everyboy. In the best possible way. Here, his essay saved his songs. For me.