Monday, October 1, 2012

I Held My New Baby Nephew As He Got His Dork Chopped Off

My buddy Rev's fantasy football team is named "Pigskin-a-blanket".
So that's something. 

Evster's note: Look, I understand that this blog is supposed to be about hunting for houses and saying yes to dresses and getting married and leaving your dirty socks on the living room floor and watching Ellen and being forced to sit through old episodes of 90210 on Saturday mornings when all you want to do is watch European soccer, but sometimes in life you have to hold down a baby while it gets its dork chopped off so I figured I'd write about that today. 

If you're looking for commentary on last night's episode of Homelambds, may I suggest seeking out a different website, such as this one that seems to do a great job of helping people who are looking for stuff. 


So last week I became an uncle.

Heyyyy, congratulations!

Mazel Tov!

OH. MY. GAWD. Please tell me they're not letting you near that child. Seriously. You're gonna do weird things around that child, aren't you? You're gonna do it, I know you are. What are you planning to do?! IT'S A BABY FOR GOD'S SAKE! I'm calling child services. I'm calling them. What's the number? Oh forget it, whatever you're gonna do, you've probably done it already. You should be ashamed of yourself!

Thank you, thank you.

Yes, my brother and his wife had a baby boy last week. Well, my brother didn't have the baby, his wife had the baby. That'd really be an excuse to not write about TV if my brother had the baby. No, my brother didn't have anything, except a mini heart attack just moments before his newborn son had to have his dork chopped off.

Matisyahu's people would like you to know that
he is in no way affiliated with my nephew's dork.

Before I tell you about what it's like to hold down a human baby while he gets his dork chopped off, some minor details to go over:

My nephew's name is Adlai (pronounced: "Add-lay"). This caused massive confusion over the first 72 hours of the kid's life. His father was pronouncing it "Add-lay", the mother "Add-lee", and both of my parents were alternating between "Add-lye, Add-uh-lye and Add-duh-lay." I've chosen to call him Wayne.

Seeing as Wayne is growing up in Brooklyn and will probably be forced to play the oboe, I've taken it upon myself to be Mr. Sports Uncle, so I made him these Moses Malone and Robert Parish onezies:

C'mon, you gotta admit. Those are pretty noyce. 

And Spud Webb:

He's just a lil guy!

I imagine everyone knows what a bris is (pronounced: "briss"), but for those of you who do not, it's a Jewish ceremony where they circumcise a baby boy's dork. I recently went to one in Philadelphia and met the mohel (pronounced: "moy-ull") -- the guy who does the snipping -- who snipped my dork. His name was Joel. Nice enough guy (and a pretty good mohel if I may say so myself).

The ceremony is quite quick (pronounced: "quork"). The mohel comes in, says a few words, leads a couple of prayers, and then SNIP-SNAP-SNOOP, you've got a circumcised screaming baby. Then the baby shuts up, you eat bagels and lox and everyone pretends they have somewhere to go. All in all, it takes about thirty minutes, depending on how many bagels you feel like eating and how many babies you feel like snipping. (I ate nine and snipped zero.)

Before this particular bris, my brother was a nervous wreck. Forget about the fact that a few days beforehand his wife shot a small human out of her vagina, he was now freaking out because his son was about to have his dork chopped off. He kept pacing around while holding his son tight and screaming at everyone to use hand sanitizer. He also allowed his dog to lick his son's face even though earlier that day I saw his dog trying to eat a cigarette off the sidewalk.

When the mohel arrived, he exchanged minor pleasantries with everyone as he started washing his hands and preparing his snippers. He was very comfortable and quick-witted which calmed my brother down a little bit, except for when my father started bombarding the mohel with questions.

MY DAD:  So what's the most number of dorks that you've ever chopped in a day?

MY MOM:  Morty!

MY DAD:  What!

MY MOM:  Stop asking questions.

MY DAD:  He said we could ask questions.

MY MOM:  Nobody said we could ask questions.

MOHEL:  It's okay.

MY MOM:  You're always trying to ask friggin' questions when no one wants to hear you ask questions.

MOHEL:  Really, it's okay. I deal with grandparents all the time.

MY DAD:  So how many?


MOHEL:  Eleven.

MY MOM:  Elevvvennnn?

MOHEL:  Eleven.

ME:  That's a lot of dorks.

MY BROTHER:  Is it hot in here? It's hot in here, isn't it? Should we order a pizza?

MY DAD:  Eleven at once?

MY MOM:  Morty!

ME:  No way he did eleven at once.

MY DAD:  That'd be hard to do eleven at once.

ME:  I can't even count to eleven at once.

MY WIFE:  He didn't do eleven at once.

MOHEL:  No, I didn't do eleven at once.

MY DAD:  I was gonna say, that'd be incredible. Imagine trying to cut eleven dorks at once?

ME:  I can't imagine trying to cut one dork at once.

MY DAD:  One dork at once you could do.

ME:  I dunno, I've never chopped a dork.

MY DAD:  You've chopped a carrot.

ME:  Well sure, I've chopped a carrot, yeah, but ...

MY WIFE:  When have you chopped a carrot?

ME:  That's a great question. Yeah, I dunno if I've ever chopped a carrot. Hey mohel, you think I've ever chopped a carrot?

MY DAD:  Whose got the record?


MY DAD:  What! Why are you screaming at me? Stop screaming.


MOHEL:  Please stop screaming.

MY DAD:  So what's the record?

MOHEL:  Whaddya mean, the record?

MY DAD:  Whose got the record for most dorks chopped in one day?

MOHEL:  Hmmm, I dunno. Maybe this guy, Joel? From Philly.

ME:  That guy is GOOD.

MY WIFE:  Is he, though?

MY MOM:  I think he's fine ................. I think he does just fine.

Led us to the promised land.

Following the Q&A, the mohel went off in the other room and explained to my brother and his wife what was going on. Both of them were working on two hours sleep, so I'm pretty sure after around three minutes the mohel just slapped my brother in the face. When they came back, the ceremony began.

"Blah blah blah, this is a baby, this is his dork, please don't take a picture of his dork." The mohel said some stuff, family members passed the baby around until finally the baby reached the loving arms of a close relative (in this case, me) for the snipping of the dork. Actually, I didn't hold the baby during the snipping, I held down the baby, on a pillow on my lap.

So there was the baby, laying on my lap, with his head kinda at my belly button and his legs out in front. The mohel told me to hold down little Wayne's legs, and I did so while he took a paper towel and dipped it in wine. He then placed the wine-soaked towel in Wayne's mouth and got ready to go to work. I couldn't stop staring at his dork (Wayne's, not the mohel's).

Wayne looked comfortable enough, and his little dork was just chilling, no idea that it was about to get chopped.

I don't know if other people were watching or not (I'm pretty sure my father fell asleep) but I was just focused on holding that little guy down. I mean, his dork was getting chopped here! and if Uncle Evster didn't have a tight grip, he might end up with one of those warped dorks. ("This one is warped! Why do I always get a warped one?" Anyone? Anyone? Blazing Saddles.)

After the mohel said some more stuff, he went in with the scissors.

Snip-snap-snoop, welcome to Blood City.

Little Wayne started screaaaammminnnggggg (and squirminggggg), so much so that the mohel was like, "Yo, Evster, you need to hold this baby down," and I was like, "Aye-aye, Captain" and then I sat up and ran out the door. Noooooo, I tightened my grip! And then the mohel pulled out this little corkscrew looking thing and totally corkscrewed that kid's dork and then that dork got redddddddddd as a muhhhggg and it really looked like a dog's dork, but that foreskin was gone-baby-gone and then FLIP-FLAP-FLOOP, the mohel bandaged that sucker up, put a diaper over his dork, jammed a pacifier in that baby's mouth and calmed him the freak down.

Then we passed the baby around again until it ended up in my Aunt Maxine's arms (probably the least affectionate person in the world) and then we all danced to that song that Jewish people sing when they wanna dance and clap and eat bagels already.

The mohel said a few more things and that was that ... a baby had a new dork.

All in all, a very nice and touching ceremony, followed by my brother and his wife freaking out an hour later when they thought for sure that the mohel screwed up Wayne's dork.

I can't get enough of Twitter. I really can't. And I apologize to all of you who followed me in hopes of reading hilarrrrious commentary about Real Housewives and Barefeet Contessas, but I can't stop tweeting about footballs. If you wanna follow me, you can do so here. Orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, you can look at this nice birdie. He's a Snip birdie. That's a type of birdie.


  1. Probably the best blog entry you've had. Nice work.

    1. I've known one human being in my life named Raymond. He was this chubby, Asian kid who I went to college with. One time, Raymond, his friend and some Indian dude were having a football catch in the quad and after the Indian threw a pass, the other guy said, "Whoa, you've got a pretty nice arm for an Indian."

    2. Interesting story, Evan. Did anyone ever call him Gaymond? I got that a lot growing up. Probably because I had (still do) this infatuation with cramming things up my B-hole. Remember Rain Main? His name was Raymond. So I had to deal with that too. This is pretty much the worst name ever.