Goy Vey! It's Jewish Christmas Again: What are the holidays about if not making your own traditions

"So beguiling was he, that she hatched a “meet-cute” for the next year."
January 02, 2013

(A supermarket meet cute)

Jewish Christmas has become an annual tradition for a clique of my friends both gay and straight (sometimes leaning more heavily to one side than the other). It’s a tradition I’ve truly fallen in love with. We start off with dinner, usually at a Chinese restaurant, where the patrons are always comprised equally of Asians and Jews. Then, we do a Secret Santa, with completely ludicrous gifts, and it’s off to either a movie, a bar, or both. 
 
About five years back, we went to a karaoke bar in Chinatown, where a pack of rowdy Jewish folks—in yarmulkes no less—managed to chase off the Chinese patrons entirely. It takes a few drinks for me to sing in public, but I finally felt the urge and spent 20 minutes selecting my song: “The Logical Song” by Supertramp. Just as I put in the request, one of the rambunctious yarmulke group got up and proceeded to caterwaul and destroy that very same song. My song! I left in a huff, indignant.
 
That same night, a female in my Jewish Christmas party, let’s call her Shannon, found one of the yarmulke crew’s guys cute. So beguiling was he, that she hatched a “meet-cute” for the next year. For those who don’t know: in Hollywood romantic comedies, when the two main characters first encounter each other, it’s usually a wacky situation that serves as an icebreaker. A “meet-cute.” 
 
So when next year’s Jewish Christmas rolled around, she insisted that we go to the same karaoke bar—because, you know, he would still be there—and all wear Groucho Marx glasses and sing in a group—I immediately smelled the meet-cute she concocted—which would open up a perfect opportunity, afterwards, for him to say to her, “Oh, nice mustache, are you guys from Williamsburg?” 
 
A few of us refused to take part in this, even though most were unaware that this was an elaborate and, let’s just say it, desperate romantic comedy-inspired effort. To be honest, we turned on each other. It was ugly. “I’m not wearing those fucking glasses!” one of us countered. “We’re going somewhere else!”  But that didn’t stop Shannon from hitting the karaoke bar with those of us who were really feeling the spirit of our invented holiday. The guy, however, wasn’t there. No Jewish Christmas present for Shannon. 
 
This year, only dinner is set up so far. Les Misérables has been bandied about as a possibility after, but Anne Hathaway as a miserable wretch who dies from being riddled by STDs and malnutrition doesn’t seem very Jewish Christmas-y. But I guess a holiday is what you make of it.