In my early 20’s, I dated a very sweet, green-eyed shaygetz boy who was canvassing restaurants one fall looking for work. One afternoon he called me frusturated because the head chef of Mill Valley’s fanciest kitchen cancelled their interview because he was “too busy preparing the dinner menu for some chick named Shashanna.”
Obviously, our relationship was not meant to be. He was a great cook and lovely person; it wasn’t his fault he grew up with Christian fundamentalists in south Tucson. But what do you suppose is the excuse of the Los Angeles-based Dreamworks (owned by that Jewish guy, think his name’s Shpielberg or sumpin’) admin assistant who wrote this asinine memo?:
Bigger version at Defamer.
Off to insinuate myself into the Book of Life for another year.