Author Archives: Scottt

The Real Third T

Tarazevit…z?

It seems as though 95% of all newspaper/magazine articles written about me and the Mayhem Poets fail to include the proper spelling of my surely stretched surname. Despite careful dictation of this ten letter mouthful of a moniker letter by letter; followed by the obvious yet accommodating acrostic (“T” as in Test tubes “A” as in Arthritis, “R” as in Ringo all the way to “S.” “S” as in Sam, or “S” as in stupid scribbler scribing said statement and still miStaking…despite all of this, no matter what I do, letter number 26 continually pops up in print.

An honest mistake? I guess I could understand this if I’d simply said the name over a bad connection on the phone, the deggod writer happened to be deceptively dyslexic or if I said it so fast that the tail end of my SSSSSSSSSS, somehow resembled the front end of my ZZZZZZZZ. But there have been actual times where I have seen the name written correct in the notebook of a journalist, later to receive a copy of the article with the malapropped mark of Zorro, sadly sitting bezides its unfamiliar T.

Assumption is indeed the mother of all f-ups, not to mention its sister, brother, and surrogate- I realize there is more than one reason for this unfortunate error. So here’s me clearing up a few things, so that in the future we don’t need to go through this.

If you were unaware, yes I am Jewish and given this fact most people assume this: “Oh he’s a Jew, of course his name ends in z, even though he just told me it was an S, oy vell he must have been mistaken.” What?!!!!

Truthfully, a Jewish person’s name will often END in Z, ie., Moskowitz, Rabinowitz, Leibowitz, and Berkowitz- to name a few. The -witz suffix was disparingly given to Jews crossing borders by Prussian and Austrian guards allegedly meaning ‘joke’, but a Z ending does not always connotate a jew. It is also common among spanish speakers and those of Mexican descent- Hernandez, Ramirez, Valdez. Other common Jewish names may include Cohen, Miller and those ending in -berg as in Weinberg, Rosenberg, and Greenberg. Z or not, what most people don’t know is this: My last name (naturally) is taken from my loving father Peter J. Tarazevits. Well, Peter or “Jewish Pete” as he was affectionately called by my gentile friends in grammar school actually is a convert to the Jewish faith. So my surname, “Tarazevits” is not actually a quote unquote Jewish name. Over the years it has evolved from a hybrid of its Russian (Tarazevich “C” as in Change “H” as in Hypocrite) and Polish (Tarasewicz, -wicz a common Polish Christian surname) to its present state of singular supreme ending in “S” existence. So, in short a certain suffix does not neccessarily a jew make and should play no part in its effort to be spelled correctly.

Think of it this way, my entire name (first and last included) is like a poor-man’s palindrome, whereas the first letter of my first name is the same as the last letter of my last name. No?

How about this?
Ask yourself before writing my name this: who is it?
Well, it’s Tarazevits. Actually, that’s a little dumb. A lot of dumb.

Either way, how ever you may arise to your incorrect spelling and whom ever it may be who is to blame; whether it is you kind sir, or you madam, or you mr. photographer, writer, stenographer, scribe, or caped caption crusader, whatever it is you do…please oh please when you encounter me, Scott Raven TarazevitS, son of Mr. Peter J. TarazevitS pleaSe pleaSe with cherrieSSSSSSSS and ScoreSSSS of SkittleSSSSS on top…end with an S.

 

Are You Part of The Pack Rat Pack?

I went through my past life today, tucked away in 8 plastic crates.

I, the Splinter of pack rats have trouble letting go of old action figures (X-men, Ninja Turtles, plastic farm animals) meal receipts (from Hooters to Dicks), playbills, scripts, books, brochures, and any an all folderol from the 42 states and 11 countries I’ve traveled to.  Sure some of which are treasured possessions I would never dare to part with, most is a myriad of malarkey, tsotchkes of triviality, craploads of well, crap.

So in lieu of lugging along what I’ve managed to keep thus far, I wanted to create a space for you and for me to share what I and hopefully you will be throwing out, donating, selling and just plain getting off our hands and out of our houses. I figure once mentioned here…

YOU MUST GET RID OF IT! Make a comment and take a trip to the trash. Store the memories in the mental filing cabinet, but empty the actual drawers and boxes for good (and Goodwill).

We as the official members of the Pack Rat Pack no longer need the stinky cheese.

The pale green house on Karen Place where I was raised in Edison, was sold more than eleven years ago and I have since Uhauled with me (from New Brunswick to Highland Park to Somerset to Jersey City to Brooklyn to Storage to Harlem) many of my belongings including two rubber chickens, a print of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly delights, the Complete Cartoons of the New Yorker, a broken laptop, a pair of flippers, 455 thank you letters, and a single copy of the article I wrote for Woodbrook Elementary School in 1989 to “bring back the soft pretzel” after they removed it from the lunch menu.

I guess I’ve always been afraid of missing my memories. My break-up letters finding their way to the dumpster, old birthday cards catching fire, scraps of poems rendered unthinkable, contents of classroom notebooks disintegrating to dust.  But who am I kidding, everything I really need is in my head, right (and on my laptop) ? A mile high stack of papers and childhood pictures can fit inside a mini USB in the blink of an iPod.  Adolescent accolades can now parade on prefrontal lobe. College keepsakes to be kept on hippocampus.

I think I can do without my taxes from 2002, my green graduation cap, and the thermometer I got in Calgary. Au revoir giant stuffed gecko, elephant boxers from Thailand two sizes too small. Adios certificate of achievement for participation in band. Sayonara 3rd place hurdling trophy, napkins from US Airways, VHS copy of Edward Scissorhands. Good Bye!

I am happy to report I have whittled the 8 crates down to four.

What are you getting rid of today?

Things That Go Bump In The Night (Part 1)

BUMPITY BUMPITY BUMPITY DUMPITY STUMP TRUMP
PUMPITY PUMPITY PUMPITY UMPITY GUMP PUNK
DUNKITY DUNKITY DUNKITY SKUNKITY SKUNK SKUNK

Somnambulist foreheads get led astray
A talk show-host guest with a week resume
Things that get bumped in the night
BUMPITY BUMPITY BUMP BUMP

Ungrateful Boyfriends who can’t turn the porn off
Old refrigerators with the doors torn off
Things that get dumped in the night
DUMPITY DUMPITY DUMP DUMP

Political pundits stuck on campaign trails
Jeopardy answers unquestioned just when the brain fails
Things that get stumped in the night
STUMPITY STUMPITY STUMP STUMP

Wining a bridge trick when your cards higher
Another failed apprentice about to be fired
Things that get trumped in the night
TRUMPITY TRUMPITY TRUMP TRUMP

Adrenaline spent and blood through the heart
Let the Petro flow from the Kwik-e-mart
Things that get pumped in the night
PUMPITY PUMPITY PUMP PUMP

Yankee games that last past the ninth
Things that get umped in the night
UMPITY UMPITY UMP UMP

Run Forest run your box of chocolates is life.
Things that get gumped in the night
GUMPITY GUMPITY GUMP GUMP

Ashton appears from just out of sight
Things that get punked in the night
PUNKITY PUNKITY PUNK PUNK

Lebron and Koby about to take flight
Things that get dunked in the night
DUNKITY DUNK DUNK

Week old Bud Ice with a keg of Natty Light
Things that get skunked in the night
SKUNKITY SKUNKITY SKUNKITY DUNKITY PUNK GUMP
UMPITY UMPITY UMPITY PUMPITY TRUMP STUMP
DUMPITY DUMPITY DUMPITY BUMPITY BUMP BUMP