More Thoughts on Hotness

Your loyal, lethally attractive Semite pals have spilled ink aplenty on this blog's crowning theme: What constitutes hotness, especially the Jewish variety?

We've delved into the damaged self-esteem of the proto-hot Jew, glumly hiding his/her light under the proverbial bushel — and we've brandished the burning mirror of truth.

We've proffered tips for cultivating and maintaining that hotness in the face of esteem-flattening photos of shiksa pop stars and phone calls from relatives.

We've delivered profiles of VHJs in our midst, complete with revealing personal insights and ravishing photos of smoldering Hebraic hotitude.

But there's so much work to be done.

And that work just got harder, because there's a new man in Sera's life and she's rather preoccupied.

His name is Mojo, and he looks like this.

The uninitiated might suspect that we're simply flashing cute puppy pics because it's an easy way to pad out a blog when in fact you've already chugged an aquarium full of Zinfandel and are out of ideas. But boy, would you ever be wrong.

Now, where were we? Oh, that's right; we're here to tell you that Jewish hotness is on the upswing.

We're here to tell you that the spectacle of waifish blonde singers shaving their hapless heads is a harbinger.

The sad sight of Fox News idiots foaming at the mouth is a signal.

The sorry tale of astronauts in diapers hauling ass over the highway is proof positive: The culture is ready for something else.

It's as tired and toxic as Brandon Davis stumbling sweatily out of Hyde at 6 am and barely managing to hoist his gut into the (luckily airbagged) passenger seat of Paris "I do it in the butt for coke" Hilton's gajillion dollar Whore Car while dozens of paparazzi just try to put their kids through school by snapping, snapping, snapping photos of every millisecond of the utter non-event.

Yes, our culture desperately requires something far removed from the white-bread, jailbait, powdered-suppository nightmare we've lived lo these past seven years.

We're ready for a renaissance of curly-haired, full-figured, sensuously verbal, playfully philosophical Judaic heat.

We're primed for dark-featured, mystically sexy, conversationally adept, Kabbalistic icons of desire, far from the desperate squawking of surgically enhanced, dancing-as-fast-as-I-can blonde anchorladies and helmet-haired political hatchet men.

Jewish hotness is on the rise. Hot Jews will storm the frigid battlements of conservative hegemony and plant a flag of freedom.

As surely as spring is in the air, the world is in for an infusion of smokin' Semitism. Will you recognize it when it arrives? Look for:

• Brown-eyed talk-show conquerors who unravel the pathetic claims of would-be moralists with earthy good humor;
• Ringleted troubadours whose songs neutralize the anxious narcissism of our time;
• Proud-nosed citizen-leaders who pounce on bullshit like a cat ambushing a lizard;
• Swarthy physicians with a cure for what ails us;
• Shtetl-descended theoreticians wielding the Next Big Idea;
• Eyebrow-wagging anarchists who defang the powerful with 100-proof nonsense;
• Blogs that make you want to strip down to your underwear and tell the world: "I'm a Jew and I'm HOT!"

Keep your eyes peeled, world.

Okay, so you're dubious? You're not so sure Jewish hotness needing to be on the upswing is the same as it actually being on the upswing?

We understand. You've predicted the wane of Paris "If you enjoyed my drug-addled beaver shots, you'll love my snickering racist remarks" Hilton's appeal every year since she was fifteen, and when the AP recently ran a story detailing their efforts to ban all P-Hilt news for one single week — and failing — you threw up your hands in despair. You reached for the nearest analgesic (Merlot, Vicodin chaser) and drunkenly called your friends from oh, wherever, film school or schul or the dojo, and wept for the good old days when Madonna was considered disposable pop culture rather than a solid subject for a PhD thesis or, ancestors protect us, an emissary of Jewish mysticism.

In that case, let this blog entry be a rallying cry. There is a medicine for our ailing culture. And it's fantastic. The good stuff. Primo. When every channel on planet Earth obsessively covers the death of a spokesperson for Trimspa, AKA the second lead in Naked Gun 33 1/3, civilization requires a potent shot in the tuchus.

So: more Jews, please. We're begging.

More Jewish politicians, because Lieberman is stale as a month-old bialy.

More hot Jew singers, because if recent Pete Doherty impersonation photos are any indication, fantastically talented Hebe songstress Amy Winehouse ain't long for this world.

More hot Jewish actors (Sera suggests that specifically aiming to use the technology on Jake Gyllenhaal might make many people reconsider their stance on cloning).

More smokin' Jew writers, because we've long since loaned out and forgotten to whom our books by Jill Soloway and Francesca Lia Block and Aimee Bender.

And yes, more Very Hot Bloggers. Because, frankly, we're not that reliable. We know you crave daily Jew like a perfect cup o' java, but we can only do so much. And, as you know, are unlikely to do even that much.

More Jews. That's the ticket to grounding a popular culture so absurdly out there that if frivolity were rocket fuel we'd be waving buh-bye to Pluto.

Tonight, when you are watching that mensch Jon on his Daily Show, or out on the town whispering to your girlfriends, "See that tall one? Think he's Jewish?" or reading bedtime stories to the next generation of hot Jews, or surfing the internets for porn — whatever, we don't judge — do us a tiny favor. Send up a little prayer for increased Jewishness in the coming months. Jesus knows we need it.

P.S. from Sera: Mojo had his nuts cut off today, but the vet called to say he's doing well. So far, the little pisser is lucky he's adorable, because he demanded we go on ten walks yesterday. Also, just to give you an idea of how superstitious my Jewish mother is, she told me it was too soon to blog about the new puppy, because it might be bad luck. And just to show you how Jewish-superstitious I am, I wrote the preceding sentence in the explicit hope that talking about it would prevent anything untoward from happening. As the men in our reading audience would doubtless agree, getting one's testicles surgically removed is quite bad enough.