Face it: we all want our events to be their best, but we don’t always know how. The Art of Hosting is the guide to hosting you have been craving. It’s warm, candid, and full of practical advice for making your dinner party, barbecue, mixer, or wedding the best it can be. We hope you enjoy it!

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Bar and Bat Mitzvahs

On the day your son or daughter comes into the world as an adult, don’t make them a dick. If you’ve spent $25,000 on a fucking party for a 13-year-old, you are a dick, your spouse is a dick, and your kid will become a dick. There is voluminous science behind this. Look it up. Read the fucking Lancet. Read the Journal of the American Medical Association. Can’t you fucking read? You don’t have to subscribe. Go to the library. Get online. All the research is there. The kid sees all the money being spent, the fucking banquet hall, the DJ, the special plates, the special lights, the “party starter,” all the relatives flying in from everywhere, and suddenly they think they are important. Well fuck. No. No. They are not important. They are thirteen. You just fucking ruined them. Your kid is now a dick and will expect this kind of shit the rest of their lives. Have the kid’s mitzvah at the temple. Make it basic. Do the ceremony, have some speeches, and afterward, have some soda, beer and wine and step out into the garden. Your kid is thirteen and will get the message that their fucking entry into adulthood is nothing compared to the thousand-year suffering of his noble people, the Jews. Keep your fucking kid humble.

Christenings and Confirmations

All the same rules apply.



Giving Kids Money

Don’t you have your guests give your kid money. Don’t you fucking do it. Who does that? Who the fuck has guests give wads of cash to a kid? Are you in the fucking mafia? Are you a Colombian drug lord? Who the fuck are you? Your guests have flown in from Syracuse. They spent $1500 to get to your kid’s stupid fucking party already. They had to take Friday off from work. They’re going to get sick on the plane home and be wheezing through work all next week. Now you want a card stuffed with cash, too? Don’t say a personal check is better. A fucking personal check? You’re asking some friend from work to write your 13-year-old a fucking personal check? What the fuck are you doing? Do you realize the implications? Your 13-year-old is cashing checks from his mother’s college roommate, his father’s business accountant? You know that’s sick. You know it in your gut. Your kid doesn’t need this and God does not allow it.