Curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty, oily, greasy, fleecy

 

Here’s an early peek at our cover this week –  a glorious celebration of the Jewfro in honor of Max Gross’ new book, From Schlub to Stud: How to Embrace Your Inner Mensch and Conquer the Big City.

Max was the editor in chief’s assistant and all around go-fer/writer/bagel-buyer when I worked at the Forward. I show up briefly in the book as the unnamed managing editor who has this bit of advice when Max can’t get a distraught member of the public off the phone: “Tell him to call the suicide hotline.” I’d like to think I said something infinitely more sympathetic, but I’ll take Max’s word for it.

Max has since gone on to become a reporter for the New York Post, and his book is a funny and even sweet exploration of the kind of unkempt, bearish, outsider male my mother, of blessed memory, called a “glom.”

Which reminds me — doesn’t “unkempt” sound like a Yiddish word?

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