Author Archives: Ross Konikoff

Ross Konikoff, freelance New York City trumpet player, states he is delighted and honored to have his work put before the highly discriminating readers of Weekly Hubris, published and edited by his friend and mentor, Elizabeth Boleman-Herring. Konikoff was born in Buffalo, New York, a cold environment; surrounded by desperate people, out of work, out of money, and out of opportunity. And that was just in his house. Determined to pull himself up by his mute straps, Ross quickly ascended from his first job as a seven-year-old paperboy to his second job as an eight-year-old paperboy. Eventually, he taught himself how to play the trumpet and learned many songs; managed to make something of himself; and accumulated a Manhattan condo, a trophy wife, and a phalanx of deadbeat friends along the way. The trumpet requires hours of daily maintenance to stay in tip-top shape, but Ross’s desire to write things that make people laugh also requires hours of work. Splitting his time between his lips and his laptop, he humbly presents to you his first efforts at getting some laughs and, most importantly, some attention: Breaking Even Every Time; and You've Got To Be Carefully Taut. (Banner image: Ross Konikoff on trumpet, far right, with Buddy Rich.) (Author Head Shot Augment: René Laanen.)

Baron Konikoff, Tinseltown Svengali

“I’ve never considered myself the equal of George du Maurier’s Svengali, able instantly to capture the heart and soul of any woman, nor are my good looks on the same terrace as Cary Grant’s (that’s to say they’re beyond throwing distance), yet it seems that each time I’ve been in close proximity to a celebrity […]

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The Fountain of Middle Age

“In the 16th century, the Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de León, (or J-Ponce as he was known to his maritime peeps) was onto something. He came in search of the Fountain of Youth when he crash-landed in Florida back in 1513. If what we are experiencing is any indication of his life-extending claims, J-Ponce himself […]

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Underground Afghanistan Gay Five-Minute Dating

“I believe it means Western capitalists. I learned it from my friend Aaron, a fighter from a land called Haifa. He blew himself up for the Taliban, although it was not intentional. He was vaping in the supply room when a spark caused the Clorox fumes to ignite a pile of missiles, but we were […]

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What Sorry Beef Fondue, Huh!

“I finally came face-to-face (mouth-to-ear) with the severity of my handicap a couple weeks ago while standing at the register at Whole foods. Through her mask, the plexi-shield, and the roar of shoppers overpaying for broccoli, the cashier asked if I’d ever sampled the beef fondue in Outer Mongolia. I offhandedly remarked that I had […]

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My Three-Minute Love Affairs

“Today, after many classes where I was advised to think of each dance as a ‘three-minute love affair,’ and after scores of hours practicing in a studio, not to mention many, many nights out on the floor dancing to live swing bands, I have come a long way. In the beginning, my teachers referred to […]

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Pandemic Pastrami

“I stood at the register, waving a crisp double sawbuck around like Legs Diamond, finally gaining the attention of a pretty young thing who, hypnotized by my air of self-assured panache, ran over, all smiles and said, through the thick plexi, through her thick mask, through her thick Brooklyn accent, ‘What’ll it be Mister?’ ‘I’ll […]

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Midtown Loup de Mer

“We ate, drank, and sang sea shanties while savoring wines from Santorini and waters from Newark. It was so pleasant to be waited on hand and foot after being constrained at home for so long that all through the meal we billed and cooed like a couple of randy teenagers in love. (Fortunately, there were […]

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The Saw-Whet Saga

“As we strolled past the recently erected Radio City Christmas tree last Monday, following a late lunch, at which, owing to our immoderate zest for the grape, we had both consumed quite a few flagons of Satan’s urine, we observed a distinct lack of security. I turned to Deborah, smiled deviously, and said, ‘Are you […]

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Letter from Manhattan, New York

“With our windows open out onto West 52nd street, these days all we hear is the wailing and yelling of the mentally insane street people, wandering aimlessly, some begging the locals, already at their own wits end, for a tiny bit of baksheesh, one woman, adorned only in four or five torn Hefty bags and […]

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Haunted by John James Audubon

“Naturally, this entire incident was deemed supernatural, the symbolic final good-bye from Mother, despite her somewhat graceless departure. The owl story became an instant family classic, one to be recounted every Mother’s Day in a loving tribute to the old bird (the owl, not Mother).”—Ross Konikoff West Side Stories  By Ross Konikoff “Sign Language with […]

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