"Welcome to my world ..."

In an effort to remain true to the spirit of this post, I will refrain from adding to it any original thoughts or ideas. Rather, let this be an arena in which I may flaunt (and flout) my dillettantish ways and delusions of grandeur, as well as my intellectual stagnation: blogging conveniently supercedes any real work, and consumes hours of my life without my actually achieving anything. If none of this makes any sense to you whatsoever, consider yourself lucky. On the other hand, if you're reading this, then you should already understand, in your heart of hearts, what I mean.
"We have so much time and so little to see. Wait a minute ... strike that ... reverse it ... thank you."

Pedantius speaks for himself, literally:

PEDANTIUS DISCUSSES HIMSELF

INDIGNATION Ignoramus will not rule by himself.
BATTISM I shall be Roscius, but I also once was Roscius before.
CHRONOLOGY I, Pedantius, lived forty years ago.
PARONOMY I lived, and I spoke to the Cambridge theater’s cheering.
CONFESSION Now in lieu of the stage, a printed copy is in the works
PARONOMY (for I still owe jests to my playful Muses).
APOSTROPHE I come forth, I greet the reader instead of the spectator.
COMPARISON Here there is a greater wealth of words in my diction.
METAPHOR And if Dromodotus does not equal him with his barbarous whirlwind,
MIMESIS at least he will surpass him in his formal points.
COMPARISON Our Lydia is prettier than Rosabella,
DECORUM And with me for a teacher, Ignoramus learns how to chat up a sweetheart,
RHYTHM and utter entreaties with resounding verse,
POLYSYNDETON and cheat, and swindle, and ensnare.
GOLDEN VERSE The law of the stage gives the laurel to Pedantius.

2 Jewish 4 U ?

In my big fuss over Easter week, I forgot all about Purim - the holiday where you dress up in costumes, get drunk, and eat delicious cookies. What's not to love? If I were King of the Jews, every day would be Purim. (Acutally, in my life, every day is a little like Purim, but without the cookies.)

But the truth is, I don't celebrate Purim, and never have.
In spite of my recent, and many, references to things Jewish - traif foods, Jews for Jesus, and persecution, for example - the fact is that all of this shlemieling and shlemazzling is nothing but a big mishegas charade. In other words, I am fronting, not representing (i.e., it's just my shtik, I'm not forshteln).

Having lived in New York for the last 13 years, I have become more Jewish than I ever thought I could, or would want, to be. Whenever I see my family in California, I can tell they are a little alarmed. "Was she always like that?," they wonder, as I gesticulate wildly and complain about the dense, chewy bagels served after every funeral with farkuckt chopped liver. Even my surviving grandparents, who are first-generation Americans, bristle at my carefully-pronounced yiddish slang and pretend that I'm addressing them in some kind of foreign gibberish. For this their parents suffered? The whole thing leaves me sad and fartshadikt.

What Easter means to me

Most of you are aware that this is Easter Week in the Christian calendar. Before Good Friday hits us all like a brick, I'd like to take the opportunity to reaffirm a few things:

* Jesus was always Jewish - he never actually converted.
* 4 out of 5 reputable scholars and theologians agree that the Jews did not kill Jesus.
* Jewish people can be pro-Jesus, without engaging in the blasphemy of "Jews for Jesus."
* The early Christians used Easter to co-opt ancient springtime fertility festivals, which accounts for the satanic pagan symbols we associate with Easter, such as the Easter egg, the Easter bunny, and marshmallow Peeps. Contrary to popular belief, Jesus did not reveal his recipe for Peeps in the Sermon on the Mount. This formula was in fact derived from scrolls left behind by the ancient Essene cult on their way to a Rave-like happening in 864 BCE.
* According to Jewish tradition, Jesus may not be the Messiah we all think he is.
* Nevertheless, be we jewish, goyische, muslim, hindu, scientologist, etc., Easter is an excuse to lie back and contemplate the small miracles each of us experience every day.

required document as a condition of my release

I have been instructed to post something on Lisa's blog, or I won't be allowed to leave her apartment during my stay here in Brooklyn. It's a little claustrophobic for me here, what with all the knick-knacks. Don't get the wrong idea- I'm responsible for sending her a good portion of them over the years, and I'm flattered that she displays them still. But it is a little scary when I wake up in the morning. The main issue here is that Lisa needs to find a nice, stable guy, settle down together and start a family. I think that could be one way to reduce the room-dandruff, because she'd have to baby-proof the place at some point. Now, Lisa probably will not be very happy when she reads this, but I really am not a blogger at heart. Just a mom.

Nature or Nurture ?

Mom arrived this morning and we've enjoyed a full day cookie-baking, sharing make-up tips, and discussing feminine hygiene products.

I also administered the Asshole/Bitch test to her and we're both pleased to discover that she's a mere 27% A/B. Naturally, this led me to suspect the test's accuracy. Although Mom and I fall into the same general Bitch range, I can't help but wonder how the hell my quotient (30%) is higher than hers. Then, I had a brilliant - and scientifically-valid - idea: I completed the questionnaire for my father (posthumously) and found out that in spite of my skewed idealism he is (was), give or take, 47% Asshole/Bitch! Although his score is far lower than Kurt's, it still explains a lot!



Moreover, further calculations reveal that I seem to have fallen notably below the mean Asshole/Bitch average for both parents. Now I understand how those Drosophila experiments we did in high school Biology can make sense in the real world!

What is up with that?

One of these things is not like the others (relatively speaking) ... but all of them have at least one thing in common:

Robert Blake Acquitted of Murder



Oh yes, and ....
Italian Priest Accused of Kidnapping Prostitutes

Supplement: Year of the Burn

In the last six months, I have met and/or corresponded with more available, interesting, and attractive men than I have met in the last four years. And in every case, something went inexplicably and terribly, terribly wrong, for at least some of the following reasons.

-Politically over-engaged ->Bush won
-Had a lot in common ->apparently, couldn't handle the mere prospect of my friendship
-Just broke up with girlfriend ->neurotic and controlling
-No spark ->got bored with me
-Wonderful date, "really connected" -> ongoing "business trip"


Why have millions of women who are meaner, bitchier, more neurotic, stupider, more boring, and even (dare I say it) uglier than I am found true love? What do they know that I don't? What do they do that I wouldn't ?

Maybe I need to increase my Bitch/Asshole quotient. Any suggestions?

Only 30% Asshole/Bitch

I am 30% Asshole/Bitch.

Take the
Asshole/Bitch Test
@ FualiDotCom

Thanks for the heads up, Kurt!
I truly believe that this test is 99% more revealing and useful than the Meyers-Briggs, the MMPI and "What Color is your Parachute?" put together!

I can only wonder, however, if this is genetic.
(Mom, we will verify this during your visit next week.)

Currently, I am visiting my friends Jennifuzz, Hogg, and Cletus in beautiful Somerville, MA. The Fuzz and I are pleased to discover that we have a mere 1% A/B differential! I knew there was a reason we've been friends for 18 years. At one point, Fuzz, Hogg, and I were sitting in the living room, each with our iBooks, posting, commenting, and discussing blogs all together as Cletus looked on in dog-like amazement. It was a truly sublime moment, and gave me real cause to question the role information technology has come to play in simple human interaction.

I suppose this would be the moment to capitalize on that 30%.

Fatwah: is it canceled yet?

This weekend will be dedicated to my tax return, job application letters, and trying to figure out why God has willed that I remain poor, alone, and childless.

Also, I am hoping to catch up on missed episodes of The O.C., since it seems that God has also willed that I must work late Thursday nights.


why does this look so "Belarus, circa 1998"?

J'accuse - Je refuse!

I've noticed a significant fall-off in both email and telephone communcation since I began this blog. It seems that now my friends (you know who you are) only contact me - if at all - by occasionally commenting on my blog posts, and once in awhile by email, usually just to fact-check something I wrote in my blog. Even my blog-wary mother (you know who you are) has joined the ranks of the tele-phobic; while I'm pleased that she now reads my blog compulsively, I haven't heard from her in over a month. This is a marked change from our thrice-weekly long-distance confabs of the past.

In protest, I am refusing to post until my friends and family begin calling me again. I'm pretty sure you can think of something to say that won't depress me further, and/or which hasn't already been mentioned in my blog.

To start you off, some possible topics could include:

-My sinus infection
-That BEK cartoon in last week's New Yorker
-Books we like
-How's my cat?
-Recently featured on Leonard Lopate/UPN News Rundown (for New Yorkers only)
-Recipe exchange
-Most recent episode of The O.C.
-☟to Condoleezza Rice, Ariel Sharon, or Adam Gopnik
-Politics, excluding Iraq and domestic policy (boring!)
-Mediocre celebrity sightings

And please people, no discussion of my dissertation, recent therapy sessions, or my current medication regimen, unless initiated by me!

Fuck you, Sigi!*

Once again, the winning combo of PMS, Ambien withdrawal, existential stagnation, and too many late nights with Charlie Rose has wreaked its havoc. 5 years of psychoanalysis and all I get is this lousy t-shirt: "so much unconscious hostility, so little time." Cross one more alienated male off the list. (And if I'd been more vigilant, it's right possible I could have gotten a job - or at least, as he promised, laid . [Mom, you did not just read that.] )

O ye Gods, why can't I just learn?

Thanking you in advance, my few but trusted blog-o-friends, for your support and commentary in my time of deep chagrin.

*For being so right