Hawaii

I have a birthmark on my arm that kind of looks like Hawaii (if you squint a bit). Yeah, I know people have interesting talents - being able to wiggle their ears, oppress the destitute masses of an undeveloped country, or conjugate Latin verbs (stuck up overachievers in the corner - are you listening?), for instance. But this is Hawaii! We're talking about the 50th state on my arm, for Pete's sake!

Wait. Who's this Pete character, and why are people always worried about his sake? Why don't you worry about my sake every once in a while, for a change? I bet you Pete isn't out there worrying about your sake, while I....Ok, so I don't worry about your sake much either. But hey, at least I'm better looking. And I have that birthmark. I bet you Pete can't top that.

Butting In

I've been on vacation, and therefore too sluggish to write. Or slug-like, at least.

But I did get a chance to check out that bastion of excellent pop-media magazines, TIME. (By the way, did you notice that TIME magazine's site is actually www.time.com? Wouldn't you think that such an impressive domain name would go to some person or institution who dealt with - I don't know - time? Just my opinion. Then again, it is a magazine whose title is in ALL CAPS, as you can see on its cover as well as its website. That must count for something.)

So, anyway...where was I? Ah, yes, the article in TIME. This article was discussing happiness. I found it rather interesting, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I gave it 4 stars. Or, rather, I was going to do so, until I came across the following (completely unaltered) quote:

Asking people how happy they are, Kahneman contends, "is very much like asking them about the colonoscopy after it's over. There's a lot that escapes them."

Did you catch that? I promise I'm not making this up. Ok, well maybe a bit of context would help you, but I changed nothing in this quote. In case you missed it, let's look at it again:

Asking people how happy they are, Kahneman contends, "is very much like asking them about the colonoscopy after it's over. There's a lot that escapes them."

I'm not sure what to say. Understand that this guy Daniel Kahneman is, according to the article, a Nobel-Prize-winning psychologist from Princeton University. Did he really just compare happiness to a colonoscopy? Did he honestly juxtapose a general feeling of elation and joy with one of the most uncomfortable medical procedure performed in a regular checkup? If this isn't one of the signs of the apocalypse, I don't know what is. Ok, maybe a heavenly rain of fire and brimstone upon the wicked. But in terms of pre-brimstone signs, I'd say that happiness-colonoscopy comparisons are right up there.

And furthermore, the double entendre there is just sick. (Go back and read it again. You'll get it. Then you'll wrinkle your nose in disgust.) I can't touch that one. Not with a ten-foot pole, not with anything. I mean, I'm beside myself. Heck, I'm behind myself. You'd have to be some sort of uncaring bum to use people who need colonoscopies as the the butt of your jokes. Making fun of poor souls such as those is crueler than pulling an old dog's tail. Sick, sick, sick.

Bagels

Have you ever considered bagel nomenclature? Well, have you? I have. Multiple times, in fact. And, in the process (after 33 or so orange popsicles), I came to some fascinating observations. First of all, other than your standard or "plain" bagel, you usually have your four or so standard types:

1) The onion bagel, which has onions on it. 2) The poppyseed bagel, which has poppyseeds on it. 3) The sesame seed bagel, which has sesame seeds on it. 4) The "everything" bagel, which has just onions, poppyseeds, and sesame seeds on it.

Don't you think that last one should have....well, everything on it? I mean, not just seeds and onions, but also ground beef, a pack of angry bees, and the Queen of England? In fact, as my brother pointed out, if there were a correctly named everything bagel, there could only be one, since it would have everything in it. And now for the philosophically-oriented part: Our universe is big. Really, startlingly, mind-bogglingly big. But many scientists don't believe it is infinitely large. And as such, the universe has a shape, or topology, as the mathemeticians and physicists would have it. So what shape is the universe, you ask? Well, one popular theory has it shaped like a single torus, which is shaped like a tire, or a donut...or a bagel. Yes, my friends. The universe we live in may very well be one big "everything bagel." Oh, boy. I should've proabably stopped at my 32nd popsicle.

Puppies, Anyone?

Recently, I was discussing gifts with my parents. Often, when someone comes to our house for the weekend, they'll bring wine, or flowers, or maybe some sort of chocolates or pastries. But I think that people limit their imaginations too much. How about bringing a puppy? Think about it for a minute. If you were to receive a puppy as a gift from a guest, what would you do? You couldn't refuse it, as that would be rude. Nor could you simply give it away. I mean, the guest would notice the next time you visited if you lacked the dog. And throwing the dog out is simply out of the question. Yeah, so invite me over sometime. You never know!

Tell Your Friends

Update: Yes, I know the link is broken. Sorry. Maybe I'll upload an old copy to Google Docs.

Oh, right. I neglected to post this a few weeks ago, when I finished it, but here's a story I wrote. You may find it funny. You may find it enjoyable. You may find it tasty. If you are in this last category, please stay away. You scare me.

Tell Your Friends Tell me what you think. (Oh, and yes, I know that the beginning was mostly ripped from Leading the Blind. But I'm allowed to plagiarize from myself, so you can take your protests and...do something sufficiently nasty with them, probably involving acts illegal in at least 32 of the 50 United States.)

Comment Cards Rock

Hello all. I haven't posted lately because I've been busy/ignoring you/trying to take over the world, or at least my roommate's half of the room. So there.

But I have been doing some other literary work: You guessed it - I've been filling out comment cards at the local kosher dining hall (it's called 104 West!¹) in order to make this a better and more amusing world, for me at least. I now present to you a few of my more beloved comments:

Can you please use Duncan Hines' brownie mix for making your brownies? I may renounce Judaism if you do not.

Please stop putting nuts in your cookies! I have a severe fear of nuts and toddlers.

I'm lonely. Can 104 West! (formerly Kosher Dining Hall) provide me with a friend? Can I have a (preferrably magical) pony?

Can you please provide decaf tea OR give me control of an underappreciated third-world country? (Not one of the landlocked ones, please.)

Ok, that's it. I'm out like the soap. ____________

¹Yes, the exclamation mark is part of the name, and presumably, one mentioning the name of this institution must properly inflect the words to show excitement or exclamation. It can cause confusion when depression and hunger coincide. For example: PERSON 1: Hey Bob! How's it going? BOB: Hello, Person 1. It's going poorly. My cat just got run over my the tow truck that was towing away my uninsured car that sponatneously crashed into a ttree while I was in bed, having cried myself to sleep upon being dumped by my girlfriend. PERSON 1: Oh, bummer. BOB: Yeah. I'm going to kill myself now. First, maybe I'll grab a bite to eat at 104 West! PERSON 1: That's the spirit!

Illiterate?

You know, I've found that my tendency to mix up the word NARCOLEPSY with the word NECROPHILIA has led to some awkward situations. Rather awkward.

Munchkins

One day, when I am president of the world, I will remember all the "little people" who reminded me when I wasn't wearing pants. Thank you, midgets and dwarves.

Happy Birthday

Ok, I'm keeping this exceedingly brief since I'm in a rush, but I felt obliged to share a new song I wrote for my birthday. That's right - I am now 22, the legal age for hunting rabbits and certain Belgians. (It's a little known fact. If you don't believe me, go look it up.) I recorded and uploaded the song, and you can listen to it over and over again!

Happy Birthday to me!

Yet Another Chicken Post

Today, boys and girls, we're going to learn about Jews and their wacky Oral Tradition. In a disussion of Hilchot Shabbat (the Laws of the Sabbath), the gemara (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Shabbat 75a) brings up an interesting case.

Let’s say you own a chicken. You know, the tasty fowl with an IQ lower than its shoe size^1,2. Well, your son wants to play with the chicken. Or more accurately, he wants to play with the chicken’s head. Why? I don’t know. Maybe Toys ‘R’ Us was out of Tickle-Me-Elmo dolls. Maybe he drank some of Daddy’s “special juice.” In any case, he’s crying for the chicken’s head, and as luck would have it, the chicken’s head is (get this!) attached to the chicken, and the chicken is quite fond of its head and unlikely to enjoy your son playing with it. (“Come here little chicken, I just want to- OUCH! My eye!”) So you intend to remove the head to better facilitate its use as a plaything, but it’s the Sabbath, and it’s forbidden on the Sabbath to kill an animal.

“Well, that’s ok,” you say to yourself, “I don’t want to kill it. I just want to neatly remove the bird’s head so I can shut up my kid. Though he’ll probably lose interest in a matter of hours, like he did with the dog³ and the nuclear reactor⁴ I got for his birthday. The ungrateful little brat.”

Enter the Rabbis.

They say, “hold on, big fella. First of all, stop talking to yourself. People are staring. And also, can’t you tell that this is the classic case of pesik raisha?”

“Pe-what?”

“Pesik raisha. Can’t you understand ancient Aramaic? Sheesh. The full phrase is ‘pesik raisha v’lo yamut,’ meaning ‘can you cut off the head and it won’t die,’ a rhetorical question. You see, were you to cut off the chicken’s head, it would become what is technically known as a Decapitated Chicken. As you may know, Decapitated Chickens⁵and in fact, decapitated fowl of all varieties, are wont to die, a condition which greatly impedes being alive. Thus, although your action wasn’t meant to kill the chicken, and you may even want the chicken to survive, it will definitely end up dead anyway, so killing it is forbidden. So go tell your brat to shut up because you can’t give him the chicken’s head until after the Sabbath. Though if you ask us, after the Sabbath you should take him to a therapist, because, frankly, this whole ‘playing with a chicken’s head’ thing is pretty darn messed up right here.”

“Oh boy! Thank you, Rabbis!” you exult. “Now can you please explain this whole ‘kosher’ thing to me? Why do we need to wait for hours between eating meat and milk? Why do we have to use separate dishes for milk and meat?”

“Beats us. You modern Jews are just plain crazy. Back in our day, we could eat Chicken Parmesan.”

“Golly.”

“Golly indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got some threshing and winnowing to do.”

And like that (poof), they're gone.⁶ __________

¹ Yeah, I know. Chickens don’t wear shoes. Not yet, anyhow. ² Chickens are royally stupid. I’m not making this one up. Sometimes, when it rains, chickens will tip back their heads and try to drink, and in the process, they will drown themselves. Did you catch that? They are the only animal on God’s green earth that I know of that drown themselves while on solid ground. Even my cousin Melvin who will likely have “That boy just ain’t right” carved on his headstone, and who has eaten enough Play-Doh to support Slovakia for a year, generally keeps water out of his trachea. ³ “Come here, little doggy, I just want to light you on fi- OUCH! My leg!” ⁴ “Come here, little atom, I just want to pet- OUCH! I’m glowing!” ⁵ Another great band name. ⁶ Bonus points if you can correctly name the movie that that last line was referencing.