NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION: SAVE SIXTY ZILLION DOLLARS BY NOT ACQUIRING MICROSOFT

Was my bank impressed when informed of my plan for building wealth?  No!  It still charged  me a "convenience fee" for using an out-of-network ATM! 

Resolution Number 2:  I'm never going to not acquire Microsoft again!

This brings to mind onomatopoeia, a convenient  vehicle when mere words do not suffice. Let us take, oh, I don't know, say, BANKERS, for example. Not, of course, the Jimmy Stewart-types who, discovering a run at the ol' neighborhood savings 'n loan, leap out of a cab into the pouring rain just for the chance to dole out their hard-earned honeymoon cash to the panicked account-holders while Donna Reed-types cheerfully assist their newlywed husbands by charming the unruly mob into fawning submission, rather than rummage through their purse to find the phone number of the divorce attorney that their cynical cousin, Sal, gave them as a gag wedding gift "just in case"  -- no not those types.  They are a dying breed.  More to the point, they are extinct. Bringing us back to onomatopoeia, a word on permanent loan from the Greek Language, which, while far from extinct (like bankers whose veins course happily with actual blood), is mighty old -- so old, in fact, that it is widely believed to have been the lingua Greca of ancient Greece well over two thousand years ago.

What does this have to do with onomatopoeia?  Only this. We need a new nomenclature, one capable of teasing out the peculiar qualities of those six figure year-end bonused feinschmeckers of finance handsomely rewarded for giving birth to a global economic recession with the survival instincts of a Hydra. And not only that, there has to be a name for people who grow filthy rich from overdrafts while the rest of us are cutting way down on lattes. The name is right there in front of us, limping along through the zeitgeist. 

We're sorry, the zeitgeist has encountered a problem and needs to shut down. Send error report?

Forget the zeitgeist. Go back to onomatopoeia. Perhaps a compound mot would fit the bill, the first part being a synonym for donkey and the second part being the place where you got to stick the devil down in. (We're talking synonyms for credit default swappers).

Resolution Number 3: Defrag the zeitgeist on a more regular basis.

Resolution Number 4: Remember that profiteroles are always better in theory. Print out this maxim.  Laminate it.  Put it in your wallet where once there was money until the [synonym for donkey + the place where you got to stick the devil down in] stole it all. When it comes time to order dessert, read the card aloud to the waiter and wait for him to reply: "profiteroles are not on the menu."

Resolution Number 6:  Learn how to count.

Resolution Number 6.5: Realize that every day is precious. Probably would command a pretty penny at auction. Goodness.  Think how much you could get for a whole week, if only Wednesday didn't have a huge crack in it.

Resolution Number 7: Look up the definition of "profligate." Everybody keeps using it in a sentence on the news, and even though you thought it has something to do with Watergate, you, apparently were incorrect, as the garçon sans profiteroles at the local brasserie so haughtilie advised you while rubbing it in that there never were, and never will be, profiteroles on the menu. BFD.  They're way overrated, anyway.   


Resolution Number 8:  Try to convince everybody that halvah is back in.
 
Resolution Number 9: Stop pretending to be understanding of other cultures and vice versa. They hate you.  You hate them.  Isn't that enough?
 
Resolution Number 10: Live long and profligate.

I Dreamed That I Had Insomnia and Sat Up All Night Watching the Insomnia Television Network Trying to Get to Sleep. When I Awoke, I Realized It Had All Been a Dream, Which is Remarkable Because Usually, I Don't Remember My Dreams.

     If you are still trying to score some last-minute Christmas gifts for that hard-to-please person whose name you haven't quite mastered but are pretty sure contains an umlaut, perhaps some of the many fine products hawked on the Insomnia Television Network will serve as inspiration.  Most are available for $19.99, which is one penny less than $20.00. In today's uncertain times, every penny is worthless and sits around in a jar doing nothing, but when combined together with ninety-nine other pennies and rolled up in a paper tube, has the spending power of 100 pennies, and then there's just no stopping it.

     Imagine for a moment that you are home alone on a cold winter's eve watching the Insomnia Television Network when, without warning, the power goes out and everything becomes an inky-black, which is another way of saying, you can't see your own hand reflected in the mirror 20 feet away. You'd like to think that a tree branch staggering under the weight of new-fallen snow has collapsed a power line plunging the entire neighborhood into darkness, but a quick glance out the window confirms that, in fact, you simply failed to pay the electric bill. It is times like these that the talking, glow-in-the-dark toilet paper roll doesn't seem quite the ridiculous conceit you considered it to be when first you saw it advertised on ITN sponsoring a program about urban survival for skinflints. To say that, at $19.99, it is a bargain is an understatement, especially when one considers that the item comes fully loaded with plenty of vocalized instructions ("under, not over!") and can be programmed to speak English, French, and Esperanto.

     Or suppose you are the meglamaniacal strong-man of a once-thriving republic that you have brought to the brink of ruin with your utterly idiotic economic theories designed principally to enrich you and your sycophants, and your 17-year reign of hypocrisy and terror is threatened once again by a pesky provision regarding presidential term limits in the nation's constitution. Time to dust off that old stand-by -- Ruling-By-Decree-to-Save-the-People-From-an-Imperialist-Plot. You've tried to tear up the constitution before.  You've tried and you've tried! But it's hours of mind-numbing work, and in the end, your knuckles ache. Now with the amazing Freedom Shredder (available at the ridiculously low price of $19.99), you can turn that old windbag of a constitution into confetti in time for New Year's without so much as pushing a button. Works on seditious newspapers and movie scripts, too!

     And speaking of making a name for yourself in the Fourth Estate, are you a homespun rabble rouser aching to speak truth to power -- the repressive dictatorships of the planet -- by leaking their military and diplomatic secrets all over the Internet, except that you're afraid of what the fascist rulers of actual repressive dictatorships would do to you if you ever tried any funny business like that, so instead, you hang out in aristocratic country estates and go after democracies with a tradition of an independent judiciary, an uncensored press, freedom of speech, and adherence (more or less) to the rule of law?  Then the Amazing Aura Fedora is for you. Just put it on and you will instantly feel the patented 'self-importance' ions puffing up your image almost overnight.  The secret is in the brim with the Triple-Flexed Naivety Flannel (TM).  You may not be accomplishing anything with your "work," but you'll sure think you are once you wear this chapeau.  Comes in Large, Extra Large, and Extra, Extra Large to fit all over-sized heads.  I suppose that, by now, I shouldn't have to tell you that it costs only $19.99, but I will. While you're at it, pick up a few extras for your insufferable friends and associates -- the ones who are still talking to you.

           Time's running out. St. Nick is almost here, and you still haven't gotten anything for the student in your midst -- the one who appears to be on the conventional career path leading straight to the life of quiet desperation that H.D.T. warned us all about when people used to read things that had more than 140 characters in them. How about a grogger?  No, not the thing you swing at Purim to drown out every mention of "Haman" (and if you're celebrating Christmas, the odds are pretty good that you don't make a habit of swinging groggers on Purim, anyway).  No we're talking here about a handy little gadget that looks like a portable electronic game (the kind that always causes young people to walk into lamposts while playing) but secretly spritzes warm milk through the fingertips to make their owners groggy (hence the name in case you have not, as of yet, picked up on it), so that they can't stay awake in any of their classes, and end up flunking out of school.  And why, pray tell, do we want them to do that?  So that they can create the next essential phenomenon and become billionaires at the age of 25, that's why!  They'll never have that opportunity if they stay in school reading nonsense like:  "Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote. The droghte of March hath perced to the roote."  Just ask Sergey Brin or Larry Page or Mark Zuckerberg, or Michael Dell, or Bill Gates, or Steve Jobs, or Meg Whitman. (Actually, don't ask Meg Whitman).   Here's a business proposition:  If you pick up one of these little toys and succeed in setting the next wildly-successful drop-out on their way, I get 20% of whatever they give you as a gift when they hit it big, because I turned you onto this, and you never would have even thought of it if it hadn't been for me.  The price for the grogger, if you act now, is (dare I say it?) $19.99. Forego the one that fits on a key chain; it's a rip-off.  Don't even think of thanking me for this tip. Twenty per cent is all I ask, and then, as far as I'm concerned, we'll be all square.

   Well, I hope there's something in this list you can use to bring holiday cheer to somebody in the world.  But if you are not inspired, you can always come back here for more ideas.  I have a feeling I'm going to be up all night.

   Merry Christmas. And G-d Bless us, every one!

YOU HAVE RECEIVED AN E-VITE: IT'S ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE

WHAT? --  A  Party!

WHERE? -- Our House

WHEN? -- Friday

WHY? -- Why not?

WHO'S COMING (and what are they bringing)?

THE HOST (You) (1) (bringing chips 'n dip)

Plus:

--------------------------------------------------

Megafool (1) -- YES (bringing nachos)

Hoo Ha Guy (?) -- Maybe, Maybe not

Hubba Hubba (1) -- YES  (bringing nachos)

Captain Renault (4) -- YES + 3 lady friends (bringing nachos)

Major Strasser (1) -- YES (bringing nachos)

Megafool Edited Response: Can't anybody read?  I already said I was bringing nachos!  Bring something else!

Funk (2) YES + a mystery guest (bringing nachos)

Ampersand (1) YES (bringing nachos)

Wagnalls (1)  YES (bringing nachos)

Megafool Edited Response: Hey!  C'mon, now!

Jasper (1) YES (bringing dip)

Jasperella (2) YES + a guest (bringing nachos)

Jasper Edited Response: I can't believe you invited Jasperella after what happened.  I guess I have to change my response to "No."

Jasperella Edited Response: Obviously, if I had seen that Jasper was invited, I would have responded "No." Why would you invite Jasper?

Jasper Edited Response: Jasperella really has some nerve. I can't believe she would even think of coming. And to bring a "guest!"  Knowing that I was going to be there! Boy, it didn't take long, did it, Jasperella!?

Jasperella Edited Response: Jasper can't be serious,  He just can't be serious!

Jasper Edited Response: Jasperella, maybe we should take this conversation off line.

Jasperella Edited Response: Anytime!  Call me, if you dare!

Megafool Edited Response:  If Jasperella isn't coming, maybe I'll stay home.

Cat Ballou (1)  YES  (bringing nachos).

Jasper Edited Response: Why does Megafool care whether Jasperella is coming?  What business is it of his?

Jasperella Edited Response:  Mind your own business, Jasper.

Hubba Hubba Edited Response:  All of this acrimony is giving me an ulcer.  I'd rather not come.

Jasper Edited Response: And another thing; what kind of a stupid name is "Megafool?"

Cat Ballou Edited Response: If Hubba Hubba isn't coming, there may not be enough nachos.  I don't think I could handle that.  Change my response to "No."

Funk Edited Response: Changed my mind.  Not coming.  Not bringing nachos.

Ampersand Edited Response: Regrettably, the stores are sold out of nachos.  I shall not be able to attend.

Wagnalls Edited Response: I thought of it first, but my computer froze, so I was unable to post this edited reply before the others, but I have decided to change my response to "No," and I am decidedly not bringing nachos.

Ilsa:  (1) YES  (bringing nachos)

Rick Blaine (0) NO -- And it doesn't take a genius to see that the problems of two little people don't amount to a hill of bean dip in this crazy, mixed-up world.

Victor Laszlo (0)  WHY is that Monsieur Blaine?

Rick Blaine Edited Response:  Ask your wife.

Victor Laszlo Edited Response:  Did you say, "Ask my wife?"

Rick Blaine Edited Response:  I said, "ask your wife."

 You (the Host): I didn't invite Rick Blaine and Victor Laszlo. How did they crash this e-vite?

Ilsa Edited Response:  Oh, I don't know what to think, anymore; you'll have to do the thinking for both of us.

You (the Host):  Ilsa, if you don't come to the party, you'll regret it.  Maybe not today; maybe not tomorrow, but someday.  And you were, like, practically the only person left bringing nachos.


Hoo Ha Guy Edited Response: Did someone say "nachos?" Maybe I'll reconsider. 


Captain Renault Edited Response:  Major Strasser has been shot!  Less nachos for everybody!

Ilsa Edited Response: In that case, I'm not coming.

Hoo Ha Guy Edited Response: If she's not coming, I'm not coming. And that's final!

You (the Host):  Louis, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.



---------------------------------------------
Not Yet Responded: (1)

Signor Ugarte

A WEEK OF NOSEYS

On Sunday, we SALLY forth to the museum.

On Monday, we MOPE in the rain.

On Tuesday, we TAKE the bus.

On Wednesday, we WALK the cat.





On Thursday, we THINK.

On Friday, we FRESS.

On Saturday, we SLEEP late.





You Have 47,000 Points In Your Account! When You Die, You Will Have Qualified for a Blender!

     There are plenty of movies and books and other defunct artifacts of the culture that appropriate as a central plot point the depiction of a recently-departed soul reviewing their life's summary in the company of a well-paid, private spirit guide.  (Nota bene: You never see any tipping). In these scenes, the protagonist is often shown a kind of highlights reel wherein the whole worth of their existence on Earth is revealed to them through the device of statistics: how many people they have helped;  how many mitzvahs they have performed; how many lives they have pulled from the brink of ruin, and so on and so forth.

        But what about the rest of us? We who have pretty much coasted. What of us? What sort of reckoning might we expect when the lights go out and, before the feature film begins, crackling forth from the cosmic movie screen comes the over-decibled 32 year-old animation about the location of the fire exits starring an anthropomorphic orange flame whose lip movements are not in synchronization with the sound  (just like everybody in the movies) and who looks suspiciously like the anthropomorphic blue flame from television public service announcements who talks like he just took a hit of helium, and, ironically enough, is constantly sounding the alarm about gas leaks.

       The Kabbalists say that on a certain level, life is all about numbers. 18 for example. Thus, even for the below-average, the unremarkable, the slackers, as it were, there awaits in the world beyond a life tally of sorts. And what might that tally look like for those of us in this group -- Group D (aside from the fact that priority seating is pretty much out of the question)? Let us consider a sample.

Number of hours stared at rotating hourglass on computer screen: 476,342


Number of times Lord's Name  (or reasonable facsimile thereof) taken in vain for stupidest of reasons, such as missing the wastebasket after attempting a Karim Abdul Jabbar-type basketball hook shot with a wadded-up piece of paper --  even tho standing right over it (the wastebasket, that is) 9,003.

Number of pens lost: 5 million.

Number of calls from Special Olympics and B'Nai B'rith, and the Policeman's Benevolent Ball Committee screened and not answered: 42,003.

Number of people addressed as "hey!" because, even with a loaded gun pointed at your head, you could not remember their names: 978.

Number of double-A batteries purchased unnecessarily because the ones taking cover under the plastic take-out menu from the HFTKH (Happy Fun Time Kosher Hunan) in the middle kitchen drawer under the counter where the fruit bowl lives refuse to step forward, and, in a nice clear voice, announce:  "Yoohoo!  Here we are! Over here! We've never been used!  We're still in the original sealed container!")  14,576.

      You get the gist.  The little things in life add up. But unless you go around keeping track in spiral notebooks wrapped in brown paper packages tied up with string and stacked efficiently but uselessly at the bedside, you don't know the sum total of their weight until it no longer matters. As Moss Hart reminded us, you can't take it with you.

     Still, aren't you dying to know the number of times over an entire lifetime that the waiter averted his gaze and pretended not to hear you calling him by name ("hey!") despite your aura of self-importance tinged with starvation (771)? Wouldn't you, at long last, like to be reunited with all those socks (536)? Would you not like to know just how many minutes you waited for your call (the one that is very important to us) to be answered by "John" (104,976)?

     True, there is no life-saving in the kind of production described here. Mostly finger-tapping and suchlike.  But My Dinner With Andre was just a couple of guys sitting in a restaurant talking for 110 minutes (exclusive of the credits), and the critics who use words of many letters fawned all the same.

     Thus, even the unremarkable have a tale to tell. It's just that, deciding whether to go to the restroom in the middle isn't so much of a dilemma.




(number of words wasted on this post:  2,345).

IN TODAY'S NEWS: HIYLH REACHES NEW PAGE VIEW MILESTONE. (In other "news": Antartica continues to disappear; Mideast harmony -- as elusive as ever; Global economic crises continue; Nobel peace prize laureate ineligible for award, guilty of promoting...peace).

To celebrate, we're taking everyone out to lunch at the Happy Fun Time Kosher Hunan.  However do not, repeat, DO NOT, under any circumstance, order anything with duck sauce.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This holiday season, please consider a charitable gift to alleviate the destruction and suffering caused by the devastating fires in the beautiful Carmel district near Haifa.  The fires, which destroyed lives, homes, and 12,500 acres of forest (which will take 40 years to recover), did not discriminate in choice of victims. It was battled by the personnel and resources of Jewish, Arab, and Druze Israelis, Palestinians, Turks, Egyptians, Jordanians, Cypriots, Greeks, Germans, Spaniards, British, Bulgarians, Azerbaijanis, Romanians, Australians, Croatians, Dutch, Italians, French, Swiss, Russians, and Americans.

Israel, which has provided substantial humanitarian assistance to earthquake victims in Turkey, Haiti, El Salvador, and India, hurricane victims in the United States, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Guatemala, starvation relief to thousands in Ethiopia, relief to Tsunami victims in Indonesia, and assistance to Kosovo refugees, among many others, now needs your help.

 Todah! And Happy Holidays!

http://jnf.org/

http://www.arza.org/index.cfm?

http://www.jdc.org/templates/media-center-template.aspx?id=4803

http://www.afmda.org/

WikiLeaks Exposes Secret HIYLH State Department Dossier, And It Isn't Pretty. It Isn't Exactly Ugly, Either. Mostly, It's Fair-to-Middlin'. But, Hey, You Know What They Say: "Fair-to-Middlin' Is in the Eye of the Beholder." WARNING: THE FOLLOWING ARTICLE CONTAINS THE WORD "NOTWITHSTANDING," AND MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL AUDIENCES. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

     Almost (but not quite) lost in the worldwide media frenzy stemming from the WikiLeaks disclosures is the maelstrom swirling around the publication of certain correspondence between Honk if You Like Honking (HIYLH) and the Department of State vis a vis affaires d'etat. Notwithstanding that the aforementioned déplaisant lettres were marked "Highly Confidential.  Get Your Damn Eyes Off, Yo!" and were never intended to be made a part of the public record, they have, nonetheless, now come to light, and gotten all intertwined with the flotsam and jetsam of secret governmental revelations washing ashore in newsrooms throughout the world of late.

     In August, HIYLH sent an email to Hilary007@sec.of.state.gov warning that the local Persian Ruggery and Eating Place seemed to be carrying an inordinate variety of pistachios -- the  other national nut of Iran. The missive cautions that "some snakes are a cut ahead of others, get it? Get it?  If you don't get it, just ask the King of Saudi Arabia."  The email concludes with the coded message: "We put the "IF" in Honk if you Like Honking." Weeks later, the State Department acknowledged the threat to national security via postcard which read: "The Department of State receives thousands of communications weekly from concerned citizens like you.  We Regret that we cannot acknowledge each letter personally.  Thank you for your interest in foreign policy."

       That relations between HIYLH and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia have been in the deep freeze ever since the pistachio cat has been de-bagged is putting it mildly. More importantly, ever since the Persian Ruggery learned that some of its patrons may have been engaging in culinary espionage and other skulduggery, it always seems to be out of everything on the menu, and even the coffee tastes suspiciously instant.  Good, tho.

      This bruhaha diplomatique pales in comparison, however, to the uproar over some of the Twitter chatter between IamWomanHearmeRoarBecauseIamSecretaryofState@Twitter.com and HIYLH@Twitter.com   laid bare for all the world to see by the Wiki fiends. If the reports unearthed therefrom seem brutally candid, it is only because they were never meant to see the light of day.  And yet, now that  "privacy" is just another word for "nothin' left to lose," they have been. Herewith, a sample:

HIYLH: Had dinner last night at an Afghani restaurant half-owned by Karzai.  Won't say that it sucked. Won't say that it didn't.

IamWoman: You don't say.

HIYLH: LOL!  Good one!

IamWoman: Probably you shouldn't have ordered the goat. It's hard to sleep afterwards.

HIYLH:  Hey!  Are you really secretary of state?

IamWoman:  Ha Ha! C U

     The result?  HIYLH is now on a watch list at the Kabul Bistro Hut, and its reservations are no longer honored. This has eviscerated any hope of ever planning an event with six or more guests on anything remotely approaching an orderly basis.

     As weighty as the previous anecdotes are (approx. 175 lbs disrobed), the cream of the cream (English for creme de la creme) of mixed metaphors and ambassadorial meltdowns came in the form of the discovery and uncoding of a secret cable ostensibly from the U.S. Consulate in Shanghai cleverly disguised as a fortune wrapped inside a cookie and delivered surreptitiously at the conclusion of a fine repast of Tofu Surprise and Snow Peas at the Happy Fun Time Kosher Hunan.  It read: "Dig tunnels deep, store grain everywhere, and never seek hegemony." This was recognized at once to be a warning about a possible cyber attack from the mainland.

     When the PRC realized that its emissary's cover had been blown and its plans likely found out following the WikiLeak of this and other fortune cookies, it was neither slow nor shy about retaliation. To wit: The last three takeout deliveries from the aforementioned establishment have all shortchanged on the duck sauce, and one completely left out the vegetarian dumplings.  Coincidence?  Not hardly.

     It will take a concerted effort of fence-mending, face-saving, and dish-washing to repair the damage that has been done by the revelation of that which was never meant to be revealed. Some relations may forever be plagued by mistrust an intrigue. But resilience and planning aforethought will, in the end, save the day, and things will, in time, return to normal.

     And speaking of a Plan B, the coupons at the Noodle Panda never expire and they cannot be rescinded nohow.

You Never Know, A Miracle Could Happen