I Guess I'm Just An Old Mad

There Are Nineteen Words In Yiddish That Convey Gradations Of Disparagement, From A Mild, Fluttery Helplessness To A State Of Downright, Irreconcilable Brutishness. All Of Them Can Be Usefully Employed To Pinpoint The Kind Of Individuals I Write About.

Only The Scenario Writers Are Exempt. These Are Tied Between The Tails Of Two Spirited Caucasian Ponies, Which Are Then Driven Off In Opposite Directions. This Custom Is Called A Conference.

If Travel Has Taught Me Nothing More, And It Certainly Has, It's This: You Never Know When Some Trifling Incident, Utterly Without Significance, May Pitchfork You Into Adventure Or, By The Same Token, May Not.

The Fact Is That All Of Us Have Only One Personality, And We Wring It Out Like A Dishtowel. You Are What You Are.

If, At The Close Of Business Each Evening, I Myself Can Understand What I've Written, I Feel The Day Hasn't Been Totally Wasted.