a commercial we don't mind watching

really? part two

of course he'd say this. he's an idiot.

really?

these guys have to toally live in stella and my neighborhood, because nothing says red bull like a drive way hot tub.

i heart stella

how do you know when the snark gets a little snarktasticly out of hand? when stella and i begin to misunderstand each other!

point in fact ~ i would never, ever, ever refer to stella as a racist
point in fact ~ an old secretary of ours, whom we refer to as Crazy, was racist
point in fact ~ when i compare stella to Crazy, it's only in jest, in fun. it's never to actually infer stella is anything like good old Crazy

thus, here's my public apology to stella. non, stella, non! you are so not Crazy!

here IS a low down on Crazy:

• was deragatory towards people of races/ethnic identities different than hers
• filed an age discrimination suit against ME even though i hold higher degrees and had actually had my position, oh, a good two years before she joined us
• held the belief that our former _______________ was infatuated with her, even though he is gay
  
• missed a trip to france because she looked at her arrival date in paris as her departure date from the states

why here?

inga and i wonder time and again why these things happen in our neighborhood. y'all might remember the fire in the front yard from a few weeks back. and my constant railing against the "band" across the street is wearing thin, even for me. now, we get this:

our side-of-the-house neighbor has put in a jacuzzi.

in the driveway.

we do not live in a tropical zone. we're a place with garages rather than carports. in late april, i'm still wearing tights.

really, a jacuzzi in the driveway? what's next?

dev's right

what makes some people such assholes?

from broadsheet, a report on a "top 25" list being circulated (and investigated) at a Pennsylvania high school.

good for the district for coming down so hard; without consequences and education now, these kids go to college and do sprints through band kids.

like a coke song

see, we can all get along. all it takes is some mutual getting-off-our-high-horses.

confession of the day.

color Inga sensitive, but puppies get me every time. i mean, you can be snarky as all hell & at the end of the day, they'll still love you, even if you repeatedly tell them their mothers were sluts who abandoned them in the park. i mean, i keep telling stella she's going to give rye a complex, but will she listen?

comparative age, volume 1

people're always saying that inga looks good for her age, and while i agree that inga looks good, i've never really been good with the whole "for her age" thing. in fact, i've always been pretty sucktastic at guessing ages in the first place. but today while gossip-shopping, i stumbled across photos of celebrities in inga and my age brackets. we are doing alright:

fergie, born 1975:

important news

for those of us needing to plan our lives, this website is invaluable.

check the url if you need help gettin' it.

all that glitters ain't exactly gold

straight from the pages of in style, sage advice for women in their 30s from ms. chloe sevigny ~ "It's such a personal thing, but I think once you're past 30 you shouldn't wear a lot of glitter." true that, chloe. true that.

What the shit?

Seriously. Don't watch this video unless you can handle being a little disturbed, scatalogically speaking. Read enough to make you feel a little no better at My Neighbor FourFour-O, where there's a second video. Yech. Yech in so many ways that I can't even begin to work through or even acknowledge for fear of permanent mental scarring. Is this another reason for Inga and Stella to avoid or postpone bearing children? Now I have to compare myself to them ... in the toilet??!? WTF?

oh, the sickly sweet taste of irony!

this is ironic. and oh but do stella & i heart ourselves some good ole irony.

Tips for Students, Volume 1

Those of you who know me know that I teach a course in which adherence to the most prescriptive traditional English grammar is required. The students who have spent the past 13 weeks in my class ought to know this fact as well. Why, then, do you think that any student would even bother sending me this email:

"I wanted to take my test b4 class because i have to pick up my little sister from a after school program at 4. If i take the test in class I will be pressed for time and I need to focus on my test. i called around 1245, but u are not in ur office. Someone in the department said that u were in a meeting. I tried to get in contact with [insert misspelled! TA's name] and I was told she will be out. I left a message for her. Can I make up the test Wed, I will try to get in contact with [differently misspelled TA's name again!]. if u agree to me making up the test wed can u please let [misspelled TA's name one more time] (if she is in class) know. I am having problems with my Internet, so please call me today when u have a chance XXX XXX XXXX. Thanks do u know [misspelled TA's name]'s office hours?"

Where to start?

First, dear Student, know your audience. Start actually spelling out words. Before is hardly more difficult to type than b4, and what's so hard about adding the y and the o to the word you? Now, consider finding out how to spell your teachers' names. Knowing their names when you expect them to know yours is only common courtesy. Moreover, think about signing your name to your emails. I know it's unbelievable, but I'm not really sure which of my 150 students you are when the only identifier you leave me is your student-id or your borderline inappropriate email address. FallOutSucks3884@suckbands.com is not the sort of address that clarifies your identity for me in an anonymous email. On top of it, don't ask me to tell you the office hours of the TA you should have been seeing for help all semester. They have been in the same top right corner of the syllabus I handed you 13 weeks ago all semester. Look there. How can it be easier to email me than it is to pick a sheet of paper out of your notebook or to open a link on our class website?

About the grammar, I'm weeping silently right this minute. Have we talked at length about comma splices, independent clauses, final punctuation, fused sentences, capitalization, pronouns, gerundive phrases? Yes, we have. Please, dear Student, at least try to put into practice some of the rules we discussed in class. Your passing my class depends on your exhibited mastery of (or at least compentence with) exactly the prescriptive rules you are flouting here in my face! I want to give you the benefit of most doubts; don't make it impossible for me to do so.

if you're going to pick just one day

Happy Earth Day! Maybe we could continue paying attention tomorrow and the next day too?

spoiler: birds die

gosh, so even i'm starting to feel a bit sad for emo girl.

what an asshole

After a tip from Broadsheet and a visit to Media Matters.

Watch the video.

Tucker Carlson makes an ass of himself one more time: Stippers' testimonies on charges regarding sex have less legitimacy in a court of law than the testimonies of "normal people." What an ass.

way. too. cool.

you have got to check this out ~ sergio mendes and will.i.am. too cool! i can't wait to get it. now if i could only get dev or stella to teach me how to post a sound bit.

come for

Dev and I saw Metric open for...who was that? Anyhoo, we wound up leaving a few minutes into the headliners because they'd just gotten their asses handed to them by their openers. "Dead Disco" is one of the best songs of the past few years, I think.

why inga hearts norwegians

seriously. how can you not love a country that does this? i mean, so what if they still go whaling? you've got to do something during the 11 long months of winter.

Kaiser Chiefs

A few months ago on IMF was a little interview with a band called Kaiser Chiefs. And I liked them. Dev probably won't. But whatever. Maybe.

e. e.

for dev:

a lower-case reading

fer real

I think my Grandma would really dig the new Neko Case.

Ena's Safety Tips, Volume 1

Inga's mom warned us the other day to watch out for killers hiding under cars in parking lots waiting to slash our ankles to "get us." Our first reaction was shock. Shock that this was the safety tip. Y'know, seven years after it first surfaced.

And six and a half years after it was debunked.

When we get more safety tips, we'll let you know.

wasn't this a romantics song?

From Zizi, a former prof and current friend:

"Report: Sleep 'divorce' counts
Reports say Islamic couple must wait 100 days to
remarry

NEW DELHI, India (Reuters) -- A Muslim couple in India
have been told by local Islamic leaders they must
separate after the husband "divorced" his wife in his
sleep, the Press Trust of India reported.
Sohela Ansari told friends that her husband Aftab had
uttered the word "talaq," or divorce, three times in
his sleep, according to the report published in
newspapers on Monday.
When local Islamic leaders got to hear, they said
Aftab's words constituted a divorce under an Islamic
procedure known as "triple talaq." The couple, married
for 11 years with three children, were told they had
to split.
The religious leaders ruled that if the couple wanted
to remarry they would have to wait at least 100 days.
Sohela would also have to spend a night with another
man and be divorced by him in turn.
The couple, who live in the eastern state of West
Bengal, have refused to obey the order and the issue
has been referred to a local family counseling center.

India's minority Muslim population is governed by
Islamic personal laws on issues such as marriage,
divorce and property inheritance.
"This is a totally unnecessary controversy and the
local 'community leaders' or whosoever has said it are
totally ignorant of Islamic law," said Zafarul-Islam
Khan, an Islamic scholar and editor of The Milli
Gazette, a popular Muslim newspaper.
"The law clearly says any action under compulsion or
in a state of intoxication has no effect. The case of
someone uttering something while asleep falls under
this category and will have no impact whatsoever,"
Khan told Reuters."

Sheesh! I want to know who filed the charge - the "happily" married wife or the secret service of night-time talaq-watchers. Or listeners. Or whatever.

huh

overheard today:

"I mean, like I know it's a 400-level class and all, but can you believe he gave me such a bad grade? His comments were all 'use vocab appropriate for an upper-level course.' Like big words are such a big deal?" hmm. gosh, what is the, like, big deal?

observation today:

if you are one who studies the profession or duties of an accountant, you are an accountancy major. not an accounting major. accounting is the action of keeping financial accounts. yup. there is a difference.

Kings & Queens of Snark (this one's for the goth kidz)

Mindless Self Indulgence
"You'll Rebel to Anything (As Long As It's Not Challenging)"

(you don't mean it)

You need a uniform
So you won't be ignored
You are affected
And you are fucked up
And so you're accepted

It's time that you invested in a bottle of poison
So we don't have to hear about you bitchin and moanin
You think you could afford a fuckin bottle of asprin

Boo fuckin hoo you're not the only one whose life's a piece of shit
And yet miraculously somehow we all seem to deal with it
Did anybody think that you would really seriously slit your wrists
In fact I think that everybody thinks you're seriously full of shit

(you don't mean it)

You need a uniform
So you won't be ignored
You are affected
And so you're accepted

It's time that you invested in a bottle of poison
So we don't have to hear about you bitchin and moanin
You think you could afford a fuckin bottle of asprin

You think you're saying something relevant as you connect the dots
You never realized you have to get in line to suck a cock
You're telling me that fifty million screaming fans are never wrong
I'm telling you that fifty million screaming fans are fucking morons

(you don't mean it)

so you're accepted
so you're accepted
so you're accepted
so you're accepted

Boo fuckin hoo you're not the only one whose life's a piece of shit
And yet miraculously somehow we all seem to deal with it
Did anybody think that you would really seriously slit your wrists
In fact I think that everybody thinks you're seriously full of shit
You think you're saying something relevant as you connect the dots
You never realized you have to get in line to suck a cock
You're telling me that fifty million screaming fans are never wrong
I'm telling you that fifty million screaming fans are fucking morons x2

(you don't mean it)

some friendly advice for the neighbors

Let's say you live in a big house with 20 of your closest pals. Let's say this house on one side faces a street that's in a neighborhood mixed with students, university employees, and families. Let's say this particular house backs up to a relatively nice lawn area that opens onto a winding river (well, creek, but a big creek, certainly too wide to jump across) and lovely green space and a lagoon, where the only neighbors are of the water fowl variety. Now, where should you and your friends decide, at around 8 o'clock on a Tuesday night, to build a bonfire and stand around playing hacky sack and getting drunk?

a) the back lawn space area that faces nature
b) the front yard area that sees a fair amount of traffic, both foot and vehicle, and where couches, on occassion, have known to be lit on fire

Obviously, if you're neighbors of Stella and me, you choose 'b.' It's the smart choice, right? I mean, c'mon. Cute girlies drivin' by can check you out. Guys who are not as cool as you can seeth with jealousy as they pass by. Old folks in the area can look on with envy. Dogs and cats who frolic past will surely wish you were their owners. And, yeah, police cars, concerned citizens, and the like will also likely notice THE BIG FREAKIN' BONFIRE in the middle of your lawn. Not in a fire pit. Not in one of those cool backyard wading-pool like structures made of non-flammable materials. ON YOUR FRONT LAWN.

So imagine the delight that overcame us when, rounding the corner with the dogs at the end of a dog walk, Stella and I behold the very large fire engine parked in the middle of the street, firemen in full gear standing in the yard, looking sternly at drunk idiots, shirtless (c'mon, guys! it wasn't even that warm!) and beer-laden. Oh, the joy. One can only hope the fine for starting a fire on a front lawn on a Tuesday night early spring is large and obnoxious.

Yes, I know, we sound years older than we are, but at least we would have the collective brainpower to start the fire out back.

Amateurs.

making my day

So you know how funny it is when somebody falls down? Multiply that by 7.4 gazillion, and you'll have how funny it was when we saw a goose fall into a badger hole on the dog w-a-l-k the other day.

The best part was my anthropomorphizing its reaction, which I took to be a "what're you looking at?" shrug-off in front of his ladies.

Seriously. Geese falling = super-funny.

things observed on tuesday morning

oprah and dr. robin on oprah this morning compared a silly blond 24-year old's obsession with dressing like a celebrity (and having to buy that designer bag so the sorority girls will like her!) to someone with a crack addiction. dr. robin suggests the silly 24-year old sell off all her material possessions to pay off her debt, but they all agreed that girlie giving up her possessions is a lot like a crack addict giving up the pipe.

really?

but here's a shout out to mary j.! as found on salon.com this morning ~ Mary J. Blige on God's plan for her: "My God is a God who wants me to have things. He wants me to bling. He wants me to be the hottest thing on the block."

rock on sister. if there is a god, i want mary j.'s! my number 1 girl crush is gwen stefani, but mary j. just might be running a close second.

oh, more oprah ~ a suburban mom admits that her happy marriage is a sham! she and her husband have intimacy problems! y gads! stop the freakin' presses!

i hate oprah. but hey ~ if i can give up the crack pipe, i can surely give up the oprah.

stella has some explaining to do or how stella lost her snark

All I'm saying is this: originally, one of the April 12 & one of the April 13 posts were together in the same post. But Stella has suddenly developed a conscience and is all 'oh, poor little thing, we can't snark . . . so blatantly!'

(hand raises) -
Yes?

What's the name of your blog again?

Exactly.

Humph. Will Stella be able to prove she's got her snark back?

not again

Okay, first ~ should I just be glad that the "band" across the street has traded in their own gear for a set of speakers pointed OUT of their windows playing some screaming, growling, too-loud-for-me-right-now, nevertheless-recorded-in-a-studio music? It's too hot in here to close my window. It's too loud for me to ignore. It's (I'm about to sound a hundred) too full of "don't fucking look at me"s for the actual children who live in this neighborhood.

Again. If you choose to live in a diverse neighborhood with families, children, and working adults, show them as much respect by keeping your music inside your own fucking house as they show you by not interfering with real WEEKEND parties or your mid-summer "honk and we'll drink" barbecues. Just let's compromise. Please.

Because otherwise, I'm heading downstairs for the non-emergency police number and my cell phone.

cheer up!

Sweetie, you'll be a teenager for only a few more years. Pretty soon, you'll go to college, and Megan can just fuck right off.

Really, you couldn't pay me enough to go back to high school.

why we should always use condoms. part two.

According to Dev at dinner tonight: "Avril Lavigne is so out, she's not even in. She's movin' to the next house."

The latest in a long string of #1 reasons why we don't think procreating is a good idea.

They might grow up to be emo.

things i do love

widgets. 

and dashboard.

heh.

why inga's realtor sucks ass

So when I moved to _____ x years ago, I decided I should buy a house. In hindsight, not a great idea (total damper on the traveling, but that's a whole other bitch), but from a 'grown-up' perspective and financially, it was a great idea. I did not go to school (undergrad or grad) in ____________, so I didn't really have a feel for the neighborhoods. All I knew was I wanted to be close to campus, near enough to walk to work, and I wanted an old house, like the ones I grew up in. Easy breezy.

Ms. Realtor sweeps in. She shows me split levels (please!). She shows me houses about $20,000 more than I want to pay. She shows me houses far enough from campus that I'd have to drive every day. Just when I think it's time to find a new realtor...she shows me a house just off campus. It's perfect. It's near the lagoon! The neighborhood is a lovely mix of college faculty, students, and townies. The house is 90 years old! It has a screened-in front porch! It's not even on the market yet! It's March! So I buy the house. I move in in July.

And then it begins. Each spring, the college students come out of the woodwork; any time the weather is above 57 degrees, they multiply and appear on their porches or in their front yards, blaring music (and man, not even good music, but like, metal from the early 80s) and drinking beer. From early April til late September. All I want to do is sit on my porch, have a glass of wine, and choose the music I'm listening to! Is this too much to ask? This kind of snark, my friends, makes me feel old.

You'd think my realtor could have mentioned this. In hindsight, I should have realized she was a jerk. After my first viewing of the house, which really, I should have earned an Oscar for because it was decorated by someone who spent way too much time watching HGTV, she gushed that she knew I'd love the house because the decorating was so me. Uh huh. Anyone who knows Inga will vouch that lattice work on the dining room ceiling with fake grapes hanging down is so not Inga's style. Nor the cow-print kitchen border. Nor the sponge-painted living room walls.

why vivien is the dog for me (or why rye may be smarter than he looks)

so i'm a pretty big fan of dave eggers. i mean, i'm all about mcsweeney's. i love me some a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. i saw him read at iowa. sure, i have a copy of you shall know our velocity. and, sure, i haven't read it yet. but now, even if i wanted to, i can't.

when i got home this evening, voila. there was you shall know our velocity in roughly seven hundred bits and pieces strewn around the living room. apparently rye not so much the dave eggers fan. am i missing the next great read now? or has rye somehow kept me from something terrible?

oh, viv. you're a black lab and you're the beans. seriously. good doggie, viv, good doggie.

stella & inga have become so boring

have stella & i really become so boring we have nothing to report? well, let's see if any of this is of any consequence:

1. my loveliest of lovely friends, liv, apparently almost got swept away in a tornado over the weekend! according to initial reports, she was on the interstate and had to take refuge in a gas station, only to have a gas pump blow over, and then had to run out of the gas station and take refuge in a mcdonald's! i wonder - did she free fries to help her make it through her ordeal?

2. for a completely ridiculous and stupid time, check out this anne heche/eric roberts movie on lifetime. anne is obviously playing her crazy self and roberts is, franky, a sexy mother fucker. i mean, i even watched that sitcom he was in with that girl who suddenly lost too much weight and andy dick. this movie is is sooo bad, it's good. really good. trust me. sunday, suffering from a delayed hangover after donagh's unexpected but very excellent visit (whisky, whisky, whisky, why do I love you so?), i was a ball o' fun on the couch, eyes glued, to this trainwreck: Fatal Desire.

seriously, would inga let you down?

Definition vs. Devinition

COUPLE

Today's definition is for couple as in "I'll have a couple of cookies to tide me over before dinner" which translates to "give me two chocolate chip cookies so I don't starve!"

Dictionarydefinition -
Two items of the same kind; a pair.
Informal. A few; several: a couple of days.

Devinition definition -
Couple actually means five very specfic pieces, as in "I'll have a couple more pieces of sushi" [pause for waitress to arrive] "Yeah, I'll have a couple of pieces of sushi: two pieces of salmon, two pieces of tuna, and one piece of eel." To emphasize using the devinition of the word couple, it's suggested that the speaker then hold up five fingers and wiggle them in the air to emphasize point.

for real?

While out running errands this morning in the land of the living dead, I stopped at Starbucks for a small skim latte (for the love of god, why, why, why call it tall? The cups are short). After I ordered, the highly caffeinated manager bounced over and announced they were having a special special today.

"That," she said, eyes wide, "means that when you order a tall drink today, you get a vente, which is a large!" She picked up the vente-sized cup.

"Oh, well, that's nice, but no thanks. I'd rather have the small." Listen, I know how much caffeine Inga needs on an early spring morning, even with daylight savings in effect. I mean, maybe if it were the dead of winter, below zero, and six a.m., the vente would hav been appealing. [random aside - I just asked Stella, grammar queen - seriously, she teaches grammar and she's kick-ass at it, if appealing has only one L. She says yes. Pauses, then says 'oh, but I always mess that one up.' Thanks, Stel.]

Silence hung between the manager and me, my 'no thanks' slowly dissolving. Beady little eyes bore holes into my soul. "What?" she asked, stringing out the letters.

"No, thanks. I'll have the small."

And girlfriend literally rolled her eyes, made a huffy little noise, and walked away.

Really? Hello? I mean, I shouldn't really be surprised, right? This is the place where blank stares greet a request for a cafe au lait. Misto, no problem, but throw out a name that, oh, makes sense, and it's like speaking in tongues.

So there you have it. This morning I was chastized for (gasp!) wanting a small coffee.

Someone out there, please, please, please - explain.

are god's people funny?

Yesterday my brother Holden and his wife Hannah came to visit and partake in a belated birthday meal for Holden.

Holden has had a rough year - first he had surgery for a twisted esophagus (yes, they apparently can twist and yes, to answer your question, it is not pleasant). Then he was laid off from a job he was great at. Then Hannah got a brand new job and they moved from x, a college-town with a low cost of living, to xx, a suburb of xxx with a high cost of living (thus how Rye, doll he is, came to arrive on the doorstep belonging to Stella & me). Holden found a new job. things were going well. Then Holden was diagnosed with testicular cancer and in a matter of weeks lost a testicle and underwent major surgery. Of course the surgery was successful. Holden lost a shitload of weight, maintained his sense of humor, there's a good chance he and Hannah will be able to still have children 'the old fashioned way, and, as a bonus, he inherited one fucked up scar down his sternum as a reminder.


So it's been a rough year. And even in the midst of this all, Holden and I have managed to hold on to our alienation from organized religion. We're happy this way. It's not like we're out scoping public places for random groups of people we can accost and announce "Hey! We don't necessarily believe in god or organized religion, but we're looking for some people to hang out with and hey, y'all look fun! Wanna get together next week, just sit around and shoot the breeze? Maybe convert y'all to our alien athiest/agnostic beliefs?"

Inga, you might be thinking at this point, what are you talking about? Who does that kind of thing?

Well, I might answer, people who belong to organized religon!

There we are, the three of us, finishing up lunch mid-Sunday afternoon. Our plates have been pushed away. Our drinks are finished. Our coats are half-way on. And then, out of seemingly nowhere (but actually from just across the restaurant), appears a young woman, smiling widely at us, her kelly green sweater brighter, her braces the same color as her teeth.

Hmm. I'm suspicious, but mostly about my brain capacity. Is she a student from a semester or two past? Oh, no, wait - is she a student from this semester I don't recognize?

"Hi!" she greets us, the sing-song literally lilting out of her throat.

"Hi," we say in unison. Holden raises an eyebrow. I give him the invisible shrug. Surely if she's a student, she'll fess up.

"So," she continues, not missing a beat. "I'm like with the xxxx church" - and here she waves a piece of paper in her hand around - "and we're like totally looking to expand our youth single services. And, I'm actually here with a bunch of singles right now!" She motions vaguely to someplace behind her. "And we were thinking that you guys look like you're young and fun, so we thought maybe you'd like to join us!"

Yes, the exclamation points are hers. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll all agree - Inga is not an exclamation mark kind of girl.

We're quiet, all three of us, for a moment. Lil' Miss Chirpy McChirpy smiles widely, but her audience is not with her. Hannah lost a brother a couple of years ago in a horrible freak car accident. I lost my lust for the church back in seventh grade, when I missed five Sundays in a row because of illness - no one from the church or youth group ever called, but every week the collection envelopes showed up in the mail. After another moment of strained silence, I turn to Chirpy and say, "Oh, gosh, we aren't from around here." I turn the corners of my mouth down into a frown for effect.

"Nope," Hannah agrees, looking slightly apologetic. My sister-in-law, I decide, is a natural actress. One more thing to admire about her.

"We're from _______" Holden offers up, essentially confessing that while technically we aren't from _______, we are in fact (well, they are, at any rate) from ________________, which is far enough away for us to not be from a freakshow place like this without actually knowing anyone here - or more to the point, one of us living here. Now it's beginning to be clear to Chirpy that one...or all?...of us are lying. Is it a sin to lie to someone who is trying to connect you to god when you haven't necessarily asked to be connected to god?

"Oh, gosh, I'm from near there!" Chirpy exclaims, grasping at a connection between us. It's in her eyes, this realization that she could, effectively, snare us by common ground.

"Uh, actually," Hannah says - and I brace myself for the moment of reveal, the moment my sister-in-law rats me out by announcing that I live here, "we're married." She holds up her left hand and in a gesture of sheer genius, wiggles her fingers, making it clear that yes, at least two members of our trifeca are, indeed, not single.

Chirpy looks sad. She frowns. "Oh," she laments. She starts to turn to me.

"Sorry," I say apologetically, grabbing the nearest arm to me, my brother's, and hoping against hope that Holden looks more like a polygamist than, say, my brother. We push past, coats clutched to our chests, nudging the restuarant doors open with our hips, stepping bravely - and quickly - into the chilly spring air.

"Wow." Hannah braves a look over her shoulder. "I mean, if I want god, I think I'd know where to find him." She turns back around quickly, as though afraid to make contact through the window with Chirpy, thus pulling us back into the circus.

"Jesus," Holden says, not a note of irony in his voice. "We should have said we were in a satanic cult. That would have gotten her off our backs."

"Scientology," Hannah says. "Everyone knows to stay away from the scientologists. At least until Katie has her baby."

"For god's sake," I say. "Why not tell her we're Jewish?"

There is silence. "Good idea," Holden says. Because, really, we aren't Jewish. But here's the crux of the this (morality?) tale: why is it safe to assume, especially when proselytizing on a Sunday afternoon in a restaurant, that everyone there is Christian? That everyone believes in her god? It's like the standard greeting during the holidays in December is Merry Christmas, rather than happy holidays. I mean, what? Because it's December, everyone is waiting for Santa and the baby Jesus? No one could be Jewish? I mean really. Honestly. Do the fundamentalists have it right? Should we all jump on the campus band wagon? Would this make life a much better place?

Doubtful. Completely and totally doubtful.