FinermanWorks

To my immense disappointment, none of you readers seem to be Hollywood producers.  If any of you are, why are you remaking “Spider Man” instead an epic on one of my Byzantines?  I am willing to compromise:  the Justinian Code could be a kewl kid’s guide to dating at Constantinople High.

We now resume the ongoing satire known as my life.  In the course of scrounging for writing assignments, I was asked to produce my college transcripts.  (But human resource departments also reject supplicants if they sound like college graduates; the trick is to go to school without learning anything.)

Yesterday, while applying for my college transcripts, I discovered that Northwestern is unaware that it has a school of journalism. The online service was quite adamant that I was making up Medill. Since Medill did not produce Stephen Colbert or Ann-Margaret, the obscurity may be deserved. Being old-fashioned, I am familiar with the telephone and decided to notify Medill of its demise.

Its number had not been disconnected, and the human on the other end was also surprised to learn that the college did not seem to exist. She did promise to help me obtain my transcript but she would need some basic information from me.

Her first question:  “Can you spell your last name?”

I replied,  “Yes, otherwise I doubt that I could have gotten into Medill.”   Five seconds later, she laughed.  I then proved my literacy by spelling Finerman.

Her next question:  “What year did you receive your degree?”

The answer was “1980.”  She seemed stunned, and I felt obliged to fill the silence.  “Yes, Guttenberg was on the faculty then.”  She seemed shocked that anyone my decrepit age would ask for a transcript.  Apparently, nursing homes and mortuaries don’t request them.

Ironically (what else), my request is a tribute to Medill.  With all the benefits of its education, I am adequately literate and definitely penurious to keep writing.

First, I want to wish a Happy Summer Solstice to all my pagan readers. The day meant little to my desert ancestors: “Hey, Abe. God is giving us another two minutes of daylight and heat prostration.”

And I doubt that the ancient Celts would have been especially thrilled with the solstice. “Och, we have another two minutes to enjoy our picturesque destitution.” (You have to be desperate to even think of fermenting peat, although the results seem to be effectively numbing.)

Let’s face it: the Summer Solstice was just the Greeks and Italians coming up with any excuse for an orgy.

And since it is now summer, let’s discuss food spoilage. (There was a time I would have thought about women in bikinis.) Francis Bacon knew there was a correlation between cold temperatures and food preservation, so he began a scientific study of the phenomenon. In his experiment of packing a chicken with snow, Bacon unfortunately discovered a correlation between cold, bronchitis and death.

However, history does not know who first made the correlation. It had to be someone who actually was familiar with cold and hot seasons, and observed–perhaps barely surviving–the climatic effects on food spoilage. Was it some Roman sentry along Hadrian’s Wall, who noticed that there was less morta in mortadella? Was it a Hun who discovered his raw horse jerky was less enjoyable in Italy than on the Steppes? I wonder if some Hun or Vandal shaman even gave health lectures to the troops…

MEN DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

Barbarian Warrior: Sacking Rome is exhausting work. I could use a lunch break. Say, this restaurant looks tempting. Let’s loot it.

Shaman: Yes, those sausages look good, but who knows what’s lurking inside them? The Romans can’t put up a defense, but their food could kill you. So, if you must have meat this far south, make sure that it is still alive when you bite it.

Indeed, some of the barbarians apparently were quite worried about food poisoning. Believing that any taste was a sign of spoilage, the Angle-Saxons insisted on boiling everything until it was a pulp. However, the Franks went to the other extreme. They actually liked what mold can do to food. Ce botulisme est delicieuse! The idea of the Petri dish probably originated at Cordon Bleu.

Career opportunities for any aspiring Torquemadas, Himmlers or Stalins…

Loyalty Operations Support Project Manager

J.P. Morgan Chief, Tarnished by Trading Loss, Remains Steadfast Before Senate Banking Panel

Jamie Dimon explained the nature of hedging.  “Think of the market as a roulette wheel.  You want to be place a $5 bet on a number, say 23.  You have a 1 in 37 chance of winning a 35 to 1 return.  Now we, as the roulette wheel operator, will cover your bet; but we need to hedge it as well.  After all, your number might come up and we would lose $ 175.  So, our strategy is to place $175 on each of 34 other numbers on the roulette wheel.  If any of numbers come up, we have successfully hedged ourselves from the future possibility of your number coming up.  An investment of $5,950 could make us $5 and save us $175. 

Of course, if your number or a zero comes up, then we will have lost the $5,950 and still have to pay you $175.  That is why we have also made the same hedging bet on 35 other roulette tables.  Fifteen will be in Europe and Asia for any foreign exchange fluctuations. 

So you can appreciate the sophistication of our strategy.” 

Senator:  You lost three billion dollars hedging a $5 bet?

Dimon:  And you only have yourself to blame.  If you only allowed us to deregulate, we could have used a fixed roulette wheel.

 I had to answer this ad….

McOpCo Communications

McDonald’s

 McOpCo…Weeks of grueling boot camp taught me to survive up to four hours on just the 3500 calories in a Big Mac.  Also now can slit a throat with a French fry.  Have earned my Grease Beret.

First assignment: parachuted into Tehran and served McRibs for lunch during Ramadan.  Turned out to be  practice run.   Ayatollahs are major stockholders in McD; they love any food that kills Americans. 

Real assignment:  assassinate Burger King.  Asked whether to fake murder-suicide with Wendy’s.  Underage girl angle for headlines and grand jury.  Unnecessary according to Legal.  Citizens United case says corporations are people and so have fourth amendment rights.  Just claim free market self-defense.

Shoot him point blank?  Lacks artistry….

Plan:  Burger King appearing in “The Borgias”.  Good product placement and typical of Showtime’s historical standards.  Burger King playing third or fourth husband of Lucretia.  Must kill him before she does. 

Method:  Detonate Sistine Chapel by substituting nitroglycerin for turpentine.  Impale Burger King with Michelangelo’s paintbrushes. 

Abort operation.  Burger King out of “The Borgias”, now in spinoff playing Elector of Saxony in series about zany, sexually frustrated German theology professor.  “95 These and Those” starring Jon Lovitz.  Assassination now Pro Bono work. 

Plan 2:  Burger King shooting new ads.  

Method:  Disguise five rabid pit bulls as pugs and be mistaken for arts director.

Result:  Pseudo Pugs have happy meal. 

Next assignment for McOpCo:  Incite gang war between Taco Bell and Pizza Hut.  Almost too easy.

Richard Dawson (He was the host in 1470): For the crown of England, name four people you would most like to see in the Tower of London.

Henry VI: a moo-cow.

Dawson: Let’s see if the audience says “moo-cow.” XXXXX. Gee, what a surprise! But the Lancastrians still have a chance. Queen Margaret of Anjou, what did the survey say?

Margaret: William Caxton! I command it.

Dawson: William Caxton? You must think that you are on Jeopardy! Did the survey say, “William Caxton?” XXXX.

George of Clarence, you are the Lancastrians’ last chance. What did the survey say?

George: Joan of Arc?

Margaret, Henry: Good answer; good answer!

Dawson: Survey says….XXXX. Now, it’s the Yorkists’ turn. Edward IV, who would the audience like to see in the Tower of London?

Edward IV: How about Henry VI!

Dawson: The board says, “Yes. Henry VI!” All right, Yorkists, who else did the audience survey want to see in the Tower of London?

Richard III: My two obnoxious young nephews?

Dawson: The board says, “Yes, the Little Princes.” Here is your chance to sweep the board and take the throne. Who else did the audience say that they wanted in the Tower.

George of Clarence: Me.

Dawson: Weren’t you just playing for the Lancastrians?

George: I actually belong in the Tower.

Dawson: Survey says, “Yes. The Yorkists win!” Let’s say goodbye to the Lancastrians; and as lovely parting gifts you will receive eight plays by William Shakespeare.

I may have received the ultimate accolade:  I have been plagiarized by a Harvard graduate.  This is not the first time that I have been an inadvertent muse.  I have even found myself published by an Australian ad agency.  (There was a minimal translation of changing all my vowels to a.)  But to have inspired a Harvard man…I certainly don’t need a Pulitzer now.  My Ivy Leech is a self-help guru who decided to help himself to my work.

Unfortunately, I cannot give you all the details because lawyers may be involved.  I will say this, however:  Harvard arrogance is indistinguishable from elementary stupidity.  With the slightest precaution, he could have protected himself from any charges of plagiarism or copyright violations. He merely had to write something like “Eugene Finerman once wrote….” That simple acknowledgement would have given him the license to expropriate any and all of my research as well as several hundred words of text. 

I know a professor whose lectures were plagiarized by a teaching assistant.  The professor wanted to sue and was shocked to learn that the felonious assistant had deftly protected himself. In his book of purloined lectures, the author’s acknowledgements included a thanks to the professor.  What a courteous and legally immunizing way to say “SUCKER!” 

And let’s not forget the historic significance of this day: https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/05/29/memorial-day-1453-2/

Yesterday God wanted to remind me that He was the better satirist.  So He donated a downpour to Karen’s and my B’nei Mitzvah.  There is a cordial clamminess to being hugged by the soaking wet.  I felt that I was being baptized.  But if God really had a great sense of humor (or hired me as His holy ghostwriter) He would have scheduled the Second Coming to preempt our B’Nei Mitzvah.  But Cousin Jesus probably wouldn’t have cooperated:  “If I couldn’t get out of My Bar Mitzvah, why should you!”

But as we say during the High Holy Days, “The Shofar Must Go On.”  Three adults and my facsimile of one participated in the B’Nei Mitzvah.  Knowing that our Temple President was a former high school linebacker, I resisted the temptation to begin my speech “Welcome to Finerman’s Wake.”  A pity, really, because my brogue is better than my Hebrew.  There was also concern–if only because I repeatedly threatened to do so–that I would change the Torah trope to a Gershwin tune.  It really wouldn’t be any less Jewish.  “Someone to Watch Over Me” seems theological.  (“Porgy and Brise” is a different ceremony.)

Yet, within the constraints of decorum, I think that I still managed to be me…

1.1]…In the second year following the exodus from the land of Egypt, the Eternal One spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai, saying:

2] Take a census of the whole Israelite company by the clans of its ancestral houses, listing the names, every male, head by head.  3] You and Aaron shall record them by their groups… from the age of twenty years up, all those in Israel who are able to bear arms. 

So begins the fourth book of the Torah and the reason it is called “Numbers.”  The preceding book “Leviticus” imposed some 600 laws on ritual, conduct and diet, giving the Jews a lasting identity as well as a few idiosyncrasies.  If  Leviticus created a culture, then Numbers established a government.  And the first concern of this nascent government was defense, how to coordinate the twelve tribes into one army.  To accomplish that, it seems the Jews invented the Draft Board.  Every adult Jewish male was registered and counted; there would be no deferments from his responsibilities.      

Some 3,000 years later, in the wilderness called Rogers Park, there still was a census of Jewish males, however dubiously adult:  the Bar Mitzvah.  But now one could get a deferment.  I did.  Yes, I started the basic training of Hebrew school and had the typical resentment of any ten-year-old.  Is it a surprise that the first year of Hebrew school seems like a Jewish production of “Lord of the Flies”?  I wanted to drop out–and my family let me.

I was raised in a secular home, where our Judaism was more of an ethnic identity than a theology.  Memorizing ancient incantations seemed less important than knowing our history.  My mother was a gifted teacher, and so I learned that Oliver Cromwell and Napoleon were our friends, “the knights in shining armor” were all bastards, and that Christopher Columbus was hiding something.  I was also taught to know every Jewish actor in a movie.  For example, in “Gone With the Wind” we have…Leslie Howard!  I won’t say that this was a traditional Jewish education, but it worked and evidently was good preparation for “Jeopardy!”

So, despite being a renegade from Hebrew school, I cherished my ethnic identity.  If you have any doubts, my wife is not Trixie Lee Hatfield.  Indeed, being married to “a nice Jewish girl” encouraged me to join a synagogue, the very one where my wife had been educated and confirmed.  In 2008 I promised Karen that I would join Solel if a Democrat won the presidential election.  My membership here is one of the smaller consequences of history.  Ironically, the former rebel became a very active member: singing in the choir, participating in education programs, even writing the Purim megillah–and playing Haman.  My enthusiasm led me to realize the obvious: I now was ready for my Bar Mitzvah. 

From a middle-aged perspective, Hebrew school is no longer “Lord of the Flies” but more like Dante’s “Purgatory.”  Any torture was for my eventual good.  The Hebrew alphabet consists of 21 letters, half of which sound like K.  But I persevered, with the encouragement of Karen, the guidance of Rabbi Moffic, and the dedication of Simcha Ackerman.  If I have any semblance to competence, it is a tribute to them. 

I now stand here ready to affirm a covenant that has withstood time and tyranny.  I add my name to the census, joining the number that stretches back a hundred generations.  The Jewish people do not merely defy history, we define it.  This is my heritage and my inspiration.

Thank you.

 

The boundaries of historical periods are flexible. Does Antiquity last longer in the Eastern Roman Empire than in the West?

 

One morning the Emperor Zeno woke up to discover that he was in the Middle Ages. He didn’t feel particularly medieval; indeed, the court eunuchs assured Zeno that he looked as classical as ever. Still, he couldn’t ignore the smirks from the history department at Constantinople University.