--from MacArthur Park, not surprisingly voted the Worst Song of All Time in Dave Barry's poll a few years ago.

Okay, I'm behind again, but despite having lots and lots to write about, it's really late. As it happens, I spent tonight at a bar, where I was 'till close to 4 AM, discovering that in the ten years since I've tried playing darts, my skills haven't gotten any better.

Yes, I know, if that's not the last thing you expected to read in this journal, it's probably pretty close. Alas, the rest of the story is much less interesting than that one-sentence summary, so I'm tempted to just leave it at that.

Okay, fine, so I was invited there to celebrate a friend's birthday -- no points for guessing which friend, given my last entry -- and the whole thing got started much later than originally planned, so there were basically five of us there, with the other four being two couples, and Yours Truly being the odd man out. Which was mostly okay with me. Although it can be just a teensy bit disconcerting to be the only one in attendance not falling into an embrace every few moments... but, umm, I suspect I'm crossing the "invasion of privacy" line here, so I'll shut up.

On the very bright side, the bar's TV reception was much better than what I could get in my apartment, and they had Saturday Night Live on, and Christina Ricci was hosting. And it was good, especially toward the beginning. And the commercial for the "And So This Is Chanukah" special was great.

And some guy at the bar wanted to know if my beard was real, and after feeling it (with my permission), he found that, whaddya know, it was. And he apparently mistook me for somebody else who'd been there in the past (just without the long beard, I take it), although, as I explained, this was my first time there.

Nice place, actually. Smallish crowd, friendly bartender... if I were in the market for a bar, and if it weren't, like, a forty-minute walk from my apartment (a fact I discovered as I walked there; from the description, I'd expected it to be rather closer), I could see myself becoming a regular there. Okay, I'm not in the market for anything of the sort, but, for the very first time, I can understand the appeal. I wouldn't mind doing this again sometime.

I had better results in playing the jukebox, where, while my selection of "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" was disparaged, I apparently redeemed myself with "Time Warp." Plus I got away with "Wannabe," not to mention "Unchained Melody," "Like a Prayer," and "Take a Chance." (I expected some clashing of musical tastes from the start, anyway, when Donna Summers's inexplicable remake of "MacArthur Park" was selected.) I also played "Piano Man," but that was a mistake; I'd meant to select "Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)," but must have hit the wrong code. I finally wrapped the whole thing up with "Thank You for the Music."

I liked playing the jukebox.

In tribute, then, here's one of my favorites of the time, paraphrased from memory:

The Prime Minister of Israel and the President of the United States agreed to trade their two top generals.

"We want Moshe Dayan and Yitzchak Rabin," said the U.S. President.

"Fine," said the Israeli Prime Minister. "We'll take General Motors and General Electric."

I spent the next two seconds or so just being stunned by the suggestion, it not being something I'd remotely expected, especially from an English professor.

After which point, being the self-aware sort, I realized pretty much just how he'd gotten that impression from my writings. And that, in a way, he was right. Being objective and impartial about it, I can see how somebody with my abilities and general approach toward argumentation could do pretty well as a lawyer. (Those years of Talmudic training don't hurt, lemme tell ya.) And that that would presumably be a more reliable career path than that of an English major.

Nonetheless, it's decidedly not what I want to do with my life. Not that I'm certain what I do want to do with my life, but I'm pretty sure it's going to be more directly tied to language and literature.