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Christmas defeated Chanukah once again last night by a margin of three billion dollars or so, but every time I hear a Yiddish word like bupkes in a movie (L.A. Confidential) or when Oleg Cassini in that new play Jackie calls a garment a shmatta, it's "good for the Jews," as our parents used to say. Meanwhile some things have stayed the same; the drunken lout in the street is still somebody's father. Hey, kid, how does it feel to have a pop that's a flop? And we had such good ideas for changing the mental universe, if only as a project in philosophy class, the one I still dream about failing when I have that dream everybody has, of being back in college and needing this one course to graduate, which I forgot to attend
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