My Little Egypt

All this talk.

You know, when I was in high school, I was in a play called MURDER ON THE NILE. It was a terrible Agatha Christie thing on a tourist craft on the Nile. I played the young angry communist. (Does anything ever change?)

But hear this. I am a nasty cynic and I am angry (and not really communist---just for health care and education) and I am saying, “Okay, guys, do what you will. I will not be interested until it really becomes something better.”

My whole life I have been inundated with horrible news from the Middle East. In elementary school, kids went on with their oral reports about the six day war, the Yom Kippur thing, all of it. And in such sad tones, what with their grandparents, many of them, destroyed in the Holocaust. It was all so horrible. And I get it.

I never got the Arab side of things, orally. I mean, I was living less than a mile from Monsey, NY.

But it was always, always, always in the paper, in the news, in people’s faces, always.

I am kind of selfish and I want the world to be nicer, better, easier, less strife-filled for my own pleasure. I want it to be pretty and lovely. I want, well, I want heaven.

So I do not read about wars. I do not read about Iraq or Iran or Afghanistan or, sorry, Israel very much. Though, I must read about Israel sometimes because my sympathies get piqued.

(I do read about North Korea, but in my life, that farce feels newish so I am not bored by it yet.)

In conclusion, in my tacky ignorant way, what I am saying is, “You frigging Middle Easterners get it together. Donny wants to read something new in the paper. And it needs to be really good.”