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And someone seems to have subscribed me (anonymously) to O, The Oprah Magazine.

Clearly my week is looking up.

It turns out I was right in the first place.

In a section of the book in which I discuss my (theoretical) future wedding appears the following sentence:

“I’d book the Basilica di San Marco for the event if I could, but I do not hold out much hope that the Patriarch of Venice His Eminence Angelo Cardinal Scola will be easily won over.”

The problem, as I found out yesterday, is that, while “His Eminence” is of course the correct third-person form of address for a regular cardinal, it is not the correct form of address for a cardinal who is also a patriarch. In such a case the correct form of address is “His Beatitude.”

You can see the source of my despair.

Earlier today, however, while procrastinating with respect to hanging myself, I was IMing with a friend who happened to be at the home of a Catholic friend who happened (I’m not kidding) to have on his shelf a copy of the New Catholic Encyclopedia.

And it turns out that “His Beatitude” is correct only for an Eastern-Rite patriarch. And since Venice is obviously a Latin-Rite patriarchate, Angelo Cardinal Scola is obviously referred to as “His Eminence.” Calling him “His Beatitude” is in fact probably a heresy so vile as to be grounds for burning at the stake.

It took me a few hours to get around to posting about it because I’ve spent the day sobbing with relief.

Whew. That was a close call.

My life is over.

I was in a Wikipedia hole earlier today and came across something that made me realize that there’s a mistake in Swish. Not a typo, not a misprint, but an actual factual error. The time when it could be fixed has long gone.

Now, it’s not the kind of thing many people will notice, as it involves a very obscure variation of a somewhat obscure custom in an obscure field.

Actually, it’s possible that no one will notice, because the few people who know about the very obscure variation are not the kind of people who are likely to read my book.

And besides, since I’ll be arranging for every one of them to meet with an unfortunate accident between now and May 13 (the book’s release date), everything will probably turn out okay.

At one point this weekend, E.S. came into the room to see me finishing the last of a bag of Chocolate Turtle Chex Mix.

E.S.: Hey, I wanted some of that!
FAUSTUS (chewing): So?
E.S.: Okay, that’s it. Now you have to make me lunch.
(FAUSTUS gnaws on E.S.’s arm.)
FAUSTUS: There, you’re lunch.
E.S.: You’re an asshole.
FAUSTUS: I’d rather be an asshole than lunch.
E.S.: Oh, my God.

Just in case you’re one of the three people who hasn’t already seen this.

If you live in or around New York City, you must see this show tonight, tomorrow night, or Saturday night (Abe Burrows Theater, 721 Broadway, 8:00 Feb. 28-Mar. 1, tickets $12/$6 students and seniors). I believe it’s sold out but show up early and get on the waiting list. Sell a kidney if you have to.

Seriously. Both kidneys if necessary. It’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve seen in a very long time.

From my new favorite website, Garfield Minus Garfield.

“Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life?

“Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness and methamphetamine addiction in a quiet American suburb.”

In class yesterday one of my students for whom English is a second language brought in a scene in which a woman meets an ex-lover at a bar and asks him to kill her husband. The two spent the first part of the scene engaging in enjoyably loaded banter. Then the woman said, “I’m here to make you a preposition.”

It was really all I could do not to throw myself onto my knees at once and beg the student to marry me.

N.B.: Another old entry I somehow managed not to post.

From an article in yesterday’s Times about a controversial Egyptian movie:

When are people going to stop saying “happened to be gay”?

My translation:

“An affluent, dashing, Francophone newspaper editor who takes it in the ass, something I find distasteful and you do too, but since you and I are men of the world I’m going to mention it in the most off-hand way possible, to indicate that my opinions are in the right place.”

Nobody says “happened to be black,” right?

I mean, it’s not as bad as admitted, but come on, folks.

Hmm. I seem to have written this post three weeks ago and failed to post it. Here it is, with commentary.

—

Okay, I can handle getting a hard drive with all my recovered data on it (thank GOD) in the mail and then discovering that the drive itself is a dud so I have to wait even longer to accomplish anything because of course without several years’ worth of accumulated crap I am completely powerless to get anything done at all.*

And even after that happens I can handle going to my neighborhood pharmacy and finding out that my new insurance provider, which I had thought would be much, much better than my hideous old insurance provider, is actually much, much worse when it comes to what I actually need and does things like deciding that the amount of psychotropic medication it takes to keep me from throwing myself under a subway car is really more than I ought to have and that I’d be better off with, like, a third as much.**

But I have to say it would really have been nice if these things hadn’t happened immediately after I’d spent 45 minutes in therapy sobbing about how my entire life is a moral failure.***

*This turned out to be incorrect. I was just using the wrong plug for the drive, since evidently I am a moron.

**Three days after writing this I went back to my old hideous insurance company, so now I have all the drugs anybody could ever want.

***This is still a problem. But now that the writers’ strike is over I’ll be able to deaden my awareness of it by watching television every waking hour.