WHAT TO DO IF YOUR BROTHER GETS PRETENTIOUS
     So my kid brother is going to one of these schools, you know the
type(it's not an Ivy, but it kinda thinks it is. Like Stanford or Johns
Hopkins or Rutgers or Cornell).  Anyhow, he's taking a lit class and he
comes up to me the other day and says, "Rich, can you help me?  I've got
to write this term paper.  It's due tomorrow."
     "No prob.  You start the coffee, I'll heat up the crystal meth.
What's it on?"
     "I'm supposed to deconstruct Hamlet."
     "Hamlet deconstructs itself.  Now leave me alone."
     "*I* know that.  *Everyone* knows that.  But the prof won't accept
that as a paper."
     "Bastard."
     "I got some ideas."
     I was afraid of this.  "All right.  What?"
     He took a deep breath.  I cringed.  "Well you know how in Hamlet
everyone is interpreting everything everybody says, you know, reading each
other?"
     I nodded, distracted.
     "And like, Hamlet's madness, even if it appears feigned to everyone
else could be very real to him, right?"
     "So?  You got any herb?"
     "Don't you see, it's a classic appearance/reality--"
     Oh no, if I didn't watch my step here, he'd be trying to work in
Antonioni's 'Blow-up' and Roeg's 'Don't Look Now.'
     He was really breathing hard now.  "Don't you see?  Horatio, draw thy
breath in pain to tell my story.  My story!  Hamlet's story!! Il n'y a
pas dehors du texte.  History exists only as a function of present
discourse!!  Yes yes yes I will yes I do YES!"
    So I sucker-punched him.
    "Thanks."
    "Il ny'a a pas dehors du texte my ass.  Try de la droite."
    "Huh?  Il n'y a pas dehors de la droite."  He stared blankly.
    "Oh, never mind.  You got any other ideas for this here
'deconstruction'?"
     "Well, we can break Hamlet up into 'homme lit'.  'Man reads'.  Don't you
see?  Man reads!  It's all just so like, there."
     "Slow down a second, Piper Cub.  It seems to me that Hamlet sounds a
lot more like 'omelette' than anything. . ."
      His eyes brightened like a schoolgirl at her first dance and he ran
to the kitchen.  "Yes, yes!"
     "Put the eggs in a bowl of water first.  Bring em to room
temperature."
      "Sheesh," he called out.  "I'm not stupid you know."
      True.  He's got two more years to get really stupid.