In medias res.

15 July 2001—See, already there’s a problem. I started this journal with a spate of ideas for entries, or issues, or columns, or whatever the hell these things are called. Problem is, there ought to be a beginning: it seems right for there to be an introductory moment. But there is no beginning; you have arrived in the middle of things.

I don’t intend for many of these — I mean, what the hell are they called? — to be this Brechtian break-the-fourth-wall sort of fake dialogue, or dramatic monologue for you lit-crit people out there, where I perpetually invoke the presence of the journal. I’m only doing it now because it seems necessary to get us started.

Anyway, back to the beginning — or, rather, the middle, because that’s where you are. I’m not beginning; you’re not beginning. (I apologize: if you are beginning, you are a mighty clever baby indeed.) The whatever-they-ares in this journal most likely have their origins some distance back in my psyche, and whatever current events provoke an interest great enough to write about them probably has to do with things I’ve thought about before.

Undoubtedly, these {Mad Libs fans may enter a plural noun of their own choosing here} will touch on, among other topics, literature, music, film, theater, friends, family, politics, Judaism, literacy, cooking, and hockey, as well as life around my house, which includes two housemates, two cats, a downstairs neighbor, and a backyard garden in a horrible, regrettable state of neglect. And you will probably read a lot about the novel-in-progress. Point is, none of these things begins the instant I publish these words. Therefore, you have landed in the middle of things, and I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to fill you in so the context is clear. If you ever have any questions or comments, don’t be shy.

There’s a Hebrew prayer we have for reaching a time of a new season, which is loosely applied as being thankful to be able to witness and take part of the beginnings of things, and even though we’ve begun here in medias res, it’s a beginning nonetheless. So I thought it might be kind of fun to include it here. Don’t worry, you haven’t stumbled into the den of a zealot; on the contrary, you’ll probably find within these {plural noun} someone aspiring to be the best type of skeptic. And at least at this point in my development, I’m inclined to offer the following: Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu ruach* ha-olam, shehecheyanu, v’kiy’manu, v’higiyanu, lazman hazeh. Amen, right on, darn tootin’.

Let’s get on with the show.

*For Jews with scrunched-up faces at the sight of this word, ruach is an untraditional word adopted into prayer by the Jewish Renewal folks, rejecting language of God as king of the universe in favor of thinking of God as a guiding spirit. I like it better, anyway.