I survived the first night of Passover, despite the mandatory four glasses minimum of wine. We opened the door for Elijah, but made sure to lock it afterward, given that the countryside is fraught with marauders. And I’m prepared for the usual weekend ritual of chasing off Catholics, Jehovah’s Bystanders, and assorted Evangelicals who come to the door to try to lead me astray from the vicious arms of Yahweh. And a week of eating matzo brei, which I’d probably hate if I weren’t raised on it. But I was, so I crave it.

OK, what’s relevant in the news? In my ancestral land, the Arabs continue their quest for this year’s Darwin Award. And in its usual way, the UN re-enacts the “two wolves and a sheep vote on what’s for dinner.”

Related: Jordan goes ape-shit because Jews have the temerity to celebrate Passover at the site of their ancient Temple. This of course is a total affront to Muslim sensibilities.

I can’t help but say it: you goyim are fucking nuts. My idea of celebration is drinking, eating, music, sex. Goyim have a somewhat different approach.

Speaking of fucking nuts, the only really good news of the week was the faint possibility that the US might get out of Syria, one of 23 countries where we have troops and one of seven countries where Nobel Peace Prize winner Obama waged shooting wars despite the total absence of a defense need. So of course, CNN has decided that this would be a horrible thing because Trump. (Not that I think it will actually happen until I see it)

Old Guy Music! I saw there was a discussion last night about urinal etiquette and it reminded me of something that happened in the late 1970s. I was at a small jazz club in Baltimore (it was a vanity business run at a huge loss by local Chevy dealer Harry Gladding bringing in top jazz talent) seeing Richie Cole. Now, for those of you unfamiliar, Cole is from the West Coast Phil Woods school of bop alto players, with a HUGE sound and insane energy; even ballads are the musical equivalent of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. After the first set, I was exhausted just listening- and desperately in the need to drain my lizard. I made my way over to the bathroom, stepped up the the urinal, unzipped, and let fly. As I irrigated the porcelain, I noticed that Cole was unloading at the next pisser. In my best Chris Farley manner, I said, “Wow, great show!” In a cool hipster tone, he responded, “Thanks, man. Anything you want to hear?” I thought for a second and said, “Harold’s House of Jazz?” “Sure, man, but instrumental, none of us can sing.”

And when he came out, he said to the pickup band (which featured Steve Novosel), “Same chords as Cherokee,” and unleashed the torrent. This is the studio version with the brilliant scat singer, Eddie Jefferson, and Cole’s 20,000 volt solo starts at around 2:30 or so.