Never mind. The dreaded Bono has written a column in the even more dreaded Big Bagel Times asking us not to roll our eyes when the word “summit” comes up, because summit does not always refer to a large gathering of self-important persons or heads-of-state types and their rock star retinues. No, instead of rolling our eyes we should reach into our pockets and send money so African dictators can purchase the most recent private jets coming into the market. Actually he didn’t say that, but the reason we do all roll our eyes when this man speaks is because he’s cried wolf once too often. And African dictators do have the largest entourages of anyone, in fact much bigger than Bono’s. The only rock star I know without an entourage is my fellow Pugs club member Sir Bob Geldof, who does practice what he preaches. To the rest I say, spare me, please.

The other thing I’ve noticed since landing in the Bagel is the increase of absurdist language by the tongue-tied populace in general and self-help gurus in particular. You need only to want something to make it happen, type of thing. Listening to Bagelites talking in the street makes one want to scream, “Is there a therapist around?” The trouble being everyone has turned into therapists, applauding and encouraging the odd jogger who is minding his own business. Existence and action are now defined by language, as in “You win, you’re a champion,” when some fat kid waddles last over the finish line while stuffing his face with fries. And it gets worse. Where corniness is concerned. The latest wrinkle is to get married a second time, or to renew one’s vows, as the toe curling invite tells us. One lady who appears in an even more embarrassing TV show, The Real Housewives of New York City, announced that everyone cried in her vow renewal ceremony. “Every single person present cried,” she insisted. Knowing the bloody woman as I do, I will bet one million greenbacks that the bus boys serving cried for different reasons, as she’s the lousiest tipper I know.