America seems to love the prefix “pre,” especially when it’s totally unnecessary. Among the precious pieces of mail still being sent to my parents’ house was a letter saying I was “pre-approved” for some sort of cellphone giveaway. I’m sorry, but is “preapproved” somehow a stage before approval? Because it seems to me that it’s just their way of saying “approved” while making me feel special: “Look, Mother! I’m not just approved for this, I’m pre-approved, before all those other chumps. I simply must order this product and/or service post-haste!” “Pre” crops up in other places, like a movie being exclusively “pre-released” or (one of my favorites) how the drinking before a college party (not that I went to parties in college…) is called “pregaming,” the “game” being (you guessed it) more drinking. But none of this tops my recent brief stroll into bewilderment with JetBlue. I walked up to the woman at the gate, and asked if I could board the plane.

“We’re pre-boarding,” she replied

I figured that this might mean that only the disabled and children were boarding. I was clearly not disabled, and, since I now sport a full beard, I also can no longer pass for a toddler. But I gave it a shot anyway: “So, can I go on?”

“Well, we’re pre-boarding.”

Then I came right out and said it. “How is that different than the actual boarding?”

“No, sir. We’re not boarding yet. This is pre-boarding.”

I kind of looked at her funny, shrugged, and boarded the plane. The Israeli in me was shaking his head and laughing, while the American was simply confused. I got to my seat and sat down without incident. Conclusion: pre-boarding looks an awful lot like boarding. Maybe they teach the difference in flight-attendant school.

Bonus story: I got a letter from Cornell, my alma mater, saying (yes, really) “We miss you as a dues paying class member.” I’m reminded of Conan O’Brien’s description of college fund-raising in his Harvard Commencement speech:

Here’s how it works. Your phone rings, usually after a big meal when you’re tired and most vulnerable. A voice asks you for money. Knowing they just raised 2.5 billion dollars you ask, “What do you need it for?” Then there’s a long pause and the voice on the other end of the line says, “We don’t need it, we just want it.” It’s chilling.

Yeah, I’m sorry, Cornell, but I seem to recall paying you about $128,000 in tuition. I think that should tide you over for a while. I did tell you not to spend it all at once, right?

1. Note that by “highlights” I don’t mean the things I actually enjoyed, but the things that I think the reader will find entertaining.

I mean, there are the maddeningly mad Martha Stewart-wannabes on “Wickedly Perfect” (the first reality TV show in CT….figures), the disturbing families on “Wife Swap” and “Trading Spouses,” the whole digging up emotional scars and picking at ‘em on “High School Reunion,” and who can leave out that mucus-encrusted gem (or is that “gem-encrusted mucus?”) of the Fox lineup, “Who’s Your Daddy?” Please tell me that there’s a special level of Hell for the producers of these shows. Like one with both “holy wrath” and “great vengeance,” with some brimstone mixed in for good measure.
What is brimstone, anyway? You never hear about it these post-biblical days. You don’t see a newspaper with the headline

Seven-Year-Old Miraculously Survives Dangerous Brimstone Accident
“That Was Some Pretty Strong Brimstone,” Authorities Say.

But that would be cool, wouldn’t it? The headline, not the brimstone. I imagine brimstone is very much in the “not cool” category.

In any case, back to reality…TV. What’s next? Who’s going to be able to top that?

I’ll tell you. Fox is going to strike again, with a show where they just videotape real people being taken out back and getting shot. It’s called “When Guns Go Off,” and it’s sure to be a hit.

Ok, so that last one I made up, but admit it: for a split second, you believed me.

Wait. Who’s this Pete character, and why are people always worried about his sake?
Why don’t you worry about my sake every once in a while, for a change?
I bet you Pete isn’t out there worrying about your sake, while I….Ok, so I don’t worry about your sake much either. But hey, at least I’m better looking. And I have that birthmark. I bet you Pete can’t top that.

But I did get a chance to check out that bastion of excellent pop-media magazines, TIME.
(By the way, did you notice that TIME magazine’s site is actually www.time.com? Wouldn’t you think that such an impressive domain name would go to some person or institution who dealt with – I don’t know – time? Just my opinion. Then again, it is a magazine whose title is in ALL CAPS, as you can see on its cover as well as its website. That must count for something.)

So, anyway…where was I? Ah, yes, the article in TIME. This article was discussing happiness. I found it rather interesting, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I gave it 4 stars. Or, rather, I was going to do so, until I came across the following (completely unaltered) quote:

Asking people how happy they are, Kahneman contends, “is very much like asking them about the colonoscopy after it’s over. There’s a lot that escapes them.”

Did you catch that? I promise I’m not making this up. Ok, well maybe a bit of context would help you, but I changed nothing in this quote. In case you missed it, let’s look at it again:

Asking people how happy they are, Kahneman contends, “is very much like asking them about the colonoscopy after it’s over. There’s a lot that escapes them.”

I’m not sure what to say. Understand that this guy Daniel Kahneman is, according to the article, a Nobel-Prize-winning psychologist from Princeton University. Did he really just compare happiness to a colonoscopy? Did he honestly juxtapose a general feeling of elation and joy with one of the most uncomfortable medical procedures performed in a regular checkup? If this isn’t one of the signs of the apocalypse, I don’t know what is. Ok, maybe a heavenly rain of fire and brimstone upon the wicked. But in terms of pre-brimstone signs, I’d say that happiness-colonoscopy comparisons are right up there.

And furthermore, the double entendre there is just sick. (Go back and read it again. You’ll get it. Then you’ll wrinkle your nose in disgust.) I can’t touch that one. Not with a ten-foot pole, not with anything. I mean, I’m beside myself. Heck, I’m behind myself. You’d have to be some sort of uncaring bum to use people who need colonoscopies as the the butt of your jokes. Making fun of poor souls such as those is crueler than pulling an old dog’s tail. Sick, sick, sick.