I'm slowly recovering from two full days of Purim -- one in My Little Town and another in nearby Al Kuds. The Tish on Monday night was better attended than usual due to the tireless efforts of My Eishes Chaver, who didn't want me to forget that I was hitting a significant birthday.

We took advantage of the speakerphone to call the Neturei Karta guys who visited Teheran last week to tell the regime that Neturei Karta stands foursquare behind them in their struggle against the Zionists. In my finest Hungarian Yiddish I asked various family members to please make sure the message gets to Ahmadenijad that the atomic bombs aimed at Tel Aviv steer clear of Bnei Brak (faran dort etlicher erlicher yiden).

We also spoke to Israel's Minister of Police, Gideon Ezra, to clarify quite how far the cops had to walk barefoot in the snow to get to Amona. We also spoke to Bibi Netanyahu to try to get a handle on his exact position on disengagement. I can't say we got any smarter but they did both answer their own phones and neither one sounded at all surprised that we were calling at 1:30 AM. Oh, did I neglect to mention that I was drunk and overbearing?

For me one highlight of the evening was Treppenwitz playing Miserlou on the trombone -- and not the Pulp Fiction version, but rather a slow shmaltzy Jewish wedding version that I gamely tried to get 50 drunken men to do the moves to in their seats. I think you had to be there. Or not.