I, Dentity

I, DENTITY
the quotable Jonathan Caws-Elwitt

I’ve tried to forge my own identity. But it can be so hard to get the ingredients some days.

I mix metaphors like the machine at Sears mixes paint.

Sports aren’t my bag. Very few things are my bag, really. It’s actually more like a “baggie”—it’s ziplocked, and not much gets into it.

Banter is my ballad, a pun my poetry.

I look a little like Cary Grant in dim light—very dim light, with my back turned.

I don't expect my work to dwell permanently in the halls of immortal culture, but I’m hoping maybe they’ll wheel in a cot for a few nights.

I have my own special tea ceremony. It revolves around mopping up the tea I’ve spilled on my desk.

I’ve never been keen on badminton or backgammon. Unfortunately, it’s hard to find a game of goodminton or frontgammon these days.

I don’t claim to understand art, but I do know how to mill around a gallery and consume cheese.

I view my new aversion to okra as a sign of personal growth (mine, not the okra’s).

I have my own tuxedo, but I usually rent the quiche.

I have little hair and no wax paper, so why should I carry a comb?

I wear a lot of different hats around the office. One of these days I’ll have to try shirts and pants, too.

In the interest of lightening my luggage, I’ve decided to dispense with my “lucky anvil.”

Every time I wax poetic, I slip on my own metaphors. And I do wish I could wax eloquent without squeaking so much.

I have plenty of fix-it know how. I know how to call a plumber, I know how to call an electrician ...

It’s been well nigh three weeks since I’ve run around town in a platypus outfit soliciting baseball commentary.

After a beer or two, I am apt to praise avocados. A tipsy avocado enchants me.

Every day, I tie a string around my finger. It’s not that I’m forgetful, but someone gave me a huge box of string for my birthday.

If my mannerisms begin to annoy you, you’re paying too much attention to me.

I am a man of many socks.

I’m so out of the loop that they had to build a bigger loop around me.

Where our computer is concerned, my wife and I make a terrific team. She's great at fixing whatever’s wrong, while I excel at asking her to fix whatever’s wrong.

I once had a taste of the limelight. It was sort of lime flavored.

My memory isn’t what it used to be—if I recall correctly.

I wear many hats. The precise number is indeterminate, but I know it’s a multiple of 7 1/8.

There’s one thing I’m sure of ... but I’m not sure what that one thing is.

When I’m feeling short on identity, I throw on more personality.

I am very interested in my own narcissism.

In elementary school, I had to put up with some teasing from the other guys because I liked girls earlier than I was supposed to—earlier in life, I mean, not earlier in the morning.

I’m long-winded. Even when my breath condenses in the winter, it’s never really very concise.

I have a way with people. I interact with them, and they say “Away! Away!”

I had the makings of a first-class hack, but Fortune has left me a mere dilettante.

I’m a perennial schmoozer. I hang around with rhododendrons.

I’m a cross between a beaver and an otter. I work very industriously toward very frivolous goals.

I’m not good at anything that involves applying slow, even pressure.

Whenever I go out on a limb, people think I’m out of my tree.

I forgot to sign for my received wisdom!