To this day I maintain that masturbation is one of the purist, most exciting art forms known to men and women. It is the most honest expression of simple, generic lust and desire. It is a release, an exercise, a workout, a soul-search, a tune up, an oil-check, a one-man-band complete with bass drum, cymbals, accordion and harmonica. But most of all, masturbation is the most touching affirmation of one's love for oneself. So naturally, when someone walks into a room and greets me, I politely stop whatever it is I am doing, return his or her greeting with a cheery hello, and begin to masturbate in the most terrific and voracious way. Usually I accompany this act with a powerful and engaging monologue, enumerating my own theories as to the importance and sheer beauty of regular, energetic, public masturbation. My guests will either share their own thoughts on the subject, or sit silently nodding, taking in the whole scene with obvious delight. On one occasion, I arrived home after a long day at work with visions of bare-breasted co-workers dancing around in my head, each one stripped of her white-collar garments, high heels flying everywhere, skirts unzipped, bra straps snapping all around me. I ran to the fridge for a Fresca and then zoomed into the living room where I sat in complete darkness. I began to enjoy a particularly frenzied session of self-affirmation, my pants at my ankles, when suddenly the lights came on and I was treated to 20 or 30 enthusiastic calls of "SURPRISE" and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" My god, I thought. I had forgotten all about it. Today was my birthday! seeing all those cheerful faces made me more excited than ever, and before I knew it I was howling and thumping the floor with my feet. The energy was contagious. Pretty soon a few of the party guests dropped their drinks and joined in on the masturbatory fun. And before long, everyone was doing, each spiraling off into his or her own erotic fantasies. When it was over, we had cake and watched movies on the VCR. I'll never forget that party, and neither will my friends. They still joke about the expression on my face when they first turned on the lights, and about the huge sum of money I had to pay to have the carpet and all the upholstery cleaned. But that didn't matter to me. All I know is that I shared a precious moment with 20 or 30 of the most important people in my life. I thank all of them and I thank god for giving me two strong hands and a clear path into my own desires, my own frantic masturbatory fantasy world.

1/ In Russian and Bulgarian the repetition of words is considered sloppy. You could never say: "I saw Frank last week. After I said hello to him, he accidentally stepped on my foot. All week I've had a swollen foot because of Frank." You'd have to say something like: "I saw Frank last week. After I said hello to this man who is my old friend, the tall male accidentally stepped on the foot that is mine. All the past seven days, I've had a swollen little part of my leg because of the guy I met when we were considering suicide." I wish I spoke Russian or Bulgarian. How else would I ever know you were sad?

3/ Bulgarian has many more past tenses than English. The story is different depending on whether or not the teller was at the event. Past retold, past experienced. Bulgarians could revolutionize our encyclopedias to say things like: "The white man who published this book was told by some other white men who read some other white man's diary that the 'Indians' signed a treaty and therefore gave away their land; however, as he was not actually at the signing, the publisher's third-hand description may well be incorrect." Of course without all that repetition of adjectives and pronouns, but you get the point.