Call this my junior slump.

Only three weeks into my new job as a columnist for Patch, and already I’m scrambling for column fodder. How did Dave Barry do it for 22 years? Surely, he was using steroids.

I thought about taking the “easy” route, scanning headlines in search of an odd or interesting news story, then adding my own commentary: “The World Health Organization says cell phones might cause cancer. Perfect. Now I have another reason not to pay my phone bill. Take that, AT&T! Not only is your service lousy, now you want  me to pay to have my brain microwaved like a bag of popcorn?”

No, too angry. Save it for a worthier cause, like rising unemployment or why, now that Oprah’s gone, Dr. Phil is still on the air.

Then I got to thinking about Marcel Proust. The French novelist and all-around dandy crossed my mind after a recent visit to Starbucks—the one down the street from the other Starbucks—where I bought a pack of three madeleines for about two bucks.

For those of you not familiar with Proust’s masterwork, À la recherche du temps perdu or In Search of Lost Time, a synopsis: A man born of privilege bites into a madeleine dipped in tea, which triggers a memory of his childhood when he used to eat the same treat with an aunt while growing up in a village in France. As more memories come flooding in, the narrator, who is never named, writes about them at length.

It’s the pastry that launched a million words, seven volumes to be exact. But this is not a book report, this is supposed to be a column, plus I’ve read only volumes one and two.

So I thought I’d try another Proustian ploy, the questionnaire.

The story goes that Proust was asked to fill out a questionnaire at two social events, one in 1884, when he was a teen, and again at the age of 20. The questions are about such topics as love, death, art, family, friendship, happiness, work, as well as serious matters, like “What is your favorite color?”

The Proust Questionnaire, as it’s come to be known, is still with us in various formats, notably, the back page of Vanity Fair magazine, which every month devotes space to a list of questions asked of  a celebrity. Recent contributors include Tina Fey, Albert Brooks, Derek Jeter, Lauren Bacall, Andre Agassi, Liza Minnelli and, from 2003, Arnold Schwarzenegger (yes, that Arnold Schwarzenegger).

So in the interest of self-revelation, and a need to fill space, I present my version of the Proust Questionnaire:

What is your favorite color?
Plaid

Where would you like to live?
In the present

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
The words, “Now warming up in the Phillies’ bullpen ...”

What do you most value in your friends?
Humor

What is your favorite bird?
The canary

The quality you most admire in a man?
That he is uglier than me

The quality you most admire in a woman?
I defer to Proust, who, at 13, answered, “Gentleness, naturalness, intelligence.”

Your favorite musician?
Beethoven

Your favorite painter?
Van Gogh
 
What are your favorite names?
Hazel and Blanche, and, for a girl, Frank or Stanley

What is it you most dislike?
To quote Nabokov, “My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.”

What is your present state of mind?
Calm ... then panic over what to write about next week!

What natural gift would you like to posses?
Musical ability

How would you like to die?
Like a two-minute egg or a stain remover, quick and easy

What is your motto?
“Keep the aspidistra flying.” (Thank you, Mr. Orwell.)

Lastly, in response to “What is your favorite flower?,” I concur with the 20-year-old Proust, who said, “Hers, but apart from that, all.”