Monthly Archives: October 2013

Vote for ME!


Election Day is around the corner, and here’s what I want from my elected officials.

You should look like me; as a matter of fact if you’re Polish-German-Catholic-American with greying hair and hazel eyes, even better. In fact, it would probably be best if you had grown up in my neighborhood.

I want all the people who earn more than I do to pay more taxes, but index it so if someday I earn more, those taxes won’t affect me.

And while you’re at it, stop giving food stamps, unemployment, health care or any other kind of help to those who earn less than I do. They should just drag their respirators and dialysis machines and get back to work.

I want my taxes to go down, the school where my kids are to get more money and we need better roads – at least the ones that I drive on a regular basis. Oh, and no tolls on the roads, bridges or tunnels that I use.

You know my views on global warming, abortion and gun control, so don’t screw those up.

Now, remember, that this election isn’t a biggie, so if it’s raining, or windy, or I just feel like sleeping in, I may not make it to the polling booth. Even so, I expect you to bend over backwards to represent me.

After all, I’m a voter, and you need me.

Update on Alex the Parrot


Alex, my pet parrot, is now about four years old. As you may recall, he (she?-it takes a DNA test to tell) is a Quaker Parrot (although, not a practicing Quaker) also called a Monk Parrot (although he doesn’t seemed inclined to Gregorian chant or making brandy.)

The dog and the two cats go through a couple of bags of food each month. They need checkups and shots, anti-flea medicine and licenses. Alex, on the other hand, goes through 2 bags of parrot food per year. I will admit that I take off my good shirts and don an old denim one so he can climb all over me, with minimal damage. He likes my company, and I enjoy his after a long day when I don’t feel like talking.

My point?

Like many people, I view each of my pets as individuals.

On the other hand, it’s far too easy to look at people not as individuals, but in terms of their appearance, attributes, background or whatever.

Weird, huh?

Soccer Mom’s (and Dad’s) Lament


If you’re a soccer parent, you know the experience of carting your child and a half dozen others to practice and games.

Then, of course there are tournaments, usually placed so that the 3 day weekend you need so badly is now wall-to-wall soccer.

So, we say…

Wait for it….

“Life’s a pitch and then you die.”

Sorry about that. It was too good a pun to pass up.

Good Enough

There’s a saying that the enemy of “Good” is “Better.”

Some things should be done as well as we can. Our relationship with God and family, for example.

Other things only need to be “good enough.” Painting the closet is a perfect example.

It’s both easy to confuse the two, and very difficult to figure out which things really need to be perfect. Does Thanksgiving need to be on par with the Norman Rockwell painting? Does the homemade Halloween costume need to be of Broadway quality?

Jesus said that we should be perfect as the Father is perfect. I used to be confused about this, thinking that it meant I had to be perfect in all things. Now I think it means that we should focus on the things that God focuses on – perfecting love, forgiveness and patience.

Where In the World Is Carmine Cochineal?

One of the food colorings that is commonly use is called carmine or (according to Wikipedia) also called Crimson Lake, Cochineal, Natural Red 4, C.I. 75470, or E120. It also shows up in cosmetics and other products that we humans apply, ingest, digest, etc.

It’s made from crushed bugs.

Okay, that’s oversimplified, but nevertheless accurate.

Some people, including some members of my family are allergic to Carmine, so we have to be careful to avoid it.

For some reason, I juxtaposed (I love that word. I use it because Orson Scott Card likes to juxtapose things in his awesome stories)

I juxtaposed the crushing of bugs with the crushing of grapes. If you remember old time television, or have cable, you’ve probably seen the I Love Lucy program in which Lucy is stomping grapes to make wine.

Wouldn’t it have been funnier if she were crushing bugs?

The one and only Lucille Ball

The one and only Lucille Ball

American Superstitions


Every culture has its beliefs and superstitions, and they cling to them against all logic or persuasion.

The Romans believed that spilling salt was bad. The Druids believed that when you spoke of something you hoped for it was important to knock on wood to garner the sprits’ support.

America has its own strange and implausible superstitions:

  • No matter how full the dishwasher is, somehow, the coffee cup you’re holding will magically fit.
  • If you look at a leftover and decide it looks a bit old, putting it back in the refrigerator will make it so somebody else will actually eat it.
  • Milk tastes better if you drink it directly from the jug rather than using a glass.
  • As soon as you throw the single mismatched sock into the trash, its mate will show up.
  • If you pick up a pen and it won’t write, you should put it back where you found it because it will magically work in the future.
  • Rental vehicles are built to a higher engineering standard than those sold to the public; this is why you can subject them to things like driving through open fields or shifting into reverse at highway speeds.
  • Talk show hosts are bound to strict ethical standards, so you can trust what they say.

And my personal favorite:

  • If you read it on the Internet, it has to be true.

From Illya to Ducky

David McCallum as Illya Kuriyakan Man from U.N.C.L.E....

David McCallum as
Illya Kuriyakin
Man from U.N.C.L.E….

The only thing I disliked about “Laugh In” the comedy hit of the 1960’s was that it replaced “Man from U.N.C.L.E.” I thought that “Man from U.N.C.L.E.” was the coolest show in the world. Robert Vaughan was the suave Napoleon Solo, while his Russian partner was Illya Kuriyakin. At first, Illya wore suits and ties, but then settled on black turtleneck sweaters, often with a sport coat.

Oh how I wished I could look as cool as Illya. Unfortunately, he and I bore no resemblance to one another. While he was impeccable in his turtleneck, when I wore a turtleneck, the collar got mashed down in the first 15 minutes and it was downhill from there.

God has a sense of humor, as we well know.

Now, 50 years later, the current role for actor David McCallum is as Dr. Donald “Ducky” Mallard on N.C.I.S. While I’m still nowhere as cool, he and I are getting closer in appearance. Grey hair. Glasses. Wrinkles. Check.


(I wonder if he just likes working on TV shows with periods in the T.I.T.L.E.?)

The Old House


It was late summer, the last of the vacation time when Katie and her family were visiting the plantation. It really had once been a plantation, and generation after generation had managed somehow to keep it in the family. The house was hardly grand style, but was more of a working farm’s house that you were as likely to find in the Midwest as in the South. No grand entrance and no crystal chandelier, but it nevertheless had a charm, or at least a personality all its own.

The legend was that President John Tyler had slept here. What made that so interesting was that Tyler had never been elected president, but as vice-president, succeeded William Henry Harrison when he died. Harrison, a hero of the War of 1812, had run under the slogan of “Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too” as though Tyler were an afterthought. Tyler sided with the Confederacy and served as a Confederate Representative, making him the only U.S. president ever declared an enemy of the state.

Katie’s father had shared this history with her many times – too many, she decided, but it was now permanently affixed in her memory. If the question ever came up on a television game show, she was ready. She liked to believe that one of the Washingtons, Jeffersons or even a Lee had slept here, too. This was Virginia, after all, and the place had been crawling with those aristocratic families.

Most of the land that had once been full of cotton and tobacco was gone, of course. About 80 acres remained and most of that was leased out to a neighbor who alternated planting corn, soybeans and sorghum. His tractor did double duty keeping the “lawn” under control, although as kind of a tradition there had always been a couple of goats who tended to the grass closer to the house.

Katie’s grandparents lived in the old house, although they were getting on in years, and the common expectation was that her father’s younger brother would take over the old house when the grandparents had passed. It was just as well, she thought. She wouldn’t want her family to move into it since it had lousy cellphone coverage, and was not exactly near anything that would excite a young teenage girl.

During the week at the old house, Katie checked out the pond and wished it were spring. At least in the spring there would be tadpoles. Not so in the fall, although she did see a turtle who lazily slid off the log on which he was sunning himself, and then swam with surprising speed away from her.

Being late morning the temperature was rising, and Katie headed for the house. She vaguely understood that indoor plumbing and electricity had been added over the years. On the other hand, she was acutely aware that somehow they had added central air conditioning. Once inside she checked the refrigerator and decided on lemonade instead of sweetened ice tea, which normally was her choice. She had almost forgotten that she was alone, her parents and grandparents having headed into town together. She had declined their invitation because to a 13 year old girl, wherever they were going and whatever they were talking about would be totally boring.

As she walked around the old house, with nothing better to do, she found herself actually looking at it. Some of the window glass was very old and had ripples in it. Her grandmother had said that glass was a very thick liquid, and the ripples showed that over the years it still flowed. She had looked that up on the Internet and that source had said that sheet glass had been made by pouring the molten glass onto slate, which gave it the ripples. She didn’t care which was true, but she decided the slow flow of glass was more interesting.

How many coats of paint had been applied to those window frames over the years? How many baseballs and rocks had inadvertently passed through the windows of the old house? Then she thought of the Civil War and wondered how many bullets had damaged the house, breaking its glass and tearing into its siding.

Idly she began opening doors and looking inside. This closet was where she had been hiding when she won hide and seek against her cousins. This was the bedroom she had slept in when she w toddler, before she rated a regular bedroom.

Normally she didn’t enter her grandparents’ bedroom. There was nothing interesting in there, it smelled funny and, it just didn’t seem right. Today, however, she was so intent on examining the old house that she was already looking in her grandparents’ closet before she realized it. She had never looked into it before, so she had never noticed that it had a second door in the back. Naturally she opened it.

She hadn’t expected anything interesting, so when she saw stairs leading to the attic, it just seemed normal. It certainly was better than the fold-down stairs in the ceiling trap door of her suburban home. She started up the stairs, then turned around, retrieved a flashlight from the backpack in her room and then climbed the stairs.

It was hot and dusty. Spider webs were everywhere. The attic contained very little – boxes with Christmas decorations, empty suitcases and the usual trivia that people hang onto long after the need is gone. A window in the peak of the roof gave plenty of light, but since she had her flashlight, she played it around on the rafters. She stopped in amazement when she realized that the oldest construction was held together with wooden pegs, while sections that were slightly newer had nails that were obviously handmade. She began to examine the construction more closely to see what else she could learn from it.

That’s when she spotted the envelope. It was not an old envelope, nor was it fancy – just a nine by eleven manila with the prongs to seal it. Inside, however, was a letter and quite a bit of currency, unfortunately it was Confederate banknotes. The letter merely said, “Ask your father. He’ll explain it to you.”

Figuring that the envelope had been safe in its place for 150 years, Katie carefully put it back.

Later that night, after supper, Katie and her parents sat on the porch talking with her grandparents. While she heard them speaking, most of it was merely a pleasant drone while she thought about the old house and her afternoon in the attic. Her grandparents excused themselves to watch their favorite game show on television, and

Katie was left with her parents. Her mother got up, but Katie cleared her throat, letting her know that she needed something. Her mother at back down next to her father on the porch swing.

“I’m supposed to ask my father something,” she began, “but I’d rather talk with you both.” Her father leaned forward expectantly, but said nothing.

“I found an envelope full of money,” she began. She saw her mother’s eyes widen. Her father patted his wife’s hand, and gave her a reassuring look.

“It was Confederate money. I looked it up on the Internet, and it actually would be quite valuable to collectors. Confederate money is collected and traded like stamps or baseball cards. Don’t laugh, some baseball cards are worth quite a bit.”

“I know,” answered her father.

“The letter said I should ask you.” Her father took in a deep breath.

“Okay. Here’s the good, the bad and the ugly,” he began. “Our family, while not one of the premiere families in the South, was nevertheless prosperous. Our ancestors profited because they ran large agricultural operations without having to pay their workers – they relied on slaves. Those farms were very similar to today’s corporate agriculture, except that today farmers buy, own and sell machines rather than humans.

“Our ancestors were adamant before and during the war. When Reconstruction began, they were livid. They did things that I am not proud of, but will spare you until you’re older.

“I have no idea how many slaves our ancestors owned – the records were in one of the many government buildings that were burned. Could have been burned by Union soldiers, or by the locals – no one alive knows. I guess I’m glad I don’t know myself.

“I sometimes wonder if my great-whatever-grandfather owned the great-whatever of one of our neighbors. It’s possible – even probable, but I try to pretend it never could have happened.

“In any case, each generation wants its children to do better; to be better educated and more successful. Successful means – successful SHOULD mean doing good, not just doing well.

“So that’s most of the story. The rest is that the family tradition is that the first child of each generation that finds the envelope has first right of refusal to move into the old house under the idea that whoever cares enough to examine the house will be the best one to carry on the tradition. Oddly, so far, only one child from each generation has found the envelope.

Years later:

Katie had finally gotten her baby daughter to sleep. She picked up a few things while her husband set up the coffee pot for the next morning; she remembered one of those tasks that keeps getting put aside. She went over to where her desk was and rummaged through the drawers, collecting a bottle of ink, and old fashioned ink pen and a blotter. She took everything up to the attic and found the old envelope and opened it. Although the writing was fading, she could still read where it said, “Ask our father.” She blew the dust off the floor and carefully spread the paper. She dipped her pen in the ink. Under “Ask your father”, she added in neat cursive, “Better yet, ask your mother.”

Early Morning Thoughts


I am working on a story to tell, but a few other things popped into my mind this morning.

  1. I turn the local CBS station on the television in the bedroom as I get dressed to check on weather and traffic. It is peppered with commercials for local businesses, etc. Although we stereotypically tend to look down on car salesmen with regard to integrity, when their ads interspersed with negative political ads – well, just say I’m really starting to like the car guys and their ads.
  2. Progress on Windows 8.1? This morning I was greeted by the Blue Screen of Death. All I need is enough time to back everything up and re-install Windows 7.

I know – get back to work on a story!!

Tell Me a Story

I’ve been wearing out the buttons on my car radio as I try to find something to listen to that’s not depressing.

Same with my search engine. I don’t want to read bad news, stories about crazy celebrities or anything about Congress.

Then it dawned on me.

We need some good stories. Something fanciful and escapist. Something where the good guy is good and the bad guy is cut and dried bad.

And the good guy wins.

Maybe not an epic, like “Lord of the Rings” or “Harry Potter” but a good tale, nevertheless.

Maybe I’ll even write one – you never can tell.

Imaginary – Relaxing Weekends Are


Courtesy George Lucas, LucasFilms, Disney, Frank Oz, etc.

Courtesy George Lucas, LucasFilms, Disney, Frank Oz, etc.

I remember once believing that weekends were a time to relax, unwind and recover from the work week.  I’m convinced that such an impression was induced by side effects of one of the many medications I’ve been on over the years.

So I began to think back on my younger years –

In high school, weekends were spent working on Saturday, staying up w-a-a-y too late on Saturday, and hanging out with friends on Sunday.

As a young adult, after working all week at the hospital, I’d spend Saturday shooting wedding pictures and Sunday taking call at the hospital.

For most of 30 years, one weekend a month was spent on Navy Reserve duty.

My eldest was born in 1975. My youngest children are teenagers. Needless to say, that affects weekends significantly.

With my teenagers, it was a soccer weekend. (All soccer! All the time!)

I’ve finally come to the realization that relaxing weekends are like Hogwarts, Vulcan Mind-Melds and Jedi Masters. They are great images, but don’t really exist.

A Dichotomy of Operating Systems


Windows 8.1 is loading on several computers around the house as I write this. The rest have already been returned to good old reliable Windows 7.

Although I haven’t had the chance to try Windows 8.1, I’ve been reading the reviews and came to the following conclusion. It’s more a preliminary conclusion, but you know what I mean.

Android, Apple iOS, etc. are aimed at tablet users (I know –duh- but bear with me). When using a tablet or smartphone the tendency is to surf, cruise, web, tweet, take pictures, etc. It’s fun stuff. It’s quick and dirty. LOL

On the other hand, I don’t want to swipe, drag, or arrange applications on my computer. I want to enter data as a blog or other written document, analyze data in a spreadsheet or do detailed Photoshopping to a photograph. For me, this involves a keyboard and a mouse.

Windows 8.0 tried to straddle both markets, which is like trying to design a garbage truck that can go 0 – 60 mph in 3.5 seconds, get 60 miles per gallon, comfortably seat 7 as well as being an incredible chick magnet.

Things can be made: Fast. Cheap. Effective. – Pick two.

Now, just for full disclosure – I use a Kindle Fire as a reader and sometimes as a browser, etc. I’ve got an android smart phone so I’m not anti-touchscreen. It’s just that when writing IMHO I need a keyboard.

Can Windows 8.1 satisfy 2 sets of users?

Is this the end of Microsoft dominating the market?

Will this separate the old fuddy duddies from the Facebook generation?

Stay tuned!

God’s New Marketing Effort


“You must be God. Great to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you it’s like I’ve known you all my life!”

You have, whether you realize it or not, just as I’ve known you since long before you were born.

“Great sentiment. You’ve really got a way with words. But, let’s get down to business. Your image needs updating. This is the twenty-first century. You’re not dealing with a bunch of illiterate fishermen and sheepherders. You’re trying to get through to people who understand quantum physics, derivative funds and reality television.

“Some of your views are too rigid – too radical. People want to take care of their own lives and make their own decisions. They don’t want to worry about being struck by lightning for making a mistake.”

I think if you do a little research you’ll find that it has been quite a while me since I’ve taken time out to smite anyone.

“But you’re so judgmental. Religious leaders of all flavors are quick to point out how you hate gays, how we should punish people who don’t follow your rules. How we shouldn’t associate with certain people.”

My Son came down for an extended visit and He was open to everyone. He ate and drank with the prostitutes, the tax collectors, and even the lepers. He was so fond of all of you that He endured a horrible death just to make everything right.

“Look, God, you’re a great guy, but I can’t help you if you’re not willing to change.”

My child. I don’t change. I’ve never changed and I never will change. It goes with the territory. And incidentally, it is not I who need your help.

“But you could be so much more popular. People want you to loosen up.”

I gave every one of you a free will. I let you choose. My son boiled everything down to two simple rules – Love Me and love one another. Pretty simple, and no loopholes.

“Well, don’t expect to win any popularity contests. People are going to do what they want.”

That’s quite alright. I’m very experienced at forgiving.

The Flag and Other Symbols


Like many Americans, I fly the flag from my porch. Even with a high quality sewn nylon flag, after about a year, it begins to look a bit tired and starts to fade. Yesterday I replaced the old one, and my son asked me, “What’s the big deal about a flag? I could see it if we were in the 14th century charging on horseback with spears and swords, but why is it such a big deal?”

Interesting question, and I’m not sure I was able to adequately answer, but here’s what I tried.

There are certain things that are bigger than we are, and they often are beliefs. It could be faith, patriotism or some other value – we can’t discern them directly, so we use symbols to represent them. It’s not the flag itself but the ideals that it stands for that makes the flag important.

He wasn’t entirely satisfied with that explanation, but I believe that’s to be expected. It takes a certain maturity and wisdom to understand that there are ideas and values more important than any one person. Sadly, it seems as though some people never make that leap and are doomed to being limited to loving power or wealth or other material things.

Flag on the Play


As you know, I’m not a big sports fan, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t learn something from sports. In this day and age, teamwork doesn’t seem likely, but perhaps a way of modifying behavior might be useful around the house. What if parents took turns as umpires, complete with whistle and yellow flag – it just might help bring tranquility to the home.

Actions requiring flags and proposed penalties:

OFF SIDES – Child enters another’s room uninvited to borrow an item. 5 rooms of vacuuming, return the item.

PERSONAL FOUL – Child tries to instigate a fight and/or call a sibling a name. Carry out the garbage, recycling and composting for a week.

FALSE START – Child promises to reduce video game/Facebook/Twitter/etc. time but does not. Loss of smartphone.

INTENTIONAL GROUNDING – An action that is so blatant (e.g. “Mom, I dare you!”) that it defies logic. Restriction to home including loss of electronics.

PASS INTERFERENCE – Actions that interrupt studies or homework assignments of a sibling. Offender sent to do chores until the required study time is completed.

HIT ON A DEFENSELESS RECEIVER – Tossing objects that damage the television because of disagreement with what someone on the program says.  Offender sent to appliance store to purchase replacement half again of the previous screen size.

With Pen in Hand


When my wife and I were in Washington, DC a few weeks ago, I saw something that caught my eye in the National Art Gallery gift shop. My wife decided to give it to me a few days later as a birthday gift. The item – a quill and an old style ink pen. Now, I’ve routinely written with a fountain pen for many years; I used a Cross fountain pen as I traveled around Iraq, Afghanistan and Kuwait.

I like the juxtaposition of using a fountain pen to sign or annotate computer generated paperwork.

When I was in grade school we were required to use a fountain pen while learning cursive handwriting. Our desks had the hole in the upper right hand corner into which an inkwell had formerly been placed when my father went to that school.

With such extensive experience, I was fairly confident as I picked up the quill, opened the bottle of ink, dipped said quill lightly into the ink, wiped the tip against the bottle and began. My intent was to write a blog entry, scan it and publish it in all its historical finery.

Alas, my handwriting went from barely legible to Charlie Brown’s ink stained pen pal letters with blotches and smudges galore. Even though I have tried repeatedly I am still far from perfecting a skill that children from the earliest days of European settlement on this continent were able to master.

Perhaps the reason that some of the writings from the past were so profound was because the act of writing took time, and that time was available to think about what one wanted to say. Today, we can slapdash a thought through a keyboard, send it as an e-mail (or worse, “Reply All”) with little or no thought, often with unpleasant repercussions.

In thinking; in speaking; in writing – it’s quality that endures, not quantity.

Bob Peters, Teabag Congressman, and a Really Great Guy

Hi, I’m Congessman Bob Peters, and represent the third district of Pennsyltucky.  I’m here today to remind you that I’m proud to be a teabagger and am fighting for you by fighting against big government and government spending.  This is no game.

Speaking of games, what about those Red Dogs?  What a great game last Sunday. I sat there in a beautiful loge with some lobbyists and Political Action folks eating a gourmet meal and the finest bottle of wine I’ve ever tasted.  I love sharing the benefits of the upper 1% and am committed to keeping their taxes as low as possible.  No sitting on cold bleacher seats for me!

The stadium is beautiful and a benefit to the community, which is why the city used taxpayer money to build that stadium and subsidizes our football team.*

I left the game and drove miles on our federally funded interstate system on my way to the airport, which is also built with taxpayer dollars.  Government funded Transportation Security Agency people checked me through while others x-rayed the baggage to be loaded in the cargo hold.  Soon I was boarding my flight.  That airplane and the pilots are certified by the Federal Aviation Administration, and our entire flight was tracked and directed by Federal Air Traffic Control.  We were delayed in taking off because the federally funded National Weather Service predicted some turbulence after an Air Force Reserve stormhunter plane flew through a tropical depression in the Gulf of Mexico and reported its findings to the federally funded National Hurricane Center.

Our arrival into Reagan National Airport – an airport maintained primarily to make life easier for us members of Congress was almost delayed as federal authorities checked a suspicious package left in the terminal.  I got into my car, parked in the special ‘reserved for Congress” section of the parking lot and drove over taxpayer supported streets to my office in the federally funded Sam Rayburn Office Building. I picked up a few things and took the federally funded Capitol Subway System to the US Capitol. This special and exclusive subway system helps me be more efficient.

I walked into the hallowed halls of the Capitol and headed over to the Congressional gym for a quick workout and a shower.  Thank heaven that the gym is essential and kept open during the government shutdown.

Now I’m ready to make my next speech against government spending.

* Incidentally,thanks to Congress, the National Football League is considered and taxed as a non-profit philanthropic organization.

Worse Than A Zombie Apocalypse!

Walking Dead

Walking Dead

The government shutdown has done more than close parks and furlough workers. Thousands of lobbyists are roaming like zombies throughout the streets of Washington DC trying to impact decisions when no decisions are being made.

Fortunately, since zombies primary food is brains, most will starve to death inside the beltway before they can cause problems more serious than their normal activities.

Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll


This is aimed at only those of us who are old enough to remember the Beatles. Not a retrospective.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away we talked about these – sex, drugs and rock and roll.

We also pledged to “Never trust anyone over 30.”

My, how times change.

Drugs? Oh yeah, man, I’m into all kinds of drugs these days. Blood pressure meds, sleep aids, anti-inflammatories, antihistamines and something to help my memory – I forget what it is. I do them all, man. (Eat your heart out, Tommy Chong!)

Sex? I’m happily married. If you are also happily married you understand. If you’re not happily married, there’s no way I can explain that you would understand.

Rock & Roll? Yes, I still love the “oldies.” The best part is that I can pick and choose the very best of all of the songs I’ve heard. I can fondly remember the best of all the great groups and conveniently forget the duds. (Okay, yes, I do still remember “Hocus Pocus” by Focus and “Clones” by Alice Cooper) I figure, my fond memory of past music is about 10% of everything that occurred in that time.

So as far I’m concerned, BOC, ELO, the Doobie Brothers, the Eagles, and a few others were all that existed.

I’m over 30 twice over. I now know a little bit about life. I trust my peers twice as much as I did before I was 30.

On one hand, I’m more realistic.

On the other hand, I still like (and embrace) the attitude of my youth.

So, in summation:

Pick good – believe in great ideals.

Stick to them.

Try to make the world a better place.

Enjoy the blessings along the way.

Just Sayin’

Miley Cyrus

Bill the Cat Berkeley Breathed Bloom County

Bill the Cat
Berkeley Breathed
Bloom County