My village people don't join Facebook and they don't Tweet, either. They use the telephone to ask about a friend's son serving in Afghanistan or if they just want to say, "Hey. How's your mama and them?" My village people make a difference because they are givers, not takers.
The country could learn at least as much from Friedman’s economic principles. As he once pictured spending policies: “If you put the federal government in charge if the Sahara Desert, in five years, there’d be a shortage of sand.”
I look at these events and wonder how those of us in our 60s ever survived our childhood. I fondly remember playing dodgeball in the school gym or on the playground. Hitting your opponent with the “soft” ball was a good thing. Catching the ball was great but getting a bloody lip, if hit in the mouth, was even better.
Traditional medicine says I'll die if I stop taking my statin drug. Alternative medicine says I'm dying because I'm taking my statin drug. I wish Solomon were here to judge the case — unless he would say: "You both can have him. But he will be dead."
During my long career with the federal government, I worked with, for, and supervised many extremely talented and competent women with extraordinary leadership skills. I firmly believe they should be given the opportunity to prove themselves alongside their male counterparts regardless of the endeavor.
Then there’s my old fashioned mail that’s delivered each day. People used to send me handwritten letters; now it’s all junk mail. I’ve actually rigged up a length of dryer duct that automatically flows the stuff out the back of the mailbox and directly into my recycle bin.
Then came the arrogant James Bond. How unnerving it was to see our poor CIA guys always playing second fiddle to 007, although there’s some consolation in knowing that both 007 and Prince Harry got caught with their pants down while in Vegas.
Rather than face the insanity that the holiday brings, I would opt to be audited by the IRS, in a dentist’s chair, during a root canal. Maybe I haven’t expressed myself strongly enough: I would rather have George Clooney show up at my door with a box of chocolates, and a bouquet of roses, and find me with cold cream smeared over my face, curlers in my hair and a huge pimple on my nose.
Tzedakah goes beyond giving something to tide people over; it attempts to get people to, once again, stand with dignity. Even the indigent, who are sustained by charity are compelled to give tzedakah, so that the act of receiving does not leave them without dignity.
Then I remember that those "enjoyable" weekend trips aren't the pleasures they used to be. What with traffic jams, toll roads, construction and excessive speeders, we can no longer drive innocently through the rural areas embracing the scenery we once enjoyed so much.
Those of us who are now long in tooth and short on short-term memory often dwell nostalgically on customs of the past, almost as often wondering whether some so-called social progress has been forward or retrogressive.
It was only in that split second that I thought about road rage victims and the notion that this person could be packing a gun. Imagine the headlines: "Senior citizen assaulted by parking-lot bandit in neighborhood Costco."
It’s not surprising, then, that a distracted driver is 23 times more likely to crash. When the driver texts, he takes his eyes off the road for 5 seconds. At a speed of 55 mph, that’s long enough to travel the length of a football field.
It was so out of context to have an exquisite table setting with fast-food, that we were moved towards the glamour rather than the franchise. Other diners avoided us. No one asked if we were having a celebration but rather assumed we had mental problems they didn’t want to catch.
John Adams wrote to his wife, "I am apt to believe that [July 2, 1776], will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival." Unfortunately, John was wrong. This great document developed a bad case of the slows.
I admit that after an adult lifetime of never missing an election and of closely following politics I had become jaded and cynical. Vermin, in his own bizarre way, was pointing out the silliness and posturing of so many candidates and of the media that cover them.
The subject du jour is that customer service is rapidly becoming an oxymoron -- a contradictory term on the level of pretty ugly, guest host, old news, good grief and legally drunk.
No politicians worthy of the name would ever admit to telling lies, but neither would they long survive in their chosen profession of mud wrestling without having mastered the science of spinning truth, which is to say disguising pants-on-fire lies as facts.
I have a grandson, who makes such a tremendous impression on people many have said, “He should run for president one day.” To which my answer is, “I pray not!”
As the old saying goes, “Good advertising doesn’t wear out; it wears in.” I dispute this as a fact and base it only on my amateur sleuthing among a number of my peers who agree.