The act of being discreet is certainly not the strong suit of some people.  The ones of whom I am referring, are the insolent, demanding, individuals who think nothing of the feelings of others so long as their every whim is satisfied.

They are the ones who consider that the only plausible reason for doing anything should be, with their comfort and convenience in mind.  They are easily upset, if and when, decisions are made without their prior approval.  To put it bluntly, ‘they are right and don’t you forget it.’

Recently; an example of this thinking was related to me.  Our friend, let’s call her Sarah; happened to be in charge of arranging, serving, and the clean-up, at a social event.  In order to limit confusion, changes were made in the methods of, placing dishes of food, the removal of said dishes, and the clean-up which followed.  For everyone concerned, these new methods worked quite well, with the exception of one individual, – Martha: (not her real name).

Martha objected to the new system; only because this was not the way ‘she’ wanted to do things.  She insisted on returning to the old way regardless of the disturbance to others that the old methods had proven to cause.

Thank goodness Sarah did not relent and allow Martha to have her way, and the transition from eating to entertainment continued smoothly.  However, it was not without discord as could be attested to by several witnesses.  So intent was Martha to have her way, that she voiced her discontent by stating that ‘she;’  just might refrain from ‘attending any future functions,’

Adding insult to injury, Sarah noted that this decision was Martha’s to make, and regardless of her decision; ‘the show would still go on.’  This did much to calm Martha.  She finally began to realize that there were more important things afloat, than the ‘boosting of her ego,’  by allowing her to do as she pleased.

Much can be learned by this dispute.  That is simply; to utilize discretion when confronted with a situation that is not completely to your liking.  Consider ALL the avenues of appropriate action, BEFORE  jumping off the deep end.  This will minimize confrontations, such as the above, and quite possibly eliminate any undue stress, brought on by insisting on having everything ‘one person’s’ way.

If the changes were wrong, they will be corrected; but even wrong ideas deserve a trial.  Without new ideas, we cannot have progress.  Without progress, we are more or less dead-in-the-water.

If you have a new idea, do not hesitate to suggest it.  However, do not DEMAND” it.  Remember:  The horse that is led to water, cannot be forced to drink.’

Think about it:  Be discreet,’ and your valor will overshadow your sense of being ‘self-centered.’

Now, that wasn’t so hard to do, was it?


“It’s not easy to ‘take charge,’of the person; who has been elected to be, ‘in charge.”    Dj.

The Mower you Mow

For most of my young life, I was forced to spend most of my waking hours applying the teachings from early childhood; that grass was evil and all means were to be exercised to eradicate this scourge from the face of the earth.

Our livelihoods depended on the ridding of the fields of this prolific deterrent to the health of the young, tender plants on which we depended for food as well as income.

The abhorrence that we held for grasses in the crops was carried over into the yards of most farms.  Hours were spent in hoeing, raking and smoothing the entire yards with       brush-brooms’.

These ‘home-made tools’ were nothing more than dogwood branches, which had been allowed to dry until all the leaves had fallen from them.  They were then tied into small bundles.  The so-called ‘brooms’ left the yards with a clean, swept look that everyone considered appropriate for a well cared-for yard.

As time passed, the thinking of many farmers changed in favor of customs that were practiced by their “Town” neighbors, and they began to cultivate within the confines of the yards, the same grasses that they worked so hard to remove from their fields.

It became evident that a way to control the growth of this grass would have to be found, hence, the innovation of the “Sling Blade.”  It was merely a strip of flat metal that was sharpened on both sides and mounted to a handle by means of two metal bars shaped in a semi-circle.

This tool, when used properly, would allow the operator to clip the tops from the grasses with a back and forth swinging motion.

Necessity for an easier and faster way to keep the grass in control prompted the invention of a series of blades, powered by cogs attached to wheels.  These blades were positioned in a way that forced them to contact a sharpened bar, creating a cutting motion when pushed through the grass by the operator, holding onto a “T” shaped handle.

Called a ‘reel-type’ mower; this machine was used extensively until the invention of a small gasoline engine which could be attached to the top of the contraption and served as the power to not only turn the blades; but could also propel the mower by belts and pulleys.

Eventually, this mower gave way to the modern ‘rotary’ power mower that is still in use today in many forms.  Although the engines power a sharpened, spinning blade that does the cutting; much effort is required by the operator to push the mower through the grass.

As more powerful engines were developed and easier ways to perform this laborious chore were sought, the invention of the modern-day “Riding Mower,” changed our lives as much as any invention in history.  Instead of struggling with ‘sling blades,’ ‘Reel Type,’ push and ‘Self-Propelled’ mowers, we now can sit in a somewhat comfortable seat and simply guide the mower to the designated area and relax as it performs the work for us.  Along with these power tools came a different designation of the areas around our homes.

We now refer to the grassy carpets that surround our houses and require so much of our time as Lawns instead of yards.  No more do we “cut the grass;” we Mow.”      

This innovation has prompted a lucrative career for many, in the form of establishing a paid for hire, “Lawn Service.”   Just yesterday, I saw a large truck loaded down with Power-Mowers, Rakes, Power Leaf Blowers, Gasoline Cans, etc.  Stenciled on the side of the truck was the name of the business.  It was obvious that the owner had experienced the ‘Rough & Rowdy’  side of life by the brightly-colored letters, that read; “WARNING!”   “YOUR GRASS IS MINE!”   CALL- MOW – 539.1275.   

As a result of these innovative machines, our lives have been made easier and our waistlines have become larger; but I for one; would not relish the thoughts of returning to the days of sling – blades and Push – Type Tools.   


“I’m lazy and I’m glad.”  “Even writing about it makes me tired.”     Dj.

The Paycheck

When I finally left the work force after more years than I care to recall; I was determined to concentrate on things that I enjoyed; rather than the tasks that heretofore had been delegated by someone else.

I would sleep late and lounge in pajamas until the spirit moved me to do something constructive.  If a job was not to my liking, I could “just say NO.”  Independence was finally mine and I intended to take full advantage of this opportunity to do as I damned well pleased.  Well; let me be the first to tell you that it hasn’t worked out exactly as I had planned.

First:  The habit of awakening early was so deeply ingrained within my mind that it was impossible for me to remain in bed past the usual 4:30 a.m.  There are lengthy lists of ‘honey-do’ requests that await me on the breakfast table, instead of the morning paper.  I learned very quickly just how much coffee to put in the pot in order to “don’t make it too strong.”

Sorting through notes, the first of which states; “Wake me before 9:00 because I have Bridge today.”  I discovered that bread had been forgotten on the last trip to the grocery and, –“will you pick up a loaf?”  On another note was written; “I need gas in my car, and while you are out; buy more bird seed.”  “Vacuum and dust.” said another, and so on, until it was time for me to go to my part-time job.

Working part-time, for ‘beer and cigarette money,’  had almost turned into a full-time job with the exception of the compensation.  Snickers from the bank tellers when I present my tiny pay-check, attest to the fact that I would never become wealthy in this line of work.  The check was hardly enough to, “pick up a book of stamps.”

Upon returning home I discover that the neighbors have been complaining about the sad plight of our yard, therefore another note read, “please mow, and weed the lawn.”  Before I finish mowing, I am told that we are having dinner with the Smiths and, “You can’t go looking like that.”

Arriving at the Smiths, I find that they have just returned from a Caribbean cruise and have been playing golf all day.  They inform me that they both envy me for not having anything to do, and they wish that they could be as ‘laid-back’ as I am.

Little do they know that all the years that I spent in the workplace were nothing like as hectic as my retirement life.  While employed; I was only required to do two things.  Number # 1, was to – ‘show up’, when I was scheduled; and Number # 2, was to – ‘be on time.’  Now:  There is only a ‘beginning schedule,’ and the “pay ain’t nothing like as good.”


“Woe is me!!!”       Dj.

Short Stories

I have been asked many times: “Why are the majority of your writings, essays, or short stories?”  Believe me folks; there is a legitimate reason for this.

Every one of us have tried to read a book, on a subject that the title and synopsis interests us.   Many times we reject it; because it contains 284 pages of descriptive dialog, most of which has little to do with the story line.  “You know? like, [...].”

Page 3 thru 16; describes; – “The man who walked into my office; was wearing a pink shirt, with the collar unbuttoned and a, loosely-tied, green-striped, necktie, over which, was a sleeveless sweater that was between a blue hue, and yellow with red stripes.  There were several spots on the sweater and necktie that was obviously a portion of his breakfast.  Dried egg is rather hard to scrape off, and will usually leave traces under the fingernails, when attempting to disguise,   [...].” (Detective Manual,  – page 6, – 2nd paragraph).

“His trousers were a bulky gray with a pleated front, and was about two inches too short for his six foot frame.  His shoes were scuffed and began their life as ‘wing-tips;’ but at this late date, held little resemblance to this type of foot-wear.  Perhaps, the worse dereliction of fashion-consciousness was that he wore miss-matched socks.  I kept my hand in the right hand drawer of my desk, where my “38 – S & W” lay, until the man stated his business.”    “Ya-da – Ya-da – Ya-da;  etc.”

Page 17 thru 37; describes the weather on that particular day.  Dark clouds hovered over the City, blocking the sunlight from the trash-filled streets and added  gloom to the hoards of young ladies who enjoy their lunch on the patio of the Insurance building across the street.” 

“Waiting for a client, to enter my office and demand my ‘detecting services’ is more relaxing; when I can observe the ‘lunch-crowd,’ through the window, with my feet propped atop my desk.”    

Page 38 thru 52; compares the difference between the 1947 Plymouth, Business – Coupe, that was parked beside a fire hydrant; with today’s hi-tech, computerized, vehicles. “The Car evidently had been abused, since the entire body was a mass of scratches and dents.  The vehicle had, at one time, been painted a light blue; but had faded to the point that only the dull, rust-colored, primer paint was visible.”

Page 53 thru 77;  “The man refused my offer; when I nodded toward the chair that sat in front of my desk, and he elected to stand until he was certain that I would hear him out, before summoning the Police.  This type of client was typical in my business of, “Elite Bounty Hunter’s, Inc.” that I opened in 1968; after retiring from the ‘Sanitation Department.’  While there, I was shot, when attempting to empty the trash can in the bedroom of the Mayor’s lovely daughter, at  01:30 a.m.”

On and on it goes, for the rest of the entire book; until you fall asleep.  Then, when you awaken, you discover that you ‘HAVE TO BEGIN’ reading again; at page 3,” simply because; you have forgotten what the book was all about.  This is when you tune the small Television, atop the filing cabinet, to a re-run of “Gilligan’s Island.”

Now: I ask you; “Had you rather muddle through a book of 284 pages like the one above; or would you really, enjoy an essay, such as the following?”  -  A short story containing, Race: Religion: Sex: Mystery: Royalty: and Desire?”  

Of course, you would always opt for the more interesting reading material.  So:  Read on.”


“Good Heavens!” (religion), said the beautiful, Blonde, Princess: (race),  “I’m pregnant!” (sex), “I wonder who did it?”  (mystery), “I wish the Prince would try it.”  (desire), ‘for future reference.’

The End:

“Cry your eyes out, ‘New York Readers Club Best-Seller List;’  We believe in getting the story told without the waste of paper.”


Hurry”  Send for your copy today.  They’re going fast.”      Dj.

My Friend

He was long, lean, and seemed to be two years, older than his daddy;’ when I first met him.  He was a rugged individual with a shock of brown hair and an air of independence about him that could, at times, be interpreted as surly.  In addition, he asked no quarter from anyone, nor did he expect any from his peers.  He made his way through our cruel world as best he could, as someone with a “built-in handicap.”.

This projected image was somewhat disconcerting since his mannerism did nothing to attest to this first impression.  In truth he was one of the kindest, most gentle men that I have had the privilege of knowing.  Honest to a fault, he thought nothing of denying himself some of the necessities that he needed when he discovered others that were less fortunate than himself.

His only weakness was his ‘love for strong drink.’  When, on occasion, he gave in to this temptation and imbibed into the ‘demon rum,’  he suffered a transformation.  He became an individual, bent on destroying a reputation; that heretofore, could have carried him to the summit in any vocation that he would have chosen; had it not been for this ‘self-inflicted’, infirmity’

To say that he was addicted would not be quite fitting, since he would go for months without so much as a sip; and then for reasons, known only to him; he would go off the deep end and succumb to the temptation that ‘the bottle,’ held over his emotions for most of his adult life.

You might say that he was his own worst enemy.  Everyone that knew him, found it hard to believe that, ‘when infected,’ this lovable character could become the person who now stood before them.  Obnoxious, loud, and displaying a truly mean streak, in which all who knew him thought that he was incapable of.  When, in this condition, he would insist on showing a side of himself that no one knew existed.

When his binge was over; he would revert to the gentle creature that was his inherent tendency, and would continue in this fashion until the urge was again so great that he was unable to resist.

He continued this life of ‘ups and downs,’ until his death.  Afterward, he was remembered, not for the affable person that he was for most of his life; but rather for the person who let ‘the bottle’ destroy him.

I suppose that his only claim to fame was the fact that most everyone knew him simply, as… The Town Drunk.”


“It is truly a shame that most of us can ‘forget the good’  so quickly, and yet, can remember the bad’  for such a lengthy time, isn’t it?”     Dj.



“You should know better than that.”  “I mean, Really!”  There is no doubt that the one speaking these words is utterly astounded.  What you have said, or done, is beyond conception, defies comprehension, as in, “I can’t believe you said, or did that.” 

“WHAT?”   “You’ve never heard these words?”  If an answer is ‘NO;’ I would have to assume that you have never been married since there have been very few among the ones of us who enjoy wedded bliss; that have not been the recipient of this phrase at one time or another. 

To us, it is more or less a household expression.  It is usually used to accentuate another statement, question, etc.  When used in conjunction with another assertion or inquiry, the entire meaning becomes more profound. 

As a general rule, it is reserved for a final appeal, i.e.,  “Will you please vacuum the carpet?”  “I believe that I asked you to vacuum the carpet.”  “Are you going to vacuum the carpet?  “I mean, REALLY!”

See how it works?  It does not matter that Superman is in the clutches of the evil monster from outer space.  The demand is perfectly clear;  That carpet is to be vacuumed, and NOW. 

The world can be saved when you’re finished.  Let’s just keep our priorities in the proper order.  The fact that it took a week for the dirt to get into the carpet does not alter the fact that it cannot wait until Superman defeats the monster.

The phrase can be applied to other areas as well.  For instance, “She wore the same dress when she attended Mary’s wedding, I mean really.” 

What this statement is implying is that the wearer is devoid of all semblance of the appropriate dress codes for the occasion in question.  In certain instances, the phrase is used as the only required response in the course of a conversation.

To quote: “…and she was flashing that two carat diamond in everyone’s face.”  The usual response from the listener here is,  I mean Really!”  If the transgression is serious enough in nature, sometimes the words, “how tacky;” is added.

When the two are combined, it denotes a critical situation indeed.  One that could only be remedied by a series of counseling sessions with the above-mentioned individual, in the proper use of accessories.

This could very well mean the concealing of a ring, when in the company of one whose ring is only one carat.  There is no known cure for “I-mean-really-itis.”  It has been known to survive any and all types of treatment and emerge stronger than ever.

Those of us who have become used to hearing this phrase accepts it as a shrewd method of extracting attention, and it, more or less, falls on deaf ears.  However, care should be exercised when confronted with a predicament of this nature.

If red splotches appear, breathing becomes labored, and a slight trembling is noted, it would be wise to rely on Superman, to save the world without your help.  At least until you have finished with the carpet.  In extreme instances, it may become necessary to broaden your dexterity to include vacuuming with one hand, while holding the comic book with the other.

Another method, that I have found to work exceptionally well; is to remove the vacuum cleaner from the closet and place it directly in the center of the room while your roommate is shopping.  When she returns and asks about the carpet, appear very angry and say,.. 

“Don’t you see that vacuum cleaner sitting there!  What do you think I’ve been doing?”

“I mean REALLY?”


The only thing that is left to say is; “Move over Fido; You’re crowding me.”     Dj.



Just 5 minutes.

Wash & Rinse:

Is there a law somewhere that requires all advertisers to hire perfect people to represent their products?  The models that usually demonstrate these miraculous items really do not need them. The makers of these ingenious products seem to be of the opinion that no one will consider buying anything unless they can prove that it works wonders in “just 5 minutes.”

For many years, the voice of the image that stared back at me from the mirror each morning when I attended to my toilet; always shouted…

Demijon:  “You have hard to color mustache and beard.”  “Why don’t you try ‘Just for Males’ hair color?”


Ignoring the snickers from the clerks at the drug store, I rushed home to; “Apply and wait five minutes and rinse.”  Perhaps the bottle of ‘Flab-Gone’ tablets that I had also purchased prompted their mirth. “Ignore them;” I muttered, as I made my way home and to my ‘new life.’ “It is obvious that they are jealous.”

Visions of the youthful, handsome, man that would step out of the shower following only one application clouded my mind.  In addition, I excitedly, took a deep breath and,  prepared myself for the first treatment which would forever change my life;

I had even gone so far as to take a picture of Demijon, ‘before application;’ and would take another photograph ‘after;’ as proof of my metamorphosis.  Perhaps, the manufacturer would offer me a contract as a model.  It would be entirely possible that some Hollywood Producers would Discover Me!  

Before closing the shower curtain, I took one last look at the white hair,  the scraggly beard, and the protruding belly; as I swallowed a handful of the ‘Flab-Gone’ tablets; and then proceeded with the transformation.

I remembered that the guy on television simply squeezed a drop or two onto his head.  It’s just that simple; right?  However, Old Demijon was going for broke; the same as he does when playing poker.

With my rational mind in high gear, I filled one palm with the liquid and liberally massaged it into my hair and beard.  I resisted the urge to pull the curtain and marvel at my youthful appearance until I had waited the full five minutes and rinsed.

Judging from the cramps in my stomach, I was sure that the Flab-Gone pills had reduced my forty-eight inch waistline by at least six inches.

“This is great;”  I thought as I waited.  Simply swallow a few pills; apply and wait five minutes, and out of the shower steps the youthful, debonair, physique, that was the Demijon of forty years ago.

I was totally unprepared for what I glimpsed in the mirror when I opened the shower curtain.  My head was a blotchy mixture of gray and dull-black,  There were streaks of something dark, intermingled with what appeared to be blisters on my face.

Even the palms of my hands were caked with a rust-colored substance.  What was left of the beard had taken on the appearance of dirty hemp.

The protruding belly had SWOLE-UP to almost twice the initial size.  All of this happened in only “five minutes.”  Amazing, isn’t it?

After shaving my head and beard, using sandpaper on my face and hands, and refusing to eat for two weeks; I regained most of my original good looks; but not my pleasing personality.  Needless to say; “I am bitter.”

If the Congress and / or the President want to do something useful for the citizens of this great country, they should pass a law requiring labeling of such products, to-wit;

CAUTION!  This product WILL be harmful to persons with Gray Hair and Scraggly Beard.  Under NO circumstance should this product be used in conjunction with Flab-Gone tablets.

Since this episode occurred almost two years ago, I suppose that I could appear in public without the toboggan and gloves, or even the loose-fitting, raincoat; but you know Me;  “I ain’t taking no chances!”


I wonder if any of them folks what used that stuff on Television; “Got their money back!”  “If they did; I want the phone number of their Lawyer.”   Dj.

Wifely; Things.”

At the risk of being doomed to sleep with Th’ Bear, for many months, I will boldly go where no man has ventured before.  I will disclose that my lovely Roommate is a professional ‘pack rat.’

She saves everything from empty, plastic butter dishes, to broken jelly jars,  When asked why?  Her answer usually is, “I saw one just like this in an antique store the other day and the price was 47 cents.”

The big question is:  Just who is going to pay her 47 cents for a jelly jar?  Is there someone out there that collects those things, and just can’t wait to acquire the ones that fill our cabinets?

What about  broken dishes?  “If I can find the broken piece, I can glue it together and it will be valuable someday.”  Perfectly good tea glasses must be replaced because, “This year; Sunflowers are ‘in’ ”  Now shouldn’t the old ones be disposed of properly?  “No, they are replicas of “De-Vincie,” or  “Gran-ma Moses,” or somebody.  I’m sure that they  will be worth a lot of money before long; so stack them back on that shelf in the kitchen!”

Pillows are another passion.  We have, (at last count), 126 pillows scattered throughout the house.  Each bed has at least three, each chair two, the couch eight,, and the rest, on the floor’.

You get the picture.  I would say that pillows run a close second to ‘Tee Shirts’ in the order of importance.  Tee shirts will always be number one.  A special shelf has been installed to hold the ones that no longer fit; but to get rid of them is unthinkable.

We certainly can’t forget Santa.  She has horded at least one of every Santa figurine, ever produced.  There are too many to store and display at Christmas time.  They occupy space on almost every furniture shelf, and a few that I have crafted especially for this purpose.

Potted Plants would be next in line.  There are so many that it takes almost a whole day just to water them.  Of course, some will be taken outside to the deck in summer, but rest assured, others will take their place.  It is a small wonder that first-time visitors find the path to negotiate the maze between potted plants and pillows; to find a seat.  Could there be a reason behind this strategy?

There is, however, a small area in one corner of the back bedroom closet;’ set aside for my JUNK”.  I must be extremely careful that my stuff does not spill over into the important areas and displace a pillow or a potted plant.  This could prove disastrous.  Heaven forbid, that one of my screwdrivers would be taking up space where another figurine could be displayed.

I have heard that there is no permanent cure for the infirmity of ‘Possessive-itis.’  That’s just too bad; because, my ‘better-half’ has one of the worst cases known to mankind.  Perhaps she’ll take an extended trip one day, and I can back my truck up to the door and ???. You know!

If that ever happens, be sure to closely observe the obituary column in the paper, because my name will probably be listed.  She ‘do like her stuff,’ around her; and now that I’ve told you about it; be sure to come visit me…

I’ll be in the ‘third kennel’ to your right and ‘by the way’,  I’ll be wearing a ‘flea collar.’   I am also well-trained to respond to the words; “Sit!” and “Quiet!”

“Be it ever so humble”…  “We’ve got it:  We can’t get rid of it:  So, I guess we’ll just have to live with it.  At any rate, “We call it Home!” 


By the way:  I prefer “Chocolate  ‘Milk-Bones.”  Thank You.     Dj.

Truth of the Matter

The scene:  The kitchen of Mrs. A. V. Erage’s home.  Mom is busy preparing dinner and Billy is sitting at the table, drumming a pencil on a notebook with a look of total disgust on his face.  Mom sweetly turns and asks, “What’s wrong, Billy?”  The young delinquent pounds the table and snaps, “I can’t get this math!”

It is here that Mr. Announcer takes over and begins his praise of the Compact Discs that are the answer to everyone’s dream.  “Your child only has to watch these C.D.’s and he will become a candidate for a full scholarship to the College of his choice.”   The commercial continues —.

“Grandparents:  Buy the C.D.’s for your grandchildren and they will forever be indebted to you.”  Mr. Announcer says.

Later: When all the accolades for the video tape had been presented, Billy is smiling when he says, “MOM:  I got an A.”   That’s great; sweetly says MOM.”

Nowhere in the commercial is any mention of the fact that Billy would have to use any part of his brain, to guarantee better grades.  He just watches the C.D.’s and he’s Honor-Roll qualified, instantly.


“Why don;t they get real?”  When that Young’un sassed his Mamma; simply because he had been playing video games, instead of studying; she should have dropped that T V Dinner, right then; and ‘slapped the daylights out of that smart-ass.’

Then she should have said to him; “If you had studied like I told you, instead of ‘mooning’ over that little ‘Filly; next door.  Either that, or keeping your nose poked in a comic book; you wouldn’t be flunking your numbers now.”  “You’re as big a dumb-ass as your father.”


Now I ask you:  “Is this an accurate description of what actually transpired?  I think not.  To be more realistic, the commercial (should have) gone something like” […]

Billy probably sauntered in with his ball cap on backwards and said, “Okay:  I passed.  You happy, now?”

Mom presumably replies; “You damned-well had better passed.  We spent $368.50 for those damned C.D.’s!  NOW, get in your room and CLEAN-UP that crappy place.” 


I believe that the time has arrived to put truth in advertising.  Depict folks as they really are instead of portraying them as some advertising executive thinks they should be.

This would make for more interesting and realistic commercials.


“And Billy?”  He plays guitar at Trade & 7th street, daily, except Sunday.  His guitar-case is open for donations.”     Dj.


“Today is the tomorrow that I worried about, Yesterday.”

Soft raindrops falling on the skylights transmit a melodious sleep-inducing balance between the silence of the night and the chaos that is certain to ensue once the dawn arouses the roommate from her slumber.

Today is my time.  It is my time alone, to indulge in the eye-opening effects of caffeine; while contemplating my past and anticipating the future.  Today: I will make major changes in my less than perfect life.

Today: I plan to be more tolerant of my fellow man.  What right have I to suspect that I am right and those around me are wrong.  Does my outward magnetism repudiate my superior intelligence?  Even if tolerating will mean a step backward, it is within the realm of possibility that I can compel myself to accept others as an equal.

Today, I am determined to practice self-denial,  Instead of four helpings of everything on the table, I will reluctantly settle for three.  It is not that I have the need to reduce the span of my waist line; it is, rather, that I feel somewhat guilty whenever I have yielded to the temptation of gluttony while others have so little.

Today, I vow to love my neighbor.  No, not the old Fogy who has lived next door forever; but the stunning blonde, who casually sunbathes in a thong bikini on warm summer afternoons.

Today, I intend to broaden the scope of my horizons to include more than a NASCAR race by reading.  There are several good publications on the subject of TRACTOR-PULLS; that I have yet to thoroughly examine.

Today, I resolve to become a connoisseur of classical music.  Is there someone out there, who knows the whereabouts of a collection of 78 rpm records by such artists as Hank Williams,  Ernest Tubbs, Jimmy Rogers, Hank Snow, and Boxcar Willie, to name only a few?  If so, I will appreciate their contacting me.  My number is  DJ-635-OLDR.

Today, I pledge to satisfy my fantasy of becoming a world renowned writer.  With all of the aforesaid plans in place, who could refuse to purchase my musings?  Especially if such a charming individual were present to personally autograph each and every copy.

And what of tomorrow; you may ask?  Tomorrow: I will reap the rewards of the decisions that I have made today, and will retire to the CARIBBEAN, along with all the money that each copy of my musings has raked in; ‘and that stunning Blonde.’


That is:  If I don’t forget, again.     Dj.