start walking

Humans are ok.  Sure, there are some real bastard pricks out there but, by and large, humans are pretty decent folk.  They invent and celebrate holidays, create beautiful art, sing, dance, make music, and are willing to help just about anyone if asked.

Humans are pretty much the same all over planet Earth but they have a major flaw.  They can't seem to tolerate other humans who aren't just like them and because of this intolerance no one can remember a time when we weren't at war with someone because we can't tolerate what they were doing.  Even the reasons for these wars are vague, at best.

Just today a thought came in my head on the way home.  I can tolerate anything but intolerance.  Then I began yelling at the asshole in front of me because he was breaking for the green light.


I'll make you a deal.  I'll work real hard to tolerate the guy breaking for the green light if you try just as hard to tolerate someone doing something that really bugs you.  If we could only tolerate and get along we might realize all our problems were never there in the first place. 

The journey of a thousand miles starts with the first step and realizing the problem is the first step toward solving it.

I think we've got some walking to do.

must be santa

the american astronaut

some things never change

Some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

About a year ago I was talking to a friend who said she ran into an old ex of mine in a bar. 
Tammy told me she had a lengthy conversation with Francesca who told her that I still had her record collection and she'd like to have it back but she doesn't want to ask me for it.

I thought about this for awhile and decided she should have them.  Even though half the records were mine, I thought it would be a nice gesture to give her the whole collection, as well as a brand new turntable.  I mean, what the hell... It's just taking up space and if she wants it, she can have it all and I'll even throw in a couple hundred video tapes.

So, I decided to write her a letter and send it snail mail, since she doesn't have a computer, and a phone call out of the blue would be slightly less shocking than a surprise appearance at her door.  It was a simple letter asking how she's doing and I hope she's doing well and I have all these records, many of which are hers and very rare, and I'd like her to have them.  I can deliver them anywhere she wants.  Just let me know.

About two weeks later I got a response:

Thanks for thinking of me, but I really don't want any of it.
If I haven't missed any of it in ten years I doubt I'll miss it in the next ten,
Throw it away or give it to the Salvation Army, or burn it.
It really doesn't matter.


Francesca


Then I remembered why I broke up with her.