If Women Can Sleep Their Way To

Parents Remain Our Touchstones, Fellow Travelers, Even After Death. They Are Both Missing And Present.

I Am A Member Of A Small, Nearly Extinct Minority Group, A Kind Of Urban Lost Tribe Who Insist, In The Face Of All Evidence To The Contrary, On The Sanctity Of Being On Time. Which Is To Say That We On-timers Are Compulsively, Unfashionably Prompt, That There Are Only Handfuls Of Us In Any Given City And, Unfortunately, We Never Seem To Have Appointments With Each Other.

Traditions Are The Guideposts Driven Deep In Our Subconscious Minds. The Most Powerful Ones Are Those We Can't Even Describe And Aren't Even Aware Of.

We Continually Want To Unmask Our Heroes As If There Were More To Be Learned From Their Nakedness Than From Their Choice Of Clothing.

I Suppose We Make Kids The Repository Of Our Highest Ideals Because Children Are Powerless. In That Way We Can Have Ideals And Ignore Them At The Same Time.