Serious Journalism Need Not Be Solemn.

The Young Cult Of Sociology, Needing A Language, Invented One. There Are Many Dead Languages, But The Sociologists' Is The Only Language That Was Dead At Birth.

So There He Is At Last. Man On The Moon. The Poor Magnificent Bungler! He Can't Even Get To The Office Without Undergoing The Agonies Of The Damned, But Give Him A Little Metal, A Few Chemicals, Some Wire And Twenty Or Thirty Billion Dollars And Vroom! There He Is, Up On A Rock A Quarter Of A Million Miles Up In The Sky.

Grass Is The Least Rewarding Of All Status Symbols... The Grass Does Nothing But Drink Money, Exhaust Energies, Crush Spirits, Destroy Sleep, Create Tensions And Interfere With The Watching Of Baseball Games, And Sprout Insolent Signs Ordering Humans To Keep Off It.

Urban People, Of Course, Are Terribly Scared Nowadays. They May Yearn For Society, But It Is Risky To Go Around Talking To Strangers, For A Lot Of Reasons, One Being That People Are So Accustomed Not To Have Many Human Contacts That They Are Afraid They May Find Out They Really Prefer Life That Way.

Don't Try To Make Children Grow Up To Be Like You, Or They May Do It.