Sometimes I Read A Biography Of Some

I've Never Wanted To Chuck My Mortgage, Drop The Kids Off At Their Grandparents' And Run Gloriously Naked In Fields Of Flax.

The Trouble Is That America's Become A Utopia Accessible Only To Some People. Others Get Trampled On. Perhaps It's A Problem Of Size. Robin Dunbar, An Anthropologist, Once Gave The Ideal Number Of A Given Community As 148. That Seems About Right To Me. There's Something Idealistic About That - In A Group Of 148 People You Can Get To Know Everybody.

In My Totally Unscientific Yet Enthusiastic Survey Of Communal Experiments Throughout American History, I've Discovered That The Thing Most Likely To Break Up Said Experiments Is: Sex, All That Murky, Dark, Dirty Gunk Simmering Beneath Human Relations.

Even The Presence Of My Kids Cannot, During Those Writing Hours, Disturb Me. Unless There's A Bone Sticking Out Of Their Arm, I'm Not Interested.

My Childhood Was As Conventional As You Could Get.