By the end of this month, all of you will be able to purchase that fascinating textbook, Argumentation: Critical Thinking in Action, published through iUniverse. Get one for yourself, and several for your friends! And, they make a nice alternative to those run-of-the-mill baby or wedding shower gifts. Just go to www.iUniverse.com. Best of all, 20 percent of the sale price goes to a very worthy local charity. (OK, that charity is me--but I need the dough!)
Despite the relief connected to finishing that particular project, one also develops a nagging feeling that "I could have done better." Or worse, that "I made some mistakes." But you know what? People who are better, smarter, and more famous than I (are any of those things even possible? ha ha) have made mistakes, too.
Take our old friend Aristotle. (I know him well, so I just call him "Ari.") Turns out his famous book on rhetoric (a "Bible" of sorts for those of us in communication studies) has statements that are just plain wrong, or totally silly!
In book I, chapter 7 of The Rhetoric, Ari says: "If the largest member of one class surpasses the largest member of another, then the one class surpasses the other; and if one class surpasses another, then the largest member of one surpasses the largest member of the other. Thus, if the tallest man is taller than the tallest woman, then men in general are taller than women."
Now hold the phone! That ain't necessarily so! At best, if the tallest man is taller than the tallest woman the probability is perhaps higher that men are in general taller than women. But it certainly isn't an assumption that is entirely safe to make--I'd almost call it an error in logic. Maybe, somewhere in the Chernobyl area, there's an 11-foot-tall woman, a result of the radiation from the 1986 accident, who is taller than any man on the planet. Aristotle may be wrong!
Other things that Ari says just seem outdated and silly. For instance, in chapter 5, book I he says "The constituents of wealth are: plenty of coined money and territory; the ownership of numerous, large, and beautiful estates; also the ownership of numerous and beautiful implements, live stock, and slaves. [emphasis added] All these kinds of property are our own, are secure, gentlemanly, and useful." Sounds like a weird combination of J.R. Ewing, Ted Turner, and some southern plantation owner. Aristotle may be a capitalist, racist pig! And, let us not also forget this comment in Book I, chapter 9: "Again, one quality of action is nobler than another if it is that of a naturally finer being: thus a man's will be nobler than a woman's." He's a bleeping sexist, too!
"I could go on and on," as they say, with lots of other examples of this nature from Aristotle's Rhetoric. But I can't do all the work for you--go find your own silly "Aristotle-isms"! But the bigger point is this: if Aristotle can be flawed, then it's OK if my book is a little flawed--because in the end, I think his flaws are more glaring than any of mine! Whew, that's a relief.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Saturday, July 5, 2008
The world ain't no meritocracy
Considering the different realities that are a part of life (see post of June 8), I am also struck by the fact that people in this world may or may not advance in proportion to their ability, their intelligence, or their general worth as human beings. In a nutshell, the world ain't no meritocracy.
Consider a former advisee whose dad is a well-known actor. He was a decent student and a nice kid, but in the end, a "C" student without particular academic talents. But, in the last week, I have seen this kid pictured with his dad in two national magazines. Why? They have co-authored a cookbook. I can assure you that without the "dad connections," this person's writing would not be featured and promoted in an issue of People.
Consider a person in the legal field for whom I wrote more than 50 radio commentaries back in the 1980s. He wasn't paid much to read them on-air ("only" $100), but he kept $70 and I got $30 for each one. Sometimes all the ideas and the language were his, but sometimes I had a meaningful role to play in both coming up with an idea and expressing it in words. But, the nation heard him, not me. Any "benefits" that came with such exposure came to him, not me. And 70 percent of the money came to him, not me.
And, consider the bonuses and various types of "golden parachutes" that are provided for CEOs. When someone receives additional compensation that goes into the scores of millions of dollars, one has to wonder about the general lack of justice in the world. These people are not a thousand times brighter or better than you and I, but they can make a thousand times more.
In the end, I try to be thankful for who I am (warts and all) and what I have (which is a lot). And I pray a Unitarian/existentialist/humanistic prayer that I do not become one of those people who stands at a freeway off-ramp with a cardboard sign begging for money. But you know what? All it takes is one health crisis, one bad decision, or one unfortunate moment in time and "Mr. Ph.D." becomes "Mr. Please Donate to Me." (Oh my. That's a rather silly turn-of-phrase--barf bags available upon request!)
Consider a former advisee whose dad is a well-known actor. He was a decent student and a nice kid, but in the end, a "C" student without particular academic talents. But, in the last week, I have seen this kid pictured with his dad in two national magazines. Why? They have co-authored a cookbook. I can assure you that without the "dad connections," this person's writing would not be featured and promoted in an issue of People.
Consider a person in the legal field for whom I wrote more than 50 radio commentaries back in the 1980s. He wasn't paid much to read them on-air ("only" $100), but he kept $70 and I got $30 for each one. Sometimes all the ideas and the language were his, but sometimes I had a meaningful role to play in both coming up with an idea and expressing it in words. But, the nation heard him, not me. Any "benefits" that came with such exposure came to him, not me. And 70 percent of the money came to him, not me.
And, consider the bonuses and various types of "golden parachutes" that are provided for CEOs. When someone receives additional compensation that goes into the scores of millions of dollars, one has to wonder about the general lack of justice in the world. These people are not a thousand times brighter or better than you and I, but they can make a thousand times more.
In the end, I try to be thankful for who I am (warts and all) and what I have (which is a lot). And I pray a Unitarian/existentialist/humanistic prayer that I do not become one of those people who stands at a freeway off-ramp with a cardboard sign begging for money. But you know what? All it takes is one health crisis, one bad decision, or one unfortunate moment in time and "Mr. Ph.D." becomes "Mr. Please Donate to Me." (Oh my. That's a rather silly turn-of-phrase--barf bags available upon request!)
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Nibbling on bacon while jingin the jango
As long as I'm citing verse these days (see previous post), I want to remind you all of a particular song and its lyric line. I was "runnin' to the oldies" the other day, listening to 105.7 FM while I trudged down 70th Street in Richfield, when up came that classic tune, "Muskrat Love." I'm thinking, the Captain and Toni Tennille got pretty lucky with this one--it's not exactly Art for the Ages. But after the song plays, what does the DJ add? That this tune was first recorded by the guy in Texas who wrote it--he called it "Muskrat Candlelight," but it didn't catch on, and then the band "America" released it as "Muskrat Love," and it didn't catch on for them either. How in the world could such failure be possible, given the profound lyrics of this piece? I include them herewith:
Muskrat, muskrat candlelight
Doin the town and doin it right
In the evenin
Its pretty pleasin
Muskrat susie, muskrat sam
Do the jitterbug out in muskrat land
And they shimmy
And sammys so skinny
And they whirled and they twirled and they tangoed
Singin and jingin the jango
Floatin like the heavens above
It looks like muskrat love
Nibbling on bacon, chewin on cheese
Sammy says to susie honey, would be please by my missus?
And she says yes
With her kisses
And now he's ticklin her fancy
Rubbin her toes
Muzzle to muzzle, now anything goes
As they wriggle, and sue starts to giggle
And they whirled and they twirled and they tangoed
Singin and jingin the jango
Floatin like the heavens above
It looks like muskrat love
La da da da da ....
Meanwhile, yours truly, the Contentious Introvert (who wanted to be the Howling Wolf, only that name was taken) writes his share of stuff, including a textbook that's within weeks of being published. Yet, HE SOMEHOW WONDERS IF HIS WRITING WILL EVER BE GOOD ENOUGH! Hey--if "nibbling on bacon, chewin on cheese" is sufficiently profound for three different artists to record it, and to make money off of it, then dammit, I'm good enough, too. (Aren't I? Maybe?) Anyway, here's another shake of the head along with a little muttering and eye-rolling; the world is certifiably bizarre. But I will keep jingin the jango! (if I ever figure out what in the hell that means!)
Muskrat, muskrat candlelight
Doin the town and doin it right
In the evenin
Its pretty pleasin
Muskrat susie, muskrat sam
Do the jitterbug out in muskrat land
And they shimmy
And sammys so skinny
And they whirled and they twirled and they tangoed
Singin and jingin the jango
Floatin like the heavens above
It looks like muskrat love
Nibbling on bacon, chewin on cheese
Sammy says to susie honey, would be please by my missus?
And she says yes
With her kisses
And now he's ticklin her fancy
Rubbin her toes
Muzzle to muzzle, now anything goes
As they wriggle, and sue starts to giggle
And they whirled and they twirled and they tangoed
Singin and jingin the jango
Floatin like the heavens above
It looks like muskrat love
La da da da da ....
Meanwhile, yours truly, the Contentious Introvert (who wanted to be the Howling Wolf, only that name was taken) writes his share of stuff, including a textbook that's within weeks of being published. Yet, HE SOMEHOW WONDERS IF HIS WRITING WILL EVER BE GOOD ENOUGH! Hey--if "nibbling on bacon, chewin on cheese" is sufficiently profound for three different artists to record it, and to make money off of it, then dammit, I'm good enough, too. (Aren't I? Maybe?) Anyway, here's another shake of the head along with a little muttering and eye-rolling; the world is certifiably bizarre. But I will keep jingin the jango! (if I ever figure out what in the hell that means!)
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Different and separate realities
Hard as I may try not to think this way, I am continually aware of the many realities that make up "reality." As I am keyboarding this sentence, some woman in Malaysia is giving birth; some guy in Belgium may be falling to his death on a construction project; and a whole lotta people are simply sleeping in Eugene, Oregon.
I'm reading the Star Tribune yesterday--a piece on the OpEd page by Michael Gerson of the Washington Post. He's talking about Joseph Kony, "a barbarian who threatens regional stability in Africa." Here's the lead paragraph:
"WASHINGTON - A friend, the head of a major aid organization, tells of how his workers in eastern Congo a few years ago chanced upon a group of shell-shocked women and children in the bush. A militia had kidnapped a number of families and forced the women to kill their husbands with machetes, under the threat that their sons and daughters would be murdered if they refused. Afterward the women were raped by more than 100 soldiers; the children were spectators at their own, private genocide."
I try to take all of this in as I drink coffee and eat my raisin bran. And I do not wonder in the least why I resonate to the word "absurd" as a way to conceive of human existence. These different realities also explain why my all-time favorite poem is "Musee de Beaux Arts" by Auden; it's on the wall in my office, and it captures the same bizarre juxtaposition of multiple realities:
Musee des Beaux Arts
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the plowman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
-- W. H. Auden
I try to be thankful for what I have, and where I am. And all the while, I am keenly aware that other people are in other places and have other realities. And some of those realities are simply so gruesome that one is left feeling quite powerless.
I'm reading the Star Tribune yesterday--a piece on the OpEd page by Michael Gerson of the Washington Post. He's talking about Joseph Kony, "a barbarian who threatens regional stability in Africa." Here's the lead paragraph:
"WASHINGTON - A friend, the head of a major aid organization, tells of how his workers in eastern Congo a few years ago chanced upon a group of shell-shocked women and children in the bush. A militia had kidnapped a number of families and forced the women to kill their husbands with machetes, under the threat that their sons and daughters would be murdered if they refused. Afterward the women were raped by more than 100 soldiers; the children were spectators at their own, private genocide."
I try to take all of this in as I drink coffee and eat my raisin bran. And I do not wonder in the least why I resonate to the word "absurd" as a way to conceive of human existence. These different realities also explain why my all-time favorite poem is "Musee de Beaux Arts" by Auden; it's on the wall in my office, and it captures the same bizarre juxtaposition of multiple realities:
Musee des Beaux Arts
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the plowman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
-- W. H. Auden
I try to be thankful for what I have, and where I am. And all the while, I am keenly aware that other people are in other places and have other realities. And some of those realities are simply so gruesome that one is left feeling quite powerless.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Fundamentalist rant
Currently reading The Looming Tower by Lawrence Wright. This book won a Pulitzer Prize; it basically explains how 9/11 became 9/11, going back the better part of a century to help us understand what has gone on in Egypt, in Afghanistan, in Saudi Arabia, and other parts of the Middle East that foreshadowed where we are today.
In many ways, the book is spooky and forces one to acknowledge that there are two radically different value systems and mindsets out there: one that promotes religious totalitarianism, and one that promotes religious pluralism. There is a traditional mindset and a modern mindset; a mindset that worships freedom and one that is wary of it; one that welcomes diversity and change and one that does not.
In my view, the two biggest obstacles to world peace at the moment would be fundamentalist Islam and fundamentalist Christianity. They are both quite scary. The Looming Tower tells us quite a bit about the Islamic version; Sam Harris's The End of Faith does the same with both Christianity and Islam.
I am afraid that in my lifetime, I will not see organized religion--at least, the fundamentalist versions of it--be reformed in any meaningful way. But someday--maybe a century or two from now--people will read what others believed at this time, and believed with absolute certainty because it was decreed by either God or Allah, and they will shake their heads and mutter in disbelief. For now, however, I must write this from within the "loony bin" that is the world of 2008, and it's truly a more certifiably crazy world than most people seem to think.
In many ways, the book is spooky and forces one to acknowledge that there are two radically different value systems and mindsets out there: one that promotes religious totalitarianism, and one that promotes religious pluralism. There is a traditional mindset and a modern mindset; a mindset that worships freedom and one that is wary of it; one that welcomes diversity and change and one that does not.
In my view, the two biggest obstacles to world peace at the moment would be fundamentalist Islam and fundamentalist Christianity. They are both quite scary. The Looming Tower tells us quite a bit about the Islamic version; Sam Harris's The End of Faith does the same with both Christianity and Islam.
I am afraid that in my lifetime, I will not see organized religion--at least, the fundamentalist versions of it--be reformed in any meaningful way. But someday--maybe a century or two from now--people will read what others believed at this time, and believed with absolute certainty because it was decreed by either God or Allah, and they will shake their heads and mutter in disbelief. For now, however, I must write this from within the "loony bin" that is the world of 2008, and it's truly a more certifiably crazy world than most people seem to think.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Mr. Consistency
Call me Mr. Consistency.
As my countless legions of friends know, distance running is a very big part of my life. I haven't written much about that over the years, but someday I will, because running is a religion for me and I feel a need to proselytize. Running is my time away; it's my way to get in touch with the natural world and my own body (no sleazy jokes, please!); it's my form of meditation; it's my health insurance policy; and along with caffeine, it's my drug-of-choice. In short, running keeps me feeling sane, relaxed, and whole. And, somewhat obsessive person that I am, I have kept fairly careful running records over the years, going back to (gulp) 1975. (Keeping track of all this has been a big motivator!) To date, I have run 17,090 miles, which includes:
• six marathons (26.2 miles)
• five 25K races (15.52 miles)
• twenty half-marathons (13.1 miles)
• four 10-mile races
• three 15K races (9.3 miles)
• seventeen 10K races (6.2 miles) and
• eleven 4-5 mile races
To reinforce my obsessive impulses, my lovely wife bought me a "Garmin" for my last birthday (it goes on your wrist--looks like a rather large wristwatch), which can now tell me, on any run, exactly how many miles I went (to the hundredth of a mile), my exact time, my per-mile pace, my average and top speeds in miles per hour, the number of feet of ascent and descent in the run, the number of calories that I burned, and also provides a map of exactly where I ran (those satellites are spying on all of us anyway--why not use them for this as well?). You want data? I got data.
There will come a time when running is no longer a possiblity (knock on wood), but I continue to hang on to the illusion that I can do this forever. One needs a few illusions, dontcha think?
At any rate, I am getting pretty consistent, though. In late January, I ran the Securian Frozen Half Marathon (the St. Paul Winter Carnival Half Marathon) in 1 hour, 56 minutes, and 47 seconds. Then, last weekend, I ran the New Prague Half Marathon in (drum roll) 1 hour, 56 minutes, and 47 seconds. My, my--I couldn't do that again if I tried! I may not be really fast, but damn, I'm consistent.
As my countless legions of friends know, distance running is a very big part of my life. I haven't written much about that over the years, but someday I will, because running is a religion for me and I feel a need to proselytize. Running is my time away; it's my way to get in touch with the natural world and my own body (no sleazy jokes, please!); it's my form of meditation; it's my health insurance policy; and along with caffeine, it's my drug-of-choice. In short, running keeps me feeling sane, relaxed, and whole. And, somewhat obsessive person that I am, I have kept fairly careful running records over the years, going back to (gulp) 1975. (Keeping track of all this has been a big motivator!) To date, I have run 17,090 miles, which includes:
• six marathons (26.2 miles)
• five 25K races (15.52 miles)
• twenty half-marathons (13.1 miles)
• four 10-mile races
• three 15K races (9.3 miles)
• seventeen 10K races (6.2 miles) and
• eleven 4-5 mile races
To reinforce my obsessive impulses, my lovely wife bought me a "Garmin" for my last birthday (it goes on your wrist--looks like a rather large wristwatch), which can now tell me, on any run, exactly how many miles I went (to the hundredth of a mile), my exact time, my per-mile pace, my average and top speeds in miles per hour, the number of feet of ascent and descent in the run, the number of calories that I burned, and also provides a map of exactly where I ran (those satellites are spying on all of us anyway--why not use them for this as well?). You want data? I got data.
There will come a time when running is no longer a possiblity (knock on wood), but I continue to hang on to the illusion that I can do this forever. One needs a few illusions, dontcha think?
At any rate, I am getting pretty consistent, though. In late January, I ran the Securian Frozen Half Marathon (the St. Paul Winter Carnival Half Marathon) in 1 hour, 56 minutes, and 47 seconds. Then, last weekend, I ran the New Prague Half Marathon in (drum roll) 1 hour, 56 minutes, and 47 seconds. My, my--I couldn't do that again if I tried! I may not be really fast, but damn, I'm consistent.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Star Tribune: an obstacle 93 percent of the time
Well, the Don Quixote of the blogosphere (that's me) continues to tilt against the windmills of the world. Anyone who knows me (but who REALLY knows me? I have a secret life that involves azaleas, model railroading, and nipple rings) also knows that I have "had it up to here," as they say, with people who purport to know about nonverbal communication. Dr. Phil actually told Larry King on the air (on Larry King Live) that "communication is 93 percent nonverbal." Dr. Phil was spreading (like cheap manure) the most famous set of false statistics in my field: that the meaning in a message is "7 percent verbal, 38 percent vocal, and 55 percent facial." As I have demonstrated in two different articles (I will spare you THOSE details), these numbers are wrong, misleading, bogus, faux, and any other synonym you can provide.
Enter the Star Tribune, which, on May 5, had as its lead article in its "Source" (variety) section, "Bodies at work." Big 48-point headline. Big colorful graphics. And an article that begins with a big, big lie. Alison Grant, the Newhouse News Service writer, tells us in the 4th paragraph that "A classic 1971 study by UCLA psychologist Albert Mehrabian showed that less than 10 percent of what audience members remembered from a speaker was verbal. About a third of the impact came from tone of voice. The rest, more than half the recall, involved body language--gestures, facial expressions, posture, movements." That prompted me to send the newspaper this letter:
Dear Star Tribune:
It is often painful to read about "nonverbal communication" from people who claim to have knowledge about the subject but really don't. In the Source section of the May 5 Star Tribune ("Bodies at work," by Newhouse News Service writer Alison Grant), it is stated that "A classic 1971 study by UCLA psychologist Albert Mehrabian showed that less than 10 percent of what audience members remembered from a speaker was verbal," implying that roughly 90 percent of a message's meaning is nonverbal. That is simply not true.
First, the two studies that arrived at these numbers are from 1967, not 1971. Second, the key study involved only 37 female psychology majors at UCLA reacting to a situation that essentially forced these women to pay more attention to the nonverbal message because the verbal stimulus was limited to but one word: the word "maybe." Third, the study was not a test of what "audience members remembered," but how they judged the feelings of the speaker. And with only one word to react to--"maybe"--it should come as no surprise that these laboratory subjects paid more attention to the speaker's tone of voice and facial expression to determine the speaker's feelings. There are other inaccuracies in this article as well about Mehrabian's line of research, but I will leave it at that for now.
The bottom line is this: there is no magical formula that can precisely express the relative importance of the verbal and nonverbal messages in any given situation. The percentages from the Mehrabian research are widely cited, but they are a type of "urban legend." And if you don't believe me when I say that words can count for more than 10 percent of the total meaning in a message, try calling your best friend a "big fat selfish pig" in a very calm voice with a gentle smile on your face and see if they actually pay more attention to "body language."
David Lapakko, Ph.D.
Associate Professor, Dept. of Communication Studies
Augsburg College
So there, I say! This letter did not meet the Star Tribune's high standards and was not published. But the letter does meet my standards (read: none whatsoever). Once again the local newspaper cannot stop me, although I'm beginning to develop a little psychological complex. I hope I am not turning into that slightly deranged guy you see in our urban centers, aimlessly walking about and muttering to any stranger who will make eye contact with him--and even any stranger who won't! I may be 93 percent crazy, but I hang on to that 7 percent of the time when I can be normal and lucid. Pass my meds over to me, please!
Enter the Star Tribune, which, on May 5, had as its lead article in its "Source" (variety) section, "Bodies at work." Big 48-point headline. Big colorful graphics. And an article that begins with a big, big lie. Alison Grant, the Newhouse News Service writer, tells us in the 4th paragraph that "A classic 1971 study by UCLA psychologist Albert Mehrabian showed that less than 10 percent of what audience members remembered from a speaker was verbal. About a third of the impact came from tone of voice. The rest, more than half the recall, involved body language--gestures, facial expressions, posture, movements." That prompted me to send the newspaper this letter:
Dear Star Tribune:
It is often painful to read about "nonverbal communication" from people who claim to have knowledge about the subject but really don't. In the Source section of the May 5 Star Tribune ("Bodies at work," by Newhouse News Service writer Alison Grant), it is stated that "A classic 1971 study by UCLA psychologist Albert Mehrabian showed that less than 10 percent of what audience members remembered from a speaker was verbal," implying that roughly 90 percent of a message's meaning is nonverbal. That is simply not true.
First, the two studies that arrived at these numbers are from 1967, not 1971. Second, the key study involved only 37 female psychology majors at UCLA reacting to a situation that essentially forced these women to pay more attention to the nonverbal message because the verbal stimulus was limited to but one word: the word "maybe." Third, the study was not a test of what "audience members remembered," but how they judged the feelings of the speaker. And with only one word to react to--"maybe"--it should come as no surprise that these laboratory subjects paid more attention to the speaker's tone of voice and facial expression to determine the speaker's feelings. There are other inaccuracies in this article as well about Mehrabian's line of research, but I will leave it at that for now.
The bottom line is this: there is no magical formula that can precisely express the relative importance of the verbal and nonverbal messages in any given situation. The percentages from the Mehrabian research are widely cited, but they are a type of "urban legend." And if you don't believe me when I say that words can count for more than 10 percent of the total meaning in a message, try calling your best friend a "big fat selfish pig" in a very calm voice with a gentle smile on your face and see if they actually pay more attention to "body language."
David Lapakko, Ph.D.
Associate Professor, Dept. of Communication Studies
Augsburg College
So there, I say! This letter did not meet the Star Tribune's high standards and was not published. But the letter does meet my standards (read: none whatsoever). Once again the local newspaper cannot stop me, although I'm beginning to develop a little psychological complex. I hope I am not turning into that slightly deranged guy you see in our urban centers, aimlessly walking about and muttering to any stranger who will make eye contact with him--and even any stranger who won't! I may be 93 percent crazy, but I hang on to that 7 percent of the time when I can be normal and lucid. Pass my meds over to me, please!
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