Rejoice

I'm an uncle. It's a first for me and the phone call from my brother Peter announcing the arrival of Catherine Breese Wallace was like jumping in Farm Pond after a day of bucking hay in the high summer and the cool water pulls every prick and jabbing needle of hardened grass out of you and makes you feel so good you forgot what it was that was bothering you. Cheers to that.

Of course, that was way earlier in the day and walking a couple of miles in the June sun will do it to ya. I can tell you that kindness and humanity need to make a comeback. We got a recession on and this war is dragging us down. At the same time, I don't know if there has ever been a more me-centric culture than contemporary America. I love this place but I despise what pop stardom has made us become. Everyone heard the story of the old man hit by a car in Conneticut where people drove by after the poor bastard was crumpled up on the ground. There was an even more fucked up story in the local paper about some ass who hit and killed a 5 year old boy and proceeded to drive off. Stop and help. Who cares about jail when this person needs nothing more than somebody by them. Our inane lives have become more important than life and that doesn't bode well. Shit's gonna smash right through the fan if we keep this up and splatter all over us while we fight our brothers for a piece of bread. It won't be the solid crap of a wheat and oats. It'll be the loud mess that comes after you drink a half a case of PBR, shoot a pint of Jack, eat a mess of hot wings at 3 AM, smoke two packs, wake up, eat an egg sandwich topped with half a pound of bacon cooked by some woman who hates the world, get to work, drink a quart of coffee, and feel your soul rot into the toilet below. That's gonna suck. I say we start with some decency toward the people we see in line at the supermarket or across the dinner table. What do I know?