The Fat Fact of Forty

Youth has nothing on wisdom?

Here I am, having survived the turning of the arbitrary clock into what was my 40th year. Becoming 40 was traumatic but being 40 is freedom, if freedom is an excuse. Why did I have to wait so long to let myself be me? 40 was permission, 40 was validation, 40 was a soft comfy chair at the end of a long day. So here I sit in my 40 and there are wrinkles around my eyes and mouth when I smile at the satisfaction of coming to rest.

How to get to the end of the End of it...

New Scientist has an article called "Winning the ultimate battle: how humans can end war" in which an academic presumptuously updates the Myth of the Noble Savage by pointing out the lovey-dovey behavior of a few isolated groups of people. I have a better idea...

Ridiculous monkeys

We are just ridiculous monkeys, the lot of us.

We mourn someone we don't know, who did very little in the world except entertain us - but of course that is so important - we celebrate dominance based on nothingness: "King" of "Pop"? He was such a leader . . . in dancing? In singing? In dressing? In what, exactly? And what if he has escaped justice? What if he did molest those children? Weep because he brought so much to better humanity, right? You stupid, stupid monkeys.