Pride of the Crankies

Family lore maintains that the ball hit me on the head. And I’ll concede that getting walloped thus by a baseball could cloud one’s memory, but I still insist this is not what happened. The ball bounced off my glove. And this was because at that tender age, catching a speeding baseball with my fragile, preschool hands was somewhat painful. And I had learned to avoid pain.


Captive Audience

  As someone who’s worked with the public for decades, I’ve concluded that being a “people person” is more a matter of solemn duty than actual love of one’s fellow man. I consider the ability to behave respectfully towards talkative patrons rather than killing them a practiced art, like sharpshooting or making pancakes in the shape of ducks. It’s a talent that could be considered a calling. I know that for me there is no burning desire to absorb the time-wasting blather of others. I’d rather be home watching “Pimp My Desperate Housewife” like everyone else.