There was a man I knew once who lived for a good time. Work, he believed and ardently practiced, was only good for providing a means to an end, the end result being that of his vigorous pursuit of wine, women and song.
It is possible that I could say that I didn't believe my eyes. The truth is, though, that when it comes to the bizarre, the absurd, the downright unnatural, my eyes pretty much believe whatever they see.
My friend, Linda, is one of those kinds of friends that drift in and out of my life. The kind of friend that I see infrequently but when we gather together over lunch or dinner, it's as though we've had coffee together every morning for the past six months. Our conversation isn't constant but our friendship is.
In a moment of not perfectly clear thinking, I agreed to sit on a panel composed of several women for a television show. The idea was that we so-called "experts" would answer questions posed by guys who wanted to know about the inside thinking of a woman.
It's getting to the point that I don't believe my own eyes or trust what my ears hear. Sometimes it feels like I'm starring in the old movie, "Gas Light," where the world is conspiring to make me think I'm crazy.
When I had the privilege of delivering a keynote address to the National Association of Postmasters of the United States n Anchorage, Alaska, I spoke on the joy that comes in the form of a card or letter.
When I had the privilege of delivering a keynote address to the National Association of Postmasters of the United States in Anchorage, Alaska, I spoke on the joy that comes in the form of a card or letter.