I Don't Want To Go To Peru.

There's A Problem With Marrying Up. You Always Worry That Someday They'll See Through You And Leave. Or, Worse Yet, Someone Better Will Come Along And Take Her. In My Case, It Wasn't Someone. And It Wasn't Something Better.

I Believe That In Spite Of The Chains We Bind Ourselves With, There's A Primordial Section Of The Human Psyche That Is Still Nomadic And Still Yearns To Roam Free.

As A Boy I Heard This Story In Church. A Man Was Patching A Pitched Roof Of A Tall Building When He Began Sliding Off. As He Neared The Edge Of The Roof He Prayed, "save Me, Lord, And I'll Go To Church Every Sunday, I'll Give Up Drinking, I'll Be The Best Man This City Has Ever Known." As He Finished His Prayer, A Nail Snagged Onto His Overalls And Saved Him. The Man Looked Up To The Sky And Shouted, "never Mind, God. I Took Care Of It Myself." How True Of Us.

I Am A Believer In Angels, Though Not The Picture-book Kind With Wings And Harps. Such Angelic Accoutrements Seem As Nonsensical To Me As Devils Sporting Horns And Carrying Pitchforks. To Me, Angel Wings Are Merely Symbolic Of Their Role As Divine Messengers.

We Plan Our Lives In Long, Unbroken Stretches That Intersect Our Dreams The Way Highways Connect The City Dots On A Road Map. But In The End We Learn That Life Is Lived In The Side Roads, Alleys, And Detours.