I Can't See The Forest Through The

I Have Nothing Against Canada. I Think That Canadians Might Know The Secret To All Existence, But To Us It Just Comes Off As Timid And Kind And Too Nice, And It Strikes Us As Lacking Edge. Unless You Are Hijacking Someone And Going On A Reality Show With Your Eight Kids And Wearing A Velour Pink Pantsuit, Then You Have No Edge To Us.

We've Come To Expect So Little From Online Privacy Measures That Public Displays Of Concern About The Matter Are More Or Less For Show. Being Devastated To Discover You've Been Tagged In Somebody Else's Photo Has An Air Of The Melodramatic About It At This Point.

There Is One Thing You Know For Sure, One Fact That Never Fails To Comfort You: The Worst Day Of Your Life Wasn't In There, In That Mess. And It Will Do You Good To Remember The Best Day Of Your Life Wasn't In There, Either. But Another Person Brought You Closer To Those Borders Than You Had Been, And Maybe That's Not Such A Bad Thing.

Life Starts Out With Everyone Clapping When You Take A Poo And Goes Downhill From There.

When I Was Nine Years Old, I Wrote A Short Story Called 'how To Build A Snowman,' From Which No Practical Snowperson-crafting Techniques Could Be Gleaned. The Story Was An Assignment For Class And It Featured A Series Of Careful But Meaningless Instructions. Of Course, The Building Of The Snowman Was A Red Herring.