It's all about me

After much soul searching and consultation with friends and family, I have decided not to seek the mayor's office next year. I thought maybe I should give something back to the community but then decided, well, if they don't know I have it, why don't I just keep it? My press secretary will hold a news conference some day next week, at which she will issue the following announcement: "Mr. Morris will be available for interviews later in the month, at which time he will express his intentions and take questions."

I approved this message.

Listen, up kids. Those of us in the baby boom generation have given you rock 'n' roll, computers, war protest, the breakup of the family and the breakdown of social order, the sexual revolution, drugs, sport utility vehicles and the elevation of self-indulgent narcissism to an art form. We created the world you live in by squandering the heroic sacrifices of the Greatest Generation.

Now it's your turn to start taking care of us:

Today's rant (if my newspaper can do it, I guess I can, too). But first, a little background. One day in 1948, a Swiss inventor named George de Mestral took his dog for a walk. On his return home, he noticed that both he and his dog were covered with burrs. An examination under the microscope revealed that small hooks in the burrs made them cling both to his pants and the dog. This was his "Eureka!" moment. Seven years later, he had patented his little invention, two strips that clung together because one strip had little hooks.

Another journalist gets in trouble for sock puppetry, the practice of maintaining both a real blog identity, with which to make primary posts, and a fake one, with which to surreptitiously praise oneself and savage one's enemies:

This site was passed along to me by my sister-in-law. I liked it, so pass it along. If you like it, do the same. It's a poem about growing old set to the Alan Jackson song "Remember When."

I not going to live forever,
but while I am still here,
I will not waste time lamenting
what could have been,
or worrying about what will be.
but will continue
to rejoice in what was.

One of the things I regret missing out on is the campus experience. I started college at IPFW, continuing to live with my parents. After military service, I finished at Ball State, commuting from Marion, where I lived with my in-laws. So when people talk about dorm parties and all-night study sessions and getting together for pizza after the football game, all I can relate it to is sharing barracks with 30 or more other soldiers, not nearly (I suspect) the same experience.

As we do occasionally, my sister and I decided to try a restaurant we'd never been to before. Indianapolis Monthly raved about it, it had "bistro" in the name; what could possibly go wrong? We were both underwhelmed. It turned out to be one of those self-consciously trendy places that put the haughty in haute cuisine. Elaborate presentations, painfully ostentatious decor, waiters and waitresses dressed better than we were. The portions were tiny, the vegetables exotic and the sauces adventurous.

I've been thinking about a smaller house. I've been divorced for about seven years now but still live in the house we shared. It's too big and too old (I'm no Mr. Fix-it), so I've been thinking about something smaller and newer and on one level instead of two. Turns out I'm part of a national trend:

Diane Ramirez, president of Halstead Property, has seen downsizing pick up steam in recent months, especially among suburbanites in New York, New Jersey and Connecticut.

Sigh. The self-esteem movement just keeps rolling on:

AP) -- Penny Grossman cringes each time a student mentions a birthday party during class at her Boston, Massachusetts-area preschool. The rule there, and at a growing number of America's schools, is that parties and play-dates shouldn't be discussed unless every child in the room is invited.

One of the things you learn to do at work is look out for each other. You notice someone is having to deal with someone difficult, so you call him on the phone: "Hi, this is Leo. If you want to end that meeting now, pretend this is an important call." Then, when you need it, he'll do the same thing for you. Now, the whole thing has been automated: