I should be in bed, but I'm all fired up because I just wrote a letter to the editor about Plan B. Also, I appear to have sustained some sort of English injury. To my back. I think maybe there's a participle dangling between my shoulder blades. I hope I didn't split an infinitive back there. (Somewhere, someone's grandma just laughed at those horrible jokes.)
So I'm sitting here thinking about stuff and listening to the radio (good show, Dave, although through most of it I was in a writing haze and fantasizing about becoming a political speechwriter) and I remembered something I wanted to share with all (five) of you. Last night I watched a little bit of PeeWee's Playhouse. After about a minute and a half, the picture-phone rang and I started to wonder if I had somehow ingested peyote.
When I see part of a cartoon that kids today watch, I think, "No wonder they've all got ADHD." Having now watched PeeWee's Playhouse and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the same week as an adult, I have come to the conclusion that this is the reason we are all on drugs.
A lot of people try to return to their childhood as they begin adulthood. I think that because so many of us associate floating disembodied heads, talking furniture, screaming, and psychedelic colors with our childhood, we find hallucinogens to be a blast from the past and a half.