"Oh, st - st - st - cut it out! I'm serious!"

-- Porky Pig to Daffy Duck, "Robin Hood Daffy"

And the world is, once again, slightly darker. It got dimmer when Douglas Adams left us last year (to whom my good friend, Ghost Rider, and I, still have a tribute song in process...). It got dimmer when George Harrison left us last year. Before that, it was Phil Hartman, and Jim Varney, and Dr. Seuss, and Mel Blanc, and Jim Henson (with a great many of high significance in between!), and the list goes on. I can even claim some personal ones in my life, and I think they probably make a more profound dent in my consciousness than most of those with theatrical or cinematographic accolades.

This time, it was Chuck Jones' turn to sit under the ridiculously small cocktail umbrella, waiting for the anvil from the sky to land with a self-satisfying TOONK that only a master of animation of Mr. Jones' calibre would appreciate in his final moment.

If only that were the case. Apparently, he passed away from something much more mundane. Congestive heart failure, from what I am told.

From time immemorial (okay, from about 1978), I can remember sitting up on saturday mornings with my Brother and my Dad and, occasionally, my Mom, watching Wile E. Coyote plot various acts of revenge upon that embodiment of pure luck, the Road Runner. The one with all the blueprints -- including the one that came to life and karangued Wile E. upside the head with a blue-printed rock -- is probably the one most vivid in my memory. Other treats, such as Marvin the Martian disintegrating Daffy Duck with a casual ZORCH! from his portable disintegration ray, or the episode in which Daffy Duck is shown being animated (by, as it turns out, Bugs Bunny), became instant hits with my own off-beat sense of humour.

The one which hit my funny bone most recently depicted Sylvester trying, of course, to get Tweety from his cage without getting hopelessly mauled by this ocean of bulldogs. Sylvester's final solution was to paint a white stripe down his back in the hopes of quelling the onslaught -- which it did, only to produce a last-minute cameo appearance by Pépé Le Pew, who has now decided upon the silent -- and apparently skunk-like -- Sylvester as a lust object just before Sylvester can grab the pesky canary. The timing was brilliant, as usual.

All this is to say nothing, of course, of his longer animation achievements, Dr. Seuss' How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and Gay Purr-ee, the last a full-length feature having been produced in tandem with his wife, Dorothy. There may well be others I have missed.

Chuck Jones and Michael Maltese made the perfect Supervisor/Animator team. Between them there must be at least a score of cartoons to their credit, and there's not a dog in the bunch (outside of the one that keeps popping up and thrashing the tar out of Sylvester, poor hapless feline). Very few people have the gift of timing of being able to affect the public at large so poignantly for such a long period of time.

Chuck made his debut at WB studios, under the tutelage of none other than the first God of Speed Violence, Fred Avery (later billed as "Tex Avery"), and I quite vividly remember seeing Charlie M. Jones as the name on the credits for the cartoon. It was a black-and-white, probably the only one in which I've seen Jones' name listed in the credits. I could be wrong about this, but I'm reasonably sure (without having done extensive literary research) that this is correct. Avery later left Warner Brothers for MGM, where he animated a good many Tom and Jerry cartoons.

Chuck animated Bugs and Elmer a few times, danced Daffy in rings around Bugs, and gave us some of the best gut-busters (the lack of memory of titles for which I apologise profusely) as he began to blur the commonly accepted lines between characters and, as shown in "Duck Amuck", the line between animator and creation.

His most noteworthy contributions were the original characters Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner, Pépé Le Pew, and Marvin the Martian. Backed by musical composer/director Carl Stalling and vocal wizard Mel ("Man of 1,000 Voices") Blanc, he created what were to be some of the most memorable cartoon interactions to hit the screen, including some adventures with the Abominable Snowman ("Gosh, it's hot, George!").

From what I can gather, he took a small breather somewhere in the middle to animate what has become one of the most beloved winter holiday animations, Dr. Seuss' How The Grinch Stole Christmas. Narrated (and sung!) by, appropriately, none other than Boris ("Man of 1,000 Faces") Karloff, this gem instantly and irrevocably wove its way into the hearts of young and old alike to be a mainstay of what would otherwise be a trite collection of Christmas animations. Let's face it, how many times can you watch "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" followed by "Frosty the Snowman", followed by "Rudolph and Frosty"? It's enough to make a hairless cat cough up a furball.

Shortly after, he and his wife directed and animated "Gay Purr-ee", a tale of two kitties (actually, a lot of kitties -- the animated cast is entirely feline) in two different worlds; Jaune-Tom (voiced by Robert Goulet), a cat on the French countryside who's content to zero in on mice and leave their senses reeling just before he lets them go; and Mewsette (graced with the voice of Judy Garland), a country cat who has her sights on becoming a high-status cat in Paris. I cannot describe the entire story line here due to the lateness of the hour and the sieve-like nature of my memory of late, so I will leave it as an exercise to the reader to go to their local video store and rent it, or keep an eye on their Extended Basic Cable Channels. Occasionally, Toon Disney will plop it on. Voice talents also include Maurice Chevalier (or is it Robert Jourdan?) and Red Buttons.

Of course, how could I forget the animated interpretation of Rudyard Kipling's Rikki Tikki Tavi? Rikki zips around from scene to scene, nose twitching, eyes twinkling in typical Chuck fashion, as he heads in to eventually take Nag and Nagaina out of the picture. It is a half hour to be remembered.

After that, to be honest, I have no idea what he did. He was almost sixty by that time, so maybe he retired -- after forty years of constant production and collaboration, he certainly deserved it. He was Daffy Duck, having entered the Genie's cave and claimed all the riches, beating Bugs senselessly back into the dirt tunnel from which they had emerged, only to determine that they probably should have taken that left turn at Albukoiky. He was Marvin, disintegrating the foes from the Earth in the name of Mars. He was the Road Runner, always stopping just short of the scheduled désastre du jour.

This year, Wile E. Coyote has caught the Road Runner, and the world is just a small bit dimmer for it. Never mind that nine decades is a good chunk of time to spend on this spinning blue-printed rock.

Here's to you, Chuck. Thanks for giving this world some light and laughter while you were here. May the legacy you've foisted upon us through some dark times see us through many more years.

And to the parents out there: Introduce your kids to the wonderfully zany work of this fellow. It is no less than genius. In these dark, socially uptight times, laughter is of vital importance.

So, What's The Day About, Again?

(It's not what it should be.)

[Sorry, I've been a bit remiss, again. The Great Temporal Devourer has been visiting of late. To catch you up, briefly, I'm employed, somewhat gainfully. I thank whichever deity it was that decided to drop a credit card into my lap, as dangerous as it is. Without it, I'd not be able to fix my car.

But I digress.]

So here I am. February 14th. What's this day for, exactly?

Growing up, I remember it being about colourful pink, red and white cards in the shapes of hearts named after some guy who got sainted after being martyred for some reason. I'll have to re-read the history in order to understand it fully.

I remember it being a day where candy hearts, chocolate-covered cherries, chocolate-covered caramels, chocolate-covered rocks...and, of course, chocolate-covered faces and hands (and clothes!) by the time we were all done.

I liked the cherries and the conversation hearts, myself. I remember when they were made by the Stark Candy Company (recently (as in the last decade or so) eaten by Necco. It could have been worse. It could have been the other way around. But I digress...). DIG IT. YOU'RE COOL. BE MINE. All those quaint little sentiments of which I could neither make heads nor tails.

Of course, I think I was between five and thirteen, a time when sharing things with (ew!) girls was fraught with cooties and who knows what else.

Truthfully, I didn't have a problem with girls back then. Any of them that would give me the time of day were usually okay, and my interest in them was purely on the level of a friendship. I'm beginning to wonder if that's simply the best way to go in the first place.

Now, today, I see Valentine's day, and it's another day, marred only by the marketing campaigns of the Candy, Lingerie and Jewelry companies. It's a pity, these images that are put out regarding how to behave on Valentine's day, as though it were something truly special.

First off, let me point out that if a guy goes shopping for their girl or whomever, if they're picking up any of the aforementioned categories, they're not doing it altruistically. They're not going to give a box of chocolates or a diamond ring/necklace/whatever to their sweetheart purely out of the goodness of their heart. Come on, guys, admit it. You're in it for something. You want your sweetheart to put out. And if you're shopping for racy clothing (if you can call it clothing...), you're really shopping for yourself. You don't want her to appreciate it, you want to appreciate her in it. (For those of you who are same-sex-oriented, please substitute where appropriate above, if you happen to fall into the description. a) I don't mean to slight you. b) You probably have more sense than this anyway.)

If you're going to go shopping for something that has anything to do with her, take her out shopping with you and let her look at things. Pay attention to what she likes. Nothing says you need to pick it up with her still there. Get an attention span.

But I digress.

I guess where I'm going with all this is that I'm still baffled about how most people treat Valentine's day so strangely. If you're single or unattached, chances are that Valentine's day sucks because nobody is going to do anything special with you. If you're attached, and especially if you're a guy attached to a woman, chances are that if you don't do anything special for her, she's going to be very put out.

Now, I'm a hopeless romantic. I'm about as far down that path as they come. I like chick flicks. I can just enjoy spending time with a lady. But no person out there is worth that amount of trouble.

A friend of mine once told me, point blank, that romance is a means of manipulation. The flowers, the chocolates, the nice night out, the champagne, they all have strings attached to them. I had to examine this very closely, and I had to insist that it wasn't true.

But this was four months ago. The more I think about it, the more I think that she had a very valid point. I don't think it's ENTIRELY accurate. I mean, every now and then, it does feel nice to do something sweet for someone else, and it feels nice when someone does it for you, but there cannot be any strings attached. Just take it for what it is -- a nice time for the moment. Enjoy that moment. It doesn't strengthen or weaken what has been or what is to come, per se. One nice night does not a beautiful world make, although I think it helps once in a while.

I also happen to think that Valentine's day should not be used as an excuse for it to happen.

Now, maybe, due to my experiences (or lack thereof) in life, I'm jaded beyond cure.

Something else that's been pounding about my craneum lately has been the fact that we are conditioned to look at a relationship with someone else as an objet d'amour -- just that, an object. Being involved romantically with someone else by and large seems to be an endpoint, a step, a milestone. Once we get the girl/guy, things change. We take each the other for granted.

Why do we do this? Why does a romance carry a different weight than a friendship? By "different", I don't mean "more" or "heavier", because obviously it's going to be heavier. I mean different. We don't go out on the first day of school with the objective of "I'm going to make me some friends". It's something that just sort of happens. You meet people, and you're friends with them, and if you're good friends, your paths in life will overlap. A lot. You will share the a lot of the same bumps in the road, and the laws of physics will apply in the realm of emotional space as well, on occasion ("Two pieces of matter can not occupy the same space at the same time"). But notice that at no time has it ever come into the picture that, "Great, now I have a friend". I'm not saying you won't take each other for granted now and again, but it's less likely to happen with a friend.

I've heard it said that friendships bond much more strongly. I'd like to define that a bit and say that friendships bond not all that deeply, certainly not initially, but it's the breadth of the bond -- how much surface area you share, emotionally and mentally speaking -- which creates the strength.

Now, romantic relationships are almost always treated a bit differently. I think it's something to do with the 'tab A fits into slot B' bit. But while that's within the scope of the relationship, it should not be necessarily a contributing factor. The bond created by such a relation- ship usually initially is not all that broad, yet we allow it to go deeper. This is not a healthy approach, and it is why relationships will go south especially under stress. It gets even worse when the relationship is entered under lust, and you carry it forth when everything else is saying you should let it go.

I'm not all that much for the "dating" scene, certainly not the "I'm going to spend money and try to impress this girl/guy" kind of deal. In fact, honestly, I've been on as many dates as the number of women I've had in my life. I wouldn't know what to do on a date if it was neurologically transmitted to me by someone else.

I mean, is going out, dressed casual, for coffee and sitting and talking really a "date"? I've always been shown that dates involve much primping and preening and face-painting and perfume-spraying and cologne- splashing and spending of money. I can't get into that. It's just not my scene, and to play in that way would be pretending to be something I am not. In short, it's lying. No, thank you.

I'll probably throw on a nicer shirt (but nothing too stuffy), a cleaner pair of jeans, and I might shave, and if the mood suits me, I *might* even braid my hair.

Let's go have some coffee or tea, and talk, and find our differences, our similarities and take it from there. Be my friend. Ask any of the people who are my friends and who have been never more to me than friends, and you will find that I treat them well, by and large (else they wouldn't be friends, of course!). Maybe we can hang out and hack on something, or sing and play some music together.

Help me learn about what I've just said above, as I've been quite guilty of treating a relationship as an endpoint. It's just a friendship with a little more involvement.

Be my friend.

Learn about me.

I'll do my best to do the same.

But I digress.

The best part of this Valentine's day was listening to the gratitude pour forth from my children as they opened a pair of piggy banks and their own boxes of chocolates. No doubt, they'll remember the cute cards with Cinderella and Pokemon and Buzz Lightyear that they'll get from the other kids in their class. They probably aren't even being told what Valentine's day is all about. But that's okay; they'll get that later. They'll meet someone erudite who will be able to tell them who Valentine was, why he was sainted and where the heart came from.

In the meanwhile, they can enjoy the chocolates and the cherries and the candy conversation hearts. Hopefully, they will cherish these memories and expound upon them to their children someday.

That Great Road We Call Life

(or, "How's that, again?")

Those of you who visit this page might note that it's not been updated for quite a while; this is, by and large, due to the various happenings that some of us refer to as Life. Others of us refer to it by a somewhat different four-letter word.

You know, as in, "Life Happens". Substitute appropriately.

The last six weeks have been a whirlwind of business without much motion, but it's been good for the head. I have been doing temporary work for As You Like It Productions, the producers of the Great Dickens Christmas Fair . I walked in to do Data Entry for them, and eventually got recruited into working at a game booth at the Fair. For their kind treatment and continued employment (until the work is gone), I am most grateful. They are WONDERFUL folks to work for. If you are in the San Francisco Bay Area or are planning to visit, please check out the Fair. It is a wonderful slice of Victorian (Dickensian) London, including the running about of Ebenezer Scrooge, Fanny Dorritt, the Crummles, David Copperfield and the ghosts of Christmases Past, Present and Future. There are many crafts and wares there appropriate to the period.

I have also been working for another good human (they're few and far between, believe me) by the name of Duncan Sandiland, who happens to also be my EA (read: "Financial Guru"). He has been kind enough to cast the occasional tidbit my way while I've been looking for work.

And last, but certainly not least, I have been kept about by several wonderful people at Mesa Electronics in Richmond, CA. The work is sporadic, but they've been kind enough to keep me in mind for when they needed me.

I am extremely grateful to all who have helped me and my family through this dry spell. It's been a trying six months, to be certain.

But this is Life.

A close friend of mine (and co-kid-raiser), Sandi, is going through some quite agonizing problems lately with her back and neck which have left her left arm largely numb, and this is torpedoing life about our domicile in quite a few ways, but she's holding up and persevering in spite of it all.

But this is Life.

To top it all off, our oldest feline of 17 years -- longer than I've known aforementioned friend -- had to be put down today. It was one of the more difficult things we've had to do.

But this is Life.

And so it goes. Life had been reasonably good for a while, and it's taken some nasty unexpected turns lately. I have every reason to believe that it will get better. Eventually.

For now, my internal temporal cycle is on hold while I try to collect my head.

And now, if you'll excuse me, dinner is burning.

Misplaced Standards and Milestones of False Expectations

"You've got it good. Really. It could be worse, you know..."

How many times have you heard a conversation head that way? You sit and bemoan your fate or your current situation, and someone invariably points out that it could be worse, that someone always has it worse than you.

Sometimes you grow so accustomed to it happening that you do it to yourself after a while.

And then, if you're REALLY on top of things, you believe it. Life isn't so bad. It could, indeed, be worse. Just think of the bum on the street corner. He's got it bad -- no home, raising a family, begging for pennies from passersby.

And, indeed, that paints a pretty bleak picture by comparison to what you have.

So you go on with your life, content that it could always be worse, never giving it a second thought. And life goes pretty well.

One day you wake up and it hits you like a ton of bricks. You feel like a dope, like someone who's been handed a large cosmic joke and didn't know it, because you've been wrong this whole time. And it takes you another year or more to figure out WHY you were wrong.

Let me save you this year. You'll thank me for it later. You were wrong because you were measuring yourself by the wrong standard.

We are taught through life to measure ourselves against other people instead of measuring up to the tasks at hand. We are taught to compete, to be better than anyone else at what we do to the point of exclusion instead of to the point of co-operation. This very attribute is probably the sole contributor to the universal dissatisfaction which is so prevalent in our culture today. "Second place is the first loser." "Nice guys finish last." "Runner-up is not good enough." These are all ideals which are taught from day one -- or at least from first grade on up. Be better than your classmate. If you can't beat him mentally, best him physically, or strategically (which is more drawn out than simple mental prowess). And finally, if you can't do it in any of those ways, show him that your daddy has more money than his does.

Now, what could we accomplish if, instead of measuring up to other people, trying to one-up them, trying to beat them down, we just attacked the task at hand with as much vigor as we attack the other guy?

We could accomplish feats in a fraction of the time we do now. We could have had a 20GHz microprocessor on every single desktop. We could have chewing gum that doesn't lose its flavour on the bedpost overnight. We could have sent a man to the Moon in 1961 instead of waiting for until 1969. We could have a cure for cancer, or AIDS.

By now we could have journeyed to the stars.

More to the point, if we must measure up to something, to a standard, let it be to the standards we measured to in our own past, on a very personal level.

Every time I hear that it could be worse, I want to throttle the messenger. Of course it could be worse, but that's not why I am so upset. I'm upset because I am being asked to lower the bar and compare to someone else. I don't want my life better by comparison to what another may have. I want my life to be better by comparison to where it is now, or I want it to be better than it was when I was doing so well.

I don't feel sorry for someone who isn't doing as well as me, just as I do not feel sorry for myself when I do not measure up to someone else's standard, because I am not judging myself by that standard. If they choose to look down their nose at me, that's their business. I'm not going to lose sleep over it, because it doesn't make me any less of a person, nor does it diminish my overall worth in the Grand Cosmic Scheme.

I'm doing okay. I can be better. I can always be better, so I work toward that.

Another common mistake which we are taught to accept as we mature and grow is "When I have [X] I will be fine", which is, of course, a paraphrase of the biggest lie in the world:

"When I have what I truly want, I will be happy."

What is this all about, anyway? Who are you kidding? When you're happy standing still, what are you working toward? What's left to conquer?

The truth is that the only happy person is a dead one. When we die, it's over. There's nothing left to accomplish in this life when we die.

Conversely, one dies when there is nothing left to accomplish. The body might continue on, and one may continue on to interact with others, but if there is nothing left to accomplish, where is the spark in life?

When I have [X], I will be fine. When I have a (better) car, I will be fine. When I have a (better-paying) job, I will be fine. When I meet another person to have and hold dear in my life, I will be fine.

This is a madness which we are all conditioned to accept, based on a completely materialistic drive. There's always something else out there to achieve, after which we will be "fine".

The trick to this is you've got to be fine NOW. Don't let it depend on some other event in your life. I don't care if you've got something terminal or you're merely suffering from a rectal craneotomy. Be fine. Get yourself together. Pull it in. Work with what you have. Be fine now.

The milestones are not goals. They are not ends in and of themselves. They are merely markers in your journey along the path of life, and you don't know what the next marker is going to be. You can not afford to put off being fine.

It is perfectly acceptable to say "I will be better when I can achieve [X]", because you are not defining an absolute state of being. And there may be a sequence of milestones which must be met in a particular order. But to hold off being fine, to stop living your life because those milestones have not yet been met is unacceptable.

We look at people who have achieved huge goals and we treat them as super-heroes when they are alive, and we treat them as gods when they finally slip past our world into a different one. We immortalise them in so many ways, and we glorify them far beyond their accomplishments.

What we fail to recognise is that they didn't reach those goals in one single bound. The truly successful ones didn't win the lottery. They did not suddenly nor unprecedentedly nor, in all likelihood, singlehandedly, make any great discoveries. It all happened in small steps. Had they not taken the small steps to get where they were going, they would not have gotten there at all, much less in the single bound over a tall building.

In fact, the ones who did start out with small fortunes and bought their way through their lives, for the most part, missed out on a lot of the lessons which life was meant to teach.

There are likely exceptions, as there always are, but they are few and far between.

The failures, the mistakes, are just as important as the milestones. One of the first ones an ambitious soul is likely to make is that the goals are huge, and that they are surmountable in a single bounce off the asphalt which precedes them. Said soul is wrong, twice; firstly, because there is no way one can leisurely hop over something so monumental as the goals they set for themselves; secondly, because it is not so much the goals which are huge as it is the results of all the smaller milestones which they have passed.

By and large, the only way to really appreciate all this is to experience it first hand. Even after reading this, you will probably not realise that you will need to experience it first hand. You'll think that the ol' Wolf has just handed you the cheat sheet.

A couple of things to remember:

1. Even in an open-book test, you need to know where to look to find the information asked on the test.
2. Even with the answers to every odd problem given in the back of the book, the teacher still expects you to show your work.

I'm happy now. Before you try to correct that statement, remember that my warning was about being happy standing still. I'm moving, always. I will be passing the milestones on my journey through life, noting them but not carrying them.

I'm fine. I will be better once I can find myself a job and support myself, preferably without shifting my residence much at the current moment. I could probably go on for about five different levels in five different directions as to what would make my life better.

But that's all frosting on the cake, and right now, I'm a little less interested in the frosting.

---

"Nobody ever learned anything by succeeding at it the first time out." -- Dawn Ellis

Wishes Made On The Universe

(or, "Be careful for what you wish...")

I seem to be blessed. Or cursed. I can't quite seem to figure out which.

You see, I am afflicted with the ability granted to the entirety of the truly intelligent and powerful, the ones who have a better idea on how to go about wielding their energy than most of the general populace. In short, the kind of people that I would like to spend my life around.

The ability is to make a wish on the Universe and have it come true.

In my life, after a time, I have been given what I asked for, only to be shown that it is not what I want, really. I have also been given what I needed, but after the point of need, I was, again, on my own.

Lately, I have been left to question the Universe on my last one. Let me check my notes...

Okay, let's see...musical, check...compassionate, check...intense, check!...knows how to deal with kids, check...intelligent, intricate, checkcheck...yep....mm hmmm...got that....and that...and that...and that. Okay, what did I miss?

YOU ARE NOT READY TO HANDLE THIS WISH

...hmmm, I forgot to put in something regarding distance, that must be it...understands why sci-fi, magic and fantasy are important to me...

YOU ARE NOT READY TO HANDLE THIS WISH

...exploration of skel...

...what?

Now, you're listening. Look at yourself. You have rebuilt yourself, sort of. But you have rebuilt yourself ON TOP OF THIS OTHER PERSON, and now this other person is going to proceed to beat you about the head with a clue-by-four. Soundly.

But I...

*WHAP*

Ouch.

You are not ready to handle this wish. You have a lot of rebuilding to do, and until you have at least created a stable foundation, you are going to be skirting the wish and getting it almost, but not quite. And you will keep doing this until you are strong on your own, when being alone no longer carries the full weight of loneliness.

It's the first time I will have ever considered returning a wish to the Cosmic pool for someone else to have...

Oh, that's a cute one. No. You're stuck with the consequences of this wish. When you are ready for it to happen, it will happen. Not before then.

But I'm ready now.

*WHAP*

Ouch.

You're so ready, you'll fling yourself head-over-heels into a situation which is no longer receptive to your presence. The owner of the situation has their own problems and is not likely to welcome you as readily, because when one has one's own problems, one can not shoulder another's. Even when one does NOT have one's own problems, another's problems can become wearisome, especially if they're the same old problems over and over. Oh, and one ALWAYS has one's own problems. The best one can do with another is to commiserate, empathise, sympathise, and offer some emotional support. You must be the one to right yourself, to build yourself strong, to fly your standard high and proud when you are ready.

But how will I know when I am ready?

Your Wish will be granted and fulfilled.

But when's that going to happen?

When you are ready.

But that's circular logic. The only way to really make this happen is to go on about my life, and there's no telling if this will ever come true in my lifetime!

Bingo.

So what do I do about it?

...

Hello? What do I do about this?

Live your life. Enjoy it. You will meet many people who will teach you many lessons. You may even meet the one you're looking for, if you're ready. But you can't stand still. You don't have time to stand still. Do something, even if it feels like not much progress is being made. Do something. Life is a journey. Count the milestones, but do not linger at them overlong. The next milestone is not a goal, it is purely coincidence that it is on your path. If you must have goals, keep them simple; it is the grandiose ones which keep one from accomplishing the truly great feats, for the bigger you make the goal, the harder it will be to surmount it, and you will have tricked yourself into believing that you can jump over it in a single bound. No, count the small steps. Take the small steps, for without them, you cannot go anywhere.

Is it wrong to have goals?

No. Just don't rest on them when you get there. Life is a journey.

This is not going to be easy, is it?

Let me check my notes...

*WHAP*

Ouch.

So, anyway I seem to have this curse. It's the one that goes, "be careful what for what you wish, for you will surely get it." It seems to be less than reliable, in that not every wish I make happens that way. Prosperous employment, for example, has not of late come to fruition.

And attempts to modify a wish seem only to result in more chaos.

But let's just say that I won't ever make a wish for money over love.