We offer reflections on the human condition from a twenty year old mind trapped in a 79 year old body.

I frequently have moments of indecision attempting to decide which type of burger I want to purchase.

There is nothing more amusing than the wrong order delivered to the table.

I become infuriated when the cup with change is empty and I have to hand over a nickel for the penny.

At age 79, no one asks for my proof of age.

I await the next special: “Meals for 25 Cents”

Patience today is not a virtue, it is a necessity.

I purchased 12 oranges for 99 cents. I walked into a supermarket and they sold three for a dollar. Are those special oranges?

If there is a meeting, who comes first, the man or the woman?

It is almost impossible in fast food places to shut one’s eyes and take a deep breath.

In my youth the manner of dress denoted income. Today, it is the reverse.

There are moments in my life at 79 when I wish I had a million dollars so I could decide what to do.

It is ironic that those yelling for return to basic American values shout down opponents at meetings. Is this the “basic American value?”

I still hate being served. In the Depression, we never went any place where someone served us.

For many American workers, shitting is the only place where one gets a moment of rest and solitude.

At age 79m fatigue hits me more in the morning.

If a young man wears a large cross I assume he is in a motorcycle group.

Old expression, “no atheists in a foxhole.” New expression, “no praying in public places”

I spent a Sunday afternoon with a group of elderly female leftists. Life in the past was the motto.

One is allowed to lean on a table when two are sitting, but not when there is a crowd.

I often wonder what it takes to get a “Disabled Parking” sticker. Does mental disability count?

America would be in better shape if we all cooked our own meals.