The older I get, the more I wonder if one morning I’ll wake up and find I’ve become Grandpa Simpson. I’m already showing tendencies of waffly stories that meander along happily but by the time we reach the end, both the audience and I are wondering what the point was. There are worse things I could be I suppose, then a grumpy old codger who shouts at clouds and talks about the good old days. The scariest part of that, is that by the time I reach that age, the good old days are going to be today. Funny isn’t it. These are soon to be the “good old days” that we will discuss when we are senile and talking about how bread cost $3.50 and milk was only $2.50 and we could buy a packet of cigarettes for $16.50.