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February 26, 2015

SAD BUT TRUE

My parents had more fun than I did.

(From my new book, which will be on sale March 3, in exchange for money.)

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Done!

Always happy to exchange money for your oeuvres ("eggs"). How else could I read myself to sleep every night with a smile on my face and the conviction that Everything is Going to Be All Right, despite all evidence to the contrary in my actual life? Rock on, Dave.

I pre-ordered this book just as soon as Amazon would let me and if they don't have it in my hands on March 3rd they are going to get a very angry letter from me. If that doesn't work I'm going to cry. I can't wait to read it and I sincerely hope you are in the process of writing another one.

They were just not as into worrying as we are today.
Well, yeah, if you've jumped out of a perfectly good airplane into the French countryside with rude strangers shooting at you, then shaking hands with a camel isn't going to worry you a bit.

I too grew up in the era or sex, drugs and rock 'n roll. Soon after birth and leaving the partially erected sod hut (My parents were REALLY poor and couldn't afford building quality sod), my life was a lot like the life depicted by Cheech in the movie Up in Smoke. I gave it all up for a woman who ran with the Hell's Angels during a period in her life when she really lived right and found happiness. I was lucky I wasn't stabbed and beaten and thrown up on before I found happiness and liked it.

Ok, I'll buy the darned book and like it.

Looks good Dave. As you know I have a whole shelf of your books in my bookcase and this one will add another. I only hope that one day I actually get one of them signed. It's on my bucket list.

Dave, congrats on your first book! Hope you're planning on writing another!

i outta write a book about a *great* concert we saw
- it was in 2008: billy joel's last play at shea.
as we climbed up to our seats in the 50th row, i noticed the steep grade . . .

so i'm thinking i could call my book '50 grades of shea'


And you never saw people running down the street back then, unless there was a bear after them.

One of my favorite childhood memories (we're talking about roughly 1952 here) was a holiday party where all the moms were in the kitchen with drinks, cooking up a storm of little flat spongy blobs in my E-Z Bake Oven while the dads were on the living room floor (also, of course, with drinks) playing with my electric train.

Here's another one: my great-aunt the retired art teacher acquired a bunch of plaster of paris figurines (ladies in foofy dresses, etc); and we spread newspaper all over the dining room table and neighbors from the block -- adults and children, all together, teachers, a pharmacist and even a genuine manly beer-bellied Chicago FIREMAN!! -- painted them. And had a helluva good time. (Did I mention the drinks?)

P.S. to ligirl: you go, girl

Here's a totally unsolicited testimonial: the book (which I have already read) is really funny (well, duh, right?) and also true. And it has Dave's high school yearbook picture which is amazingly similar in nerdiness to my own, which is not a complete surprise since we graduated roughly the same half-century ago.

I miss the old days.

Meh. Riding a book is easy. My miniature schnauzer rides every book he sees.

why did i think dave's dad was a minister ?

because he was.

ligirl -- My dad was in fact a Presbyterian minister. But he wasn't the pastor of a church; he ran a social-work agency in New York City, which is why he commuted by train.

oh.

*amen*

'gimme that old time religion'

;)

I don't know what it was but my parents had parties every Saturday night in the '60s too. And we didn't even live in the suburbs.

I remember my mom asking me many times to run into the store to get her a pack of cigarettes. I went roller skating, rode a bicycle, and rode a skateboard without ever wearing a helmet or any type of padding. Plus they bought me a Creepy Crawler Maker for Christmas one year. It was basically a metal box that you poured goop into so you could make rubber bugs. It heated up to about 1000 degrees and when I'd burn my finger my mom would just tell me to be more careful next time. I was also a majorette with the band and used to twirl batons that were on fire! I'm surprised I'm still alive.

My parents (in their late 70s) just went to a party where someone played the piano and they sang and drank and told funny stories.

Beat the hell out of any party I've been to in the past 20 years.

Ms. Flukey...at the risk of finding myself being towed BEHIND the geezer bus, I confess I moved into a high-rise retirement community two years ago - life care and all that for down the road; but most of us are in "independent living" and regularly volunteer for good causes right and left, and also celebrate the fact that we don't need no stinkin' "designated drivers" - all we need is one of us to push the right elevator button. Pianos? check. Wine? on just about every table at dinner (and after). Old songs and funny stories around the pianos? You betcha. This is BY FAR the most fun I've had in years! (Plus we've all been through the mill of life together - illnesses, losses, limitations - and have a high appreciation for every blessed minute of good times and good works we can wring out of what's left.) Hang in there, young un's! You CAN recapture what your folks had (and nobody sits around and says, "I dunnno...I think I got ripped off. This is Indiana wee. Bummer......")

That should be "Indiana weed". Duh.

thanks for the glimpse inside your lives, dave & everyone

(((betsy))) your story is great -
& i think you were correct in calling it your Indiana wheeeeeee!!!

*pays betsy's bus fare*

Betsy, you can sit by me on the bus. :)

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