July 1998

We have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; widerfreeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.

We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less common sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

We spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values.
We talk too much, love too seldom and lie too often.
We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life; we’ve added years to life, not life to years.

We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.

We’ve conquered outer space, but not inner space; we’ve done larger things, but not better things; we’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; we’ve split the atom, but not our prejudice; we write more, but learn less; plan more, but accomplish less.

We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait; we have higher incomes; but lower morals; more food but less appeasement; more acquaintances, but fewer friends; more effort but less success.

We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication; we’ve become long on quantity, but short on quality.

These are the time of fast foods and slow digestion; tall men and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships.

These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure and less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.

These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes.

These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one-night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill.

It is a time when there is much in the show window, and nothing in the stockroom.

Indeed it’s all true.

Think about it…read it again.

–Author Unknown

The Ten Commandments of E-mail:
- Thou shalt include a clear and specific subjectline.
- Thou shalt edit any quoted text down to the minimum thou needest.
- Thou shalt read thine own message thrice before thou sendest it.
- Thou shalt ponder how thy recipient might react to thy message.
- Thou shalt check thy spelling and thy grammar.
- Thou shalt not curse, flame, spam or USE ALL CAPS.
- Thou shalt not forward any chain letter (Am I guilty…?).
- Thou shalt not use e-mail for any illegal or unethical purpose.
- Thou shalt not rely on the privacy of e-mail, especially from work.
- When in doubt, save thy message overnight and reread it in the light
of the dawn.

And, here’s the “Golden Rule” of e-mail:
- That which thou findest hateful to receive, sendest thou not unto

I want to be six again.

I want to go to McDonald’s and think it’s the best place in
the world to eat.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make
waves with rocks.

I want to think M&Ms are better than money ’cause you can eat them.

I want to play kickball during recess and stay up on
Christmas Eve waiting to hear Santa and Rudolph on the roof.

I long for the days when life was simple. When all you knew
were your colors, the addition tables, and simple nursery rhymes,
but it didn’t bother you because you didn’t know what you didn’t
know, and you didn’t care.

I want to go to school and have snack time, recess, gym,
and field trips.

I want to be happy because I don’t know what should make me upset.

I want to think the world is fair, and everyone in it is
honest and good.

I want to believe that anything is possible. Sometime, while I
was maturing, I learned too much. I learned of nuclear weapons,
starving and abused kids, and unhappy marriages.

I want to be six again.

I want to think that everyone, including myself, will live
forever because I don’t know the concept of death.

I want to be oblivious to the complexity of life, and be
overly excited by the little things again.

I want television to be something I watch for fun, not something
I use for escape from the things I should be doing.

I want to live knowing the little things I find exciting will
always make me as happy as when I first learned them.

I want to be six again.

I remember not seeing the world as a whole, but rather being
aware of only the things that directly concerned me.

I want to be naive enough to think that if I’m happy, so is
everyone else.

I want to walk down the beach and think only of the sand
beneath my feet, and the possibility of finding that blue piece
of sea glass I’m looking for.

I want to spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding my
bike, letting the grownups worry about time, the dentist, and
how to find the money to fix the car.

I want to wonder what I’ll do when I grow up, not worry what
I’ll do if this doesn’t work out.

I want that time back. I want to use it now as an escape.
So that when my computer crashes, I have a mountain of paperwork,
two depressed friends, or second thoughts about so many things,
I can travel back and build a snowman without thinking about
anything except whether the snow sticks together. What I can
possibly use for the snowman’s mouth?

I want to be six again

— author unknown

You walk into a room, and finding that it has more then 23 people, you inform the management that there is an error. / You find yourself tilting your head when you smile. / Your AOL bill is more than your phone bill. / When laughing, you find yourself saying “LOL” outloud. / You get more e-mail than snail mail.