Garrison with an edge. I am not, we are not, worthy.

Yes for old cats.

Where I live, summer is a highly oboxious prelude to a winter where we pray for snow.

Thank you yet again for a fine moment.

I can't wait to see which nut jobs this brings out. For the record; I'd be disappointed if you did shutup.

Once again, you've connected the jumper cables to me. Had to laugh, at 53 sitting in a bar with my wife and a few of her lady friends, a young buck comes up to hit on one of them. These are ladies learned in ways of the world and handling themselves in such situations. I ignored the man and continued my conversation.

The next thing I know, he is insulting one of the ladies an she is crying. I slap my hand on the bar, rise from my stool to somewhere between his navel and chin and demand he and I settle this matter for her honor. He is amused, but I am in that one too many frame of mind where all is cloaked in a comfortable haze, and I challenge him again. His arms are the size of my thighs. I berate, blow the proverbial cigar smoke in his face and indicate he might be less than manly in every possible way. He backs down.

Alcohol and bravado racing through my veins, I puff up my 5'4" frame and continue my verbal assault with threats of physical harm if he so much as looks at the kind lady again. He head is screaming for me to shut up, the rest of me continues to press forward to save her honor or redeem what really may be my own lost honor for not living life as I had planned.

My wife has be by the collar and pulls me from the bar, prbably saving my life, as I shake my fist and let him know I'lll be back.

Living on the edge has it's advantages. Light a Macanudo and gie it a go.

but isn't using the word 'fairies' a bit like saying 'pickaninnies' or 'ragheads'?

Garrison Keillor may not be everyone's cup of tea, but he undeniably is a cup of tea. And I mean that in the best way.

Alc, they say that God loves drunks, and your story proves it. Or, no offense, maybe God loves short guys. I'm guessing that if you were six feet tall, you'd have ended up in a real bar right, and given the way you described your opponent's muscles, you'd be on the losing end.

Which could be bad, by the way. Bar fights can lead to permanent disability, paralysis, or death. Many's a street fighter who fell on his head and woke up brain damaged or dead. Keep that in mind, killa. :)

God this man can write! I just read his thing on Ralph Reed, and the one from a while back about how writers should stop whining, and now this nothing essay, and no one compares. I don't like his radio show much; it bores me. But his writing simply makes me swoon. I am jealous beyond belief.

I just want to say "bless you" for your kind treatment of an old sickly cat. A little salmon probably brought so much comfort to him.

I am not a religious person. To me, it all seems like a sales pitch for a time-share campground in West Virginia. However, if we are to be judged by God when we die, then one criterium will certainly be how we treated the least of us.

Any good Big Island Boy will tell you, if you're from the mainland, wear a fanny pack, talk loudly and are generally obnoxious, then yes, Maui is definitely paradise. Go there all the time, never venture outside Lahaina, and for heaven's sake, when you're done, leave and come back next year and spend more money again.

If you have an open mind, are curious without being judgmental, talk softly but firmly, and can keep your opinions on all things to yourself unless asked, then by all means, visit the country-side, see the valleys, the rivers, the waterfalls, the volcano, the deep-water reefs, the cliff-jumpers, the mountain top sunrises and sunsets, bask in the heat of our sun and revel in the glow of our moon and stars.

What happens at the airport stays at the airport. Don't expect the lei greetings and the generic "warmth" that is shown when you deplane. The real stuff is earned.

If you (or that final Judge) consider cats to be "the least of us", you have never lived with one. Why, they think of us in exactly the same way!

I'm 43. One summer evening when I was 16, I stood in the doorway of my home after a thunderstorm and smelled the wet dust and yearned for . . . something. Bob Seger's "Night Moves" played on the radio and a feeling of nostalgia washed over me. I knew suddenly that I would look back at that evening, remember the smell and heavy air, feel again that feeling of the future waiting ahead of me and yet knowing that I'd one day look back longing for that feeling again. A strange mobius strip of time twisted through my life for those few moments and I was 16 and 35 and 48 all at once.

Keillor and Seger demonstrate the power of good writing.

Wonderful, Garrison.

Sadly, blowing cigar smoke is now considered beyond the pale.

I was sitting outside in a public park waiting for a fireworks display last July 3 when some people actually came over and complained because I was smoking a cigar!

I suppose next they will outlaw barbequeing salmon as well. Sigh.