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I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent...

I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent. Though, despite the elaborate disguise Consisting of a single pair of bent, Simple specs, they're not two different guys But only one, still I said what I meant: I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent. I like Superman, but I love Clark Kent I guess because one of them's more like me And does not always get what he wants And struggles with our vulnerability. And does not by his perfection command The adoration of every woman and man But sits in the back, with nothing to say Just hoping that Lois Lane looks his way. She doesn't - her eyes are glued to the sky. Wake up, Lois! Can't you see the guy Waiting to love you with all of his might? He may not leap buildings, he may not fly, He may not see through you with x-ray eyes, He might need YOUR help, if that's alright, From time to time, when his mortal heart cries. He combs his hair neatly and fights through the crowd, Decides what to say, and rehearses out loud, He summons his
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The Only Thing We Have to Fear...

It's October, which means not only do I get to start dipping into my nifty fall wardrobe but also that Halloween is upon us. I think its great that we devote specific holidays to various basic emotions of the human psyche. Halloween = fear, Valentine's day = love, Thanksgiving = gratitude, St. Patrick's Day = envy, and Christmas = greed. We're just missing wrath, lust, pride, sloth, gluttony, and inadequecy. Clearly, more holidays are necessary. But that's a subject for another day. We don't want to give Halloween less than its due. Because seriously, how cool is Halloween? Its way off the scale on the cool-o-meter. When else can you see even the most pious and sensible people indulging in a little of the supernatural and occult by dressing up their children as vampires, witches, or ghosts? Well, that's how it was back in my day anyway (which was soooooo long ago), but today kids dress up as Jedi, princesses, Harry Potter, or Spiderman. They are totally miss
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God Bless Us, Every One

Call me a Scrooge, but I've found that the last couple of years Christmas just hasn't carried the same sense of wonder and excitement it once did. When I was a kid, I was ready to pee my pants every day in December just thinking about the twenty-fifth, which crept closer so slowly that the month was always filled with blissfully tortuous anticipation. The sense of suspense, the agony of not knowing what the fantastically wrapped boxes contained, was only heightened by the lights, the music, the snow, and everything you knew meant it was Christmas time. Back then, my heart's desires cost about twenty bucks and, tragically, seemed both completely unobtainable and the key to my whole life's happiness. This was the season, then, when miracles of a very practical kind could happen; objects only admired on the shelf, or at a friend's, or in some abstract sense of obsession could literally become my own and wind up, eventually, in pieces somewhere in my closet. I like to c
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