A Rant
What part of "Comment or Die" don't you guys get? I have spoken with an alarmingly large number of readers lately who said they are "afraid" to leave comments on my blog. That's just plain crazy. First of all, it is completely anonymous if you choose it to be. Or you could sign in as the Pope and give me a real talking to. For commenters, this blog is your personal candy shop. I'll believe anything you tell me. Tell me you are Gwen Stefani and you really wish I would stop stalking you. Tell me you are my Dad and you are very disappointed with how little I extol his influence in my life. Tell me you are my schizophrenic alter-ego that I didn't know about and blackmail me for my freakishly large stash of Wintergreen Tic Tacs hidden in the kitchen junk drawer. 
Maybe the whole problem lies in the "comment or die" line. All those who have not already commented have dropped dead as they navigated away from this page. Mysterious deaths are probably occurring all over the world as those who do not heed my warning suffer from massive aneurisms, leaving their friends and family left to bemoan their untimely demise.
Maybe the whole problem lies in the "comment or die" line. All those who have not already commented have dropped dead as they navigated away from this page. Mysterious deaths are probably occurring all over the world as those who do not heed my warning suffer from massive aneurisms, leaving their friends and family left to bemoan their untimely demise. Perhaps I was too hard on everyone. How about "comment or feel pent up frustration at the lack of doing so." No - too bland... "Comment or stick a acid covered novelty size q-tip in your eye." "Comment or have a wet golden retriever drool on your pizza." "Comment or babysit my kid for a week while I surf in New Zealand on your dime." I would think any one of these would get the point across. It's not that I'm comment hungry, but to actually fear commenting suggests that I'm some sort of snobbish blog nazi who doesn't give a hoot what the little people think. Although this is true (you little people give me hives), it's not good PR.
I guess for clarity's sake, I ought to leave it at Comment or Die. Die. Die. A. Slow. Painful. Death. By the way, if nobody comments on this particular post, I give up. I will have to judge the cyber community too timid to be trusted and I shall delete this blog and take up scrapbooking. (please don't let that happen!!). END OF RANT
Comments
As far as my dad goes, I had no idea he collects pipes, but then again, I just recently found out that back in his greaser 60's high school days he played the accordian. I'm open to the possibility of a pipe collection.
Please don't kill me.
A vaired childhood - race cars, accordian and flute (both of which were my parents' ideas because my teeth were too crooked to play the trumpet which is what I wanted to do), late night trips to Rush Street in Chicago, etc.
What is this pipe thing anyway???