Have you ever had a me idea? I see them everyday in today’s internet articles. They’re meant to grab your attention so that you’ll respond by disseminating what’s written to others using one or more of the little icons that are situated beside the article. Media outlets have experienced diss analyzers on staff that know how to tally their readers reactions. It takes three disses to equal a like because pollsters don’t want to hear negative reactions toward anyone or anything these days.

I like the articles that sparkle because the writer doesn’t understand what it’s like to have a family background. They hide behind their insecurities and write about others as it relates to themselves, making the reader believe what they’re saying is important to their employer’s war effort.

Give her Hell, Harry!

South Bend

We need to be proud of finally having become a nation of tolerance. If asked today, most wouldn’t be sure if our forefathers did the right thing taking up arms against Britain’s King George because they disliked taxation without representation. Or, in 1861, whether we did the right thing by fighting within our own country because wealthy southern aristocrats were taking care of disadvantaged individuals brought here by money mongers so future generations could claim part of Andrew Jackson’s dream.

Jackson, or Old Hickory, who is most known for his leadership during the War of 1812, as mayor of Horseshoe Bend, and as President of the United States, would be likely to vote for a democratic republican in this year’s presidential election.

But for which candidate that is will be a mystery for now, until things have played out by those who are happy in the deep south.


It’s often said of a lackluster performance by an artist that they shouldn’t quit their day job. I’m reminded of a favorite piece of art purchased by my first wife that hung frameless on our living room wall. At first glance, it appeared to be a building or structure in the middle of a green field. After looking intently at the artwork for a while, it occurred to me that the artist was conveying his feelings of not being a success and of being in a state of hunger. That, the building was meant to be a piece of chocolate cake in the middle of a field.

Later, when I asked where she had bought the curious piece of art, beaming with pride from what a great deal she had gotten on the painting, she told me that it came from the local hungry artist sale. I knew then that painting for a living was out of the question as a home-based job to supplement my income. And, I wonder to this day what fate befell my ex-wife and the piece of chocolate cake.


Whatever the endeavor, an inner sense of discontent drives them to become a country’s heralded surfing hero being draped with a medal by judges. Once enjoying victory, a fear of losing engulfs their being, until, one day they are motionless, affixed to the red carpet of their surroundings.

If Freud were alive today he would probably blame social media for the gratification gridlock that has surfers out to prove themselves as the best in the world.  Celebrated forums bury losers, while pages watch the best jocks onboard plan where to take their lives every waking minute of each day. Many end up drowned in a place that doesn’t recognize or understand their skills. Until active survivors, for their own safety, reach maturity with a desire to become more like an order of passive jalapeno nachos.


So, like you know I mean don’t cause World War III. I signed up for Instagram last year with a pic, a phone number, and an email address so that I could check out the service. After looking at the site, it was another social media (use your computer) place that this old codger didn’t want to tackle at the time.

I forgot about the account for months until I saw an Instagram listing showing up on a Tom O. Williams search on Google. It’s my all-important, Tom O. Williams, Instagram listing. After a forgotten phone # and email address when contacting no customer service to try and delete the account, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I will never get access, and that “identalty” will forever have a place among searches for Tom O. Williams on Google’s results. Thanks so much young bloods.

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