Maybe it's the heat, maybe I'm just in a sentimental mood but today I received one of the very few chain letters I've been tempted to pass along. But I hate chainmail so, rather than clutter other people's mailboxes with more stuff, I've posted it to my blog. This one's been floating around the internet for years but it's a nice reminder from time to time...


If Earth’s population was shrunk into a village of just 100 people - with all the human ratios existing in the world still remaining - what would this tiny, diverse village look like? That’s exactly what Phillip M. Harter, a medical doctor at the Stanford University School of Medicine, attempted to figure out. This is what he found...

57 would be Asian.

21 would be European.

14 would be from the Western Hemisphere.

8 would be African.

52 would be female.

48 would be male.

70 would be nonwhite.

30 would be white.

70 would be non-Christian.

30 would be Christian.

89 would be heterosexual.

11 would be homosexual.

6 people would possess 59 percent of the entire world’s wealth.

All 6 would be from the United States.

80 would live in substandard housing.

70 would be unable to read.

50 would suffer from malnutrition.

1 would be near death.

1 would be pregnant.

1 would have a college education.

1 would own a computer.

Think of it this way. If you live in a good home, have plenty to eat and can read, you are a member of a very select group. And if you have a good house, food, can read and have a computer, you are among the very elite. If you woke up this morning with more health than illness… you are more fortunate than the million who will not survive this week. If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation… you are ahead of 500 million people in the world. If you can attend a church meeting without fear of harassment, arrest, torture, or death… you are fortunate, more than three billion people in the world can’t. If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep… you are richer than 75% of this world.

If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish someplace … you are among the top 8% of the world’s wealthy. If your parents are still alive and still married… you are very rare, even in the United States. If you hold up your head with a smile on your face and are truly thankful… you are blessed because the majority can, but most do not. If you can hold someone’s hand, hug them or even touch them on the shoulder…you are blessed because you can offer healing touch. If you can read this message, you are more blessed than over two billion people in the world that cannot read at all.

Fuck! This afternoon, I accidentally sat on several unwrapped mini Tootsie Rolls and they got all over the seat of my jeans. Go ahead, laugh. Get it all out of your system. Yes, I was walking around San Francisco this afternoon with Tootsie Roll goo spread all over my ass. Looking like I shat myself. Ha ha ha! Laugh it up. And I didn't even realize it until I got home this evening and discovered melted Tootsie Rolls all over the driver's seat of my car. Yeah, it's hilarious! You done yet?

My question is this: How can I save my too-expensive-to-replace jeans from the goodwill bag? How the hell do you get melted chocolate/caramel out of denim?

By the way, these weren't just any Tootsie Rolls. These were the new Tootsie Roll mini chews. According to the Tootsie Roll website, they're "the first line extension of the Tootsie Roll line in over 100 years!!!" Yeah? Well, Tootsie Roll Company, you and your line extensions are now at the top of my shit list. You ruined my favorite jeans with those fucking unwrapped little candies! Bastards...

apparently, apple has decided to increase its market penetration by going after the one demographic it hasn't yet hit. should be a big seller...

About a month ago, I was in a workshop where the facilitator admonished us to "not wait" to tell someone we love them or that we care about them. Because you never know what might happen. Life can change in a minute.

I'd heard this platitude many many times before but I resolved then to finally write the letter to my father that I'd been meaning to write for years. Y'see, I don't know my dad. Well, I guess I "know" him but I don't remember him at all. He left us when I was four and I haven't seen him since. But for the past two years I've had his current address (a friend found it for me online). And every couple of months I decide to write him and then get busy or distracted and just don't get to it.

Now that I'm in my 40s and I have a son of my own, I have a desire to know my own dad. Not to yell at him or get any kind of retribution, just to know him. Know who this guy is who I'm told looks just like me. But I just never get around to actually writing the letter.

A week and a half ago, I was in New Jersey visiting my mom and I told her I was finally going to contact my dad. She was surprised but supportive. But we didn't talk much about it. It's a delicate topic.

Anyway, this morning my mom called to tell me my dad died on March 9 in Los Angeles. She just found out herself. The funeral was a couple of weeks ago. I live in Oakland and would have flown down for the funeral but his new family didn't know I lived out here in California and had no way of contacting me.

The sad thing is, he died about 10 days after the workshop where we were told, in no uncertain terms, not to wait to talk to loved ones. Ten days. In those ten days, I changed the oil in my car, bought a toaster oven, saw a few movies, sat through a bunch of business meetings, went out to dinner several times, watched television, surfed the internet, got together with friends, bought a new teapot, walked along the beach, read a couple of books and didn't write a letter to my dad.

I'm sitting here with a mixture of sadness, frustration, anger, fear, guilt, remorse and loss. I don't know the man and we haven't had any contact for over 35 years. But I've always known that he existed somewhere in the world. I've always known that he was there somewhere and that I could reach out to him if I was ever moved to make the effort. That opportunity is now gone. My father -- the man who abandoned me at age 4 -- is gone, and I'm feeling a profound sense of loss.

I think I'm still going to write that letter.

Or, maybe this is that letter. I don't know.

Don't wait. Life is short.

Rest in peace, dad.