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A Dedicated Follower of Fashion Jay Kerner Publisher/ Bon Vivant
Anyone who has seen me out and about, knows how little I normally care about my appearance. I purposely avoid Walmart so I don’t end up in any “People of” compilations. However during my teenage years I had a couple of very specific areas where I totally bought in to the popular fashion trends of the day. The first were Converse, Chuck Taylor basketball shoes. Oh man! We were poor kids. We got no-name, no-tread rejects from Block’s Super Discount Store. Leon threw in a handy pocket comb. Nobody in our neighborhood paid any attention to what kind of sneakers you had on. But all of a sudden, in the late 60’s, “Chucks” started showing up on our playground. Black canvas low-tops. (Only a total dweeb would wear high tops in those days.) One pair after another, the cool kids had ‘em. The jocks all did for sure. That was my first experience with discrimination. The kids in the Chucks totally lorded it over the Keds, the Red Ball Jets and all the rest of us. It was a seriously real thing, and seemed like the biggest deal in the entire world for a 6th grade boy at that point in history. The worst was when somebody way less cool than you got some, and leapfrogged you in being picked for kickball. Good thing there was no 11th Commandment about coveting another’s footwear, cuz my soul would have been in big trouble, Jack. I coveted big time. I used to ride the bus downtown and drool over them at Spartan Sporting Goods, but at $12 a pair, they were just a dream, when our whole family could be shod for the same money in our usual shoddier brands. My time as a social pariah finally ended (temporarily) when I opened a box with a pair of green suede Converse for Christmas in 1970. No foolin’ I just about peed myself! I wore them to school in the snow that first day back after break. (Duh!) I was welcomed into the fraternity like I finally figured out the secret handshake. And immediately looked around for some poor bastards to lord it over. It sucked to be them. I may have been wearing a threadbare T, and high-water pants, but baby I had the right shoes and nothing else mattered. I rode that wave of marginal acceptance for a few years, till the start of my sophomore year of High School. That’s when Big Bell Levis hit my universe like a denim covered wrecking ball. Damn it! My shoes were cool but you couldn’t see past my no-name jeans! There was suddenly, one and only one, socially acceptable leg covering garment. Big Bell Levis. Nothing else. The other name brands were immediately
shunned in mass, especially anything straight-leg. Heaven forbid! A guy like me in Big Yanks from K-Mart was pitied like a leper. You’d see people stare, then look away real quick, embarrassed. I was sacking groceries at the time, and knew I needed to sack-up and spring for some acceptable jeans. A.J. August was the place. Downtown again, on the bus. I remember being led to the stacks, which were lit with spotlights like a holy altar of coolness. I was handed a pair in my size and I was giddy with excitement. They were stiff with new. The blue was the color of summer midnight just a little bit outside of town. As soon as the clerk left me in the dressing room, I held them to my nose and inhaled as hard as I could. I smelled the times. I smelled rock-and-roll. I smelled free love and political unrest. Or it could have been insecticide, I don’t know. What I did know, was that I was once again allowed at the cool table. People who had never noticed me, suddenly did. People I’d previously gotten along fine with suddenly looked at me like a turn-coat or something. I heard a bit of “who does he think he is?”, but I didn’t care. I had the right jeans. I was somebody now. At least for a while. My senior year was when disco hit. The music went to… well, let’s just say it wasn’t good. And all of a sudden, people were going polyester. The “leisure suit” was a thing. Sorry, but the kid wasn’t having any. Not long after that, the Queen came into the picture, and immediately started shaping my wardrobe. If you’ve ever seen me look even halfway decent, anytime in the last 3 plus decades, it’s her doing. The rest of the time it’s been up to me and you get what you get. Left to my own devices, I’d be in tie/dye and overalls every day. Hey, it’s a look!
Contact The Regular Joe 816-617-5850 email@theregularjoepaper. com P.O. Box 1304 St. Joseph, Mo. 64502 Read us online www.theregularjoepaper.com
Parkville Days Aug 21-23 Friday, August 21, 2015 From 6:00 pm to 10:00 pm Saturday, August 22, 2015 From 10:00 am to 10:00 pm Sunday, August 23, 2015 From 10:00 am to 6:00 pm English Landing Park on the Missouri River One of downtown Parkville’s biggest festivals, the annual Parkville Days offers great family entertainment and fun in historic downtown Parkville. This year’s event offers something for everyone! Browse and enjoy dozens of art, craft, and food and specialty booths. The Evans Midland Empire Carnival is here all weekend starting Friday at 6 pm. There will be great jazz and blues on the main stage Friday night and Saturday starting at 4 pm. The downtown shops and restaurants will host their end-of-summer sales and specials Friday and Saturday. Admission is free and guests are encouraged to bring lawn chairs to enjoy a relaxing day at English Landing Park. Everyone is encouraged to use the free parking at Park University and English Landing Centre. Alcohol will be available at the festival; but cannot be taken out of the festival grounds. Outside alcohol will not be allowed into the festival. 3 big days of fun for all!
Schedule of Events Friday, August 21, 2015 All Day: End-of-Summer Sale 6:00 pm - 10:00 pm: Beer Tent 6:00 pm - 10:00 pm: Evan Midland Empire Carnival - Wristband Special 6-10 p.m. $22 6:00 pm - 10:00 pm: Assorted Vendors 6:00 pm - 7:00 pm: Headz Up (River Shelter) 7:30 pm - 8:30 pm: Turkey Bone & Full Count (River Shelter) 9:00 pm - 10:00 pm: Yard Dogs (River Shelter) Saturday, August 22, 2015 All Day: End of Summer Sale 7:00 am: Parkville 5k/10k River Run: Brought to you by Parkville Area Chamber of Commerce (for more information, please visit the Parkville Chamber website) 7:00 am - 11:00 am: American Legion Pancake Breakfast 10:00 am - 10:00 pm: Evan Midland Empire Carnival - Wristband Special 6-10 p.m. $22 10:00 am: Parade 10:00 am - 10:00 pm: Beer Tent 10:00 am - 10:00 pm: Assorted Vendors 10:15 am: Navy Leap Frogs Parachute Team 10:30 am: (Immediately following Parade) Mayor Nan Johnston will be showcasing a time capsule in our very own Pocket Park 12:00 pm - 4:00 pm: McKeon Stage Entertainment 1:30 pm - 2:00 pm: Navy Brass Band 5:30 pm - 6:30 pm: Sean Clavin (River Shelter) 6:00 pm - 10:00 pm: Evan Midland Empire Carnival – Wristband Special $20
7:00 pm - 8:00 pm: Max Groove (River Shelter) 8:30 pm - 10:00 pm: Montage (River Shelter) Sunday, August 23, 2015 10:00 am - 6:00 pm: Beer Tent 10:00 am - 6:00 pm: Assorted Vendors 10:00 am - 6:00 pm: Evan Midland Empire Carnival - Wristband Special 12-4 p.m. $22 Please note: Events and times are subject to change. Parkville Days with its parade, live blues and jazz, craft and art booths promises to once again be one of Historic Downtown Parkville’s great traditions.
Chris Jamison CD Release Party August 14th Chris Jamison has a hippie soul. He’d have fit right in to the whole late 60’s peace, love and rock & roll vibe. You can see it in his clothes and in his hair. You can hear it in his speech. But you can really really hear it when he plays guitar. And he does that like nobody’s business. We first heard him years ago playing lead for The Bridge. They were a fun band that did a good job with popular covers, but you could tell he had more chops than he could show with that kind of material. We’ve since heard him with lots of other lineups, whether his own, or sitting in with a slew of others on their projects. We think he gets the best chance to flex his guitar muscles in his band, Jamizon Cloud. We’ve heard them live numerous times in different venues and always think how hard it must be to mix the sound for these guys. They’re so all over the place musically, (that’s meant as a compliment, by the way).
They can be thrashy and trashy, grungy and grody. They can be loud. Very loud. But then change it up with something soft and sweet. Chris is an accomplished player, but he likes his toys, too. He’s got pedals. Wahwah’s.and so on. Distortion dejour. We’re excited to tell you that Chris has a
ASE Certified
new disk out called Sun Two Shine that offers up a thick slice from his bag of tricks.. He was kind enough to hand us an advanced copy, knowing in advance that if we didn’t like it, you’d never hear it from us. We’re happy to pimp stuff we think you’ll like, but we don’t claim to be critics. We’ve listened to this disk a couple times through so far. It sounds like Summer to us. At the beach. Or cruising the boulevard with the top down. We hear some Santana in there. Some Jack Johnson maybe. We know Chris loves his Zappa, so that idea is never far removed from his sound, at least to these ears. The band is having a CD Release Party at Magoon’s Deli in St. Joe on August 14th. Catch the show if you can, and pick up a copy yourself. If you can’t make it, they’ll have copies on hand after that, when you stop for lunch.
The Primacy of Primary Foods Jesus said it best. According to the gospel account of His temptation in the Wilderness by Satan, when the devil tempted Him to make the stones of the desert into loaves of bread, He replied, “Man (humans) shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” Fast Forward to the 21st Century where we find New York Times street and fashion photographer, Bill Cunningham, at a fancy banquet on the Upper East Side, Invited by the hostess to partake of the sumptuous appetizers, Mr. Cunningham tersely replied, “No thank you. I eat with my eyes.” Both Jesus and Bill Cunningham were referencing primary food as opposed to secondary food, the food which we consume every day in the form of proteins, carbohydrates and fats to nourish our bodies. Primary food, on the other hand, nurtures our minds and spirits and because of that role, supercedes secondary food. It’s not that secondary food isn’t important. We’d starve to death without it! But we can eat all the broccoli and blueberries we want and still not be healthy if we are not first nurturing our souls, if you will. Just as secondary food can be broken down into different categories such as fruits, vegetables and nuts, primary food can be divided into components as well. These include relationships, career/purpose, self expression (art), rest and movement, and, last but not least, spirituality. In fact, one of the reasons that many people overeat and/ or indulge in foods that are not healthy for them is because they are starving for a lack of primary food and are trying to replace it with secondary food. Let’s take a look at each of the primary foods and how they contribute to our overall health: Spirituality-- This involves a practice that recognizes something or someone bigger than ourselves that we can depend on to live and thrive. It includes religion but also transcends it. A spiritual practice has been linked by researchers to a longer lifespan. Career/Purpose-Boredom kills. Everyone, no matter what their age, needs a purpose for their lives, a reason to get up and get going every morning. A landmark book entitled The Purpose Driven Life by Pastor Rick Warren explored this concept in detail from a Biblical perspective. Self Expression (Art)-Just as everyone needs a purpose, everyone has been endowed to achieve that purpose with abilities and talents of self expression for the benefit of others. Everyone, in fact, is an artist, not just musicians, painters and writers. Carpenters, quilters, and mechanics are all artists in the truest sense. Rest and Movement--Both our bodies and our minds need exercise to keep them active as well as rest for recuperation and renewal. Both must be incorporated into our lives in a balanced way. There’s a reason we are admonished
to work six days but rest the seventh..... Relationships-Life is defined by relationships--with ourselves, our parents, friends, co-workers, teammates, the list could go on. If we want a healthy life, we must have healthy relationships based on mutual trust and respect. Unhealthy relationships make for an unhealthy life. Secondary food can keep our bodies healthy but in order to keep our total being well, which includes our minds and spirits, we must first feed upon primary food! Yours in good health, James Fly, Certified Health Coach
Live Music Hi-Lites across the Northland Brew Top Pub North 8614 N. Boardwalk Sat 8/1 Dolewite Fri 8/7 KC Groove Therapy Sat 8/8 The Disappointments Fri 8/14 Twice on Sunday Sat 8/15 Travis Marvin Fri 8/21 Wonderfuzz Sat 8/22 Cherry Bomb Fri 8/28 Stolen Winnebegos Sat 8/29 The Suburbans
Mosaic Life Care’s Forks ‘n’ Tunes Series
Mosaic Life Care at Shoal Creek, Courtyard 8870 NE 82nd Terrace Friday, August 28: The Jeremy Nichols Band 7pm
Fat Fish Blue 7260 NW 87th in Zona Rosa
Live Music Most Weekends
Sherlock’s Underground 858 S 291 Liberty Every Wed at 8pm Oasis
The Hideout 6948 N. Oak
Every Thursday is Bike Nite with Dave Hayes Band, Levee Town, and Blue 88 Open blues jam Sundays, 7 p.m.
Pat’s Pub 1315 Swift in NKC
Every Wed nite Open Jam hosted by Rob Gray
Wabash BBQ 1 Elm Street, Excelsior Spr.
• August 8 - Four Fried Chickens & a Coke 18th Anniversary! • August 22 - June Bug & The Porch Lights
Lions, Lightning and Giant Snapping Turtles… Welcome to the Farmhouse Classic Shannon Bond There really was a lion. He didn’t have a big mane (this was the mountain lion variety), and he didn’t seem to be missing his courage at all. As a matter of fact, I could tell as he crossed the gravel road, he knew that he was on top of the food chain. He was calm, confident and not worried about me or my bike. Naturally, I slowed down and let him have his space. We were crossing paths just outside of Plattsburg just after the 64 mile checkpoint so I didn’t think my legs were up for a panicked sprint. Not that I thought I could get away from him should he decide that cyclist was on the menu, but I would at least like to make a valiant try. Luckily, his saunter never faltered and he glided into the cornfield. This was the pinnacle (other than finishing), to a day filled with massive but short lived lightning storms, a nice conversation with a green beret, and a long personal gaze with the biggest snapping turtle I had ever seen. Welcome to the rolling gravel of Northwest Missouri’s Farmhouse Classic. The race is hosted every year by Cycle City, on the owner Joe Fox’s birthday, who still hosted it despite just finishing seventh in the Tour Divide, and starts and ends in Lathrop, Missouri. The last 10 miles was a challenge this year and the total climbing, according to Garmin, was almost 6,000 feet. This is my third endurance gravel event and it would be a great one to start with if you’re just starting out or need a challenge for next July. It’s challenging but not impossible and the countryside is spectacular. The rolling hills, forest, and farmland offers a lot to admire if you like to explore. Naturally, adventure fitness is the best kind. We started the day under a blanket of rolling thunder and crackling lightning. Joe delayed the race until it was far enough away and we all made jokes about drafting the tall guys and wondering if titanium frames would attract lightning. In reality, the rain saved us from the heat for at least half of the day. In the afternoon, just as many of us (except for the absurdly fast leaders) were rolling into the finish, the heat index had crept up to 106 degrees. Once the storms rolled away, I found a rhythm and the mud wasn’t so bad, unlike the awesome but mud caked Dirty Kanza this year. As always, I learned a few things as I crawled into my pain cave. I now know that it is possible for me to completely focus on the ride and block out my surroundings. I haven’t had a lot of training time lately and am struggling with all sorts of frustration so I found myself channeling all of that emotion into the peddles. This was so prevalent that I blew past the first checkpoint around
the 30 mile mark. Luckily the support crew saw me and marked my passage (apparently they had been yelling at me but I was oblivious). It’s not necessarily a bad thing to channel emotions through exercise, it’s actually healthy and much better than drugs or alcohol. As a matter of fact, exercise triggers a lot of the same chemical and sensations (the runners high) as mind altering substances, except in a good way. Instead of crawling into my head though, I typically prefer to use cycling as a means for what I call rolling meditation, a variation of the walking mediation practice. It’s a way to cultivate awareness, observe the mind, and certainly a great way to find adventure. This time, though, I had to struggle to bring my focus back to the present moment. Luckily I ran into a couple of riders who kept dropping me in the second half. Nothing is more motivating than fellow riders, whether they are passing you or vice versa. In this case, I would catch them and then they would pull away. I decided to embrace the motivational opportunity and actually got a burst of energy after that second checkpoint (maybe it was the mountain lion). I pulled away from them (only to be passed by one of them later) and cranked out some great miles before hitting the wall about 10 miles from the finish line. You know the wall, we’ve all seen it. We stare up at it and think, I can’t do this. It hurts too badly, or I don’t want to, or why don’t I play video games instead of voluntarily torturing myself? Around this time, I realized that my lack of chamois butter was a problem, too (an oversight that I highly recommend avoiding). Adding to this virtual wall’s density was the addition of new pedals, which were causing a painful hot spot on my right foot and the fact that the last 10 miles consisted of what we call rollers (why, why, why, was my last mantra of the day). Those are those hills that come one after another without seeming to end. But, like we do when faced with adversity on a bike (or in real life, which is which?), we put our heads down and just keep peddling, nothing is permanent and this too shall pass. I finally finished in just over eight hours. There was fresh homemade food and great people waiting at the finish line. It wasn’t my best finish ever but I did it and as always, it was well worth it. We are always stronger on the other side. I don’t know if that strength is necessarily enhanced fitness, new wisdom, acceptance, or a little bit of each, but it’s always worth it. This ride was no different, even if you don’t want to ride 100 miles on a bicycle, I strongly recommend visiting Northwest Missouri’s countryside. It’s good for your health to escape the city and the sprawling suburbs. Missouri really comes to life when you experience it outside of a car, and who knows, you might see a mountain lion.
My Family Tree
reprinted by request from 2011
Jay Kerner Publisher/Navel Contemplator Had Thanksgiving dinner at the oldest daughter’s this year. First time. The queen still had her hand in, to be sure, but it was the first time in a long time that it wasn’t her production. Son-in-law cut the bird. Mother-in law made the gravy. (Oldest living relative, always makes the gravy for some reason.) It was all pretty good actually. Good food. Good family fun. It was all good, … it was just… different. Not different bad in any way, just not the picture I keep in my mind, of what the day is supposed to look like. After all, Thanksgiving had been at our house for… well, a generation, I guess. But the Queen and I have been together since way before that. At my earliest holiday type dinners at her parent’s house, we got the piano bench. It was a somewhat dubious distinction, and historically reserved for young “love birds”. Your meal from that perch is accompanied by endless “ahhhh” looks from the young wives and “you sorry s.o.b.” looks from the young husbands, both groups thinking back to their own time on the bench. Eventually time does what it does, and we filled openings at the big table when they came. Other, newer love birds got the bench. Then, the whole roadshow came to our place for a two decade run. From a high of forty some people in our big house, to a low of 5 a couple years back, a lot of grub has been consumed off of the Kerner Family Chinet. But now we’ve passed the ceremonial ladle. So with the sounds of scullery in the kitchen to the left of me, and a barely audible football game to my right, Yours truly, with a belly full of tryptophan, settled down on the couch to contemplate my place in the cosmos. (For the record, yes the belt was loosened and I admit the button may have accidently come undone, but no! The fly was not down!) I was just resting my eyes. Really. But as I reclined, content in my full digestion mode, I started thinking about my family tree.
It’s an easy metaphor. Everybody’s seen the genealogy charts, where you list out your relatives along the branches of a mighty oak, then frame it for display. The tree I envisioned, couldn’t be contained by a sheet of paper on the wall. It’s a massive, gnarly, living, breathing, thing. And I can clearly see my place in the tree. I can see where I started as a shoot on my parent’s branch, back when they grew together for a while. Before they split and grew separately again. Three other shoots come in quick succession above me, as my siblings are born of the union. You can see where our tiny branches run side by side, parallel to the trunk for a while, before each twists and turns in it’s own growth. Follow any of the branches and you’ll see periods of growing closer together and periods of growing apart. Regardless of the distance between, we all came into the light from the same small section of the tree and our life force flows from that common spot on our parent’s formerly unified branch. Another sibling sprouts later when mom’s branch hooked up for a while with a short, stubby thorn bush, but we won’t go there. Both of my parent branches are merged with other branches now and enjoying their time as the trunk of the tree. You see, that’s the part I didn’t get till just now. We think of the tree in the yard as growing in just one direction; from the ground up. The family tree in my mind is constantly growing both up and down, at exactly the same speed, from the place where the earth meets the sky. When my last grandparent went below the dirt a few years ago, my parents became the last
piece of trunk above ground. I hope they have many, many more days in the light before continuing that part of their journey downward. In the shoots from our long unified branch, the Queen and I are carried into the future. One daughter’s branch has recently merged with one from another tree. The other daughter’s branch took a little longer to find her path to the light, but is in a burst of growth these days. Their mother and I can’t wait for the day when either or both tell us new shoots are on the way. So, I see it all so clearly from my branch of the tree. I see the future spreading out ahead of me in my children and hopefully theirs. But I also see my future spreading downward at the same time. I’ll have a turn as the trunk for a while, and it will be glorious. (I’ll make the gravy). And when my time in the light is through, I’ll join the rest of my family below the dirt to help support and nurture everything above. So it’s with contented thoughts of an eternal future as well as an everlasting past, that I open my eyes. They’re cutting pie in the kitchen and my root system needs nutrients. Photosynthesis doesn’t just happen, you know?
Keeping the Barn Door Closed or Dealing With Senior Wardrobe Malfunctions Jay Kerner The wheel in the sky keeps turnin’ for us all my friends. Unless you’re Dorian Gray, Benjamin Button or Cher, time takes its‘ toll on everyone at the same exact rate. At least that’s what Scientists will tell you. I offer that where time is involved, perspective needs to be considered. While it crawls like molasses for the 6 yr. old waiting for Christmas, those of us comfortably beyond the halfway point see the calendar turning ever faster, year after year. Some of us fight the good fight in the battle against aging. We start watching our diets. We start long, over-due exercise regimens. (Not me, but maybe you.) Untold gazillions have been made selling “fountain of youth” formulas. Everything from Snake Oil to Lady Clairol. Hair-plugs to Botox to Liposuction. Some of us take to the sofa with our laptops, tablets or smart-phones, replacing the lifelong patterns of going and doing things, with status updates and liking things. But however you approach it, changes are happenin’ and you’re probably not going to like ‘em much. They’re sure happening to me. Maybe it has to do with my impending status as a grandparent. Maybe it was just a series of biological alarm clocks, set to go off at different times. Let’s see, hair: start losing it from the crown, but just look at the new crop in the nose, ear and eyebrow regions will ya! Memory: Sure, it’s not unreasonable to assume there may be a tiny chance that recent issues in this area were self inflicted, but I have no memory of that and admit nothing. But I do cop to continually going downstairs in our home and forgetting what I went for. I get down there and… crap! I can’t believe this keeps happening. A couple of times I
yelled back up to ask the Queen what I’d come for. She didn’t know in the first place, and it wasn’t worth the scrutinizing glances I got afterward. Now I just grab something else as subterfuge, knowing I’ll remember my original item on reaching the top step. Works every time. But there are other signs too. Like I suddenly feel compelled to tell people about my operation. It was a minor knee procedure eight years ago, but the damn thing jumps front and center in my brain, at the first mention of anyone else’s health issue. (Buy me a beer sometime and I’ll tell you all about it.) But to me, the one that hits below the belt, both literally and figuratively, is leaving my doggone pants unzipped. Everybody has the image in their head of the nasty old man in the park or in the grocery store, painfully unaware that his old man fly is open. Or is he unaware? Pervert! Let me share that I have a new perspective on that. New studies (that I made up) indicate there may actually be a “pants zipping” neuron, forged in toddlerhood, that triggers that particular action automatically at the conclusion of business. That neuron clearly has a life expectancy somewhat shorter than the rest of me I guess, because lately I keep getting caught with my zipper down. Damn it! But that’s ok. I have a little secret weapon. Some of you may have seen the small letter “P” tattooed on my left hand. I told folks it was in honor of my late brother Pat, lost too early to demon drink. Now it’s sort of a mnemonic device. I still think of my crazy brother every time I see it, but I also get a silent reminder; “Pants?” That’s been working pretty well but still not 100%. So please, forgive me in advance for future transgressions. I’ll write my name in my underwear in case I get lost, and try to remember to wear them too, in case I leave the barn door open. No sense adding insult to injury.
saintjoseph.com
Where to go when you come to
St. Joe
Who are They? Barry Carolus
They say you shouldn’t smoke…they say you should have safe sex… they say you should go to college… they say you should get married… they say you should get a job…these are commonly heard words of advice we all have heard a million times. We’ve also heard words of advice like, they say you shouldn’t eat that, they say you should get more sleep, they say you shouldn’t watch so much TV, and on and on. But just who are they? I have been told many times.. they say this and ..they say that, and when it come from someone you trust like your parents or friends it usually is taken as the right information, and usually never ask them where they got this information, because that would make it look like they don’t know what they’re talking about. I’m tired of this nonchalant kind of “they say” this and “they say” that stuff. You could hear a “they say”, at school, at work, at home, in your car, at the grocery store, at a wedding, in a meeting, at the bar, or even maybe while in the bathroom. Next time someone tells you that, ask them to tell you where they got this advice or recite to you their source of information. You could get some
strange answers. I don’t think most people can tell you. It’s just something they were told or that they heard..heard from somewhere ..somewhere that they can’t remember. Some people might just say, “hell, I don’t know, but that’s what they say!” Yet if someone can tell you where they got this information, and you believe it, it makes learning a much better experience. It’s time with all our ‘smartness’ from schooling, work, family and god knows the internet these days, that we can bring a little more reality to what we are saying by where we got it in the first place. If we can find out who “they” are then we can make our own mind up. Everybody likes to be a provider of information to someone in need, especially when it make them feel good, and genuinely trying to help, or simply that they think they are the most important person in the world and that everything that comes out of their mouth is absolute fact. When someone keeps telling you “they say” this or “they say” that, does that mean they think you are a complete imbecile, and you have no idea how to make up your own mind? Next time someone is giving you a round of bull, telling you “they say” to do this, or “they say” to do that, and you see that their nose is growing, ask them one question, just who are “they”?