Good morning, Mr Le, the world says hello!

I like my neighbor's attitude a lot. Isn't it wonderful to be welcomed by the world every morning? Come in and enjoy!

You're not going to fool ME, food industry!

Spring butts.

Ahh, finally winter has given way to spring, nature shakes off its snowy coat and the first hopeful butts appear among last year's brown leaves.

"What are you taking that picture for? What are you taking THAT PICTURE FOR???"

... asked the man who watched me taking a picture of a solitary peeled orange next to the stairs at the park entrance. "It's not good for anything. It's just good. It is. And that's good enough", I answered, but I think that wasn't a good enough answer for him.

Obviously it's not autos what they want. German newspaper "Die Welt" revealed in an article today that "the emotional attachment to cars as status symbols" is fading among young Germans. The generation of men and women under the age of 25 sees the car merely as a means of transportation. What a concept. From my standpoint as an adversitising professional I find this development very alarming, immediate action is required, we have to find new spark plugs to ignite automotive love, supercharge the relationship with emotion, accelerate our efforts to ... screeech. From my personal standpoint I'm really looking forward to roller blading to Berlin on the empty autobahn in summer.

When Robinson Crusoe returned, he found that someone had gone through his stuff.

Robinson rubbed his eyes. Wasn't that his Encyclopedia Britannica? And there: the rare recording of "Relax – Wagner for meditation", sleeveless in the sand! He sprinted towards the palm trees, where he had built his studio apartment.

Oh no! The place was a mess. His collection of vintage plastic bags, his disposable coffee cup lids, and the shirts he had carefully woven from coconut fibers and monkey nose hair - all one big clutter.

The worst sight was the office: ransacked drawers, his goat leather couch dirty with chocolate, his typewriter gone. Robinson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In, out, in, out – relax. At least they hadn't taken his record player. 

Nothing better than doubt doubting itself.

Last night my mother called me. She told me she loves me. I hung up and thought: "Oh, well, she just said that because she loves me." I guess that's a true statement.

Strange things get caught in my brain at night.

If nothing else helps, Walt Whitman does. Always.

"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then. I contradict myself.
I am large.
I contain multitudes."