Let's join together, people, and hold hands

I bought a cone with two scoops of vanilla. I’ve accepted my own vanillaness for years. Back in the Seventies when independence was in vogue, people wore buttons and badges and T-shirts with humorous or meaningful or symbolic inscriptions to demonstrate individuality, and guys I knew who’d once followed the Jack Armstrong, All-American Boy model, grew their hair down to their shoulders and wrote fractured poetry and attempted to be Buddhist. But they had to face the fact that good jobs for Buddhist poets are hard to find and you may spend your 20s living in your parents’ basement.

Not a good idea unless the parents are wealthy and own numerous homes and you can live in the basement of one they’re not occupying.