Not only is he curator of the world's largest collection of duckological artifacts, he is also my mentor, my machine shop post-graduate advisor, the person who represented the interests of the State of Arkansas at my wedding, and if I kept score of such things, would be in a three-way tie for best friend ever along with Mrs. DMG and my friend Carl, which is some pretty damn fine company to be in. Perhaps I do keep score. Anyway, Rod sees the world with uncommon clarity and from those images distills uncommon wisdom which I do not disregard even when I've examined the same information and drawn different conclusions. I welcome his perspective. Take me, for instance: Recently Rod pointed out to me that I have a lot of inconsistencies in my worried life, that I am not as "faithful to worry" as I thought I was. Bullocks! I thought at first, Rod doesn't know how much time I spend on the toilet! But then he pointed out some things he'd observed about me which I don't always notice, particularly that I am often doggedly pursuing some goal or participating in uncontrolled laughter. I could nitpick both of the points but I won't. Okay, I will. First, I'm not sure running, let's see, about 23.6 miles in the last eight days in preparation for the Winslow Half Marathon in September would necessarily constitute "dogged pursuit." Okay, I'll concede that point. People with clinical anxiety would probably not do that. I can say, though, that I have not participated in uncontrolled laughter for quite some time. Participating in laughter implies that I am laughing along with others, which simply doesn't happen very often because the things that are entertainingly ironic to me rarely spark such feelings in the typical person. Likewise what would trigger a gut-wrenching guffaw in the typical person, while I might recognize the elements of it which draw a person to have that reaction, simply don't satisfy me the same way. That said, I do laugh my ass off all the time, most recently after reading from Samuel Beckett's Molloy. The whole novel is a riot but one particular paragraph put me over the edge. It's quite long but it started with, "The sky was that horribly colour which heralds dawn. . ." and finished brilliantly with, ". . . Such are the advantages of a local and painless paralysis. And it would not surprise me if the great paralyses were to offer analogous and perhaps even still more unspeakable satisfactions. To be literally incapable of motion at last, that must be something! My mind swoons when I think of it. And mute into the bargain! And perhaps as deaf as a post! And who knows as blind as a bat! And as likely as not your memory is a blank! And just enough brain intact to allow you to exult! And to dread death like a regeneration." You're probably not laughing but don't worry, I'm used to it. My laughter upon reading this, though, was intense and long-lasting, so I'll concede the laughter point as well. Not sure where I'm going with all of this, I guess I'm just giving a shout out to my guru-to-all-things Rod White. You're the man!