My *!#% wake-the-dead doorbell nearly knocked me to the floor during a recent Saturday morning writing session… A mere six minutes later, without even a faint acknowledgment of the meanest scowl I could muster, the charming young salesperson convinced me to break a longstanding vow; I took a trial subscription to the Sunday paper…

For the following three Sabbath-day mornings, upon hearing that old (memories of youth) familiar thud on the front step, I would promptly collect the Bee, remove the rubber band (something for my money) and, without reading a word, drop it, and its 30 million ads, into the royal blue container in my garage…

Then came last weekend… Don’t ask me why (I’m virtually never bored), but I forwent the recycle bin and decided I’d give the paper a once-over (figuring the risk was relatively low since I recently had a physical and my blood pressure was a-okay…)

On my drive to Walgreens a short while later (they have that free blood pressure thing), temples pounding, I pondered the real world to which I just exposed my tender cardiovascular system… Here’s my take on the two articles I braved:

1. Public employee unions of the literally broke state of California are pushing back against a proposal that would bump full retirement to age 62 (the early retirement age for social security)… Oh the injustice!!

I nearly trashed it then (feeling entirely vindicated in my momentarily-broken vow) but surely, I thought, I