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16 February 2005



I have this image of your kids standing guard in front of these massive pearly gates, with a long list of names written in a fine hand on a parchment scroll curling around their feet, with a long queue of people lining up for miles in front of them. Behind everything is a rather modest, every-day sort of suburban house. Just beyond the gates, though, you're holding court on your deck with a beer in your hand, a cooler at your feet, and your wife passing out barbecued hamburgers to those guests that made it inside.

"Hi, Tony, come right in." "Now, Lucianne, you're going to have to stay right there till the popups come down." "Oh no you don't, Mr. Churchill, there's no way in heck you're getting in." "Mr. Yousefzadeh! So nice to see you! We've been waiting for you, come in, please." etc.


I won't let the kids hang around that close to the street, but other than that you're right on the money!!

Oh, and we keep the beer in the fridge in the garage...


(Well now that I know where to look...)

Oh come now, they wouldn't be on the street! They'd have sweet little white robes, and standing on fluffy clouds! Guarding the pearly gates to your deck! Keeping out the riffraff! A more genteel assignment I can not think of.

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