Whenever I sense national money trouble, that’s my cue to go donate blood. The hope is that my vital fluid will ultimately find its way into the veins of Lady America’s working citizens, giving people named "Joe" that extra kick needed to increase our gross domestic product (‘cause Lord knows I ain’t doing it). If the only fortune in your wallet is an old strip of

As Tommy Lee Jones continued to look like a shabby basset hound made of old foreskins, a nurse brought me more cookies and an extra blanket. I embraced this encouragement of infantilism by calling each nurse “mommy,” hoping one would kiss me on the forehead and tell me I was “special” just like my real mom never did. This goofy behavior soon drew the attention of