My lips are chapped from the winds of change.

I spent a lot of time with some native Hawaiians who protest being part of the United States and literally carry protest signs saying "We are not Americans." And they have no real warmth for being the 50th state.

One night last summer, all the killers in my head assembled on a stage in Massachusetts to sing show tunes.

Dig deep into its communitarian ethos and it reads more like an America that might have been, an America fervently devoted to the quaint goals of working together and getting along. Of course, this America does exist. It's called Canada.

The only thing more dangerous than an idea is a belief.

Radio is the playground of coincidence.

Like Lincoln, I would like to believe the ballot is stronger than the bullet. Then again, he said that before he got shot.