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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72" style='word-wrap:break-word'><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Earlier I posted a snarky commentary on a young lady who attended some froofy-doofy “college” from which she needed to pay still more money to unlearn harmful memes.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>In all that, I feel obligated to offer some actual useful advice to go along with the annoying (yet oddly amusing) silliness for those who leave college feeling the kinds of unsettling emotions they young pharmaceutical heiress Rockwell was suffering.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=speakable style='margin:0in;line-height:21.0pt;background:white;vertical-align:baseline'><span style='font-size:13.5pt;font-family:Roboto;color:#222222'>>…New York City pharmaceutical heiress Annabella Rockwell is claiming that her mother paid a $300-a-day "deprogrammer" after believing her daughter had been "brainwashed" by attending an all-female <a href="https://www.foxnews.com/category/us/education/college" target="_blank"><span style='color:#003366;border:none windowtext 1.0pt;padding:0in'>elite liberal college</span></a> that left the young woman "totally indoctrinated" and estranged from the parents who raised her… <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>We all know this old world isn’t fair. But this old world is good. We know we can’t fix everything. But we can fix some things, and the mere feeble attempt to fix stuff is a step along the road to recovery. For idle guilt-ridden pharma heiresses among us, I would recommend a day-long treatment session from which she need not even pay me (particularly if she is a figure skater): go with me to the local food bank and volunteer to work down there, allllll daaaamn daaay, an activity which will result in a paradigm shift.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Go down there with me, watch, work and listen to what happens. There is a ton of work to do at the food bank, a despair-inducing majority of it is identifying and discarding perfectly edible expired food (oh that part hurts) then making up boxes of nutritionally balanced donation boxes to give away to those who need it. I know of no other alternative that is a more direct means of meeting the exact need of exactly the right people at the exact time they need it. People come in there, some of them living in their cars or vans, all kinds, shapes and sizes, people of every race and most of the genders, with one thing in common: they are in need. OK cool, fill it. Do what you can.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>So… my disillusioned young figure skating pharma heiress, come on down there, work with me and my scouts for one day. I predict you will feel much better, and perhaps get your feet back on the ground after too much listening to too many professors who have never seen a food bank, find out what can be done, then do it, do the hell outta that.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The problem with our having such short lives is that by the time we figure out what we are supposed to be doing, we don’t have much time left to do it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>spike<o:p></o:p></p></div></body></html>