Pack your bags

Not that it’s anything new of course, but am I the only one who’s noticed that the world really seems to be going to Hell lately?

First of all, my life doesn’t seem to have improved as much as everyone told me it would the night we elected Barack Obama to be our 44^th fearless leader.  In February, the company I work for announced that we were entering into a merger.  Turns out that merger, at least in this particular case, really means “hostile takeover”, and the other guys appear to be the takers.  A-Rod, possibly the most naturally gifted athlete to ever step onto a baseball field really was cheating all along and now the new-breed of superstar, Lebron James, doesn’t have to shake hands after the game if he doesn’t want to – his mommy told him so!

In my heart of hearts, I truly think that it all started down this slippery slope that we are rapidly reaching the bottom of when Dr. Spock told an entire generation of parents that we shouldn’t spank the kids, but that’s a blog for another time. 

The point I’m trying to get to here is simply this: I’m moving to Mayberry.

I watch at least one episode of The Andy Griffith Show a night (thanks to television series’ DVD’s, one of the very few good things that has happened in the world in the last 25 years or so), and for starters, no one has gotten one second older. 
-       Andy continues to be the quintessential father:  Dispensing love, cheer, discipline, advice, and justice in equal measure.
-       Aunt Bea is still the loving, rotund caretaker who never met a scraped knee or rump roast she couldn’t work her magic on.
-       You can still get both a haircut and an earful of the latest town shenanigans for the combined price of $1 from Floyd the barber.
-       Barney proves everyday that you can screw up seven ways to Sunday and still be loved by all.
-       Opie reassures us that until you reach the age of at least 16 that life’s biggest problems range from raising a nest of baby birds to trying to fit both football and piano practice into one always sunny afternoon.
-       Otis remains living proof that if you drink too much and live in a big city you’re an alcoholic, but if you do it in a small town, you’re a lovable drunk.
-       You can rest assured that as long as Gomer (if your world is B & W) and/or Goober (if your world is colored) are around, you’ll never be the dumbest person in the room.
-       Finally, there is nothing more pleasing to the human experience than knowing that every day can end with lemonade, pleasant conversation, and hopefully a guitar on the front porch.
So somebody please tell me, what could be better than spending the rest of your life in a place like that?  No problem that can’t be solved in less than 30 minutes (24 without commercials) exists.  Everybody shakes hands, there isn’t any need for any substance that might be performance enhancing, no mergers, and they don’t even have a President.

Anybody coming along?