At the suggestion of FaceBook, I have added a new friend this morning. One of my options for my other friend requests is 'Add to List'. I thought this might be a good idea so that my wannabe friends weren't just hanging out there. It's not that I'm not considering your requests, just that I haven't reached a decision yet. But when I clicked "Add to List' FaceBook told me that I did not have a list. Go figure.
FaceBook's other suggestion this morning is that I buy a Penn State vacation home just 4 miles from Beaver Stadium. If I did, I would give
all my FaceBook friends my brother Michael a key so he could use it anytime. Because I think today is his birthday.
(Or it could have been the 17th. I'm pretty sure it is a prime number between 10 and 20 in February. This is what happens to a brain over 50 years old.) In honor of his birthday I would like to post this poem which
(may I suggest?) is the most romantic poem ever written about prime numbers. I
stole plaigarized copied borrowed published this poem from the blog of a friend of a FaceBook friend of mine.
1.15.2010
Prime
That song comes on the radio,
and I bite my lip
and think of you.
Baby, we're like
the two factors
of a prime number.
Together we make something unique,
a combination unable to be recreated
by any two others.
Girl, I'm like the number,
and you are
the one.
If I were young and single, I would accept a FaceBook suggestion to be friends with this guy.
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