The Social Bagel by Cpt. Willard       I've heard the death knell of creative, original thought. It's haunting tone is audible with the words, "Websters defines_____ as....." Take your pick from the gaggle of cliche's to fill that blank. The number of them is nauseating. If anyone started off a speach like this at your high school graduation, then I admire you for not imediately slitting your throat. Though, in it's low-brow simplicity and cheeziness, it's ironic how well that opening fits into something as low-brow and cheezy as a high school graduation.       It has been over two years since my own commencement ceremony. Yet, I cannot help lamenting the false expectations, drama, and rehashed speeches that come with a high school graduation.       With that night also comes the most asinine commentary on success. It's an old, tired debate. Angst-ridden graduate A complains to Crackhead graduate B, "Success to them is just having money and wearing suits, yada yada yada." However, as most things go, it's not that simple. Success to those who preach it is not just a simple compromise of ideals whereby financial stability becomes possible. Although, that is more than likely inlvolved. Success to the resltess middle-ager is existing to make them comfortable.       Imagine having sold your soul for a stairmaster and curtains that match your tie. It would make you feel all the better about it if your Church Pal's neighbor's son who just graduated would do the same. It doesn't matter who it is, as long as you can point your finger at the world and proclaim that you've done no worse than common practice.       There's also a power trip for anyone who can make you into the white-collared zombie they know you don't want to be. The world of professional careers is an elaborate country club and they would love for you to join. That way, the dues you pay help fund the country club, making their lives that much more comfortable.       How do you pay your dues? You get your oil changed every 3,000 miles at the local Quick Lube. You buy your clothes from department stores. You eat at Chili's and T.G.I.Fridays. You put your money in a bank. You buy a T.V., a remote, a VCR, and a stereo. You go to the theater. You buy a slurpee. You practically live in Home Depot because you bought a new house. You pay for air conditioning, cable, and water. Your bowl is full of fiber. Your closet is full of shoes. Your alarm clock is full of features. Welcome to the club.       You have not sold out when you do one of these, half of these, or all of these and then some. You have sold out when you feel like you have to do them. That is adult, Joe Schmoe's perception of success.       Paradigm shift. Why is the sellable version of success the easier one? Shouldn't success be hard to accomplish? There are a couple of people I know that have traveled across the nation, to other nations, loved and lost, shouted ideals till their throats were dry, made jokes that only they laugh at, and pretty much deviated from the norm in every way possible and somehow, society has allowed them to live. That is success. You won't find that in Webster's. Go write your own dictionary. Successful

SPEAK AT ME By Irwin there are two women sitting in front of me they are loud they talk too fast they speak simultaneously they aren't listening to each other the noise I pity the men they sleep with the noise Baywatch Isn't That Good By Irwin       When I lived in St. Thomas, I was lonely. I would have given anything for a woman. She didn't even need to be a good woman. Just someone to stop the sun from feeling so cold. I searched for her in restaurants and bars; the only places other than whore houses where women are paid to talk to men like me. I met Deanna the punk-rocker from Seattle, Annett the concerned mother who was in the middle of leaving her loser alcoholic husband; there was Scy from Belfast and a flirtatious girl with large breasts from Maryland [I can't remember her name, just her breasts]. I dare say my approach never got me anywhere.       One day a woman walked into jewels and straight to my counter. She was taller than I, slender; she was wearing a low-cut summer dress that went to just above her knees. her hair was sandy blond, she had