In a message dated 98-02-15 13:12:30 EST, you write: << I knew how just Franny felt. And I was sure I'd have approached her situation in just the way good old Zooey did. God, there were very few of us left. The salt of the earth. >> Not me. If anything I'm entirely too likely to curl up on a couch with a flea ridden cat refusing consecrated chicken soup. I read Zooey's comments to try to figure out how to say the prayer for me, and not for the sake of avoiding ignorant ushers. The Glass I relate to most is Franny. It's a sign of my own stunted development that I can't get beyond pointing the finger outward, creating debilitating inertia. I am a Franny, but I'd love to be anyone but.