Yes, the best wine is the one I’m drinking now and the best day is the one I’m living now and the best movie ever is the one I’m watching now, but the best time of my life is already long past. Of course, pretty much everything in my life is long past, even if I can still buy green bananas. I was reminiscing the other day and it occurred to me that the best years of our lives go by without us realizing we’re at our apex. We’re too busy with the day-to-day, the striving, the deadlines and detritus, so we miss the moments we should savor the most. I’m enjoying my life now, looking forward to what comes next, planning for the future, even as I look over my shoulder every so often for the Reaper’s hoodie…and all is right with the world, more or less. I wouldn’t want to go back and relive my childhood or high school or college or pretty much any other time of life…but there is one period I think I’d leap through time to experience all over again and that’s my 40s. It goes without saying that this doesn’t apply to everyone, but I’ll say it anyway to avoid hate mail and legal action. For a huge number of us, especially the people who decide to raise kids, the fifth decade is the absolute best and for many reasons:
Don’t panic if you’ve hit 50 and you forgot to savor the past ten years. There’s plenty to look forward to and no urgent need to jump off the roof. If you’re still in your 20s or 30s, though, make a note to savor every moment when your golden decade arrives. Trust me, it will be gone in a blink. Yeah, you thought the best days were when you got your first real six-string, but you were wrong. Feel free to argue, though, right after clicking here to subscribe.
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Quotidian miracles, the Ticketmaster Tax, and the inflation that wasn’t are all on our list of gripes this week. And how are you doing?
Turns out AI is just like us, after all, and the guard rails are off for pretty much everything. It will look great in the future, though, because only the survivors will be left to tell the story…
We'll be living life without guard rails in 2024, so click here to subscribe and come along for the ride. Maybe it’s the wassail or the eggnog or the vodka-scented candles, but I’m feeling really confused about so many these days, including…
Be sure to have yourself a merry little Christmas, and be sure to click here for the best present of all, a subscription to Dad Writes. No lumps of coal for you, baby. You know what the problem is with advice columns? The first two issues are obvious, of course: People write in about some urgent issue and the advice arrives months later when it's too late to do any good. Worse, it's pretty clear the the people asking the questions are too dense to benefit from the advice. Dear Aunt Esmerelda: My neighbor is upset that my dog is leaving gifts in his flower bed when he should really be grateful for the fertilizer. How do I get him to be happier when Poopsie visits? Dear Aunt Esmerelda: My son is a Navy Seal who is often away on secret missions. How can I get the Navy to schedule him to be home for my birthday? Dear Aunt Esmerelda: My niece has a peanut allergy, so I put some peanut butter in her turkey sandwich to help her develop some tolerance. Now she’s in a coma and my brother is making a big deal about it. How do I get him to drop the restraining order? Yes, the questions are entertaining, but the answers are the archetypes for missed opportunities. Instead of starting the replies with, “Dearest Idiot,” the advice columnists almost always express sympathy and try to comfort the people who are too far gone to be reached on this planet. “Perhaps your neighbor doesn’t appreciate the close relationship you have with your dog. I agree that the Navy and America’s enemies should both be more considerate when it comes to family. Give your brother time to recognize your good intentions, and maybe for his daughter to come out of her coma…” And there we have it, the biggest flaw in advice columns: too much respect. Contrary to the popular myth spread by consultants everywhere, there are stupid questions and there are bad ideas. It would be a truly healthy development if advice columnists called out their correspondents for both transgressions. Clearly, it’s time for the Dad Writes help desk, where we suffer only wise people and set the fools on the true path to enlightenment. We’re drawing our inspiration from Bob Newhart, who set the standard for all psychology, psychiatry, and consulting today. We’ll build on his groundbreaking technique, but we will never stray far from the words of the master. Your wedding is in three days and you’re sending me a question now? Too late for that, but here are some ideas for divorce court. You poisoned your niece and you’re not in jail? This would be a good time to move to another country. If you're gonna let your dog roam around without a leash, let your neighbor poop on your lawn to even things out. See how easy that is? Advice columns would be much more entertaining and educational if we avoid all the “respect” and “courtesy,” especially when those considerations are 100% undeserved. Our new column is going to be so refreshing for readers, and very therapeutic for me. I can’t wait to hear from the first doofus with a question. Now that Dad Writes is new and improved with free advice, you’ll definitely want to click here to subscribe for our amazing wisdom. For the love of God, is there no end to this elder abuse? Every day, I’m victimized again by some media outlet that decides they have nothing better to do than to shame me. I wake up every morning (so far) with a sore arm or back or leg or toenail and there’s nothing to do but ease into the day with the latest news and my social media feeds. By the time I’m done with my third cup of coffee, the aching has receded and my vision is finally clearing up, but there’s a new pain that will envelop me for the rest of the day. That’s because my morning read invariably includes a story about some young snot who’s achieved more at 17 than I’ll ever achieve in my life. And I’m not even talking about Greta and Malala here. There’s also the kid who invented a portable dialysis machine for his middle-school science fair and the pre-teen who turned her lemonade stand into a multinational restaurant chain. Even worse, my feed is overrun with really old people, people much older than I am, who are doing things I can’t do already. In the latest installment of “People Who Are Both Older And Better Than You,” some 104-year-old woman set a new record as the oldest person to parachute out of an airplane. Even worse, she's a Chicagoan like me. Well, clearly not like me, and vice versa. The abusers in the media say these are “feel-good stories” that encourage the rest of us to think of age as just a number, but they’re really gaslighting us with tales that make us feel less accomplished, less capable, and much more ready to die now. Because nothing gives me hope for my future like another person’s achievements and the certain knowledge that those achievements will never be mine. You wanna know what gives me the will to live? I love reading about the Chicago Cubs blowing their playoff slot in September and the Chicago Bears losing so many games in a row that they’ve set up a suicide hotline for their players and coaches. I want to learn about some dope who won the lottery and invested all her winnings into cryptocurrency or the fools who got convicted of sedition on the basis of their own selfies. I draw the line at the Darwin Awards, because stupidity shouldn’t be a capital offense, but I’m almost invariably inspired by the wrong turns and dumb choices that other people make. Those are my feel-good stories, the sagas that let me know I’m not the feeblest failure of the day. I might be a loser, but at least I’m not a Chicago Bear. And I’m not alone in this, either. My social media feed is filled with posts that mock the Bears and the Cubs, but nobody is celebrating the 104-year-old woman who thought it was a good idea to jump out of a perfectly functional airplane. My friends only share uplifting stories, and that is definitely not one of them. It’s time to stop the gaslighting of all us seniors, to demand an end to the abusive shaming, and it's absolutely the perfect moment to donate large amounts to my crowdfunding account. I promise not to invest the proceeds in crypto or to take skydiving lessons. Will I become a paratrooper when I’m 104? The only way to know is to click here to subscribe and keep reading for the next 34 years. It will be so worth it. |
Who writes this stuff?Dadwrites oozes from the warped mind of Michael Rosenbaum, an award-winning author who spends most of his time these days as a start-up business mentor, book coach, photographer and, mostly, a grandfather. All views are his alone, largely due to the fact that he can’t find anyone who agrees with him. Archives
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