Generation Three-Fer

I want to have a better understanding of the human mind. For the past few years I’ve been trying to figure out the cultural malaise that has gripped America, specifically young people. It’s been like watching a family member sick with the flu but instead of getting better they become more compromised…weaker.

I’ve wracked my brain in a futile effort to identify a cause. Surely it has to be the confluence of events – variables – that have created a culture of youth that has mutated, becoming zombie-like in movement, appearance, and verve. There’s simply a dearth of life-energy in this group. They speak of hopelessness and boredom, unable to get out of bed to go to work or school and face the mundane “challenges” that we eagerly embrace as a means to an end. I’ve seen young men at work standing disengaged, sitting, staring, moving at a disinterested sloth-like pace, that is until the “recess” bell rings, while their older co-workers move like the Energizer Bunny on Red Bull to pick up the slack.

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Chickpeas & Lime Zest

Women change. Evolve. “Grow.” Guys don’t. We’re like dogs. We just age. Over the years we like the same food. The same music. The same underwear. The same snacks and treats. A favorite old coat with tattered cuffs. And we have at least one pair of jeans that should have been thrown out when the first Bush left office.

I loved brownies as a kid. I still love brownies (without nuts). For some reason my evolver finds it necessary to deviate from the tried-and-true staples of man-life, mostly with food.

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Frolicking Curmudgeon

Uh oh. Does everyone know what season it is? It’s here. The much anticipated Christmas Hallmark Channel season or what I refer to as the season of TV love triangles, tears, snowball fights, and hot chocolate. And much like the artificial world of afternoon soaps, Hallmark’s snow globe reality sets an expectation for holiday frolicking to which an employed guy – without access to a personal helicopter, yacht, hotel chain, or royal lineage – might have a problem measuring up.

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Bob “Fish” Fishelson

If you’re lucky, you knew Bob. But who didn’t? Of all the people I’ve known, Bob has been the common thread, the guy that has proven the human connection theory of six degrees of separation. He was simply everyone’s friend. Bob “Fish” Fishelson got tired and left us today.

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Perfect Fruit

WAIT! before sending angry emails and rainbow emojis, read on. This isn’t a rant about RuPaul’s Drag Race or some other in-your-face transgender or alternative life-choice. It’s simply a non-political commentary on Americans’ often irrational expectation for perfection, irrespective of personal effort to achieve even basic mediocrity.

As consumers we’ve learned to expect – no demand – perfection. We sort through piles of consumer goods on a quest for perfection, foregoing scuffed packages for ones that look bright and fresh, as if taken from an ad agency photo shoot. What’s inside is the same as that in the rejected box that’s been shoved aside, relegated to the Island of Misfit Toys or the desperate grasp of a waterlogged homeowner that will settle for that last sump pump in a beat up box on a dusty shelf. Continue reading “Perfect Fruit”