Premature Pomp

So my son is a graduate. He didn’t exactly finish at the top of his class, but he graduated. Actually, maybe he did finish near the top. Maybe he graduated magna cum laude. Hell, maybe he was even valedictorian. His school kept pretty crappy records, so it’s hard to know for sure. Honestly, I don’t think they kept records at all. We never saw a report card or a transcript or class syllabi’s. I’m pretty sure his only requirements for graduating were the fact that he’s five and will no longer be a paying customer this fall. You know, cause it was preschool.

The concept of graduating from preschool is… quaint. Cute, even. You probably thought the word I was going to use was ‘stupid.’ Some people might use that word, but not me. The concept is cute and the actual “ceremony” was cute. Assuming it’s ok for a man to refer to his son’s preschool graduation as cute.

But here’s the problem… it’s also kind of stupid. I can’t help it. He looked cute (there’s that word again) in his $25 cap and gown, but he didn’t really achieve anything. Nice weather days consisted of round-the-clock recess, broken up only by lunch and nap time. And he failed miserably at nap time (Aced lunch, though). If I may take just a moment to brag - the director of the preschool did say quite regularly, “Your child is so smart,” which felt great, even on those occasions when she was looking at other parents while saying it (I felt bad that she rubbed it in their faces like that, though). But my son was never required to prove it through quizzes or tests or book reports or anything. Sure, he excelled at identifying colors, writing numbers and letters, and performing basic math, but even if he did those things poorly, they still would have given him a diploma.

As proof: at the ceremony the kids all sang a song in unison. Unfortunately it wasn’t decipherable until the second verse because the singers were the exact opposite of ‘in unison.’ That hardly seems diploma worthy.

I promise, though, I’m not a jerk. It was very thoughtful of the school to take the time and effort to make them feel special. And, as I said, the ceremony was cute, the caps and gowns were cute, and the free food was cute. I laughed when I was supposed to laugh, and I said my allergies were bothering me when… you know… I was supposed to say my allergies were bothering me (see, I have a heart).

But have we gone a little off the ranch with things like preschool graduations? For one thing, none of the kids have to earn passing grades in order to graduate. You don’t have to “pass” the first 4-6 years of your life in order to get into kindergarten. You have to go (yes, even in Kentucky). Which brings me to my second point: the kids aren’t allowed to stay at the preschool. We’re legally obligated to enroll my son in an actual school, or at least purchase home-school curriculum, in a few months. It’s like throwing a retirement party for someone who’s being forced to take early retirement.

So what are we celebrating and/or congratulating, exactly? Was the ceremony a way for the teachers to thank the parents for our money over the last five years by asking us to pay another $25 and take time off work?

Ok, that sounds angry. I’m certainly not angry; amused more than anything. And even a little proud. So I’ll just say what you’re supposed to say after graduations. Congratulations Son! You earned it, I guess.

Everything Is a Thing

When you’re a kid, that is. I’m talking about the title, of course. When you’re a kid, everything is a thing. Everything you see is a thing, everything you do is a thing, everything someone says to you is a thing, and everything someone says to somebody else is a thing. If you don’t have kids, those statements probably need clarifying. If you do have kids, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Getting ready for bed, for instance, is more than just putting on your pajamas, brushing your teeth and climbing under the covers. Much more. It’s first asking, “Who has to go to bed?” after one of your parents says, “Time for bed.” Then it’s standing in front of the mirror and seeing how many goofy faces you can make while singing whatever is floating around in your head. It doesn’t even have to be a real song. It can just be a series of random words said in a sing-songy tune. Like, “I like to toot. Toot, toot, toot. You like to toot. Toot, toot, toot.”

Then it’s turning to whomever has walked into the bathroom to ask you to stop singing and start brushing your teeth, and saying, “Look at my belly!”

This continues in a number of similar scenarios for roughly 45 minutes before the child is finally in bed. But you’ve heard all this before. Kids have short attention spans, they don’t like to go to bed, they act silly, blah, blah, blah. But what you may not have heard is what I led off this article with. I wasn’t exaggerating. Everything - not just going to bed - is a thing.

Washing your hands, for instance. An activity that, for an adult, takes 15 seconds at most and requires little thought. For a kid, however, it can take 15 minutes. And helping them speed up the process only leads to elevated blood pressure. Don’t turn the water on for them because they can turn on the water. And they will turn it off and then back on to prove it. Don’t hand them the soap either because they can get the soap. And they will put it down and then pick it back up to prove that as well. But there is something they would like help with – knowing what soap consists of, where it comes from, why it smells so good, etc… So be sure to have the answers to those questions.

Then there are rocks. Holy shit, rocks are awesome. And sticks! They’re even more badass than rocks. Which is great. I love my kids’ passion for things that don’t impress most people past the age of 10. But did you know every rock and every stick has to be picked up? Every single one. No matter how much of a hurry you’re in. And when their arms are full of rocks and sticks, you have to hold the overflow. Even if you need to get to work or to a hospital or to a space shuttle that is rocketing off the planet because aliens are about to blow it up.

"Why are there so many rocks?" they'll probably ask. And they'll ask it when you're trying to hurriedly get them in the car so the line of vehicles behind you can finally pull around the jerkoff that is clogging up the parking lot by waiting to take your spot.

“Why do they want our parking space? Why do they want to be close to the building? Why don’t they want to walk far? What’s a lazy asshole?”

See? Getting into the car is a thing. And rocks are a thing. And parking spaces are a thing.

If you don’t have kids, there’s a chance you’re thinking that mine might have A.D.D. If you do have kids, you know that everything I’ve described is perfectly normal behavior of an average child with average attention-paying abilities. I knew kids that had A.D.D. and I know parents of children who have it. My kids aren’t within an Everest climb of even approaching it. Something to consider if you’re considering having kids.

Not that that should stop you. Kids are great. And a ton of fun. Just know that everything is a thing.

Rejected Course Curriculums at Various Schools Around the Country

Dante’s Seven Deadly Sins and Their Shaping of Religion in Modern-Day Europe – University of Nevada, Las Vegas

Making Waves as the Unaffecting Bystander: Introduction to Apathy – University of California, Berkeley

Advancements in American Culture, Post Civil War – University of Mississippi

The History of Brewing – Brigham Young University

Computational Astrophysics – Southern Baptist Theological Seminary

Pride in the Family Business: Taking Over Your Father’s Air Conditioning Repair Company - Harvard University

Back to the Basics of 20th Century Business: Surviving the Internet Fad – Stanford University

Math Theory – Smith College

Advanced Surfing – Oklahoma State University

Modern Dance – Southern Baptist Theological Seminary

The Depiction of Human Sexuality in 16th Century Italian Renaissance Art – Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Microeconomics Lab: Lowering Gas Prices Through Offshore Drilling – University of Oregon

Study Abroad Program – University of Hawaii

You Think YOU Like Beer?

For some reason or another, I’ve been doing a lot of research on beer lately. Perhaps I’m developing a problem. It feels oh so good, though. Actually, I’ve done a lot more reading than I have drinking. And most of my reading has focused on how our ancestors viewed beer, so I don’t think my liver has much to worry about. For now.

To tell the truth, what I’ve found is that no matter how much drinking you or I take up, no matter what lengths we go to to acquire beer, no matter how much money we spend or how many barrels we start brewing in our basements, beer won’t mean nearly as much to us as it did to our great-great- great-great-great grandfathers.

Now you might be saying to yourself, “Hmmm… I don’t know. I saw last year’s fourth quarter earnings for the world’s largest brewer – AB InBev – and they sell a crapload of beer.” I saw those too. And you’re right, that is a lot of money, especially just for one quarter. Don’t forget too that they’re not the only brewer by any stretch, and lots of beer companies, despite all their profits, still feel compelled to spend huge sums on advertising. Apparently all that profit still makes the corporate suits ask themselves, “Do you think people will remember that they like beer next year?” So they dole out $2.5 million for a 30 second ad during the Super Bowl, just to remind us that beer is pretty cool.

But nevertheless, all that spending doesn’t necessarily equate to people feeling passionately about beer. For passion, you might look to all the Oktoberfests (original and knock off versions) held around the world. Or the fact that so many young people try to secure it illegally. You might even say that the fact that people pour it into bags and tape those bags to dark places of their body in attempts to smuggle it into sporting events speaks volumes about our passion for beer. But all those asses full of beer are nothing compared to how people felt about beer thousands of years ago.

Consider the following…

In the game of love, Modern Man tries to use beer to achieve any number of goals. The ultimate one being to get a woman to agree to come back to his house or apartment and… “organize his music collection,” if you catch my drift. He hopes the “organizing” takes place over a single night or maybe even up to a week if it’s Spring Break. But anything more than that and he begins to not appreciate her criticism of his Scorpions phase.

On many other occasions, however, Modern Man is happy to exchange a beer for a phone number, even if it turns out to be fake, just so he can show his friends that he can in fact ply a number from a member of the opposite sex. Then there are times when Modern Man is happy to buy bottles and bottles of beer for a lady even if it only means she’ll talk to him for five more minutes.

But not Ancient Egyptian Man. His standards were much higher. If Ancient Egyptian Man gave even a sip of beer to a woman, it meant she’d have to do a whole lot more than just “organize his…” ok, you know what? Sex. I’m obviously talking about having sex. And offering beer to a woman meant that he hoped for a lot more than just getting her into bed. It meant she would become Mrs. Ancient Egyptian Man. And you know what came next: in-laws, kids, Pictionary parties, weekends antiquing. Of course back then there weren’t any antiques. All of the quilts and tea sets were the latest, state-of-the art productions, so people went… now-ing, presumably. At any rate, an offering of beer was not made lightly.

The Babylonians didn’t have this same practice, but beer did play a role in marriage for them as well. Babylonian fathers of Babylonian brides sent beer to their new Babylonian sons-in-law for a month after the wedding. So beer may not have been viewed quite as highly by the Babylonians as it was by the Egyptians, given how much of it they were willing to part with, or maybe it was and fathers were just ecstatic to get their daughters married off to whomever would take them. Either way, husbands fared well no matter what their wives looked like (at least for as long as the beer lasted).

I didn’t find much on the changing alcohol content of beer through the ages, but I think it can be presumed that beer has always been fairly potent because the ingredients, for the most part, haven’t changed, and the taste isn’t really the selling point. So given that alcohol has certainly always been a reason to enjoy beer, it was interesting to read that George Washington gave daily rations of it to his troops during the Revolutionary War. Seems counterintuitive to winning a war in which you’re outmanned and outgunned (which I guess goes without saying if you’re outmanned). Then again, keeping morale high is an important factor in fighting a war, and what better way to do that than with some suds?

Going back to the Egyptians, they didn’t let diminished capacities interfere with their love of brewski either. Earlier, I only scratched the surface of the passion the Egyptians had for beer, given that they also used to brew batches of it to bury with their dead so it would travel with them to the afterlife. The only problem is that this passion for brew may have impacted their passion for rewards in the afterlife, since part of their beliefs about receiving rewards in the afterlife (other than beer, of course) involved “the ability to recite spells, passwords and formulae of the Book of the Dead.” So there’s a good chance that your buddy in college who always thought he did better on tests after he had a few beers in him is at least ¼ Egyptian.

But the Egyptians weren’t the only early civilization that tied beer into its religious beliefs. The Sumerians are believed to be the first to brew beer (even though it was most likely by accident) and, appreciating what a glorious thing they discovered, they had a goddess of brewing. When is the last time you heard of anyone praying to a god of beer? The “shrine” of empty beer cans your drunk test-taking friend built in his dorm room? Please. It may have been shaped like a pyramid (I told you that guy had Egyptian in him), but beer-can pyramid building was only the first step toward admittance into preschool back in the days of his ancestors.

And you’ve probably heard a thing or two about Catholics being particularly fond of beer. This is true, but much like their Egyptian counterparts, their fondness has waned. Used to be that Catholics would canonize people for beer. Nowadays you have to do things like “minister to the poor, sick, orphaned and dying.” And even that only gets you ¾’s of the way there.

But to be fair, passion for beer has waned among all religious groups and ethnicities. How could it not? Shortly after beer was discovered, people’s passion for it could only go down. Consider the fact that upon learning of the process for making beer, early man pretty much changed his entire way of life. He didn’t merely spend his nights and weekends drinking it, he didn’t suddenly have something cool to give his friends for their birthdays and hut-warming parties, and he didn’t just have something besides his own urine to drink. Well, he did. But he had so much more than that. As this quote from anthropologist Alan Eames points out, courtesy of Beer100.com, "beer was the driving force that led nomadic mankind into village life...It was this appetite for beer-making material that led to crop cultivation, permanent settlement and agriculture."

The Discovery Channel even devoted a documentary to that very topic. And not only did beer farming prompt man to stop gathering berries and hunting more advanced species, but the documentary goes into how his passion for beer pretty much led to reading, writing and arithmetic. No joke. (You’ll have to watch for a few minutes, but it’s worth it.) Today, when people change their way of life for beer, they usually end up flunking out of school or losing their job, their relationships and everything in their savings account. Yay alcoholism!

But the most telling evidence that we’re not so gung ho over beer anymore is that we don’t do morally abhorrent things in the name of it. Not like we used to, anyway. Oh sure, people may steal it from time to time, and they may do terrible things after drinking beer, but we rarely see others killed over beer. If you long for the days when you could have seen people killed for stealing beer or even the crops used to make beer, you would have enjoyed living under King Wenceslaus (around 900 A.D.), who had people killed for stealing hops. Were theses maniacal orders of a king who became drunk (pun intended) with power and no longer cared for those he ruled for? Probably not. I imagine he was always a fan favorite, given that he would go on to be canonized.

Then there was the Code of Hammurabi. Hammurabi was the King of Babylon during the 18th century B.C. Remember how I wrote earlier that the Babylonians may not have valued beer as much as the Egyptians? Well if you wanted to disagree, you could certainly point to Hammurabi’s Code, part of which stated that owners of beer parlors would be drowned for overcharging. The SOB didn’t order death just to those who stole the shit, he ordered death to those who charged too much! I’m looking at you, every pro sports owner in America.

And I’m sure we’ve all had the misfortune of being around beer that’s gone bad. It’s usually due to negligent behavior of another person (or maybe yourself). Have you then felt obligated to give that person crap for leaving beer out for too long and thereby causing its skunkiness? That’s what you do, right? You give that person crap. Not literally, I hope. You tease them, you belittle them, you shame them for letting good beer go bad. You let them know they’ve ruined everybody’s evening, but all in good fun. You ultimately, unless it happens a second time, remain friends with that person.

Well, if that person lived in the 1500s, and was a woman, they would have been tied to a stake and used for kindling. Actually, if that woman had nothing to do with the beer going bad, but was simply close by when the bad beer was discovered, she would be sent up in flames. ACTUALLY, even when no one was at fault, which was most likely all the time, mob mentality would still find someone, nay, a woman, nay, a “beer witch” to blame.

You see, beer went bad constantly back then because all the processes we know today to keep beer fresh – dark storage, refrigeration, pasteurization – either weren’t as well known or as widely practiced. And when the skunky beer was discovered, the villagers hunted down the beer witch, yelled “Bonfire!” and got out their S’mores. You might be saying, “Yeah, but back then a woman was believed to be a witch if she produced an inaudible fart. They burned so-called ‘witches’ for everything.” True, but that’s still some serious hatin’ for a bad batch of brew.

Thankfully we don’t act so violently today when beer goes bad, but it’s possible we’ve gone too far in the other direction when it comes to impure beer. Everyone knows that criminals, or in this case heroes, bootlegged beer during Prohibition. Now that’s an example of some serious passion for beer during the last century. However, bootlegged beer was “often watered down to increase profits,” (did I say heroes? I meant assholes) and this watered down, tampered with, “light” version is what Americans came to prefer. That’s right. All that light beer we consume, that we choose over the real thing, started because of what we became accustomed to back when hoodlums were ripping us off. Not only did we tolerate it, but we enjoyed it and continue to enjoy it today. Granted, there weren’t many options during Prohibition, but there certainly are today.

So save your stories about the number of consecutive St. Patrick’s Days you’ve passed out in the gutter for your nieces and nephews. Kill a beer witch and then I’ll believe that you know how to enjoy a cold one.

This Is Kentucky

Kentucky became a state in 1792, making us the 15th oldest state in the country (and currently 220 years of age). Our nickname is the “Bluegrass State,” even though, technically, we’re a Commonwealth. Our state bird is the cardinal, our state motto is “United We Stand, Divided We Fall,” and the tagline for our state brand (yes we have one) is “Unbridled Spirit,” which is admittedly more classy and subtle than our old brand tagline, “Teen Pregnancy Gets a Bad Rap.”

Kentucky is considered a member of the southeast region of the United States, even though only one state separates us from Lake Erie and 2-3 states separate us from the Gulf of Mexico (depending on the route you take). We were a divided state (or Commonwealth) during the Civil War. Speaking of…

Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, was born here. Politically he was known to be from Illinois because he was elected to the House of Representatives as a citizen of that state, which followed his waking up in Illinois with a bunch of his college buddies during a weekend bender. He never came back to Kentucky. Who can blame him, really? Chicago is a pretty cool town.

Kentucky borders seven states, and the vast majority of our residents are incredibly grateful to not be living in four of them – Indiana, Ohio, West Virginia and Tennessee. We enjoy mocking and trading barbs with residents of Indiana, Ohio and Tennessee, but rarely is West Virginia discussed or even acknowledged. Many fear that the federal government will eliminate the recognized border between Kentucky and West Virginia, spilling thousands of “Mountaineers,” as they’re known, onto our Bluegrass and into our schools. It is because of this fear that we try not to think about West Virginia. We prefer that you don’t either.

We have two cities that you’ve probably heard of (Louisville and Lexington), one that you may have (Bowling Green) and a capitol that you probably haven’t (Frankfort). Our largest city, Louisville, is a lovely place. Despite being our most prosperous, most vibrant and most visible city, Louisville unfortunately has a bit of an inferiority complex that does not permeate the less prosperous, less vibrant and less visible areas of the state. This complex has led Louisville’s community leaders to spearhead a successful, albeit suspect, campaign to climb higher on the list of largest U.S. cities. It is also positioning itself, marketing-wise, as “Possibility City” in an attempt to attract residents of other states to move here. It’s not a bad idea, and there are certainly possibilities in Louisville, but with that comes the chance of attracting people from the four states previously mentioned.

A large portion of Kentucky exudes a sort of confidence that tends to make Louisville residents… nervous. But the rest of the state has no reason to not be confident. Sure, our overall standing in the dental community is less than stellar and our test scores aren’t great, but they’re improving. Hey, we’re not West Virginia.

Kentucky is the headquarters for UPS Air, KFC and seasonal allergies. Technically, KFC is owned by another corporate brand – Yum! Brands, Inc. – that is headquartered here and owns other fast food chains under its corporate umbrella, but the other chains aren’t worth mentioning. Don’t believe me? Long John Silver’s. There, see? Totally not worth it.

We are actually the headquarters for a number of companies and institutions, but none make us more proud than the allergy thing. Kentucky is smack in the middle of what’s known as the Ohio River Valley, which wreaks havoc on allergy and sinus-infection sufferers. And we wear our allergies like a badge of honor. For some reason we are not home to any of the largest pharmaceutical manufacturers, but our citizens don’t have to venture far for relief, as our drug stores outnumber our roads 3:1.

We also make bourbon. A lot of it. And we grow tobacco, though the use of it is prohibited virtually everywhere, including outdoors. The same cannot be said for bourbon. It is enjoyed in our restaurants, at our sporting events and in our hospitals alike. Two other substances we produce that most doctors agree should be ingested in limited quantities are coal and moonshine. One is not produced in near the same volumes that it used to be, though. Or so we would have you believe.

Two things we can’t seem to make last, despite repeated attempts, are amusement parks and minor league hockey teams. The lack of staying power amongst our hockey teams is not surprising, but the disappearance of amusement parks is. After all, we produce a hugely popular state fair. The Kentucky State Fair, as a matter of fact, is the largest indoor fair in the country. Granted, the whole fair doesn’t take place indoors. The rides are outside. Most of the concerts are outside. And don’t forget about the racing pigs, those are outside as well. But the Kentucky State Fair utilizes the largest amount of indoor space of any other fair in the U.S. And apparently that’s reason enough to charge the public an arm and a leg to get in. To park, enter the gates, ride a couple of rides and eat, the average family of four can expect to pay approximately $3,000. Oddly enough, the fair is attended largely by members of the populace who look as if they could benefit greatly by putting $3,000 toward improving their dental situation. But then again, the fried Snickers bars are really good.

The first-ever hand transplant was performed here. We’re pretty sure the recipient was someone who lost their original hand while “enjoying” one of our many state fair rides, but don’t quote us on that.

Hall of Fame baseball player and U.S. Senator Jim Bunning was born here. Super Bowl-winning quarterback Phil Simms was born here AND went to college here. Oscar-winning actor George Clooney was born here, Golden Globe-winning actor Johnny Depp was born here, and Golden Globe-winning actor Tom Cruise went to high school here, though we don’t advertise that last one as much as we used to. Non-anything-winning actress Ashley Judd went to college here and she tends to advertise that herself.

In terms of sports, we are a college sports-loving state. Actually, around here football is a little like the middle child – it has its flashes of greatness, but it’s largely overlooked for the one we love most: basketball. The problem is that our largest school (the University of Kentucky [UK]) plays in the Southeastern Conference and usually fields a team that’s only capable of competing in the NFC West, at best. Then there’s our second largest school (the University of Louisville [UofL]), which changes conferences the way our beloved George Clooney changes girlfriends, and the football team has been known to operate as a bachelor (or independent of a conference) for long periods of time. Football just isn’t basketball. And basketball is our pageant-winning, spelling bee champ.

A lot of drama has surrounded our basketball teams lately. UK went for a long stretch of not winning any NCAA championships, until it hired a young upstart from New York as its coach. This young upstart took the school to two title games, winning one of them, in the mid to late ‘90s and then left for a more lucrative career in the NBA. After aging quickly in a job where he didn’t fare so well, the more established and not-so-young-anymore coach returned to the college ranks to lead UK’s cross-town (and biggest) rival – UofL. He soon followed that up by sharing a fettuccini-clad table top with a woman who wasn’t his wife and creating, as we’re sure Billy Joel would agree, quite the “Scene from an Italian Restaurant.” The woman later went on to try to extort money from the coach, exposing the evening to the public at large, and generating an enormous amount of amusement for those who root for UK.

To this day, both teams perform well during the college basketball season and both hope to one day win a championship. Even UK, which may or may not have to “vacate” any titles it might win in the near future.

Well, that about covers it for Kentucky. Oh, one other thing – horses. We should probably mention those.

So come and visit if you can. Heck, even stay a while as long as you’re not from… well, you know.

Introvert or Extrovert?

Like so many of the personality quizzes you have seen in publications, taken in school or taken online while killing time at work, the quiz below provides insight into whether the subject is an introvert or an extrovert. But unlike so many of them, the quiz below offers more than just two options per section, allowing the subject to make choices more befitting of their true nature.

Choose the one option from each section that most accurately describes you.

1) I am always the first to answer questions that are asked in a large social setting.
2) I usually let other people in large social settings answer questions, even if I know the answers.
3) If everyone in the group is contributing answers, then I’ll answer too so I don’t look like an idiot, but if one guy is answering everything, I’ll remain quiet and then ridicule him later with the rest of the group.

1) I work well by myself.
2) I work well in small groups or on a team.
3) I work well in small groups or on a team as long as there isn’t someone who skips out on all the meetings and then tries to take credit for a share of the work like a total douche bag.

1) If someone cuts in line, I usually bite my tongue.
2) If someone cuts in line, I usually say something to them.
3) If someone cuts in line, I usually ask my wife/girlfriend to say something to them.

1) I like to read.
2) I like to go to movies.
3) I like to read and go to movies. I don’t particularly like to read at movies, so I prefer there not be subtitles, but I’m okay with them as long as the whole movie isn’t in subtitles, like those foreign films that only come out at the end of the year. Of course sometimes those have nudity, but it’s hard to tell going in which ones will and which ones won’t. If I know for sure there won’t be nudity, then I prefer to read. Books, I mean. Or see a movie with Will Smith in it. He’s great.

1) I prefer a quiet evening at home.
2) I prefer a night on the town with friends.
3) I prefer a quiet evening at home if my friends’ plans include seeing a foreign film with subtitles that obviously won’t have nudity, and then eating at a tiny restaurant that serves what can only be described as “eclectic” food.

1) I have a lot of friends that I’m somewhat close with.
2) I have few friends, but I’m very close with all of them.
3) I’m closer to the ones that don’t always insist on eating at tiny eclectic restaurants.

1) During conversations, I usually speak the most.
2) During conversations, I prefer to listen.
3) During conversations, I’m happy not saying a word as long as the other person is telling me how impressed they are with my love-making abilities.

1) On airplanes, I like to bury my nose in a book.
2) On airplanes, I like to talk to the person next to me.
3) On airplanes, I only talk to the person next to me if they agree to recite lines from the movie Airplane.

1) I love going to parties.
2) I’m not a big fan of parties.
3) I’ll go to parties if I know that other cool people will be there.

1) At parties, I’m usually the center of attention.
2) At parties, I usually stay off to the side and watch others.
3) At parties, I hang out at the bar and drink until I say something inappropriate about or to the hosts’ wife.
4) I don’t get invited to parties.

1) I don’t mind being alone.
2) I get bored quickly when I’m alone.
3) I only get bored when I’m alone at work.
4) Actually, being alone at work is preferable to being in another self-righteous HR seminar about what constitutes appropriate behavior at the office Christmas party.

1) I am comfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.
2) I am uncomfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.
3) If the stranger and I are not on an airplane reciting lines from the movie Airplane, then I am only comfortable engaging in small talk if the bulk of our conversation consists of reciting lines from the movie Caddyshack. Otherwise, I am uncomfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.

1) I don’t mind public speaking.
2) Public speaking is my worst nightmare.
3) My worst nightmare involved my pet bunny mutating during a nuclear accident and savagely turning against me.

1) I prefer to be direct with people, even if I think I might offend them.
2) I try to avoid offending others at all costs.
3) Who wrote this ridiculous test, some pathetic psych major who’s overpaying for a useless graduate degree from a public university?

1) I have a cat.
2) I have a dog.
3) I have a cat and a dog.
4) I have appeared on the television show Hoarders because my house is so overrun with cats and dogs that I can no longer distinguish my furniture from their excrement.
5) I don’t have any pets.

Correct answers (yes, there are correct answers): 3; 1 (3 is unattainable); 3; 1; 2 (don’t be afraid to introduce some culture into your life); 2; 2 (3 is unattainable); 1 (even reciting lines from Airplane is no excuse for talking on an airplane); 3; 2; 4; 3; 3; 2 (the author has never been enrolled in graduate school); 4 is a bit worrisome, but the only unacceptable answer is 5

Where Does the Time Go? Nowhere, Now

So it’s the end of January and you know what that means… Christmas is just around the corner. Sad, but true. And yes, I hate celebrating Christmas before Halloween just as much as the next guy, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be here in a matter of weeks. That’s how it will feel, anyway.

Let’s face it, not just Christmas, but middle age is right around the corner too. And grandkids. Then retirement. Why does it take 21 years to turn 21, but going from 21 to 30 takes like six months? If only life moved as slowly when you’re an adult as it does when you’re a kid.

The problem is there are so many ages we want to be when we’re a kid – 16, 18, 21 – that our days seem to drag on endlessly, ensuring we’ll never reach the age we actually want to be. Then once we reach adulthood, there are so many ages we don’t want to be – 30, 40, 50 – that all we can do is watch as Father Time slingshots us through space while pissing himself from laughing so hard.

That’s why we need to celebrate some of those less-heralded ages a little more. We need to look forward to turning… well, you know… old. That’s the only way to slow things down. So what will make us look forward to the less enjoyable milestones? How about the following:

At 30, everyone grows gills so that we can stay underwater as long as we want. And the gills are not visible when we’re on land because that would be gross. Now, this doesn’t mean we can swim faster than sharks or talk to fish or any other outrageous power that you’ve seen comic-book heroes possess. I’m not trying to create some wonderful, magical utopia here. Let’s keep this somewhat realistic/attainable. Also, we won’t be able to generate webbed feet either underwater or on land because I don’t want anything to potentially screw up what everyone will enjoy upon turning 35. Which is…

At 35, you can buy bowling shoes for half price, regardless of the seller. Almost makes renting bowling shoes sound pretty stupid, huh? Now I know you can already run for president when you’re 35, but I’m not sure that this makes any normal, well-adjusted person look forward to turning 35, so I went with something that the sane and insane alike will appreciate.

Once you turn 40 you can get free Girl Scout cookies. All you have to do is find a station outside your local drug store, show your ID to one of the girls who is undoubtedly regretting every minute she’s spent in Girl Scouts, and you can take as many boxes as your chubby arms can carry. And maybe this will cut down on the number of times you’re hassled at work about how many boxes of Samoa’s you want.

At 50, you can have teenagers removed from any place you happen to be at – the mall, the movie theater, a homecoming dance, etc… The young adults won’t be as affected as you might initially think, given the likelihood that someone 50 or over would frequent the same locations as teenagers. (But if they did… kazaam!)

At 60, you’re allowed to drive in the “60 and over” lane on the highway, much like the HOV lane today. Only it won’t be so much allowable as it is mandated by law.

At 70, you’re allowed to kill somebody. We’re all allowed one. That’s it. So you have to choose wisely. You know what? Let’s change this one to 75. At 70, you’re allowed to steal from fast food restaurants.

At 80, you can pee in the street. Now, you might ask why you’re legally permitted to kill someone when you’re 75, but you have to wait until you’re 80 before peeing in the street. It’s the same as having to wait until you’re 21 to drink even though you can fight in a war when you’re 18. That’s just the way it is.

At 85, if you’re physically capable of doing whatever you want, go for it.

Ahhh… I’m looking forward to getting old(er) already.