A while back—on March 17 of this year, to be precise—I wrote that one of the funnier putdowns I heard from time to time begins, “You had just one thing to do—“ and goes on to spell out what that one thing was and how the person being insulted couldn’t even manage to do THAT.

I’m not sure if it’s pandemic- or supply chain-related—almost everything is these days—but have you noticed that when you dine out your dishes and glasses are cleared so quickly you’re sometimes still using them?

Many men who are blessed to reach the age at which they turn down recruitment pitches from AARP on almost a daily basis, develop a tendency to mythologize the exploits of their younger selves.

Since receiving my anti-COVID-19 booster shot—meaning I’ve now given Pfizer three chances to implant mind-control sera in my left arm—I’ve been a reluctant masker.

There’s an especially acrobatic rodent I watch most mornings from my second-story bedroom window. In honor of his athletic prowess and the dashing movie star he brings to mind I’ve named him Squirrel Flynn.

I flew to Los Angeles last week with my OSSO (oh-so-significant other) to attend a birthday party for the eldest of her surviving eight siblings, a number of whom also flew in from hither and yon, which I think it would be a great name for a law firm specializing in the travel industry.

Starting in 2022, the great American tradition of trying to find your polling place—is it that Episcopalian church around the corner, the Henderson family’s garage a few blocks away or that elementary school named for British-born American cigar maker Samuel Gompers, whose impact on the nation’s history cannot be overstated?—will disappear in California, also known as The Initiative State.

No one was more surprised than I—and a handful of snide actuaries—to discover, via Facebook, that today’s my birthday. I won’t reveal my age but will allow that it somewhat rhymes with “heavenly fun.”

I’m not sure when “monetize” became a word but in the past few years it’s become a fairly ubiquitous go-to word in our lexicon. So have “schadenfreude” and, let’s face it, “go-to.”

Most of us acknowledge that the world has grown louder. Are we willing to admit that we have, too?