Seenager

Thank you, Eli. You did it all with class, which is sorely lacking nowadays, especially in pro sports.

From an article at nypost.com, edited by yours truly: “The Doomsday Clock has never been closer to striking midnight. The metaphorical measure of how close humanity is to extinction has been maintained since 1947. This year, the group in charge is moving the hands closer to midnight than ever before — just 100 seconds away, down from two minutes.” Watching or reading the news each day certainly makes it seem the world is near an end. Almost entirely absent in the reports is the good folks do, which I believe outweighs the bad, as horrendous as a lot of it is. That, unfortunately, doesn’t attract viewers or readers, nor does the average net-neutral behavior of humans — such as simply going to work — which dwarfs good and evil combined and probably evolves to a positive. In response to the fear-mongers, here’s the gist of an email a friend just sent me:
“I just discovered my age group. I am a Seenager (Senior teenager). I have everything I wanted as a teenager, only 55–60 years later. I don’t have to go to school or work. I get an allowance every month. I have my own pad. I don’t have a curfew. I have a driver’s license and my own car. I have an ID that gets me into bars and the liquor store. The people I hang around with are not scared of getting pregnant. They aren’t scared of anything. They’ve been blessed to have lived this long. Why be scared? And I don’t have acne.” It concludes with this statement:

Not only was it a beautiful spring-like day, it was the best session of the new year for the floating book shop. My thanks to the kind folks who combined to buy a dozen or so books in Russian; and to The Quiet Man, who bought another audio book and Vittorio the Vampire by Anne Rice; and to the young woman who purchased Thrive: The Third Metric to Redefining Success and Creating a Life of Well-Being, Wisdom, and Wonder by Arianna Huffington and a collection of short stories by black women; and to the gentleman who did a swap of Russian books, leaving behind a lot more than he took home.

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