Link Goodness

  • Tips on managing Millennials (or as I like to call them “The Participation Ribbon Generation“). Not willing to make routine sacrifices, cannot handle criticism well and take things too seriously, you say? I am guessing it had something to do with an entire generation being raised with a sense of entitlement, hyper-sensitivity and not being allowed to fail. Guess we should have kept score at their Little League games after all.
  • The perfect Valentine’s Day gift: Afghani War Rugs! Now available in the new, delicious 9/11 Flavor!
  • Roger Clemens throws his wife under the bus to protect what is left of his sterling professional baseball reputation. Well played, Mr. I Did Not Use HGH But My Bitch Wife Did.
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The Generation Gap

Is 32 old? Hardly. But to the whippersnappers I work with who are fresh out of college, I am a year or two away from being put in a home. I find myself having to explain the pop culture references that dot my vernacular in great detail and ramble on about the days before “the MySpace” and “the texting.” Yesterday my web designer (who is well-rounded musically) nearly killed me by asking, “Who is NWA?” This morning, our project manager came strolling in with a new haircut and sporting a Tam O’Shanter so I quipped, “Look at you all on the Mary Tyler Moore tip. Are you going to throw your hat up in the air and twirl around for us?” I had to find The Mary Tyler Moore opening credits on YouTube just to illustrate how clever I was. I am sleepy. It is either time for bed or the early bird at the Sizzler.

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One Foot In The Grave

This morning in the break room one of my 23 year-old coworkers was wearing a Catch 22 shirt. I remarked how I loved the book and her eyes got glassy like she just bonged a box of Franzia. She than sighed and said in the most demeaning tone, “Catch 22 is a band, Matt.” So now I am off to walk the mall in beige Velcro shoes, hit the early bird at the Sizzler and then fall asleep in the easy chair before dusk watching reruns of Matlock.

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When I Get Old

When I get old, I plan on wearing a Fedora hat, having a cane with a cobra handle that I will beat young punks with, eating at the Sizzler early bird and loudly complaining to the Hispanic busboy when the salad bar is out of bacon bits and falling asleep in my lounge chair while watching Matlock. I might even add throwing rotten fish at people into my old man modus operandi.

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