There are several popular business/self-improvement books out there now (Factfulness and Enlightenment Now) that make the case that the world is objectively a much better place than it has ever been. The authors don’t base their positions on flaccid, positive-thinking mumbo jumbo. If they did, I wouldn’t believe them. I’m not the type who can step in poo and exclaim, “Great! Fertilizer!”
A few months ago, Great Britain’s Prime Minister, Theresa May, appointed a Minister of Loneliness, probably the first in world history.
I see that “mom jeans” – that ‘90s look where the waistband of a woman’s pants is up under her armpits – are back.
It has long been my contention that farmers and chefs are in cahoots to get us to eat things that are not typically considered food.
I know many adults are struggling to understand why teenagers across the country have been chewing on laundry detergent pods.
“The Bachelor” is on again, which is wonderful. No, I don’t “like” the show. I’m a guy. If I liked the show, I’d have to turn in my Man Card. But I do really like messing with the lovely yet formidable Marcia, a lifelong feminist who, oddly enough, positively loves the show.
There was a 40-vehicle pile-up on U.S. 31 near Muskegon last month. Police blamed the usual suspects: speed and stupidity.
The lovely yet formidable Marcia and I recently celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary. That sounds like a long time, but it’s really only slightly more than three decades, which, when you think about it, is only a blip in time when compared to glaciers, the stars and, you know, rocks and stuff.
An NPR writer broke the rules recently by writing something with a pulse. By that, I mean an opinion. (I saw the print edition, but if he read his piece on air, I’m sure he did so in a hushed voice, like he didn’t want to set off a nearby time bomb.)
My adult kids like to tell me I’m old and not very hip. But as usual, they’re wrong, and I have evidence in the form of the book The Revenge of Analog: Real Things and Why They Matter, published earlier this year by David Sax.
Eighteen years and one month ago, Sam, our oldest, stepped onto one for the first time. I remember getting misty about it because I’m a great, big, giant sap about that sort of thing. I wrote a column at the time talking about how this was it: the first step toward him leaving for good instead of just for his first half-day of kindergarten.
A Wisconsin software company is offering to implant microchips into its employees’ hands so that they can effortlessly open doors, make purchases in the break room, log in to computers, use the copy machine and so forth.
