"...our language is under siege. For decades, it’s been used, abused, and repurposed to manipulate — and we’re too distracted and complacent to see it."

“You’re a keen observer of stuff.”   It was 19 ninety-something when that odd sentiment fell from the face hole of a dear friend. It was a lovely observation of his own, I thought — until I thought about it. I’m good at observing? That’s where it ends? I just watch, shrug, blink myself outta the moment, and move on to the next distraction? Thanks…man.   Yeah, calling out my deliberate and obvious social detachment was some good-natured ballbustery, but from a longtime bro , i

I’ve always sort of lived here, in the middle space; never really latching on to trends or pop culture. The younger me was into playing baseball and hockey, listening to my brother’s favorite music, and cooking. And girls. Still am.   I enjoy solitary things. Three or four hours in the kitchen is a catharsis. Cross-country flights in Business Class (expensing it) are where a lot of the notes for this self-serving bloggity blog were scribbled. I just love being alone. Maybe th

I always have been and always will be Irish-American. My friends growing up on Long Island were all hyphenated-something or other; all second- or third-generation Americans of European or Asian descent but we were never, nor have we become since, “European-American” or “Asian-American” or any other hyphenated version of ourselves. I was “Irish”. Around the corner, the kids were “Chinese”. The kids a few doors down were “Italian”. Across the street, left to right; Italian, Iri

College in the mid-80s was a trip. Hot on the heels of Dolly Parton, Lily Tomlin, and Jane Fonda giving us the comedy classic (?) 9 to 5, enrollments had become more and more diverse. Cool. Especially for a guy who'd last had female classmates in eighth grade. It was in the 1986 pre-requisite class "General Business" that we were slapped upside the cranium with a concept that, in its name, signaled major repercussions for society in general — even if the pitchmen and women we

The year was 1988 AD. Middle of May. Dawn of the real world. No, not the OG dumbass "reality show" that has given us decades of copycat, dumber-ass reality shows. No. May of '88 is when college wrapped up and fear set in. See, I was always terrified of becoming one of those lifeless, soulless Long Island Rail Road commuters that lived all around us. Angry men — and some women — slogging to and from thankless, pointless jobs; wool-suited, briefcase-carrying cogs in some bank’

It was 1989 AD. Everyone and everything was cool, right? Madonna released Like a Prayer . The Cure saved me with Disintegration . Paul's Boutique was the Beastie Boys' ballsy pop-hip-hop triumph over everyone. At work, there was still not a Mac to be seen. We all still had hardwired rotary phones and shared a single number with our entire families. Sometimes our siblings told us when someone had called. We slept outside to score concert tickets; literal physical tickets that

Even the most seemingly innocent language updates can have far-reaching tentacles. And it’s nothing new or surprising that we can be manipulated into using words incorrectly, saying things we don’t mean, or simply do not know the meaning of the things we puke. I’m not cracking the DaVinci Code here. A lot of language manipulation has just made it into the ‘murican lexicon and remains there, unquestioned. A lot of it is harmless and some of it even entertaining. Vo doh dee oh

There’s a rite of summer tied to my birthday that’s full of abundant promise and fascinating self-discovery — the dreaded annual physical. And I don’t dread it only because of the Dr. Jellyfinger prostate check. No, it’s the damn lecture. It’s keeping my gut sucked in for the 20-minute interrogation while gradually slipping off the exam table paper.   I know I’m not fooling anyone. The fucking digital scale made sure of that. So, I sit, ashamed, broken, promising my much smar

The very late ‘80s matured into the very early ‘90s and guys and gals my age began getting engaged, getting married, buying houses, having kids, and all that grown-up stuff. It was a decade where, for late Gen X, shit got real. We had one another’s backs and good examples to follow at home. But as much as we all grew up together, a lot of those big boy responsibilities meant growing apart somewhat.   My cozy small shop advertising job had run its course. Bossman taught me mor