I recently ordered groceries online, a mundane transaction in our modern world, one I’ve probably completed hundreds of times. Barely 10 minutes after the delivery, my phone buzzed. An email: "How was your experience?" My immediate thought wasn't gratitude or helpful feedback; it was an exasperated groan. Again?
I’m only in my early 30s, yet lately, I’ve found myself uttering phrases like, “Kids these days,” or shaking my head at what I perceive as a general decline in… well, everything.
I’ve never understood the widespread fascination with tattoos, especially when they reach a certain… saturation point.
Oh, the memories. The scent of old gym mats, the echo of squeaking sneakers and the ever-present, vaguely terrifying whistle of Coach Thompson. If you grew up any time before, say, the era of smartwatches and personal trainers for toddlers, you’ll likely remember the post-exertion ritual designed to transform us into miniature athletic scientists: the dreaded pulse check.
I strongly believe that parents should be held accountable for feeding their children, both at home and at school. Schools should focus on providing a quality education, not becoming a substitute for responsible parenting.
I have a theory, one that might sound a little old-fashioned, but I truly believe it holds a kernel of profound truth: I think if people dressed nicer, the world would be significantly less douchey.
Confession time: I’m a creature of convenience. Not the kind that meticulously plans out every minute, optimizing for peak efficiency. No, I’m the kind that eyes the overflowing laundry basket and thinks, “Hmm, maybe that’s a job for Future Me,” then immediately opens a food delivery app. Because, let’s be real, the entire premise of these glorious modern marvels – be it Instacart, DoorDash, Uber Eats, or the burgeoning legion of "someone else doing it for you" services – is the noble act of outsourcing the mundane.
I remember it so clearly: the sheer joy, the unbridled freedom that came with cutting the cord.
I'm obviously employed so this commentary isn't about me. I do, however, have several unemployed friends who say they've been unable to land a job in the past year.
I just don’t get birthdays.
I always loved working in an office. I appreciated having a desk and a computer – a space I could call home base.
The television flickered, casting a familiar, soft glow across the room. Against my better judgment, I found myself — yet again — marooned in the captivating, often bewildering, world of The Bachelor.
As I sit here, reflecting on my experiences as an American, I am reminded of the peculiar phenomenon that seems to permeate our culture: the unwavering conviction that our country is the best in the world.
Is it just me, or does customer service take forever now? I find myself asking this question almost every time I need to interact with a company, and the answer, sadly, is almost always a resounding "no, it's not just me."
There I was, innocently scrolling through my social media feed, minding my own business, perhaps contemplating the existential dread of another Tuesday, when it happened.
There are few things in this grand, baffling theatre of life that bring me quite as much unadulterated, slightly cynical joy as scrolling through my social media feed and encountering the latest wave of hyper-inspirational, motivation-on-steroids posts.
It made international headlines — for good and bad reasons — when a New Jersey restaurant banned children under 10 years of age. You already know the two sides of the story without hearing it: Yesssssss! and That’s so unfair.
Alright, let's talk about real estate agents. No, not about their tireless work, their market knowledge or their uncanny ability to make a dusty open house smell faintly of lemon and desperation -- or fresh cookies with nary a baked good in sight.
I've gone on a couple of rants about the debate we have in society over the custom of tipping. It seems like everywhere we go, we're expected to pay for the product or service AND pay more to show appreciation for it.
It seems like when I write one commentary about social media, I'm instantly reminded of something else that annoys me about the platforms -- or, at least the people on the platforms.
I’ve never quite understood the compulsion. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? That pervasive, almost aggressive need for couples to broadcast every single detail of their relationship on social media.
I understand why people don't trust the news media anymore.
Let's be unequivocally clear: your workplace is not your family. And honestly, when companies insist on presenting their workforce as a "family," I find it utterly obnoxious, bordering on insulting.
When I settle down for some before-bed late-night TV watching, I want something light -- something that takes me to a simpler time. I just want to laugh, not be reminded of the bad and dramatic stuff I've heard about all day.
