The young men seem to have surrendered the field to them, opting out and finding happiness within the status rung of the beta female. So, in short, Wimmin will rule the world but nothing whatsoever will change. We might come to see codpieces on micro-minis in the fullness of time though. They shall be zippered for lipstick and mascara. The men will no doubt start competing in Bouffant Hair Mousse Competitions with the most elaborate dishabille hair frenzy winning.

But,…… youth……ahhhh.

Good questions all, and all would receive more sustained answers were I not beaten down this very night, and demoralized too, by the massive indifference of The Average Undergraduate to the life and work of the divine Ed Abbey.

But faithful interlocutors deserve faithfulness in return.

Gettin’ Older, the first time you have to sustain a ten minute conversation with a silk-thighed nubilly, you won’t give her a second thought. Go for the Catholic U, but take a job on the grounds crew. Meet Jesus in the falling leaves. They don’t dispute grades, “text” during class, or treat Abbey dismissively. Instead, they glow in the autumnal sun and at last crunch beautifully underfoot. Would that undergraduates did.

Weasley, you need a mid-life Chrysler. I suggest an ’83 Dodge Ram half-ton short-bed slant-six four-speed pick-up truck. If you do nothing more than sit in it and smoke a corn-cob pipe you will feel better about driving your desk. If you do open that brewery, and I hope you do, I’ll gladly part with my best recipes: “9-5 Stout” (for the nine pounds of malt per five gallons of water), “Jude the Obscure Barley Wine,” and “Northern Comfort IPA,” guaranteed to … well, you know, obviate the need for the Ferrari, the girl, and the roadtrip.

Vienna BCF, forget the heap of glittering fragments, trust the one-eyed dog not to step on it, find those oysters, and get yourself post-post haste to a soft-handed surgeon. Wives will find other decanters, and dogs can live full rewarding lives half-blind on three legs, but a man with no oysters is … well, he’s a fan of the Vienna Boys Choir, and for him “O Holy Night” will forever mean something entirely distasteful.

Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar Jester Advice Calumny Columnist

Sincerely,
Vienna Boys Choir Fan

I am approaching that point in my life known as “The Midlife Crisis,” or “The Red Ferrari and a Girl Roadtrip,” or “The Backpack Across Europe Sleeping in Hostels While the Family Wonders Where I Am,” or the “Mark Sanford Argentina Cruise.” My particular crisis arises from a curious dilemma. Should I chuck it all, give up my job, put my life savings into buying the decrepit old feed mill across town, turning it into a microbrewery where I can produce the fine vintages known as Weasly Pilgrim Pale Ale™ and Pasty White Boy Coffee Stout™, or should I keep my current career, which amounts to driving a desk and toggling little on/off switches in some computer somewhere while slowly growing in girth and shrinking in inseam, preparing for understudy roles as the Pillsbury Doughboy, the Michelin Man, Mr. Stay-Puft, and Moby Dick?

Weasly in Pittsburgh

I see Sabin’s cigars arrived safely.

I’m older now. As I have traveled down/up the rocky road of life I’ve participated in any number of habits (oh hell, addictions) that are not conducive for a long life. As a result I am bald, paunchy, cranky and have one eye, one ear, one knee, one shoulder and frequent urination.

Should I pursue a career at Wal-Mart (maybe door greeter, where I’ll shout, “There’s a whole lotta consumin’ goin’ on here!”) or should I teach a course in Masters and Johnson’s “Human Sexual Response” to warm thighed, nubile college girls (though for the life of me I can’t remember why this would be fun). And, do you recommend a public university or a good Catholic college?

Gettin’ older, but tryin’ harder!