Dear Elliott Jaques: Extensive research on the electric Internet device reveals you to have been the person who coined the phrase “midlife crisis” and applied it to various activities of those of us in what is now gently called “middle age.” These activities include sky-diving, buying a Porsche, and running off with people to whom you are not married and who are not within yodeling distance of “middle age” themselves. Such activities once were called “abandonment,” “narcissistic tomfoolery,” and “acting like a general jackass.” At least you saved us a few syllables there. Well done. Anyway, I’m writing because I seem to have undergone my own midlife crisis over the past month, and it has resulted in what may well be the most embarrassing manifestation in the history of your psychological category. I bought a new minivan. Jump back, Jack. Look who’s on the prowl! OK, so I’m not in the class of those Wall Street masters of the universe who suddenly run off to Monaco with a former Miss Universe and three-quarters of the American economy. Yet, let me tell you, this new minivan – it’s silver! It’s the blingiest pimped-out ride from one side of the parking lot of the nearest Whole Foods to the other. It’s what Jay-Z would drive, if he needed to go out for radicchio at 10 p.m. And it’s got ...satellite radio. Yeah, you got that right. No more AM hog-calling. No more time spent in the FM purgatory of “Dust in the Wind” on an endless loop from one station to another. Soul Town! Several college football games every Saturday! Traffic reports from all over America! Show tunes, 24-7! How’d do you like me now, suburban America? When I became this pathetic is a topic for another day.
Charles P. Pierce can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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