You guys, some really nice person named Shmutzie added me to Five Star Friday. How lovely of her!

Incidentally, I believe Average Jane once gave me something called an Alltop Award.

I know the protocol is to stick a cunning little badge in a corner of your blog identifying the awarding website-unfortunately, I am rather lost when it comes to this blog template business. I remember back on my first blogger blog in ‘04 (My Very Own Personality Disorder)  I had to take a weeklong vacation after I figured out how to add links in the sidebar.

Anyway, thank you Schmutzie. I appreciate the linking love.

For the record, she linked to the post on sex selection of Asian babies in the United States.

You know, honestly, I thought if I were ever to be honored for one of these things it would have been the post about how someone tried to kill me via brazilian bikini wassing, or about how I was lured into drinking anal swill beverage, kombucha. I guess I should go clear up the typos in the featured post at some point.

Alright, let’s get back to the title of this post. I want to introduce a feature I’m going to call, Sage Advice Friday. It’s basically me sharing my genius with the internet. Please note that I am not a professional advice giver. I’m barely qualified to wipe my cat’s own butt, which I’m occasionally called to do when he mysteriously contracts worms (in spite of life as an indoor cat). The advice I deliver on this blog should not be considered as legal advice-none of it concerns the law, for one thing, and furthermore, no attorney-client relationship exists between you, creepy Googler/long time reader, and me, stumpy little trollwoman. I do not assume, and in fact, I fervently disavow any fallout occurring as a result of reliance Sage Advice Friday. The “Sage” in Sage Advice Friday refers partially to the perennial European mint, salvia officinalis, and partially to the colour you may turn upon reading Sage Advice Friday. The author quitclaims all ties to the word “Sage” as referring to sound advice. Terms and conditions apply, please bite my butt on the way out.

Onward!

European Perennial Mint Advice Friday #1: What Every College Bound Hussy Should Know.

Everyone always laments growing older without considering all the privileges and advantages they had as a result of being younger in a prior pop cultural technological epoch. Stop b*tching about the setting sun of your heyheydays and take a moment to reflect on what you did have back then. For instance, Clarence Thomas might consider thanking his lucky stars for being a lech before the advent of sexual harrassment laws.  “I may be old now, but at least I still enjoyed my Constitutional right to tweak my paralegal’s nipple!”

I, for one, am quite content to be the age that I am. There are many reasons to feel this way, but I’ll share the most important one with you right here, right now. People over the age of 30 were mostly able to binge drink with impunity.

There were fewer digital cameras and they were kind of large and clunky and you didn’t take them everywhere. Cell phones were just coming into widespread use and there were no “smart phones” with video/camera capabilities, easily whipped out record to record your early a.m. vomiting behind the alley of a cheesy goth dance club. And the internet was still back in the 1.0 phase-you know, before Google, when Alta Vista and Lycos were battling it out, Scamazon hadn’t purchased every independent internet retailer on the web and there were no Twitter-Friendster-Myspace-Facebook for you or your friends to document every sneeze, fart and personal crisis that came your way.

I’m not saying it was a better time overall. I’m just saying it was a better time to get completely wasted without worrying over whether your beery mug and incoherent alcohol saturated e-logues were going to end up being googled by Yon Headehuntre through your Facebook-Twitter-Myspace-Friendster page.

Which is something I think every parent should clearly communicate to their college bound kid-that before we have a major cultural shift wherein public discovery of one’s alcohol-soused indiscretions becomes a social whatever, young adults with easy access to alcoholic and other forms of intoxicants ought to think very carefully about whether or not they really want to, or need to get in on the social media action. I mean, unless you’re planning for a career in sleepy eyed alcoholism, in which case, microblog away about your love affair with ’Nilla Stoli! 

I’m sorry Generation Y. You’re going to have to find some other way to rebel. Maybe you could be Amish.