SOME THINGS ARE GREAT, and there’s just no denying it. And the measure of greatness is irresistibility. That’s why, on a scale of one-to-ten, drugs are seven and sex is maybe an eight but potato chips are definitely a ten. Because I know that, if there’s a bag of chips on the counter, resistance is futile. I am going to be eating those chips—it’s that simple. Whereas I’m not sure how I even feel about a bag of sex. Is there such a thing? If so, I doubt it’s available in barbecue, salt and vinegar, and dill pickle. Certainly there’s no all-dressed. So chips win.
ACCORDING TO the not-very-helpful stuff I’ve read, I’m either a Baby Boomer or a Generation Xer, and that’s because I was born in the year that one ends and the other begins, which is also the best year in human history. I’m not going to explain why 1965 is the best year ever, and not only because it was the year I was born—although, really, what more could you possibly need? It’s like explaining all the many reasons why pizza is great: number one is gobs of oozy cheese, and number two is who cares, give me a slice NOW.