<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" version="2.0"><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Sat, 05 Oct 2024 04:06:18 +0000</lastBuildDate><title>Twenty-something questions...</title><description>Post-college survival: Battling the villain named Uncertainty.</description><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-7764851391226369582</guid><pubDate>Thu, 25 Mar 2010 18:24:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-03-25T14:30:15.310-04:00</atom:updated><title>If you meet Miss Awesome, go all in</title><atom:summary type="text">One of my first tastes of country music was when my dad blared Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler” on his turntable record player.In the famous ditty that uses a card game as a metaphor for how to find contentment in life, Rogers croons: “You got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold &#39;em, know when to walk away, know when to run.”However, he doesn’t mention the gutsy move of going all in; laying </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2010/03/if-you-meet-miss-awesome-go-all-in.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdToJSkKo1jqa3NHe-tBntPTDPsuo1RFJN8jgxYJR1TydsNmJPJta0BGLRI8Mc20nxMkfQ7qC4XhPEBDyKnKm2LeW8i9IyHKqFU7xRYo_fRlVpIrRRYhZw-fyq8qepue18y5rkSiwCJYg/s72-c/Kenny-Rogers-21.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-7198982359575568489</guid><pubDate>Thu, 18 Mar 2010 16:50:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-03-18T12:52:19.612-04:00</atom:updated><title>When did St. Patrick’s Day go viral?</title><atom:summary type="text">I received two mass text messages yesterday wishing me a “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”  I barely get that many texts on my birthday.My point?Call me a party pooper or a curmudgeon, but those mass texts crystallized for me the fact that St. Patrick’s Day has entered the “Overly hyped quasi-holiday” realm.  Valentine’s Day now has company.Did I have a few Guinesses in honor of my Great Grandmother </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2010/03/when-did-st-patricks-day-go-viral.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-74007398833724976</guid><pubDate>Tue, 16 Mar 2010 18:16:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-03-16T14:37:06.047-04:00</atom:updated><title>Calvin Coolidge doesn&#39;t belong in the card game &quot;Kings&quot;</title><atom:summary type="text">If someone drew the “categories” card during a game of “Kings” and chose to go with the popular “Obscure U.S. Presidents” theme, I must admit that Calvin Coolidge would always be on the tip of my tongue. After all, they called him “Silent Cal.”But I recently stumbled upon a speech that Coolidge gave which will stop me from dropping his name during the next “Kings” game. I’ll use Chester Arthur </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2010/03/calvin-coolidge-doesnt-belong-in-card.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblH1sGtum5fi137gGBxaC8a0bGHxHtMR5ARuWKOEK0__bOiXMxfNwwvcPO_ZsBJyYorZNIBOrpP10qSMtih8AozvdJbPAMeWa54AY37ZzEQHiwGE_rywLVaWk1_Iy-N7xQzSFuopJwAE/s72-c/Cool.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-379119123219802318</guid><pubDate>Fri, 30 Oct 2009 19:10:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-30T15:16:32.984-04:00</atom:updated><title>&quot;When do I get mine?&quot;</title><atom:summary type="text">As I walked out of work on a recent Friday evening, a long-time high school buddy who I hear from sporadically called me in a state of panic.&quot;There’s something missing,” he said, desperation hurrying his speech. “What am I not doing?” he asked, verbally unfurling a white flag.My afflicted friend explained that his “checklist to success” was almost completely filled with pencil marks: A good job </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2009/10/when-do-i-get-mine.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-4017854186540399486</guid><pubDate>Wed, 06 May 2009 23:13:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-05-06T19:28:47.576-04:00</atom:updated><title>Fitness club folly...</title><atom:summary type="text">If you’re young, single and your keyster spends a good part of the week parked in an office chair, chances are you try to fight off the office slug love handles with a gym membership. I count myself as one such card carrier.However, I was reluctant to join the club of gym rats and neurotic sweat fiends, fearing that a Globo Gym might turn me into a hamster on a wheel and cut into my outside </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2009/05/fitness-club-folly.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLbVOoqcha0VD5CtYfDCC6jNEERNXndvIG4I-Htt__woGvCX-HYlYJIG8pWToI4uiWKIoePRhcUdMOVH8-OPDdsoOHvCRFQOCKdBp_yV4hwGQVG_Gi9ybj5YQxxhp7_XtqDMhhY5hCcmg/s72-c/Globo.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-2869055103617232484</guid><pubDate>Sat, 31 Jan 2009 20:11:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-01-31T17:23:03.410-05:00</atom:updated><title>Why is the media enabling Blagojevich?</title><atom:summary type="text">I have found a new, hard-to-pronounce reason to never become a politician: Blagojevich.The former Illinois governor’s wicked intention to “sell” a vacant U.S. Senate seat is trumped only by his narcissistic megalomania and pathological lying, played out in the public square recently thanks to ratings-craving TV news producers.As he was taken from his home on Dec. 9 by federal agents, he told NBC,</atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2009/01/why-is-media-enabling-blago.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgAzLULCZocl9LfWbZws1I713pF2_lVyI7j-OYhPHaa1V1Yu0x5-rCXk8qZ54EU5LWN5Tk5lmpczuR6eXakJFVy2ad5B8LtH5TMFVLZyT8vILp5SUM-EoMwx-G_q1u1YWm61E9pE6D3s/s72-c/blagojevich.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-8994552703723892293</guid><pubDate>Fri, 30 Jan 2009 05:12:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-01-31T15:39:39.225-05:00</atom:updated><title>Drowning in a new kind of patriotism</title><atom:summary type="text">The piercing ring of the cell phone in my ear at 4:30 a.m. was not caused by a giddy friend who wanted to restate in a slurred shout his undying man crush on me as he stumbled home from an after-after party.The noise was actually planned, and the phone alarm sprung me from a makeshift bed that laid on the ground of a friend’s house in Dupont, a short jog away from where Barack Obama would stand </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2009/01/drowning-in-new-kind-of-patriotism.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvVQd8J7EmaJhZB8FLvT9AzcUZIxfzM5ly7lnZqiV2nvgzLshY7HIm4pj6dlpwNtjE3bZwiZffT-mSFq6ktPdYOoL8EI9oFWI5lApdq68ObUJt86GmWmGclVPbpjFVmV5tKiI6Z1k000/s72-c/IMG_0541.JPG" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-6625169095147889605</guid><pubDate>Fri, 07 Nov 2008 03:28:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-11-06T22:54:19.058-05:00</atom:updated><title>This one is different...</title><atom:summary type="text">There was the same sweet gray-haired lady who needed three shouts in her good ear before she could decipher my full name for polling place verification. There were the same deeply investigative news stories claiming voters were frustrated with long lines. And there were the same “I Voted” stickers that kindle civic shivers of pride within you every time you look down at your shirt post-vote.But </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/11/this-one-is-different.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguL3aM2CpBFd5ChH2o9vJlQ0_TwkWPve2-ghPRCNvU4qFBbb1NHvBeHZW3blEV95LYMtpSrQjV_xh0uKleVHSM2KqqclDa-rnv520hFBjTP0N-bmPJMHO5Pg0oH36dpR6f8-x0DEcW22o/s72-c/ivoted.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-1035952964205843280</guid><pubDate>Mon, 20 Oct 2008 03:46:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-20T22:00:47.823-04:00</atom:updated><title>Fair journalism is sexy? DGergs is a hit with the ladies...</title><atom:summary type="text">‘Tis the season for political talking heads to babble ignorantly about Joe the faux Plumber and how Wall Street is destroying Main Street.One man on CNN always seems to cut through the hyperbole to offer candid and tempered analysis. He is a 66-year-old political vet who has worked on the campaigns of Nixon, Ford, Reagan and Clinton. He will never admit to a thrill running up his leg or imply a </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/10/fair-journalism-is-sexy-dgergs-is-hit.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2cCkv42hSpKLVO7lmn6jBmepc0_-oJd74yeGWicD3SmI-GJa4Gy0NW6Hls-HrKmts-n_tIv7UvTxhXkCzse22D2l1-I1062Vptoo4lPCg4S8AiDZE3BzaRBVEfWvA24tYsb6LZDPGIw/s72-c/DGergs.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-4574580054677782216</guid><pubDate>Sat, 18 Oct 2008 16:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-18T13:02:29.667-04:00</atom:updated><title>The Quarter Century Address</title><atom:summary type="text">One score and five years ago today my father and mother brought forth on this continent a funny-looking creature with a full head of black hair and a propensity to drool and nap.Some things never change.Conceiving him in love (suspiciously around Valentine’s Day), they dedicated him to the Mister Rogers proposition that all children are created equal, especially those who enjoy talking to a </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/10/quarter-century-address.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRd4WRSwAYa9dEX-35Fu0LlcSHtP6fbWu-EkDCTtlTixudJXz2EbZPBBBD9y2-IrNgCd2NxnypyA6GWTdxgFBVR9ALSGWz3Q_5ulDRf_lZQMUKUJu7iGuoX0UG2HyAK_leu7UO8AhITY/s72-c/Ditka.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-1415599482274937102</guid><pubDate>Sat, 11 Oct 2008 22:33:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-18T13:03:49.404-04:00</atom:updated><title>Has Clark Kent degenerated into a blithering idiot?</title><atom:summary type="text">It’s less than one month until the most pivotal presidential election in recent memory, all you Joe Six-Packs, Change-oholics and coveted ones in between.With an economy on the brink of a dark recession, with Social Security and Medicare costs guaranteed to skyrocket as the boomers retire (leaving today’s twentysomethings to pick up the tab), with a damaged reputation on the world stage, why is </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/10/has-clark-kent-degenerated-into.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSDKytRWCr0FTBhRR7wqSA7yefcW3mZmNYX-Xhxq8i6QnEz8cJK7tCFliy2UUL2oetvkAbZyLr9BRQ6Kmn06zO7fl5pydLDZ-7zE5uePnTeTCDlw3MrMAu2A_urxpHoQFRtMrteMBQRkc/s72-c/Hannity.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-5729747542377659945</guid><pubDate>Sun, 03 Aug 2008 18:53:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-08-03T14:59:09.592-04:00</atom:updated><title>Disastrous dates anonymous...</title><atom:summary type="text">We’ve all been there.Whether you’ve showcased your two left feet while climbing doorsteps, your wine glass swatting skills as you spill onto her lap or your tumbleweed-attracting, foot-in-the-mouth conversation starters, odds are you’ve had a bad date or two.Sometimes the “A” game disintegrates into a “D.”Fess up to it. Get it out in the open. Practice your version of disastrous date therapy, </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/08/disastrous-dates-anonymous.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-5121347292027045066</guid><pubDate>Sat, 02 Aug 2008 20:33:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-18T13:21:08.086-04:00</atom:updated><title>Sketchiness defined: Where does Facebook curiosity end and stalking begin?</title><atom:summary type="text">This is the wrong era to be a fan of the blind date.Facebook, MySpace, Googling and a cascade of online dating sites have made anonymity almost impossible. Mark Zuckerberg and his tech friends are turning chance encounters at the barbeque or local bar into scavenger hunts for facts and photos.Call it the social networking background check, an exercise few will admit to but many perform.Perhaps </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/08/where-does-web-curiosity-end-and.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix71uy3TlsLTOI3pn0rOoEbAKslMVb5ojcvf2msUjFV6N4Q9E0u-5HeO3vchjDnZlZ_U1HVsOSw3nQ_h_ajp8jU1WbBzCnDkiHDCZ1NPD8N2SGrRwu_8eyd55PMH2ZGsvR9F1wWJLqvP8/s72-c/Kevin.bmp" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-7933788386332162330</guid><pubDate>Fri, 23 May 2008 14:39:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-05-23T10:50:00.143-04:00</atom:updated><title>Cram Nation</title><atom:summary type="text">We are what we eat, the adage goes.So what happens if we nibble on bare-bones news from CNN tickers, broken-sentenced text messages and iPod mixes featuring singles sung by whatshername?In an Information Age where the mindless wiggling of fingers across a pad conjures up any answer instantly, are our so-called “efficiencies” rotting our originality, creativity and ability to think deeply?A recent</atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/05/cram-nation.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-3068751505951403198</guid><pubDate>Sat, 19 Apr 2008 18:18:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-04-19T22:57:02.726-04:00</atom:updated><title>Going corporate...</title><atom:summary type="text">I used to think that all members of the corporate world were money-grubbing, slippery lords of excess who played poker with Lucifer and Darth Vader. ‘How could these people auction off their souls to settle for less than what would truly get them up in the morning?’ I would ask myself.But then, I started to pay bills. As it turns out — and this pains me to concede — passion and self-will can’t </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/04/going-corporate.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-5669172373940017316</guid><pubDate>Tue, 11 Mar 2008 16:25:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-03-11T12:32:21.838-04:00</atom:updated><title>Not just jug handles and Jon Bon...</title><atom:summary type="text">I have heard the jokes…Q: Why are New Yorkers so depressed?A: Because the light at the end of the tunnel is New Jersey.I have read the remarks…“New Jersey is like a beer barrel, tapped at both ends, with all the live beer running into Philadelphia and New York.” –American everyman Ben FranklinI have even withstood the blasphemy from statemates…“New Jersey is a great place to be born in, but it’s </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/03/not-just-jug-handles-and-jon-bon.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-4315032034240755395</guid><pubDate>Thu, 21 Feb 2008 06:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-02-21T01:43:56.870-05:00</atom:updated><title>Can you &quot;ace&quot; the bar?</title><atom:summary type="text">For those spooning with Ben &amp;amp; Jerry and not the other half this February 14, kudos to you for beating back the advances of the temptresses Hallmark, Godiva and all those hypothetical dates. As it turns out, being single takes a lot of work. Those couples have it easy.Looking back, college was a summer camp, a hub for all things social, where a party was a phone call away and a date was a few </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/02/can-you-ace-bar.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-2900849455143627881</guid><pubDate>Wed, 06 Feb 2008 22:18:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-02-06T17:28:55.544-05:00</atom:updated><title>The shop teacher sage</title><atom:summary type="text">“You can’t make a fuss if you don’t become a part of it,” said 86-year-old retired shop teacher Don Van Blake as we walked through the streets of Plainfield, N.J., canvassing for Barack Obama.Five years ago, the only reason I would have watched C-SPAN was if I had trouble falling asleep. Recently, however, I have been following the political scene as closely as the sports page. And one </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/02/you-cant-make-fuss-if-you-dont-become.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8572173297647318925.post-6984636591333723221</guid><pubDate>Thu, 31 Jan 2008 05:17:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-01-31T00:24:47.118-05:00</atom:updated><title>Not so much...</title><atom:summary type="text">The college degree is advertised as the elixir to the naiveté and hardship of youth, the golden ticket to life’s amusement park, the key to all those doors that will be swinging open.  After commencement, everything’s a cakewalk, right?After all, you’re a suave communicator capable of wooing any job interviewer, who will immediately unroll a carpet stitched with Benjamins, right?  And also a </atom:summary><link>http://twentysomethingquestions.blogspot.com/2008/01/not-so-much.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Betwixt and Between)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item></channel></rss>