Image via Wikipedia

Somehow, and partly because we had super-cheap rent in YOUR FORMER HOUSE, and definitely because we never bought a bunch of crap like real estate or “cars made after 1994,” my modest cosmopolitan family was able to save a modest amount of money. For years, the formula worked pretty well: Save the loot in Europe, because the dollar would (and did) collapse for a decade. Occasionally change money to buy things in the U.S., like a baby.

But now, the Europe-money seems to be infected, too. I don’t like “investments,” I don’t like buying anything more expensive than a plane ticket, and Ron Paul won’t let me buy his gold. Also, I’m easily confused. All I want is to park my daughter’s school-lunch money somewhere safe, and maybe occasionally profit from & laugh at the “fat cats.” What is my program? — Matt (not Yglesias) in D.C. continue »

Image by The U.S. National Archives via Flickr

I am a young man (under 30, at least), but I have been in my share of terrible romantic relationships. I can’t seem to stop getting myself into them! I meet someone, like them a lot, start seeing them exclusively, and buy communal second-hand furniture.

But soon enough I’m so tired of their crap that if I hear about why taking out the garbage EVERY SINGLE TIME IT IS EVER TAKEN OUT doesn’t actually count as “cleaning up” — which apparently I never do! — I may fly my Cessna into Waste Management’s corporate headquarters. What’s worse, I always tell myself I’m not really unhappy, and let these things drag out months and years longer than they should. Is this natural, or has the TV or Facebook or whatever rendered me incapable of being in a long-term loving relationship? — Bothered in Brooklyn.

Facebook and the teevee aren’t helping anyone have a better life, but your situation might be one of the few modern problems not caused by social networks and wasting what’s left of your young life watching programs on the flat-screen. continue »

Powerhouse Museum Collection

Working in my overgrown backyard a few years ago, my shovel hit a metal container buried under a tree — the cremated remains of some guy who died in 1988. I thought about calling the city, but would I want to spend eternity on some shelf in the Los Angeles Hall of Records, or just be thrown in a dumpster? His ashes weren’t hurting anyone, and I didn’t really want to desecrate his resting spot. So I put him back in the ground. When I sell this house, am I obligated to tell potential buyers that there’s a guy buried here? It’s not like there’s a skeleton or tombstone, just a little box of ashes and bone fragments buried under a tree. — Very Worried in Eagle Rock. continue »

Image by Guvee via Flickr

Why is my cat in better shape than I am? I go to the gym six days a week and torture myself there with fake skiing machines and iron maiden-like devices for hours on end. I eat all sorts of healthy food and pay attention to whether my fat is saturated or not and whether I am getting enough stuff like omega-3, whatever that is. And he just sleeps all day and eats whatever crap I feed him, plus bugs. Will I have to eat bugs? I don’t want to. — Nigerian Business Executive, Africa (or maybe Spain).

Let’s not perpetuate a crude stereotype. Some cats are not fit and trim. Indeed, many cats are ill-tempered bloated globs of fur and disease. If you’ve seen the hilarious new comic strip, Garfield, surely you know what I mean. continue »

Image by Flickr

After essentially getting fired, I managed to put things together and get the last good job in America, but in another city. So my family and I moved, bought a house we can almost afford, found a good public school with the sorts of hippie progressive education stuff we believe in, and plunked the kids into it. “Landing on your feet,” people said. “Dodging a bullet.”

Of course the transition was rough for the kids. “Give it time,” “It takes six months,” people said. Turns out, people don’t know shit. Six months in and the kids are worse than ever. The fifth grader grows more sullen by the day; the second-grader breaks down and cries at dropoff time, “I’m so lonely,” ” I want to go back,” “Don’t leave me, please, I need you.” continue »