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I've Iearned a thing or three over 64 years. Shocking, I know...
Listicle intros are like porn dialogue. Even the best examples are surplus to requirements. So now that
I’ve got your attention, here are my top three life hacks….
Always ask for a discount
Judaism is matrilineal. If your mother is Jewish, you’re Jewish. Assuming her mother was Jewish. And her mother before that. And so on.
Elvis’ maternal great-great-grandmother – Nancy J. Burdine – was Jewish. So Elvis was Jewish.
The King (of Rock and Roll) didn’t practice; he was an acolyte of the Assembly of God. But he kept kosher.
Kidding! Elvis adored bacon. Fried peanut butter sandwiches too, which killed him, right there on his throne. Anyway…
I have no rabbinical authority to say so, but if The Memphis Flash can be a Jew, you can be one too!
Well, you can act like a Jew, in one important way: always ask for a discount!
Relax bubula! Just say the five sacred words to a salesperson: “can it be any cheaper?”
That’s all. That’s it. That’s the life hack.
Why not? All they can say is no. Then you either say “OK” and pay, or “thank you” and walk away. Done.
You would not believe the discounts I’ve received – at stores that supposedly don’t discount – simply by asking “can it be any cheaper?”
I said the magic words at H-E-B and the checkout girl swiped her employee discount card. No shit.
A Muslim friend wise in the ways of haggling shared a simple addition. Before asking for a discount, give the salesperson a reason why you need a discount.
It needn’t be a lie or anything elaborate. I just say the name of the Valentine Brothers hit song: money’s too tight to mention. Followed by – say it with me – can it be any cheaper?
Don’t Get Married!
I married two wonderful women. I have four amazing daughters. On the flip side of that, divorce nearly killed me, emotionally and financially. The wives too. Killed them, I mean.
Looking back, if I could have had my kids without marrying my wives, I would’ve done it. Not because I didn’t – and don’t – want a life partner. Because my marriages were doomed from the start.
Hands up! My fault! (Both exes read this stack.) But what man can be happily married ‘til death do him part?
Regardless, marriage is The Mother of All Crap Shoots, with a soul-crushing, cash-burning, heart-wrenching child custody battle downside. Just so you know.
Statistics don’t lie. Much. Often. Depending on who’s asking what. Ahem.
Calculating the odds of Happily Ever After, divorce lawyer Petrelli Previtera spills the blood. I mean, beans.
According to the American Psychological Association, approximately 40-50% of first marriages end in divorce. The divorce rate for second marriages is even higher, with approximately 60-67% of second marriages ending in divorce.
But wait! There’s less! Happiness I mean.
According to Dana Shapiro's book You Can Be Right or You Can Be Married, about 17 percent of married people are happy.
else are they going to say?
This one’s screaming for a Venn diagram, but if we put the two worst case scenarios together in a completely non-scientific way, nearly 70 percent of marriages are either headed for the skids or skidding.
Would you cross the street if you had a 70 percent chance of getting hit by a bus? An event that is, in some important ways, preferable to a nasty divorce or an unhappy marriage.
Now that no one gives a shit if your kids’ parents (i.e., you and your “significant other”) are married, what’s the point?
If you ignore common sense and tie the knot, get Mr. Previtera or one his colleagues to draw up a prenup.
An unbelievably low 15 percent of betrothed do so (including your stupid author). That’ll soften the blow when – sorry “if” you lose the marital coin toss.
In The Band’s Last Waltz encore, Rick Danko tells his departing GF, “my biggest mistake was loving you too much.” Not true for you, if you don’t get married.
Buy A Motorcycle
Yada yada “donor cycle.” Yada yada winter. Yada yada yada kids.
All y’all who’d rather walk down Austin’s “Dirty Sixth” at 2am wearing a solid gold Rolex than ride a motorcycle are dismissed.
Dismissed, not dissed. I get it. A motorcycle seems about as practical as a fire-retardant paper hat. Wrong!
Forget all those romantic images of motorcyclists hitting the open road. Odds are you live in – or at least commute to – a crowded city. If you do, I’ve got one word for you: parking.
If there’s anything more frustrating than not being able to park close to your final destination (not in the movie title sense) or paying exorbitant parking fees (automated machines don’t respond to “can it be any cheaper?), it’s something to do with an airline refund.
There’s always a spot to park a bike that’s a short stroll from your destination. If not, just make one up. Between parked cars works– at least until they want to leave.
Stashing a motorcycle in a convenient location for free isn’t as much fun as driving it there, but it doesn’t suck.
Bonus!
If you live in one of the states that allows lane splitting – currently California, Utah, Arizona and Montana – traffic will not do your head in. Crashing might, but traffic won’t, and you’ll arrive at your destination at the proper time.
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