Internet pro tip: There's probably no need for you to repeat what 14 other people have already said in the comments

I'm sure Dr. Rick would appreciate what I'm saying here.

Quite often I'll come across a Facebook post in which a person is asking a question that has a short, definitive answer. It's usually something like, "Hey, does anyone remember the name of the auto parts store that used to be at the corner of Main and Orchard? What was it called?"

Someone will immediately post in the comments, "Bob's Auto Mart," to which the original poster will respond, "That's it! Thank you!"

And that should be the end of it. Yet within minutes, there will be a dozen other essentially identical comments:

"Bob's Auto Mart"

"Bob's Auto Mart"

"Bob's Auto Mart"

"It was Bob's Auto Mart!"

"Bob's Auto Mart"

"Definitely Bob's Auto Mart"

"Bob's Auto Mart"

"Bob's Auto Mart"

"I think it was Bob's Auto Mart, but I'm not sure."

And so on...

I don't claim to know a lot about a lot, but I am confident in giving you the following piece of Internet posting advice:

If someone asks a question, and you're pretty sure you know the answer, check the comments/responses to the post first. Did someone else already give the exact answer you were going to give? Great, mission accomplished, no need for you to respond at all.

If anything, you might want to "like" the comment of the person who already said what you were going to say.

No need to post it yourself. though. You wanted to help, which is admirable, but someone else has already done the job. Move along. Thank you for your service.

Now, are there exceptions to this rule? Yes, at least one.

Using the example above, if you knew the answer was Bob's Auto Mart, but you also have an interesting bit of detail to add to the conversation, then feel free to reply. Like maybe you want to say something like, "As others here have mentioned, it was Bob's Auto Mart. They closed in 1978 when Bob moved to Florida to join a Hare Krishna commune."

That is interesting. That is new. That is something no one else has added. Please, post away.

But for the love of Mark Zuckerberg, understand that posting the 28th "Bob's Auto Mart" comment is not helpful.

When I become Internet czar under the new presidential administration, violating this policy will result in either a $5 fine or imprisonment for life. I haven't decided yet.

Sometimes I think I enjoy planning life more than I enjoy living it

When it comes to going to the gym, while I do genuinely like the act of lifting weights, what I really like is sitting down the week before and planning out which days I'll be working out and exactly which exercises I'll perform (with the attendant number of reps, sets, etc.)

In the same vein, Sunday afternoon is one of my favorite times because it's when I sit down and type my to-do list for the coming week into Microsoft OneNote.

And while I've never really had a vacation I didn't enjoy, to me nothing beats the fun and excitement of actually planning the vacation.

Do you see a pattern here?

I am by nature a planner. This is good thing to be in many respects, as it provides some degree of control – or at least the illusion of control – in an otherwise chaotic world.

But the drawbacks of being an inveterate planner are perhaps equally apparent. You don't always respond well when a plan (inevitably) goes awry. And you'll never be known as the most fun and spontaneous guy in the world.

There's also a tendency, at least in my case, to skip from one life plan to another in a futile attempt to discover the perfect way of living.

In my heart I know there is no such thing as "the perfect way of living," but my head insists it's out there somewhere and that, with each iteration of my life plan, I get that much closer to it.

To be clear, by "life plan" I mean a philosophy or approach to everything that consumes my time, both at home and at work. How should I do my job? How should I eat and exercise? When will I find time for spiritual nourishment? How much of my fall and winter nights should I devote to PA announcing gigs?

I try one life plan for a few months, then when I discover where it falls short, I switch to another. Sometimes these are small tweaks, while other times I make large-scale, wholesale changes.

All of which begs the question of why I can't just acknowledge that circumstances vary and I need to take things a day at a time, adapting to whatever comes my way without searching for a one-size-fits-all template.

In short, why don't I just, you know, live life?

As if often the case when I examine my own personality quirks, I don't have an answer to that question.

BUT...it's on tomorrow's to-do list to check some books out of the library that might explain why I am how I am.

I have become one of those New York Times puzzle people

Do you sometimes log onto Facebook and see friends posting little graphics that look something like the image above? And do you ever wonder exactly what they are?

Or do you know what they are but you don't care and instead keep on scrolling while grumbling about people clogging up your feed?

Whichever may be true for you, I understand both ends of this equation. For a long time I would see Facebook pals posting about how long it took them to figure out the Wordle, or how frustrating that day's Connections was, and I would just scroll right past without giving it a second – or sometimes even a first – thought.

Until one day a couple of months ago when I downloaded the NYT Games app and became one of...Them.

Rarely does a day go by now when I don't play (in this order) the New York Times' Wordle, Connections, Strands and Mini games.

You can also do the full NYT Crossword on the app, along with games like Spelling Bee, Sudoku, Letter Boxed and Tiles, but I stick to my core four.

This is mostly because I don't have the time to play every game the paper offers, but also because, after mentally working my way through those four, I have little patience and even less mental energy left to devote to the others.

There is something to be said, as you get a little bit older, for stretching your brain through these types of puzzle games. And Lord knows my brain could use a little stretching, given all the things I either forget or fail to notice on a daily basis.

But ultimately, I just find them fun. And there's a sense of accomplishment when, for example, I get the Wordle in 2-3 guesses or figure out the four Connections categories without a single mistake.

I'm not one to post my results on Facebook, but I'm grateful for friends who do because I like getting tips from them or commiserating over a particularly devilish offering from the Times folks.

I encourage you to join our little cult community of puzzle people. It's fun. Really.

Believe me, no one is going to force you to start sharing your performance on Facebook.

You'll do that on your own with no prompting from any of us.

You have to face some hard truths about yourself when you listen to a 28-hour audio biography of Ulysses S. Grant in its entirety

According to the comedian John Mulaney, "All of our dads are cramming for some World War II quiz show, and I can't wait to watch it. We're just gonna change channels and see our dads winning $900,000...on Normandy trivia."

He was referring to the penchant many men of a certain age have for military history. For me it's more about World War I, while a lot of other guys I know are fascinated by the Civil War, but his point is well taken.

I never thought much of this until a couple of months ago when I checked out an audiobook biography of U.S. president and Civil War general Ulysses S. Grant and proceeded to listen to it from start to finish over the course of three weeks.

All 27 hours and 51 minutes of it.

When you happily invest that much time learning – in minute detail – about the life of someone who died nearly 140 years ago, you're forced to step back and ask yourself a seminal question:

Why?

Why did I do that? What drove me to want to know all about, say, the Grant Administration's fiscal policy in the 1870s? Or his military strategy in the Vicksburg campaign?

Why did I care so much? Why was the whole experience so enjoyable?

My first instinct is to say I don't know, but that's only because I don't want to acknowledge the truth, which is this:

At some point in the recent past, I have become an Old Guy.

There's no denying it. If you were able to break down the readership of that Ulysses S. Grant book ("The Man Who Saved the Union" by H.W. Brands...highly recommended), I'm certain the vast majority of its readers/listeners are men between 50 and 80.

There are exceptions, of course, but there is little doubt we are the target demographic.

Listening raptly to a 28-hour retelling of President Grant's life also suggests that you have given up caring about the things that really matter in life. Instead, you have decided to focus on the most irrelevant details. "Save for retirement? Who cares? What I really want to know is where Ulysses S. Grant ranked in his graduating class at West Point!"

This probably goes without saying, but it also suggests you're a nerd.

Well, I should say I'm a nerd. And an old guy. And someone whose head is filled with useless knowledge and a strong desire to obtain even more of it.

C'est la via, that's me. But I'll bet you didn't know that when President Lincoln promoted Grant to General of the Armies in 1864, he was the first commander to hold that rank since George Washington.

That's impressive that I know that, right? I mean, that's pretty cool?

Right? Pretty cool?

Sigh...yeah, I know.

If you need me, I'll be in my room reading my next fascinating book, the life story of World War I French general Joseph Joffre.

Don't act like you're not jealous.

Our Thanksgiving dinner table looked exactly the same every year in the 1970s and 80s...and the 90s...and the 2000s

 

Full disclosure: I stole the photo above from the folks at Bob Evans, who want you to know they're basically ready to cater your entire Thanksgiving if you'd like.

But in some ways that image isn't too dissimilar from the reality of my Thanksgivings growing up on Harding Drive. We had a lot of the same foods, and every year we would take a picture once they were all cooked and set out on the table.

The thing is, other than maybe some discoloration from the early years before film technology really evolved, you very likely couldn't tell the difference between the 1972 photo and the 1998 photo.

Or between any two years, really. This is because we ate the same stuff year after year, decade after decade.

Don't get me wrong, it was all tasty stuff, but it never varied.

Which was fine by me, though I always thought it was funny that we took pictures of the same table with the same tablecloth and the same platters of Thanksgiving deliciousness, with no regard to the fact that these images ended up being essentially photocopies of one another.

My mom was a great cook, but she also scored points for consistency.

Terry started attending our Thanksgiving dinners as a teenager. She found it strange that we had turkey and ham and roast beef as options, but we never had homemade pies (they were, she recalls, usually store-bought Marie Callender pies).

To be fair, I always thought it was odd that her family had side dishes like rutabaga on their Thanksgiving table, though for the record, I liked that rutabaga. Some years I think my mother-in-law Judy and I were the only two people who ate it.

Anyway, I miss the Thanksgivings of years past, probably because so many of the people who were there are now gone. So it goes.

I still don't think there's anything wrong with having multiple meats on Thanksgiving, though.

I expend inordinate amounts of mental energy making sure all of my devices are sufficiently charged

We live in a world of wonderfully advanced personal technology, at least compared with the largely analog one in which I grew up.

We have mobile phones, tablets, laptops, watches and sundry other gadgets designed to make our lives easier, and in some cases more fun.

You can argue whether these devices achieve their stated purpose, but one thing you can't argue is that they all require some sort of electrical power to operate.

I don't know how much of my brain is used to make sure all of my stuff is fully charged and operating throughout the day, but I bet it's an embarrassingly large amount. I constantly find myself wondering:

• "How's my phone battery doing? 30%? I'll never make it through tonight. Gotta charge it."
• "Will the iPad have enough battery life to last through this flight?"
• "When's the last time I charged my Powerbeats?"
• "Why is my watch always at 5% when I take it off at night? What am I doing all day that drains it so much?"

That kind of thing.

I'm forever looking around for charging cords and complaining that I need a new <INSERT DEVICE NAME HERE> because the battery doesn't last as long as it used to.

Speaking of which, there's a subtle art to prolonging device battery life. In the case of my personal laptop, I try to keep it charged between 20% and 80% because that's supposedly the "sweet spot" that keeps a lithium battery working most efficiently.

Or so I've read. This is one of those areas in which I'm relying on Internet strangers to tell me what I should do. (Increasing battery life and changing various filters on my car. Those are the two areas in which the world's collective online knowledge serves as my guide.)

I used to keep constant mental track of how my AirPods were doing charge-wise back when I was running and walking a lot. I rarely exercised without those little white headphones jammed into my ears.

Now that I go to the gym most days, though, I don't listen to music. And I'm not sure why. I like to concentrate on my lifts and making sure I'm using correct form, I guess.

I'm usually one of the only people at the gym not wearing some sort of headphones, I've noticed. I'm also frequently one of the oldest – if not THE oldest – person there.

I don't think this is a coincidence.

9/11 was the closest thing my generation has experienced to the JFK assassination

Today marks 61 years since President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed in Dallas. Every year on this day I go back and read old news accounts of the assassination, and I watch Walter Cronkite's coverage of the event, including his emotional confirmation that the President had died.

It would be six more years before I was even born, so I of course did not experience JFK's death firsthand. But I've heard enough about it from my parents and siblings to get a sense of just how shocked the nation really was.

My brother Mark tells a story of having to play outside by himself later that week because so many families were keeping their kids inside, apparently as part of some unspoken, quiet and respectful mourning process.

Talk to any American who was a child on Friday, November 22, 1963, and they will likely have a story of being in school when the news broke. For many, it was the first and only time they saw their teachers show emotion, let alone cry.

The only point of reference I have as a Gen Xer is September 11, 2001, though I wasn't in school at the time but rather a 31-year-old father of four toiling away at my job in marketing communications at the Cleveland Clinic Children's Hospital for Rehabilitation.

One of the nurses came running down the hall past our office that morning saying, "They bombed the Pentagon!" While that wasn't strictly true, it did get my co-worker Heidi and I to turn on the TV to find out what had happened.

The first of the two World Trade Center towers had already come down, and we watched live as the second one fell, shockingly and unexpectedly.

Then we heard about the plane crashing into the Pentagon. That was quickly followed by rumors that another hijacked plane was flying near or above Cleveland, prompting the Clinic to shut down and send us all home.

That night our family attended a prayer service at church, then we waited in a long line at a Shell gas station amid speculation that the price of gas was going to spike above $5.00 the next day (it never did).

The parallels between JFK's assassination and 9/11 are somewhat obvious. In both cases, if felt like the world had changed forever.

But I get the sense that JFK's death was a bigger collective shock. Kennedy's election had brought a fresh new spirit to the United States. The aura of "Camelot" made him and his family objects of adulation by millions.

There hadn't been a presidential assassination in 62 years, since William McKinley was gunned down in Buffalo in 1901. There was no template for people on how they should react, how they should mourn, how they should speak.

Not that 9/11 wasn't horrifyingly unique in its own right. But we had been dealing with lower-level terrorist attacks for many years, both inside and outside of our borders. It was horrible, but it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Not that it matters either way. Both events are seared into the brains of those who experienced them, and few will ever forget where they were and what they were doing when they got the news.

It's not the kind of thing you ever want to carry with you, but if you were there, there's simply no getting around it.