Dave Barry Turns 50

From the Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist comes a celebration of the aging process. Not just Dave's, but that of the whole Baby Boom Generation--those millions of us who set a standard for whining self-absorption that will never be equaled, and who gave birth to such stunning accomplishments as Saturday Night Live!, the New Age movement, and call waiting. Here Dave pinpoints the glaring signs that you've passed the half-century mark:. - You are suddenly unable to read anything written in letters smaller than Marlon Brando. - You have accepted the fact that you can't possibly be hip. You don't even know if "hip" is the right word for hip anymore, and you don't care. - You remember nuclear-attack drills at school wherein you practiced protecting yourself by crouching under your desk, which was apparently made out of some kind of atomic-bomb-proof wood. - You can't name the secretary of defense, but you can still sing the Mister Clean song. So pop open a can of Geritol®, kick back in that recliner, grab those reading glasses, and let the good times roll--before they roll right over you! Review. "QUOTING BARRY IS LIKE EATING PEANUTS. . . . ONCE YOU GET STARTED IT'S AWFULLY HARD TO STOP."--The Washington Post. "RIOTOUS . . . [Barry] can find the humor in pretty much anything. And . . . he does not intend to go even slightly gently into that good night." --San Francisco Examiner From the Inside Flap. From the Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist comes a celebration of the aging process. Not just Dave's, but that of the whole Baby Boom Generation--those millions of us who set a standard for whining self-absorption that will never be equaled, and who gave birth to such stunning accomplishments as Saturday Night Live!, the New Age movement, and call waiting. Here Dave pinpoints the glaring signs that you've passed the half-century mark: - You are suddenly unable to read anything written in letters smaller than Marlon Brando. - You have accepted the fact that you can't possibly be hip. You don't even know if "hip" is the right word for hip anymore, and you don't care. - You remember nuclear-attack drills at school wherein you practiced protecting yourself by crouching under your desk, which was apparently made out of some kind of atomic-bomb-proof wood. - You can't name the secretary of defense, but you can still sing the Mister Clean song. So pop open a can of Geritol(R), kick back in that recliner, grab those reading glasses, and let the good times roll--before they roll right over you!