My reading muscles are cooperating more than my writing muscles the past couple of days. I just read "Early Bird" by Rodney Rothman. Rothman is a television writer (wrote for Letterman and "Undeclared") who decided to go "retire" at age 28 to a seniors community in Florida, and write a book about it. The New York Times has a short paragraph about it. It's not bad. I mean, you end up getting a picture of what life is like at one of these places, and he's a funny writer with some good observation skills, and it's a quick read.... I like reading things like this. Here's a passage I identified with:

"Are you going on the JDate bus trip tomorrow?" [the girl] asks. A potential response enters my head that I recognize would be a horrible thing to say. I wait for a new comment to replace it in my brain's on-deck circle. My brain is not cooperating, so I just say:
"JDate bus trip. I hope it doesn't get attacked by PDate."
"What's PDate, she says.
"It's, uh..." I try to think of something different to end this. I cannot. "It's uh... it's Palestinian date," I say.
[She] walks away.

I hate when you know what you want to say isn't funny but you can't stop yourself from saying it anyway. Happens a lot. Oh well.