“Not Average”—Retired!

“Average” seems to be the baseline upon which most everything in our lives is measured.  “Average” means the typical or normal amount, quality, or degree determined by the adding of a particular group, divided by the total members of the group.  This results in the “average”.  “Average” also equates and means the ordinary, typical, normal, routine, standard, conventional, every day, commonplace, or regular.  We hear the term used on a regular basis practically every day to explain abnormalities above or below what is considered the baseline or “average”.  For the most part, “average” is what most of us would consider ourselves to be . . . “average”.  We think of ourselves as being like everyone else.  You know, “average”.  Which, when you think about it is “blah”.

Well, I want you to know that I am not “average”.  I’m retired.  The day that I formerly put my 9 to 5 work existence out to pasture, I crossed the line of “average” to retired.  There is nothing “average” about being retired.  There is nothing ordinary about retirement.  There is nothing typical or normal.  It is not routine.  Not a standard.  It sure isn’t conventional, every day, commonplace, or regular.  It is none of those things.  Whatever retirement is . . . it is not “average”.

 

Retirement is not normal.  The “average” gets thrown out the window.  What is expected of everyone else is not expected of a retired person.  Think about it.  For example, time.  Time changes.  The most common or “average” gifts for retirees is a watch of a fancy clock.  Kind of ironic.  When a person retires time is no longer of urgent importance . . . so gift the person with a watch or clock!  Something to keep track of time.  Who needs a watch or clock in retirement.  There is no lack of time in retirement.  Time is what you have—lots of it.

 

The “average” person is constantly concerned with time.  They are on a schedule with a nose to the grindstone because “time is money and money is time”.  Not in retirement.  There are no schedules.  What do you call a parson who is happy on Monday?  Retired.  Of course, there is a problem.  Stepping out of the rat race of time is wonderful but a person needs to learn how to live on less chains.  Jumping out of the constraints or time leaves the door wide open for things to do.  The wife tells me I must do something with my time . . . or else.  I am not wanting to experience the wife’s “or else” . . . so on some days I have started getting up early in the morning, hopping in the car, and driving around real slow making everyone else late for work.  On other days it is just nice to wake up with no place to go like work.  So now I am doing it three, four times daily.  That’s not “average” . . . and it keeps me entertained.

 

This is frustratingly annoying to my wife.  I do not think this was what she bargained for when I retired.  When I retired, she ended up getting twice as much of me for half the money.  She misses the money.  As Yogi Berra said, “A nickel ain’t worth a dime anymore.”

 

Another thing not “average” about being retired is personal appearance.  Things like hygiene and clothing choices.  The “average” person has to deal with those things daily.  Not the retiree.  Nope.  Hygiene is optional.  Taking a shower daily—nah!  It’s kind of a throwback to childhood with the mandatory bath once a week.  Daily bathing is for others especially when you work.  In retirement there is no one to please.  It is shower at will.  Of course, this is not a popular habit in the eyes of the wife . . . or should I say nose.  She expects a nice smelling spouse.  I shower regularly because it is good for the marriage.  Now shaving . . . that’s another story.  I shave every two to three days or as necessitated by need or demand.  For public and family events I shave.  Got to look nice for the public, besides I’m not a beard person myself even though all the adult men in the family fashion beards of different shapes, sizes, and growth.  Still, it is nice not to have to shave every day.  Even at 68 I have a baby face—not “average” for my age.

 

Clothing . . . well, there is the great debate.  For most of my life while working I have been “average”—nice button-down shirts, khaki pants, and comfortable dress shoes.  Business casual.  I wore the uniform.  Not anymore.  Now it is t-shirts, jeans or shorts, a pair of Crocs, sandals, or hiking boots, with a ball cap for the head.  Comfort over style.  Color and pattern coordination is optional.  I have found that the older and worn the clothing is, the more comfortable.  In retirement I covet comfort as more important than style.  When people laugh or comment about my appearance, I just reply, “I’m retired.”  At the same time, I think they wish they were me—comfortable.  The wife doesn’t mind so much.  She knew she didn’t marry a fashion icon.  The expectations were not that high.  Basically, the clothing had to be clean, especially the underwear because you never know when you might be in an accident.  They were expectations I could live with.  Besides, she tell them, “He’s retired . . . what can I do?”

 

I’m not “average”.  “Average” people work.  I don’t have to work.  “Average” people are time conscience.  Not me.  Appearance is important to the “average” person.  I have embraced the beach bum—or maybe just bum—look and really don’t care what anyone else thinks.  “Average” people are busy.  Busy is a four-letter word for me.  “Average” people go to bed.  I can stay up as late as I want.  Tired!  Ha!  I can take naps anytime I want.  I can go sit in park and people watch in the middle of the day.  “Average” people cannot.  I can order off the “senior” menu at restaurants.  “Average” people cannot.  I can sit on the deck in my pajamas until late in the morning and people say, “Oh, he’s retired.”  But I don’t because the neighbor lady has reported me to the police a couple of times.  The “average” person cannot.

 

I am not “average” . . . I am retired.  There is nothing “average” about me.  The transition into retirement was not that difficult because most of my life people did not consider me to be “average”—except they used the other term, “normal”.  I have been called a lot of things over the span of my life, but “normal” or “average” was rarely used.  The difference is that in retirement I no longer must pretend or act to be something I never was to begin with.  I can be . . . well, I can be me . . . retired. Just don’t call me “average”.  I’m not.  I’m retired . . . and the living is good.  

 

Facebook Hell II—Advertisements

When is enough enough? 

I have bone to pick with Facebook.  I am tired of being constantly bombarded with advertisements.  I am drowning in Facebook’s constant flooding of my page with commercial garbage.  Fifty percent of the posts on my Facebook page are advertisements.  Every other post is a push to get me to buy some products, endorse some company, or follow some influencer.  Nothing that I need or want.  The onslaught is relentless.  Had tRump put Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook in control of his Iran assault the war would have been over weeks ago.  That is how relentless Facebook is with its advertising.  It is overwhelming.

 

Facebook has conned us all into thinking that it is a social media platform designed to connect people with family, friends, and communities.  It boasts over three billion active users.  That is a little over 36 percent of the world’s population.  A third of the world is using Facebook believing that the company truly wants to connect with people.  How heartwarming.  Three billion of the world’s population has been suckered and played for fools.  Facebook has nothing to do with connecting people, building relationships, or strengthening communities.  That is the illusion it presents while snookering us into its traps and getting into our wallets.

 

In 2025, Facebook pocketed $123.73 billion dollars in ad revenue.  Approximately 98 percent of Meta (Facebook’s parent company) revenue is raised through advertisement.  Each Facebook user contributes a little over $41 dollars towards that $123.73 profit making Mark Zuckerberg even richer.  Zuckerberg is already one of the top five wealthiest people in the world worth between $210 and $252 billion.  You know he values every single Facebook connection and relationship . . . all the way to the bank.

 

People have the right to make money.  But when is enough . . . enough?

 

The “average” person might not be bothered by any of this . . . probably doesn’t even think about it.  I’m not an “average” person.  I’m retired.  Being retired means I have lots of free time on my hands.  Because of that I noticed . . . noticed all the ads constantly inundating my Facebook feed.  Advertisements for medicines and miracle cures for my growing old age.  Advertisements for adult diapers. Clothing.  Food for humans and pets.  Entertainment suggestions.  Influencers.  Insurance . . . home, personal, life, and car.  The occasional funeral parlor.  Alcohol.  If you can sell it, it was on my feed.  The advertisements were everywhere.  Every other post . . . I counted.  When you are retired you have a lot of time to do that.

 

It is frustrating having to wade through all the commercials to get around to making that connection with family, friends, and community.  It is like trying to swim upstream.  Lots of effort, little gained.  The real goal is money, not relationships.  Facebook knows it and is good at what it does.

 

I must admit that Facebook has an inkling about this advertising weariness and fatigue.  It does give the user the option to opt out of advertisements.  Facebook uses straight out advertisement that they mark as either “sponsored” or “ads”.  The user only has to click on the little “x” in the right-hand corner and . . . POOF! It is gone . . . almost.  What happens next is a new page appearing wanting a reason for the removal of the ad.  Once given you click “submit” and Facebook tells you that you won’t see the ad again. Which is not true . . . the advertisement will be back!  The process is painless and is fast.  Of course, this just prompts Facebook to add another ad to the feed.  This continues for between fifty and hundred times before it quits, and they disappear until you come back later.  It’s worth the minimal effort it takes even if you are too busy to read any real posts . . . at least until the next you use your device.

 

This would be great if it weren’t for the fact that Facebook also likes to make ads look like regular posts from sites your family and friends like.  Sneaky.  They put your family or friend members’ name at the top of the post looking like they are recommending the advertisement.  So-and-so likes . . . then comes the ad looking like your family/friend posted it.  I kind of suspected something was up when I kept seeing ads for MAGA with my wife’s name on them. It was not a cold day in hell . . . Facebook is sneaky.  Still, there is an “out”.  Click the “x” in the right-hand corner.  A page comes up asking why you want to hide the ad.  Take your pick and click “submit”.  The ad is gone . . . for a while.

 

For several days that is what I did.  I kept deleting ads left and right as fast as Facebook could place them.  Over and over again.  Then one day I noticed that the ads looked different.  The “x” in the right-hand corner was gone and replaced with three dots.  Little did I know the devious plan they were hatching.  I must have made the advertising department of Facebook mad for them to go to this length to frustrate me even more.  It looked as if there was no way to “delete” or “remove” the ads—there was no “x”.  Everyone knows that “x” means “delete” or “remove”.  So, I clicked on the three dots . . . the key was revealed.  A page magically appeared giving me several options as to what I wanted to do with the ad.  None of the choices gave me the option to tell them to stick their advertising where the sun doesn’t shine . . . but there was a choice to hide the ad.

 

That was my choice—hide the ad.  I clicked it and another page appeared.  Now it wanted to know my reason for hiding the ad.  They even provide the list.  I always choose “irrelevant”.  Every time.  Apparently, they know my pattern because every time I go through this process they move “irrelevant” around on the list making me have to look for it.  Sneaky mean.  “Irrelevant” every time pulls up a final page telling me the steps, I can take to hide the ad.  Again, no suggestion of where the sun doesn’t shine.  Kindly, they do allow me to hide all the ads from the advertiser.  You choose that and then click the “done” button.  Once again, they promise that you won’t see the ad again . . . don’t believe it.

 

The goal of Facebook is to wear people out until they throw up their arms, give up, and accept that advertisements are like death and taxes.  There is no escaping them.  They figure the “average” person will succumb to the relentless bombardment and onslaught of commercial enticement . . . that they will just put up with it.  But, as I said earlier, I’m not “average” . . . I’m retired.  I’ve got all the time in the world.  I can sit there and delete Facebook advertisements all day long. I’ve got nothing better to do.  My wife tells me I need to find a purpose in retirement and I think I have.

 

At the same time, Facebook keeps figuring it out.  They know I am spending my hours hiding their ads.  That’s why they keep changing the game . . . changing the rules.  Money does that.  They want the cash.  Little do they understand, I want the peace of having an ad-less Facebook page.  They don’t realize how much “free” time I have since retiring—lots!  Yet, I am willing to throw in the towel to end this battle of wills.  All Facebook has to do is give me a cut of what they earn.  You know, pay me for my time of having to read their ads.  I don’t need much.  I’ll take my 1/3,000,000,000^th cut of the profits—which is about $41 dollars.

 

That is all that it would take--$41 dollars.  The problem will be solved.  The battle would be over.  The advertisements can run free.  Forty-one dollars is a lot for an old, retired guy like me.  That is close to ten lunches at the Senior Center.  Sounds like a great trade-off for Facebook and me.  Mark Zuckerberg can afford it.  What’s $41 dollars to a person with $210 to $252 billion in the bank?  Forty-one dollars . . . I’ll count it as I go to the bank.