Now THIS is how all my reader mail should be!

I get a lot of reader mail; seems like a lot to me, anyway, since I'm more or less a nobody, or at least nobody special (it's only false modesty if it ain't true, folks).  I love hearing from readers who see my column either here or in the various newspapers in which it appears.  I even like hearing from readers who think I'm an idiot and they are, perhaps not surprisingly, legion.

But I received this letter last week, on a day I was questioning my life choices -- those myriad blunders that have lead me to my current, lowly situation -- and wondering if I should just chuck it all and get a good job, Walmart greeter, maybe, or French fry engineer at McDonald's.

This letter, should you be wondering, is exactly the right way to communicate with -- not just me -- but any local author struggling to make a buck in an industry that is slowly suffocating beneath the weight of the ponderous monstrosity that is the Internet.  Writing in general and print journalism in particular, while not yet dead , are slowly fading to black.  A letter like the one that follows is a ray of sunshine into any writer's drab existence and certainly better than the messages that read simply, "You stink!" or "You're a no-talent hack!" or "The white powder on this envelope is anthrax and I will no longer have to see your crummy column hogging space on the op-ed page, space that could otherwise have been filled by George Will's brilliant prose!"

I've changed the name of the author here, in order to protect her identity.  So without further preamble, I'll turn the floor over to "Flo."

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Mike,

I do it every Thursday...and I do it on the floor...it's the only place that's safe.  

I was talking about reading your column...what were you thinking?  (Oh, perish the thought of what the nuns at St. Isadore would say!)

Seriously, I have wanted to write and thank you for a very long time for writing your column and giving me at least one laugh each week.  You see, I am now an empty-nester (really empty...divorced, too).  Both of my boys are in college, and that's a good thing.  However, my youngest, ****, made me laugh every day of my life.  I miss that tremendously!  So, when I discovered your column in the Daily News on Thursdays, it started to fill the humor hole that I had had for 18 plus years of my life.  Now, if you could only write it every day that would be even better.  But these days, I will take what I can get in the humor category.

And since I talk about you incessantly to anyone who will listen, I also declare that I am your biggest fan.  Not the guy who tacks your column to the refrigerator.  My favorite columns of yours are not out for public display or to have the edges wrinkle, the page turn yellow, or get battered-up by the mixer.  Nope.  My favorite columns of yours are safely tucked away in a Rubbermaid tub, and you know how safe things are in those.  And, since you asked, the reason I have to read your column on the floor has become a safety issue.  While reading about ramen noodles, I literally laughed so hard that I fell off the kitchen chair!  That may have also been funny, however, there were no witnesses.  So after that episode, I moved into the living room to the couch.  Sounded like a pretty safe place to read.  Oh, but then you had to write about cats and extension ladders, and again I fell off the furniture.  So now I have moved to the floor.  And there is no eating allowed while reading either due to a potential choking hazard.  (And, no, I am not looking to sue you for damages...thankfully there were none.  Sigh of relief?  I heard that!) 

My boys know what a big fan I am of yours, so this Christmas I was presented with a gift certificate to Robbins Book Store so that I could purchase your book.  I did.  I went on and on about you to the owner, who says he's your friend, and he claims that all this is going to go to your head.  Just so you know, I have been warned.  I enjoyed the book immensely, and read it all while sitting on the floor.  Safety first, Mr. Taylor!  

I would be thrilled to meet you and have you sign my book.  I do think that I was in line behind you at the credit union one day last summer.  It was one of those moments where you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.  I wanted to tell you so badly how much I love your column and the way you write (it's the way I think btw).  But I was momentarily star struck and couldn't speak.

I am not certain whether you are at the Daily News every day, but I would love to stop on a day that you are there to have my book signed.  That in and of itself may take a day or two, because I currently work 3 part time jobs and that should answer your question about whether or not I may be a stalker.  Sadly, I have no time for that.  I just appreciate your humor and your writing, and I wanted to finally let you know.

Thank you,

Flo 

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See what I mean?  My own mother never said so many nice things about me!  So thank you, "Flo," for your wonderful letter.  It may be the nicest letter I've ever received in my life. I'm going out right now to buy a Rubbermaid tub to keep it in! And by the way, Kevin was right; your letter did, indeed, go to my head, which was two or three sizes too big to begin with. - Mike

If only I could get a message to my 18-year-old self

I’m on Facebook a lot these days. Social networking, for better or worse, has become a big part of the newspaper industry, for which I work. 

Most of what’s on Facebook is, for lack of a better word, a word I cannot use in a family newspaper (the last three letters are “r-a-p”).

I’m especially disdainful of “memes” — those pictures of unicorns or foggy meadows over which smarmy slogans have been superimposed, things like, “Repost this if you have a beautiful daughter” or “Share this and God will send money your way!”  I hate ‘em.

There was one such meme waiting for me yesterday when I logged on. But this meme, unlike most, was kind of interesting. It read: “If you could send a message to your younger self, what would it be?” 

Is there anyone who wouldn’t take advantage of an opportunity like this? I’ve made so many wrong turns in my life I wouldn’t even know where to start.

Problem is, my younger self was an idiot. My current self isn’t much better, but when compared to my younger self, I now seem like the Buddha. Getting my younger self to listen to my current self’s warnings would be a challenge akin to erecting the pyramids. 

But assuming I could smack my younger self around enough to make him pay attention (and I’m assuming I could; I’ve got 50 pounds on that skinny, 18-year-old punk) these are the things I would say to him.

• Do not let that redhead at the hotel bar buy you shots! Your girlfriend will not be OK with what happens later and she will eventually leave you for a fat guy from Indiana who services electronic dart machines. Serves you right, moron!

• If you tell a friend you will provide the music for her wedding ceremony, try really hard to NOT miss it. It turns out there are no “do-overs” for this sort of thing.

• On or about your 45th birthday, you will be tempted to demonstrate for your 10-year-old stepson some “cool moves” on his skateboard. Don’t. And for the love of all that’s holy, if you do, at least do it out back where the whole neighborhood won’t witness your epic crash and burn.

• Don’t marry anyone more than 18 years younger than yourself. I don’t care how cute she is! I said don’t do it!

• You’re going to live longer than you think. Floss every day. 

• Surprise, surprise. You won’t be too old to enjoy the party on New Year’s Eve, 1999 after all. Bring your own champagne, though; the stuff they’re serving at that dive bar you’ll be playing could strip the paint off a Buick.

• I do not care what everyone else is doing in 1982; do NOT cut your hair in a mullet! Idiot!

• If you yell at your five-year-old daughter and make her cry because she won’t hold still for a photograph, I swear to God I will come back in time and beat you unconscious. I don’t care how frustrated you are, there are more important things in life than getting a good shot for the family Christmas card.

• Your kids are going to grow up to be smarter than you; better looking, too. You may as well get used to the idea.

• Don’t buy that pet store! You don’t know anything about running a pet store and you’re going to lose your shirt. Also, look out for that gigantic ball python; she bites.

• Don’t worry about money. It matters far less than you think. Sometimes you’ll have some, sometimes you won’t. It will have virtually no impact on how happy you are.

• On the other hand, when a company called “Microsoft” goes public in 1986, buy at least 1,000 shares and become good friends with a guy named Bill Gates. Yeah, he’s a dork, but knowing him will work to your advantage in the long run.

And that’s about it, I guess. If I could get all this information to my younger self, who knows where I’d be in 2014? That’s assuming I could get young, dumb, me to listen to old, dumb me.

More Reality Check online at mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com. Contact Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.