Register Your Existence on the Book of Time

I have written before about how I prefer Twitter to Facebook. You are about to find out one reason why this is the case.


One of the twitter accounts I follow is @TweetsofOld. Here is what the account’s bio section has to say:

We attempt to reveal the lives of our predecessors through the tweets of yesteryear: Real one-line brevities from old newspapers, as they appeared–or close.

I love this twitter account because it proves a theory that I share with my friend Karl Stern. Writing was so much better back in the day. Karl has told stories about coming across tremendous obituaries featuring phrases like “met the death angel” while doing research. Well, earlier today I saw this tweet:



Long-time readers will probably recall that I have spoken before of having children. I have taken a more fatalistic approach to the idea over the past few years. I would like children but if it never happens I will be okay with that as well. Thanks to that tweet, this is no longer true. I now simply must have a child. Why? Because I feel the phrase “registered his existence on the book of time” needs to be brought into 21st Century popular culture. That is so much better than simply saying that a child was born to so and so.


I need a son or daughter to register their existence on the book of time. I fear that with current trends, future birth announcements might just read “OMG, baby, LOL”. Well, I may not be able to stop that from happening but rest assured that I will insist that any birth announcement for a child of mine will include the phrase “registered his/her existence on the book of time”. If you are expecting a child or might have children in the future, you should also insist that this be how their birth is described. Studies have shown that children who have registered their existence on the book of time are just better than everyone else.


On a related note, I may also insist that when I pass on my obituary be written as though it were written in the 1800s. I want people to know when and how I met the death angel. Long live the old school!


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