Classic
If you recall, I decided to plunk a “classic” into this space on occasion and this is one of those occasions.
I will more than likely use columns from a decade ago when I carry out such shenanigans. The first one was really odd because it was about the death of Michael Jackson. Well, coincidentally (or maybe not), Kobe Bryant died right before that column hit the newsstands. The aforementioned piece actually pertained to the events of the day even though it was from 2009! (Cue the Vincent Price voice and eerie music at this time.)
While I have you, I’ve decided that this area and my video series are both going to be “You Know What” free zones. You know, that THING that has dominated the “news” 24/7 for some time now? I will not partake in spreading the fear or spreading the You Know What, now that I ponder. I hope you enjoy this classic from the summer of 2010.
Classic Rant from the Vault series (rant #2)
You might be approaching or
surpassing middle age if...
Have you noticed that aging is a real pain in the hind quarters? Have you also taken note of how after years of steady and slow deterioration all of the sudden, one day, you awaken and are...well, how can I put this...OLD? It just happens overnight. Boom, you’re elderly! Or you are at least heading in that direction—there is no turning back.
This appears to take place after a person has reached forty years of age. I not only speak from personal experiences but have also listened with rapt attention to others over forty who complain about the subject.
I’ve taken notice of some telltale signs of this most horrific evolution from peppy teen to old hag, and thought I’d pass them along to you.
I shall do so in the spirit of Jeff Foxworthy with his “You might be a redneck if...,” mantra.
I will not bother writing: “You may be approaching or surpassing middle age if...” before each observation and will leave it up to you to add those words to the front of each of my statements. I have the utmost faith that you, my darling readers, will be able to take on the task with much gusto, of course.
Let us now begin:
Handy-dandy pill dispensers, (the kind that display the days of the week and have cute individual compartments for storing the overabundance of life sustaining medications), are the focal point of your day.
The backs of your hands begin to resemble a map of Hungary. “Take this bluish, elevated vein to that one, turn left and arrive in Budapest in record time.”
You find that when you read a newspaper in public, you mumble under your breath when moved by a particular piece. On the other hand, when in the safety of your own home, you actually debate with the news anchors and oft curse them out. On occasion you even utilize obscene Italian hand gestures in the process. Location, location, location means everything in terms of this particular sign of approaching the end of days.
Walking to the mailbox and back legally places you in the aerobic state.
You find yourself complaining to your teens about their hideous, no melody, overly bass-ridden, redundant beat, ear-drum-splitting choice in tunes. “Is THAT what you call music?” After trying in vain to introduce them to Journey or Sinatra, you become horrified because indeed, you HAVE morphed into your parents.
You need several pairs of glasses to carry out everyday ordinary tasks. Bifocals, reading, driving, sun, etc.
Political figures are suddenly YOUNGER than you are! How on Earth did this occur?
Clothing you used to wear has now become the latest retro fashion fad. This is actually good news for those who hoard everything, as there is no need to buy a new wardrobe. On the other hand, how “hip” do you really look in those polyester low rider bell bottoms? Come on, be honest with yourself.
You reach the very scientific conclusion that the size of your bladder coincides with your age. This is evidenced by the number of times your eight hours of sleep are interrupted throughout the night.
Sayings like, “When I was your age, I _________, (fill in the blank),” spew from your mouth with rapid fire and cause all the youth in your path to nod politely as they ease out the door.
Well, that sums it up for the week. I must walk to my car and back whilst donning low rider pants with elephant bell bottoms. I will refer to the map on the back of my left hand so I don’t get lost along the 25 yard trip. Upon returning to the house, I will, no doubt, be sopping the sweat from my brow due to the heavy workout involved with such endeavors. I am then going to sneak into my kid’s room and replace all his music CDs with some real tunes that have actual melodies—Help! I AM my mother!!
THE END.
This part is from 2020: (Interstate Crosscheck, “War is a Racket,” by General Smedley Butler, HBO “Hacking Democracy, available for free on YouTube)