My Toastmasters club was giving me a hard time because I wanted to begin our holiday party at 6:00 pm instead of 8:00 pm.…
We old folks need to be home so we can get to bed at a reasonable hour. The fact of the matter is I'm up almost every day at 3:30 a.m. and I'm usually at my desk by 5:00 a.m. I've always been an early riser, so I guess old habits are hard to break.
I'm the "life of the party" as long as the party is over around 8:00 p.m. But we baby boomers have other frustrations too. I'm still trying to figure out some of these easy-to-open bottle caps. Even President Richard Nixon had teeth marks on some of his medicine bottles, so this isn't just a boomer issue.
Other boomer items that seem to be consistent include the issue of grand children. None of yours are as cute as Ashley Elizabeth, my gorgeous little "hyetti" (an Arabic word which means "my heart… the breath of my life.") Really. It's true.
And no, I'm no grouchier today than I was 30 years ago. I didn't like traffic then and I don't like it now. I didn't like waiting then and I don't like waiting now. I never liked lawyers then and I still don't like them now.
I could understand the lyrics to "My Girl." I defy you to interpret the lyrics to this "wrap" music… or is it "rap music"… I never knew actually how it was supposed to be spelled.
My wife is always complaining about our dogs barking. I have a simple explanation… it's their job to bark. Still, I never liked barking dogs. I hate politicians that bother to open their mouths, for two reasons. First, they usually have bad breath, and second, nothing of value ever comes out.
I'm wrinkled, tired and grumpy nowadays, and that's when I'm feeling good and have done the gym drill. I have many weaknesses, but my legs aren't among them. I enjoy suckering some snot-nosed kid at the gym into a showdown on the leg press.
One of my fellow geezers sets them up by helping to put six 45-pound weights on the leg press. He then challenges the "new-by" to a press-off. Of course the "new-by" beats him easily. He then says, "Bet you can't beat that old guy over there," pointing at me as I pretend to have my back turned. "How much?" asks the "new-by. And he's hooked.
I proceed to put eight 45-pound weights on each side of the leg press and two on top for a total weight of 900 pounds. "New-by" is freaking out about now but I press away. When "new-by" leaves, we split the take.
One thing is for sure… when you're fat like I was most of my life you build up amazing strength in your legs. Now to be fair, there are 90-pound chicks in the gym that can lift more than I can, but nobody out-presses your boy on the leg press.
The most frustrating thing about age is you can't outgrow it. I was suffering through a shopping experience recently with my wife recently.
To be fair, I'd rather wrestle a rhino than go shopping. I can't remember which of the many sins I committed that day, but somehow I ended up going to the church bizarre with Christine as part of my penitence.
We found this really interesting antique lamp that was for sale. The closer I looked at it the more I realized that it was just like the one I had just taken to Goodwill. The sign at the door explained it all: "We buy junk but sell antiques."
On his death bed an antique dealer named six bankers as his pallbearers, explaining that as they had carried him for so long that they might as well finish the job.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Aging: Getting Old Sucks
I'm 59 years old and my hair is getting thinner. I don't have to do that comb-over thing, but, sadly, I'm well aware of what it is.
I seem to be able to grow hair everywhere on my body… except where I want it to grow. It's a lot like my front lawn. The grass growing out of the concrete driveway is thicker than the grass in my yard. Go figure. You can plant a broome-stick in the ground here in Florida and it will be a small tree in less than a year.
Thank God for the "man groomer," which I utilize no less than twice a month. It's gotten so bad that I've gone to shaving the hair in my ears as often as those on my face. This is a terrible misappropriation of hormones, which, for the record, I would rather invest in other parts of the anatomy.
I have always been vertically challenged and now find myself in the chronologically challenged arena. My goal in life was to grow into my ears, but I'll never be that tall, so I've given up. Now my goals in life have changed; I'm thinking of investing in a prune farm.
I've determined that age is too high of a price to pay for maturity, which my readers suggest will never happen in my case. Getting older means you don't have to worry so much about temptation. You don't have to avoid it; it avoids you. Most women I know refuse to admit their age; most men I know don't act theirs.
I got ugly early, so that's never been an issue in my life. No one has ever confused me with a movie star. In 1981, I was mistaken for Bert Lance in the Atlanta Airport. Lance, a close advisor to President Jimmy Carter, got into hot water over some banking deal. Turns out the reporter thought I was Mr. Lance. My wife, who was accompanying me on the trip, went ballistic when she realized that I had taken on the Bert Lance-persona and was actually answering questions about the scandal. I've never been one to shy away from an interview, even if the fool interviewing me didn't have enough sense to ask my name.
And then there was the time that I was in the Delta Crown Room and then drug czar Bill Bennett swept in with his entourage. I don't know the man's name, but I suppose I have an amazing resemblance to some Colombian drug lord. Finally they released me but ran everyone out of the Crown Room so that Mr. Bennett could be secured.
So much for my various claims to fame. Why couldn't I look like Brad Pitt?
Anyway, getting old sucks. Since I procreated, I solved all my computer problems. My kids recently gave me an IPod, which I mistook for a transistor radio. Go figure.
Let the record reflect that I still go to the gym several times a week, but I've noticed that 90-pound girls are out-lifting me. My three sons are all into weightlifting. Jason even tried the make the US Olympic team and paid for his graduate work in molecular biology with a scholarship at Northern Michigan University in Marquette, Michigan. That's where they train the Olympic athletes.
About the only time I got to do any lifting was when my kids took the weights off the bar and I would hop in and do some curls with the bar. They immediately uninvited me; guess I was slowing them down.
My wife was talking to her sister Janet on the phone recently. We were on the way out to eat to celebrate my 59th. "Yeah, he's getting old. Just passed 60!" I never corrected her because I actually forgot what age I really was.
Getting old sucks!
I seem to be able to grow hair everywhere on my body… except where I want it to grow. It's a lot like my front lawn. The grass growing out of the concrete driveway is thicker than the grass in my yard. Go figure. You can plant a broome-stick in the ground here in Florida and it will be a small tree in less than a year.
Thank God for the "man groomer," which I utilize no less than twice a month. It's gotten so bad that I've gone to shaving the hair in my ears as often as those on my face. This is a terrible misappropriation of hormones, which, for the record, I would rather invest in other parts of the anatomy.
I have always been vertically challenged and now find myself in the chronologically challenged arena. My goal in life was to grow into my ears, but I'll never be that tall, so I've given up. Now my goals in life have changed; I'm thinking of investing in a prune farm.
I've determined that age is too high of a price to pay for maturity, which my readers suggest will never happen in my case. Getting older means you don't have to worry so much about temptation. You don't have to avoid it; it avoids you. Most women I know refuse to admit their age; most men I know don't act theirs.
I got ugly early, so that's never been an issue in my life. No one has ever confused me with a movie star. In 1981, I was mistaken for Bert Lance in the Atlanta Airport. Lance, a close advisor to President Jimmy Carter, got into hot water over some banking deal. Turns out the reporter thought I was Mr. Lance. My wife, who was accompanying me on the trip, went ballistic when she realized that I had taken on the Bert Lance-persona and was actually answering questions about the scandal. I've never been one to shy away from an interview, even if the fool interviewing me didn't have enough sense to ask my name.
And then there was the time that I was in the Delta Crown Room and then drug czar Bill Bennett swept in with his entourage. I don't know the man's name, but I suppose I have an amazing resemblance to some Colombian drug lord. Finally they released me but ran everyone out of the Crown Room so that Mr. Bennett could be secured.
So much for my various claims to fame. Why couldn't I look like Brad Pitt?
Anyway, getting old sucks. Since I procreated, I solved all my computer problems. My kids recently gave me an IPod, which I mistook for a transistor radio. Go figure.
Let the record reflect that I still go to the gym several times a week, but I've noticed that 90-pound girls are out-lifting me. My three sons are all into weightlifting. Jason even tried the make the US Olympic team and paid for his graduate work in molecular biology with a scholarship at Northern Michigan University in Marquette, Michigan. That's where they train the Olympic athletes.
About the only time I got to do any lifting was when my kids took the weights off the bar and I would hop in and do some curls with the bar. They immediately uninvited me; guess I was slowing them down.
My wife was talking to her sister Janet on the phone recently. We were on the way out to eat to celebrate my 59th. "Yeah, he's getting old. Just passed 60!" I never corrected her because I actually forgot what age I really was.
Getting old sucks!
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