Falling As Verb, Noun and State of Mind

Posted on October 12, 2011 by pegoleg

My afternoon of the mind.

The sky blue sky is dotted with cotton balls: the air, crisp as McIntosh apples.  Maple, oak and sumac fight for supremacy in an all-out color war to the death.

I’ve got an important meeting this afternoon, one I can’t miss. 

On the drive over from my office, I pass a huge pile of leaves.  The senior homeowner pauses for a well-earned rest in his Sisyphean battle with the intruders trying to take his lawn.  Soon their comrades will parachute in for a new assault.  For a brief moment, however, he has won.  He goes in search of bags and bags and bags to confine his prisoners.

The pile beckons: so high, so tempting.  It is a mountain of fall memories in a field of emerald grass.

Then I’m pulling over to the curb, barely remembering to put the car in park.  Running from the car, briefcase in hand I execute a leap the likes of which the Flying Wallendas would envy.  Arms wide spread, legs out, papers flying as I soar. 

Soar!

Suspended for just a brief eternity and then I’m landing soft.  I’m sinking, floating, held aloft by the gold, green, red and brown feathers of this autumnal bed.

The leaves are scattered all over Mr. Green’s lawn, and I know I’m gonna get in trouble.  You KNOW he’ll tell Mom.  He always does.  But I don’t care, the old grouch.

“C’mon, Peggy!” I hear Billy call, his voice muffled by the rusty red and yellow blanket. By more than 40 years of leaves. “My turn!”

“Yeah,” Terry yells  “My turn after Billy.  Rake ‘em up high again!”

No!  I burrow down deeper into the crunchy, slightly musty kaleidoscope.  It’s still MY turn.  I won’t surrender my place, this place, this moment out of time.

The remnants of my bright, blond head atop the leaves fade like wisps of smoke from my mind’s rear view mirror as I drive by.  The pristine pile is still raked into submission and waiting for the bags, the bags to take all that gold to the dump.

I can’t be late for my meeting.  I turn the corner.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 40 Comments

A Cup, A Cup, A Cup, A Cup Of Sodium Caseinate

Posted on October 10, 2011 by pegoleg

For the coffee lover, fall ushers in the best of times: that of the yummy flavored coffees.  Rich pumpkin, deep chocolate notes, earthy wafts of cinnamon spice all beckon from grocery store and specialty shop shelves.  “Drink Me,” they say.  “Drink and be warmed and soothed by my rich, roasted goodness.”

I was pretty stoked to select a bottle of Pumpkin Spice coffee creamer to begin this season of caffeinated revelry.

As I stirred the creamer into my cup of joe, I admired the packaging.  A silhouette of cows, tractor and barn on the front hinted at the production facilities used by the manufacturer, Friendly Farms.

Then I turned the bottle around to the ingredients.  Apparently, what with the bad economy and all, Farmer Friendly is moonlighting at the local chemical plant.

Here’s the rundown of ingredients in the “cream”:

Water, sugar, partially hydrogenated soybean oil, less than 2% sodium caseinate (A milk derivative*) dipotassium phosphate, disodium phosphate, mono and diglycerides, natural and artificial flavors, cellulose gel, cellulose gum, color added, carrageenan.  Not a source of lactose. 

And in tiny print at the end: “Contains: Milk.”  Really?  Where?  Oh, you mean the less than 2% milk derivative.  I should have known.  How many times have my kids come running into the kitchen as I’m removing a batch of warm cookies from the oven and pleaded, “Mom, can we have some cookies and sodium caseinate derivative?”  “OK kids,” I’d laughingly say, “but don’t spoil your appetite!”

Rereading the bottle, I see that nowhere does it actually claim to be cream.  All it says is “Pumpkin Spice”.  The clever packagers know that my brain will infer the cream part, based on the picture on the cover, the shape of the bottle and its placement in the dairy section near other cream-ish products. 

*Interesting side note: have you noticed that dairy products now come in bottles that look like Mae West?  I read an article that manufacturers have switched to this package because research shows that bottles with a thinner waist are more attractive to buyers.  Apparently, we are so stupid that we equate a shapely bottle with a shapelier us.

The front of the bottle advises “Shake well” in little letters.  They should print a hazmat warning, instead.  If you get an unadulterated swallow of dipotassium phosphate, your head might balloon up like a blowfish.

It wouldn’t be so bad to be putting all these questionable chemicals in my body if it tasted good.  After all, we all know we’re taking our lives in our hands when we eat a Twinkie, but we’re willing to take the risk for the sake of the sugary, creamy goodness therein.  But this stuff doesn’t even taste like pumpkin.  It doesn’t taste like anything, really.  It just turns the coffee tan if you put enough in the cup.

I guess if I want real, natural pumpkin flavor in my coffee, I would need to cut open a jack-o-lantern, throw in a pot of java and swish it around.  Somehow, that doesn’t appeal.

I threw out the pumpkin spice creamer, a sadder but wiser gal.   I’ll be going back to plain, old, real cream.  It’s not very exotic, but at least I have a good chance of coming out of that encounter alive.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 55 Comments

Always A (Caption Contest) Bridesmaid, Never A Bride

Posted on October 6, 2011 by pegoleg

Waiting my turn....always waiting.

A girl dreams all of her life about that special day.  A day when every eye is upon her as all of her fantasies come true.

But dreams don’t always come true.   Some girls are left on the sidelines; the day never arrives.  What about them?  Can you imagine the pain?

I can.  Because I’m living it.

That is exactly what I experience by not winning Paul’s caption contest at The Good Greatsby.  Time and again I’ve tried.  I get to the finals – I’m in the running, but the cute, thin, popular kids swoop in and I’m out in the cold again.

“Dear Lord,” I cry to the heavens, “Am I destined to always be the caption contest bridesmaid; never a bride?”

Well, I did win that one time, but that barely counts. Continuing the wedding analogy, who hasn’t been married at least once?  I mean, in the immoral words of Madonna, being married only once nowadays is the same as being “Like A Virgin.”

All the finalists are qualified.  Their material is sound.  That’s not the issue.  It’s like I told Darla over at She’s A Maineiac, I don’t do this for glory or wealth.  I see it as a chance to finally exorcise the demons of my past.  The contest winner will gain the ability to see through walls.  Ever since I was a little girl, lying in my bed because of having polio and no arms, I wished and wished that I could see what was going on with the rest of the family in the living room. 

It’s not as if I expected her to throw the contest or anything because of my painful childhood – perish the thought!  I guess I just expected a little compassion for someone who may or may not be trapped in an iron lung machine.  But that’s just me.

So if you want to vote for one of the other choices, like Ms. Mainiac, please feel free.  It should have no bearing on your decision that she has a precious little monkey named Mr. Skittles that she keeps locked up in her parents’ dark, dank, spider-infested dungeon of a basement, and she only feeds him if she gets a coupon for Jalapeno Cheddar Pringles.  If I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’ – she told me so herself! 

All I ask is that you go over to The Good Greatsby’s caption contest http://thegoodgreatsby.com/caption-contest-october-2/ and vote your conscience.

Oh, and if you want to check out the rest of Greatsby’s (http://thegoodgreatsby.com/) and Mainiac’s (http://miraclemama.wordpress.com/) blogs while you’re there, along with the other caption finalists, that might be good too.  These folks are all pretty freaking funny.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , | 67 Comments

I Got Bubkes

Posted on October 4, 2011 by pegoleg

The pristine whiteness of the Word document mocks me as I sit, sweating and mumbling before my screen, because…

I got bubkes.

Maybe a change of scenery is in order.  It’s the technological sterility that has me blocked.  Yes, that’s it!  Curling up with pen and paper, the way it was meant to be, will surely inspire as it has for so many before me.  Something?  Anything?

I got bubkes.

All nine of the muses have turned their backs on me, not deigning to aim their inspirational arrows my way, so…

I got bubkes.

Crawling through a vast desert of creative aridity, I look for a drop, just a single drop to sustain me. The artistic wellspring has dried up.

I got bubkes.

American Pie lamented the day the music died, but where is my song?  Where is the ode commemorating the day the words died?

I got bubkes.

There is no inspiration; there are no words, no thoughts.  It has all been written before, and none of my pitiful efforts will ever make a particle of difference to the turning of this world.  There will be no blog post today.  Who knows if there will be again?  Because, as you might have surmised…

I can’t think of a damn thing to say. 

 

 

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 39 Comments

Spamalot – A Second Helping

Posted on September 30, 2011 by pegoleg

WordPress Anti-Spam Knights come riding in, faster than an African swallow!

If you mosey on back through my blog archives, you’ll find a little post entitled Earning The Respect of My Fellow WordPress Bloggers Has Me Humbled.  This was not a gushing self-tribute masquerading as modesty, as the title might suggest, but was me taking shots at every blogger’s friend, the comment spammer.

For the non-bloggers in my reading audience, let me explain that we each have a backstage area, or back lot as they call it in the movies, where all the behind the magic nitty-gritty takes place.  This is our dashboard.  On the back lot, you’ll find a little dugeon where WordPress quarantines comments that don’t pass the sniff test.  We might call this our spamalot. (Get it?  I’m continuing the back lot analogy with a pun.  Clever, no?) 

I still don’t quite get how these comments are supposed to help spammers, but I think it has something to do with dazzling readers with their erudition so they’ll check out the spammer’s blog and stay to buy stuff like computers and knock-off designer handbags.

A couple of times I’ve found legitimate comments from people I actually like had gotten caught up in the spam trap, and I had to come to their rescue.  I don’t get back to my spamalot very often, what with my busy schedule of winning awards, deep thinking and all whatnot, but I took a stroll over there today.   No blogging buddies drowning in spam quicksand, but I did discover something interesting.  It appears there’s a new breed of spammer in town.

One distinguishing feature of a typical spam comment is that it’s obvious the sender does not count English as their primary language.  That’s also the funniest feature.  This new breed has brushed up on their conjugation, and is getting more sophisticated in an effort to defeat WordPress’ ever-vigilant filters.

Here are some new comments, lifted directly from my spamalot:

Quotes about love:

  • Keith Bourdages says: “Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.” ~ H. L. Mencken
  • Theron Hagley offers:  “Love is that splendid triggering of human vitality the supreme activity which nature affords anyone for going out of himself toward someone else.” ~ Jose Ortega y Gasset

Interesting strategy.  Who doesn’t like reading inspiring quotes about love?  Don’t know what it has to do with selling Coach-ish purses, but this is quality spam right here. 

Birthday greetings:

  • Sudie Sokorai enthuses: A special Happy Birthday to my favorite person!

My birthday was last month.  But it was nice of her to think of me.  That’s more than some family members did.

General sucking up:

  • test a ipad 2 the keep it for free says: Good review! This is exactly the type of information that should be shared around the web. Sad on the Google for not ranking this article higher!
  • Reynaldo Amara says:  Thank you, I have been looking for information about this subject for ages and yours is the best I’ve located so far.

I have to agree with test a ipad; sad on the Google, indeed.  My only complaint is, why can’t real commenters be saying all this great stuff about me?

Criticism:

  • World War Fupa says:  The next time I read a blog, I hope that it doesnt disappoint me as much as this one. I mean, I know it was my choice to read, but I actually thought youd have something interesting to say. All I hear is a bunch of whining about something that you could fix if you werent too busy looking for attention.

I’m sure that this is a new comment spam tactic.  WordPress said it was spam, and they should know.  Couldn’t be an actual comment from a disgruntled reader.  I mean, it’s not as if I ever whine.  Everybody probably gets these digs at their writing ability, right? 

Right? 

If you are being plagued by spam, fellow bloggers, remember that the noble Knights of the WordPress Spam Table stand ready to protect you.  Just send up the signal (or click on this link  http://en.support.wordpress.com/unwanted-comments/), and they will slay all your spam dragons.  

Then you can live happily ever after.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 39 Comments

Designed To Sell This House Virgins International…Pick Me!

Posted on September 28, 2011 by pegoleg

I've found the beachfront cottage of my dreams!

Hello, my name is Peg, and I am an addict.  I’m a junkie.  If I go a day without a fix, I start to get shaky.

I’ve got a monkey on my back, and HGTV is the organ grinder.

I love those shows that follow someone in the process of buying or renting a new home.  They’ve got Property Virgins, For Rent, My First Place and the best; House Hunters and House Hunters International.  HGTV should totally pick me to be on one of these programs.  It doesn’t matter that I’m not currently in the market for a little getaway place in Budapest.   I’ve watched so many of these shows that I’ve got the patter down cold.

Here’s the kind of stuff house hunters always say:

“Now that we’ve got little Aiden* we just need more space!”

A concerned mom holds her 14-month-old baby and explains why their current 3000 square foot home, considered presidential palace-sized in most parts of the world, has become the equivalent of living in a shoe box with the addition of a 25-pound human.  The camera pans to a huge living room containing enough brightly colored plastic to indicate the place is either a daycare facility or a Toys R Us showroom.

“We have a strict budget of $400,000.”

Realtors and show hosts nod sagely in agreement at this statement.  They are rigorously trained not to laugh square in the faces of the earnest homebuyers.  The realtors know that, after these newbies are shown the hovels next to the town garbage dump that their budget will cover, they will beg, borrow and double-mortgage to get the $700,000 plum place that will soon be dangled in front of their eyes.

What I can’t understand is how all these 27-year-olds can afford a $400,000 first-time house?  (Can we say, irresponsible lending/borrowing practices?  Root cause of the collapse of the credit markets?)

“Oh my God!”

This is the go-to response, along with “Wow!” to every renovation reveal.  Those strictly trained not to take the name of the Lord in vain go with the “Oh my gosh!” version.  This is rarely heard on House Hunters, though.  Those folks are almost universally unimpressed.   I don’t know if they are instructed to find fault with every property, or if the show tends to pick people who are impossible to please.

“This place doesn’t have granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.”

This verdict is uttered in tones of deepest disgust when house hunters enter the offending kitchen.  They sound as if the realtor has offered them a poop sandwich.

If the kitchen is properly outfitted, “They have granite countertops and stainless steel appliances!” is squealed with self-satisfied glee.

The bottom line is, every home must have granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.  Period.  Any other design scheme will require the young couple to add $60,000+ to the budget for a studs-out remodel.  Or else young Caiden* will starve.

“This bedroom is pretty small.”

Almost every room smaller than an airplane hangar gets this response.   Braiden’s* room needs to accommodate the child’s media center, play stage and indoor horse-back riding ring so vital to his development.

How much room does a 25-pound human need for sleeping?

My daughters’ bedrooms are each 8’ by 10’.  I kid you not.  They have room for a twin bed, dresser, and a nightstand, thanks to some artful arranging, and both managed to squeeze friends in for sleepovers.  The girls somehow made it to adulthood without noticeable scarring due to bedroom deprivation.  Issues might arise during future therapy, though. 

“This is a great space for entertaining.” 

Everyone buying a house abroad is concerned about this.  Who are they going to entertain?  How many friends does the typical retiree from Louisville HAVE in Botswana?  At the end of the show, they always show the expats sitting around their new deck with a big group of people, toasting their new life.  You know these are rent-a-friends; they’re members of the local realtor’s family, brought in for the glasses-clinking wrap-up shot.

There isn’t a lot of worry about all your home friends dropping in on you, either.  The cost of the airfare should keep most of the riffraff off your doorstep.

“Our lives are so stressful, we need a relaxing place to get together as a family.”

How about your backyard?   I can’t understand families, especially with small children, buying a place thousands of miles away.  International travel is incredibly broadening, but how often is a family of 5 going to be able to fly to their Istanbul getaway for quality time together?  And you know Jayden* will expect to bring friends along.  The airfare is bound to cost more than the mortgage payments on the new place. 

“We just fell in love with this place.”

I haven’t been to most places on this earth, so I can’t talk about relative merits.  But who in their right mind would buy a vacation place in someplace like Nicaragua?  I’m sure the beaches are pristine and the people are swell, but the governments’ tendency to ignore the “I bought it, so it’s mine” concept of property ownership doesn’t make investing there look like a smart move.  How safe do you think your money is?  How safe do you think you are?  Better check with your State Farm agent to make sure “my beach house was nationalized by the state”, and “shot by drug lords” are covered perils.

If any HGTV talent-spotters are reading this, please pick me to be on your next house-hunting show.  I’m perfect for the job!  I’m thinking of a luxury beachfront cottage somewhere in the south of France.  All I’ll need is a loan of a couple $100,000 or so for a down payment.

*Side note: I wonder why Maiden hasn’t caught on along with its rhyming brethren as a popular kid’s name?  Seems the kind of name any parent would be thrilled to have their daughter live up to.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 51 Comments

Gentlemen Prefer…

Posted on September 26, 2011 by pegoleg

These gentlemen are eager to help a lady.

I’ve often heard women lament, “There just aren’t any gentlemen around anymore!”  Au contraire!  They’re still out there; you just have to look in the right place.  Might I suggest a strip joint?

Merriam-Webster Dictionary, my online, go-to source at http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary, provides the following definition:

Gentleman: c (1): a man who combines gentle birth or rank with chivalrous qualities (2): a man whose conduct conforms to a high standard of propriety or correct behavior

 Merriam-Webster also provides the following definition:

Gentleman’s Club: a nightclub for men that features scantily clad women dancers or stripteasers.

So that’s where all the gentlemen have gone! 

You can tell these patrons are true gentlemen by their behavior:

At a strip club, you’ll find guys shouting, “Whoo, hoo!  Shake those big ta-tas all up in my chivalry!” 

Patrons are eager to help a damsel in distress by letting her squirm around in their laps for 10 minutes, or however long it takes to relieve their distress.

If there are any drinks, or other noxious substances spilled on the floor, the typical patron is sure to lay his jacket over it to protect Tiff’nee and Bambi’s 6-inch spikes from being soiled. 

As in days of old, jousting is a favorite pastime for gentlemen.  In fact, management has to be constantly vigilant to make sure the gentlemen aren’t waving their staffs around in public.  The police frown on that.

The term gentleman used to embody the ideal qualities a woman looked for in a man.  It was a title that most men aspired to hold.  A Gentleman’s Club is the last place on earth you would ever find one.  So why are strip joints called this?  

This is a classic example of Euphemish, a concept I first defined in my post New Language Discovered! 

According to Peg-o-leg’s Dictionary of Real:

Euphemish noun \’yü-fə-mish\
      a: A language, or dialect, featuring the substitution of an agreeable or inoffensive expression for one that may offend or suggest something unpleasant.
      Synonyms: Sugarcoat, spin, mislead, lie
      Origin: from the Greek, euphēmos auspicious, sounding good.

Translating from Euphemish to English, we might come up with more accurate names like the following:

  • A Place For Scumbags to Act Like Pigs   
  • Desperate Women With Fake Boobs and Dead Eyes 
  • Meaningless Encounters with Paid Strangers Instead of Intimacy With A Real Woman

Hmmm.  That first title probably won’t rope the fellas in.  The second wouldn’t look too hot on a billboard.  And the last just won’t fit on a book of matches.  I guess if you’re in the “selling the sex sizzle” business, using the Euphemish title Gentleman’s Club is just smart marketing.

Ladies, next time you’re looking for a true gentleman, look no further than the dimly-lit, seedy little joint just on the outskirts of town.  If you go on Amateur Night, you might win $50!

Posted in Euphemish | Tagged , , , , , , , | 40 Comments

Biggest Loser: Family Edition. One New Pound

Posted on September 23, 2011 by pegoleg

Waiting for the fat logjam to break free.

The mansions on the main street in my hometown were built in the 1800s with money earned by Michigan lumber barons.  I was always fascinated by the stories of their exploits up north.  Which is why it is fitting that I would relive a little piece of that history with my summer weight loss program.  It has been a fat logjam.

For the better part of a month, I gained and lost the same 2 pounds.  It was as if I had a 2-pound belt that I would take off in the morning, put back on at night.  Take off on Wednesday, put back on come Saturday.  I went over this same territory for so long that when I would step on the scale, instead of showing my weight it would just say, “Why do you bother?”

My sister Mary Kay said she had the same problem in August, so it might have had something to do with the alignment of the moon and stars – probably the tides.  Definitely not related to eating out and partying too much.  Oh no.

Drum roll please…I finally lost a pound.  A new pound.  A never-before-removed-from-my-thighs pound finally slipped free of its fat moorings and went Wherever Fat Goes To Die. 

Halleluiah!   The fat logjam has been busted!

Things have progressed pretty well since that breakthrough.  Further fat logs have eased their way downriver, and hope springs eternal that I will be able to ride this out to the end.  Which end is defined as some date in October or November when I get together with my sisters.

I’ve heard some tales of good progress from the other contestants, but mostly a big, fat cricket chirping on the interwebz.  What does it mean?  Sandbagging?  Or logjamming?

I guess we’ll have to wait a few weeks to find out.  Wish me luck in the home stretch.

Posted in Biggest Loser: Family Edition | Tagged , , , , , | 42 Comments

I Didn’t

Posted on September 21, 2011 by pegoleg

Thanks to Whomever Interwebz for this cartoon of my mood.

Today…

I didn’t step over the pile of cat-gack on the stairs and leave the clean up for the next unwary morning traveler.  Nor did I yell at Beeby for eating the gack-inducing leaf, even though I specifically warned her last night that this would happen.

I didn’t gun my car to ramming speed and take out the person getting paid $75,000 plus benefits to hold the construction zone stop sign that was making me late for work.

I didn’t tell the sour-faced client complaining about his $2 rate increase where he could put the 200 pennies involved.

I didn’t ram my car into the back of the 16-year-old texting while driving, who cut me off in traffic, then stopped to turn left.

I didn’t shout, “Out of my way, you old bag!” at the elderly woman blocking my access to the shopping carts for 10 minutes while she arranged her cane and purse in her cart, and sifted through the contents of an ancient, black taffeta coin purse looking for a coupon.

I didn’t rip the speakers off the wall at the store and throw them through the plate glass window when they played “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” – twice.

I didn’t growl at the well-meaning dolt who ordered me to “Smile- it’s a beautiful day.”

I didn’t present a cattle prod and instructions on how to use it to the oblivious young mother whose screaming children were running unchecked through the store.

I didn’t shake my fist at the fickle sky, wearing its mantle of sunshiny, fluffy-clouded blueness despite my storm cloud mood.

I didn’t pig out at the all-you-can-eat Chinese lunch buffet, nor did I snag a large Cappuccino Heath Blizzard at Dairy Queen for desert.

I didn’t put my brain through my computer monitor, despite overwhelming evidence that the two were no longer able to work together to put words in anything remotely resembling a pleasing order.

I didn’t allow my car to head for the highway after work, though it took superhuman strength to keep the steering wheel from taking us to the road bound for somewhere else.  Anywhere else.

I didn’t blow off the class I had to go to tonight, despite the certainty that I was headed for 3 hours of mind-numbing boredom.

I didn’t shove the entire 64-count box of brightly colored crayons up the instructor’s nose when she told us, adults all, to use them to draw a picture showing what “diversity means to me”.  I also didn’t snort, roll my eyes or yell out “Hah!” when she gave the option to instead compose a poem or an interpretive dance on the same topic.  I am not even kidding about this part, God help me.

I didn’t demonstrate the efficiency of the household washrag by using it to painfully scrub my husband’s face after he neglected, yet again, to clean the food-besmirched kitchen counters.  This despite our ongoing feud with a determined band of hungry mice.

Today I woke up in a cloud of apathy, slid quickly down the rainbow of gloom and landed in a puddle of discontent.  I wallowed around in it all day.

Despite overwhelming provocation, I didn’t do any of the things I was sorely tempted to do, and avoided drowning anyone else in my huge pond of crabby.

I guess that means it was a pretty good day.

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 51 Comments

If Old Is Such A Lousy Place to Be, Why is Everybody Doing Their Damnedest To Get There?

Posted on September 20, 2011 by pegoleg

Next stop: Old Town

Everybody wants to live a long life.  Many of us work hard to do so.  We hit the treadmill to strengthen the heart, quit smoking to preserve the lungs, and eat stuff that tastes like hay to flush out the system.

The dichotomy is, nobody wants to get old.  Most of us work even harder at that.  Creams, potions, unguents, lotions, powders, pills, oils and tonics – there is no end to the substances we put in and on our bodies in a vain attempt to get/keep them looking young.

Maybe we need to remind ourselves that getting old is not all bad news.  It’s about gains and losses.  I’ve compiled a list:

With age you lose…                With age you gain…
Hearing                                     Wisdom
Memory                                    Senior discounts
Hair                                           Ear hair
Friends and loved ones
Eyesight
Independence
Bladder control

The losses are self-explanatory. Examining the gains…

  • Wisdom: As soon as you gain wisdom, you’ll probably lose your memory.  Gain erased. 
  • Senior discounts:  The places that offer them are inundated with 4pm diners.  They order the special, tip 50¢ and take everything on the table that isn’t nailed down: sugar packets, jam, crackers, butter, creamer, etc.  The restaurant loses its shirt and goes out of business.  Gain erased.
  • Ear Hair:  This is the only true gain.  It’s not typically considered much of a benefit.

OK, so getting old is mostly about loss.  Still, if you want to get to Long Life, this is the route you have to take:

Long Life is just west of Old.  Take the exit ramp going to Old, then stay on that road, through the twists and turns, ups and downs, all the way through town.  How do you know when you’ve arrived at Long Life?  When you’ve been on the Old Town Blacktop longer than most of the other travelers.

Unless you are a brooding teenage vampire, this universal truth (suitable for embroidering on a back pillow) applies:

The only way to get to Long Life is to go through Old. 

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , | 22 Comments