Old Geezer Reqium

Old Guy Requiem

  I’m an old guy. I’m not nuts about bein’ an old guy but when you consider the only alternative is kicking the oxygen habit and taking a permanent dirt bath it really doesn’t seem that God awful after all. A lot of people lie about their age and being an entertainer it’s just good business sense to do so (as long as you can pull it off without people bursting into uncontrollable fits of laughter). But with the advent of more social media sources than we have humans on earth it’s almost impossible to get away with it. Besides there’s something liberating about telling someone, “That’s right I’m 58 and that means if I kick your ass you look weak, and you kick mine you look like a bully. Now get lost!”

  Being old doesn’t mean I want to do old things. I don’t want to see the wallet sized pictures of those putrid, pint sized video addicts you call kids. That means when you ask, “Do you want to see my kids?” and I answer “God no, Get the frick away from me!” I’m actually serious. Don’t whip out your wallet faster than a character from a John Ford western and start droning on about how little Norbert is now in third grade and is learning to play the twelve string roona. I also don’t give a rats _ss that your daughter made all state in anything and is traveling to Columbia next summer with Raul the 35 year the pool boy to study Mayan forensic theology. I will smile politely, nod my head in approval and mumble appreciative trite phrases like “Oh yeah,” “That’s great,” and “Why sure,” that don’t really mean anything at all.  But my eyes will be glazing over and I’m actually thinking, ‘That mini, imitation of a human being is no doubt gonna grow up to be just as frickin’ boring as you are! The kids going to some day assume the intellectual vampire mantel that you’ve established and go around sucking the life out of every conversation she accidentally stumbles into.’

  I don’t want to play seemingly never ending card games with Lester and Dottie. I don’t want to sit in front of the TV and bounce up and down like a coked up lab monkey while I play along with ‘The Price is Right’. I have no desire to call younger relatives and hang those unlucky bastards on the line while their dinner burns and they envision their life slowly flashing by. I refuse to go to the local casino and play bingo while sitting unbearably close to someone with the same ‘old man’ b.o as I’ve got. Oh and by the way, splashing on more of that last case of ‘Hai karate’ you squirreled away back in 1978 just isn’t cutting it.

  I can’t stand it when some twenty something college-frau drop out strolls past me and automatically assumes she’s so hot I could give a damn. Are you really so totally ego absorbed that you think somebody with triple your life experience wants to sit around and hear your theories on lip gloss, panty liners, and ‘The Hunger Games’ just to get in your overpriced, pants? Unless your I.Q’s seven times your age, keep your ego infested, non-thinking ass walkin’.

  I’m sick of hearing other old bastards say things like, “Well ya know 70 is the new 30.” To who, an 80 year old? Stop kidding yourself. All the “Just for Men”, lipo-suction, teeth whitening, chest waxing, colon cleansing, girdle wearing products in the world can’t come close to God’s plan to completely demoralize, and humiliate you just when you’re at your weakest. Look at the animal world. When the lion gets old you can sharpen his fangs and gel his main till he looks in his prime but the younger lions are still gonna kill him and steal his wife. ( I realize that’s a bit extreme but I wanted to show Gods wonderful plan aimed at keeping you from showing up at a dance club with your shirt unbuttoned and a new tattoo on that turkey neck of yours).

  Anyhow I think the point is, you can stave off reality a few years at most but since you have to go down with the ship ya might want to do it with a shred of dignity (that’s apparently how they measure dignity, by the shred) and not clinging to the smokestack crying uncontrollably like John Boehner at an awards dinner.

  Old is an attitude. I have a lot of beer-bellied friends who wonder around scratching their _ss in public and talking about how good ‘their’ music was as compared to “that crap they play today”. There’s a name for these people… highly annoying! If you want to be old at forty-five or so that’s great. God bless your constantly complaining _ss, but please don’t drag me into it. I actually enjoy living and don’t stay up late worrying about what the Federal governments doing to the social security money I’m obviously never gonna see.

  Before I set myself up to appear to be a clone of every other old glitch head wondering around mindlessly let me say there are a lot of things I’m thankful for. My musical tastes aren’t confined to oldies and country. I can get into everything from jazz, to rap, if the music’s good. I don’t go to bed at 8:pm and wake up at 5 in the morning to go to the coffee shop / geezer complain-a-thon. I actually have a life that spans normal business hours. I still have my own teeth, my own hair, my own free will, and everything below my waist still operates as directed. I don’t sit at home hoping my grandkids will stop by. (Mainly because I don’t have any of those little doughnut gumming b_stards to annoy me). But even if I did, I have other things to do.

  Finally (and it couldn’t come quick enough) old people, or as I like to call us; post puberty’s on parade should conduct ourselves with just a minimum of class and in return maybe we’ll get a last ditch attempt at respect from those around us. Wouldn’t it be nice to go out with that spec of dignity you managed to avoid the other 95% of your life?