I once had a conversation with a guy who played rec league basketball against me.  At one time, this guy had been a pretty good player.  But now, he was in his mid-fifties.  Age and attrition had relegated him to the position of fading role player.  This is a position hard enough to swallow if one is a pro athlete.  If one is playing at the YMCA with a bunch of fat guys, it is infinitely harder.  Anyway, we were having a couple of beers and this guy said to me that “there is nothing good about getting older.”

As I was getting older myself, I found this comment a little disturbing.  Unfortunately, as I have continued to age (Jason Long is no longer young?  What??!!!) I have found his remark deeply unsettling.  For, all evidence pointed to the truth of it.  This was certainly indisputable from a physical standpoint.  My hair was graying and receding, I couldn’t jump as high nor run as fast nor keep from getting hurt.  Disaster.  And despair.  Was middle age merely the beginning of a slow and steady slide of deterioration?  What about those 8o year olds who run marathons?  Couldn’t I be one of them at least?  Like I say, this was all very dispiriting.

But I was looking at aging all wrong.  With age, comes a kind of freedom not available to the youthful.  I can easily go to the grocery store in my flannel shirt, hair askew, shoes untied, and no one bats an eye.  Why would they?  I’m heading toward fifty and I don’t own a luxury car.  I even threw away my comb.  Pow.  Pow.

More importantly, I am free to express opinions as I see fit.  Not that I didn’t do so before.  But when you are 25, nobody wants to hear it.  You are a smartass or a “radical.”  When you are 45, you are irascible or hardened.  Plus, you are beyond the age – for the most part- where a young person can justifiably accost you.  For example, say some college age guys have been drinking and are being obnoxious.  I can just tell them to “shut the hell up” and “show some respect.”  Or I can always scowl and use the old “there are kids here for Chrissakes.”

Hahahaha.  The funny thing is I don’t care about the kids at all.  I’m old enough to know they are going to learn to swear.  In fact, I encourage them to do so.  It is one of the things you can enjoy at any age.  I also don’t care if they show anybody any respect.  Watch the people running for President.  Respect is passe.  Screw you.  See what I mean?  Anyway, I yell at young people just because it is hilarious.  They don’t know what to do.  I can see they want to make some witty retort, but I have them off balance.  So they just stalk angrily away, muttering under their breath.  Pow!  Flummoxed Millenials.

The best thing is that I will only get older.  This fact will only further embolden me.  In retirement, I plan on attending every meeting I can.  School board, PTA, Chamber of Commerce, Elks Club, Young Republicans.  It doesn’t matter.  And when I go to these meetings, I plan to always speak up in a negative fashion.  The best thing is that since I won’t have any skin in the game, I can always be negative.  Screw your school referendum.  I hate small business.  Children should be put to work in the mines instead of learning all sorts of useless information from their teachers.

Don’t look at me that way.  In my day, young people had respect for their elders.

I am reading Into Thin Air.  It’s a book about an ill-fated expedition up Mount Everest.  Actually, I am not to the ill fate part yet.  Right now the book is merely ominously foreboding.  There is a lot of diarrhea and headaches and stories of Sherpas who died because their lives aren’t as valuable as rich, white people.  As you can see, it is not an uplifting tale.  It’s more in the Folly Of Man vein.

Anyway, while the story is interesting and well-written I know what’s going to happen.  That is because the same thing happens in every mountain climbing tragedy story.  People take too much time to get to the summit due to stupidity, inexperience, greed, pride, ignorance, general slowness etc., and then they get killed on the way back.  For the most part, their demise comes about due to exposure.  But sometimes they die more spectacularly.  Maybe they fall into a crevasse or they are crushed by a giant glob of ice.  Or they merely trip and fall.  This doesn’t sound too deadly until you realize that they then hurtle down 3000 vertical feet of mountain at about 80 miles per hour.  And faces, dear reader, are a poor substitute for brakes.

Enterprising American that I am, I have a book idea that will spice up the Mountain/Man’s Folly/Senseless Death tale.  Actually, I have two ideas.  The first would be called “Death Zone,” in reference to the space above 26000 feet.  Except, in my story, it isn’t the lack of oxygen that gets you.  It is the family of Yetis.  In this tale of Himalayan Horror, Yetis lurk in the shadowy recesses of the mountain, patiently waiting for the opportunity to tear unsuspecting mountaineers to pieces.  I suppose they should probably eat people, too.

The second movie would be called “Sherpa.”  As you may know, Sherpas are the local mountain people well known for carrying tourists and their belongings up and down Everest (and other mountains).  They are very helpful.  But not in my movie.  They are actually a gang of crazed killers- kind of like a Wrong Turn with a Buddhist twist.  They should probably eat people as well.  “I’m thinking of going out for Japanese tonight, Tenzing,” says Dorap Sherpa with a murderous gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t know, Dorap.  Maybe we should try a little French cuisine.  Hey, Pierre?”

“MMMMMPPHHHH,” says Pierre.  Or maybe that should be “LE MMMMMPPHHH.”  I don’t know.  The only French I’ve ever studied has been in Russian novels.  Actually, I just skipped over it and tried to guess what it meant by context.

Regardless, while neither of these movies are the second coming of Casablanca, I do feel they have a market.  The Syfy Channel for example.  Someone call Ian Ziering and Tiffany to see what they are up to.  Also, I’d like to cast Danny Bondaduce as the obnoxious American mountain guide.  He could try to make a move on a transvestite Sherpa, only to be killed by a pickaxe to his man region.

And while his lifeblood oozes from his crotch, we hear David Cassidy singing “I think I love you….”  Or the Sherpa could say, “I love Barry Williams…”

The possibilities are endless.

 

I saw the new Star Wars movie the other day.  Eh.  I give it a B minus.  The acting was far superior to episodes 1-3 (that kid who played Anakin was the best they could do?), but the story was pretty pedestrian.  Plus, I like my villains to be a little more formidable.  Han Solo’s kid kind of looks like a young Marilyn Manson- sans makeup and pointy breasts, of course.  I think it’s hard to make angular people look mean.  Unless you are in a Western.

In other Star Wars news, I hear the actor who played Jar Jar Binks does not want to reprise his character for fear of ruining the next two movies.  Wise choice, Jar Jar.  You were even worse than little Ani.  They should have had your character attempt to assassinate Anakin.  I don’t know why.  I’m not that far yet.

Anyway, so Jar Jar tries to kill Anakin.  Of course, Jar Jar is a relatively harmless amphibian/Rastafarian so Anakin easily kills him by utilizing his emerging Jedi powers.  Then, he skins Jar Jar and makes boots.  Binks Boots, if you will.

Or Jar Jar just takes a stray shot from a Storm Trooper’s blaster.  And then the Storm Trooper skins him and makes boots.  Either way, so long as Jar Jar dies.

Speaking of skinning people, Ted Cruz kind of reminds me of the aliens from the show “V.”  If you have forgotten the story line, aliens arrive in large, looming motherships.  They appear to be benign, even friendly.  But, they have a sinister plan.  This is because they are really reptilian creatures disguised in human skin suits.  And they need us for food!  And sometimes companionship as one of the aliens breeds an Earthling female.  This most unnatural coupling results in a half man, half alien monstrosity- who subsequently saves Earth from his father’s reptilian compadres.  We win again!

Anyway, Ted Cruz certainly is wearing a human skin suit.  I think his wife is as well.  But I don’t want to start any unsubstantiated rumors.  Anyway, somebody should take a peek behind the moon just to make sure there isn’t an alien Armada massing there.

Ted Cruz could also be the actor who played Jar Jar Binks.

He probably is.

Far be it for me to criticize other people, but why do you continue to put paper toweling in the toilet?  From a purely logistical standpoint, this makes no sense.  Have you no spatial awareness?  Paper toweling does not typically reside in a bathroom stall.  Someone has to get up in the middle of their business, walk to the paper towel dispenser, and then return with said towels.  Then, after using these towels (for purposes I’d rather not think about) this towel-getter then tries to flush the paper towels down the toilet.  Newsflash.  They don’t go.  And if they try to go, then someone else will have to fish them out of the toilet.  Not me, of course.  I’d rather declare the toilet condemned than take on such a distasteful task.  Being a janitor is far from all glory.

Also, is it really that hard to throw paper toweling (I’m talking properly utilized paper toweling, not whatever goes on in the stall) into the garbage?  Go into any public bathroom.  There are paper towels next to the sink, on the floor, sticking out from the ceiling tiles.  It is a scandal.  Certainly, it helps to explain the voting patterns in this country.  Somebody should start shooting these paper towel miscreants.  I’m sure enforcing bathroom etiquette is in the Constitution somewhere.  Right next to the part where gay people should be stoned to death.

The bathroom should be a place of peace, a sanctuary against the hustle and bustle of daily living.  How I love to sit in the bathroom and read.  My thoughts wander to pleasant subjects in a time that is all my own.  Yet, this reverie is not merely idle.  And that is the beauty of the bathroom.  It is one of the few places a person can multi-task and yet not feel harried.

Unless one of my stepsons is knocking on the door so that he can ask me whether I think Lebron is better than Michael Jordan.  The answer, goddammit, is “No.”  Jordan was quicker and a better defender.  How many times do I have to answer the same questions?  And, yes, the 80’s was better because they let the players fight.  But it scared suburban white people so they made them stop.  Suburban white people ruin everything.  Look at rap music if you don’t believe me.

I think I’m going to use some fairy tales to explain to these children the stepchild/stepparent dynamic.  Leave me alone or I will abandon you in a witch-infested woods.  Green witches, like the one from Wizard of Oz that scares you so much.

HEEE HEEE HEEEEE HEEEEEEE!!!  Come here, little boy.  I’ve got a punishment for you.  Guess what it is?  Give up?  I’m going to eat you.  You should have listened when Jason told you Brett Favre wasn’t as good as Aaron Rodgers.

But first you can clean out my toilet.  Some idiot stoppered it up with paper towels.  It was probably Glenda.

Good witch, my ass.

I was watching a horror movie the other day and I got to wondering.  What do these crazed murderers do with the majority of their time?  For example, take the inbred cannibals from the Wrong Turn series.  Sure, they can run around killing and eating people a few times a year, but that can take up maybe a few weeks.  And I am inflating this number for torture and unnatural acts.  Still, these hill people have a good 48-49 weeks on their hands.  Of course, some of that time is spent committing incest and sharpening their machetes.  Even so, there is a lot of their lives that remain obscured from the moviegoer.

I wonder if any of them paint?  Perhaps they favor landscapes or pictures of birds.  After all, they spend all of their time in the backwoods.  It would stand to reason that the subject of nature would be dear to their hearts.  They may also have other, more practical, hobbies such as crocheting or whittling.  Who knows?  I guess I would just like a little more insight into the inner lives of these characters.  It is easy to see them as one dimensional, cannibalistic torturers.  But they have hopes and dreams and an aesthetic instinct.  At our core, we are all just people.

In the same vein, do you ever wonder what happens to kids after the movie is over?  Specifically, I am talking about Eliot from ET.  I am glad ET escapes back to his planet.  Good for him.  Eliot, however, is left on Earth holding the proverbial bag.  I mean, the government isn’t going to just let him off the hook.

Not long after ET escapes, Eliot is taken into custody- say, Guatanamo Bay.  There he is held for years, questioned and probed and drugged in an attempt to squeeze every bit of alien information from his adolescent brain.  Years later, he is released back to society.  Unable to cope, he has problems with drugs and alcohol.  He tells and retells his story of ET and his subsequent incarceration, leading to a stint in the Psych ward.  He is released once again, only to fall back into the same cycle of self-destructive behavior.  Rather than being put into an institution, Eliot goes into hiding into the Appalachian Mountains.  Alone in a cabin in the woods, he finally makes peace with himself by taking up cannibalism and incest (I forgot to mention that his little sister was equally traumatized and went with him).

This is called bringing the story together.  Double Pow.

There are a lot of commercials on TV for erectile dysfunction.  I have a lot of smart things to say about that.  The only problem is that I am a little superstitious.  At least, I worry about irony.  It is everywhere, lurking and waiting for an opportunity to pounce on the unsuspecting bigmouth.  You know what would be some awesome irony?  If Donald Trump was assassinated by a redneck hillbilly who was carrying in a newly minted Gun-Approved Zone.  Hahahaha.  I love revenge fantasies.  Greatest revenge fantasy movie of All-Time?  The aptly named “Payback” with Mel Gibson and Marie Bello.

Marie Bello could probably help some of these men with their ED.  Except for the fact that she is a lesbian.  There’s irony again.  Looming bastard.

Speaking of uprisings (and hillbillies), a gang of armed vigilantes has taken over a bird sanctuary in Oregon.  It would be ironic if they contracted bird flu and died.

Anyway, I digress.  It seems these guys want to use public land as they see fit.  Some of the things they see fit to do are commit arson, graze cattle illegally, and poach deer- just for reference.  And this gang of self-styled Freemen is willing to shoot it out in order to protect their rights.  Ironically, these rights interfere with the rights of others.  But hillbillies don’t understand irony.  That is why they continue to vote Republican.

Another irony in this armed standoff is that the land in dispute was actually stolen from the Paiute Indians.  I’ll bet if you’re an Indian you probably have had enough of irony by now.  I know that I would have.  But I am getting a little sensitive in my old age.  I suspect it is all of those ED commercials.  Watch a football game once.  There is an ED commercial every time somebody gets a first down.  “First Down!  Now, speaking of down, there are a lot of men out there….”

You know, Catholics had it right all along.  As sex is only for procreation, it doesn’t affect any Catholic who is too old to have any children.  Anyway, if you don’t try, you can’t fail.

If you can’t accept failure, you can always lay siege to a wildlife sanctuary.  This is America.

With the New Year on the way, it is time to make some resolutions.  So, with no further adieu, I will quit writing French words.  Non sequitur.  That is Latin.  And makes sense when considering the previous sentences as a group.

Anyway, my first resolution is to quit using the word pusillanimous.  This is an easy one as I have seldom, if ever, used the word pusillanimous.  It frightens me.

I resolve also to avoid participating in Gay Pride parades.  This is not because I have anything against gay people.  It is just that I am a terrible dancer.  Like really bad.  Though not as bad as my dad or brother.  They dance like the Tin Man having an epileptic seizure.  If they only had some rhythm.  Da da da da da dum.

My next resolution is to stop stereotyping others.  This does not apply to the Jews.  Quit hoarding my money and making bad movies.  In fairness, I still haven’t seen the newest Star Wars.  That may change my mind about the movie thing.  Paul Newman is my favorite actor, however.  Best movie?  The Verdict.  “We live in a cynical world.  But today you are the law.”  He also made Cool Hand Luke.  “Nobody can eat fifty eggs.”

I do not resolve to quit quoting movies in the next year.  Or ever.  “Somethin’ ta’ do.”  A little trivia for you related to that last quote.  What crime did Cool Hand Luke commit to end up in the workhouse?  Answer:  He was cutting the heads off of parking meters.  As I say, I mean to educate as well as entertain.

I am also resolve to not shoot heroin this year.  I have a great fear of needles and prison.

I also resolve to quit stating the obvious.  The Republicans can’t win.  There is always next year, I suppose.  I rhyme with Lump.  I rhyme with Lump.  My hair is bad.  I rhyme with Lump.  At least people figured out that Ben Carson is insane.

I further resolve to not be insane in the upcoming year.  At least not in a way that is legally actionable.

Finally, I resolve to be a good person in the next year.  Hahahaha.  Fail.  I don’t resolve that at all.  What are you?  Stupid?  Gullible, at the very least.  I hate good people.  What did they ever do?  The Nazis got us to the moon.

My next resolution is to prove that the moon landing was a hoax.

This is the final resolution.  Pow.