Blog #107

Next Monday is April Fools Day.  I do not celebrate April Fools Day – Carol says I am a fool every day.  A fool with no closets.  Our master bedroom has two closets.  Our second bedroom has one.  All three of those belong to my wife.  I can’t complain; I agreed to it at the wedding – For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and you don’t get any closets.  But I have adapted.  My underwear, socks and pajamas are in my nightstand, sweaters on the floor of the second bedroom, shoes in the study, belts behind the lettuce in the fridge.  And a lot of stuff in the hall storage closet across from our unit of the condo building.  Hey, Superman has his phonebooth, I have my storage closet in the hall.

Look, out in the hall!  It’s the pest control guy, it’s the painter -- no it’s Super Hubby, strange visitor from an interior unit.  And who, disguised as a silly old man, fights a never-ending battle with blousing, linen and shoes that don’t match his belt.  You think this is funny, don’t you?

Yes, an old man is a ridiculous thing.  Except to a little boy or a little girl.  When he acts silly or immature, they love it.  When he trips or sneezes or drops his cheeseburger on the floor, they laugh.  They don’t care if he gets lost.  They don’t care if he drives too slowly.  They don’t care what he wears.  To them he’s a big, happy teddy bear who tickles and tells stories and talks like a pirate and who never says no.  They don’t pick on him; they never criticize.  They just hug and love and enjoy every minute as if they knew they would not have him forever.

We think that our Poppy’s a king

He can tell funny stories and sing

We know, truth be told,

That he’s wrinkled and old

But to us he’s a wonderful thing.

Nowhere else does anybody think I’m funny and special and wonderful or cares if I have gum or candy in my pockets.

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling fine and generous as well.  Hey, can I borrow a twenty?  No?  You haven’t got any cash?  Well, who does?  I owed my daughter some money for entering her basketball pool, and she said for me to just send it on Venmo.  What’s Venmo?  Is that some new superfood like kale or chia seeds?  I tried some chia seeds once and they found a hairy growth on my tongue with the likeness of Chuck Schumer.  No, she explained to me, it was an electronic currency thing-a-ma-jiggy.  My children have Venmo and PayPal and Bitcoin and I don’t know what any of that means.  I asked her if sending her a check would be too medieval for her.

 Congresswoman Ilhan Omar recently said, “It’s all about the Benjamins, baby.”  Well, not any more apparently.  The only people with Benjamins are drug dealers, so now when she wants to be antisemitic, she’ll have to say, “It’s all about the Venmo.”

I actually have real money in my pocket.  When I go to McDonald’s, I pay for my Diet Coke with actual money – Washingtons, Lincolns, Hamiltons, Jacksons, Grants and, yes, even Benjamins.  Everybody else is swiping some kind of card over some kind of sensor and who knows!  I certainly don’t.  I’m sure one day they’ll make me switch to PayPal or BitShit or something.  I’ll save my cash and use it for bribing an Ivy League school.

Finally, the Mueller Report is out.  What a relief!  At last we can stop with this horrible argument that has divided our nation for two years – is it MILLER or MYUULER or MULLER?  I was a MYUULER guy myself.  Thank goodness that’s behind us, so we can move on to important issues, like whether we should stop eating eggs, little aspirins and hot tea.  Leave me alone!  If I had adhered to all the food warnings I’d heard in my life, I would have starved to death during the Nixon administration.

Take the eggs for example.  First they were the perfect breakfast, then only the yolks were good, then only the whites, then the whole thing was good, and now they say eggs are as dangerous as an English soccer fan.  Not surprisingly, I overheard one of my daughter’s chickens saying, “Give me a clucking break!”

Here’s your math lesson for the week.  If you earned a dollar a second, that’s $60 a minute, $3,600 an hour, $86,400 a day, $31,536,000 a year, $315 million dollars (roughly) in a decade!  You still couldn’t afford Mike Trout, but you could probably get your kid on the UCLA soccer team.

This world is getting too crazy, isn’t it?  Parents are bribing college athletic coaches; Michael Avenatti is bribing Nike; Boeing aircraft are grounded and Jussie Smollett has bought his way out of a 16-count indictment for $10,000.   It’s hard for me to cope.  I need to get away.  Maybe I should take a Viking cruise.

Last week was the first day of Spring.  There is some disagreement, however, as to which day it was.  The people on television say it was Wednesday the 20^th, but I really don’t care about them anymore.  To me the seasons change on the 21^st.  I am a scientist and I understand the Vernal Equinox and why it occurred on the 20^th, but I have so few anchors left from the ancient days of my youth that I’m hanging on to the 21^st.  Cash is no longer acceptable, the Boy Scouts have changed their name, Rice Krispies are organic, Pluto is no longer a planet and my grandchildren have never heard of Princess Summerfall Winterspring.  We have to have something solid and unchangeable from our past, don’t we?  So I’m sticking with the 21^st.  Happy Spring!

Ok, I’m done.  My rage and disappointment have tired me out.  Stay well, count your blessings and believe with me, Brothers and Sisters – Pluto is still a planet!  I’ll see you next week.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com