Blog #137

Live one day at a time.  Enjoy life to the fullest.  Wake up and smell the roses. 

If not now, when?

Bullshit!  All those phrases were invented by self-indulgent flower-sniffers who have relied on someone else to pay their bills while they enjoyed life to the fullest by smelling the damned roses.  We, on the other hand, the hard-working slobs of the world –we, “who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs,” have worked all our lives smelling exhaust fumes in order to take care of our families and to subsidize with our taxes and our charity the tired and huddled masses.  Live one day at a time?  You’ll starve by the end of the week.

Ok, I feel better now.  Sometimes you just have to let your brain explode for a second or two.  Sorry.  The quote about living a hidden life was by George Eliot.  Hey, any girl who lived in the 19^th Century and called herself George is alright by me.  Nowadays, who knows?  My granddaughter, Charley, has girlfriends named Jo, Ronnie, Danny and Sam.   I believe they do that to intentionally confuse old people.

Ok, back to writing.  That’s what I do best, you know.  Ask me to write a poem, a song, a speech?  No problem.  Ask me to speak in front of a crowd?  I’m comfortable.  Ask me to check out at Kohl’s?  I turn into an uncoordinated, blithering fool with the Intelligence Quotient of a pot sticker.   Your item, Sir, was $60.00 but it was marked 40% off, plus you have a 30% off sticker which is calculated after we take the 40% off.  And you get $20 dollars in Kohl’s cash which you can use anytime – but not today.

It all makes me feel like I’m talking to the Cheshire Cat.  “We're all mad here,” said the Cat.   I never shop at Kohl’s without my wife.  It makes perfect sense to her somehow, but it makes me feel as if I had fallen into an Abbott and Costello routine.  What’s in Men’s Clothing?  No, What’s in Kitchenware.  It’s almost as bad as dealing with your cable company.  I want to drop HBO.  Yes, Sir, you can do that but it will cost you more money because you will no longer be on a package.  Curiouser and curiouser.  I wish I could just make the cable people talk to the Cheshire Cat.

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and not quite as confused as I am.  Do you have all your Halloween shopping done?  You’d better hurry!  Pretty soon dangerous ghouls and insane monsters will be roaming the streets.  No, I’m not talking about the next Democratic Debate.  I’m talking about Halloween.  They used to give us dimes for Halloween when I was a kid.  We’d collect them for a charity called March of Dimes, and I guess that was a fine gesture, even though we were nine and hoping for a caramel-covered apple on a stick like Mrs. Steinberg used to give us.  What a disappointment!  It’s as if you were expecting to have lunch with Michelle Obama and Sarah Huckabee Sanders showed up.

I can’t wait to go Trick ‘r Treating.  At first, I decided to wear a blonde wig and stripes and go as Felicity Huffman.  I couldn’t find a wig, so I decided to wear nothing but a trench coat and a whip and go as Matt Lauer.  Then I thought about putting on blackface and going as the Prime Minister of Canada, but that might be too edgy, so I decided to go as the Tooth Fairy.

But what should I wear?  Is the Tooth Fairy a man or a woman or some other gender?  And what difference does it make any more?  Hey, I’m in favor of dressing like you want, acting like you want and loving who you want, but – I don’t know, it’s getting so confusing.

Your sex I can no longer guess

By whether you’re wearing a dress

Cause now the Tooth Fairy

Is really named Gary

And Santa Claus has PMS.

Maybe I’ll just grab a broom and go as Joy Behar.

In the last few paragraphs I have managed to offend men, women, gays, straights, Catholics, dentists, people who like the Democratic candidates, people who like Sarah Sanders or Joy Behar, and the entire March of Dimes.  About now, I’m probably as popular as Bill Cosby. On the slim chance that anybody is still reading this, let’s move on.

Sometimes I think it’s already Halloween.  The other day, at a fast-food restaurant, I was waited on by a young woman who had so many tattoos, she looked like the funny pages and so many metal rings and piercings, she looked like a suicide bomber – after the explosion.  Maybe it wasn’t even a woman.  I’m so confused

MOVIE REVIEW:   Downton Abbey.  If you watched Downton Abbey on TV (the telly as they say in Jolly Old), then it’s a must.  You’ll love it.  If you didn’t, you’ll be lost and confused.

I just heard my wife talking on the phone with one of her friends.  The friend must have had a juicy tidbit to relate, because I heard the phrase “just between you and me.”  I had to smile, because I know what that means between girls.  Just between you and me translates into you’re the 19^th person I have told since breakfast and I’m only up to F in my address book.

In case you think this whole blog was about sunshine and lollipops, now comes the bad news.  You really have no idea if your doctor is competent.  You have no idea if your therapist is competent.  Or your hairdresser, dentist, lawyer or garbage collector.  But scariest by far is that you have no idea if the person driving in the other direction is competent or sober or awake.  Have a nice day.

Well, at least you know that the silly old man who writes to you every Thursday morning is supremely and utterly competent.  Stay well, count your blessings and your Halloween candy and remember: this is just between you and me.

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com