Blog #138

I received a lot of comments saying that last week’s blog was dark or depressed or hateful.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Maybe I was a little more bitchy than normal, but, after all we’ve been through, if I can’t be bitchy with you, who can I?  And hateful?  I don’t hate anybody.  Well, maybe a few people, but they’re the same people you hate too.  They include:

·        The person in front of you driving too slowly

·        Anybody who works for your cable company

·        The person behind you driving too fast

·        Your proctologist (Dr. Asshole)

·        The guy who invented the child-proof caps for pill bottles that none of us old people can open.

Otherwise, I’m as mellow as Jell-O.  Except maybe for some stress.  Has your doctor ever told you to avoid stress?  Dr. Heart once told me that very thing.  “Ok, Doc,” said I, “I just put three kids through college, the real estate market is tanking, my health-care premium just tripled and my golf game sucks.  So, sure Doc, I’ll avoid stress.  But can you somehow convince stress to avoid me?”

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling fine and unstressed.  My nine-year old grandson plays on a soccer team sponsored by a Catholic School.  The Catholic Church has a long and rich tradition of supporting soccer in St. Louis, so there are many such teams.  Last week his team played a team from another Catholic school, and of course there was a prayer before the game.  It was my boy’s turn to say the prayer, and he asked me to write one for him.  It was stressful, but I did it.  Here it is:

Lord, you restoreth my soul

Salvation in each holy scroll

I’ve come here today

To kneel down and pray

Please let me score one God-Damned goal.

Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways His goals to score, because we lost.  I guess the other team had a better prayer.

Aren’t you glad we got the limerick over with early?  I am.  It gives me more time to concentrate on lifting your spirits and tickling your fancy.  I hope that I do from time to time.  My spirits need a little lifting actually.  Sometimes I feel lower than Jill Stein’s poll numbers and as useless as a snake with a typewriter.  I can’t explain it.   Maybe it’s the shortening daylight or the political landscape or Dennis Quaid’s engagement to a woman 40 years younger than him.

Now don’t get me wrong -- I certainly am not jealous.  I have a wonderful, smart and beautiful wife (don’t mention this to anyone).  Besides, what would I do with some Gen Z chick?  Twitter?  Instagram?  Watch her count my wrinkles?  Let her teach me how to use Netflix?  Maybe I could let her cut my pills in half.  Just the fact that I have to ask the question shows that we would have as much in common as Mother Teresa and Harvey Weinstein.

And why do we have to cut our pills in half?  In 2018, the top ten drug companies took in 427 billion dollars.  With all that money, can’t they make the pill in the size my doctor prescribes?  Apparently not.  So we have to sit there, with reading glasses, fitting the little thyroid pills into a miniscule slot and plunging the blade down to cut them in half like some ancient and near-sighted sushi chef.  Even if we’re careful, most of them get flipped onto the floor or in the toilet.  Instead of taking half a pill every day, why don’t we just take one every other day?

I’ll tell you why.  Because we won’t remember!  We can’t remember our passwords, our next doctor’s appointment or our youngest grandchild’s name.  We can’t remember who was with Kelly Ripa before Ryan Whatshisname.  We can’t remember – well, I forgot.  So how are we supposed to remember to take a pill every other day?

Here’s another thing that stresses me out – getting dressed.  I once read a humorous line that said, “If the Fashion Police really existed, you’d be serving a life sentence.”  What do they mean if ?  The Fashion Police does exist.  It sleeps next to me every night and then, every morning it looks at me like I was a duck with two bills.  I shiver when I get dressed – not because I’m cold, but because I’m frightened that the socks don’t match the belt or the socks don’t match the shoes or the socks don’t match each other or that there’s linen somewhere.

Some days, she tells me, “If you’re planning to leave the house dressed like that, here’s my divorce attorney’s number.  Give her a call.”  Other days, when she’s feeling charitable, she’ll just look at me and say, “Did the mirror break?”

MOVIE REVIEW:  I grew up with Rock ‘n Roll, so my favorite female singers were not Ella Fitzgerald or Peggy Lee or Sarah Vaughn.  My two favorites were Karen Carpenter and Linda Ronstadt.  There’s a new documentary about Linda Ronstadt’s life, and it’s packed with her gorgeous face and magnificent voice.  The face and the music and the nostalgia of tunes from the 60s – well, I had tears in my eyes.  It seems like I cry at a lot of movies.  Maybe I was crying because I didn’t want it to end.  See it!  Linda Ronstadt is still alive and suffering from Parkinson’s. 

Happy Halloween, by the way!  May your tricks be clever and your treats be fat-free.  Are you ready for the rush of little Halloweeners?  We live in a condo building and don’t get any tricksters, so tonight we will be as lonely as Matt Lauer’s booking agent.  Maybe I’ll grab a broom and go to a Halloween party as Joy Behar.  (I used that last week, but I liked it.)  Enjoy your spooky self, stay well, count your blessings and avoid stress.

But don’t avoid me.  I’ll be back next week.  Be there or I’m hiding your Halloween candy.  And don’t forget to set your clocks back Saturday night.  If you don’t, next week’s Oyster will come an hour late.  Or is it early?

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com