Blog #264                                March 31, 2022

 

I am reading a book about the United States Merchant Marine.  In it, I learned that the phrase used to describe the captain of a Merchant Marine vessel is the “undisputed master of any gross tons upon oceans”.  I, in my own home, am the undisputed master of precisely nothing.  Last week I dressed up to go out for dinner with friends.  Nice shirt, sweater, slacks, two shoes that matched.  I presented my sartorially splendid self to my wife who instantaneously forbade me to leave the house

 

What?  Forbidden? What kind of pusillanimous worm does she think I am?  I’m a man! I can do what I want and no woman is going to push me around.

 

Not one of the above thoughts actually entered my head.  I just said, “Yes, Dear” and marched my 54-year-married and highly trained rear-end back to my alcove that my wife lovingly calls “your closet” to change every piece of my wardrobe.  But I still think I can do whatever I want any time I want.  Can’t I, Honey?

 

Pusillanimous is a good Weekly Word.  It means showing a lack of courage or determination.  Well, she does seem to get her way more than I do.  Like watching the Academy Awards.  I refused but she insisted.  The first thing that attracted my attention was a Red-Carpet interview.  The interviewer was a gorgeous, curvaceous, sexy, dark-skinned beauty in a low cut, revealing bombshell of a gown.  His name was Laverne.  Or maybe her name was Laverne.  I’m not sure.  How am I supposed to know?  Do I need a program?  I have no intention of being judgmental here.  I mention it merely to reveal how obsolete my generation has become.  In fact, I’m beginning to feel as obsolete and useless as Will Smith’s Anger Management Coach.  I hear Will has signed to do a new autobiographical movie called The Day My Career Stood Still.  I also heard that after the Academy Award show, Chris Rock hired a bodyguard to protect him.  The bodyguard’s name was Laverne.

 

Seriously, the chasm between the social milieu of my grandchildren’s world and that of my own is so immense that the only understanding we can come to is that I misunderstand them as much as they misunderstand me.  But I know that they will love me forever, as I limp and gray and shrink toward whatever Eternity has in store.  All I can hope for is that Eternity does not include The View. 

 

And speaking of shrinking, how tall are you?  No, no, don’t lie to me.  And don’t bring out your driver’s license either.  You lied on that too.  Admit it, you’re shorter than you were when you were nineteen.  Every time you go for a physical, they measure your height.  For two months before your appointment, you let your hair grow longer so you have an extra cushion of fluff on your head.  You wear the thickest socks you can find.  Then you stretch and lift your heels – and still you’re half an inch shorter than the last time.  It’s inevitable.  Get over it.  You didn’t want to go on that roller-coaster ride anyway -- you know, the one where you have to be taller than Minnie Mouse?  Just start memorizing the words to Follow the Yellow Brick Road and live with it.

 

When Zach, my oldest grandson, was ten and grew out of his clothes, they put the clothes aside for my next-oldest, Tyler, who was six.  When he was ten, they passed down to his brother Austin who was six, then to Parker, my youngest grandson.  When he is ten and grows out of those same trustworthy clothes, they will come to me.  By that time, I’ll be three-foot-seven and wearing Garanimals.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling well and staying warm.  We are more than a week into Spring, yet here in St. Louis it’s still behaving like Winter.  St. Louis is always late in getting the news.  Hell, most of Missouri still thinks Trump won the last election.  I’m sure the existence of Spring will reach us by June or July.

 

I’m over my infection from last week.  Thank you for your kind wishes.  It seems that, not even counting Covid, there is an endless list of infectious diseases lurking out there waiting to invade our bodies and against which we must ever be vigilant.  There’s Lyme Disease.  Did you know there is a very virulent strain of Lyme Disease in Southern Florida?  They call it Key Lyme Disease.  Then there’s West Nile Virus and East Nile Virus.  There’s St. Louis Encephalitis (that’s a real thing).  There’s African Sleeping Sickness. Yellow Fever, Blue Fever, Black Fever and Burnt Siena Fever.  What can I do?  How do I avoid them all?  Where can I hide?

 

If I could just go incognito

In a cabin just south of Toledo

I’d avoid tics and fleas

Or the Mad Cow Disease

Or a bite from a West Nile Mosquito.

 

I played bridge this week at the house of a friend who was dog-sitting for a three-legged grand-dog.  Wow, a three-legged dog!  I have a three-legged cat.  Maybe they should get together.  They could learn to dance.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  You have dancing shoes with nimble soles (Merchant of Venice).  There he goes again.  Now he’s making fun of handicapped pets.  And what makes him think a creature who’s missing a leg can’t dance.  We can do the Cha or the Can or even the One-Step.  Purr.

 

Well, look at this.  Toymakers have sprung into action to take advantage of the Academy Awards scandal.  There is already a Will Smith Doll.  You set it on the dinner table and, if your kid doesn’t eat his Brussels sprouts, the doll walks over and slaps the kid in the face.  It’s part of the new Hasbro Has hbeen line which includes a doll that looks like Bill Cosby and is named Mr. Pervert Head and one that looks like Jesse Smollett called My Little Phony.

 

Ok, enough glorious entertainment for one Thursday.  This is going to be my last blog.  April Fools!  Gotcha!  No, you can’t get rid of me that fast.  I’ll be around for the foreseeable future, so stay well, count your blessings and pray for the people of Ukraine.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com