Aside from a sore neck, a bad back and keyboard-related fingertip sensitivity, here are the latest five reasons why I think I might be a little too old for blogging.
- The commercials that air during the nightly news actually speak to me. I do have a restless leg. My wife and I often recline side by side in separate outdoor tubs, watch the sunset and wonder, “Are we ready?”. I eat Flomax like tic tacs. And I haven’t taken a shit without any outside help since the late nineties.
- The other day I called time. For you youngsters, that means you pick up the handset of your landline phone and dial p-o-p-c-o-r-n (or 767 anything) and an automated female voice gives you the exact time. It turns out that the time lady retired. The service (and with it my longest running conversation) has been shut down (at least in my neck of the woods) since September of 2007. The point here is that I called time in the first place. What’s next? Using a cell phone that doesn’t have jiggling icons?
- My attire: I have perfected and am now locked in to what I call the faux tourist look. Everyday, I wear khaki pants, a gray t-shirt and a bright yellow windbreaker with the words San Francisco emblazoned in blue. I wear it indoors and out. I am writing in that outfit at this very moment (I should be trying to get a senior rate at a movie theater).
- I recently approached a female officemate and said “Gee, your hair smells terrific.” She had never heard of the commercial or the product. The whole exchange nearly resulted in a sexual harrassment suit. Luckily we settled out of court after I agreed to let her call me avuncular for the rest of 2008.
- I occasionally find myself feeling nostalgic for people I’ve jerked off to.