When you become a "seasoned" citizen, as Rush used to say, you realize that there's more road in the rearview mirror than there is through the front windshield. And that makes you look at stuff a bit differently.
You can whistle at a cute girl/lady should you wish. They will glace at you quickly, and then smile sweetly. You can even tell them they're cute. You've earned that privilege. And I've never, ever gotten schooled by a woman to whom I'd offered a complement. BTW, you can also get all pissy if getting pissy is called for. By you. Whereas someone much younger with a lot to lose, and who gives a s*it, would probably avoid any such issue like the plague.
And not that I'm complaining, but I wake up every morning knowing at least it can't get any worse than that. And then I wake up the next morning...
That was a joke. My beloved daughters accuse me of having a weird sense of humor (Moi?). So I have to provide the following Audience Warning:
"The Chuckmeiter has a weird sense of humor. But he knows it. And now so do you. Continue reading at own risk."
That's for those who's sense of humor has been sanded off over the past few years. We used to have comedy shows on broadcast TV. For decades. With actual comedians. Now we have comedians on broadcast TV without them even half trying. That's what the last four years has given us. Has saddled us with.
Yes, Fellow Patriots, I'm of the age where my major goal for each day is to not break anything. On me or in my house or car. Or to have anything break.
I hope that the air conditioner and the coffee maker and the washing machine, and of course my enormous TV, all keep working for another day. Not necessarily too many more days, but for just today. Because today may be all I've got. I luxuriate in "today." "Right now." "This instant!" This cup of coffee. This cleaning of the cat box. This taking out of the trash. This trip to the supermarket. Short term planning, doncha' know.
And for the past 4 years I've had an ice cream sundae after each and every meal. Ya' never know when this meal might be your last...
When I was a little kid I would pick up a penny off the sidewalk. Now my sore back won't let me pick up anything smaller than a $20.00. Pretty soon I'm thinking it might have to be a certified check...
I just realized that nearly everything I have to do, I don't want to do. I first tend to sit and think about the things I have to do for quite awhile before actually doing them. So I can a.), decide whether those chores really need doing; and b.), if they do, is today necessarily that day?
And then I make a list of all those things I hate to do, but must do, and then do them all together. As a clump. Huffing and puffing and grunting and moaning and complaining and talking to myself under my breath while I toil away. Wishing I'd waited a bit longer before embarking on this exercize. Maybe cracking a beer and watching a game instead. Or maybe taking a nap and finishing up later.
But I'm also elated because I'd been putting those chores off like the plague and they'll soon be done. So that I can sit on my arse, ensconced in my 24-way, fully electric Barca Lounger, with a wry smile on my unwrinkled face, and prepare for a long stint doing absolutely nothing. Before the next slate of chores I hate to do are past-due for the addressing.
I'm thinking of having myself catheterized so I don't have to get up as often.
And I chuckle to myself when I open the bill from the car insurance mafia. Increased my rates, they did. Again. It seems the number of miles I allow myself to drive goes down now inversely with the amount I must pay to drive them. To be insured against an ever-lessening chance of crashing and burning.*
Since I'm often either too sick or too tired (I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired!) to drive, or don't wish to dodge the crazies who pollute our highways and byways these days, I tend to hide out at the haven I've created for myself here at Fort Chuckmeister. The moat is dug and I'm almost ready to fill it. So I just figured out that, not counting gas or maintenance, it costs me about $8.00 a mile to pull the old steed out of her stall and take her for a spin.
So why don't I take an Uber? Because I fought for Freedom. And I'll not willingly give my Freedom away. Nor may anyone take it. Offered as a promise from a 1st, 2nd, 4th, 5th and 6th Amendment-loving guy.
And also I'm not yet willing to turn in my Mancard. So there.
And I used to plan for all the neat stuff I'd do once I'd finally retired. Like playing poker with the boys and doing some charity work and taking nice cruises to balmy climes. Little did I know that my retirement would be filled with doctors appointments. And visits to the lab and to the imaging center. Why didn't they tell us about this?
And finally, I've discovered we're just about ready to depart this dimention when we don't recognize the names of any of the of the nominees from the Tony Awards. Or the Grammy Awards. Or even the Academy Awards! Who are these people anyway? You ever think that maybe going from 3 channels on Broadcast TV with maybe 50 great actors, to more than 500 on Cable with 10,000 actors, served to prove the old adage: "Nature abhors a vacuum?"
Thank you once again, fellow Patriots, for choosing to read these fevered ramblings of a troubled mind. If you like it, I'm pleased. If you don't, it's Trump's fault.
It seems that eveything else is...
* Remember, you insure yourself against something you expect to happen. And your insurance company is betting it won't. They spread the risk of each one they insure over a huge population. And by getting their "risk to benefit ratio" correct, they're betting that their actuaries are smart enough to keep them in business. In other words, they'll make a profit on the "vig." The difference between their risk payouts and their premium income. If you want to beat them at their own game, you might want to try and assume some more of your own risk. Go from $500 deductible to $1,000. And from $1,000 on your house to $2,500. If it turns out you don't need the insurance, you've beaten the insurance companies at their own game...
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