Getting Older

I am sure I will get little sympathy from those of you that are older than myself, but I think I have started down that downward path known as getting older.  By this time next year, I will be well into my 40th year on this planet.  Which makes me think of a line from the movie, "On Golden Pond".   Dabney Coleman's character asks Henry Fonda's character, "So, how does it feel to turn 80?", and without skipping a beat, Henry Fonda says, "Twice as bad as turning 40!"  I have waited nearly 30 years to start to understand how bad it feels to turn 40 just so I could get some perspective on what Fonda was getting at.  To be honest though, it really isn't that bad, or at least not as bad as I perceived it would be back when I thought 40 was ancient.  I certainly don't feel that bad.  Sure, I have started to collect prescription vial like I used to collect baseball cards, but all in all, I don't feel that bad (Sounds like I am trying to convince myself, doesn't it?)

Granted, I have had four shoulder surgeries, my neck is suffering the effects of whiplash from a car accident and from football collisions, my cholesterol is high, my blood pressure is high, and I could drop a good 30 pounds and it would be considered a good start.  However, I don't think that I have started to play the part of the "old fart" as of yet.  I still know how to have fun (as long as it includes a nap before and/or after said fun), and I still have the same immature sense of humor I always have.  Partly, I think that is why many younger people like me or at least tolerate me.  I can joke around and have fun with them.  Plus, there is an advantage to having an overnight job.  They usually run out of gas before I do, so then they figure the "old guy" is a party animal...even if I do have to sleep for an entire day to recover from trying to party like a rockstar. 

That being said, I believe I have started to not be able to identify with the "cool" younger folks.  I have started to sound like my parents sounded when I was young and cool.  For instance, I don't get music today.  To me, it all is pretty dreadful and for the most part all sounds exactly the same.  Sure, I can tell the difference between Daughtry and Gym Class Heros, but to me one sounds about as unoriginal as the other.  Which is precisely what my parents used to say about the music I listened to back in the 80's.  They used to belittle the cover songs that ended up being popular in the 80's and 90's.  Well guess what, I do the same thing today when it comes to the songs of my youth being covered.  As an example, Miley Cyrus has been covering 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' on her current tour.  I am sorry, but, NO!  To me this is sacrilege.  She may as well be up there wiping her butt with an American flag in front of a bunch of NRA members.  You DO NOT cover a song from a band like Nirvana unless you can just rip it up and make it your own.  Needless to say, Miley didn't do that by any stretch of the imagination. 

I think the worst thing, by far, about getting older is watching people you have known your whole life make really bad decisions and it ruins their life on many levels.  It's a very helpless feeling.  Then in the same vein is watching people that you thought were old when you were a kid actually turn old.  I've lost both of my grandfathers to death.  Growing up, though I thought they were old, they were always very active and vibrant.  To watch them slowly fade away was difficult. 

Of course, getting older has it's advantages.  When you talk, people will actually listen to what you have to say.  You know how to do things on your own, like build a garage or fix an electrical outlet, both without being severely injured.  You can go to your mechanic and tell them exactly what you need done on your car without having to try to explain the weird noise it was making by demonstrating those noises for them.  You finally have enough connections that you can get Husker tickets to virtually any game you would like to see. 

Hopefully there are things coming as I continue down the other side of the hill that will make getting old a pleasant surprise.  I never imagined I would be this old, but now that I AM this old, I may as well embrace it and enjoy the ride down the long and winding road. 

Show Some Manners...Jerk!

I find it highly interesting how the 55 miles between Omaha and Lincoln may as well be the Grand Canyon. The people of Lincoln seem to have a definite aversion to the people of Omaha. Really, it's no wonder. The people from each city are top to bottom different from each other. When I go back to Omaha, specifically back to my old part of town, South Omaha, it astonishes me how people are much more polite and friendly than in Lincoln. People in Omaha seem to have been taught something that is quickly fading from humanity in general, including Stinkin' Lincoln. Yes, it's the long lost art of manners. Perhaps you have heard of them. However, just in case the term has no meaning to you, let me explain. You see, when another human being does a nice thing like hold open a door for you, what you are supposed to say is, "Thank you." Or maybe you bump into someone, at this point you are supposed to say, "Excuse me," or maybe, "I'm sorry." These expressions seem to be missing from the Lincolnite lexicon.

This brings us to the whole reason why I decided to blog tonight. I had a run in earlier today with a self absorbed, rude, tactless jerk. Am I being melodramatic? You be the judge:

As I was heading to work, I left with just enough extra time to run an errand. I had some packages that I needed to get shipped, so I headed to the UPS Store. I pulled up to the little strip mall that the store inhabits and noticed that I had my pick of a few parking spots right in front of the store. After parking, I gather my packages together and head into the store. I had them all prepaid for, so it was a very quick transaction. Upon finishing, I headed for the exit and as I opened the door, a gentleman (I use the term loosely) coming in got to the door at about the same time. I stepped aside and let him come in. I didn't even think about it at the time, but I didn't get any sort of acknowledgement for the gesture. No "thanks", no "excuse me", not even a head nod. What made me think of this later on, was what happened next.

I step towards my car I noticed that someone had parked their truck directly behind me and boxed me in. The baffling part was when I looked over to the empty parking stall two stalls down. I examined the truck and tried to think if any of my friends drive a 2005-ish Mazda pickup, because the most logical reason for parking behind someone when there is an open spot just a few feet away is that it has to be some kind of joke. But, I was sure none of my friends drove a truck like this. So, I looked around at the potential places the owner could be. I came to the conclusion that it must be the fella that was going into the UPS Store as I was leaving.

Then I thought, maybe I could just wait it out until he is done. But that's when I looked at my watch and saw I was running a little late now. So I walk with a purpose back into the UPS Store and see the suspect standing at the counter speaking with the customer service representative. I approach the suspect and ask him if that is his truck out there parked behind me. He looks over at me, clearly annoyed that I have interrupted his conversation and says, "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute." In return, I say, "Well, I am late for work, if you could move it now I would appreciate it." He looks at me again, this time even more annoyed and fires back, "I said, I will be there in a minute. I am almost done." It's at this point when I hear this voice that sounds exactly like mine say, "Oh, okay...jerk."

When I realized it was indeed my voice that uttered those words, I headed for the exit. Once I got outside and was waiting for the nice man to come move his truck, I reassessed what had happened, and came to the conclusion that I was spot on with my remark (Usually though, it's best to keep such realizations to ones self. That being said, from this point on, the man parked behind me will be referred to simply as "Jerk"). As I saw Jerk exit the store, I opened up my car door and started to get in. That's when Jerk unloaded on me. "YOU CALL ME A JERK, MAYBE YOU SHOULD LOOK IN THE MIRROR! IF YOU WOULD HAVE JUST LET ME FINISH UP IN THERE INSTEAD OF INTERRUPTING ME, I COULD HAVE GOTTEN DONE FASTER! I WASN'T HURTING YOU BY PARKING HERE."

After being about halfway into my car, I pulled myself back out of the car, took a few steps towards Jerk and said, "Look, is there a reason you couldn't have parked in that spot right there!? (Pointing at empty stall.) You are a thoughtless jerk." The only satisfaction I got out of the whole incident was when I noticed after I got out of the car and took a few steps towards him, his expression changed, his tone changed, and he was trying to get those keys to work as fast as Lane Myer when he was being chased by the paperboy who wanted his $2. I think I scared the Jerk. Which is quite empowering when you are only a 5' 6" guy with a Napoleon Complex.

As I turned back to get into my car, I hear him say, "No, you're the jerk!", as he is shutting the door of his truck. I look back at him, and now that he is safe and secure in his truck with all the windows up and doors shut, he goes on a rant of epic proportions. Most of which I can't repeat because of the fact that this is a family blog.

Now, going back and analyzing the situation, we saw that he never once said he was sorry. Of course, I might have played a very small part in not hearing the apology. But, had it been me, I would have been apologizing all over the place if someone told me I was blocking them in. Then, somehow, after his ridiculous behavior, I turn out to be the jerk (Which by reading my blogs, you have to agree with the guy to a certain degree).

This is just one example of the lack of manners and selfish behavior that goes on in this fine city of Stinkin' Lincoln. It's things like this that continue to add to my disdain for this place. But hey, without these antics it just wouldn't be Stinkin' Lincoln.

There's Not Always Room for Jello

Well, here we are again. I have missed you. Hopefully you have missed me, as well. So, we are going to give this a try again. Try to put these sometimes crazy, sometimes humorous, and always ignoble thoughts in my head out there for everyone to see. I feel vulnerable, naked and exposed. No need to hide your eyes or put the kids to bed, for this is not one of those blogs. We keep it clean around here, relatively speaking. So pour yourself your favorite beverage (I suggest alcohol of some sort to make the reading of this more bearable), sit back in your favorite chair, and let me bore you to sleep with my drivel.

Today's blog takes us back a week or two to the beautiful warm weather we all had the privelege to enjoy here in Nebraska before old man winter destroyed all of our hopes and dreams of it being a very early spring. Here in Stinkin' Lincoln, there appears to be a bit of an epidemic, it may have already made it to your area. This being a college town, we have a great many young ladies who use very poor judgement when dressing. The warmer weather always seems to be some contest to see who can wear the least amount of clothes. Ladies, it was 55 out, not 85. There is no reason to be wearing a sheer spaghetti strapped tank top and what my friend's 16 year old daughter calls "butt-shorts" (I believe in "my day" and perhaps, "your day", they were referred to as "Daisy-Dukes" or "Oooobabies"). Besides, your legs are so white they might actually look better if you DON'T shave your legs. At least the hair would give you some color. Ever heard of a tanning booth or doing whatever that John Boehner does to make himself look the color of an Oompa-Loompa?

This is just one example of the epidemic that is poisoning the female population in Stinkin' Lincoln from ages 16-24. But that is just the tip of the iceberg my dear friends. What I really want to talk to you about is something that could effect women all the way into their 40's, even those trying to be modest. Let me paint the picture for you. On a beautiful Friday afternoon I went to the neighborhood coffee shop to get a cup of java for my wife and I. The local coffee shop is in a "ritzy" area by Stinkin' Lincoln standards. There are several boutiques, flower shops, hair salons, dance studio, guitar studio, and then mixed in is an autobody shop. Nothing says classy like the smell of paint in the air on a warm winter's day. However, by Stinkin' Lincoln standards, it's very highbrow. Then about half a block away is a very small college. I think you can imagine the type of crowd this area draws. You have all these rich women walking around thinking they are pretty hot stuff, and a bunch of college kids loitering and over compensating for their lack of self esteem.

I pull up to the coffee shop and from the time I pulled up to the time I left I saw 7 women, and I use the term loosely, wearing these tight, stretchy, black pants. When I got home, I asked my wife what the deal was with this new fashionable fad. She said they are called "Yoga Pants".

"But," I say, "there isn't a yoga studio there." She replied, "Very few women that wear yoga pants do yoga." Awwwww, so it's the new, hip, cool, trendy thing to do. (It is at this time I must warn you that if you are easily offended, please don't read any further.)

Why do I tell you all of this? Am I just a big, gross, old, pervert checking out middle aged women and college girls in yoga pants? I am shocked and outraged that you would think such a thing! Rather, I would like this blog to serve as a warning for women everywhere that yoga pants are a trap. Here is why I say that: You may go to the local yoga pants store and take them into the fitting room and squeeze into them. You may look in the three-way mirror and look at your butt and legs and think, "I think I can pull this off!" If this is your criteria for whether or not to make that purchase, you are missing one important step. You need to either have someone you trust to tell you the truth, or figure out a way to look in that mirror and watch yourself walk away. You see, when stationary the yoga pants may look just fine, but unless you are a size zero or have dancer's legs, most likely when people watch you walk away they are going to think they are looking at a Jello mold during an earthquake. I know what they say about there always being room for Jello, but in this case, it's not true. Yes, we can see every fat cell locomote on your calves, thighs and buttocks when you adorn yourself with those new, hip, cool, trendy yoga pants.

In light of this, you might want to just put those yoga pants back on the shelf or cross them off your wish list. What's that you say, it's too late, you already own them. In that case, I suggest giving them to that girl you can't stand in your school, or that middle aged know-it-all tramp that works out at your gym. It will just be our little joke.