Sufferin' Bastards State of the Union, Independance Day 2007

Sometimes getting old sneaks up on you, like carbon monoxide from a bad furnace you should have had checked out months ago. You just get kind of tired, kind of woozy, then surprise, it's on you like a Duck on a June Bug. Other times it whacks you in the friggin' head like an open closet door in the middle of the night, when you get up to have a pee. It's like,"Whapo', up-side the head. 'Jeez, that really hurt'. How the hell did that happen? I'm old.

Well, it happened the other day that old age hit me up-side the head like it does. I was at our family camp up in the woods, and I was thumbing through an old issue of AARP magazine ( for those of you who don't know, that's the literary arm of American Assoc. of Retired Persons). Okay, it wasn't mine, first of all, it was a friend's. Anyhow, whom did I see on the front cover but sexy and sullen film-star and director Kevin Costner. Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I'm not a really big Costner fan. I mean, there IS Bull Durham, and who didn't love his futuristic masterpiece Waterworld. But aside from th... oh yes, I forgot Dances With Wolves. I liked that one. But aside from that.... Jeez, maybe I AM a Costner fan.... ANYway... In GENERAL, I never thought Costner could have acted his way out of a speeding ticket. As a matter of fact, in a Thespian battle of Wits, I don't even think he could eat Keanu Reeves' dust. But in any case, that'a not the point, is it? The fact that Kevin Costner would be on the cover of a Rag for retired old people made me feel a little unsettled. Then I'm told by my father-in-law that somehow when he was 49, he started mysteriously getting AARP magazine in the mail. It's like they just were waiting for him: 'Hey, you're old. Welcome to the club. Here's your magazine'. It made me wonder how many of my adolescent heroes are now reading through AARP. How about Iggy Pop thumbing through August's issue about what cruise ships give you the best value. Or Keith Richard reading about the changes made in prescription drug policy that may affect him. Or Harvey Keitel comparing the anti-oxident levels in Pomegranite and Gobi juice. Very concerning. Again, let me re-iterate that I'm not a really big Kevin Costner fan, and never have been. It's just an example, a microcosm of what it's like to be fuckin' old. It's like the other day, me and my family are driving into Boston, doing our regular thing at the Museum of Science or Aquarium or whatever. Me and my lovely wife are having a conversation and admiring the skyline of the Olde Towne, and I'm regaling her with stories of how I used to work in this Towne in the Aulde Construction Days, and how I worked on this building and on that one, how I saw this band or that one at a club that no longer exists. It suddenly occured to me that I've told her these stories at least a dozen times already. She was much too polite to tell me, but I know it to be true. I'm spent. I have nothing new to add to the dialog. That's what it's like to be old. As a matter of fact on the way home that night , after a full day in the city, we actually had this conversation: whether Weed Whacker or Weed Whipper was a more appropriate name for the handy and popular yard toolwe use every week (by the way, it's Weed Whacker; you'd have to be insane to call it a Weed Whipper). That's what it's like. Sometimes, it sneaks up on you like a Tele-Market-er when you're expecting an important call, and sometimes it jumps up in your grill, like a Jehovah Witness at the door when you're ten minutes late for work (Wow, excessive use of Simile). Anyhow, I digress. All the fuckin' time....Wait a minute, my Wine is gone. I'll be right back......


There, that's better. Now where was I? Oh yeah, I remember. The other day I was driving home from my hideous, soul sucking job. I see this fat old dude ambling down the road, walking this ridiculous Toy Poodle on a leash. The poor old dude was about 90, and his wife must have sent him out to take Muffy for a walk just to get his tired old ass out of the house. Totally de-masculating. At least I'm not that guy. I may be old, but at least I'm not walking a fucking Toy Poodle. Or a Pekinese. Or a Pomeranian. And I never will. That is my solemn vow. I may be the perverbial Sufferin' Bastard who secretly thumbs through AARP magazine to read about Gene Simmons of Kiss and his favoritre recipes for veal. I may repeat stories about the Glory days to anyone who'll listen to me. But at least I'll never walk a Poodle. A man has to know his limitations, as Clint Eastwood used to say. It's like the Billy Joel song, 'Keeping the Faith': 'the good old days weren't always good, tomorrow's not as bad as it seems'.....Sweet gentle Jesus, take me home, I'm quoting Billy Joel. All Right, this time the Wine's all gone. I'm done. And remember what I said about getting old. Kevin Costner be my witness. Non Illegitimi Corrundum.

BFC 7/2007