My purpose with this new blog is to rally and inspire the legions of the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute as we reach the stage in life "when the road ahead seems suddenly all in the rear view mirror."
It’s tough out there for us. Employers don’t want us, the media ignores us, and younger women (or men) find us so unattractive as to actually be “tractive,” and we all know how disgusting that is. Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute is my personal effort to grasp hold of the spirit of our generation at a time when our “grasping hold” capabilities weaken daily to the point where "grasping hold" is practically a blood sport.
It is my hope in this brief mantra to forge in the smithy of our souls the uncreated conscience of our race. (Hmm, that was a pretty cool sentence, but I think I might have lifted it from some obscure writer.... well, tough shit for him!) In so forging, I have sought to capture the true Ethos of the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute. And once I get finished dealing with Ethos, I’m going to give “what for” to Porthos too. After that, I’m afraid I’ll have to flee from France because Athos, Aramis, and D’Artagnan are sure to be after to me, and I’m not willing to spend the rest of my life as a dish of chopped chicken pate just for some dumb mantra…
As I have busily forged this smithy, I’ve been at somewhat of a disadvantage. Frankly, I have about as much poetry in my soul as Martha Stewart's evil twin. The same, however, cannot be said for my son Brandon, who several years ago won a poetry contest at a gathering at the local library. So thrilled was I with his lyrical achievement that I attempted to relate to and bond with one of the contest judges --- a young female by persuasion --- with an impromptu rendition of one of the lovelier poems I remember from my childhood entitled “The Fellow From Nantucket.”
Again my skills at poetry being what they are, I left the library with a darkened eye and Brandon just barely clinging to third place. Such are my talents at iambic pentameter, onomatopoeia, and shoving together incongruous and discordant words and phrases until they practically scream out in pain!
So, this man’s mantra may need some further manipulation. Frankly I don’t think it’s all that terrific although someone as undiscriminating as you will probably go wild for it and be arrested for attempting to transport it across state lines. However, I do need a little help here, and I invite any member of the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute to supply it. Send me your suggested revisions, your additions, your deletions, your tired, your poor, but I don’t particularly want your huddled masses, I know you understand.
Even if you are Nouveau Old, Still A Bit Cute, I welcome your submissions, provided you’re at least at the stage of life where you’re fully eligible for the Senior Special at IHOP. But frankly I’d stick with the pancakes.
Oh crap, I almost forgot! The Mantra of the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute follows in the next post.
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