The Picture of Dorian Block

 

If it were only the other way! 

If only it were I who were always young and there were to be a painting of me that would grow old. (Alright, so in my case if it were I who was aways 75-years-old and there were to be a painting of me that would grow as old as Rupert Murdoch, only without the array of young wives.)

For that I would give everything, including my Mike Schmidt Philadelphia Phillies No. 20 jersey. 

And so it was that I, Dorian Block, sought to secure a talented artist to paint a portrait of me which - while I myself aged not one whit further - would transform itself over time into a likeness of William Shatner but minus the deceased furry woodland creature atop his head. 

I thereupon attempted a search via the Google and through its auspices shortly located a painter named Basil Wayward and arranged in prompt order a meeting at his studio.                

"Mr. Wayward," I inquired, "can you undertake the art of portraiture with the express purpose of rendering a painting of my humble self to assist me in stemming the onrushing tide of aging?"  

"Holy crap, do you ever talk like a Victorian novel!" he replied. "But yes, I can do that."

"Do you have any references, Mr. Wayward?"

"You are familiar with the actor Paul Rudd?"

"Of course," I said.

"In his attic is a portrait of Mr. Rudd that looks exactly like Keith Richards."

          

"You're hired, sir," I exclaimed, "you're so damn hired!" 

And on the morrow I began the process of sitting for my age-defying portrait  with Mr. Wayward. True, I was a little disappointed to discover that Mr. Wayward's  specialties were finger painting and paint by numbers and but hey, what ya gonna do?  And yet Mr. Wayward began painting in earnest and in no small manner due to The Importance of Being Ernest, the painting began to take shape.

Within several weeks Mr. Wayward completed his handiwork and presented it to me with the words "I think, kind sir, The Picture of Dorian Block may very well be my masterpiece," and I graciously accepted the image of my 75- year-old self and squired it home to ensconce firmly and securely in my attic. 

Soon, however, an unexpected happenstance resulted. Freed from the ravages of time, my personality, inclinations, and behavior began to metamorphosize, and within scant order my life became a maelstrom of depravity and sin!

I had sexual relations with the entire East Coast staff of A Place for Mom, 

I found myself lying, cheating, and stealing in all my personal and business relationships including a bald-faced lie to Tom Selleck that the procuring of a reverse mortgage was indeed "the best thing I've ever done, without a doubt," and

I engaged in a sordid array of interpersonal acts so reprehensible that not even Sling would have let me do that!

As the years flew by, I felt my humanity slipping away and darkness enveloping my soul.  And what of the painting?  

Finally one day, racked with guilt and remorse, I  tore into the attic to witness what foul reality my now highly advanced age and profligate wickedness had visited upon the canvas that Basil Wayward had painted lo those many years ago!

And what I saw was, what I saw was....

Wow.  

Looks like this was Basil's masterpiece, after all.

Y'know, I think I can milk me a few more years of depravity out of it, without a doubt!

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Top Ten Signs You're At A Lousy Comedy Open Mic

 

Yep, here's my curated list of

Top Ten Signs You're At A Lousy Comedy Open Mic

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Number 10)

The Open Mic is in "The Jeff Foxworthy/Larry the Cable Guy Comedy Club."

Number 9)

There is a "One Drink" Minimum and a "One Rotten Tomato to Throw" Minimum.

Number 8)

The audience consists exclusively of people who think LIMU Emu and Doug are hilarious. 

Number 7)

The Host Introduces You as "The Sporadically Funny ___"

Number 6)

When They Shine a Light at You at 4 Minutes, a Big Brawny Guy Appears and Says "It'll Go Much Better For You If You Cooperate, Rocco!"

Number 5)

During Your Set, Even the Crickets Get Up and Leave the Building.  

Number 4)

The Host Makes a Point of Mentioning that You're the Guy Who Had Sex with the Biggest, Meanest Comic's Little Sister, Even Though You Didn't.

Number 3)

As You Leave the Stage After Your Set is Over, the Wah-Wah Sound Plays.

Number 2)

Instead of Saying "Give it up for Perry!" the Host Says "Give It Up, Perry!" 

And the Number One Sign You're at a Lousy Comedy Open Mic:

The Host is Stephen Miller.

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And the Number One Sign that Perry is Kinda Old:

He Still Thinks Top Ten Lists are a Thing.

"The-Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named" Twelve Years Later

 

I can tell she gets it.  

Only The-Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named for

her. 

It was over 12 years ago that I coined the term "The-Discount-That-Must Not-Be-Named."   

Why?

"Okay, sir," says the cashier behind the class booth at the Bryn Mawr Film Institute," that will be eleven dollars with the Senior Discount." 

“Thank you,” I reply.

To which she adds" ... you addle-pated, wrinkled, washed-out, past-tensed, decrepit, detestable travesty of a human being."

"Well, umm, I kind of resent the ‘washed out’ part of what you said,” I stammer. 

"Senior Discount ticket, sir? There’s seating up front," says the ticket taker inside the theater.

“Thank you,” I reply.

“To which he adds …” hopefully up front you’ll be able to hear at least some of the movie, you addle-pated, wrinkled, washed-out, past-tensed, decrepit, detestable travesty of a human being."

""Well, umm, I kind of resent the ‘detestable travesty of a human being’ part of what you said," I stammer.

Now let’s replay all of the above with The-Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named.  

Okay, sir," says the cashier behind the class booth at the Bryn Mawr Film Institute," that will be eleven dollars with The-Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Thank you,” I say.

To which she adds “Please enjoy the show.”

"Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named ticket, sir? There’s seating up front," says the ticket taker inside the theater.

“Thank you,” I say.

To which he adds “Please enjoy the show.”

Now to be fair, Senior wasn’t always a four letter 6 letter word. It was once devised as the politically correct replacement for words like Elderly.

And as the later 20th Century stand-in for those words, it has performed admirably, especially for members of the Greatest Generation who received more of their greatly deserved due when regarded as respected seniors, not out-to-pasture elderly.

But now it’s more than time for Senior and its even more insidious buzzkill of a cousin Senior Citizen to also go the way of elderly and its kin. And I wouldn’t mind if sassy, feisty, and spry also join the ranks of those misbegotten objectionable adjectives as well.

With The-Discount-That-Must-Not-be-Named all pernicious mindsets about Boomers and Pre-Boomers are forever extinguished.  After all, we're not "seniors” at all; we're regular folk, like everyone else, who just happen to be a little older.

So why not join me and start using the The-Discount-That-Must-Not-be-Named yourself?

 One day when it truly catches on, it will change the world.

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Oh, Oh, Oh Placebo!

 

Oh, Oh, Oh Placebo!

"I used to be suffering from any one of a half dozen chronic diseases.  But then my doctor prescribed Placebo and now I'm feeling great!

Or maybe I'm not.

Or maybe I'm already dead."

 Oh, Oh, Oh Placebo!

Placebo costs you almost nothing.  Because it's nothing but sugar, ragweed, and a little bit of Red Dye No.3 for coloring. (That's the red die that's been banned for serious health reasons.) Placebo is perfect for folks who have a shitty Medicare Advantage Plan with super high deductibles or absolutely no health insurance whatsoever!

Placebo is not for everyone. Depression and anxiety may result if one day you realize that all along you could have been taking real medicine that might have actually helped you get better. Don't take Placebo if you're allergic to Red Dye No.3 or if you've caught on to us!  

In clinical trials using Placebo and a placebo, over 85% of participants had the same result, and not a good one with Placebo or the placebo. The other 25%, well, maybe they just lucked out. WTF!

"With Placebo, I'm talking my life into my own hands.  And I've even lost a little weight, because I'm literally wasting away." 

Oh, Oh, Oh Placebo!

Ask your doctor about Placebo. 

 And hopefully he has the same level of scruples as the doctor who used to prescribe Quaaludes for Perry in the 70's.

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If Leonardo da Vinci Had A Goofy Sidekick

 

                                    

(In the hallowed tradition of If Moses Had a Goofy Sidekick  and If Henry David Thoreau Had Added a Goofy Sidekick to Walden, I hereby humbly present this to you, the third installment in "The Goofy Sidekick Annals." 

Who knows?  Maybe next time I'll write "If You Had a Goofy Sidekick.") 

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"I've just completed this prototype drawing of a flying machine," said Leonardo da Vinci aloud, "and I think at long last mankind might take to the skies!

 

But there's the possibility if I were to build one of these it might crash and send anyone I could talk into climbing aboard to a fiery doom. But where can I find  someone so gullible, so naive, so downright stupid as to take such a foolhardy risk?"

"Hey, Leo, open up! It's your old buddy, Farky Noodleman!"

"Farky, Farky!  Y'know, I was just thinking about you."

"How's the Renaissance treating ya, Leo?"

"Fine, Farky.  Glad those Gothic Middle Ages are finally over!"

"Goths creep me out too!  And I'm sick and tired of being picked last whenever the guys suit up for jousting practice."

"Say, Farky, let's go into my studio, got some interesting work to show you."

"Holy crap, look at that!"

"That's the statue of David, on loan from my friend Michelangelo."

"Well, that certainly makes me feel inadequate, especially as a Jewish guy!" 

"Hey, Farky, here's something I just completed."

"Twelve guys eatin' out?  I hope they knew to ask for separate checks."

"It's The Last Supper."

"If they haven't gotten separate checks and left a decent tip, it will be the Last Supper! Hey, Leo, ever think about doin' a painting of 'Doges Playing Poker?'  Could be your masterpiece."

"Umm, maybe next time.  Right now I've got a young woman coming over whose portrait I'm going to paint.  Oh, here she is now."

"Hello, Mr. da Vinci."

"Hi, Clara. Meet my friend, Farky Noodleman. Farky, say hello to Clara Schwartz."

"Hello, Mr. Noodleman.  Pleased to meet you."

"Charmed I'm sure, Ms. Schwartz!  Say, did I ever meet ya on a J-Date?"

"I don't think so."

"Hey, Ms. Schwartz, if you don't mind a suggestion, you might wanna put on some makeup for the painting.  Maybe some lip gloss. Or a little blush."

"Thank you, Mr. Noodleman, but I prefer a natural look."

"Well, then just give us a big broad smile for the camera, Clara!  I mean, for the palette."

"No, Farky, I want The Clara Schwartz to be known forever for her enigmatic smile."

"Well, okay, but I'm not diggin' the name."

"What do you mean?"

"How about somethin' a bit cooler than Clara Schwartz? Like Mona ... yeah,  maybe like ... say ... Mona Lisa?"

"I like that very much, Mr. Noodleman."

"So do I, Farky. 'The Mona Lisa,' it is!"

"Glad I could be of service, youse two.  Now, Leo, let's talk those Doges Playing Poker!"

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Leonardo da Vinci's Doges Playing Poker.

They Given You a Number and Taken Away Your Name

 

It’s a strange experience these days, and it has been for quite some time, whenever one attempts to make an appointment with a medical professional. It's somewhat disconcerting for anyone of any age, but especially so for those of the Baby Boomer persuasion.

Recently I sought to make an appointment for a annual checkup with my Primary Care Physician, Dr. Kropotkin. I punched in the number and spoke to the Physician's Assistant, a woman named Tiffany.

"Hello," I said, "I'd like to make an appointment for my annual physical. What dates does Dr. Kropotkin have available?"

"Oh, of course," she replied. "What's your birthdate?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

"Don't you want to know my name first?"

"No, I want to know your birthdate first."

"But shouldn't my name be first and my birthdate secondary?"

"No, sir. Your name is totally insignificant and hardly important. We can figure that out from your all important and all-consuming birthdate!"

(Now there's a theme song to a TV show from the 1960's called "Secret Agent" starring an iconic actor named Patrick McGoohan which featured the lyrics "They Given You a Number and Taken Away Your Name."

In the show the lyric was applied to a British Secret Agent named John Drake.

It was not applied  to a Jewish guy from the Philly suburbs attempting to make an appointment with Dr. Kropotkin.)

Resuming the dialogue with Tiffany, I said "So you say you can figure out my name from my birthdate, eh?"

"Yes, sir, that's correct." 

"What if I lie?”

Then your appointment will go to a 25-year-old named Perri.”

“…. well, then, it’s September 12 … September 12 .... Nineteen ...”

"Spit it out, sir!"

"All right, god damnit, it's September 12, 19 fucking 50!"

“Oh .... well, in that case ... why don’t we wait a bit and see if the appointment turns out to be necessary.”

"Let's just take a wild stab, and assume maybe it will be necessary!"

And so far -  so far - it has been.  

I don’t know about next year.

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                            What does my birth year say about me?

                                                   Don't Ask!

If you liked this post, you may also like  Mirror, Mirror On the Wall, Who's the Biggest, Fattest Liar of Them All?

If you hated this post, I hope at your next proctology exam your doctor's hand gets stuck and it takes the doctor's entire office staff to pull it out!