Now's the Time to Say Goodbye

I think it may be the time to put the wraps on my blog Perry Block - Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute.   I've advanced the character about as far as I can after almost 900 posts, a pretty good sign it's time to call it quits. If anyone is interested in what happens to Perry Block,  it's really all in my book by the same name (Perry Block - Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute) which takes the character through a significant part of his Baby Boomer life more or less to the current day.

As I've said in the past, Perry Block in the blog is not the same as I am.  Though not particularly confident, he's more confident than I am, more freewheeling, and - totally unlike me -  somewhat conniving. It's odd, but now that it's over, I have to say that 

I kind of miss him.

Go figure.

Anyway, to the degree I may write Parodies or Satires in the future unrelated to "Perry Block,"  they will be on various websites throughout the web, and maybe I'll post some of them here.  Two fairly recent ones on Slackjaw are:

The Book of Genesis as Condensed and Revised for Humanists

How to Work Effectively from Your Home Office When Godzilla Attacks 

I'd like to thank all those who have read my blog over all these years and told me they liked it as well as anyone who's read it all whether they communicated with me or not. There are many people I'd like to thank individually for their support but they are far too numerous to mention.  

I appreciate you all.

If you are a Baby Boomer, please do your best to enjoy these not necessarily inherently enjoyable years. And don't let anyone refer to you as a "Senior."  You are a Baby Boomer! Any further age-descriptive name is bogus and unnecessary.

To the best degree you can, don't leave anything on the table. Go after what you want even if you have to go out of your Comfort Zone to get it.  And if you don't have someone to wrap your arms around at night, do everything you can to find that someone as soon as possible.

I think that might be the most important thing I have to say of all.

And if you're  younger, be you Millennial or Gen X, enjoy your years ahead. They go fast. Before long you'll be recoiling like a vampire at the sight of mirrors just like we do.

Got that, mother-fuckers?

Take care, everyone. Be good, but not too good.  

Bye-Bye, all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Medicare, If You Dare

You're our age now, Perry.  
Admit it.  Get used to it!

Just last week I had a terrible experience only slightly less horrible than being shot at dawn by a squadron of expert marksmen, each and every one of them a morning person. Were my execution to have been at a reasonable hour, say 2:00 P.M., the experience I underwent would have actually been more horrible!

I signed up for Medicare.

It happens so fast. It happens so soon.  It seems like I just signed up for Boy Scouts, even though I was never in Boy Scouts.  It seems like I was just hanging in Singles Bars, approaching women who would reject me, and playing Ms. Pac Mac, who would also reject me.  It seems like I was only 40, scaling the heights of fatherhood only to turn around and find my heights scaling skills rapidly scaling back. 

Nowadays you sign up for Medicare online, which saves the embarrassment of sitting in a room full of doddering guys wearing plaid pants and white belts and reading the Daily Racing Form.  After a long wait regarded as wholly immaterial by most of the folks waiting since they have nowhere else to go anyway, the clerk would call you up with these words:

Next overage loser waiting to die!

So I'm at least a little pleased that the route to Medicare is no longer through the bureaucratic equivalent of the Carpathian Mountains but rather by clicking on to http://www.medicare.gov.  There you find all the information about America's unique health care program for seniors, which is a good one, but whose rules are as convoluted as a Philadelphia soft pretzel.

Medicare is comprised of four parts, which are:

Medicare Part A covering hospitalization.  Days 1-60 in a hospital are mostly covered, although days 61-90 require coinsurance.  That means you better get your ass out of the hospital by day 60 unless by day 60 your ass is totally out of the hospital un-getable!

Various expenses are not covered by Part A including free HBO, cherry jello for desert, and timely medical attention. 

Medicare Part B provides doctor benefits. It is important to choose the right doctor under Medicare. Signs you may have chosen the wrong doctor include:

• Bitterly disappointed that Sarah Palin was wrong about death panels.
• Refers to you as "Gramps."
• Board Certified in Geriatrics, which means especially qualified to take care of older patients whom nobody expects to get better anyway.

Medicare Part D provides prescription benefits. Some of us need these more than others. I could single-handedly keep a small pharmaceutical company afloat through lean economic times for at least a year or two. Believe it or not, it was George W. Bush who gave us Medicare Part D. Laudable though it is, Part D features something called a donut hole, which provides that after $2960 of drug expense in a year the plan cuts off payment until some distant point in the future. 

Isn't that just like George Bush, getting us into something with no damn clear way out?

Supplemental Coverage is not officially part of Medicare.  It fills in the gaps left open by Medicare A, B, and D.  I'm pretty sure I get cherry jello.  That's all I care about now that Curb Your Enthusiasm is off the air.

Anyway, I did sign up for Medicare last week and it took no time at all.  And the coverage really is comprehensive. So do I still consider signing up for Medicare a horrible experience?

Ready.

Aim. 

Fire!

At least it's not at dawn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rocking Chair Boomer

Nowadays there are a great many Boomer oriented websites, almost as many out there as there are Boomers who would sell their souls to a post-1980's rock group if only they could crank their ages down a decade or two.

The sites include Boomer Cafe, Boomeon, Purple Clover, Senior Correspondent, HuffPost 50, and more, some of which I have been privileged to write for (in receipt of lucrative fees not in excess of $0.00), but all of which have something in common. They all market themselves as presenting content geared for Boomers with "active" lifestyles.

But doesn't a reference to "active" Boomers kind of imply that most Boomers are not active?  Does that mean most Boomers are dull, plodding, and unadventurous? If that's true, perhaps we need one more website to speak to those of us the other sites ignore.  Perhaps we need .... 
       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rocking Chair Boomer

The Website for Sedentary Boomers

Are you a Boomer with a passive, inactive lifestyle?  Then you've come to the right place!  Lazy and shiftless, whining is what you do best. There's no challenge you can't shirk. Your favorite sport is scratching. Yep, you're our kind of Boomer!

So pull up an easy chair, put your feet up, and
 Welcome to Rocking Chair Boomer!
If you can stay awake.

Current Content
(Last Time We Happened to Check)

Best Recliners for 2015;
An Exclusive Sedentary Boomer Guide

The Art of Ambling

Sex after 60; New Science Fiction

Doritos or Pringles? - One Boomer's Dilemma

Naptime!

GrandDad's Corner: 
"They're Your Kids, You Watch Them!"

Preparing Your Bucket List;
Should You Get a Bucket at All?

Woodstock: A Primer to Lying You Were There

Hiking the High Himalayas
(Of course it's a joke!)

Helen Mirren Going Strong at 69:
But You're Not or Won't or Didn't!

Poetry Corner:
Ode to A TV Clicker

Ten Great Places to Visit in 2015
Which You Can't Afford Anyway

Medical Science Update:
Return to the Womb May Soon Be Possible! 

It's Your Second Act!
But You Never Could Act

Harness that Entrepreneurial Spirit
And Wrestle it Harmlessly to the Ground 

Five Great Businesses For Boomers to Start
That You'd Probably Fail At Anyway

Is Volunteering for You?
They Don't Pay You, So Fuck It!

Naptime II,
The Sequel!

Boomers Returning to Marijuana;
Like You Ever Left It, Lazy Ass!

Lovin' that Sugar!
At Your Age, Why Teeth?

What You Can Learn from George Clooney;
Like He Would Even Speak to You!

Whittling - Have You Got What It Takes?

Taming That Ear Hair:
Tweeze It, Cut It, or Screw It!

Whatever Became of  the Cast of
Leave It to Beaver?

Whatever Became of  the Cast of
Bonanza?

Whatever Became of 
Your Looks?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex Trebek Ruminates On His Career On the Last Day He Hosts Jeopardy

Here I am at my very last show. This is a moment, all right.  Let me compose myself for the occasion.

God, I'm so sick of this fucking gig!

This will be the last time I'll ever hear Johnny Gilbert warble

 "This is Jeopardy!"  

Thank God! The old drunk, how does a guy make a career out of saying three words, and overacting on two of them? And when is he going to retire, when his larynx actually implodes and takes out half the audience?

You know what else I won't miss? The ridiculous premise of the show! Jeopardy gives you the "answer" and you come up with the "question?" REALLY? That's been nonsensical since Art Fleming was in knickers!  All you actually do is slap an arbitrary "What is" on whatever handful of words you have to say in order to not lose control of the board.

If the category is "Revolutionary Adjectives," who would respond to a Jeopardy clue like "the Guillotine" with the question "What is bloody?"  In the real world if you were asked "What is bloody?" you would probably answer something like "the time of the month I can't get it on with my wife," not "the Guillotine." 

Check it out, people!

And I'll tell you what else is stupid: the Daily Double. When you land on a normal space on the board you immediately know the clue and amount of money at stake. Hit the Daily Double and you know neither! "That's a True Daily Double" I intone enthusiastically to the contestant seeking to double his money when what I mean is "That's a True Moron, risking it all on a clue that might conceivably reduce Ken Jennings to a blubbering idiot." 

For all the feigned intellectuality Jeopardy brings to the tube, it sure as hell doesn't bring any sartorial splendor. Who developed the dress code for this show - the cast of Hee Haw?

None of our contestants ever seems to know how to put a shirt together with a sweater that doesn't leave you feeling like you've just dropped acid. Just look at these three tonight: Our champion is wearing a shirt so heavily stained it could be pressed into service as a tablecloth in an Italian restaurant,   the challenger in the middle is an over aged lady wearing enough jewelry to populate the tombs of a half dozen Egyptian potentates, and the porky guy on the end is sporting a paisley vest that makes him look like a gay hippopotamus.

Some people say I'm a little cold. They say I don't smile enough, that I'm not sympathetic to the feelings of kids on Jeopardy Teen Tournaments, and that I have no interest in the life stories of the contestants.  Yep, right on all counts!  

After 30 years, how could I possibly give a crap that our champion met his wife over an award-winning Mud Cake with Gummy Worms at a Pillsbury Bake-off in Wichita, Kansas or that Junior here took a break from masturbating to build a robot whose primary functionality is masturbating? Like I’m ever going to see these people again after I finish pretending to be listening to their palaver at show's end?

Frankly I'm only interested in the contestants with big boobs.  I'd love to go into Final Jeopardy with any one of them.

I wonder what Pat Sajak is thinking about my retiring. I hate that stupid smiley faced simp! I can't believe the guy was once actually given a late night talk show. He pulls down a talk show, I get Colonial Penn Life Insurance! He got to chat up Paris Hilton, I’m hanging with lunch ladies obsessed with burial costs.

And, trust me, the Colonial Penn benefit stinks.  It's not enough to bury a flea. 

I guess the funniest thing is the way so many people think I know all the answers on Jeopardy.  Ha!  Except for Potent Potables, I hardly know any.  My mustache is smarter than I am; when I shave it I can barely make it to the studio and back.

I wonder what retirement is going to be like.

The Jeopardy Clue: Another reason I can't believe I ever found that shrew appealing before I wound up home all the time!

The correct Jeopardy Question: What is "Leave the goddamn toilet seat down, jerk!"

See, folks?  There's another example of the ridiculous premise of the show!

~~~~~~~~~

Note: This is a humor piece only and is not meant to actually depict or convey the true thoughts and/or opinions of the real Alex Trebek.  However, if I've actually hit it perfectly, that is so damn cool!

There's One In Every Dorm

Yeah, there's always a guy like this. Remember?

I went to college years ago when dorms and dorm rooms were little better than army barracks but without the tough ass An Officer and a Gentleman type drill sergeant and the requirement that you learn to use a rifle without shooting yourself in the foot.

Nowadays the dorms in which my son and his fellows reside at colleges and universities throughout the country are more like four star hotels, only without concierge service and night time chocolates placed neatly by their beds. Plus today's dorms are co-educational, a development of which I never would have dreamed but for which I would have gladly swapped dozens and dozens of pieces of chocolate and my rifle, were I to have one.

But no matter how dorms may change, some things remain the same.  There are almost always certain types of dorm residents that all of us would recognize, whether we're matriculating millennials today or like me, antiques from the Age of Aquarius.   

What follows is a sampling. 

There's always one guy in every dorm who: 

.... can drink an entire beer in one gulp.  

Yes, this seemed impressive back in the day but it's somehow less so today when the same guy does it for you just before performing your open heart surgery.

 .... claims he never masturbates. 
One can only hope he was lying.  Because if not, you and I have no willpower whatsoever!


....  claims he routinely stays up all night before a 30 page term paper is due,  types it all out in one draft (in the typewriter era),  and always gets an "A." 
Predictably, most of these people are murdered before they reach age 21.


....  claims he never studies, parties the night before tests, and always gets an "A."
Double homicide anyone?


.... never fails to wax poetic on any occasion, littering his everyday conversation with references to Shakespeare, Keats, James Joyce, Film Noir, Classical vs. Modern Art, and any other conceivable subject or reference which displays his depth, sensitivity, and profound love and appreciation for art in whatever form it may be found or prove to exist.
He's only doing it to try to pot naive freshman girls.  It rarely works.


  .... claims no matter how drunk or how stoned he is he can drive perfectly well, so c'mon, don't be a baby, climb in the car with him. 
And true to form, this is the guy who got you home from innumerable parties and on occasion even drove you from Philadelphia to Boston and back.  And now years later as you pause to reflect on it, what comes to mind is 

"OMG, WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING!!!"

.... is  goofy and weird-looking but who because he is kind of character quickly becomes a favorite of everyone in the dorm who uniformly call him something like "Lapdog," "Joe Bluster," or "the Funkman."  

Yes, Lapdog has an incredible God-given ability to be as popular as a cool guy without actually being one.  Sometimes you almost wish you could be  goofier and weirder-looking and maybe you'd be as popular as Joe Bluster or the Funkman.

....  has dates each and every weekend while you are sitting home watching "I Dream of Jeannie."  
You'd like to imagine that in the parallel universe you're living the same life as this guy. But you know you're not.  In the parallel universe you're sitting home watching "I Dream of Jeannie" while this guy has dates every weekend.


.... has a girlfriend with whom he's been going steady since the seventh grade whose pictures grace every square inch of  his dorm room and to whom he glowingly and lovingly tells one and all he will be wed just as soon as the two of them are both out of college.   

Ten or fifteen years later this guy generally comes out as gay.

.... is a screaming, shouting, wildly gesticulating ultra-leftwing, socialist, anarchist, Che Guevara-spouting, Mao Tse Tung-admiring, Saul Alinsky-loving "power-to-the-people, right on!" crazed revolutionary radical.
Most of these guys wind up working at Fox News.


.... has fantastic hair. 
And know what?  Still has it too.


.... is extremely talented on the guitar and never hesitates to whip it out to serenade the dorm with any one or more of his dozens of original songs. 
And after a semester or two, you finally master the art of planting a smile on your face, rhythmically tapping your feet, and swaying to and fro to the worst goddamn music you've ever heard in your life.


.... at the end of a social evening always combs through the ashtrays  to scoop up any remaining roaches.
Yeah, you're right.  That was me. 

So, did I forget any other guys that there's always one of in every dorm?  

Hey, let me know ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Everybody Knows Your Name

Making your way in the world today takes .... wait a minute!
This post has nothing to do with Cheers!

Every person of a certain age has had them.

For our purposes I'll call them Boomer Moments, although they often go by another name that's far less savory to many of us over 60.

A  Boomer Moment is a moment in which you forget something you actually know as well as the back of your hand.  For example, you may forget your cell number, the name of a favorite actor, or the name of the capital of Nepal, assuming you knew it was Kathmandu in the first place. I often forget the back of my hand too.

I also forget names.  This includes the names of people I've known for years as well as the names of people I've recently met.  Between those two groups of people,  I'm lucky if I can string together the first and last names of people I was married to.

"Hello, Perry," shouted a cheerful fellow across the room at a social function I attended recently.

"Hello .... why, hello ....  you!"   I called back, feigning recognition. The face was familiar but the name had managed to elude my brain, escape my skull,  and get itself cleared for take off to parts unknown.

"How ya doing, guy?" Mr. You said, now approaching me.  "How are Brian and Brandon?"

Terrific.  This dude even knew the names of my children.   Even if I could buy a vowel or two or three, I couldn't get his!

"They're fine.  And how's your family?"  I inquired, asking the obvious reciprocal question.

"Oh, Perry, come on!"

"What?"

"You know I'm not married and have no children."

I know he's not married and has no children? I didn't even know if he was air or gill breathing!

"Perry!"  shouts a guy  from behind the crudite table.   This fellow I've known for 25 years, been to his house, and even had the hots for his wife, un-acted upon of course.  At least I think they were un-acted upon. 

But what the hell was his name?

"Heyy, you!"  I shot back , and over he bounded. 

"How's Brandon enjoying Johns Hopkins?"  Mr. You No. 2  asked, warmly pumping my hand.

Marvelous.  Another nameless guy wholly familiar with my entire Facebook profile.

"Don't believe I know you,"  said Nameless Guy No.1

"Nope, never had the pleasure," said Nameless Guy No.2

OMG! They expected me to introduce them!   Who's going to introduce me to each of them!

"Well, guys, umm .... you two really ....  I'd like to ......"

Suddenly I shifted tack. 

"You know, friends, why bother with names?  As the Bard so wisely put it all those many years ago 'What's in a name. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'"

There was a pause.

"Isn't that just like you, Perry?" laughed Nameless Guy No. 1. 

"Yep, always forgetting names," chortled Nameless Guy No. 2. "Don't think Perry's ever gotten mine right in 25 years!"

They really did know me!  And I couldn't muster  a single initial between the two of them.

No doubt about it. 

I hate me them Boomer Moments!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Still Stupid About Smart Phones

Know what? I have no idea what these are.

It happens more and more all the time, someone expressing shock and consternation at my most grievous failing as a human being.

"Didn't you get my e-mail, Perry?" 

"No, I didn't.  I've been away from my PC today."

"Why didn't you just pick it up on your smart phone?" 

"Umm ...  I don't have one of those."

"No smart phone!!!"

"No ... but ...but I am kind to orphans and the homeless ..."

"How do you get your messages, idiot?  By Harry Potter's owl?!"

Yes, it's 2014 and I am still stupid about smart phones.  I have myself a regular dumb ass phone such as you had 5 or 6 years ago.  When someone calls me, my cell phone rings: "Yup, Yup, Yup, Yup, Yup!"  Access the internet?  It barely accesses the person I'm calling.  Touch screen?  If I tried to touch it, it would probably slap me!

It doesn't seem so long ago that I first spotted people on the street walking about with phones without wires held tightly to their ears.  I remember thinking:

"Wow, they must be really important!"

"I'll bet that man in the business suit with the wireless phone is General Secretary of the United Nations! And that pimply 18 year old guy with the neck tattoo and the wireless phone must be CEO of Halliburton!  And  look at that woman with the wireless phone and the beard, I'll bet she's America's foremost woman with a beard!"

Back then a cell phone was the size of a grandfather clock with an antenna.  Many people carried their cell phones in holsters at the waist which made them look like wannabe lawmen in the Old West. I was always tempted to shout "Draw, Cowpoke" whenever somebody's phone went off in my presence. 

And then I too joined the Wannabe Lawmen of America, and got myself a cell phone.

Service was often sporadic in those days and sometimes you'd get so sick of saying "excuse me, could you repeat that?" that you'd fill in the meaning of inaudible words  through the magic of context.  It could be risky. Make a poor interpretative choice and you might wind up engaged to a blood relative, accepting a mining job in a small mid western town,  or signing on to become a rabbi. There were also areas known as dead zones, in such case the term  having nothing to do with my social life. 

Gradually cell phones evolved.  They developed better graphics, became reliable enough that few outside the Ozarks married their cousins, and eliminated the need for a holster by becoming small enough you could almost swallow them.  Now wherever you went you could readily receive crystal clear phone calls from annoying people you could heretofore easily have ducked.

Then phones took the great leap forward.  They became smart. 

So smart they were now way smarter than you and I, especially at subjects that require math.  Cell phones acquired cool new names like the I-Phone, the Android, and the Agnes R. Brockelman and featured a host of new functions like navigation systems, media players, and the ability to turn the lights off in your bathroom when you are in Europe, not that you ever get to Europe.  They all had touchscreens, navigated the web, and came on to your girlfriend when you were not around. 

Cell phones had clearly surpassed me.  After all, I am a man who had a VCR for 14 years which continuously flashed "12:00 ... 12:00 ... 12:00."    I was baffled.  I still am.

Yesterday it was an attractive young woman on a bus who noticed my grievous lack of compliance with the nature of the times.

"Excuse me, sir, but you have a non-smart phone, don't you?"

Here we go again, I thought. 

"Well, yes, that's right."

"So you don't feel the need to keep up on your latest e-mails until you can get to a PC?"

"I guess not."

"And you don't care about doing your wash remotely,  corresponding with alien life forms, or time travel to the Coolidge Administration ?"

"I guess I don't."

"Wow, you must be really important!  

Wanna hang out?"

Maybe I'm not so stupid about smart phones after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Considering the Alternative

The Alternative

There's an old line you've probably heard about a person getting along in years complaining to his friend about his exasperation with the aging process.

"Don't you hate getting older too?" says he to the friend. 

"Not when I consider the Alternative!" says the friend.

I've always thought this was kind of stupid.   As if the Alternative isn't also gonna happen?!!!  As if you have a choice between aging forever and the Alternative!

Wait a minute  ... what if you did?

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Perry .... Perry .... Perry."

"Who said that?   Oh my God, it's a process server!"

"No, Perry, it's me.  The All-Knowing One." 

"God?"  

"Well, not exactly.  But rest assured, I'm on the team."

"What is this about, All-Knowing One?"

"Perry,  soon you'll  be required to decide:  Do you want to keep getting older for all time, or do you want the Alternative?"

"What's the Alternative, sir?"

"Let me put it this way:  Got yourself a bucket list yet?"

"Oh, that Alternative!   You mean ... you mean .... I can  choose between getting older and older and not dying  and the Alternative?"

"Yep, it's a special this month. Better jump on it!"

"Well,  I sure don't want the Alternative! Tell me , sir, how will I look as I get older?  Say when I'm over age 200?"

"You've seen Keith Richards?"

"Yes?"

"If he married Larry King, their child."

"AHHH!!! Well, how do the women who are that age look?

"Their child."

"AHHHH!!! Aren't there any women in their 50's or 60's who will date a guy over 200?"

"Are you kidding?  They're all looking for guys in their 50's and 60's with loads of money who are headed for the Alternative!"

"Well, what would I do as I get older?"

"Ya like shuffleboard?  Horseshoes is popular too.   Then after the first 10,000 years or so, things slow down a bit."

"Slow down a bit?!   How much is slow down a bit?"

"To something like your typical Saturday night, Perry."

"AHHHHH!!!   Tell me, if I never die, what happens if ... say ... the Earth blows up?"

"You mean like in 3728 when every surviving non-Alternative Earthing becomes a slave of the Darquinians?"

"I ...I guess.  Say, All-Knowing One?"

"Yes, Perry?"

"What do Darquinian women look like?"

"AHHHHHHHHH!!!"   

"All-Knowing One, I've made up my mind."

"Put you down for eternal life, Perry?

"Not when I consider the Alternative to the Alternative!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Jazzmen

Sometimes after two o'clock at night, in some of the smokiest out-of-the-way music clubs in town, you hear the sweetest improvised jazz you've ever heard in your life.

I couldn't believe the sounds coming from two local artists, Jesse Wolf and Billy "Tubbs" Augustine, last Thursday night at the Coltrane Club.  

Jesse Wolf can play the guitar and make it sing.  And Billy Augustine is one of only three or four people in the world to play his very unique instrument.

Billy blows the "outtee navel."  He is rumored to have the biggest outtee in the world. It's quite a treat to see and hear Jesse playin' his heart out on guitar while Billy's blowing the blues on the outtee with his great big belly stickin' out.

Jesse Wolf on Guitar and Billy "Tubbs" Augustine on Outee Navel: SWEET!

  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's not every day you get to see the world's biggest outtee ... or want to. So depending upon how you interpret the picture above,  gaze away at it in awe, or not. Simply put, a naval engagement was my interpretation of the picture prompt above for this weeks' Friday Fictioneers enclave.*

You can contemplate your navel, as well as the navels (and stories) of the other Fictioneers by clicking right here.

Now that I've focused you on something you rarely focus on,  guess what? Clean That Thing Out!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*If  you don't see it, look at a darkened version of the picture where the two figures are immersed in shadows.  That was the version of the picture I saw first.

Over the Hill Hero

"Bruce, what are you doing?"

"I've got to save this poor individual trapped beneath a barrage of falling pillows, Selena!"

"Bruce, that's a doll with striped socks.  No one is in any danger whatsoever."

"Oh, I see!  Well, perhaps I'll just check to see if ....."

"The Bat Signal is on?  It hasn't been on in years!  And why that ridiculous nautical headgear?"

"The mask isn't for you.  It's for those you love."

"Oh, Selena, this is terrible!" said her neighbor Sarah. "What happened?"

"He's been this way ever since he turned 55, the Joker beat him in thumb wrestling, and Bane finally succeeded in blowing up Gotham City."

"Can anything be done for him?"

"Don't worry; Superman is coming over to play checkers. That always perks him up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I doubt anyone could help but wonder how a superhero like Batman, someone who is used to contending with arch villains and routinely saving the planet,  manages to make the transition to contending with bird poop on his favorite park bench and routinely saving string.  This is the theme of my post today in response to the picture prompt above for this week's Friday Fictioneers. 

Look, up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's the other Friday Fictioneers flying high with their own interpretations of the same prompt. No telling where they'll land, so do yourself a favor and ride along by clicking above.

It's good that Batman and Superman will at least have each other to reminisce about old times together with.  Not to mention a stimulating talk or two about prune juice. 

You're Such a Lovely Audience

Thank you, Everyone! 

Your applause is wonderful!  Let's bring out that terrific cast again ... Meryl .... Meryl .... my sensational co-star, Meryl Klepperstein, take an extra bow!

Y'know, folks, it's great to be back in my home town of New York starring in Broadway's latest smash hit,  Kinky Boobs! You were all fantastic tonight, a truly phenomenal audience! You're such a lovely audience I'd like to take you home with me, I'd love to take you home!

In fact, I will take you home!

I've had 14 buses dispatched directly outside the Helen Hunt Theater to transport all of you to my condo at 87th street.   Ladies, rest assured there are bathrooms on each bus with much shorter wait times than at the Ladies Room here in the Helen Hunt Theater so you won't  all be dancing around like Native Americans preparing for war by the time you get to my home.

We have ordered trays of food from the Plotkin Deli including corned beef, swiss cheese, roast beef, cole slaw, white fish, herring, chopped liver, baklava, cheese cake, and many other delicatessen delicacies guaranteed to give you reflux for the next week. Our Jewish audience members are going to feel like they're at a shiva but with the added bonus that no one's dead.

Now please all file out by section into the buses.  Orchestra seats go first, then the mezzanine, next the balcony, and lastly the abysmal seats slammed against the rear wall of the theater and sorry, folks, but your seats on the bus will be slammed against the rear of the bus as well.

When we get to the condo, feel free to throw your coats on my bed.   Remember that many coats look alike, so when you leave and you're parsing through 600 coats on the bed be careful to take yours and not one of the other audience members or you'll be going through life as a 34 short London Fog from Woodbridge New Jersey when you're actually a 38 long Burberry  from Greenwich Connecticut.  

I want you to feel totally at home in my home. Traipse through each and every room, admire the artwork - especially my paint-by-numbers --- and peruse my photo albums. You'll notice that my first wife was exceedingly hot but about as stable as the lower half of the periodic table, and my second wife had a great ass but the personality of the love child of Martha Stewart and Martha Stewart if Martha Stewart could mate with Martha Stewart. And I know Martha Stewart!

I'm looking forward to meeting all of you and spending quality time.  I want to hear about children, grandchildren, new jobs, retirements, divorces, operations, accidents, and existential angst and/or weltschmerz that may have you close to pondering ending it all. If necessary, I'll hug you through the night after the others have left.

Remember I don't give autographs.   

Why am I inviting an audience into my home after all my years in show business?

Frankly,  this is something I've wanted to do for a long time, but I had to wait for a truly responsive, enthusiastic,  and appreciative  audience --- a lovely audience. Tonight, folks, you were at long last that lovely audience!  

You applauded loud and long for our very marginal show, laughed at even at the stupidest and most unfunny jokes we padded out the script with, and hummed along with the utterly forgettable score.  If every theatrical audience were as naive and undiscriminating as all of you, Kinky Boobs would run forever and I could extend my waning career at least another 4 or 5 years, at which time I'll be the BIG 7-0, Goddamnit!

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Remember to take off your shoes at the door, or I'll never hear the end of it from my third wife!

Hope you like the chopped liver.

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