Oh, Wouldn't That Be Neighborly!

I like to be neighborly. 

 Especially when new neighbors move in and you want to make a nice impression in the hopes you and they might become good friends.

“Hi, Perry,” said new neighbor Jane Buxbaum standing at my doorway early one evening.

“Jane!” I exclaimed,” good to see you.  Come in.”

“I’d love to,“ she replied,” but I can’t right now. I wanted to ask you if you have a corkscrew we can borrow?”

“Of course I do,” I said, going to the kitchen, securing it and handing it to her.  

“And you need not be in any hurry to give it back either,” I said.

 I knew Jane and her husband Tom were just setting up housekeeping so I understood they may lacking in some household essentials.

 A couple of days later, husband Tom was at the door.

“Hey, Perry, Jane and I are making soup today.  Wonder if I can borrow a large pot, a stirring spoon, whatever appropriate seasonings you have, and a tureen?”

Well, why not?  Anything to be neighborly.

And about the corkscrew that Tom was clearly not returning while borrowing the large pot, stirring spoon, whatever seasonings I had, and the tureen … well, I did tell Jane not to be in a hurry to give it back.

“Here ya go, Tom,” I said, gathering everything up.  “No rush getting these back.”

“Perry!  Thanks for all your great help.”  

Next day both of them were back at my door.

“Oh, you guys!” I said.  “I told you there was no rush in giving the corkscrew, soup pot, stirring spoon, seasonings, and tureen back.”

“Oh, yes, we know that and we thank you,” gushed Jane.

“But that’s not why we’re here,” Tom said.

“No?”

“We’re having both of our families over for dinner tonight.”

 “How lovely.”

“So … may we borrow your dining room table, please?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your dining room table.   Here, I’ll help you lift it.”

“But …. But…”

“We may have to take off the legs to get it through the doorway," said Tom, "but never fear.  I brought a saw and I have glue at home.”

Over the next several days the Buxbaums were frequently at my door.  And out my door and over to the Buxbaums went all the furniture in the living room, my pool table, and the powder room toilet.

I had to face it. People do sometimes take advantage of me.  I have to watch for that from now on.

I decided to start right away.

I marched over to the Buxbaums’s house.

“Jane, Tom,” I said in a strong tone of voice.

“Yes, neighbor?” Tom replied.

“I want my corkscrew back and I want it right now!”

You know what? They returned the corkscrew forthwith! 

Being assertive works.   No doubt about it.

It’s two months later.  I am living in a tent in my back yard.  It’s cold and muddy and I could use a shower and a hot meal.

I’m not the best at being assertive, no doubt about it.

But at being neighborly? 

I’m the best!

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P.S. If you liked this post, you'll love my book Perry Block - Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute.  If you hated this post, you'll still love my book Perry Block - Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute.  

Why?   That's just the way it works!

I Reintroduce The Mantra of the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute

When I was younger, I thought people in their 60’s were totally cool with the concept of getting older. I always used to think that people who were 66 years old were perfectly happy to be 66 years old.  

They were into being 66 years old.

They were good at being 66 years old.

They felt they'd finally achieved the age they were always supposed to be. When they'd be shaving in the morning and looked in the mirror and saw Larry King on his worst day, they'd point at what looked like Larry King on his worst day, give a wry smile, and make that satisfied click-click sound people make with their tongues at the side of the mouth when they’re pleased with themselves and pleased with the world.

"Yep," they'd say "that's me!  I sure do look my age, which is great!  I'm worn out, wrinkled, bald, and with absolutely no chance of attracting anything less than the scurviest of women on the planet!  

It's all as it should be."

Then they'd go out of the bathroom into the bedroom and masturbate to Judi Dench.

But none of that is true!  Inside we all remain 40 forever.

Ever see a very old couple ---say 80-90 years old --- sitting together at dinner at a restaurant? You probably think "my, that's cute!"  

Trust me, it's not cute!

The old boy is thinking "who the hell is this prune Danish I'm sitting next to? And why isn't the hot young waitress groping me under the table every time she brings the cheese rolls?"

Why's he think this way?  Because inside he's 40.  Just like all the rest of us. 

And the wife? 

She wants to fuck George Clooney.

I realize I am way closer to being 80 years old than I am to being 40. 

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It is time to reintroduce: The Mantra of the Nouveau Old,Formerly Cute

It is meant for those for who feel the road ahead is suddenly all in the rear view mirror, who have reached the age they always thought was exclusively reserved for people’s parents, and who are fully eligible for the Senior Special at IHOP, but frankly I’d stick with the pancakes.

Chant it, meditate upon it, burn incense in its honor, but for god’s sake, don’t burn the blog down, the insurance has lapsed!  

We can talk later about royalties.

Mantra of the  

Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute

We are the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute!

Incipient Baby Boomer Geezers.

Inside we are 40!  No, not 60 or more!
Our enemies: the mirror, the camera, your 'who gives a fuck's' galore!
We like to think we’re cool, we’d like to think we rock,
But demographically we’re poison, just pigeon-feeder stock!

We are the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute!
Incipient Baby Boomer Geezers.

Today we sprout hair in all the wrong places,
But where we so want it, only wide open spaces!
Once we trusted no one over 30, it’s true,
Today we know no one under, no gentile, no Jew!

We are the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute!
Incipient Baby Boomer Geezers.

A bit of the bubbly means Alka-Seltzer,
Hard drugs --- Viagra, whadya expect, sir?
Once cuddly and cute, hip, happening, and cool,
now avuncular, respected, well-furrowed, mature.

We are the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute!
Incipient Baby Boomer Geezers.

We are Generation Ex-Lax, not X.
We are Generation Why? not Y.
Hug one of us today!
Preferably me.

Please.

Pay It Sideways

It happened in a very unlikely way from an even more unlikely source. But it made an impact on me and my coffee addicted self that I'm still thinking about.

A few nights ago I was buying a cup of large coffee in the nearby Wawa convenience store, which is  by the way the greatest convenience store in the world located right here in our Philadelphia area.  The cost: $1.80 - no king's ransom, but enough that I usually dispense a large cup of Colombian, gulp a whole bunch down right away, and then dispense more to fill the cup.

I'm classy that way. 

As I got in line, I eyeballed the guy in line in front of me facing toward the cashier. He had so many tattoos it looked like he'd fallen asleep in the chair of an insane tattoo artist snorting crystal meth. He was wearing those large round black earrings that some younger guys wear these days that look like ... well, the knobs you pull to dispense coffee at Wawa. Clearly he was not the kind of guy you bring home to your Jewish mother.

As the well-inscribed one purchased his beef jerky or whatever, he turned to his right side to look at me and turned back to the cashier and said:

"This is also for his coffee."

What? What did he say? Have I forgotten to wash out my ears the last nine months?

"Thank you," I stammered, "but why?"

"Pay it forward," he smiled and was gone.

"Or in this case, pay it sideways," I remarked to the cashier.

She grinned and said "this happens more than you'd think."

Yeah, I wouldn't think it would happen at all. Obviously I'm a shit. But what a nice way to brighten someone's day!

The next day I found myself in another Wawa.  Behind me in line was a young man, no tattoos or coffee urn earrings, with a short stylish haircut I would have laughed at when I was twenty but which I wish to God I had enough hair to muster today. Time for me to pay it sideways.

"This is for his coffee," I said with a bright smile, turning to the young man.

"Why are you doing this?" he replied quizzically."You coming on to me?  I have to tell you, I'm not gay."

"No, no! I'm not coming on to you!"  I blurted out.  "I'm paying it sideways!"

"Look, Bub, if you're trying to lure me into an alley ..."

"No, I just want to pay it ..."

"Oh, then I'll let you pay it."

"Thank you, because I only wanted to..."

"But don't follow me out of here!" he scowled and was gone. 

Notwithstanding this minor (and highly fictionalized) debacle in my attempt to follow in the steps of my well inked Wawa benefactor, I'm not daunted.  I will yet succeed in my efforts to pay it sideways.  Or next time, maybe even pay it forward.

But I've learned something: You never know where you will find kindness and class in this world.  Sometimes it comes from the most unexpected sources. 

And although I may forget that in days to come, it sure makes me feel a lot better right now.   

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

Or maybe sideways, as here.

I Unveil The Mantra (or if you prefer, The Womantra) of the Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute

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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