I Love the Seagulls

I was walking by the bay and there she was:   slender, pretty, and not a day past 35. She was sitting with her sketch book, drawing multiple poses of the seagulls as they splashed and stretched near the shore.

“I love the seagulls,” I said softly as I walked by, hoping for a response.

"Oh, yes, the seagulls are positively enchanting!"' she replied, jumping up and extending her hand.

"Enchanting,” I repeated warmly. “Yes, they are.”

She held my hand and squeezed it.

“I’m so happy to meet you,” she said.

"And I, you!"

Still got it, I thought!  

“May I see your drawings of the seagulls?” I asked.

“Oh, sorry, I don’t have any drawings of my grandparents, just of these ocean birds.”

“Your grandparents?”

"Yes, Herbert and Elsie Siegel. I’m Jane, I’m visiting this week.

“Jane?”

“You must be one of Grampy's oldest and dearest friends!  I’ll tell him I saw you schlepping down the beach."

Know what?

I hate the fucking seagulls. 

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

Beware the LOJM!

The LOJM!

 (maybe)

I’ve never been one to believe in tall tales, myths, or urban legends.

I don’t believe the tooth fairy could ever turn a profit on used enamel, doubt the existence of Bigfoot and Nessie, and scoff at aliens crash-landing at Roswell because beings that advanced would know there’s no other place to crash-land than Vegas.

BEWARE THE LOJM!

Today is my birthday. On this day I am 40 years old, just as I have been for many years and always will be! But today somehow the rest of the world will look upon me and see something obscene, loathsome, and truly terrifying!

The world will see a man who is’s 67.

BEWARE THE LOJM! (pronounced “LOW-JIM”)

Known more formally as the “Little Old Jewish Man,” the LOJM is a foul and malignant creature known to torment and bedevil Jewish men of a certain age.

And I am its victim! 

I can no longer have my picture taken in peace. The instant a camera is produced, the LOJM dashes in front of me with blinding speed. It’s like the DC Superhero the Flash, if the Flash were endowed with the additional superpower of speaking fluent deli!

The LOJM next positions itself between me and the camera, musters its most hideous visage, and then vanishes as soon as the picture is snapped! Moving at hyper–speed, the monster arrives and departs undetected, leaving only the surrogate image of its gruesome face as evidence of its foul and deceitful visitation.  

Then I see the picture!  No winning boyish grin, smooth and supple cheeks, or lush brown hair swooping low across my forehead.

IT IS THE LOJM!

But the creature’s evil work is not yet done. The LOJM mesmerizes those around me so they actually believe its foul face is my own!

Even I sometimes cannot detect the deception.  

CURSE YOU, LOJM!

Most wicked and perverse of all is what the beast LOJM has done to my relations with the fair sex - “the babes,” as we 40 year olds call them. He has cast a spell of avuncularity upon me!

Thanks to this spell, no women under the age of 60 can visualize an encounter with me to consist of anything spicier than sharing the New York Times Crossword Puzzle. Avuncularity may have its place, but only when it’s Hanukkah and your uncle is Steven Spielberg.

Today the LOJM invades my very birthday celebration.

Halt, you fakockt fiend!  Be gone, you evil alte cocker!  

Can’t a guy turn 40 (again) in peace? 

BEWARE THE LOJM!

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

And you don't have to be Jewish to be stalked by the LOJM. It's coming for us all!

She’s No Dan Fan

Note: Ironically I wrote this piece yesterday before I heard of the passing of Walter Becker. Let it serve as a tribute to Mr. Becker, Donald Fagan, and Steely Dan's great contribution to our music.

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

"Wouldn't you know it, Michelle?”

“What’s that, Perry?”

“Just as we get to the concert, it’s starting to rain.”

"What a shame! Let’s turn around and go right back home!"

"Now, Michelle, you agreed to come.”

"Sure, after you plied me with gin.”

"Michelle, Steely Dan is the quintessential Boomer band. Second only to the Beatles." 

"Need I remind you, Perry, I'm post-Boomer?"

"Oh, there’s not a lot of difference between us.”

“You’re right, there’s only one difference – years!”

“It's clearing up. Let’s head on in.”

“Did you remember the tickets?”

“Of course.”

“I knew I should have hidden them!”

“Wow, look at this place! I haven’t seen so many gray ponytails since my last George Washington Look-alike Contest!”

“I don’t see anyone here my age.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Michelle, I see plenty of folks your age.”

“Where?”

“Working the concessions.”

“Wonder if I can get some gin there.”

“Look, there’s Donald Fagan and Walter Becker!”

“They’re both kinda ugly, aren’t they?”

“I’m sorry, Michelle. Next time we'll go see David Muir of ABC News in concert.”

“What’s this first song about?”

“Everyone’s Gone to the Movies is … umm …rumored to be about child abuse.”

 “Lovely.”

“Now they’re going into Hey, Nineteen. That's almost our song.’”

“It's not about a guy who calls out bingo numbers for a living?”  

“Maybe this was a bad idea for you to come.”

“Wait, Perry! I’ve heard this one before.”

“It’s called Deacon Blues.”

“It has kind of a moody haunting quality.”

“They got a name for the winners in the world

 I want a name when I lose.

“They call Alabama the Crimson Tide,

Call me Deacon Blues.”

“Say, Perry?”

“Yes, Michelle?”

“You want a name when you lose?” 

“I guess.”

“I’d have thought you’d already had half a dozen by now.”

“Aw, Michelle!”

“I’m kidding! Know what?

“What?”

“I do like Steely Dan.” 

“You do?

 “And I like you too. In fact, you’re probably my favorite Baby Boomer!”

“Why, thank you.”

“But about those names when you lose?”

“Yes, Michelle?”

“You’ll be needing one later tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

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. 

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

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.

Youth is Wasted on the Product Logos

Before                    After




We live in a youth-obsessed society, which isn't such a terrific thing when you are obsessed with youth and don't happen to have it anymore.  

This accent on youth doesn't just pertain to human beings, it even extends to product logos. Several years ago the familiar Quaker Oats guy got himself a makeover. With the stroke of an advertising agency's pen, he was made younger, thinner, and cuter than ever before.

Apparently in  order to eat oatmeal these days it's important to first want to have sex with the guy on the oatmeal package, even if he's a seventeenth century Quaker.

I predict more such changes are coming.

Uncle Ben's will announce that its new packaging will feature a much younger version of its traditional avuncular progenitor. He will now be called Dude Ben.  In place of the bow tie he's been wearing since 1946, Dude Ben - who's 22 - will now sport a hipster tattoo and bunch of tattoos.

Feel like a nice bowl of rice? Get it while he's hot!

I mean, it's hot.

Tony the Tiger is soon to become Tony the Cub, the Gerber Baby will knock back a couple of years to become the Gerber Fetus, but the biggest change of all is planned for Poppin' Fresh, the Pillsbury Doughboy.

He will morph into Poppin' Lump o' Dough.

Why do old logos get to be young again while I remain so old and wrinkly that the only logo I'd be suitable for belongs on a box of raisins?

It's just not fair!

Youth is wasted on the product logos.

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

There was a Crooked Man & Other Ailments of Boomer Life

Last week I sat down and made a list of all my current health challenges.

Sexual dysfunction didn't even crack the Top Ten.

The health issues we Boomers face as we age are nature’s way of telling us it's a little late to do Europe on a motorcycle. What constitutes an exciting summer now is being able to say to your neighbor "look how good the hydrangeas came in this year!" 

Would you like to compare my list with yours?

There was a Crooked Man

My back was recently voted the East Coast's Answer to  Lombard Street in San Francisco.  The only difference between my back and Lombard Street - the crookedest street in America - is pedestrian foot traffic.

I went to see my orthopedic doctor Dr. Simpkin and asked him if it was possible to straighten my back.  Dr. Simpkin thanked me for the laugh.

"Straighten your spine?  So you can have excellent posture in your coffin?"

Got to love a doc with bedside manner.

Something Inside Starts Burning

That something inside is reflux, which catapults my esophagus into the state of global warming our descendants are expected to experience in the years Star Trek is supposed to take place.

With medicines known as proton pump inhibitors, I can out eat Anthony Bourdain on his best day in his most exotic land.

But should I forget to take them, it's the Great Chicago Fire all over again and even Spiderman can't save my thoracic cavity.

Vitiligo Whoah-Oh 

No, Vitiligo is not a hit song by the late Dean Martin. It is a hit to the skin by a disease that turns it to a blotchy white.

And no, Blotchy White is not a Catskill comic, but an apt descriptor for my hands, arms, and neck. 

That's just what this liberal needed: a disease to make me look more white. 

I've Looked at Clouds from Both Sides Now

I've looked at floaters from both sides now, and frankly I don't like either side.

Floaters are "inkspots" floating like dark clouds in front of my eyes. If I look quickly out of the left side of my eye, it looks like the Grim Reaper is sneaking up on me. 

Which he is.  I sure hope the floaters float away before I do.   

My Analyst Told Me That I Was Right Out of My Head - Don't ask. 


And that's what life is like for this Boomer these days, with help from Joni Mitchell, Linda Ronstadt, and Dean Martin.

How about you, fellow Boomer? What's on your list?

What's that?  

You're doing Europe on a motorcycle this summer? 

Well, wait til you see my hydrangeas!

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

Little Old Ladies of My Dreams

 Little Old Ladies of My Dreams
Then and Now

Ever since I was a kid back in the black and white 50's, sexual fantasies have been as much a part of my life as insecurity, Coca-Cola, and being shitty in sports. Over the years, however, the objects of my mighty mental desires have changed every bit as much as the times. 

I used to lie on the carpet as a child in the family den and rub myself whenever Sally Starr - the somewhat chesty blonde cowgirl who showed Popeye cartoons and the Three Stooges -  appeared on screen. I didn't know exactly what was going on but I was constantly begging my mother to serve me spinach in volumes vastly beyond those ever envisioned for the average American boy by the sailor man's creators.

Or, for that matter, by Moe, Larry, and Curly either.  


From Ms. Starr I progressed to a steady succession of actresses (as well as choice classmates, office mates, and elite composites) usually aged, as I aged, in their 20's, 30's, and 40's.  But nowadays in springtime, summer, winter, and fall this not-so-young man's fancy  --- and fantasies --- have turned  to those women whom I (tongue-very-much-in-their cheeks) refer to as the 

                Little Old Ladies of My Dreams!

those actresses on the far side of 60 who can still send me to the den floor with the best of 'em! A sampling of these sexy over-sixties includes:

Karen Allen - age 65
Adrienne Barbeau - age 72
Kathryn Bigelow - age 65
Gates McFadden - age 68
Susan Sarandon - age 70 

But how do I mentally project myself into the amorous embraces of the Little Old Ladies of My Dreams?  Well ...

Gates McFadden, age 68  - we meet at a Star Trek  convention when I obtain her autograph in a moment when everyone else in the place is deluging William Shatner.          
                               
"Thank you, Ms. McFadden.  You know, you were always my favorite Star Trek doctor.  After DeForest Kelley, that is."

"Then I was your second favorite?"

"Yes, but a close second. And I always thought you were hotter than Bones!"

"Thank you. May I buy you a drink? I find you a very attractive man about my age."

"Great! And later I'd like to boldly go where no man has ever gone before!" 

"I can't say that would exactly be true."

"That's okay!  I'm not a Star Trek purist!"

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

Kathryn Bigelow, age 65 - We meet in a bar in Philadelphia where she is directing a film. 

"Why, you're director Kathryn Bigelow! I'm a great admirer of your work!"

"Thank you very much."

"One day I might even see one of your movies."

"May I buy you a drink?  I find you a very attractive man about my age."

"Thank you. You know I'm not at all like your ex-husband James Cameron."

"You mean that you're not a jerk?"

"No, I mean I'm Jewish. The word Titanic will never be used as an apt descriptor for any part of me!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Susan Sarandon, age 70 -  We meet when I spot her leaving the theater on the streets of New York City.

"Ms. Sarandon? I really liked you in Bull Durham!"

"Thank you, but I thought Kevin Costner was the one who made that movie."

"I didn't find him as fetching as you in the bathtub scene."

"May I buy you a drink?  I find you a very attractive man about my age."

"You find me a very attractive man?"

"Yes!"

"About your age?" 

"Yes!"

"Like to buy me a drink, would you?"

"I would indeed!" 

"Well, instead of that, Ms. Sarandon, there's something else you can do for me."

"What's that?"

"You can fuck yourself!  Thanks for not supporting Clinton!"


(Sometimes I love my country more than the Little Old Ladies of My Dreams.) 

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

Note: The two additional Little Old Ladies of My Dreams above are Adrienne Barbeau and Karen Allen. Boy, would I love to spend an evening drinking tea and knitting sweaters with either one of them!