OLDER, NOT WISER, LESS CONCERNED ABOUT APPEARANCE

OLDER, NOT WISER, LESS CONCERNED ABOUT APPEARANCE

One change I have seen in my demeanor as I have aged is my lack of concern for appearing sophisticated.

When I was a young man, it was very important to appear, suave, sophisticated and worldly.  It never happened, but it was important.  I tried and failed often.  As an elderlier person I am less concerned with appearing suave, sophisticated and worldly; that is why I will use a non-word like elderlier and not give a crap.

When I was young and went out to dinner, I would never ask how much the “Special” cost.  One night I ordered a halibut special and when the bill came I found the special cost $35 when the most expensive entree on the menu was $24.  I now have no problem asking the waiter, “The special sounds nice, if it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg I might order it…ah how much?”  I may get kicked under the table, I don’t care, the price is a factor in my choice.

When the waiter tells me the veal is basted with hoisenfletcher sauce, I will ask him, “Oh, the veal sounds nice, but what in tarnation (GIYP) is hoisenfletcher sauce?”  Suave? No, but I don’t get stuck with veal covered with a horrible sauce and having to pretend that I like it.

I once ordered an expensive bottle of wine and when I was presented with it took a sip and said, “Delicious” because I was afraid to admit I didn’t like it.  Apparently it had gone vinegary.  Today I would spit it out and send it back.

When someone used a big word that I didn’t understand, the young Cranky would fake understanding.  Today I will simple ask, “Could you repeat that in a language we all speak?”

Tonight we went to dinner at a very nice restaurant that was BYOB.  I brought a bottle of pinot grigio.  The waiter brought over several glasses and asked if I would like some ice to keep the wine cool.  I responded trying to be humorous, “What and dilute this fine $9 bottle of wine.”

The waiter responded, “Actually I was asking if you want me to put the bottle in an ice container.”  The young Cranky would have been terribly embarrassed by such a faux pas, but not the older more mature Cranky.

“Well I guess I’m a fool, I thought you meant adding ice to the glass.”

“Actually sir, I meant both.”

“No you didn’t, but you know how to work a tip don’t you.”

“I do try sir, I do try.”

The older more mature Cranky was not the least bit embarrassed, and the young waiter got a little extra for a tip*.

*Actually dinner was on friends Barbra and Tom, but I'm sure the tip was very fair.  
Thanks Barbra and Tom!

 

THAT DUDE WAS CRAZY

THAT DUDE WAS CRAZY

Heh, heah heah heah heah; Heh, heah heah heah heah

Every school had one; that one guy who would do anything for attention.  He was the life of the party, a class clown, the guy who was not afraid of anything.  He was the guy who everyone liked but would always declare after saying his name, “That dude is crazy.”

Doug Fleming was our guy.  Doug Fleming, “That dude was crazy.”

At the lunch table, Doug could be coaxed to eat an entire apple in one bite.  Yes he would.  He could jam an average sized apple into his mouth and chew it up stem, seeds and all, in one bite.  “That dude was crazy.”

When streaking, a sixties fad of running naked across the football field at half-time, was popular, Doug was the guy doing it.  “That dude was crazy.”

When the teacher called on him in class Doug would simply reply, “Shit man, I didn’t read that stuff.”

On his way to the office the entire class would whisper admiringly, “That dude is crazy.”

He was the first guy to sneak booze into a teen basement party.  He was the first guy to discover the ganja.  He was the first guy to snort bad stuff.  “The dude was crazy.”

He wasn’t stupid, he was actually pretty smart.  He got good grades with very little studying.

Doug was a lot of laughs.  There was little that he wouldn’t do for a laugh.  Doug was very popular even if everyone said “That dude is crazy.”

At our schools tenth reunion, Doug did not attend.  Someone asked, “Hey, where is Doug Fleming?  Remember Doug”?

“What, you didn’t hear?  Doug had to be institutionalized.  He flipped out in college.  His roommate found him curled up in a corner of his room, naked bloody and mumbling to himself.

That dude was crazy!”

The preceding was fiction based on several kids I knew in high school and college…all of whom were described laughingly “As Crazy!”

An Umbrella Policy

An Umbrella Policy

This cranky old man has been down at the Jersey Shore for two weeks.  Why you may ask are you cranky when you have been at the beach for two weeks?

I have a thing about beach umbrellas.  Beach umbrellas can catch the wind, yank out of the sand, flip over and fly pointy end first into casual beach people.  I don’t like when that happens.  I especially don’t want that to happen with my umbrella on my watch.

We bought some new umbrellas last year, “Tommy Bahama” umbrellas.  They have a base that screws into the sand to prevent it from doing what I described in the previous paragraph. 

I hate those umbrellas.  They have a design flaw.  The umbrella ribs are separated in such a way that the wind catches the umbrella and turns it into a mini-sail.  This causes the umbrella to rock back and forth and though it does not rip out of the sand and fly away, it does not remain stable and it drives me crazy worrying about it.

Yesterday it was particularly windy and sunny, and Mrs. Cranky wanted the umbrella open to protect her from the sun.  Being a wonderful husband I set up the umbrella for her.  Being a rotten impatient jerk, I got tired of readjusting the defective umbrella, cursed several times, and ripped the umbrella out of the sand.  I might have said something like, “Put on sun screen, this umbrella is a pain in the ass and I’m done with it.” Maybe, I’m not real clear on that point.

At this time, Mike chimed in with a solution.  Not Mike my son, he did not make it to the shore this year.  Not Mike Mrs. Cranky’s cousin, not Mike Mrs. Cranky’s cousin’s son, but Mike my brother-in-law.  In case you’re confused, it was not Mike my brother-in-laws son, or Mike my brother-in-laws son’s son, it was Mike, my brother-in-law.

Mike, my brother-in-law, broke brother-in-law code by offering a solution to the umbrella problem.  Even though he knew I claimed the umbrella had a design flaw, he chose to insist that the umbrella stability could be resolved with a better umbrella anchor.

Tommy Bahama anchor



Brother-in-law's superior anchor system with stability flange

I believe that proper brother-in-law code would have required Mike, my brother-in-law, to nod his head in agreement and say, “Oh yeah, definitely a design flaw…I would buy a new umbrella.”

Instead he insisted on using a fancy umbrella anchor he had and demonstrating how the improved anchor would solve the stability issue.

I adamantly let him know,

“It is not the anchor; it is an umbrella design flaw!”

“Let me just try this anchor.”

“It won’t work!”

“Let me try.”

Mrs. Cranky ganged up on me.

“Let him try.”

Mrs. Cranky's uncle Louie from Canada, ganged up on me.

"Let him try...eh." 

Mike, Mrs. Cranky’s cousin, ganged up on me.

“Let him try.”

Mike, Mrs. Cranky’s cousin’s five year old, ganged up on me.

“Let him try.”

Mike, my brother-in-law’s son, ganged up on me.

“Let him try.”

Even Mike, my brother-in-law’s son’s five year old son, ganged up on me.

“Let him try!”

Out Miked, I let Mike, my brother-in-law, try.

Even with the larger anchor base flange, the design defective umbrella caught too much wind and tried to wriggle loose, but the stronger improved umbrella anchor held firm and the umbrella was stabilized.

Mrs. Cranky, Uncle Louie and five different Mikes all said in unison,

“We told you so.”

Mrs. Cranky added,

“Jerk!”

I still say my brother-in-law broke an unwritten code by challenging me in front of Mrs. Cranky .

I also stand by my claim that the umbrella has a severe design flaw.

My brother-in-law did give me an expensive cigar, so we’re good.

I do have issues with Tommy Bahama!