Monday, May 21, 2018


Boys will be girls
While I have done many things, many
times... I've only done drag once. Eons
ago my ex wife and I attended a dress
up Halloween party. In an attempt to be
timely, she went as Johnny Carson and
I as Joan Rivers. Frankly I had absolutely
no idea what I was getting myself into.
However after I donned the stockings,
high heels, wig, and Lee press on nails,
I suddenly understood why women act
the way they do. You see, burdened with
all of the accoutrements of femininity,
I moved and grooved just like a chick!
It is what it is
It makes sense. One walks differently
in heels and handles things in a very
different way with the addition of an
inch on the end of one's fingers. One's
body naturally adapts to the challenges
it is given and slowly it embraces an
alternative way of doing things. Call it
Pavlovian or adaptive behavior, you
can use any moniker, but you gotta do
what you gotta do. However, as one
gets older, the process of adapting now
involves becoming one's parents. And
in my case, that's anything but natural.
Hair raising experience
One of my father's friends had bushy brows
that looked like mini mustaches above each
eye. As a tot I used to marvel at his furry
forehead and wonder why he didn't tend to
the mess. My father also sported excess tufts
that peeked out from the oddest places. Every
morning Howard carefully snipped, plucked,
and primped in an attempt to keep those feral
follicles at bay. Long before manscaping, he
knew that anything above the collar must be
kept under control. Sadly, I must now hunt,
peck, and trim all sorts of hairy tendrals that
suddenly spurt out of odd orifices. YUK!
Down spot, down!
I can recall looking at my Mother's hands
and often wondering why she didn't do
something about those awful age spots.
Almost albino, I wanted the opposite of
what I had. So I spent most of my youth
in the sun. By my thirties I knew how to
bake and glow against all odds. Once it
faded, my problem was dealing with the
residual backlash. Now it was I who was
sporting "liver" spots in all sorts of spots
all over my body. While I moisturize and
use potions to tone down my polka dots,
it's a futile effort at best. SPF anybody?
In and out
My parents moved slower as time
went on. They groaned, moaned,
and hobbled every day. I thought
that they were either overtly lazy
or dramatically dour. Plus they
had to monitor their liquid intake
in the evening or spend half the
night getting rid of it. Proof that
age is a process of elimination.
In the end it will happen to all of
us and given time is not on our
side, we've designed the Passion
Pit potties with the future in mind!
I can see clearly now
As the years pass, so do our standards.
Often the ravages of time are in the eyes
of the beholder. A colleague's Dad was
always fastidious especially related to
his home. Over time his beloved home
faded with his youth. Then he decided
to have cataract surgery. A few days
after his return home he realized that
where he had been living was dirty at
best. Suddenly the veil had been lifted.
Angrily, he called his kids and asked
"How could you let me live in such filth?"
What we don't know won't hurt us.
Truth or consequences 
Like it or not, we all evolve. Our ability
to adapt is based on our own physical
limitations and the world that surrounds
us. I live in terror of someday residing
in a room surrounded by dustballs. Part
of me accepts the concept of adapting to
whatever my circumstances become. All
that I ask is that my family and friends
tell me when I've got toilet paper on my
shoe or the remnants of lunch on my shirt.
Whether I can see it or not, ring around
the collar or stains on the sofa are not
badges of honor. TELL ME PLEASE!