Don’t get all exited.  If you’re name is announced and you get to come up on stage to accept your award, that award, is death.  Yes, this is the continuing list of the people in our world…who simply need to go away.

Far be it from me to cheer for bad things to happen to people.  But hey, if you’re number happens to be up, don’t let the door of life hit you in the ass as you make your way off of this planet.

Here we go…

The men (and women) who choose to drive their houses on the road, in the guise of an over-sized SUV.  I don’t need your stink eye when you have trouble getting back into your behemoth because I have legally parked next to you and you’re having trouble opening your doors.  Your vehicle doesn’t make you stronger, more intimidating or safer.  Just annoying, to everyone else other than yourself.

Men dressing out of season.  Perfect time of year for this.  Look, I want Spring to come as much as the next person.  But when there is 15 inches of snow on the ground, the temperature is 28 degrees and I have ice forming on my testicles, I don’t need to see you running out to your car in cargo shorts and flip flops.  And, by association, the teenagers waiting for the bus in the morning in twenty degree temps wearing only a shirt and light sweater, texting at 6:20 am.  We know you’re texting someone, saying, “I’m freezing my ass off out here”.  Put a friggin coat on!

Test audiences who gave the green light to, “Morgan Family Strong”.  I’m not even going to elaborate.

The clerk at my local Wawa who insists on reading my paper before I purchase it.

The next person who reminds me that “we can’t control the weather”.  That may seem like a minor infraction for being removed permanently, but, it’s been a long winter.

The next restaurant server who asks, “How are WE doing tonight?”

The next member of either political party who fails to at least listen to the other side’s point.  The ones who tell you, “I know all I need to know”.  Hey, idiot, no you don’t.  The country is still f****d up, just listen, it’s not going to hurt you.

The next person who cries, “They’ll start with the assault weapons then go after our handguns”.  Makes me wish I had an assault weapon when you say that.

The next person who tells me, “Fluids and rest”.  Or, “Rests and fluids”.

The people in charge of naming new drugs.  Toujeo?  Linzess?  Really, can’t we employ a group of six year old children to come up with something better?

The President of UP television network.  Makes me wish there really was a heaven and hell, mainly for the hell part.

The next person to break out in an Eagles cheer.  It was two months ago people.  Time to move on.

The next medical professional to remind me, “Your current plan doesn’t cover that”.  Really?  I’m sure your plan doesn’t cover what is about to happen to you.

The next toll taker who reminds me to, “Have a blessed day”.  I know many of you are going to take exception with this one.  How can such a phrase be harmful in any way?  Listen, I don’t want a blessed day.  I know I don’t deserve a blessed day.  And let’s face it, only so many of us can actually experience a blessed day.  So save it for those who really need it.  Just doling them out to every car who passes by, seems a bit, well, crazy, you know?

The next bicycle guy, who takes up the entire lane of traffic ahead of me, because our lane does not have a bike lane.  First off, my mistake, it is not, “our lane”, it’s my lane.  If the road you’re on does not have a bike lane, it’s not designated for bikes.  Take your spandex pants and your helmets with the dentist mirrors and go to a bike-approved road.  Or to a rally trying to get support for more bike lanes.  Just because you are pedaling at your fastest pace, you’re still doing 14 miles an hour ahead of me in a 35 zone.

Lastly, to the person who gave out body part names and slangs, for whoever came up with,”scrotum”.  I realize that you must have had a rough night beforehand, but no excuse.  I know you’re probably waiting for the job offer from the company that names the new drugs.

If you fall into one of these categories, shape up…or watch out.

 

Why is it that so often the best version of ourselves appears whenever we have a doctor or a dentist appointment, or even with our hair stylist?

You know what I mean.  The preparation.

It’s like we are preparing ourselves for the cleanliness Olympics.  We shower, often a double rinse on the hair, meticulously cleaning bodily openings, even the ones we realize they have no business going near.  It is the shower of showers, as if we’re going into a 50 year cryogenic freeze immediately afterwards.

I mean, even if I’m going to the podiatrist I’m scrubbing my ass like there’s no tomorrow.  As I’m doing this I’m trying to imagine a scenario where this guy is going to need to ask me to drop my pants.  Even though I can’t come up with anything, I keep scrubbing.

We shave, clip our nails, trim our nose hairs, double-brush our teeth and use mouthwash…a lot of mouthwash.

And if it’s an opposite sex visit (male patient, female doctor), somehow we magnify the prep process even more, if that’s even possible.

Why?  Because often these people approach and enter the deepest regions of our bodies, in many areas we don’t allow even our most cherished loved ones to go near.

Think about your preparation for the doctor or dentist and then that of a first date…are they really all that different?  Are the expectations all that different?

And like a first date, imagine how we feel, after all that prep, when we barely spend 5 minutes with the doctor, not even taking our shirt off?  And we’ve spent $50.  Feeling kind of used, aren’t we?

It’s not just us, our spouses want us to look our best for these meetings also.  I’ve heard more than once, “You’re wearing that for your appointment?  Please go change!”  “Sweetie, he’s gonna lance a boil off of my ass, I don’t think he’s gonna mind that my sweat pants have paint stains on them”.

Can you imagine if they really did care about those things?  Can you picture them in the lounge, “Did you see what that Duffy had on?  Geez, what a slob!  I knew he had a small one”.

I think it all goes back to when we were young.  Our mothers would yell, “Make sure you have on clean underwear in case you’re hit by a car”.  We didn’t get the lecture about being sure NOT to get hit by the car.  It was basically assumed we would just do something that stupid.  The real warning was, “If you get hit by a car and fracture your skull, do NOT embarrass me in front of those doctors and nurses by having on dirty underwear”.  Hey, mom, how about a little less lecture and a little more Tide.

What about those moments when we run into our doctor or dentist in public, say we’re out to dinner with our wives and there they are.  You act almost like you’re running into the girlfriend you’re wife doesn’t know about.  “Uh…Doc, this is my wife, Madeline…”.  Awkward, right?

Hair stylists aren’t at quite the same level, however, they are very up close and personal with our scalps and when someone else is washing your hair, they still qualify for 75% of the standard professional prep.

It would be nice to know that we can give the same level of attention daily to our loved ones, or even just to ourselves, and not just for those occasions when those very smart people are asking, gently, “Bend over just a little more”.

I gotta go shower.  I have a dentist appointment on Tuesday.

 

Yes, my name is Michael and I have been a liar.  They say admitting you have a problem is the first step in getting help.

Problem is, I’m not sure I need help or want help for that matter.

Growing up Catholic and in a house with four brothers, abusive teachers and a neighborhood of maniacs, lying wasn’t a luxury as much as it was a necessity.

Growing up where we did, as soon as you became smart enough to grasp the idea there actually wasn’t any hell, or anything close to it, it made the lying thing that much easier.  And they should have made it plainer to us in the first place.  “Thous shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor”?  Really?  How about, “Kid, don’t lie”.  Same thing goes for coveting thy neighbor’s goods.  “Don’t steal” would have sufficed.  Who were they trying to impress?

I was raised in a lying community so it came pretty natural to most of us.  “Mr. Duffy, did you complete your homework assignment?”.  “Yes, but my father spilled a bottle of Jim Beam all over it and then licked the pages afterwards”.  See, this is why lying is necessary.

As adults, why do we lie?  To deceive?  To cheat?  To avoid hurting someone’s feelings?  It seems the last of those is the most common form of lying.  Not telling the truth in order to spare someone’s feelings.

Let’s face it, in today’s society, there are simply many circumstances where it is easier to lie than to explain the truth.  “Why don’t I want to go out on a second date with you?”  Is it really better to tell that person the growth on the outer rim of their nose is something you will never make peace with?  Or to lie and tell them you’re a Republican and can’t stand their views on anything.

My wife detests it when I lie.  Even if it is for a very good reason.  Her position is, if you can lie about one thing, you can lie about anything.  Not true.  Not in the least.  Sparing someone the truth for the right reason is not wrong.  Now, I am being blatant with the truth more and more often as I grow older, which is why I have fewer and fewer people in my life.  Which shows you most people would prefer that you lie to them as opposed to hurt their feelings.

The truth is, our pants are never ever going to catch on fire.  Lying is part of our everyday life.  If you can make it through the entire day without telling even one little lie, you’re a better person than I am.  Or a meaner one, I’m not sure which.  Let me give you a quick pop quiz on that:

Your Boss:  “What do you think of this tie?  My wife made it for me in her tie-dye class.”

Your neighbor: “Here’s some fresh fruitcake we just made.  Let us know what you think”.

Your annoying, annoying neighbors: “We just got two tickets to Swamp People on Ice, for Saturday night.  Would you and your wife like to join us?”

You see, it’s not our fault.  Society calls upon us to lie for our own survival.  Now, cheating on your spouse, cheating on your taxes, if you’re lying for that then shame on you.  That’s a different story.

I’m sure you’ll agree.  Let me know what you think of my blog.  Then again, better not.

I’ll give myself credit, something I don’t do very often.  Looking back over my adult life, I’ve rarely held my tongue, or more recently, my keyboard, over the possibility something I say or write might be offensive to someone, or worse, hurtful.  Let me add that those words or actions were never proceeded by intention.

I made a commitment, to myself, when I started this blog, that I would keep it light, focusing on humor, and hopefully a way to bring a little of that into anyone’s life who chose to follow it.  To avoid the world of politics, religion and the like.  It’s not easy, but you only need click on the TV or the computer or hopefully you still pick up a newspaper and there is plenty of that toxicity there for you to breathe in.  Me, I’m choosing to breathe clean air for now.

To date, I think the things I have written about have nothing to do with those time bomb subjects.  True, the world is raging around us.  Sometimes I feel cheap not speaking out.  But there are other forums for that, right?  Like my tee shirts and bumper stickers.

Okay, I’m not speaking specifically about me now, but isn’t it tragic that people on opposite sides of real issues can’t sit down and speak anymore?  It’s probably because the middle ground in this country, once as wide as the mid-western plains, has shrunk to a space about the size of my backyard.

Sure, we speak with passion to those who share our views.  But we hardly ever reach those who don’t.  Rich or poor.  Right or left.  Male and Female.  White or black.  God or no god.  How can we ever find real answers when the parties involved feel there is no reasons to search for them?  Like they already have all of the answers they need.

I haven’t even discussed a single issue here and yet I’m sure there’s at least one person reading I’ve offended, (if not, maybe, at least one person who is reading?)

Last year I was convinced it was just a matter of time before I left this country.  I wanted to.  Like I’m in the 12 steps a big part of me still wants to.  Every day.  “Go ahead, you don’t like this country, git out!”  You can hear the echo without the actual words.  It’s thoughts like that that cement our future and limits our evolution as a species.  You don’t like things the way they are?  Don’t fix them, leave!  Those words are rarely spoken by people who have much at all.  So they cling to the only thing they have, their patriotism.  Wrap yourself in the flag.  I’d rather see you wrapped in a nice warm winter coat my dear.

I sincerely hope one day I feel differently.  I want to feel something other that what I feel most days.  As I’ve mentioned before I’m a lucky guy and I have a lot to live for HERE.

I’m not ashamed to admit that a large part of my spirit has been crushed.  And I don’t believe it has anything to do with growing older.  In fact, I would not want to be in my 20’s or 30’s in this country today.  I would never trade wisdom for youth.  Our kids, I have no idea how they will do it, what they will cling to.

Next month will mark 20 years I have been with the woman I love, 16 of those years married.  Without her I would not have made it this far.  Far more than loving her I admire her as a person.  Then I see people like my daughter and her emergence as an activist, and it gives me hope.  Slivers, but something to hold on to.

“Don’t be such a pessimist”.  Yeah, that’s the answer.  I’ll start watching UP television and everything will be okay.  The people who watch the shows on that network do so because they WANT to feel better.  They NEED to feel better.  About something.  About anything.  I can empathize with them on that thought process.  But the day I start watching, “Bringing up Bates” just come up from behind me with a shovel and please, make it quick.

There re all kinds of faith.  Faith in a deity, in a creator, in a political party, in a way of life, in a name brand.  We drive over bridges every day having faith they won’t come down.  And then, one day, one does.  We have faith that a loved one will survive an illness.  Until they don’t.  Then, when these things happen, many people lose their faith, to the bottle, or drugs, or worse.  While others, their faith carries them through times like that.

Let’s try this on for size.  Let’s start having faith in one another, starting with the people who are most important in our lives.  Let’s forget about our leaders, our religious figures, our entertainers, even our football team, and have faith in one another.  Am I sounding like George Burns in, “Oh, God”.  Oh, god.

But before we even have faith in each other, let’s have faith in ourselves.  Like they say during airplane disasters, put your mask on first, then help the person next to you.  So, good idea.  Make sure your own house is in order before you start looking to others for answers.

So, contrary to public opinion, I DO have faith.  It just doesn’t fit into any specific category.  I realize that makes people who live inside of boxes squirm a bit.  Yo, those boxes are made of cardboard.  Very easy to get out of.  Or at least poke a few holes though.

I wish you the best version of your faith, whatever that is.

 

 

Before we start with today’s blog, let me give you a brief update on the war between me and my body.  Yesterday, my body gained an unexpected ally in the battle…my wife.  Much like America, in 1941, bombed at Pearly Harbor, they enter the fray to assist the crippled Brits (my body), who I had on the run.

Actually, not.  Yesterday was a set back with little sleep Sunday night, the clogging of the left ear and a general sense of, “Who am I and what place is this?”  The Americans sent my body to the doctor Monday and now I’m not only not taking meds, I’m taking more medicine than I ever have been at any time of my life.  There’s the antibiotics, as a result of a double spy at the doctor’s office who suggested a, “low level pneumonia” thing taking place.  Back on the Mucinex for the mucus and the cough, Sudafed for the stuffiness and now, Afrin nasal spray, also for the stuffiness.  Not to mention Advil PM at night to help me sleep.

Last night I did sleep 8 hours, so okay, although you can’t see it, here is my white flag!  Give me 8 good hours of sleep a night and I’ll sign whatever you want me to!  Name, rank, serial number, names and locations of out spies, secret battle plans, you can have it all!

My wife is not gloating about being on the winning team.  Nor should she be since this illness started with her, and before her one of our darling maniac grand kids, aka, Milo and the Germiacs.

Mom, the Big L, was pleased, even though she has directed me to basically do nothing but breathe until I am declared better.  And with mom, even the doctors statement that I am healed will not be enough.  I’ve heard many a, “How do they know you’re cured?” in the past.

By the way, mom’s current cure for anything, and everything, is food.  Eat.  No matter what it is.  Eat and the miracle of non-organic food products will make you better.  This is in direct contrast to when we were young and on a very tight budget.  Four kids, one parent.  Back then the battle cry was, “Starve a cold, starve a fever”.  And for that matter…”Starve insecurity…starve poor behavior…starve whining…starve bad grades…”  Okay, you get the picture.  So those of you who have known me might suggest, Mike, those pictures of you growing up, you seem to be…pretty healthy?  Big boned.  Husky.  Living along the border of Chunkytown and Fatville.

Remember, I did have quick hands and a flexible ethic with the truth.  Enough said.

Luckily, for most of you, I haven’t figured out a way to attach photos to this blog yet.  I was going to show a bit fat glob of coughed up mucus.  I’ll save it in a jar for anyone of you brave enough to come visit (see Sweetie, that’s enough to keep people away at least through mid-April).

That was a long way leading to today’s topic.  And as you read, this isn’t something I am down about, just clear-headed in thought.

Most people…simply don’t care.  There are rat’s rectums that they care about more.  Sorry, the truth hurts.

Okay, let me say, the people we love, who love us, there is a bond there that is strong, and good, and helps define who we are.  You announce news of some sort, and the response is, “That’s nice…great”.  Then, about two weeks later, you might mention it and the general reply is often, “Oh, sorry, haven’t had time to check that out”.  Or, “Oh, is that cancer thing STILL going on?”

It’s not their fault.  As a society we have been conditioned not to care…or to care all that much, anyway.  We all have our own lives, our own issues and we rarely step outside of our bubble without it being popped for us.  The people close to us love us.  If we end up in the hospital, they will visit.  If we’re sick, flowers and food will come.  If we’re arrested, they will testify in our defense (depending on the charge of course).

But most people are, what I now refer to as, “Wavers”.  They get caught up in the tidal wave of the worlds issues and their daily problems and concerns.  “We love you”, but we have to take care of ours.  And you…we love you…good luck.  And they mean good luck.  Most people are doing the best they can out there in the everyday world.  But their center has no base.  The core of who they are, has nothing to attach itself to.  And the wave is going to toss them about and they have no choice but to go with it.  The sooner we realize this the less we are disappointed daily.  Geez, this sounds darker than it really is.

Example, I know people in my own family who never read my book.  And no, my mother reading it 124 times does not even that out.  Even if I didn’t like the person I think I’d take a peek just for potential legal purposes.  But it’s things like that that allow us to separate ourselves, as we grow older, from the people who truly matter, and those who don’t matter anymore.  Who will always be a face in a photo, a voice in a video and some scribbling in a card with dancing dogs on the front.

Unlike most people, I am not concerned about the number of people who show up at my funeral.  First off, I won’t be having one, so they can invite all of them to the non-event.  Seems appropriate anyway, right?  My goal, by the time I pass, to have only the people in my daily life that mean the world to me, and vice-versa.  If that’s 5 people, or 10, better that 100 or 200 wavers.

I don’t consider myself to be better than anyone else, certainly not as evolved as others, and definitely I will never be as wealthy as most of the people I know.  I have no desires for the, “latest model of”, or the, “wireless version of”, or any of that.  And I don’t care to ask Alexa anything.  For the people who do, if that makes you happy, that is all that matters.  I’m not trying to pis on what makes you tick.  End of point.

But I know that my center will never shift.  I don’t have a lot.  I don’t need a lot.  But I have a wife I love very much.  A family I adore.  Good friends who stimulate and entertain me (some without even trying).  A happy home that I love.  A great job I enjoy.  Good health (okay I’ll give my body that one for the sake of article).  So even if I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m doing okay.

Just be on the lookout for the wavers in your life.  And try not to morph into a waver.  And if you’re worried you’re already there here’s a quick exercise to remedy that.  Tell yourself that you have 24 hours to live.  That’s it.  Now make a list of who you want to see, where you want to go, and what you want to say.  The rest is just waving.

It’s official.  My body and I are at war.  Now seven days into this cold or flu or whatever the hell it is, the battle lines have clearly been drawn.

On Friday afternoon I fired a major shot across the bough.  No more medication for you.  No more Mucinex.  No cough liquid.  Not even an aspirin.  Have a headache?  Too bad.  Get over it.  It was my version of June 6th, 1944.  Sure, we lost a few guys on the beach, but the liberation of my body has officially begun.

How has that worked out?  I’m still afflicted, still have a bad cough, still sweating through the night, but am doing so on my own terms.  I still feel like my head is inside of an Etch-A-Sketch that some six year old is shaking about.

But I feel like I have a stake in the game now.  My body has to know that no more reserves are coming it’s way.  Their camp is surrounded and supply lines are running low.  Eventually it will begin to turn on itself.

No, I’m not completely mad…yet.  It’s just that when you’ve been trapped into this thing for as long as I have you have to feel like you’re developing a strategy, any strategy, to avoid waking up and doing the same thing over and over again.  Rest.  Fluids.  Rest.  Fluids.  Rest…no, that’s it!  We are striking those two words from the vocabulary moving forward, except as they apply to “in between games during Monday night basketball” and “detective crime series”.  Got that, body?  No more extra hmmm  hmmm and no more extra hmmm hmmm.

One positive thing is I’ve dropped about 8 pounds this week, weight I put on over the winter that I wan intending to take off.  Maybe this whole thing is my body’s way of telling me, “Look, lard ass, you’re never gonna drop that weight…forget those Skinny Cows and the low-fat chips, we’ll take care of this for you”.  Sounds like something a body of mine is capable of.  And it’s kept me from another week of winter, a side bonus.

At 57, my body and I have been though some trying times together, which includes two bouts with cancer, radiation, three abdominal surgeries and being clinically dead for nearly two minutes just over three years ago.  After that most recent episode I told myself, “Whatever happens from here is just gravy”.  I’ve changed my mind.  I want more than gravy. I want the roast beef and the mashed potatoes and the steamed broccoli with butter.  And a few of the crescent rolls with butter.

I’m not ready for dessert…yet.

Should be an interesting week ahead.  Stay tuned.

 

I don’t want to become the complainer blogger.  Really, I don’t.  But i am finding it more and more difficult to ignore some of the everyday annoyances that simply need to go away.  Let’s concentrate today on a required, but oft, overused two-word phrase.  I’m sorry.

Are you really?  Are you really sorry?  Because if you are, then that’s okay.  But I am bombarded at least ten times a day with, “I’m sorry”, when it has no place or meaning.

Example one, I am standing in line at the supermarket.  The woman ahead of me is checking out.  The cashier is having a difficult time processing her credit card.  When it’s not accepted in under four seconds, she turns in my direction.  “I’m sorry”.  As if she’s responsible for the clerk’s actions or the machine’s malfunction.  My reply is my new normal, “You have nothing to be sorry for”.  This usually confuses the person for a moment.  Then they start to look at me as if now they deserve an, “I’m sorry” back.  That’s not going to happen (and I’m not sorry).

Example two, we’re out having dinner, and after the meal the waitress notices I’ve only consumed half of my steak, which I do on many occasions when I am trying to keep weight off.  “I’m sorry, did you not like your steak?”  no, the steak was fine, it’s your remark that tasted bad.  What’s wrong with, “Sir, was there a problem with your steak?”

Last week this actually happened to me.  I was at home, at about 5:30 in the afternoon when the phone rang.  I answered, “Hello”, and the voice on the other end, one I recognized, started with, “I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”  I actually replied, “Yes”, even though it wasn’t because, well, there was nothing left to say at that point.  Really?  We feel the need to start off with an apology, just in case?

Let’s try to eliminate the words, “I’m sorry” as a form of immediate reaction and demand that if follow first thoughts and then words that deem it to be appropriate.  I know, again, most of you are thinking, “He’s really off of his rocker”.  I’m sorry, I’m not.  I didn’t mean that.

Here are examples of situations when the phrase is acceptable, if not required.

“Honey, I realize I told you that I was in Haiti last month working to rebuild houses, but I’m sorry, I was actually in Jersey with my massage therapist exploring our future together”.

“Mr. Duffy I told you the repairs on your truck would be about $150, but, geez, I’m sorry, they ended up being closer to $500.  I went ahead and fixed it, hope that’s okay”.  And a few minutes later…”I’m sorry, that credit card’s been declined”.  At least I got the appropriate one first.  I still don’t have my truck, but that’s another matter.

And of course, the worst…”Mr. Duffy, we have your test results back, and I’m sorry”…no need to finish that one off.  I’ve heard that one twice now, let me tell you those two words offered zero consolation.

The worst is when we attend a viewing.  We stand in line for 30 minutes, approach the family, shake a hand, kiss a cheek or offer a hug, accompanied only by the words, “I’m sorry.  Or in cases of an unexpected death, “I’m really sorry”.  Is this the best we have, as humans, to offer?  How about, “Jim was a great man, and he died doing what he loved, jogging.  Who’d of thought, a pack of wolves, in this area?  Are they serving food afterwards?”

I’m not going to address the issue of phone assistance workers.  They have the words, “I’m sorry” written in 10 inch letters in their script.  I once counted and heard it from a Comcast rep 12 times over a span of three minutes when I called about a disruption of service.  Since that call was monitored or recorded to improve their level of service to me, I’m not sure if that person was eventually demoted or promoted.  My service was not immediately restored until I agreed to upgrade my cable package and at no time did I feel the phone rep actually was sorry for me.

Here’s some homework for the day.  A some point today tell someone you love, “I’m sorry” for something you’ve done that actually hurt them, even if it was some time ago.  The statute of limitations on a real apology never runs out.  Many of us walk around most of the time feeling really small, and those words, said right, and with meaning, can make a great difference in someone’s day, in someone’s life.  Try it, just one person.  Throw in a “really” if you think it’s warranted.

It means you are listening to them.  You hear them.  Listening is a field.  Too many of us are preoccupied with what we are saying.  What we have to say.  What we need to say.  When we do this, quite often we fail to focus on hearing what people are trying to say to us.

Every one of us knows someone who finds it difficult to admit they were wrong.  But remember, you don’t have to say, “I’m wrong” to say, “I’m sorry”.  Like, “I’m sorry that I’m such an ass and can’t admit I’m wrong”.

And to those of you I have wronged, to those of you I failed, to those of you who expected more from me and I failed to deliver, to those of you whom I have caused genuine pain…I’m sorry.

No, you’re not as loopy as I am.  This isn’t a misprint.  I still have the flu.  Not a cold, officially the flu.

I’ve tried working every day through this but yesterday was the end.  I barely made it home, walked and fed Murphy and huddled under the blankets before my fever spiked to 102.7, then after sweating it out overnight, down to 97 this morning.  Right now I am the human version of global warming.  If you think that’s a myth, take a look at my bathroom.

I’ll be the first to say it.  I’m a tough guy and it takes a lot to bring me down.  But today, I am officially taking…a sick day.  That’s not easy for me to do.

This is the same guy, in my early 40’s, who was thrown from a horse, breaking three ribs, and 48 hours later went white water rafting for six hours.  I can take pain.  But this is something else.  Your body is fighting you from the inside out.  And there is no referee.

Aside from any current day Granny Clampetts, there are no set remedies.  Rest and fluids.  Well, that’s about it, right?  We’re expected to lie around while our insides play a game of Russian Roulette.  “Oh, maybe we’ll let him feel better today…no, give him another week, remember last week he ate McDonalds…remember what that did to us”.

At least winter is over.  My mom, Lucille, aka The Big L, declared it so on Monday.  The calendar said March 13th, but mom clearly confirmed, “March is Over”.  Uh, mom, I’m looking out the window.  I don’t quite get that March is over.  I realize that time flies by as you’re getting older, but this is ridiculous.  That’s mom, once you reach the 10th of any month, that month is basically over.

And mom can’t know of the severity of my flu.  She’s 84 and I’m 57 but there is no statute of limitations on the mother-child illness situation.  Just in a phone conversation she can sniff out a raspy throat, fatigue or decipher the difference between a throat clear and an actual cough.  The over/under of, “Oh, my God” and, “You sound terrible” in our next conversation is set at seven.

Bet the over.

 

 

 

I’m not going to apologize for yesterday’s blog.  I realize, upon further review, that it was filled with much bitterness and had an odor of crankiness to it, but hey, it was about this winter.

Today’s blog will be the first of many about movies.  In particular, movies I have seen and can review for you, in the event you haven’t already seen them.

As with today’s review, these will seldom be newer movies, as they put out about only 3 or 4 decent films a year, where there aren’t 100 explosions or mutilations.  If you’re under 40, chances are you might be better served shutting off your TV and hitting up “You Tube” for the latest videos of dogs with three legs who befriend cats with two legs.

So, feeling like I did yesterday, battling the flu, when work was over I pulled out a blanket, made a cup of hot chocolate and sat for two hours uninterrupted to give myself a boost.

“Nobody’s Fool” opened in 1994, starring the late, great Paul Newman, who was nominated for Best Actor, along with Jessica Tandy, Bruce Willis, Melanie Griffith and Philip Seymour Hoffman.  Along with them a company of supporting players all of whom fit like a pair of old shoes into this adaptation of the novel by author Richard Russo. 

Taking place in upstate New York, Newman’s Donald “Sully” Sullivan, sixty and nearly broke, is thrust back into a relationship with his adult son and young grandson, neither of whom he has seen in many years.  Newman’s performance is subtle and real.  A genuine movie star playing an everyday man, the type we have in every small town across the country.  He displays wit, sarcasm and humility.  When his landlady, played by Tandy, urges him to, “Hurry up”, in a situation of crisis, Newman responds with, “I am hurrying…it just looks like slow motion”.

This is one of my, “go to” movies, whenever life is beating the crap out of me.  Whether it becomes one of your favorites or not, here is one guarantee.  When the two hours are over, you’ll feel a hell of a lot better than when the movie started.  And if you don’t, you may be beyond all hope.

I hate to seem to be constantly dumping on today’s youth, but in the era of immediate news, pop ups and the like, the story simply might be too slow for you.  It is about humor, it is about dialogue, it is about relationships, good and bad.  It is touching, funny and very human.

If you’ve already seen it, watch it again, and it you’ve never seen it, give it a try.  And let me know your thoughts afterwards.  Try your best to watch it away from your phone or your computer if at all possible.

As previously mentioned, the movie is based on a novel by author Richard Russo.  Just a couple of years ago Russo penned a sequel, “Everybody’s Fool”, bringing back many of the original characters.  It is unfortunate that so many of these accomplished actors are no longer with us, but when you read the new book, you can envision Newman, speaking the line, still in character.  A tremendous bonus.

Russo also wrote, “Empire Falls”, a two part mini-series on HBO, that came out a few years back, in which Newman had a supporting role and for which he won an Emmy, starring Ed Harris, Helen Hunt and Joanne Woodward, Newman’s wife.  Hoffman was also in this one, in a much more sympathetic role.  If you like, “Nobody’s Fool”, you’ll love that.  Happy viewing.

Let me say right off the bat this blog is being written in anger.  And in anger we often say, and type, things we don’t really mean.

I can state without a doubt I mean them.

It is time to find a way to eliminate from the calendar the months of December, January, February and March.  That’s right, we need to go directly from November 30th to April 1st.  How’s that for an April Fools joke…winter did not happen, okay?

Right off the bat for those of you worried about Christmas and New Years, don’t worry.  Just turn that four day Thanksgiving Holiday into Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years all together.  We can surely survive without Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day and don’t get me started with that irritating Groundhog.

If you read my book, you know there was a chapter on the ten best things about winter after the age of 50.  And you know that chapter was blank.  I don’t want to hear about the snow glistening in the trees, about gathering around a cozy fireplace, about building a snowman or taking your kids sledding or tubing.

Ice and snow and cold.  Keep repeating that.  Ice and cold and snow.

Does it seem as if I am complaining just a bit?  If it does, it’s because I have the flu, which, by the way, you rarely get outside of winter.  Had a 102 temperature last night, then sweated through two sets of bed clothes and work up today feeling better, but still clobbered.

Ice and snow and cold.  Keep it up.

Your car won’t start.  Your windshield is full of ice.  The salt ruins your car.  You track ice, snow, slush and salt into the house.  Your dog gets ice and salt in between his paws.  The house is never warm.  You can’t open the darn windows.  And as soon as you get the tease of a few decent days…wham!  You get his right between the eyes with a new storm.

Now they have to name the winter storms.  And they’re not just storms.  They’re, “Bomb Cyclones”.  Really?  Are you freak’in kidding me?  And if I ever come across one of those weather people standing in the snow giving a live report he (or she) had better have quick reactions or the logo of my Toyota Tacoma will be branded onto their ass.  We can look out the window and see what’s happening you nitwits!

Sorry, but me and Mother Nature, we are on the outs.  I have had enough.  And the first one of you that tells me we should move, unless our jobs, family and friends are all coming with us, that is not an option.

Okay, I can do the math.  If I live another 25 years and do without four of those months a year, I’m taking a little more than six years off of my life.  I’m okay with that.  The time lost will not be worth the missing.

Ice and snow and cold.  And flu.  And boots and bundling.  And high heating bills and frozen pipes, downed trees and loss of power.

This has already been the longest winter of my life.  And next week they’re calling for another storm with another silly name and idiot weather people standing in the road telling us that it is snowing.

I realize April is close.  Just not close enough.  I’m going back to bed.