The Modern Man Gets Flushed!

One of the great things about being a modern man AND getting older is the wide variety of medicines that doctors want you to take. Some have been life savers, like prilosec, which has saved my esophagus from rupturing out acid and destroying everything in site, like a wounded Alien in those, er, Alien movies. There have been no side effects except for now being able to eat raw vegetables, which even children know can't be good for you.

But others have side effects. You know, that list of things the world's fastest talking man rushes by during those medicine commercials for things they won't tell us the medication actually cures? I can take most of these side effects, in fact, most of my relatives believe my current condition and personality is basically one giant side effect to begin with.

But flushing? I'm not talking about toilet humor here, or Flushing, where tennis players go to be heckled for a couple of weeks. No, I'm flushing like a menopausal woman right now, and gosh darn it, I'm really not that okay with that.

When your HDL's are low enough that the doctor feels you pulse to make sure you ARE alive, you know you may have to do something about it. You realize life isn't fair, as the 350 pound man next to you at the restaurant is eating piece of cow that could clog the arteries of a wookie, yet his levels are fine. He waves nicely at you as you smile at your piece of "today's white cooked fish" and you curse his family quietly under your breath. Ah, the mental flip off, it's not at good as the real thing, but it's better than nothing.

So my doctor prescribed a medicine that not only can damage your liver, but also an amount of niacin my doctor may have described in professional medical terms as "ridiculously large."

Niacin side effects, as described on bottle: Turning redder than Brezhnev.

So here I sit, after my students have screamed "Why is your face so red? Do we need to call an ambulance? What's wrong?"

ME: "I'm taking a drug that's making my face do that, so don't worry."

THEM: "My daddy got taken away by the police and sent to jail when his face was that red from the drugs he was takin'"

ME: "I meant medication?"

THEM: "Like them things baseball and football players take?"

ME: "NO! It's NIACIN!"

THEM: "Yeah, probably crystal 'niacin'."

Hence the reason that I'm hiding right now in my office. My face is the color of a tomato, if you first embarrassed that tomato and then beat it in some sort of UFC fight. No, that's not right. It's more red. It's post-caning red, for those of you who live in Singapore.

Am I just embarrassed? Am I turning into a communist? Do I need a hysterectomy? Are my child bearing years coming to an end? Can I claim myself as an alternative heat source on my taxes? What if I'm flushing while I'm flushing? These are the sorts of questions a person should never have to answer at any age, unless you are named Ann Coulter.

But excuse me, I'm feeling another flushing coming on. I need to go, the police need a temporary stop sign down at the corner.

Getting Hit by 40, part II

So my 40th birthday is long gone. I've gone mano y mano with Death, wrestled with the meaning of life (which appears to have something to do with a food product call 'bran'), and drank too much beer for a person of my age (3), and against my better judgement, had a good time.

During this partying like it was 1999, I decided to to a little introspection. You know, see where I've come from so I can figure out where I'm going to. Therefore, I've compiled things that have changed since I was 20. Maybe you've noticed some of the same things in yourself. I certainly hope not.

The 20’s	The 40’s
Can run over 100 miles per week.	Can run to the bathroom 12 times a night due to inadvertently seeing a glass of water after 7 PM.
Can party and stay up to 4:00 AM, sleep until noon, and then repeat the same behavior on Saturday night. Barely hung over. Generally high on life.	Go to 4 year olds’ birthday parties. Repeat the next weekend. Hung over on too much sugar, caffeine, and jumping in that bouncy castle everyone gets for their kids' party. Generally high on frosting and Starbucks.
Women think I'm a wild and crazy guy. They're all over me like a duck on a junebug.	Wife thinks I'm crazy. Reminds me women never were all over me, except for help with their homework.
Official "Wine tasting" during waiting job becomes a wine tasting contest. This leads to a major life lesson: never mix wine and margaritas, unless of course you want to have a fabulous time.	Wine tasting leads to being in bed and out cold by 8:00 PM. Dream of margaritas. Run to the bathroom 12 times after touching a glass of water accidentally at 7 PM.
When playing basketball, can dunk at will.	Realize last statement was after a wine drinking contest. Still can’t dunk.
Groggy when waking up before 8 AM. Hit snooze, sleep until 10.	Woken by 4 year old at 6:30 AM. No snooze. Dear Lord, where is the snooze!?
Eat pizza unburdened by any consequences.	Look at pizza, gain 3 pounds.
Enjoy arguing about the beauty of the music of YES, the genius of Seinfeld and the Simpson's, the greatness of Terry Gilliam, tell lengthy self-depreciating stories, and brew my own beer.	Err. Exactly the same thing!
Cheer for the Lions, the worst team in the NFL.	Exactly the same thing again! Only they're worse now!
Didn't know how to blog.	Still don't know how to blog.

Hey! As you see, things haven't changed all that much! So I'm going to hit this 40's thing positively. My back may have issues, my knees may be shot, I may have high cholesterol, and have to swim to keep fit. Wait, I forgot where I was going with that.

Oh, yeah. I'm still breathing! (except when swimming)

So, I will leave you with a self-depreciating top ten list to start of the year in good standing!

Top Ten Signs you may be turning 40

10. You can’t believe you just said, “That’s a good looking minivan,” in a conversation with a neighbor.

9. You can’t pull the grey hairs without leaving bald patches the size of small islands.

8. Hemorrhoids so large, they being tracked by NASA.

7. Your biggest Saturday fashion question: Pants or no pants?

6. Romantic dinners now confined to Chucky Cheese.

5. There is no way to say, “Fo’ shizzle, that IPOD is hella tight,” without sounding like the whitest, oldest man on the planet.

4. Hobbies include resting AND sleeping.

3. Spend all your free time looking for your car keys!

2. You’re swallowing more medication than beer weekly.

1. Your back goes out more times than you do every month

Getting Hit by 40 (Part I)

The problem with whining about one's age is that there is always someone older than you who tells you to shut up and someone younger than you who can't believe your still breathing since you've never actually watched American Idol.

I mean, how uncool am I?

They say for most of your life you 'turn' a certain birthday. You turn 5 for example, and at that age, you tell people you turned 5 and a quarter, 5 and a half, and even 5 and 9/10ths. I even "turned" 30, however, I believe I turned 30 with my friend Margarita, and don't have much of a recollection of that. However, they say you don't turn 40, you hit 40. I have firm evidence that this is incorrect.

You don't hit 40, 40 hits you. I've been told I can't have a birthday cake due to the fire hazard from all those candles.

As of this writing, I'm not 40 yet, but I feel it lurking, waiting to attack, like Jack Nicolson did in The Shining, only it wants to kill me a lot more slowly. 40's already jabbed my back, hit my knees with a baseball bat, and has suddenly removed me from any popular demographic advertising considerations.

40 has also called up his friend Death, just so he can keep an eye on me. I met this death fellow once as I pondered the following word sitting behind an 18 wheeler, waiting for the world's slowest train to cross the road. That word would be:

SEMIPERMANENT

The word was on the bottom of the Maine license plate of the 18 wheeler in front of me.

Now, I call my wife and tell her what I've seen. I ponder its meaning. How the @#$ can something be permanent in a semi sort of way? I could tell my wife was just humoring me as I ranted about semipermanence and eventually told me she had to go do something more important, like feed the goat.

I didn't even know we had a goat.

As I waited for the slowest moving in train in history to pass, I had a vision, or it could have been a diesel fume related aberration. I figure if Jerry Falwell can predict the future in his talks with God, why can't I have the occasional non-drug related hallucination, especially if it helps the literary worth of this mediocre piece of writing.

Hallucination starts here:

Death opened the door and sat next to me. Surprisingly, he looked a lot like Dick Cheney, only healthier and less dangerous. Our conversation may have been something like this:

ME (looking dismissingly at Death sitting in my front seat) : What do you think of this word, SEMIPERMANENT?
Death: Aren't you worried I'm doing to take you away?
ME: That would be so cliché, with me turning 40 and all.
DEATH: You're probably right. Plus this blog really needed something more interesting. Did you lose your sense of humor knowing you're turning 40 soon?
ME: Maybe...
DEATH: Are you feeling stressed, out of control, worried, and depressed?
ME: A little...
DEATH (smiling insincerely and marking something on his PDA): Keep it up. I'll guess I'll be visiting sooner than scheduled.
ME: Eerp!
DEATH: However, on the word semi-permanent. Didn't you think that semipermanent might mean our lives here on earth? The fact that you feel like a permanent fixture on this planet with all your life problems? Not giving yourself enough time to enjoy the good things? Then suddenly one day you’re lying in an ambulance wondering what happened to all that life you used to have? You know, life if kind of semi-permanent. As Styx once said, "Even Pharaohs turn to sand, like a drop in the ocean."
ME: Styx? The River you travel on?
DEATH: No, the awesome 70's rock group.
ME: That is truly inspiring, oh Death. I'm going to live for the moment more often! I'm going to change my ways!
DEATH (with another sly smile, opening car door and stepping out): Habits are stronger than desires, my friend. Now, I'm going to leave you with this one, incredibly important piece of information.
ME: Yes, Mr. Reaper?
DEATH: (slightly sarcastically): SEMI PERMANENT probably just means the SEMI TRAILER in front of you has a permanent license. It probably doesn't need to be renewed.
ME (sadly): That kind of ruins the whole metaphor.
DEATH: I'm not here to spread happiness, bozo, unless you count the body counters down at the Pentagon or those crazy radical Islamists. Man, they love to see me. I love those guys! But maybe there is something to that semipermant thing after all. It's you that makes sense of this world, grasshopper.
ME (more happily): Yeah! Imagine that!
Death (leaving car and pointing at me): Happy birthday! Now I've got my eye on you, not-so-young man. So do something foolish! Drive fast, take chances! Start drinking hard liquor! Hope to see you soon!
ME: Not if I can do anything about it!
Death (winking): You can't.

Ah yes, turning 40.
(To be continued)

The Modern Man VS. Walletzilla

Sometimes a man is faced with obstacles so huge, so large, so ominous, and so life threatening, that he must rise above the mediocre and face the challenge head on, regardless of fear and heedless of the very threat to his own life. As Rocky faced Apollo Creed, as King Kong faced Godzilla, Indiana Jones faced the Nazis, and as the Sisters faced the evil Traveling Pants, I must face my own demon. As I bravely stare it down, I wonder what horrible plans it has for me. Will it cause back pain? Will it rip out more pockets? Will it pull me under the cold, black, swirling water to a certain death if I fall in the next time I go fly fishing?

Oh wallet, why, why, why??? Why hast thou forsaken me?

Now I have a Solomon like task at hand. I must met out a tough and possibly contentious decision upon an object that I need to get through life with. But how does one met out justice upon a wallet that is growing more and more dangerous every day? It started off with a few pictures, some money, and a banking card. Now it is about the size of Rhode Island, only less comfortable to sit on.

Now let's not get fooled into thinking that this wallet is full of money. Quite honestly there isn't enough room in it for a few dollar bills, let alone a stack of fifties. My wallet used to be fairly thin, but not it's growing like the national deficit. The issue is my wallet is being taken over by an assortment of plastic cards foisted upon me from every angle that I feel I can't get rid of because if you don't carry them at all times, you never have them when you need them. First, my wallet just had my credit and banking card, then it was infiltrated by a King Soopers card, then a Safeway card. Let's look and see what else is in here. There is a Qdoba card (burritos the size of a brick), Ace Hardware Card (motto "We only charge twice as much as Home Depot!"), Rocky Mountain National Park Card, two insurance cards, a drivers licence (Motto: We make Sears Photography look good!), Big City Burrito punch card, Local Nursery Discount Card, three business cards that I can't remember ever taking, two library cards, Sam's Club card, my electronic card to get into work (Motto: Schools are always open, so why bother?), a fairly new flex plan credit card, and punch cards for coffee, burritos, and cheap pseudo-Mexican food.

Plus, of course, I have some pictures of family I can foist upon unsuspecting people, as well as the bonus picture of all time: My prom picture. Sure, that would save me 1 millimeter of space if I got rid of the evidence of the most ridiculous high school extravaganza since homecoming, but you'd be surprised how you can liven up boring conversations by plopping your prom picture from 1989 down in front of a group of people. It's entertainment in itself, plus, you'd love my mullet and black and white tuxedo with the beautiful purple cumber-bun.

I'm surprised nobody has a band named The Cumberbun yet.

My wallet has been responsible for destroying every pair of dockers I have ever owned. They get a lovely worn patch in the back pocket, and then get a hole right through the two layers of fabric. Seriously, my wallet wears my pants down faster than the Snake River is wearing down the Grand Canyon.

Since I've learned wallets are bad for the back, I've moved it into my front pocket, which quite honestly, isn't much better. When I'm sitting, my wallet looks like the largest, squarest hive in the world trying to find freedom by burrowing itself through my pants. I don't even know if I can fit my cell phone in the same pocket without being arrested for indecency here at work.

My wallet, is literally, a foot thick and probably weights as much as a small dog. It should probably be registered with as a deadly weapon as I think with the proper throw, I could hurt someone pretty badly. So, what do I get rid of? If I leave any of the cards out, I won't have them when I need them. If I get rid of the pictures, what kind of husband am I? And leaving the cards our for when I would need them is kind of like my cloth bags for the supermarket. I always leave in the back seat of my car and finally realize that when the cashier asks if I want paper or plastic.

But, why don't you just chuck it all?  Why put up with being tied down by discount cards from "the man".

Seriously?  I'm cheap!  Do you know how upset do I get when I don't get the 15 cents off on the candy bar when I don't have the proper card?

So I'm pleading for someone to invent the ONE CARD. A card you can transfer the magical powers of all my other discount cards into one, easily handled, and more easily lost card. Think of the health benefits, the safety factors, and the generally handiness of such card. In fact, I'm looking for investors right now for this venture.

Only you'll have to come to me, I don't think I can get up with this wallet in my pocket.

The Modern Man: Quick Hits

Cell phones and Star Trek:

We finally broke down and purchased a Bluetooth ear thingy (actual technical term) for our cell using a $15 class action lawsuit settlement against Verizon to save a little cash on it. I have to say, it is a handy little device, but I’m finding it excruciatingly difficult to not answer the phone, “Yes, Captain!” every time it rings. It’s really bringing out the hot black inner sci-fi chick in me. Err. I think I’ve said too much.

Class action lawsuits:

Seriously, a $15 coupon when the lawyers made millions EACH? If I wasn’t able to say things like “I’ll turn on the universal translator,” when the phone rings, I might have had to complain.

Swimming (again):

Why are fog-free goggles so important for the lap swimmer, such as I? I mean, what is there to see, really? Does it really matter if the black line is foggy?

Amazingly, it seems to be that it really does matter. I’m as thrilled as a middle school student at a dance with a power outage with my new $15 fog-free swimming goggles. Not only do I get to see the black line in HD (as well as the floating Band-Aids, phlegm strings, and lifeguards), but I can also finally see the comedy of 40-70 year olds doing flip turns while they swim at 2 miles per hour.

There is nothing in this world like a hairy pair of legs which appear detached from body as they flail and rotate in slow motion. Like the flight of the Monarch butterflies, the flight of the hairy white man-legs is a sight everyone should see once in their lifetime. Unfortunately, I have to see it three times a week.

Tivo:

I may be a modern man, but I might not be a real man and quite honestly, I'm not all that disappointed if I'm not lumped in the same group as GW Bush. I'm not a real man because I do not need to see ANY sporting event on television in real time. At this point, I can barely even watch sports without speeding through the commercials and time outs anymore. I can’t fathom why anyone would want to sit through 2 hours of commercials for a one hour game. I can watch a whole game in under an hour. I can watch regular hour long television shows in 43 minutes. As perfect as this seems to me, I know it has to end. The advertisers won’t allow it and I’m waiting for the fallout which I envision will be something like this. We'll call it the New Television:

New television for Drama:

Jack Bauer (on fancy cell phone): I can diffuse this bomb, but I need something to eat.

Chloe (looking surprising dour, yet amazingly perky, also on phone): How about I send you some pizza from Dominos? If we order three mediums, they’re only $5 each! Plus we get free bread dipped in fat and coated in sugar!

Jack Bauer (pausing dramatically, then whisper talking for some reason.): Great plan, but let me finish my Coke first.

Chloe: That must be refreshing.

Jack Bauer (staring into camera): Oh, yea, it’s the real thing.

New television for sports:

Announcer 1: It’s a touchdown to Chad Johnson!

Announcer 2: And now it’s time for the Chad Johnson Viagra football dance, brought to you by Miller Lite.

Announcer 1(shaking head disgustedly): You may want to tell the children to leave the room for a moment.

Announcer 2 (oblivious to announcer 1 as he starts dancing as well): Man, I love that dance.

Announcer 1: Is there something you’re not telling me?

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Not that there’s anything wrong with that.