Some People Are …

People are wonderful creatures.  They come in infinite varieties, and just when you think you’ve got them figured out, they come up with something completely different and surprise you.  It’s no wonder so many psychiatrists need therapy.  I’ve studied people (informally) most of my life, and I’ve arrived at a few interesting conclusions.

Some people are not supposed to swear.  I’m not talking about nuns or like that; I’m talking about the folks who don’t get it right.  The ones who are trying way too hard to sound badass, and it just comes out weird.  It’s as if they saw the words in a book and looked up the pronunciation.  (Adding the final “g” is always a dead giveaway.)

Some people stink.  No, not poor personal hygiene — that’s different.  These are the folks who apply fragrance like it’s a contest.  The ones who leave that tinny taste in your mouth when they walk past you.

Some people can’t tell a good story.  They start off alright, but then they wander all over the place, trying to explain every detail.  So, what begins as a quick-and-dirty about getting caught in the cat-door fades away — finally — ten minutes later, somewhere in Michigan, riding in Uncle Benny’s green ’82 Pontiac.

Some people shouldn’t be allowed to drink.  Sad people, angry people, touchy/feely people, people who cry a lot, but mostly those people who have one glass of wine and act like they’re auditioning for a Seth Rogen movie.

Some people shouldn’t be parents.  We all know who those people are.

Some people work for the government.  These are the people who know all the rules, what documents you need and what forms you have to fill out, but they take a perverse pleasure in keeping all that information a secret for as long as possible.

Some people don’t own a mirror.  There’s no other logical explanation.  Why would anybody (who can see themselves) go out in public wearing an electric-pink angora sweater, matching hat, Daisy Duke short shorts and lumberjack work boots?

But my favourite is:

Some people aren’t all that smart.  This isn’t a problem; it’s just a fact.  The problem is the rest of us are too scared to mention it because of — uh — Stupid Shaming? — or some other such nonsense.  The result is the world is full of stupid people, running around saying and doing stupid stuff, and the rest of us all have to act like we don’t notice.

Originally written in 2017, and nope – nothing’s changed!

Words of Wisdom — Not!

There are three kinds of people in the world: realists, cynics and idiots — and it’s very easy to tell them apart.  Realists see a glass half full of water and, if they’re thirsty, drink it.  Cynics see a glass half full of water and race for Social Media to tell the world somebody peed in it.  And idiots don’t even see the water.  All they see is an opportunity to create some metaphorical homily that’s supposed to enlighten the rest of us who haven’t noticed life’s intrinsic meaning.  Crap like, “It’s always darkest before the dawn” (a physical impossibility) or “Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet.”  (Tell that to Mary Ann Nichols who met Jack the Ripper for the first time in 1888.)  Here are some other examples of this dumbass bumper sticker philosophy:

There’s Honour Among Thieves — No, thieves are not honourable.  They’re THIEVES.  They steal things; that’s their job.  And when they run out of regular people to steal from, they steal from each other.  (Hasn’t anybody seen The Sting?)

Money Isn’t Everything — Yeah, but it’s sure as hell ahead of whatever’s in second place.

The Meek Shall Inherit The Earth — Maybe, but I’m willing to bet there’s going to be at least one 300 lb. biker, swinging a metal pipe, who wants to contest the will.

All’s Well That Ends Well — This one’s actually true.

Misery Loves Company — Gimme a break!  The last thing I want to see when I’m feeling crappy is somebody who has it worse off than I do.  That defeats the whole purpose of being depressed.

Laughter Is The Best Medicine — If I even touch this one, I’m going to get emails.

Love Conquers All — I’ve only got one word to say about this:  Romeo and Juliet.

Live And Learn/Older And Wiser — Not even close.  We all know somebody who’s made a career out of figuring out stupider ways to make the same mistakes.

Opposites Attract — This makes a mockery of all those birds of a feather who are flocking together.

Never Look A Gift Horse In The Mouth — This one doesn’t even make sense.  What the hell is a “gift horse?”  And, BTW, when was the last time you actually saw a real horse –“gift” or otherwise?  We’re not Trojans, for God’s sake!

And finally, my favourite:

The Early Bird Gets The Worm — What about the early worm?

Originally written in 2017 but oddly still relevant.

Age Is Only A Number

Bullshit!  You ever notice that the people who are constantly saying, “Age is only a number” are spouting that nonsense from the relative ignorance of a very low one?  It’s like saying, “Wine is only grape juice” when you’re a teetotaler.  The truth is, when you’re 26 – yeah — age is only a number; but when you’re 62 – nope — it’s real!

Here’s how the numbers work.

When you’re young (fresh out of the womb/shiny and new) numbers are important.  As you accumulate numbers, you get stuff (kinda like a video game.)  And the bigger the number, the more cool stuff you get.  You get to walk, you get to talk, go to school, cross the street, ride a bike, choose your own clothes, etc., etc.   And this just keeps going on and on, and it’s a grand time.  And pretty soon you’ve got enough numbers to get a handle on what life’s all about.  But then, just when you think you’ve got it covered, along comes this blast of hormones that knocks you on your ass.   

When puberty hits, the numbers grind to a halt.  For the next 5, 6 and sometimes 7 years, no matter how many numbers you collect, your life remains on hold.  You can see it just beyond the bars of your post-pubescent prison, but every time you reach for it, you get stopped cold by those two famous phrases: “You can do that — when you get older.” and “You’ll understand — when you get older.”  “When you get older” is an infinity away … but, fortunately, the numbers keep coming — and pretty soon you’re 20.

Whoa!  Out of the blue, life is great again.  The numbers are your friends.  Every time they show up, you get more cool stuff.  You get money and alcohol and ice cream (whenever you want it!) and sex (in a real bed!) and the hangovers are manageable and sleep is optional and the world loves you — cuz you’re young and smart and hot and totally cool … and OMG! can this get any better?  It’s no wonder that when we’re 20-somethings, we celebrate every new number as if we’re gladiators with free tickets to the orgy.  The world is sweet, and we’ve got Dionysus on speed-dial.  But in the midst of this bacchanalia, a weird thing happens.  The numbers start getting sneaky.  They start travelling in packs and showing up uninvited.  Until … one day we wake up and a decade or so of our numbers have disappeared, and we realize we’ve been spending the last few years washing somebody else’s underwear, talking insurance premiums (like that matters?)  And – holy crap! — that’s our minivan in the driveway.

This is the part where the numbers start piling up for no apparent reason.  Hangovers are tougher, sleep isn’t optional (but sex is) and if you eat that ice cream, your pants won’t fit.  But the real problem is you can’t tell which number is which because the difference between 42 and 46 is — uh — there is no difference!  WTF?  But then, just when you start asking yourself, “Is that all there is?” a miracle happens.

You discover you’ve finally got enough numbers for the bonus round.  And you didn’t know it, but this is what you’ve been waiting for.  Oh, yeah!  You’ve achieved numerical superiority over most of the people on the planet, and suddenly, you’re running the show.  You don’t do so many stupid things anymore, you make a lot fewer bad decisions and you don’t worry about stuff that doesn’t matter.  But, most importantly, you couldn’t care less what other people think of you.

It’s like winning the lottery!

No, folks: age isn’t only a number – it’s a reward!