tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21372863538091400122024-03-14T11:36:31.529-04:00My final quarter-century above groundMichael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-35030638981403614452016-07-25T12:20:00.000-04:002016-07-25T12:35:45.739-04:00NOT over my dead body<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOekTqGnc6PFMvCoZqDdlOCvn1gHP2elvuO0EfX39mXetGT4UV0Ebryl23eNnXnPsma1evlZLwPXcD0gZUYiYb56xp0YZNzXMVoQ0dA_kH7z5NfSxPorOFiFjGrjNJ3A-m7UgImGrb5DPv/s1600/mom-marker-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOekTqGnc6PFMvCoZqDdlOCvn1gHP2elvuO0EfX39mXetGT4UV0Ebryl23eNnXnPsma1evlZLwPXcD0gZUYiYb56xp0YZNzXMVoQ0dA_kH7z5NfSxPorOFiFjGrjNJ3A-m7UgImGrb5DPv/s400/mom-marker-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My siblings and I were just asked to approve a bronze grave marker for our mother, who died last year. Most people probably think the submitted design is fine. I think the typography is ghastly!</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Some</span> "A" letters look too small.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Some seem to extend t<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">oo low.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">S<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">o</span></span>me spacing between letters is too large.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There is no <a href="http://www.bookmakingblog.com/2012/06/yearn-to-kern.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;"><b>kerning</b></span></a>.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm merely an amateur typographer but could have done a <i>much</i> better job. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimil1z01w0eZRyB4Q_LksupZAAZEE_BBjoxt-wXOL1DBWCfKcTp2y-bR-NcUUDEY2AxWYhfspWrHASCGw-8ebgrBXikaoQxf3YtRzCKglTAkqFN8G_w_QwS8WtT9Amgt0Iqb9dtZEevTAZ/s1600/mom-kern-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimil1z01w0eZRyB4Q_LksupZAAZEE_BBjoxt-wXOL1DBWCfKcTp2y-bR-NcUUDEY2AxWYhfspWrHASCGw-8ebgrBXikaoQxf3YtRzCKglTAkqFN8G_w_QwS8WtT9Amgt0Iqb9dtZEevTAZ/s320/mom-kern-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
long ago decided on the inscription for my own grave stone ("OK, What's
Next?<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"</span>) but now I think I'll have to do the actual design to be sure of
competent typography.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjFOMgICQexe3IqgBihN_mmALAO4L1R_nseEnnQbik5do1Wxmr9BINFfccdR_cgAop1NdRUrfaTlLmf8ASZtDr25hZCR2jTwvSLiBkgrUZwys_Mxs_pOABanu2v8m5OHRjVxab6UwWLcV/s1600/pyramids-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjFOMgICQexe3IqgBihN_mmALAO4L1R_nseEnnQbik5do1Wxmr9BINFfccdR_cgAop1NdRUrfaTlLmf8ASZtDr25hZCR2jTwvSLiBkgrUZwys_Mxs_pOABanu2v8m5OHRjVxab6UwWLcV/s320/pyramids-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Humans seldom hang around for more than a century but graves can last for millennia. They should be done right.</span></div>
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Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-30843913159603116582016-04-15T06:16:00.001-04:002016-04-15T06:38:09.592-04:00Today is my 70th birthday. Am I old yet?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFFj1xHUskUIfoIZISxksMScjCjPECwRNsrWY_3ImULOrfDs-oVCcfxivFNgXSHIXn6jABkyChTGBDdUKfBB2z5PcqNivl4KQrzty6vd5_-yEi5qUNdKV_mD6Sf-0VY_m4k_W5rycXUy7/s1600/70-cake-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFFj1xHUskUIfoIZISxksMScjCjPECwRNsrWY_3ImULOrfDs-oVCcfxivFNgXSHIXn6jABkyChTGBDdUKfBB2z5PcqNivl4KQrzty6vd5_-yEi5qUNdKV_mD6Sf-0VY_m4k_W5rycXUy7/s1600/70-cake-1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziCAo2nWQ5CCNTgDfQ1BOOdE4PJkISIuRy9yFLAzrbFRZHy6hJ7oP7cG4juPvZqSwULDBHlOdebqTmSZLvl29KTAkrVG9s0C5mThKc6XHIgtwdpuP1yX-CfHq8fjdstaGPpoYjB6rMQj8/s1600/mnm-satin-crop-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziCAo2nWQ5CCNTgDfQ1BOOdE4PJkISIuRy9yFLAzrbFRZHy6hJ7oP7cG4juPvZqSwULDBHlOdebqTmSZLvl29KTAkrVG9s0C5mThKc6XHIgtwdpuP1yX-CfHq8fjdstaGPpoYjB6rMQj8/s1600/mnm-satin-crop-2.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I used to say that middle age lasts until they shovel dirt onto you. I can still say that, but with a bit less conviction. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I do everything with a bit less conviction. Especially climbing stairs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Last summer I went to a doc with an office sign that said "geriatric and adult care." I asked the receptionist how old one has to be to be considered geriatric. She said 50. Ouch.<br /><br />I don't "feel old." But maybe that's because lots of my body parts have no feelings at all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I certainly don't "think old." I have a 14-year-old brain imprisoned in a 70-year-old body. Maturity is overrated, and if I have not yet achieved it, I probably never will. My next stage of emotional development will likely be senility.<br /><br />For most of her 90-plus years my mother was an active and brilliant lady. At the end she had terrible Alzheimer's. She didn't recognize her children, didn't read, speak or stand. She ate and slept. That's not much of a life.<br /><br />At Mom's 90th birthday party her long-time physician and friend said that medical science can keep a body functioning long after the mind stops, but what's the point?<br /><br />I had previously predicted that </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'd die in 2035, at the "ripe old age" of 89. Now I wonder if I should revise my plan.<br /><br />Within
the past eight months I've been hospitalized twice. I've been diagnosed
with atrial fibrillation. My diabetes attacked a nerve that controls
one of my eyes. I wear an eye patch to eliminate double vision. I have
no feeling from the soles of my feet to half way up to my knees. The
combination of loss of vision and loss of feeling makes walking wobbly,
so I sometime use a cane. On different days different knees hurt. My hands hurt
97% of the time. My left foot, which theoretically has no feeling, often hurts a lot. <br /><br />I've cut back on pizza consumption to twice a month, and ice cream to twice a week. I can spell the word "exercise."<br /><br />Typing is tough because I often tap the wrong keys and forget and substitute words.<br /><br />Within the past month or so a bunch of famous people died while in their 60s and 70s. That's scary.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Later today I'll drive to Firestone to get new brakes. The better brakes have a lifetime warranty. How long is that?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I'm going to have a surprise birthday party on Sunday. The party is not a
surprise, but the birthday is. I thought I would've been killed before
now by an overdose of brownies or by someone I pissed off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I still enjoy life and will still do almost anything for a joke. I have no idea how much time I have left. I've started to dispose of my collections and acquire less, and cross items off my bucket list. <br /><br />Today I will taste my first cup of coffee. I will probably never go to bed with a prostitute, bungee-jump from the George Washington Bridge nor give a bronsky to Sofia Vergara.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8rX4zs0ou6RmdcKe9ThG8EMSnABNdNwjgGPj89uVWAvaASm8Pgc8xOA5_zOlRg2b1ErogFhs1Syow_SQqTIXwLeJxHTqSMnK3CXsgWqnyfz8raBxLKRvqxmfgKtBX311BFyMm9nn2Ug7/s1600/sofia-vergara-2012-vanity-fair-oscar-party-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8rX4zs0ou6RmdcKe9ThG8EMSnABNdNwjgGPj89uVWAvaASm8Pgc8xOA5_zOlRg2b1ErogFhs1Syow_SQqTIXwLeJxHTqSMnK3CXsgWqnyfz8raBxLKRvqxmfgKtBX311BFyMm9nn2Ug7/s320/sofia-vergara-2012-vanity-fair-oscar-party-02.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Maybe it's best to not empty my bucket list. It gives me something to look forward to just in case I get a second chance.</span></span><br />
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Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-67467737590025432772016-04-11T04:44:00.002-04:002016-04-11T04:46:00.858-04:00I'm not older than dirt but I am older than Trump<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAaQjbc3DzzaDj4CyB8lSSIBoM_Kt9QkSsO23pDNvI1hrTl07NmaE8nnZAAYzWMNjNr5z8jJBcVPiZ7r7M8g4mKnYJT6c7Mx-ticRT-rBATbMPyqzt2o61OuJP9hL39x_Je8HWe8VG3wF0/s1600/trump-finger-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAaQjbc3DzzaDj4CyB8lSSIBoM_Kt9QkSsO23pDNvI1hrTl07NmaE8nnZAAYzWMNjNr5z8jJBcVPiZ7r7M8g4mKnYJT6c7Mx-ticRT-rBATbMPyqzt2o61OuJP9hL39x_Je8HWe8VG3wF0/s400/trump-finger-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I
expect that Donny will have a very subdued 70th birthday celebration on
June 14th so his fans don't learn how friggin' old he is. Maybe he'll
spray some extra yellow paint on his head to hide the gray.<br /><br />My 70th birthday is planned to be on 4/15/16, and if I survive that long I'll have _two_ birthday parties. </span></span></span><br />
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span></span></div>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">They'll
be surprise parties because I'll be surprised to live that long. I
expected to be killed about ten years ago by an overdose of brownies or
by someone I pissed off. </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2D4P0g2tbF2exoduuxu4hB1SJ8TSl5vQ_LZIAED7krmxrHw5ASMyMN_nAkNww8FO-pVDm_KhRFZZ5ucD8psknUeWLnKhTP4AQ33XmKSzDdFFYBsilaCZvFe_bDdBLCeQWt3gRVDeIngqF/s1600/mnm-mop-head-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2D4P0g2tbF2exoduuxu4hB1SJ8TSl5vQ_LZIAED7krmxrHw5ASMyMN_nAkNww8FO-pVDm_KhRFZZ5ucD8psknUeWLnKhTP4AQ33XmKSzDdFFYBsilaCZvFe_bDdBLCeQWt3gRVDeIngqF/s320/mnm-mop-head-2.jpg" width="259" /></a></div>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Survival is the best revenge and I'm not embarrassed to show my gray hair. In fact, I'll add some gray hairs for the celebrations.</span></span></span><br />
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Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-71935199356711186002016-04-05T07:17:00.003-04:002016-04-05T07:17:38.037-04:00Where did it go?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8Q5FgI_baUc3El6lfhbJ8HeRGdtLB6mDUzECeMEcl7QUFdUSaH7uuUoeSle0bOTo6bHmAYnjin4p9rVrzOj8SG1pCra0geLXdgP5Cy0EPXctrOyV18WvU_hOBe2eIEGCqo-6JHkvo8gf/s1600/logo-wendy-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8Q5FgI_baUc3El6lfhbJ8HeRGdtLB6mDUzECeMEcl7QUFdUSaH7uuUoeSle0bOTo6bHmAYnjin4p9rVrzOj8SG1pCra0geLXdgP5Cy0EPXctrOyV18WvU_hOBe2eIEGCqo-6JHkvo8gf/s320/logo-wendy-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">A few minutes ago I wanted to type "Wendy's" but typed "Wednesday." Have I lost it? When did I lose it? Where did it go? What is <span style="color: red;"><b>it</b></span>, anyway?</span></span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-13555371484585658722016-03-29T09:28:00.005-04:002016-03-29T09:28:49.332-04:00(Almost) anything for a joke<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpIhMmzG_8AltsQzMyBUzDa10zEbxQF9jb8qYxlYnDuEpmVMurUkgilgc_Vh_uHQVemMjNmdMbhvH-eczd06ww_5Z4NaD-fYqwRDJge71c2WhnEHBTpur4DC1lxAgDYHnTZQK90cTJRcP/s1600/shirts-duo-pee-pi-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidpIhMmzG_8AltsQzMyBUzDa10zEbxQF9jb8qYxlYnDuEpmVMurUkgilgc_Vh_uHQVemMjNmdMbhvH-eczd06ww_5Z4NaD-fYqwRDJge71c2WhnEHBTpur4DC1lxAgDYHnTZQK90cTJRcP/s400/shirts-duo-pee-pi-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Wife Marilyn often complains that I have a reckless sense of humor and I “go too far.” She’s afraid that I’m going to get into trouble like Lenny Bruce and George Carlin did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think artistic expression outranks domestic tranquility. In my domicile, we have much more expression than tranquility.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Like Penn and Teller, Bart Simpson and the folks on the "Jackass" TV show, I’ll do almost anything for a joke -- even if the joke's on me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Other people have occasionally described my humor as sick, tasteless or black humor. That’s because I can find humor in almost any situation, and that can make people uncomfortable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I designed and wore the pee-pee shirt when I went to the hospital to be treated for a kidney stone a few years ago. It made people laugh. Laughter is the best medicine. Most people are too serious most of the time. Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because of diabetic damage to one of my eyes I've been wearing an eye patch since mid-February. I bought a couple of pirate shirts to enhance the experience. Little kids sometimes ask if I'm a real pirate. I smile and say "aaaarrrgh."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Being half-blind doesn't have to be completely unpleasant.</span></div>
Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-24838787185607901432016-03-02T08:05:00.002-05:002016-03-02T08:20:52.965-05:00Maybe I won't make it to 2035. Oh shit. Please call Sofia.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zq06HybvYx60CZKRO1LQ8BlfPu4ruUqY6C5eoyd1-77QOQpyh3LAGdNrr1cGXbqvvnSc6aaqXM__d6LA2pJMi9NKAUzBm6W6J_Ak0yY7olJ9bUB9v5igiHwhWTqBoHo8-0JBgWY0MjTd/s1600/sofia-vergara-2012-vanity-fair-oscar-party-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zq06HybvYx60CZKRO1LQ8BlfPu4ruUqY6C5eoyd1-77QOQpyh3LAGdNrr1cGXbqvvnSc6aaqXM__d6LA2pJMi9NKAUzBm6W6J_Ak0yY7olJ9bUB9v5igiHwhWTqBoHo8-0JBgWY0MjTd/s320/sofia-vergara-2012-vanity-fair-oscar-party-02.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBmBk3CcRxRGX8dcSG0nfcEkNtk7TbsQ6rSmbrI89myQ3VTEcg6ymjWt8W_HPmlQP5GC_Ks88OxDCTH1x6FVCuLhMTWL0TZC1Q0xTfspPg49f1RyrDLwPZonbd9yzncKp47_E3_vlXPmW/s1600/eyepatch-book-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDBmBk3CcRxRGX8dcSG0nfcEkNtk7TbsQ6rSmbrI89myQ3VTEcg6ymjWt8W_HPmlQP5GC_Ks88OxDCTH1x6FVCuLhMTWL0TZC1Q0xTfspPg49f1RyrDLwPZonbd9yzncKp47_E3_vlXPmW/s200/eyepatch-book-1.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The original and continuing premise of this blog was that I'd die in 2035, at the "ripe old age" of 89. Now I wonder if I should revise my plan.<br /><br />Within the past eight months I've been hospitalized twice. I've been diagnosed with atrial fibrillation. My diabetes attacked a nerve that controls one of my eyes. I wear an eye patch to eliminate double vision. I have no feeling from the soles of my feet to half way up to my knees. The combination of loss of vision and loss of feeling makes walking wobbly, so I use a cane. On different days different knees hurt. My hands hurt 97% of the time. Arthritis, too, of course.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGsPqi6n98yLI7fTEnAPiq3L6b8NkziTX1giCop0LjKU_6wA7b59qU2MPVRFEtfo4XXbr7Q0UkwZuFrC_XmIobb_41kF5JVyx6jLWtw0qjwB-xzr7FZcpPzJjRIWOoTzadRvMY8xo0Mdt-/s1600/Saber-Tooth-Tiger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGsPqi6n98yLI7fTEnAPiq3L6b8NkziTX1giCop0LjKU_6wA7b59qU2MPVRFEtfo4XXbr7Q0UkwZuFrC_XmIobb_41kF5JVyx6jLWtw0qjwB-xzr7FZcpPzJjRIWOoTzadRvMY8xo0Mdt-/s320/Saber-Tooth-Tiger.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Years ago when our ancestors were gored to death by sabre-toothed tigers before they reached their 21st birthdays, there was little chance of developing our 21st century maladies. Now we have much more time to develop maladies, and there are many more ways to get killed. Cavemen had no nukes nor assault rifles.<br /><br />In recent weeks I've heard of lots of people dying of "natural causes" at around age 75. And of course there are plane crashes, car crashes, tsunamis, pollution, food poisoning, terrorists and murderers.<br /><br />In reality, unless we plan suicide, none of us know how much time we have left. There's an old Jewish blessing, <span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="color: red;"><b>"may you live until 120"</b></span></span></span></span> (</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Biz Hundret un Tsvantsig"). Living that long seems extremely unlikely in my case, but now even 89 seems unsure.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That <i>really</i> pisses me off. I have lots of stuff still on my bucket list, but maybe I should throw some out of the bucket.<br /><br /> My 70th birthday is scheduled for April 15th. I'd love to celebrate by giving a <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bronsky" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;"><b>bronsky</b></span></a> to Sofia Vergara. If that turns out to be the last thing I do, I'll die with a big smile on my face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /> </span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-83612478299583112672015-11-29T06:57:00.004-05:002015-11-30T10:31:46.437-05:00Contemplating suicide (Relax. It's merely an intellectual exercize. There is no need to send help.)<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A wise person once said that when you talk more about what you've done than about what you want to do -- you're old.<br /><br />Based on that, I suppose I'm old. I'm scheduled to become 70 years old next April 15th.</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> I've gone SCUBA diving under ice, I've skied, experimented with various pharmaceuticals, been arrested, had a threesome and had my salad tossed, eaten raw clams, lived in The Bronx twice and been to four foreign countries. I've survived long enough to collect Social Security and Medicare. I've written lots of books, including a bunch of bestsellers. I have hundreds of friends on Facebook and a few in real life. I've earned and spent lots of money. I've voted in every election I was eligible to vote in. I was invited to the White House (Bush One) and was nominated to be Hispanic Businessman of the Year (a long, silly story). I live with a wonderful woman and a wonderful dog who both seem to like me.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I am unlikely to visit the moon, jump with a bungee, become president, earn a PhD, win a Pulitzer prize or an Olympic medal for jumping. At this stage, it's extremely difficult for me to stand up after being on the floor. I have no human children to provide grandchildren. I probably won't buy a 3D TV. My next home will be smaller and less-grand than my present home.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I am almost prepared for the end. My will needs to be updated but I've written the text for my headstone and planned the <a href="https://youtu.be/f5Sif34bF44" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;"><b>music</b></span></a> for my funeral </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span></li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_v9dnyCwdYL9_bG_xWcip3ApMICSFxNwCSAYMko4piX6a6tpjev8JdSzCHDI-FLB4n_RjPR57fse7tl_3W3L5_Pm_MtAxeM55NpFCoQNsOKFSm4QleAqwxbUPBJuJrh2Wn0aavX95811e/s1600/Bucket_list_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_v9dnyCwdYL9_bG_xWcip3ApMICSFxNwCSAYMko4piX6a6tpjev8JdSzCHDI-FLB4n_RjPR57fse7tl_3W3L5_Pm_MtAxeM55NpFCoQNsOKFSm4QleAqwxbUPBJuJrh2Wn0aavX95811e/s320/Bucket_list_poster.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bucket_List" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;"><b>bucket list</b></span></a> is pretty much empty. It contains a few fantasies (time travel back for a weekend in 1967, read every book I own, own a Ferrari, get an honorary PhD from Lehigh and ride a fast camel across the dunes in Morocco).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgycyuOOjGUKSyonnv0_eRYZ7389F3YgqgVj-J_kp-uYCJLfZfwne46lNFSMiSVS4E3NVUjEoGJam5X9k2bB2BPQ0boc2vCdu1EWfaGINER6Q2jIJ0hUeM9ogDVgFPE5Z-QXvU924CKsN-e/s1600/adirondack-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgycyuOOjGUKSyonnv0_eRYZ7389F3YgqgVj-J_kp-uYCJLfZfwne46lNFSMiSVS4E3NVUjEoGJam5X9k2bB2BPQ0boc2vCdu1EWfaGINER6Q2jIJ0hUeM9ogDVgFPE5Z-QXvU924CKsN-e/s400/adirondack-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There is just one semi-realistic item on the list. For years I've had a vision of staying in a cabin next to a lake in the Adirondack Mountains. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />So, with health declining, money waning, discomfort increasing and little or nothing to look forward to... why should I bother to stay alive until my anticipated death in 2035?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Is there any good reason to not kill myself right now?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />There are a few:</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My wife and my dog need me.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have to sort out, throw out, and give away lots of stuff. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I want to finish writing a few books I've started or planned.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I actually enjoy large parts of most days. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Suicide is not reversible. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There is probably no pizza or ice cream after death.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'd like to get back to Maine at least one more time.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Some people would probably miss my blogging and Facebook postings.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I expect that someone will give me a really good 70th birthday party next April.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I probably won't hear what people will say at my funeral.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have lots of empty bottles to<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> exchange for nickels.</span> </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-22014658186615645352015-11-29T06:05:00.000-05:002015-11-29T06:05:03.188-05:00In a few months I'm scheduled to become 70 years old. However, as I grow older I still refuse to grow "up."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkDjbw_pM38YBuU2DYgT6ksII16TVglf7Q1Y9eHgA37gbqXDeHA1BPJM8i70ae89kukZAXoQ4ipkpK95eBPDD2HMftFQlnVR_y-qn24Ip4RQ8xg9X_gWHbIaJgCFT9Dff3Hb11WNlTG3r/s1600/peter-pan-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkDjbw_pM38YBuU2DYgT6ksII16TVglf7Q1Y9eHgA37gbqXDeHA1BPJM8i70ae89kukZAXoQ4ipkpK95eBPDD2HMftFQlnVR_y-qn24Ip4RQ8xg9X_gWHbIaJgCFT9Dff3Hb11WNlTG3r/s400/peter-pan-1.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">About 35 years ago I met a guy whom I thought was a few years older than I was. Today I found out that I'm 3-1/2 years older than he is. That means I was older than him 35 years ago. <br /><br />Lately I've realized that lots of people I thought were older than me are really younger than me.<br /><br />As time passes, there are fewer and fewer people older than me.<br /><br />However, as I grow older I still refuse to grow "up."<br /><br />Like <a href="http://www.bookmakingblog.com/2015/03/here-are-my-ten-literary-gods-who-do.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;"><b>Tom Lehrer</b></span></a> I plan to pass from adolescence to senility without passing through maturity.<br /><br />Like <a href="https://youtu.be/5MOGGnOvGis"><span style="color: red;"><b>Peter Pan</b></span></a> I don't want to wear a tie. </span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-45598463193826142722015-08-18T09:40:00.003-04:002015-08-18T09:40:23.425-04:00Nap time!<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJYG6PeLNN0cwjKhlyhZjceWQIg2XJOfpjhSS__OyLvS02lXji4hH4_V87LOd2MPUOeWDcPXcLxtcwcr0HWWsHgJdC5IVpzjYipaCEjIpFN3aeaqmqrmXLEVYbGhXt8POwwq2BjENV4t1/s1600/bear-nap-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJYG6PeLNN0cwjKhlyhZjceWQIg2XJOfpjhSS__OyLvS02lXji4hH4_V87LOd2MPUOeWDcPXcLxtcwcr0HWWsHgJdC5IVpzjYipaCEjIpFN3aeaqmqrmXLEVYbGhXt8POwwq2BjENV4t1/s400/bear-nap-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When you're four years old, a nap is a punishment. At my age it's a mini-vacation. I can even nap at a red light.<br /><br />I'm not yet ready to begin my dirt nap.</span></div>
Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-52424239634518370422015-08-11T14:13:00.002-04:002015-08-11T14:13:35.888-04:00Another one gone, and less left<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadLmSYjherXbh0qW2ZnxaUZG5J5rbqzTZN8AM1cRHvkbpQNMTKK-ssgOYT885pBDK_IjGLR-dMxFhaIxYgkkFz9B2QiWAdpC_YzN6h6NA1D3TFywccyWyfm1BaYNolTzRTanQWxjVbECT/s1600/Adirondack-Canoe-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadLmSYjherXbh0qW2ZnxaUZG5J5rbqzTZN8AM1cRHvkbpQNMTKK-ssgOYT885pBDK_IjGLR-dMxFhaIxYgkkFz9B2QiWAdpC_YzN6h6NA1D3TFywccyWyfm1BaYNolTzRTanQWxjVbECT/s1600/Adirondack-Canoe-1.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Holy shit!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I just looked at my appointment book.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's almost September. Wife Marilyn has been in the hospital since June. This summer has been a blur. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can remember assorted minutes and hours, maybe even half-days. But not weeks or months.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Where did July go? Where did my life go?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This will be my approximate 50th summer of unfulfilled fantasy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I will not get to paddle a canoe and then fall asleep in a hammock near a cabin at a lake in the Adirondack Mountains. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2GKZSs8VjLnlU4l0JBBTPUH-ANANzdfvLnvxsKLzmkvc_0XxmWzI4WZDzbSYax-TIF0MQ63hWVAGIYalzrR2-XQp6HrTSTgnEBFmwHAVRL1HV-TQzawzbs4PL2TpSK4RjIAv33nowABf/s1600/Hour-glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2GKZSs8VjLnlU4l0JBBTPUH-ANANzdfvLnvxsKLzmkvc_0XxmWzI4WZDzbSYax-TIF0MQ63hWVAGIYalzrR2-XQp6HrTSTgnEBFmwHAVRL1HV-TQzawzbs4PL2TpSK4RjIAv33nowABf/s320/Hour-glass.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'll need a second life to check off the remaining items in my to-do-list. I'd really like to visit Morocco, Italy, Greece, Austria, Israel, Egypt, India, China, Japan, Australia, Antarctica, Chile, Brazil. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Damn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Kids look forward to birthdays because age implies empowerment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Later on it just means one less year left.</span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-42575283778983942482015-07-07T12:18:00.002-04:002015-07-07T12:20:52.267-04:00Should I revise the text for my gravestone?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-Ko2xVxnEDAMH9GztpNTvF-keLen2GRwQ0yFQMvKXixostpCQKvUMGY6u3DeD-FQNdkB0_iRhEKSsvaFrF2XUSdQ57gb-Nzh7Zx4iWKblubfmjqUvCk3sSO09sZLr1sXh-5WBkEEA81i/s1600/grave-query.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-Ko2xVxnEDAMH9GztpNTvF-keLen2GRwQ0yFQMvKXixostpCQKvUMGY6u3DeD-FQNdkB0_iRhEKSsvaFrF2XUSdQ57gb-Nzh7Zx4iWKblubfmjqUvCk3sSO09sZLr1sXh-5WBkEEA81i/s320/grave-query.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Other than people who are planning suicides, most of us don't know how much time we have left.<br /><br />When I started this blog five years ago, I did some research and calculating and estimated that I'd die in 2035, at the ripe old age of 89. (My father died at age 87. Mom made it to 92.)<br /><br />The 89 number seemed realistic, and neither pessimistic nor greedy.<br /><br />Now I wonder if I'll hang on that long.<br /><br />I've been a Type-Two diabetic for about 25 years, but it's under control. I've had kidney stones, but they were blasted to smithereens and I peed them out. I don't smoke and seldom drink alcohol. I don't bungee jump, sky dive or engage in dangerous sex.<br /><br />Like many Americans I eat too much. I assumed that I'd have a heart attack when I was in my 40s, then 50s -- but it didn't happen.<br /><br />A few years ago I lost about 120 pounds. I got rid of the other person who was living under my skin and hanging onto my bones. I was able to buy jeans for $14 at Sam's, not $50 at the fat man's store. I felt good, looked good and some hot chicks flirted with me. Twenty pounds came back but I made ten go away. I want to lose the other ten, and maybe more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Last week I was diagnosed with </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">inadequate </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">kidney function and atrial fibrillation (also known as coronary arrhythmia and irregular heartbeat). </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Yesterday I found out that my blood pressure is very low (80/60, compared to a normal 120/80).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyk_IdGBw9ZbWlM_vVu5qpMcfQzABItJBBF6KjeXX8tmuOXMeDJCSNdBU4KGfgsdycWr1-NnhIsF9j8OcAxMSz4hklu_zBv0P72a3G_jeHHS1ALFoCFLD7qMl1DPNnozRXrtX8LtcuQArS/s1600/Blood-Pressure-Monitor-EB-A13-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyk_IdGBw9ZbWlM_vVu5qpMcfQzABItJBBF6KjeXX8tmuOXMeDJCSNdBU4KGfgsdycWr1-NnhIsF9j8OcAxMSz4hklu_zBv0P72a3G_jeHHS1ALFoCFLD7qMl1DPNnozRXrtX8LtcuQArS/s200/Blood-Pressure-Monitor-EB-A13-.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My wife Marilyn inherited bad heart genes from both parents. She's had a triple bypass and two stents installed. We knew she had a "bum ticker" and she ate carefully, got lots of exercise and good medical care. She's lived longer than both parents and a brother.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Marilyn's been in the hospital for a week because of a bad concussion. I nearly blacked out when I visited her last Friday, and I was admitted to the hospital. My room was on the floor below hers. Not very intimate.<br /><br />My heart and kidney problems were discovered while I was visiting her. They had not been previously diagnosed, but probably were incipient and worsened by my not eating or sleeping properly while Marilyn was in the hospital, plus stress.<br /><br />I have some new drugs to take with various good and not-so-good effects. Some drugs may be the wrong drugs.</span><br />
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I had a small scab on one arm from a dog scratch. Suddenly it erupted</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> and blood started flowing. The leak is probably caused by my new blood thinner. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I was given a new drug for high blood pressure -- and three days later I was diagnosed with </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">low </i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">blood pressure.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Human bodies are very confusing. Androids don't have to deal with this crap.</span></div>
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Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-21148383614927383792015-05-01T07:02:00.002-04:002015-05-01T07:15:42.784-04:00When does "old" start?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I used to say that middle age lasts until dirt is thrown on you. I became 69 two weeks ago. Am I (GASP) already an alte kocker? (That's Yiddish for "old shitter.") I prefer something like "esteemed, learned kvetcher." (To kvetch is to complain.) I do a lot of that.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I've kvetched for my whole life. My mother said that I once cried in my high chair until she realized that I was upset because a kitchen cabinet door was left open. I could not speak yet, but I could kvetch.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I've always had very high standards, that often do not apply to me. My wife often kvetches about my lapses. She thinks I should shower every day. That's ridiculous. I have aroma, not stench.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The Internet makes it easy to kvetch to a large audience. I have dozens of blogs, websites and Facebook pages and I tweet sometimes. My books are filled with kvetching, mostly funny kvetching.<br /><br />When does alte-kockering begin? Maybe 75 or 80? <br /><br />Is there a Yiddish term for "pre-alte kocker?"</span></span><br />
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Photo from <a href="http://www.elephantjournal.com/">http://www.elephantjournal.com</a> Thanks.Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-88202882057329141802015-04-12T06:46:00.001-04:002015-04-12T06:57:38.349-04:00My tank of life is emptying<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7h-5mM4kwHNuc4A4PTr4qlbqVtOzwvM41TMyVJPyUJQ5cv6YfflxdGtQs537R8chM6_oD3f2Du4L2QGI1s35PH-ZtOfVZxVCGy2F7TrahiN3eqtroYYt8aLyMh42XmXwwWKxxHgPqTxeL/s1600/hospital-man-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7h-5mM4kwHNuc4A4PTr4qlbqVtOzwvM41TMyVJPyUJQ5cv6YfflxdGtQs537R8chM6_oD3f2Du4L2QGI1s35PH-ZtOfVZxVCGy2F7TrahiN3eqtroYYt8aLyMh42XmXwwWKxxHgPqTxeL/s1600/hospital-man-1.jpg" height="277" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />I have a birthday coming up soon. It's not a "milestone" birthday to be marked by celebration, it's just one of many innocuous numbers that mark a decrease in the years I have left until what's left of me gets put away to rot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">When we are young, we are excited, maybe even proud, of reaching ages 5, 10, 13, 16, 18, 21, 25, 35 -- because each of those numbers indicate added privileges and authority.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Later on, 65 means money from Social Security and Medicare, and senior discounts at unexciting restaurants.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">After 65, each new number means that there is less left in the tank of life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I've been assuming that I'll die at age 89. That number is now five years closer than when I picked 2035 as my last year, for my blog about dying. <br /><br />Time is speeding up as it passes by. Sometimes years feel like they have only about five or six months in them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">2035 is approaching quickly. It's a mere two decades away, now. But there are many unforeseen horrors that could move my exit date closer. I'm taking things off my bucket list as I realize they are unattainable fantasies. I am buying less and giving way more.<br /><br />I watched both of my parents -- both previously super-smart and vigorous -- fade away to become useless, barely animated collections of atoms.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Damn. Shit. Hell. Fooey.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I'm not depressed, just pissed off. </span><br />
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<br />Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-53629853621435328092014-12-11T05:54:00.000-05:002014-12-11T06:25:16.400-05:00Am I a man or a ball?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Ot_m6iM4BYUMbXFOIC3_W4kEMfzn06yDlTbo4gh1zYVSEQ8AJsVQKZWCeUfyl9GsQ8vGZEckq2c1aMwyouJzMT7gYhAbY-ebcLMZNpKisBPRhD_7T2HAlETSe1crtQdFiQoqkdnMzivf/s1600/Pool-table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Ot_m6iM4BYUMbXFOIC3_W4kEMfzn06yDlTbo4gh1zYVSEQ8AJsVQKZWCeUfyl9GsQ8vGZEckq2c1aMwyouJzMT7gYhAbY-ebcLMZNpKisBPRhD_7T2HAlETSe1crtQdFiQoqkdnMzivf/s1600/Pool-table.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Too much to do that people expect me to do that I don't feel like doing.<br />Too much to do that I want to do but can't start or finish.<br />Too much that was fun but is no longer fun.<br />Too many books unread and unwritten.<br />Too many bills that I can't pay.<br />Too much news I can't stand.<br />Too little to look forward to.<br />Too little tolerance.<br />Too little energy. <br />Too little time.<br />Too little joy.<br /><br />Is this depression, sadness, pissed-offedness? Sometimes I seem like a ball on a pool table, bouncing around and reacting, not initiating action. <br /><br />I still have a tear in my right eye from a Bob Edwards interview on the radio over an hour ago.<br /><br />I have to pee but lack the motivation to stand up and go to the john.<br /><br />Some body parts always hurt. Others have no sensation. My typing is filled with errors caused by my brain malfunctioning, not by sloppy typing.<br /><br />Have I lost "it?" Where/why did "it" go?<br /><br />Have I finally, at age 68, passed from middle age to old?<br /><br />Why did I type this instead of finishing writing three long-past-due books?<br /><br />Will reading this help me? Can I give myself a good kick in the ass?</span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-6659688747677369552014-09-20T09:41:00.002-04:002014-12-09T13:14:37.216-05:00Sometimes it is too late<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdmX0kGyUhxi_GQ0g89kFq7HaKTp0YE_4Te9tPxumVlxfbSKlx1TqR-uhkYAUqk3Is4Yvi-4U5yRRJebxhMg0KhtcqWRyVwVaQ_WtM2fM-UjJloFCZM3JQSMAa4ENX8yUk__3WRZyM4k6/s1600/jill-tarlov.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdmX0kGyUhxi_GQ0g89kFq7HaKTp0YE_4Te9tPxumVlxfbSKlx1TqR-uhkYAUqk3Is4Yvi-4U5yRRJebxhMg0KhtcqWRyVwVaQ_WtM2fM-UjJloFCZM3JQSMAa4ENX8yUk__3WRZyM4k6/s1600/jill-tarlov.jpg" height="320" width="243" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was reading an <b><span style="color: red;"><a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/bicycle-rider-charged-central-park-crash-article-1.1945604"><span style="color: red;">article in the NY Daily News</span></a> </span></b>about a woman who is near death after being hit by a "speed demon" on a $4,000 bicycle in Central Park. At first her name didn't mean anything to me, but then I realized that <b>Jill Tarlov</b> is the daughter of my late father's late first cousin, Malcolm Tarlov from Norwalk.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I probably have not seen Jill in more than 50 years and probably would have gone the rest of my life without thinking of her. It's sad to be reminded of relatives when they are dead or nearly dead.<br /><br />If you have old friends and relatives whom you don't hate but have not spoken to in a long time, get in touch. You may not have another chance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Apparently there are no speed limits for bicycles in NYC. There should be.<br /><br />From Australian News.com.au:<br /><br />>></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: LiberationSerifRegular, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 23px;">Police sources said it’s common for athletic cyclists to pedal in the car lanes, enabling them to travel faster.</span><br />
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“These guys think that they have entitlement and they don’t ride in the bike lanes,” one source said.</div>
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Witness Phillip Fenton, 21, visiting New York on a geography field trip from England’s University of Exeter, said Marshall was “speeding,” adding, “It didn’t look like he tried to stop.</div>
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“He was yelling for her to get out of the way, but I don’t think she heard him,” Mr Fenton added.</div>
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Mr Fenton’s pal Tom Longman said Marshall was hunched over the brakeless, triathlon-style “aerobars” attached to the handlebars of his high-performance, yellow and black ride.</div>
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“She went down pretty hard,” Longman said. “The right side of her face looked very bad. There was blood all over her.”</div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: LiberationSerifRegular, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 23px;">Local residents have long complained at Central Park Precinct Community Council meetings that the cyclists are a danger.</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><<<br /><br />Update: Jill died.</span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-75120218373675657012014-05-19T04:06:00.001-04:002014-05-28T13:17:35.814-04:00I've learned some things in 68 years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I've done a lot in 68 years, probably more than I'll do in the next 21 years. I did some of the right things and some of the wrong things. I learned lots of lessons and now I'm putting them into a book. </span></div>
<h5 class="font_5" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span class="color_4">Do As I Say, Not As I Did</span></span></span></span></span></i></h5>
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<h6 class="font_6" style="font-size: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="color_4">If the old me could have spoken to the young me, maybe I wouldn't have made so many stupid mistakes.</span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></h6>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">From an early draft of the introduction:</span></span></span></h6>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Time travel is a pervasive theme in popular
culture. For something that doesn’t actually exist, ti</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">me travel </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">is surprisingly
popular.</span></h6>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Google shows about ten times as many links for time travel as for European travel.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Ti</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">me travel</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> has inspired countless books, movies, TV shows, videogames and comic books.</span></li>
</ul>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">My interest in time travel has often been extremely
personal. I fantasize about interacting with myself—not with dead
presidents or great grandchildren.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I’ve contemplated how the eleven-year-old me would
have reacted to the twenty-year-old me. Would the fifteen-year-old me
think the forty-year-old me was interesting, cool, smart, boring,
stupid, scary, a creep or an asshole?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">More importantly—and the impetus for this book—I’ve
thought that if the old me could have spoken to the young me, maybe I
wouldn’t have made so many stupid mistakes. Maybe I’d now be healthier,
wealthier and happier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I wish I could forcefully advise myself to “do this,
not that.” The ten- and twenty-year-old me might have ignored the advice
of parents, teachers and doctors—but not the advice of <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>. If I talk to myself I <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to listen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I’ve learned a lot since 1946. Many of the lessons have been
difficult and some have been painful. I figured out many things myself.
Some lessons were taught to me by others, especially by my father.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">While technology will not yet allow me to go back and
talk to myself, I can warn and advise anyone else who’s willing to pay
attention.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">That’s why I wrote this book. And maybe by looking back I can influence my own future.<br /><br />It should be published around June 1.</span></div>
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<br />Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-82241387744107153492014-05-12T05:43:00.002-04:002014-05-12T06:33:16.731-04:00The advantages of being old, or, at least, older<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #073763; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I noticed something interesting in recent photos of writers' groups that met in California and England. I noticed the same thing in a meeting of writers I attended here in Connecticut. <i>There were no young people</i>. The age range seemed to be from about 40 to 85. I don't know why this is so. Are the kids' literary output limited to Tweeting and texting? Are they incapable of writing 30,000 words or more?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #073763;">Despite deficiencies in appendages and sensory organs, old farts have definite advantages over the young 'uns. We may not remember where we put the car keys or what we ate for breakfast, but we still have long-term memory. We have </span><span style="color: red;"><b>PERSPECTIVE</b></span><span style="color: #073763;">. We can look back, remember, analyze and compare. We remember things that kids have merely read about or heard about. And, because we can remember when things like cellphones did not exist, we can </span><span style="color: red;"><b>APPRECIATE</b></span><span style="color: #073763;"> -- and maybe even marvel at -- things that younger people take for granted.</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">After walking around the planet for four or five or six decades, we've seen, heard, smelled, tasted and done a lot.</span></b></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Despite the current Republican Party's fondness for "The Great Communicator," I can remember when Ronnie Reagan was a doddering old fool in the White House. (For me, the highlight of his career was starring in <b><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bedtime_for_Bonzo" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Bedtime for Bonzo</span></a></i></b>.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember the thrill when finally more than 50% of Americans were opposed to the war in Viet Nam, and when LBJ decided not to run for re-election.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when presidential candidates were selected at the conventions, not in primaries.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Today, a burger at Mickey Dee's can cost six bucks. I remember the commercial that chanted "Forty-five cents for a three course meal? Sounds to me like that's a steal." (A burger, fries and a shake cost 15 cents each.) </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when one-gig hard drives and plain-paper fax machines finally became available for less than $1,000.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when people were crippled from polio.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when most kids had married parents and few mothers worked.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when men were not nurses and did not teach at elementary schools.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remembered when it was shocking that politicians and priests were involved in sex scandals.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember seeing two movies, seven cartoons and a newsreel for 25 cents.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember penny candy that actually cost a penny.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember cars that rusted and overheated and had windup windows and no air conditioning.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when it was unusual to see an imported car in the USA. Or Ikea.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember the discoveries of quiche and fondue.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when most women used hair spray, and only strippers wore thong underwear.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when it was weird for a woman to run for political office.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when pregnant girls left high school.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember door-to-door salesmen, and notebooks that were not computers. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember typewriters and correction fluid.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember shotgun weddings, people going to Europe for abortions and sex-change surgery, and to Nevada for divorces.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when people were shocked by Playboy magazine.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember newspapers that did not print color pictures.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember having to choose from three TV channels.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember TV antennas (not dishes) on the roof.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when headsets were for pilots and telephone operators.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when people rented telephones and answering machines.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when answering machines were actually <i>machines</i>.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when it was weird to buy water.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember Pennsylvania Station, Bethlehem Steel and phone numbers with letters. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when a doctor made home visits for five bucks, drove a $5,000 Cadillac and lived in a $25,000 house.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when an expensive college cost $3,000 per year.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember paying a nickel to ride on the Staten Island Ferry, and for a bag of potato chips.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember life before Starbucks, Keurigs, plastic shopping bags, Star Trek and Star Wars, bungee cords, The Pill, cordless phones, reality TV, recycling bins, ZIP Codes, email, word processing, sports bras, $200 sneakers, unisex salons, apps, Silly Putty, The Czech Republic, Trumps, Palins, Kardashians, Lohans, Kims, networking, self-realization, permanent press, videos, value propositions, airplane hijacking, Lojack, GPS, VCR, DVR, LSD, HIV, ATMs, PDFs, FAQs, sex surrogates, texting, sexting, Nigerian scams, men going to weddings without neckties, and seatbelts.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when 1950s music was not "oldies."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when the USA had 180 million people and 48 states. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember commercials for "your DeSoto-Plymouth dealer."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember the USSR.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember co-features.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember mink stoles.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Howdy Doody was "live."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Dick Clark was young.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember "Kukla, Fran and Ollie."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember "Tom Corbett, Space Cadet."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Johnny Carson replaced Steve Allen on the Tonight Show.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember people being concerned about 1984 and Y2K.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when it was unusual for women to wear pants to work.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember pizza selling 25 cents for a slice. Maybe even 15 cents.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Although I never drank it, I remember ten-cent coffee.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember soda vending machines that poured liquid into cups.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when "gay" merely meant "happy."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when there were just three Radio Shack stores in the entire world, and no BestBuys or Circuit Cities.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">When our family drove cross-country in 1959, gas cost less than 25 cents per gallon.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember preparing for World War Three. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKqXu-5jw60" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: red;">Duck and Cover</span></b></a>.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when American men did not wear necklaces, and most women did not have tattoos, or piercings other than in their ears. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember paying for long-distance calls, and keeping them short.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember tube testers at Radio Shack, being able to select either mono or stereo LPs, when mobile phones cost $3,000, and when going online could cost $20 per HOUR.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when color TVs, touch-tone phones and microwave ovens were luxury items.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when TVs had knobs and no remote controls.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember having a $1,000 VCR with a <i>wired</i> remote control.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember open-reel tape, 78s, 45s, 33s, 4-track, 8-track, cassettes, Elcassettes, videodiscs, quadraphonic sound, and record players in cars.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember wristwatches with tiny LED displays.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when there was a Disneyland but no Disney Worlds.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I (sadly) remember life without TiVo and satellite radio.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when cars had just three-speed transmissions. (The first Corvette had just two.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when turbocharging was exotic.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember paying to have new cars rustproofed by Ziebart.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember calling relatives to let them know we had arrived safely -- after a 50-mile drive.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when there was no President's Day, but there was a Decoration Day, and weekends had just two days.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when it was unusual to see nude bodies or hear dirty words in movies, on TV or radio. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when tacos were exotic, and pizza was not available with eggplant. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when pocket calculators were exotic.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when people stayed home to watch TV.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when a science magazine said that it would never be possible to produce a color video camera that could be sold for less than $25,000.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember predictions of helicopters in every driveway, flat-screen color TVs, pocket-size phones and the end of war and disease.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I also <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">remember when cigarettes cost 27 cents per pack, had no cancer warnings, and were advertised on TV. </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKMn-_aQoPk" target="_blank"><span style="color: red; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><b>"More doctors smoke camels than any other brand."</b></span></a></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I remember when magazines cost a quarter, paperback books cost 35 cents, computers cost millions, and homes had one phone and one TV.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I remember when milk and eggs were delivered to homes, mommy was home to cook lunch for the kids, and freezers had to be defrosted.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember <i>hearing</i> about nickel lunches, but I actually remember drinking nickel Cokes.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when kids walked to school and it was up-hill in both directions.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember when KFC was called Kentucky Fried Chicken.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I remember when females were not supposed to like sex.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when schools, public lavatories and water fountains got integrated.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Ivy League schools had quotas for Jews, and fancy hotels did not allow Jews or dogs to stay in them.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when few Jewish people bought German cars and when few WW2 vets bought Japanese cars.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when computer screens and printers were monochrome.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember floppy discs, and laser discs.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember changing spark plugs.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember snow tires, even studded snow tires.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when radar detectors were illegal in some states.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember Montgomery-Ward, Gimbel's, Bambergers, Korvette's and Crazy Eddie.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when people couldn't buy liquor with a credit card, or lots of things on Sunday.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when cable TV was unusual. So were shopping malls. And wearing jeans and sneakers to school.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Howard Johnson's restaurants were ubiquitous, and the signs at McDonald's bragged, "Over One Million Sold."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when you had to get phone service from the phone company.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when nobody used lasers at home.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when most pens and batteries leaked.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember the appearance of the Magic Marker.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Negroes became Blacks and Afro-Americans.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when black people started using the N-word.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when it was unusual to see black people in commercials.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when "Protestants" became "Christians."</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Mormons were considered weird. Hmm.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when it was shocking to consider that a Catholic could become president.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Americans went to Cuba for vacation -- but not to China.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember the iron curtain and iron lungs.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember my Diners' Club card and receiving Telegrams.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember stores that let people charge purchases without using charge cards, and when Macy's started accepting American Express.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when McDonald's started selling breakfast, and bagels.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when banks closed at 3 p.m. and on weekends.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when mail-order items were ordered and delivered by mail. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember the switch from steel to aluminum SCUBA tanks, from dual-hose to single-hose regulators, and from ski boots with laces to ski boots with clips.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when people without legs did not compete in sports.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Saturn was not a car but Mercury was. Now Saturn is not a car, again.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when Pluto was a planet.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I remember when "under God" was inserted into the Pledge of Allegiance.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember back in the 1950s when banks paid less than three percent on savings. Hmm. Now two is considered high. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I remember hearing about the Great Depression and that it could never happen again.</span> </li>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><b>Of course, one big disadvantage of all this perspective and memory is that that no young person wants to hear about it.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">top photo from <a href="http://fotolia.com/">Fotolia.com</a>. Thanks. </span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-59221643979601923922014-04-23T05:35:00.001-04:002014-04-23T08:22:24.075-04:00How much more time do you want?<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">A neighbor and a high school classmate both died yesterday, both much too young and both apparently of "natural" causes.<br /><br />We can't control our genes, but we can exert a bit of control over our lives.<br /><br />Be careful, friends.<br /><br />The older we are the less we can "get away with." There's less time to heal, and maybe less strength to resist bad stuff.<br /><br /> I've been planning on 21 more years. I am going to make some changes starting today. </span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-8226812683863360342014-02-13T17:27:00.005-05:002014-04-16T06:29:38.798-04:00Life's a bitch, and then you die. <div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Today would have been my parents' 70th anniversary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />They were two extremely intelligent people (both attended high schools for the "gifted" in NYC), active and productive -- but degenerated to become like helpless infants.<br /><br />"<span style="color: red;"><b><a href="http://michaelmarc.us/myfather.html">Buddy</a></b></span>," my father, died on 7/21/09 at age 87. He had a very full life and finally decided to shut down while in a nursing home. He enjoyed singing old songs to the staff, and grinned while doing a dump into his diaper. Pop eventually stopped wearing his glasses and hearing aid and asked my mother to hire a hit man for him.<br /><br />Rita, my mother, is 91 and has severe dementia.<br /><br />She's in a nursing home and doesn't know she should be celebrating, sometimes doesn't recognize her children, and seldom says more than "NO!" -- even when she means yes.<br /><br />When she was more lucid (even a few months ago), she sometimes articulately described hallucinations,</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> such as my father climbed out of his grave and married another woman.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Often she substituted words and it obviously pained her when she was inarticulate. Sometimes she'd use a vague term, like "device" instead of "seat belt." Other times the substitution made no sense, like "marshmallow" for "checkbook."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />A while ago we noticed that she had exchanged eyeglasses with another resident of the home. Neither woman noticed. More recently she lost a lens from her glasses -- but the lens was from in front of her blind eye. She no longer reads, so the glasses were put away.<br /><br />Yesterday, bro Marshall and I were at mom's nursing home to discuss final plans. No feeding tube, no heroic measures, just keep her as comfortable as possible.<br /><br />She shares a room with a slightly older old lady. They have two TVs in the room, a few feet apart. Sometimes they silently display two different programs, but neither woman seems to notice or complain. It's electric wallpaper.<br /><br />My mother had a powerful brain, but her body suffered greatly over the years.<br /><br />She's had various body parts replaced, and even had a broken neck. She fell from her bed (or maybe her wheel chair) a few months ago and broke a leg. She has not been able to stand up for several years. In school, mom won an award for penmanship. She knit, crocheted and made ceramic objects. Now she can't hold a fork or spoon, or release her grip from a handkerchief without assistance.<br /><br />(OK, time for a humorous interlude: mom once broke a toe by kicking Marshall in the ass.)<br /><br />At mom's 90th birthday party, her long-time doctor, Mark Schwartz, said, "modern medicine can keep people alive long after the parts wear out, but there's no quality of life."<br /><br />I'm scheduled to become 68 years old in two months. I am not looking forward to 88.<br /><br /></span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-56315314836403092852013-08-12T04:35:00.002-04:002013-08-12T04:37:58.715-04:00Damn summer!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPu-ORByPvUoG8vqr7YWzzc_Tn4QY5nYMZ8_-koEt3iQguJjlNnZUSoKXbGCDb0Tp9szHDVpF2j4tiTK2Y523QHrSoDYLL8ASCqHNKdi9XdwDX42n51tRutfcO0WP8ORCl0fxMtSCLE883/s1600/lakeside-cabin-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPu-ORByPvUoG8vqr7YWzzc_Tn4QY5nYMZ8_-koEt3iQguJjlNnZUSoKXbGCDb0Tp9szHDVpF2j4tiTK2Y523QHrSoDYLL8ASCqHNKdi9XdwDX42n51tRutfcO0WP8ORCl0fxMtSCLE883/s320/lakeside-cabin-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's 4:20 a.m. I've been awake since at least 1:24. It's dark out and I don't hear any birds chirping. It seems like just a few days ago at this time that the sun was shining and there was an avian concert outside my window. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Winter is coming. I'm both pissed and relieved. This summer, like most summers, has been extremely frustrating, even annoying. Many things on my to-do-list remain undone. I want summer to go away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One particularly annoying item remains on my annual list. My mind sees my body asleep in a chair outside a cabin on the shore of a lake in Adirondack State Park. Brubeck's "Blue Rondo a la Turk" is playing, but not too loud. A breeze is tickling my face. Blue sky, blue water, my dog and a canoe are waiting for me to wake up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe next summer. Maybe next life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">photo from iStockPhoto. </span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-19711590680703761822013-06-10T05:40:00.000-04:002013-06-10T17:53:31.776-04:00Forgive and forget, or ignore and move on?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We've all heard the phrase "forgive and forget." I seldom forget, and if I remember, I seldom forgive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At a high school reunion about 25 years ago, I was approached by another man.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Years earlier, when his hair was darker and greasier, "Rick" was known as "<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Daddy Demon</span></b>." He was probably one of just two Jewish juvenile delinquents in New Haven.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Rick smiled, said “Hi, howya been?” and he raised his right hand to shake mine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I kept my right hand at my side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I reminded Rick that in the fall of 1958, when we were both in the seventh grade, on the way home from school, he and a couple of other 12-year-old hoods ambushed me for no discernible reason. Rick poked holes in both of my bicycle tires and then he snuffed out a cigarette on my head. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few months later, Rick’s posse held me down on the ground with my mouth forced open so they could spit into it. Later on, one of them stabbed me in the pool at our country club.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I did not shake Rick’s hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I did tell Rick to go fuck himself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I still remembered a lot. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Fast-forward to a few days ago. Rick wanted to join an online group that I administer. My initial reaction was to ignore him -- a polite way of saying "go fuck yourself" again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I thought about my decision. I've held a grudge against an evil, sadistic bully for 55 years, the vast majority of my life, and now he wanted -- or needed -- something from me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unlike that day in 1958, <i>I</i> now had power over him. <i>I </i>was in a position to show the mercy that he and his posse did not show. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I clearly did not forget what they did, and cannot forgive it -- but I can choose to ignore it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe Rick on Social Security is not the same person that the pre-teen Rick was.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've done a few crappy things in my life ('tho I was never a bully) and I'd like my transgressions to be ignored.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, I let Rick into the group.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I meet him again, maybe I'll be willing to shake his hand. I probably won't tell him to go fuck himself. I'd probably <i>like</i> to have a conversation with him. I'd like to know what diabolical influences turned him into Daddy Demon, and how he outgrew the demon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe by being nice to a former nemesis, I outgrew a demon of my own.<br /><br />I definitely feel better now.</span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-14641711010161416402013-06-01T13:40:00.001-04:002013-06-02T05:28:11.853-04:00I may have lost "it" -- but didn't lose it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggshG_afoELCf9WEl_0rgCzSml0ADZ3eftb8cxcJhYTRcysDiK21vDE_MExI6oZ_CxMI9PZpNWR7gi5DEmDjTpP7bhy3V46zXuo-AJ2ItbseuqSjt3o4BCoh1Yp7czJj5KbzdxFZD7W2J-/s1600/lumia-red-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggshG_afoELCf9WEl_0rgCzSml0ADZ3eftb8cxcJhYTRcysDiK21vDE_MExI6oZ_CxMI9PZpNWR7gi5DEmDjTpP7bhy3V46zXuo-AJ2ItbseuqSjt3o4BCoh1Yp7czJj5KbzdxFZD7W2J-/s320/lumia-red-2.jpg" width="261" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;">On Thursday I prepared to take the train from CT to NYC for Book Expo America. I thought I put my cellphone and two bars of Bonomo Turkish Taffy in my shoulder bag.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;">When I got on the train, I wanted to call home and tell my wife I had made the train, but could not find the phone. I went through the bag over and over again and finally gave up, assuming I had never put the stuff in the bag.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;">At the show I was not able to communicate properly with wife or office. There apparently are no pay phones at Javits Center. I was able to borrow cellphones and stay in touch minimally. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;">When I got back to CT I scoured the car and house. I inspected every likely and unlikely place. I called AT&T to determine whether anyone had used my missing phone. No one had.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;">A few minutes ago I heard the tell-tale notes of "Louie-Louie" -- my ring tone -- coming from the same shoulder bag I had schlepped to NY and back.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 11.328125px;">I started ransacking the bag for the umpteenth time and discovered a hidden compartment containing my phone and taffy. They made the round trip with me. If someone had tried to call me in NY, "Louie" would've helped me find the phone.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13.333333015441895px; line-height: 11.333333015441895px;" /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cec1JInytH0" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-size: 13.333333015441895px; line-height: 11.333333015441895px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cec1JInytH0</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">BTW, I deliberately bought my Nokia Lumia 920 in red to make it hard to misplace. Earlier this year it was misplaced for a month.</span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-91674797534622181062013-05-30T16:30:00.002-04:002013-05-30T16:46:45.422-04:00Am I aging gracefully, or disgracefully?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7m4EIQL6_EeaCcrK9mYZvo_Wdv4Sc4b9UxMKnMWF4FnJnNbLx5skENsBfRl0EMKujDgTUgJR18IAlNVDy-mIcAZzpINb-gc_8BBhwEuWmFFL1qXtaQY6YqqdGbLKo5zHoJ0aFmJd0X4y/s1600/mnm-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7m4EIQL6_EeaCcrK9mYZvo_Wdv4Sc4b9UxMKnMWF4FnJnNbLx5skENsBfRl0EMKujDgTUgJR18IAlNVDy-mIcAZzpINb-gc_8BBhwEuWmFFL1qXtaQY6YqqdGbLKo5zHoJ0aFmJd0X4y/s400/mnm-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was at a publishing industry trade show in Manhattan today. I met and was talking to two smart, witty, attractive young ladies. If I was not happily married, I would have 'tried something.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Somehow the topic of age came up. One of my companions guessed that I was 52. The other said 47.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I revealed that I am really 67, they were <i>amazed</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am certainly not a prime specimen of American masculinity, but the reactions of these ladies gave me a good ego boost. Actually, when I see pictures of some of my contemporaries, and some of my wife's contemporaries, I think we're doing just fine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wonder if I dyed my gray beard brown or black, could I pass for 35? If I shaved it off, could I pass for 17?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Probably not. Oh well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-7439437691344896532013-05-18T05:13:00.001-04:002013-06-02T05:40:44.570-04:00How old is too old? Who knows?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmiHj24TNOY91ixnsbh7Jh6zoRarhHIvgQUvcuROgyXoffFvV3c5A1pkbtkvn1kTMIhyphenhyphenc3OoMPbrklKGu3r02B1FSqWSfUNfSzFp-b6V31qppXDFGUF-CSxbMxUCDZdhV2cxjBKUMS6_L/s1600/mom-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmiHj24TNOY91ixnsbh7Jh6zoRarhHIvgQUvcuROgyXoffFvV3c5A1pkbtkvn1kTMIhyphenhyphenc3OoMPbrklKGu3r02B1FSqWSfUNfSzFp-b6V31qppXDFGUF-CSxbMxUCDZdhV2cxjBKUMS6_L/s320/mom-1.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My mother (for many years an AMAZING woman) is 90 years old and has dementia.<br /><br />She's in an assisted-living facility with a 'round-the-clock aide and we're trying to find her a bed in a nursing home. She can't stand, walk, read, make a phone call, feed herself, wipe her behind or say more than a few words (often the wrong words). She sits in her wheel chair clutching her pocketbook and a hanky, and her fingers have to be pried off the handle of the pocketbook because she can't un-bend her own fingers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Until about six months ago, when she was able to say more than a few words, she said some ridiculous things.<br /><br />She told of the three mechanics who were working in her bedroom and left through the back door (there were no mechanics and no back door), and that my father climbed out of his grave and married another woman, and insisted that her name was written on the ceiling above her bed. She also told me that a noisy family had moved into her guest room.<br /><br />Last year she had a lot trouble finding "the right words," and was obviously extremely frustrated by her limitations. She used to have an amazing vocabulary, but started to substitute almost any noun for another one, or use a general term like "device" for "seatbelt" or "clock." Sometimes she'd mix baby-talk and substitution, like "toidy sheets " for "toilet paper."<br /><br />Some sentences were complete mysteries. It took a long time to figure out that "produce" meant a "bank check."<br /><br />Mom often answered the phone but held it upside-down and yelled and neglected to hang up. (A few years ago, when my father was fading away in a nursing home, he often tried to use the bed control to adjust the TV. One time he ejected himself from the bed.)<br /><br />Those were the good old days.<br /><br />Now Mom is mostly silent. She smiles a lot, watches (or stares at) television, listens to conversations intently, and has occasional moments of surprising lucidity. She'll fill in words from old songs and seems to be happy despite her limitations.<br /><br />I guess that's all anyone wants at any age or stage.<br /><br />Would I want to end up like her, or would I prefer to be euthanized? I don't know.<br /><br />The dividing line between life and death is usually obvious. The line between a crappy life and a good-enough life my be hard for observers to discern.<br /><br />Life was so much simpler when most cavemen were killed by wild beasts before they had a chance to get old and ill.
</span>Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2137286353809140012.post-72337347106479248162012-12-14T04:38:00.005-05:002012-12-14T04:41:35.171-05:00How long is a year?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU5F6oQoEBoVBPNTbmfAKqujY1pzEu8kvP8dM6-kD9mrLTpYZGYC1jyOqF7wHAtlA97kzkGhJVl0KufQCctSXxpzDhOGWOAE4DIddO5qmy5RUomiWwPJz8jfVgt9VIhGfvfTh-moWbdK4X/s1600/apt-book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU5F6oQoEBoVBPNTbmfAKqujY1pzEu8kvP8dM6-kD9mrLTpYZGYC1jyOqF7wHAtlA97kzkGhJVl0KufQCctSXxpzDhOGWOAE4DIddO5qmy5RUomiWwPJz8jfVgt9VIhGfvfTh-moWbdK4X/s1600/apt-book.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I just realized that it's time to buy a 2013 appointment book. I've barely gotten to know my 2012 book, and it's almost used up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I was in high school, each 45-minute class seemed to last a hundred years. Now, years seem to have about five months, and are shrinking fast.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(Hmm. I said that in the last blog post. Is repetition a sign of getting <i>old</i>?)</span></div>
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<br />Michael N. Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14572325935572298962noreply@blogger.com0