Thursday, June 17, 2010

Maybe They'll Find A Cure

I have my share of phobias and fears ... caves, vegetarian ideals, rum shortages. But here lately I have come to fear my own future. I continually see signs pointing to my becoming an old fogie, a grouchy old man all to eager to shout "HEY, you kids stay off my lawn!"

I fear becoming such a man. Yet my ability to resist this fogie-ism is eroding faster than the price of British Petroleum stock.

I suppose y'all want examples.

Music --- I still love a good tune, but sometime in the last few years I decided it was more trouble to keep up that it was worth. Justin Bieber? Never say Never may sound like good advice, but I'll never understand why anyone wants that much damn hair hanging in their eyes. And other acts everyone is all GAGA over? At least Boy George was up front with his cross dressing when he posed as a LADY.

Tattoos --- I used to think I'd get one whenever I finally published my first novel, but most likely that will never happen. (The tattoo that is, I'm too damn stubborn to give up on my dreams of being a novelist.) I now wonder what the hell the purpose of a tattoo even is. If it's simply to shock my fellow man or to make people look at me, I might as well walk around with my pants unzipped. The boys could probably use some air and it would be just as easy to get angry and yell quit staring I am not a freak for that as it would to pay loads of money and get repeatedly stabbed by a needle. And if it's to artistically showcase the things that mean the most to me then I fear most would misinterpret my ink. Just this weekend I encountered a man with a fairy tattooed on his right calf and I feel certain that tatt meant something different to him than it did to me. Like wise with the dude at the pool that had a tramp stamp. I simply do not understand why any man would want the Dallas Cowboy Star permanently etched just above the crack of his ass.

Oh there are other signs ... I can't walk across my lawn anymore without bending to pull at least a weed or two. Only a few weeks back I called the city to complain about the perpetual garage sale down the street from my house. And perhaps the biggest sign that fogie-ism is present in my soul ... More than once I've started to write an editorial in response to an article in my local newspaper.

God help the future kids of my neighborhood.


Barbara Martin said...

The trouble with tatoos is: are you certain you want all that ink in your skin? There is a possibility of long-term negative effects.

Old fogie-isms: you'd better get used to the idea. Once it's gotten this far you're doomed.

I'm certain the neighbourhood kids will love to play 'knock-a-door-ginger' on your door.

David Cranmer said...

I've been an old fart since around fifteen. My transition to codger won't be an issue.

Old Kitty said...


Oh no!! You can't be turning into The Old Man! :-) Not yet anyway! LOL!

Oh you're so gonna hate me. I have a tattoo (butterfly, discreet done in ancient times of yore), I'm a vegetarian (since forever) and I love Lady Gaga (Bad Romance kills me everytime!!).

But I've also been known to yell out "Gerroff my lawn" at urchins. Say "Oh young people these days" and mumble, "In my day...".


Take care

sybil law said...

I can so, so relate to this stuff. I, too, am getting old. However, I think I've earned it!!

Dawn Anon said...

HAHA! I'm right there with you(except that i have a tattoo that i love).

Funny how being older and being tempted to yell at the neighborhood kids creeps up on a person.

Debra She Who Seeks said...

Have you started calling anyone a "whippersnapper" yet?

Cloudia said...


you are growing, Trav, growing :)

Aloha from Waikiki

Comfort Spiral

Lana Gramlich said...

Have you started saying things like, "When I was young," or "Those kids these days"?
BTW, one of my friends has tattoos as a testiment to what she's survived--most recently Hurricane Katrina. Another one of my friends had one of my paintings tattooed on her leg, which was quite an honor, regardless of "why."

Charles Gramlich said...

You should have heard me griping around the house this evening. I'm ahead of you on the curve.

Crystal Phares said...


Hubby and I both say things like, "Well, when I was in school..."

I don't mind the kids on my lawn as much as I do the seven billion neighborhood cats that want to come and poop in my grass.

Oh, and I have five tattoos and am planning my next one now. And I have piercings. I think part of me is old and a traditionalist, while another part is still in that funky high school rebellion stage, screaming, "Look at me! I'm an individual!" Just like everyone else --

B.E. Sanderson said...

You know you're an old fart when?

Hey, I caught some kids wrecking my irises a while back and ran outside to yell at them. If yelling at neighborhood kids isn't a sign of advanced age, I don't know what is.

And don't get me started on the scourge of tattoos. ;o)

Eric said...

Eh, nothing wrong with bein an old grump. As for the tattoos though, I am quite happy with my own and plan on getting a few more. I do give alot of thought to what I want inked (and where I want it), but I see nothing wrong with them. Now get off my lawn!

WordVixen said...

I think I'd better stay away from you- the old might be catching. :-p

Bernita said...

It's a stage, Travis, just a stage.

Barrie said...

Nah...I don't see it happening! I think you'll always be open to new ideas and young at heart. It's the writer in you. :)

Dizzy Ms. Lizzy said...

I always told Dear Hubby that I was going to grow up to be the meanest old lady in the neighborhood, yell at all the kids to "Get off my lawn, dammit!" and if they hit a baseball in my yard I would run up, steal it, and run in my house and lock the door.

His solution?

Three years ago we bought a new house. In a rural area. No neighborhood=no neighbors.

He ruined everything!! Guess I'll just have to pick on HIM then! ;-)

prashant said...

you'd better get used to the idea. Once it's gotten this far you're doomed.
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Anonymous said...

Eck, there is that Justin Beiber name again. My SIX year old told me just last night that she loves him. I looked at the picture and said, "Who is this?" She told me and then told me that her and my step daughter who is much older saw him on the computer one day and now she loves him. UGH UGH UGH Kill. Me. Now.