So, we’ve now completed week one of the Trumpian Era, and there hasn’t been a nuclear war yet, so I guess that’s good. And it looks like we’re gonna get that shiny new fence across our Southern border. To paraphrase Saint Ronald Reagan, “Señor Peña Nieto, put up that wall!” Unfortunately, along with all this good stuff comes some bad, and people have been dropping like flies this week – Butch Trucks, Mary Tyler Moore, and now Mannix himself, Mike “Don’t Call Me Chuck” Connors. So many of the great TV detectives of my youth are dead now – Rockford, Columbo, Paladin (both John Dehner on the radio, and Richard Boone on the teevee – does Paladin count as a detective?), Banacek, Hec Ramsey (speaking of Richard Boone), Amos Burke (Gene Barry in Burke’s Law, remember that one?), Kolchak, McMillan, McCloud…. At least we still have Andy Sipowicz.
Seeing the people I grew up with croak always makes me feel old. Not quite as old as I felt this morning, though, as I walked up with my wife to her office to kill some time before the shuttle came. We followed a gaggle of student nurses, and either you only need to be about 12 years old to go to nursing school these days, or I’m getting really fucking old.
Unfortunately, based on how I feel trying to get out of bed in the morning (and by morning, I mean what I used to think of as the middle of the night – another sign of age, keeping old man hours), I’m pretty sure I know which one it is.
I guess I probably don’t need to tell anybody here, but this getting old stuff kinda sucks. It’s strange to look in the mirror (which I frankly try to avoid as much as possible) and see that I’ve got that old man chicken neck thing going on and crow’s feet around my eyes when I smile (which, as my wife will be happy to tell you, I rarely do – she seems to think it makes me look “surly,” but I tell her it’s just that I’m not some brain-damaged grinning moron – not that there’s anything wrong with that).
And of course my hair is grey and thinning (not as bad as it could be, of course, and maybe not even all that noticeable – the thinning part; I’m reluctantly forced to admit the grey part is eminently noticeable – but compared to the way it used to be I certainly notice).
Hard to believe that my time is winding down now. I mean, I’m not quite ready cash in my chips just yet, but the roller coaster is on the down side, and it’s definitely picking up speed.
When you’re ten years old, one year is a pretty substantial percentage of your life experience. Now, though, one year is all but indistinguishable from another – unless something bad happens, but even that fades a bit with time – which I guess is a good thing.
And your brain decides it’s gonna remember whatever the hell it feels like remembering, not what you want it to remember. Middle school locker combination? 18-37-29. What you went out to the garage for? Sorry, you’re on your own with that one, pal.
On the bright side, at least it’s Friday. And if there aren’t any late-in-the-day crises that arise, I’m hoping to skip out ahead of my normal quittin’ time and take the early bus home. The earlier the better, because Monday will be here before you know it.