Age Your World to Add interest!

Wines, violins and cheese improve with age. And a savvy human can add the interest that comes with aging to any number of other things and areas of his or her life. Have you missed an aging opportunity?

• Are your houseplants looking fresh and new? Try not watering them for a few days to give them that "lived-in" look.
• A new car says "look at me." An artfully-aged ride says "I'm frugal and interesting."
  
• Tchotchkes and bric-a-brac on shelves and tables gain texture and interest with a fine coating of dust.
• An unbrushed pet tells the world you're filled with love even when caring for uncute creatures.
  
• A young-looking parent can be given character-adding age lines with just a few terrifying telephone calls. Try a little white lie about a plane crash, power tool mishap, or sex crime prison sentence. Easy and quick!

The world is filled with competent people who cut their grass, clean their houses and keep their appearance neat and attractive. Boring! You're aging, faster and faster. Embrace your age and the quirky interest that provides to your entire world.

Wise Latina -- Crafty Caucasian

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During Sonia Sotomayor’s hearings recently in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee, she received sharp Republican criticism of a 2001 speech in which she suggested that a "wise Latina" would usually reach better conclusions than a white man without similar experiences. Well, when I heard about this I lowered my head in sympathy. You see, should there be an opening on the U.S. Supreme Court, I’m on the short list of people who would receive the next nomination. Actually, I’m on the long list. The list long enough to include actors and writers without law degrees. But it turns out I have some ‘splaining to do, as Senator Coburn would say. You see, while hanging out with my politically unconnected pals at a party in my backyard a few weeks ago, I said that were I chosen for the highest court in the land, I would make good decisions founded in part on my experience as a “crafty Caucasian.”

My listeners jumped all over me. What did I mean by that? How biased would I be by the fact that I burn easily on the beach, drink Cabernet Sauvignon, and have memorized the local public radio schedule? I told them that I would not be biased, but would rely on the facts of the case and whatever law information I could cram from Wikipedia the night before.

That satisfied them – for a minute. But then they asked me to weigh in on issues like abortion, gun control, and the designated hitter rule. Well, I’ve listened to enough Supreme Court hearings to know how to keep from being pinned down. I said I could not possibly comment on a subject that might come before me, whether or not a popular slugger had earned the right to extend his career.

They pressed further, pushing me against the fence in my back yard. Some of my basil plants were crushed, but I think they’ll come back. One person put his finger in the middle of my chest and said, “Okay, you might not be biased. But would you have sympathy?”

Sympathy. Would I have sympathy? Sympathy for someone who’s gone through the trouble and expense of the appeals process and made it in front of the Supreme Court to argue their case? I allowed as how I might have sympathy, as a human being, for another human being on Earth. That was the end of the argument, and my accusers had won. They melted into the crowd at the party, and I think some of them started a game of Scrabble.

This set my mind to rights, and now I know what I must do to pursue my dream of a Supreme Court judgeship. With the technological advances now available, I will have the sympathy cortex of my brain completely removed. That way absolutely nothing in my life experience, or culture or skin tone or strict potty training or sexual history or sports team allegiance will ever, ever, ever affect my ruling on a case that comes before me. It’s the perfect solution. And if this sort of brain alteration isn’t yet available, I may choose to have a simple lobotomy, and go for a slightly less lofty position. Such as U.S. senator.

Scared Straight -- Cleaning Your Room

SCARED STRAIGHT – CLEANING YOUR ROOM. A JOINT VENTURE OF MRS. McMAHON’S 8TH GRADE CLASS AT BODE MIDDLE SCHOOL IN ST. JOSEPH, MISSOURI AND THE WESTERN MISSOURI CORRECTIONAL CENTER IN CAMERON.

Mrs. McMahon: Class, today we’re having a visit from a representative of the Scared Straight program at Western Missouri Correctional Center. He’ll be talking today about the importance of cleaning your room. This is Mr. Bleed.

Bleed: Not Mr. Bleed. Just Bleed.

Mrs. McMahon: My apologies, Mr. – . Just go ahead.

Bleed: Alright you worthless pieces of garbage. I’ve heard your rooms are a mess! Wild dogs wouldn’t smell the stinking corpses of my gang homies, drive-by dead for weeks, above the sickening stench of your sweaty underwear and unwashed jerk-off socks!

[A hand is raised.]

Tommy: Mr. Bleed?

Bleed: It’s Bleed!

Tommy: Mr. Bleed, I always keep my room very neat and tidy.

Bleed: What’s your name, you piece of shit?

Tommy: Tommy.

Bleed: Well, let me tell you, Tommy. Your room will never be as clean as my room. ‘Cause the screws wash it down three times a day! With a fire hose! Next question!

Madison: Bleed, do you think boys are messier than girls?

Bleed: Where do you live?

Mrs. McMahon: You don’t need to answer that, Madison. Let’s have one more question.

David: What did you do to get put in prison?

Bleed: You pimply little prick. I didn’t clean my fucking room! That’s how. Then I started talking back to my parents, not doing my homework, jacking cars and doing crack. And now I’m in fucking jail! You got that? I’m in jail!

Mrs. McMahon: Let’s all thank Bleed for taking time out of his day to talk to us.

[There is polite applause.]

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Facebook Frenzy

I have been enjoying Facebook too much for too long. There are fewer things I find more entertaining than commenting on various people's status and seeing them comment on mind and then commenting on their comments. I love being sharp and clever at dinner parties, and this is just like that, but it's on the internet, so it lasts forever.

As I get older, I think about the fact that the internet, with it's mirror sites and duplications and massive servers, may be the place on which I live longest. We used to think about sound waves going off into space and somehow curving back to be heard years later. (No one explained exactly how this was supposed to work.) But with the internet, those bits and bytes will live on and on and on.

I have a very good example of that. I had this experience with a guy named Darren Stephens. The other Darren Stephens. I'll tell you about that soon.