Posts Tagged ‘old’

So, today is my birthday.  I am 40 years old.  First of all, I would like to thank everyone that wished me a happy birthday.  You made me feel truly special.  I even got a Happy Birthday a day early from my buddy, Dan in New Zealand.

I have been thinking about how everyone reacts differently to birthdays, especially older ones.  Most of my friends that hear that I am turning 40 seem to want to give me condolences.  It is as if getting older is a bad thing.  It really isn’t.  The bottom line is that having a birthday signifies the fact that I am alive.  I personally am not ready for the alternative.  So birthdays, keep on comin’.

For me, today could not have possibly gone bad.  My wife threw me an awesome surprise birthday party two weeks ago which was so awesome that anything that happened today was truly icing on the cake.  That being said, I had a great day.  It started with playing golf with my buddy Nick.  I was very happy he could come out and play despite the fact of being newly married.  We had the slowest round of golf EVER.  I remember great conversations, and I think we played golf too.  After golf I hung out with the family and opened up two presents from my sons.  Afterwards, my wife got a babysitter and she and I hung out for a couple of hours.  Very cool.  We had chinese food for dinner and homemade carrot cake for dessert.  The carrot cake was awesome, made just the way I like it, cream cheese frosting with absolutely no additions beyond carrots.  That’s right, no nuts and definitely no raisins.  It was pure, unadulterated carrot cake.  Then to top it all off, I get a butt load of Facebook birthday wishes to remind me that there are people in the world that think about me.  If for no other reason, birthday wishes are why everyone should be happy about birthdays.

So, to commemorate my birthday blog, I would like to share my most favorite birthday songs, three of them actually:

3.  Birthday by the Beatles
2.  Happy Birthday by Stevie Wonder

1.  And my favorite birthday song of all-time:  The Birthday Song by Jon Lavoie

WARNING!!! The following song has explicit lyrics.  If you do not like bad words or language that describes adult acts or anything that might be considered naughty and unacceptable to be played in church, then DO NOT LISTEN to the song.  Ye Be Warned Says I.

But it is really funny:


Thanks everyone.  Happy Birthday to me.


You ever notice that some words are made negative by their prefixes, but the positive form of the word is lost.  For example, you would say that I disdain you, but you would never say I ‘dain’ you.  Or if something can be untouchable, can a more positive item be ‘touchable’?  I can be overwhelmed, even underwhelmed, but what about just whelmed.  Well, if you are reading this blog, be aware that I dain you, I really do.  I’m just sayin …

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So, I have decided that I am officially old.  I don’t think I am old because of my age, although turning 40 in just over three weeks doesn’t help, but it’s official because of my son.  Last Sunday I picked up my son from his mom.  He was playing a game on her cell phone in her car.

A Very Addictive Game

The game was Angry Birds.  I had never played Angry Birds.  I had never seen Angry Birds.  I heard about the game, but had no idea how to play it.  Brett’s mom suggested that he show me how to play the game.  He did, and he was quite good at the game.

Do you know why this game made me feel old?  I have always been up to date.  ALWAYS!  I am up to date on pop culture and I am up to date with technology.  I was creating web sites before there were programs to make web sites.  That’s right, I know how to write HTML code.  Of course, no one does that anymore, but when I did, very few knew how.  Did it make me cool?  Of course not!  But that’s not the point.  The point is, if you were to ask me about anything a 10 year-old to a 25 year-old would know about, I would know about it.

I have always felt that I would feel old when my children did things that I thought were stupid.  Isn’t that the definition of being old?  I feel like sitting on my porch and yelling “Damn kids!”  The first sign of me getting old was when my son and I were at a movie and we saw a preview of ‘Justin Bieber: Never Say Never’.

Would it be wrong to forbid any Bieber CD to exist in my house?

My son turned to me and said, “I might want to see that.”  WHAT!?!?  I am sorry, but I just can’t support that.  Now, I did not actually say that, but I thought it.  I felt like saying, that’s not music, I will show you some real music.  And that is exactly what an old person would say.

I have always prided myself in being up to date, being hip, cool with the kids, and down with the homies, but no more, I am outdated with no chance for an upgrade.  I wake up with aches and pains, I am nowhere near the shape I used to be, and my favorite activity is golf.  I practically have one foot in the grave.  So, what am I going to do about it?  I plan on embracing it.  I have no problem with getting older.  I will break 80 in golf this year, I just bought a brand new bottle of Ibuprofen, and I am delusional enough to believe that I am capable of getting my 25 year-old body back, and if I don’t, “Choice Man!  Choice.”

Remember this movie? Then you are old too.

I like my life.  I am getting older and that’s OK.  Besides, what’s the alternative?  If I am not getting older, I’m dead.  So, it’s you and me Father Time.  Bring it on!  Besides, I just completed Angry Birds and I am only missing three stars.  Take that Brett!


I am a fan of Justin Timberlake.  You read that right, a huge fan.  I think everything he does is brilliant.  I love his music, his acting, and he golfs.  If I ever meet him, I will ask him to be my new BFF.  You may think I am crazy or pathetic, but I have a JT man-crush.  He just looks like he is having fun.  If I ever become famous, I plan on handling my fame the same way that he does.  He is awesome.  Did I mention he golfs?  I’m just sayin …

This may be my new look. What's not to love?

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Prelude:  I am particularly proud of this year’s resolution.  So read to the bitter end if you want to know what it is this year.  It is a doozy and 99% guaranteed to succeed.  Anyhoo, you know I have been blogging since July?  If you are one of my regular readers, THANKS!  You are awesome!  I still can’t believe people read my ramblings, but I sure do appreciate it.  I plan on doing a Blog Remix before January ends, so stay tuned.

So, it is New Year 2011 and it brings my first major annoyance of the year.  You see, I try to do cardio at least once a week.  I shoot for two, but I do not hate myself if I can only get in one cardio workout a week at the Y.  I usually go when my son is at swim lessons, so it works out.  However, I hate going to the Y in January to mid February.  Why?  It is simple, New Years resolutions.

You see although I only go about once a week, I am considered a regular.  As a regular for the last couple of years I can also recognize the other regulars.  One thing I notice in January is that there is about a 100% population rise in the gym.  It is the only time that I have to wait in line for an elliptical machine.  You know what this means?  About 50% of the YMCA membership is people who only go to the gym one to one and half months out of the year.

It has got me thinking about New Year’s resolutions.  Does anyone keep their resolutions?  Why make them?  Does it give people a sense of accomplishment that they INTEND to be better.  How about just be better.  I am stepping up my workouts because I have decided I would like to live as long as possible.  You would think this is an obvious conclusion, but it’s not.  It is a new feeling ever since my daughter was born and I realized that when she turns 20, I will be 60.  I realize that in this modern medical age 60 is not old, but I think 60 is only young if you are in good shape.  If you are in bad shape, 60 is old.

A friend of mine’s father passed over the New Year’s weekend.  It was a surprise.  He died of a massive heart attack and it got me thinking, tomorrow is not promised to anyone.  So, I can’t rely on New Year’s resolutions to get in better shape, or tighten up the ship (Although I did make a resolution for 2011. See below), the time is NOW.  So, if you have a desire to be better in some way or another, then make it a daily resolution, because we all fall and we all mess up.  Don’t be a yearly resolution person, because tomorrow is not guaranteed, there is only today, and even that might be cut short.

Happy New Year everyone!


Every so often I have to take a piss in the dark.  It is usually when I go to bed late and I do not want to turn on the lights to wake up my wife or baby daughter.  Luckily for me I almost never get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.  That makes me happy as it hopefully means my prostate is still about the size of a walnut.  Anyhoo, I find it fascinating that despite the fact that the toilet bowl is about a foot in diameter, there is no guarantee that I will be pee accurate in the dark.  Which brings me to my New Year’s resolution.  I will get 99% of my urine into the toilet bowl this year.  TMI?  Probably, but the penis does not always shoot straight.  I might invent a penis laser sight.  That be awesome! Who wouldn’t buy that?  I’m just sayin …

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So, I have decided that I love old dudes.  I don’t love naked old dudes (see Old, Fat and NUDE), but I do love old dudes.

It all started with a golf course.  I took golf lessons from a guy from a pro at a local 9-hole golf course about two years ago.  It is about 10 minutes from my house.  I enjoyed taking lessons from this guy so much, whenever I get a chance to play golf, I play at his course.  I have played there so much over the past two years that I am officially a regular.  When I enter the pro shop, I am greeted with a “Hey Brett, how is the new little girl?  Sleeping at night?”  As a matter of fact, before Violet was born, for two to three weeks I could not set foot on the course without someone driving their golf cart from another hole after seeing me from a distance (I am not difficult to spot from a distance on a golf course.  It’s like a Where’s Waldo for the blind.) just to ask if my daughter was born yet.  I never pay full price, and sometimes the pro will play a round with me just for fun and I get a free cart.  I am thinking about having my 40th birthday at this course.  I asked the manager about it, and he gave me my favorite line “It is normally 3-4 hundred bucks, but for you, 250.”

Is there a better sentence than one that ends in “…for you, we can do better.”  I love the hook up.  The bottom line is that I love special attention.  The cool thing is, I never ask for it.  If you know me, you know I would never walk into a place and ask everyone to be friends with me, but it just happens.  Interestingly, it happens for my son, Brett Jr. as well.  He hates talking to strangers, but everyone loves him.  It must be a gene.

I digress.  Now, prior to Violet being born, I made one promise to myself: To play as much golf as possible before her arrival.  Because I play on weekdays and usually early mornings, I played golf with a lot of old dudes.  Their average age is probably around 70.  I was even invited to play in their senior league on Wednesday mornings.  I could not commit every Wednesday, but on the days that I showed up, they placed me on a team that needed a player and I was welcomed with open, wrinkly arms.

As a result of my summer experiences and as recent as last week playing with an 80-year-old man, I have come to learn a few things about older men; not only do I love them, but old dudes don’t give a shit.

I am officially looking forward to turning 40 next year and beyond.  Oh to be as relaxed as an 80-year-old on a golf course.  Now that is something to wish for.  They just don’t care.  They are happy to be alive and happy to be playing golf.  They tell great stories and tell the truth about life in the most enjoyable way.  There is no doubt in my mind that I have played with some guys that used to be rich business men, CEOs, criminals, partially and/or fully racists, veterans, and in general crazy dudes when they were younger, but they have drunk the chill Kool-Aid and no longer give a care.  I love ‘em.

What is my favorite thing about them? They love to bad mouth women.  I don’t mean bad names, or degrading words, but the typical stereotypes of men versus women stories are classic.  I am not condoning bad mouthing women, but it is the freedom that they all share about their conversations.  It has made me come to one simple conclusion:  With freedom comes a cost.  You have got to be done with sex.  If you had no desire to ever have sex again, what thoughts in your head would you allow to see the light of day?  Think about it.  I love my wife, and I have a healthy fear of her on a regular basis, but I would never, ever let every thought that crosses my mind out of my head.  I am not stupid.  But what if I was done F#@king?  That’s right, freedom.  Welcome to the world of the old dude.  Say whatever the hell you want plus golf.  It doesn’t get any better than that.  Old age here I come.


One night I went to the fridge for milk and we were dangerously low.  We did have breast milk though.  Would it have been wrong?  I was also thinking, if I created a drink, like rum, whiskey and breast milk, who would drink it?  You know it would be a popular drink somewhere on this planet.  A weird twisted part of the planet, but it would be popular.  I’m just sayin …

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So, the other day I was working out at the Y and headed for the locker room to take a shower.  I had an experience, an experience I have had before, which has led me to a very simple question: At what age do I lose ALL sense of modesty?  Old dudes, especially fat old dudes have absolutely no problem walking around, carrying on conversations, shaving their areas, and I mean ALL their areas, and just in general being nude.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think of myself as a prude, nor do I have a problem with anyone, even not so perfect bodied men walking around naked, but there is something especially, I don’t know, “vomit in my throat” wrong about the way these particular individuals carry themselves while nude.  Let me paint a picture of an incident that happened to me about three years ago.  The events you are about to read are true, only the names and places have been changed to protect their identities.  Also, I believe if I am too specific it will cause a deeply buried memory to surface to such great detail that I might find myself on the floor of my shower in a fetal position trying to wash the shame and loss of innocence out of every orifice of my body.  “Why won’t it wash off.  Why won’t it wash off!  Those aren’t pillows!”  The following story is graphic and may not be suited for people with weak constitutions. Proceed reading at your own risk.  You’ve been warned, says I.

I finished working out with a buddy of mine and went to the locker room to shower.  The locker room was set up so that the shower room was in plain view of the last row or lockers.  My locker happened to be in the last row, but in the recess where view of the shower room was mostly blocked.  My friend, acquaintance actually, happened to have his locker right next to mine that day, and I did not see him until I emerged from the shower.  Now, my shower routine is significantly more modest than most.  At my locker I de-robe and immediately place my towel around the “naughty” areas.  This is in contrast to many men, especially older ones, that start the process naked and than place their clothes in their locker, walk “balls to the wind” to the shower and then back to their locker to retrieve their towel.  I prefer to remain covered pretty much 90% of the time until it is time to re-clothe.  Feel free to attempt to remove that image from your brain, good luck, it only gets worse.  Now, upon completing my shower, I immediately re-don my towel and walk, covered, back to my locker, and there he was, standing in front of his locker, at about 6 feet five and about (I’m just guessing, but would bet my entire savings account that I am not more than 10 pounds off) 380 pounds.  A big dude, with the bulk of his mass in the middle, if you know what I am saying.  He is wet, and he is naked.  Now, personally, I like to dry off in the shower area, walk back to my locker mostly dry, with a few quick touch ups as I get dressed.  My friend, let’s call him Fred, did not share this philosophy.  Fred preferred to do most of his drying locker side, and he wasn’t getting dressed until he was completely dry.  So, I am at my locker getting dressed, trying to avoid eye contact, and Fred proceeds to ask how things are going, facing me, and trying to have a “normal” conversation, meanwhile, continually “waxing” and “buffing” his robust “vehicle”.  ==PAUSE FOR EFFECT==  Then, like a horrible car accident, or a 90-year-old woman sitting in front of you and uncrossing and recrossing her legs like in Basic Instinct, “That did NOT just happen?”, Fred “lifts the hood” to get, literally the underbelly and like in “The Graduate”, if you were on the other side, you would see me through his leg resting on the bench in front of the lockers.  Ugghh, a chill went through my spine just writing this.  If it was possible to remove this very clear memory from my brain, but there was a high chance that other memories would be removed with it, like the birth of my children, sex, roller coasters, the mountains, I would risk it.  Fred continued to talk to me through his entire process, never skipping a beat, and I actually waited until the conversation was over before leaving the gym.  I went home immediately, and re-showered.  I felt violated.

But I must bring this post back to the real question.  At what age do men become comfortable with this clear lack of modesty.  Although I have shared with you my worst experience of this phenomenon, it is by no stretch of the imagination an isolated incident.  I see this kind of behavior in older, fatter, men, ALL THE TIME.  Why?  When will this happen to me?  I need to know.  Is this also true with women?

Believe it or not, I would LOVE to receive your comments on this subject.  I need to know that it is not just me.  Is this true in women?  Am I overly sensitive?  Share your story if you got one.

Yes, you just read this.  Don’t look at me, you are the one that visits my site to explore the inner sanctum of my mind.  Not pretty is it?  You never know what is lurking in there.  Yes, I am a caring, thoughtful father, husband, hopefully all around good guy, with disturbing images of fat, old dudes dancing in my head.  You read it correctly, in my mind they are dancing …, always dancing.


I LOVE B-movies.  One of my favorites is Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.  It is a classic.  Watch it and thank me later.  “Can someone pass the ketchup?”  Very , very funny.  To that end, I have not been as excited to see a movie since Hot Tub Time Machine.  By the way, Hot Tub Time Machine did not disappoint.  I couldn’t have asked for more.  So, what is my latest must-see movie?  You guessed it,  Piranha 3D, who’s with me?  As long as it is not meant to be a true horror film, I am in.  Like Lake Placid, I expect unintentional comedy, crazy “Oh my God, did that just happen, then laugh” scenes, and the one thing that every self-respecting B-movie should have, gratuitous, unpredictable, would never happen in real life, random nudity.  I’m just sayin …

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