This came up on the inter webs a little too late last week for me to include it in my Feb. 19 round-up of Ted Cruz’s Excellent Adventure in Cancun but, luckily, this story has legs and he’s still getting shit for his shameful abandonment of his constituents during Texas’s sub-freezing weather catastrophe and for being, in general, an all-around anti-American neo-Nazi dickhead, so — enjoy!
It has come to my attention this past week that Mother Nature wants me dead. As I am past my re-productive years, I am useless to the biological mandate and, as such, The Evolutionary Imperative wants me to shuffle off to Buffalo ASAP. I got a reminder of that when, lately, I began waking up every morning with a number of little aches and pains.
At first I thought that I’d slept funny, or maybe I wasn’t getting enough exercise. It’s been cold and snowy and I haven’t been running 5 miles every day as usual, so maybe it was time to brave the 23-degree wind chills and get back on track.
So I did, and I still had to hobble out of bed each morning. The only thing that made me feel better was to do the stretching exercises that I normally reserve for a cool-down after my runs. So now I’m doing those stretching exercises first thing in the morning, just to be able to walk down a flight of stairs to give the cats breakfast.
I also have to do them both before and after my runs.
And that’s how I came to understand that this is what it is to age. Don’t take it personally, it’s not you getting slower, fatter, dumber, more achy. It’s AGE. Age is Mother Nature’s way of letting you know that your time is up. The more you can’t take that hint, the more you ignore Her, the more She will keep dropping bigger and bigger nudges until you get it, and do the decent thing, and die.
Thus (yes, I wrote thus, to show how serious I am about this), coping with aging isn’t static. You have to keep upping the amount of time you spend fending off entropy. Those two minutes of limbering-up exercises that were OK on Monday won’t cut it on Friday. By Friday, your metabolism has slowed down even more — there goes that dark chocolate Milky Way bar you used to be able to have after lunch. The wrinkles on your face hang around all the time — there goes the myth of “laugh lines” and welcome to a new routine of moisturizing. As for gliding to and fro with supernatural ease, you’ll have to double the amount of effort you make just in order to stay in the same lane that you were on Monday, that is, in the Not-Dead-Yet place (meaning, feeling good enough to think that, if the opportunity arose, you still had a shot at boinking Idris Elba).
And then, by the next Friday, you’ll have to double that. And so it goes. And goes. Until you give up. And die. However, now that I am informed, I will do whatever it takes to stave off the forces of nature that want to make life fattening, fatiguing, debilitating, and demoralizing.
Because I will never give up my hopes of, one day, boinking Idris Elba.
I will never allow myself to turn into Mamie Eisenhower:
Oh, and by the way, last week the fact of my latest birthday, last month, finally hit home and I understand, with every fiber of my being, that I am 65 years old. Fuck.
Thank you to the Dear Readers who sent me birthday wishes. Now you know why I haven’t got back to you yet…it just sunk in. Fuck.
But I am delighted that I am alive to see the NASA rover Perseverance land on Mars. MARS, people! WE MADE IT!!
For all of you who watched the landing parachute deploy as Perseverance floated to the surface of the Red Planet and said to yourselves, “Hmmmm, that looks like a binary code message to me…” I say YOU ARE AWESOME.
I also think that I need a motto.
Back on Earth, Merrick Garland was affirmed as our new Attorney General, after having his Supreme Court nomination ditched by the Republican Senate when he was nominated by Barack Obama five years ago, and Ruch Limbaugh is still dead and I feel fine:
Our country reached a sad milestone:
One year ago, this was the president:
As the House of Representative investigates the insurrection of January 6, 2021, I am stocking up on champagne to celebrate the prosecution of a certain key player:
Speaking of complete fucking idiots:
Oh, wait…I think I have the answer:
Back to Ted News, let’s watch Ted try to rehabilitate himself:
RAISE THE FUCKING MINIMUM WAGE! Why is there even a debate about this? WHY?!?!
Just remember, whenever you’re having a bad day, that no matter how aggravating it is to be you, at least you’re not John Thune.
What do you call a group of Corgis?
The latest thing from Japan is — wait for it — bread that looks like hamsters:
Mr. Fluffers is not impressed:
This is a protest I can get behind:
Top Cat is taking me out tonight for Date Night and we’re going for Mexican food, and I don’t care if I have to run 10 miles to burn off the calories because Mexican food is not on my DON’T list:
And now for your weekly Kitty Glow-Ups:
Shelter Kitty to Hollywood-Ready:
Have a great weekend, everyone. Fight entropy, fight stupidity, fight Covid, fight climate change, fight Republicans, but lay off the penguins unless absolutely necessary.