I don’t want to be an ass, but in an age when we all want to respect everybody’s language differences, I want to say as a 20th Century man, my sex is male. There are two sexes – male and female. My dog and I are males. My wife is female. In my native 20th Century tongue, words have gender, not people. Trying to assign people a gender is just 21st Century nonsense. Every single time somebody wants me to tell them my gender, it pisses me off. Not a lot. Just a little bit. Every single time.
I know this is a new age and I have to respect that the new people who inhabit this new age have their own ways of doing stuff. But, I don’t have to like it. For one thing, labels on bottles are hard to read. The shampoo and conditioner that my wife bought both come in an identical bottles – both a light brown bottle with a slightly darker shade of brown printing in small letters. I never use it, because I can’t tell which is the conditioner and which is the shampoo without putting on my specs, which is difficult in the shower. So I use Dove. Not because it’s better shampoo, but because it comes in a white bottle with a easy to read label. What an old fuddy-duddy concept.
When I left Florida and moved to California in 1969, I vowed never to return. California was the place to be. Friends would warn me that people in California were crazy, but that just made me want to go more, because I was crazy too. That was then. Since that time, California has become the most locked-down, up-tight state in the union. It’s still a beautiful place, and I still live there, but more-and-more I find myself missing the down-home, community feeling that still exists in the South.
I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I tried to make each one a learning experience. My blunders were a lesson not to repeat the same mistake. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way with everybody. I see men and women, who separate from mates that treat them poorly, then go out and hook up with somebody with exactly the same personality. Or they go to Vegas and lose their shirt, then want to go back as soon as possible to repeat the experience. Such people are not victims. They’re just stupid.
I appreciate plain talk. I am an old man. You may call me a senior citizen, but that’s just polite code for the O-word. What if I go to another country, am I a senior citizen there, as well? Or am I a senior visitor or perhaps a senior alien? I frankly prefer “old man,” because that’s what I am, no matter where I go.
Confession: I have never eaten Nutella, but whenever I saw it advertised it always looked kind of good. Lucky me. After a little research, I found Nutella to be – if not death in a jar – not exactly a healthy alternative to smear on your toast. Two tablespoons (one serving) has the same sugar as one “Oh Henry” bar or three lollipops. If you like it, you should eat it, but be careful. One serving contains 200 calories, 12 grams fat, 4 grams saturated fat, 15 milligrams sodium, 23 grams carbohydrates, 21 grams sugars, and 2 grams of protein. The bottom line, it’s more a dessert topping than a breakfast treat.
