Tag Archives: Geriatrics

This Week @ MamaPop

6 Aug

It was another fabulous week of posts over at MamaPop. Not only did I give you my top ten television theme songs of the 1980s, I also went a little political on your asses by discussing Wyclef Jean’s urge to run for the President of Haiti. I mean, really, what more could you ask for? So, hurry up and click away. And as always, thank you for your support. (This message was approved by TJ Johnson and the Coalition for Random Pop Culture)

Tuesday’Post: My Top Ten Television Theme Songs Of The 1980s

Thursday’s Post: Wyclef Jean: The President of Haiti?

Thank You for Being a Friend

14 Jan

So long, my friend. It has been one marvelous run. Without sounding completely cliché, it’s not you, it’s me. Really. You have always been there for me through thick and thin. Or thin and thick. Whatever floats your boat. When it was good, it was really good. You were there for me during the highest of highs. You stood by me during the lowest of lows. Your resolve was impressively resilient. You never wavered. Your support coddled me like an infant. Your loving embrace warmed me from the inside out. You were there during some of the most important times in my life. Parties, graduations, weddings, and birthdays, there was your smiling face. Hell, you were even there for the birth of my children. You were always there for a raucous toast. Always around for a grand salute. Sure, we had our rough times together. I mean, who could forget spring break 1999 or that terrible fight we had in Ames, Iowa of all places? Even after our nastiest of fights, we would be back in the saddle, ready to ride in no time flat. We were bros. Hetero life partners, if you prefer. Never would I have thought there would come a time where our partnership must come to a teary end. Now, to paraphrase what our parents used to say, this will be harder on me than it will be on you. You will be absolutely fine. Your friends are a plenty. Your social circle is full of contacts, relatives, and acquaintances for you to run to. Your glass is never half empty. In fact, your chalice is completely full. So, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be. Let’s just agree to chalk this dissolution up to “irreconcilable differences”. No crying. No anger, hatred, or sleepless nights. All I want for you is good health and happiness. You should want the same for me. In the end, it just wasn’t in the cards for us. So, Alcohol, I bid you adieu. It’s been real. It’s been fun. We will always have the memories. We will always have Las Vegas. I will never forget. We mustn’t forget. Until the off-chance we will be able to rekindle what we once had, I must leave you at the door. Once again, thank you for being a friend.

Our House, Diabetes Supplies, and Late Night Informercials…Oh My!

21 Dec

As you all can tell, (And by “all”, I am talking to the two people who actually read this. Thanks, honey!) I have been completely off the grid for a while. Things have been a little hectic around the ponderosa lately. Thanks to my wife’s overactive ovaries, coupled with my awesome swimmers, my wife got knocked up and subsequently our little girl was born midway through the month of November. This has left me without the basic ability to form cohesive thoughts and perform even the simplest of tasks. I mean, I even got confused on how to change the channel on my own television last night. Between the ever relaxing 57 minutes of consecutive sleep, strict Pop Tart diet,  and watching every single infomercial known to man, I haven’t exactly had any brainpower left to form anything useful or remotely eloquent to say or type for that matter.  So today, I give you the only thing that still sparks interest in my sleep deprived mind. The one and only, Wilford Brimley. When his fat little nugget face pops on my tv at 3am every morning selling diabetes supplies, my mind is immediately soothed. His slow, almost post- stroke vernacular tames every little crazy psychotic thought rolling around in my tiny, tiny brain. At times, I often have delusions of actually having diabetes just so I can purchase the supplies necessary to test myself in the comfort of my own home. I envision myself calling the handy 800 number only to have, Mr. Brimley, himself answer and tell me “Everything’s going to be OK, TJ”. He will follow-up the reassurance by conveniently alerting me that I can have my diabetes supplies shipped directly to my door. What more could I ask for, right? Anyway, I salute you, Wilford. You are my hero. Well, at least until I can sleep again.

Geriatric at the Age of 30?

16 Oct

On an everyday basis, I am constantly reminded of the horrifying fact that I am indeed getting, um, wiser. I choose to use the word “wiser” because the alternative is “geriatric” and that just doesn’t have the same ring to it.  This isn’t a brand new realization by any stretch of my imagination. Actually, this epiphany came to me at the ripe old age of 27. Yes, you heard that right. Old, crusty, and geriatric at the age of 27? You bet. Now that I am nearing the terrifying age of 30, I have finally come to terms that I am, in no way possible, still a kid. I mean, I may still act like a 14-year-old boy completely overloaded with testosterone, but little things keep popping up to remind me of my lost youth. On the latest such incidence, I was having a purely, normal, and childish conversation about movies with a younger co-worker of mine. As we rattled off quotes of our silliest and awesomely bad movies we love, I started spewing some pretty standard Wayne’s World quotes. Next up, Coneheads. Immediately following that, was a little bit of Night at the Roxbury. I was on a total SNL alumni roll.  Puzzled by the lack of reaction I was getting from my obviously funny quotes, I was taken aback by her startling confession. She had absolutely no clue what movies I was talking about. Not only had she never seen such Oscar worthy films, she had no clue that they were all based on skits from Saturday Night Live. This is when I knew. I knew right then and there I was no longer a kid. Not even close. At that very moment, I decided that youth in the physical form had left us quickly. Just like Chris Kattan’s career. As for the youth in the mental state, I am steadfast that I will always be that 14-year-old boy who will still die laughing at fart sounds. Well, at least until I break my hip.

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