Time Is Running Out!
Gang, I am trying to get out of my “bad head space” from looking at the world around me, observing the political climate; the unpunished, yea, celebrated anti-semitism; the galloping stupidity; and also my sorrow at the number of people I love who are unwell or no longer with us. Alas, I am only human and I need a little mental break to heal.
Sooo….today’s offering will be pure “narishkeit”, Yiddish for “nonsense” or “triviality”. Probably by next week, I will be back in fighting form ready to tilt at windmills, swing the big hammer and skewer the brain-dead commie-curious.
But, for today, you will get this and you will like it!
In the comments, feel free to talk about anything that’s on your mind. On Fridays, there IS nothing that is “off-topic.”
I opened my almost-always depressing mailbox and grabbed the stack of horrible political flyers (“MAGA John Toxicity wants your puppies to die from climate change!” “Yeah, well, Commie Hag Sally Slutmuffin wants nothing BUT men in women’s sports!” And so on…)
As if those kinds of wretched -- albeit made up – ads weren’t enough, near the top of the mail pile was a flyer with the simple warning on the envelope: TIME IS RUNNING OUT! I kind of miss the old days when a live lunatic would stand on the corner with a sandwich board advertising The End Of The World Is Near instead of outsourcing it to a print campaign.
But anyway, I responded – because I always talk to my mail – “Time is running out? You’re tellin’ ME?”
At this age, my mailbox is stuffed with adverts for nothing but Cremation Services and Reverse Mortgages. And something called The Neptune Society, which I have never opened but fear it could be for burial at sea. Would not enjoy floating past Bin Laden.
I have even received flyers for advisors who help you – as they put it -- “Get your affairs in order.” I pitched it, but I assume it meant financial “affairs” and not the other kind. Joe/Max handles all our finances. Left to me, we would be living in a small yurt on the beach in Maui.
Once I was at a social gathering of ladies of the 80s where after a few drinks, women were competing in discussing how many guys they had “dated.” I had nothing to contribute besides, “Got engaged at 19, married at 20.” But one woman who was single until her late 30s asked, “Do you want those affairs listed alphabetically or by country?” Goodness! To think I missed the entire Sexual Revolution where women out cruising bars took a toothbrush and birth control devices in their purses in case they “got lucky.” Or slain. But, back to reality as a Geezer-American.
Apparently, some algorithm has now determined that our household contains Residents so old that it doesn’t even merit any more flyers about Erectile Dysfunction or Male Enhancement. And you thought there was no upside to aging!
But, it turns out that the TIME IS RUNNING OUT flyer was just an ad for getting a special discount rate on People Magazine. HARD PASS.
The pitch is aimed at triggering a person’s FOMO – or, Fear Of Missing Out. Yeah, I don’t really have that. I’m used to missing out. And not just the Sexual Revolution. Most cultural phenomena in my lifetime – drugs, Tide Pods, mosh pits -- have been eminently “missable.”
I have missed out on every trend in my whole life. To take but one sad example, remember when bellbottom jeans were all the rage? When you are barely five feet tall and have to chop about a foot of fabric off every pair of pants even before you hem them another couple of inches, there was no discernible “bell” left. Just regular, very slightly flared uncool jeans.
We first few levies of Baby Boomers were raised on Westerns. Frequently, in a pretty modest way, a Western would feature a portrait above the bar in a saloon. This portrait would be of a desirable lady by old-timey standards. She would be clothed in a diaphanous gown, resting comfortably upon some sort of divan. She would be ample of bosom and round of belly. And I would mourn the fact that I had clearly missed my era. And did not even own a divan.
I feel the same way about that barroom portrait as the old joke about “how many actors does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” Answer: 10, one to go up the ladder and 9 to scream, “That should be ME up there!”
When I finally came of age, as luck would have it, my era did not feature curvy bodies. No. I reached teenagehood in the era of Twiggy, a pretty but scrawny little model with no hips, no breasts, and a concave belly. Sad.
Which brings us to the People ad flyer. The only time I have ever read People in my life is on those rare occasions when I visit the hair salon. Old copies abound there and I rarely have any idea who the “celebrities” are that appear in the issue – nor what exactly they are celebrated FOR. That can happen when you don’t go to movies or watch network TV.
It turns out that some of them are known primarily for producing informative sex education tapes and explicit “how-to” videos. I’m not saying that is not a valuable contribution to humankind. And by Only-Fans standards, the Paris Hilton video would now be as tame as that portrait above the Western bar.
The new headline spells out the consequences of failing to sign up for the magazine: Miss An Issue, Miss A Lot! and to back up that dubious claim, the publishers give us a small sample of the articles about which I have already missed out.
HOT Romances! Taylor Swift In Love – Reaching New Heights! I don’t know about you – but I simply cannot get enough of news about Taylor Swift. Oh wait. I CAN get enough and I have reached that point.
While I admire her business acumen, her songs are unhummable nothing-burgers, and her voice strikes me as average at best. In the Twin Cities alone, when we lived there for 35 years, I could name 20 or more women singers with better voices.
(Hint: one will be featured at CC5 in October in Colonial Williamsburg. Contact Tony Petroski at antoinepetrofsky@gmail.com for all the details. Ask anybody who was at CC4 how awesome Jennifer Grimm is.)
But on to more articles you have already missed!
The Royal Rift that Won’t Heal! With a cover picture of a frowny-faced Prince Charles and his dolt son married to the light beige dimwit actress who identifies as “black”. The one who accused the late great Queen Elizabeth of being a racist and not liking their little baby because he also was “black” if “white as the driven snow” is a new shade of black.
I have always been completely astonished by the bizarre obsession people – little girls and women mostly – have with royalty. Never once in my life did I want to play Princess or have a Princess doll or costume or anything royalty related. It was simply not AMERICAN. I felt sorry for Cinderella what with her evil step-mother and step-sisters and all. But the Prince she snagged looked about as exciting as a Ken doll to me. And just as virile.
I am willing to bet that almost all the adult women I knew who tuned in – in REAL TIME – in very early morning hours to watch the Royal Wedding of Charles and Diana also marched in NO KINGS rallies against Trump a few decades later. No research, just a pretty good guess.
Heck, one of the main reasons that I was not a good chess player is that I felt an instinctive desire to protect my pawns and had scant interest in the wellbeing of the Queen or the King. You can see how that strategy would not behoove a chess player.
Finally, there is a People cover with Nicole Kidman and a guy who I believe is Keith Urban. With the headline: Their Shocking Split. “Shocking?” Seriously? Somebody is shocked that a heroin addict relapsed and this caused a disruption in a marriage?
My least favorite cover of People, featured on supermarket checkout racks annually, is their Sexiest Man Alive issue. When all you all get to CC5, look around you. I could name at least 15 male attendees who are “sexier” than whatever metrosexual People has selected. And 50 men, (basically every male attendee) who are smarter.
The flyer promises I can get 88% off if I RSVP today. Boy, that must be some mark-up if you can discount an item that much and still stay in business for decades.
Finally, on the other side of the flyer, it highlights a small picture of a People crossword puzzle. Now, you’re talkin’. I love a crossword puzzle that can be done in five minutes using only the “Across” clues without even glancing at the “Down” ones.
I do not want YOU to Miss Out! Cheer me up at the same time as you do yourself a favor. Sign up for the last 8 slots for CC5. Seriously, my friends. A recent flurry of signups means we are down to the last 8 slots. It’s going to be a blast and when you hear about it AFTERWARDS, you’re going to kick yourself for missing it.
TIME IS RUNNING OUT!
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Laughter is the best medicine - Readers’s Digest: (Realizing our comedienne extraordinaire has probably heard them all - but humor me. Heh)
A gorilla walks into a bar and orders a martini. Amazed, the bartender thinks, What the heck, I guess I might as well make the drink. As he hands the martini over, the animal holds out a $20 bill. The bartender accepts the cash and decides to test his unusual customer’s intellect. He only gives the ape a dollar in change. The gorilla silently begins to sip his drink. “You know,” the bartender says, “we don’t get too many gorillas in here.” The gorilla replies, “At $19 a drink, I’m not surprised.”
“Today’s offering will be pure ‘narishkeit’, Yiddish for ‘nonsense’ or ‘triviality’.” Yippee! My ideal Ammo Grrrll column is the unhinged rant, but nonsense, triviality, frivolity…that's right up my alley. And in that spirit I offer a Time is Running Out classic song,
(Cue Liza and “Caberet.”)
“What good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play.
Life is a cabaret old chum. Come to the cabaret.
Put down the knitting, that book and your broom, it’s time for a holiday.
Life is a cabaret old chum, so come to the cabaret.
Come taste the wine, come hear the band,
Come blow your horn start celebrating, right this way your table’s waiting,
No use admitting the prophet of doom…he’ll wipe every smile away.
Life is a cabaret old chum, and I love a cabaret.”
—--
“This portrait would be of a desirable lady by old-timey standards. She would be clothed in a diaphanous gown, resting comfortably upon some sort of divan. She would be ample of bosom and round of belly. And I would mourn the fact that I had clearly missed my era. And did not even own a divan.”
Ammo. You have not missed that era nor has your time run out. The artist formerly known as Prince once wrote in song: “You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. The fundamental things apply as time goes by.” That’s why so many men sigh when they see America’s Sweetheart, Lizzo twerking onstage [Lizzo is still a “maybe” for Commenter Con Five]. Classy dives all across our great land have portraits of Lizzo stretched-out across a divan or as we say in God’s Country, a couch. And it ain’t easy to stretch-out Lizzo for she’s a whole lot of woman. Ammo, forget Twiggy, think of Lizzo.
As always, the highlight of this or any other week, a bit of fun from our celebrity celebrator-in-chief, a gal who brings us relief from grief, who aids us through occasional thought of disbelief, who playfully mentions Twiggy and not, thank God, Abdul Salam Arif, who set the Commenter Con motif and unlike me knows how to be brief. We give thanks again for another gem from our beloved Mrs. Ammo Grrrll.