Friday, April 07, 2017 11:20 AM
Today’s one of those days when I feel like anyone with a lick of sense would avoid discussing politics—why bother thinking about it, when thinking seems to be the only thing politicians regularly avoid?
April showers—and winds tearing rooves in South Carolina and mudslides erasing towns in three South American countries—spring has sprung—and April really is the cruelest month this year. Mass deaths—another topic I’d prefer to avoid. Then again, it’s raining sarin gas and cruise missiles in Syria, so all things considered I’d rather be in South America, digging out from the mudslides.
Or best of all, you could be at our house, where everything is always beautiful and sweet (knock wood). I mean, yeah, it rained today, but it wasn’t an existential threat, fer cryin out loud. And there was that thunderstorm, yesterday (I had successfully reassured myself that it would never hit the house—until I saw on the news this house that had been hit nearby—but my luck did hold, so my crossed fingers worked).
So I feared for my life briefly—but don’t we all, every once in a while? In a car, in a bar—at work during a bad day—I mean, who doesn’t trip and nearly bash their brains out, or slip on the ice, or almost touch a light socket every now and then? Young people—the immortals, that is—but I’m a geezer now, no more bouncing back up again for me. And I’m house-bound—most accidents happen at home—I’m living in the danger zone! How exciting.
Don Rickles passed away—I loved that guy, ever since I was a little kid—he could insult someone all day long and never hurt their feelings—just make them laugh—what a genius. Jimmy Kimmel teared up talking about his memories of Don Rickles last night, instead of doing his monologue—I did too.
Other people died yesterday—and many babies were born, I’m sure—so the balance is maintained—but for someone in their sixties, things start to get unfamiliar—the store you loved is gone, the entertainer you loved has disappeared, friends, family—even enemies pass away. And little children only love you long enough to grow and learn and run off to live their own lives. Nothing makes you feel your age like having your kids grow up—or losing your favorite comedian.