Old Men, Zombies & Orville

October 18, 2010

Excuse me, were you just admiring my legs. Why yes, yes I think you might have been – completely understandable. They are chiseled granite perfection – clearly sculpted directly from the hammer of Michelangelo. Really quite remarkable, hey for all I know, they could have been designed and handed down by Zeus himself. Yes, they are that spectacular. Wait, maybe it’s all this walking I’ve been doing. Both my cardiologist and the thoracic surgeon were all adamant about me getting out and walking everyday and me being the happy to be alive chap that I am, decided that no matter how gay it was, I’d do it.

I say gay not because of some new fangled swish in my gait but because I’m not anywhere near 60 years of age. Where, by law I have to go out and buy a number of off-colour windbreakers and start walking everyday, stopping at random places and times and commenting on random things around the neighbourhood. Think I’m kidding, take a walk around your neighbourhood for more than two days in a row and on the third day you’ll find your self so overrun with seniors saying their hellos and good mornings wanting to chat, you’ll start checking over your shoulder for George A Romero shouting ACTION – because obviously, you are in some kind of senior citizen walking zombie movie….
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Hey, I like Seniors, I have nothing against them, why, some of the oldest people I know ARE seniors – so clearly no bias here. I’m not talking about some presumptuous little whipper snapper calling 40 a senior, I’m in the prime of my life thank you very much. Well OK, not so much right this second, but once recovered I expect to be experiencing the prime of my life. Despite fears it really happened at 24…. and claiming 40 is my prime is a desperate attempt to delude myself into believing that being slower, and distinctly more “creaky” than I used to be is prime. Sometime, I make sounds when I sit down… or stand-up, loud sighs and grunts — long, extended exhales after walking up a flight of stairs, maybe even the odd “whew”, here and there.

Also, although I don’t recall it happening – but at some point, perhaps during my surgeries, perhaps during my Alien Abduction and subsequent probing, irrespective, at some point, it appears that I’ve had bubble wrap inserted into my joints. Because there is some crazy popping noises going on, anytime, with no rhyme or reason, just all of a sudden Orville Redenbacher materializes in my knees and starts making his world-famous gourmet corn for all the kids – or that’s how it sounds. If you believe nothing else I’ve written today, believe this – you do not want Orville Redenbacher in your body…. I’ll take the alien probe every time.

Let’s get back to the Zombie Seniors wandering our streets. As I said — on day one and two, you’ll pass them with nary a glance by either party at each other. On day three, the two parties will notice each other exists, on day four the existence will again be noticed but this time, you will ACKNOWLEDGE each other – at this point – I advise you to do something completely bonkers, I’m talking drop you pants, lie flat on the ground and start shouting out your ABC’s in Pig Latin… or something similarly bizarre otherwise your walking days will have come to an abrupt end.

I’m telling you, from this day forward, there is no way you will be taking more than 5 to 8 steps without being forced to navigate some gauntlet of the aged – asking you about the weather, or your shoes, or their shoes, or the best way to fasten a belt or remembering when this whole area was just fields or exactly how high pants should be worn…. they seem to be leaning towards somewhere north of the nipples… my one hour walk now takes almost 3.5 hours door to door. The only upside I can see, and thank God for it, when I get home I am fully updated on Shirley’s cataracts and Ben’s kidney failure and Norma’s Gout…. and the fact that gasoline is expense for the horseless carriages, and the wright brothers have gone and invented flight…..

Nice people, very very nice BUT I’m going for an elevated heart rate here, and stopping every few minutes ain’t cutting it – the walks are proving counter productive.. I’ve started fantasizing about how fast I would have to run to impale myself on Ted & Mary’s wrought iron fence, you know – the one built by Mr. Jenson’s son-in-law, after he lost his job down at the mill, because apparently the economy has taken a turn for the worse and he couldn’t find a job for the life of him….. Would the impaling merely hurt or could I really end it that way – in front of them. Think of how many years of conversation that would provide for them, the day that nice boy ran full steam into their fence… I’m not ready yet, full steam still looks like a slightly sped up version of that old man, Tim Conway played on The Carol Burnett Show… But I’m getting stronger every day and that fence is starting to look pretty good…