Darren’s Ditherings

IF YOU’RE ANYTHING LIKE ME, YOU’RE PROBABLY DEAD.

My first post of the new year. If you’re wondering where I’ve been, I will say that I would have written something new sooner, except that I celebrated New Year’s Day by suffering a deliciously festive heart attack. It wasn’t as serious as it could have been, but it was enough to keep me from my beloved Burl Ives Memorial Pen and Notepad Set With Complimentary Rubber Stamp for a couple of extra weeks. My children, Natalie (The One Who Resents Me), Jacob (The Other One Who Resents Me), Alan (Yep, Him Too), and Julia (Holy Hannah, I… Let’s Not Even Get Into That), have stopped by every now and then over the last few weeks to deliver food and groceries, and to spout excruciatingly stilted and dull pleasantries that barely mask the hostility that simmers and ripples behind their death’s-head-grin-plastered faces. Also, they make me hot cocoa, which I enjoy.

I should say, though, that in hearing them talk about my grandchildren, it has occurred to me that old age is largely spent trying to embrace those things which in our youth we’ve blithely rejected: mortality, the smell of mothballs, Rex Murphy. I’m not reflective by nature; I’m more a Man of Action, a ”Doer”, than a “Maybe I Should Review The Event That Just Transpired In The Hopes Of Learning Some Kind Of Social Lesson That Might Help Me To Avoid Another Fine For Public Indecency In The Future”-er. I have to say, though, that going through something like this can force you to confront things you’ve previously ignored, and I hate that fact with every frayed fibre of my putrescent being. I’d like to tell my grandchildren to remain in their current sugar-injected, saturated-fat-flabby, Nintendo-Wii-addled state of abject ignorance until the day they collapse and die after their insides explode from the strain of their avaricious lifestyles. I have a theory that facing down hard truths about one’s existence on any kind of regular basis only means that your deathbed ends up feeling that much smaller and less comfortable. I have no empirical evidence on which to base that observation, of course; maybe I’ll find out for sure sooner rather than later. What I do know is that I can’t force these accursed philosophical ruminations out of my head soon enough and get back to doing, saying, watching, listening to, and reading things that are designed to make me forget that my time on this mortal coil will one day expire, quietly and pitifully, with only the most perfunctory fanfare.

Also, I should add that I received an iPod Nano for Christmas, and it is delightful.

RANDOM MAUNDERINGS:
I found an abandoned vinyl copy of “Evergreens” by Roger Whittaker just sitting on the sidewalk yesterday. I reached down and caressed the picture of him on the cover and wondered if this is what’s meant to happen once we’re forgotten. Is this death? Are we simply dropped on the sidewalk for others who might find us useful? I thought about this until a passing eleven-year-old called me a “slimedick assbucket”, which basically ruined my entire day… Here’s what I don’t get: toaster irons. Wait- toaster irons?… If MSG gives you headaches, you DO NOT want to try my brownies, on sale Friday at the Sydenham United Church Bakesale and Foodstuffery… A little joke I like to call a Dithering Smithering: How many NDP members does it take to screw in eight lightbulbs? Answer at the end of this column… When I was a kid, there were three rules: Don’t aim your slingshot at the local monastery, what your dog doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and don’t even THINK about scuffing your jimjam boots. Now there are eight rules, and some of them aren’t even in English… Abe Vigoda celebrates his 88th birthday. Not today, but probably someday… I saw “Frost/Nixon”. Not bad, but I was pretty disappointed that it didn’t have anything to do with Mojo Nixon. Remember Mojo Nixon? I don’t… ANSWER TO THIS WEEK’S DITHERING SMITHERING: Raise taxes.

Until next time, remember: Life is a series of things that aren’t as good as you thought they’d be!
Darren Springer