Grumpy Old Man.......in the mirror

There have been various milestones in my life that I initially viewed as putting me on the path to adulthood, as an example, getting my driver’s license at 16, reaching the legal drinking age of 21, married at 24 etc etc. However, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that all of these milestones were not so much putting me on the path to adulthood but rather bringing me one step closer to death. Since the current average U.S. male life expectancy is between 75 and 76, and I’m now 41, that means I’ve already not only reached the peak but have crested it and am gaining momentum (in a bad way).

Now when a man contemplates this fact of life (and death), there is a moment (or several) where he can either become the depressed, grumpy old man or accept the situation and live the life we’re meant for. I’m trying to do the latter but after an incident shopping last night I’m reserving the right to act the grumpy old man.

Last night I was acting as chaperone and dinner guest for one of my Japanese co-workers who is visiting the U.S. for training. I provided her several options for after work activities and dinner. Since she needed to do some souvenir shopping, she decided on going to the King of Prussia mall which is right near my work. We wandered through the Mall but my co-worker was not interested in many of the stores. This didn’t surprise me. Tokyo is a very large modern metropolitan city and most of the retailers you find in the U.S. you would also find in Tokyo. So as we’re walking along passing by store after store, she suddenly stops dead in her tracks. I could see her eyes had fixated on a target. If you’ve never seen that look in a woman’s eye before when they’ve spotted a particular store, item or a bargain, it’s pretty scary. It’s very much the same look a female lion has when they’re about to take out the jugular on a gazelle except the lion doesn’t drool as much. I followed her line of sight and realized her target was the Abercrombie & Fitch store. Apparently, A&F is one of the major retail chains that does not yet have a store in Tokyo although they are planning on opening one before the end of 2009. Thankfully, I have never been in an A&F store nor am I likely to repeat this event. If we temporarily forget the fact that I am not in the target demo, the idea of paying $30 plus for a worn and faded-looking t-shirt is a ridiculous concept. My co-worker, however, is in her twenties and thus a prime candidate for A&F. Plus she’s from Tokyo and the Japanese LOVE fashion fads and luxury items. As we entered the store, I thought for sure I would be uplifted into a “Carousel” and “renewed” like a thirty something in Logan’s Run but apparently they are now allowing us “old folks” to actually enter the store. The first thing I noticed is that A&F shirt sizes are designed for trim leprechauns. I picked up a clearly-labeled men’s XXL. A Ken doll with molded-plastic six-pack abs might fit the XXL but clearly my moldy six-pack-generated gut was never going to squeeze into that washcloth disguised as a shirt. To add insult to injury, my co-worker who noticed me disgustingly putting a shirt back on the rack commented, “is it too “young” for you?” Ouch. If she hadn’t asked it so innocently I might have abandoned her in Camden with a “Crack Whore” sign taped to her back but I realized that might be bad for international relations. So at this point I’m not in the best of mood because I’ve just found out I’m too old and too fat for a “standard” dress shirt (at least in A&F). My co-worker meanwhile is looking at the men’s shirts as well trying to find one for her boyfriend. The problem she was having is that Japanese shirt sizes are different from American sizes. After finding out how tall her boyfriend is (six feet and thin build) I told her I would go find some help from one of the store employees.

Now remember that I was already in a foul mood. The techno and hip-hop music blaring from the store’s speakers weren’t helping either. I eventually found a store employee (white, 20-something…….way to break the mold A&F) who looked like he had the same height and build described by my co-worker so I’m thinking if I find out how tall he is and what his shirt size is, that will be a good indication of what shirt size my co-worker should buy. But first I had to practically pin the guy down. Before I could even ask him a question, he excused himself and said “I’ll be right back”. He wasn’t right back but eventually I saw him in another part of the store and approached him again. I ask him how tall he is but I’m standing right next to him and clearly he’s about 6 foot, maybe 6’1”. He snarkily says “I’m 6’3” or closer to 6’4””. And this is when I quickly became the grumpy old man.
If he hadn’t dodged me when I first approached him I might have given him a pass but I was in no mood and his attitude didn’t help. Quick side note: there’s a lot I’ve learned from my time in the military and “Command Voice” is one of them. Plus there are times when I’m pushed too far that, at least according to my wife and some co-workers, I get a look in my eyes, one of those sincere “I will kill you” looks. I apparently had this same look in my eyes when I immediately rebuked him in my best “Command Voice” with a “You’re not 6’4”, I’m 6”4” and clearly you’re three to four inches shorter than I am.” Immediate change of attitude. He looked like a drop-kicked puppy. I pressed home my advantage and found out that a “Large” shirt in A&F fit him. I gave him a “Thank You!” (more like a “Dismissed!”) and returned to my co-worker.

And her decision after finding out a “Large” shirt size would be appropriate from an old grumpy man who just de-moralized an A&F employee?

She didn’t buy it because she was afraid it wouldn’t fit him and she couldn’t return it.

Sorry Kermit

I was driving home from the grocery store last night along Swamp Pike. Such a lovely name for a road. As Swamp Pike enters Boyertown, the name changes to Philadelphia Avenue as if that would beautify the city. So as I'm driving home, I have the windows down as it was a nice cool night. My car comes around a curve in the road and what should my headlights illuminate sitting in the middle of the road but a large frog. A quick calculation of my trajectory and I could tell that unless I or it moved, it would shortly be tread jelly.

My options:
1. Swerve right into a ditch
2. Swerve left into oncoming traffic
3. Tread Jelly

I won't say which option I chose but I have learned that if you apply pressure to a frog in mid-croak (pun intended), it sounds like a balloon popping.

Attack of the Ear Caterpillars

I was a bit distracted at last weekend’s Penn State game.  I was having a hard time focusing on the game because a “gentleman” in front of us had the nastiest ear caterpillar I’ve ever seen. I kept thinking that creature was going to attack. Chekov in “Wrath of Kahn” comes to mind, “He put... creatures... in our bodies... to control our minds.”  Okay, “gentlemen”……and ladies should you be so cursed, please invest in a nose and ear hair trimmer. They don’t cost a lot of money, are easy to use and you’ll spare humanity the horror of your freaky follicles.

However, I was only visually distracted but this was my annual Penn State Father-Daughter game and my daughter, Katie, unfortunately was sitting right behind him. In addition to his questionable grooming habits, he also had poor bathing habits so she also had a wonderful olfactory distraction of an intensely sour body odor smell for most of the game. If you’ve never experienced someone with intense body odor, it’s quite a treat. Here’s a quick story to further illustrate this unique sensation.

In the summer of 1990, my wife and I backpacked through Europe after we graduated College. We had a EuroRail pass and were taking an overnight train from Florence, Italy to Innsbruck, Austria. While we’re sitting in one of the train cabins, another couple joins us and sits opposite us. In the enclosed cabin, it only took a minute before that wonderfully intense BO smell wafted over to us. It didn’t matter whether it was the guy or girl or both who stank. We were trapped. We didn’t want to leave the cabin because the train was packed and the only other seats available were fold-downs in the aisle which we had to use for the first few hours out of Florence before the cabin seats became available. The fold-downs were extremely uncomfortable and you couldn’t sleep since you were constantly balancing yourself on them. Our options were limited. As I was debating killing the couple and dumping their bodies, I noticed from my window seat that there were air vents that ran along the base of the window. By pressing my face against the window at the right angle, I was able to keep fresh air from the vents blowing directly into my nose. Now the air from the vents was certainly not fragrant by any means but it was a helluva lot better than inhaling the other smells that permeated the cabin. So I pretended to fall asleep in this position while at the same time desperately snorting as much vent air as possible. My wife, however, was suffering. She had no air vents in her aisle seat but she’s also no dummy and immediately realized what I was doing. She gently tapped my arm and asked if we could switch seats so she could “look out the window”. I love my wife but there are times where it’s every man, woman and child for themselves. I feigned sleep and mumbled “nothing to see…..dark out”. Wrong answer. Her next arm tap was a little more emphatic and without saying a word, I knew that if I didn’t switch seats, she was likely to “Bobbitt” me that very night. So I “gallantly” switched seats with her. Wow! Once I was away from the vent their body funk was so nasty my testicles ascended back into my body to get away from the smell. Brutal night. I don’t recall when they left the train but the odor was so rank and infused in our clothes we dumped them when we reached Innsbruck.

Welcome to the new blog!

Based upon the positive feedback I received from those who followed my "Four Months in Tokyo" blog, I figured I would create a new one that, hopefully, equally amuses. The name of this new blog is pilfered from a Peter Griffin quote from “Family Guy” (Season 3, Episode 19 Stuck Together Torn Apart).
As you can see from the blog title, I’m going to try and keep this blog humorous in nature but don’t be surprised by an occasional serious post.
Enjoy the ramblings.