You’re as Old as You Feel

December 29, 2007 at 1:26 am (The Easy Chair)

Yesterday was my brother’s birthday. I meant to sent him a public shout-out, but was distracted by life happening. I’ve just risen from a nap, and am feeling mightily refreshed. I plunked in one of the new Pink Martini albums and am sipping a non-alcoholic beverage. Who sounds like the old guy here?

Today I picked up my new breathing machine. The old war horse I’d been using has served above and beyond the call of duty. It was used when I got it, and I’ve had it for eleven years. The new models are quite a change.

The old model was about the size of a small microwave oven, and hummed loudly all night. The breathing mask reminded me of the face-hugger in Alien, and had fallen into disrepair. It’s held together by a strip of cloth and about a pound of duct tape, but it still got me through the night.

After seeing the new model, it wasn’t hard to say goodbye.

First of all, the mask doesn’t fit over my eyes. I can read in bed again! I don’t have to watch TV with one eye anymore! It’s so quiet I can barely tell if it’s on. And it’s smaller than a Bose radio.

The test drive was a success. I’ve already boxed up the old one. I have a friend with bad asthma and a relentless addiction to Camel straights, so I will gift it to him, along with a couple of years supply of filters and spare parts. (After that, he’s on his own.) He had one, but lost it in a fire. The way he’s been rasping lately, I can’t get it to him soon enough. With accessories, the box is about the size of R2-D2. I hope they’ll let me on the bus with it.

After the fitting, I busted buns to Clairissa’s for my monthly balding. As I got off the bus I saw a bunch of dykes enter the barbershop. Since I was twenty minutes early, I chilled at the bus stop with my $3,000 piece of luggage. The new machine and its stuff fit in a travel pack smaller than my backpack. Note to self: don’t forget to take it with you.

Clairissa has been doing well. She opened shop the day I started this blog, April Fools Day. While I’ve been expounding in prolific fashion, she has expanded her shop, and four of five barbers from her last job have quit and come to work for her! She’s obtained certification with a company who will occasionally fly her around the country to supervise, train and advise regarding hair coloring. My little follicle surgeon…

All the dykes were visiting one of the other barbers, so after my buzzcut we went into the back of the shop. They were removing the massage room and putting in another barber stand. It smelled of paint, so we went into the wash-and-dry room. Clairissa posed for several pictures, including one that is now my part-time desktop background. I say part-time, because if I left it up there all the time I’d never get any work done. It’s beautiful, distracting, and if my little nephew ever sees ’em, I mean it, I’ll have even more trouble keeping him out of my room at night.

As always, I left Clairissa’s feeling the need for a cold shower, and not because of all the little hairs down my neck..

So now, I have to get back to sleep. I have a four-hour window to get downtown, drop off a giant box of medical equipment and cash my check. That means I’ll have to get up at the ungodly hour of 8:30 AM! Jeez, the things I do for my fellow man.

Speaking of old men, happy birthday Big Brother! He turned 70. Is he in need of machines to breathe? Does it take him 600 milligrams of ibuprofen to get through the day? Did he get drunker than a monkey and spend all his pocket money on strippers? According to his e-mail:

“I did seventy push-ups and seventy sit-ups to mark the occasion.”

He’s always been a bit of a show-off…

In celebration of youth, I think I’ll switch from Pink Martini to Black Sabbath, and stare at my desktop until I fall asleep.

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1 Comment

  1. gee-no said,

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