Can't Spare a Square

“Today you can go to a gas station and find the cash register open and the toilets locked. They must think toilet paper is worth more than money.”

-Joey Bishop

“Sorry, I can’t spare a square.”

-Elaine Benes (Seinfeld)

Déjà flu.

Just when I thought life couldn’t get any more bizarre, along comes the coronavirus. Now, it’s not like we haven’t had our share of outbreaks, but if memory serves me right, they've involved animals of some sort; birds, swine, cows, sheep, and bugs (the buzzing kind), mostly. Oh, and the now infamous Ebola, which though it's not named after, but in my opinion should be, called the Cheetah flu, just to keep this whole animal theme going.

The end of the world as we know it.

Do any of you remember the Y2K hoopla? What about the Mayan calendar hooey and the frequent giant asteroid predictions that have caused similar, but not this panicky of reaction in people?

My assumption is because those events were meant to either wipe out all humanity as we know it, or at the least send us back to the stone age - which, considering the legalization of marijuana, we might already be there.

You can rest easy, though, my friends. This Corona thing will apparently only take out those of us who don’t have enough double-ply Charmin on hand.

Just crying wolf.

Don’t we have enough real-life disasters with floods, tidal waves, earthquakes, tornadoes and the McPizza (not a McJoke) and Urkel-O’s cereal to freak out about than this virus? The thing about these other global and regional disasters is there’s no warning. No chance to panic due to amped up media coverage until after the fact.

Hmm… is there a connection here? Could the news be spreading the flus?

Are you feelin’ froggy?

My curiosity pauses at this question: Has anyone done a study on leap years and wacky behavior?

Perhaps the alignment of the planets Dagobah and Andor every four years produces a ripple in the force, causing a gravitational pull on the tiny part of the brain that controls rational thinking. I’d like to think so. Otherwise, “Crazy you are, I think,” as Yoda would say.

Life is a masquerade, old chum.

As I let my mind wander (I know, a dangerous thing to do) I wonder if bank tellers and 7-11 employees get nervous when someone walks in wearing a white dust mask. I would. People are hard enough to read as it is.

Without seeing the mouth, how do we know if someone is smiling?

If you’re having a bad day, I would like to know it. I don’t want to piss you off any more than you already are. For. Sure.

I’m Dow Jones-ing it.

Why does the stock market always do a big Sherman during these mysterious pandemics? I see nothing but golden opportunities. When life hands you Lyme’s, make a margarita. Companies that sell products like latex gloves, toilet paper, water, and masks are set to make a fortune.

Famous actors, sports stars and musicians should jump on the bandwagon. This is a marketer's dream. Imagine Michael Jackson's signature medical masks and limited-edition, white glitter latex gloves, or a Seinfeld-promoted hand sanitizer? It’s gold, Jerry! Gold!

She gives me fever.

I did a little research. All flu illnesses and deaths are estimated calculations by the CDC and may take years for the numbers to jive. I also read, (you should read, but not Facebook. Real reading is good for you) that the coronavirus test kits are proving unreliable. Really?

Could this mean we have no idea how many true cases there are? This fact might make you feel less stressed or may cause you to feverishly search the Internet for the latest flu-conspiracy theories.

Zika the truth and you will find it.

·         What’s left for humanity?

·         Are we to be squished like a bug by a bug named after a beer?

·         Is Sears going to reissue their famous catalog due to a toilet paper shortage?

·         Will three ultimately really be a crowd?

Don’t call me for the answers.

I’ll be in Hawaii. I hear flights are getting cheaper by the minute.

The Mind is Willing, but the Body is Tweaked

What a long, strange trip it’s been.

-Jerry Garcia

I realized something today. Not only am I no longer interested in climbing the corporate ladder, but I get dizzy just standing on a step stool.

-Kenneth Goorabian

I’ve finally reached the age where I have nothing new to write about except my aches and pains. Well, unless I have an accident while writing this and then we can add incontinence to the list.  Which in itself wouldn’t be too awful. Wearing an adult diaper would save me the ten minutes it takes to decide between my Superman briefs or Sponge Bob boxers. Some people wear strictly one or the other, but I find some days you just want to swing free and easy, or to quote Seinfeld’s Kramer be “out there and lovin’ it.”

I bought new glasses the other day. It was either that or have custom arm extensions made. The glasses seemed like a cheaper alternative. But to be honest, having bad eyesight is sometimes a plus. If I take off my glasses my wife looks like a teenager again. Still can’t get her to slip into her old cheer leading outfit though.

These days I maintain a strict diet of coffee, oatmeal, coffee, string cheese, coffee, and the occasional Jumbo Jack with a large coffee. Eating healthy can be challenging, so I always ask for extra lettuce and ketchup. One mustn’t ignore the veggies. For snacks I’ll generally have a protein bar, which I have chosen (I find they taste better if I convince myself I a Milky Way) to call candy bars, much to my wife’s chagrin.

I guess life after 60 isn’t so bad. I have most of my hair and teeth, and I have no desire to play

in either a country or blues band. Okay, I’ll admit I do accept the senior discount at Supercuts and Denny’s.

Hey, I may be old, but I’m not stupid.

K.G.

Low T, Mr. T and Xylophobia

As one grows older, time whizzes by like the 90 seconds it takes me to wolf down a super-sized bowl of frozen yogurt and less like waiting in line at the DMV. Funny, but when you’re young, older seems to be where all the action is.

Note to anyone under 25, being a grown-up has its perks, but mostly kinda sucks. Not for the squeamish.

But I must admit that as I’ve grown older I have become somewhat wiser. You notice I said somewhat. Even very cool older people (such as Mr. T and me) do foolish things. This newfound wisdom brings forth semi-serious introspection. You can travel through the worm hole to a place in time before hair sprouted from the most awful places and ears morphed into something resembling a wrinkled baby pachyderm. This look back has given me a basic understanding of how I became the creative, anxiety ridden, shoe loving writer I am today.

Caution: I do this mental reboot of my life with the help of a personal power trio of professionals (wife, therapist, and psychiatrist) assisted by a  mood-swinging back-up band, the pharmaceutical manufacturers of America. Do not try this at home. It may cause one to regrow mullet or search thrift shops for day-glow-orange tube top.

My mother had two desires for me; to be a dancer and to play the xylophone. What the !!!**@@ was she thinking? Okay, anyone who knows me at all knows I don’t dance. I make Seinfeld’s “Elaine” character look like Miley Cyrus.  As for the xylophone…. Please! Did anyone ever get a hot chick playing the xylophone?  My mother did introduce me to books, though. I am and have been an avid reader since childhood so I thank her for that, but am grateful not to be lugging a xylophone over the sand dunes to a singalong around the beach fire pit.

Being the second of four boys I had the feeling she sometimes wished one of us had been a girl. Well, she didn’t get that wish. Instead she got me.

Not into sports as a spectator or participant; fast cars or monster trucks do nothing for me; and I will not leave the house with clothes that don’t match unless as a fashion statement. But I do love to shop, am a shoe-aholic, never miss Project Runway (Heidi Klum….grrrr) or America’s Next Top Model. So as you can see, I am in touch with my female side.  Oh, I also watch The Walking Dead so I do have a smidge of testosterone.

K.G.

I'm Not Afraid to Be Naked

I’m Not Afraid to Be Naked

Is it my imagination or has the whole “au natural” thing gone up a notch? Has reality television suddenly discovered th

My wife and I watch “Naked and Afraid,” but only for the articles or so goes the old Playboy joke. Seriously though, we love survival shows, “Survivorman” being one of my favorites. Lately both of us have been enjoying “Running Wild with Bear Grylls.” This is the show where he flies celebrities to remote locations and forces them to behave somewhat human like the rest of us or else look like complete wussies.at updated versions of old reality programs might go over better if stripped down to the bare essentials.

Who doesn’t love seeing that?

Now, since the networks have already decided that naked sells, I have a few ideas of my own.

Running Wild and Naked with Bear Grylls

Since most of the hot (okay, I’ll admit there are a few I wouldn’t pay to see) women in Hollywood have had their iPhones hacked, and practically everyone except for maybe a Mennonite third grader in Pennsylvania has seen them naked, here’s a golden opportunity to let it all hang out.  May I suggest Jennifer Lawrence as the first guest?

Naked Wheel of Fortune

I am well aware that not one person on this planet, aside from maybe his wife, wants to see Pat Sajak naked, thank you, but as for Vanna White? Grrrr…  I believe I would watch just to hear a contestant say…

“I’d like to by a vowel and a towel, Pat.”

And spinning the giant wheel might make the game a wee (no pun intended) more dangerous for any over exuberant male guests.

America’s Next Top Naked Model

There is no reason to even debate this one. I mean, really. This has monster-hit written all over it as long as they keep Kelly Cutrone under wraps, if you know what I mean. I just threw up a little in my mouth picturing her naked.

Naked Wipeout

Naked athletes, huge rubber mechanical devices, water and slippery goo… sounds like good clean fun or a David Beckham sex tape.  My version will give chest bumps, belly-flops and cannon-balls whole new and rather painful meanings.

Tag Line: Kind of like the Three Stooges, except naked.

Naked Biggest Loser

Okay. I’ll admit this is more for motivation than titillation. I would make it like strip poker in reverse. For every 50 lbs. lost, they would be allowed to put on one article of clothing bearing a sponsor’s name. Not only would this allow ample space for onscreen advertising thereby increasing revenue, but it would give the old term “Jiggle Television” whole new meaning.

Aside from the sweat factor, this might be a winner.

Tag Line: Strip Porker

America Has Naked Talent

Who hasn't longed to see acrobats, dancers, comedians and singers hit the stage in their birthday suits? No ifs, and's or butts about it. It would be like Vegas sans feathers, sequins and stilettos.

I understand that getting all that dangling flesh in perfect synchronization might be a bit tricky and  magicians might balk at having to find new places to hide their (watch while I pull a rabbit out of my… Ewww!!) props, but I expect most of us would simply ooh and aww at the spectacle of seeing 25 hairy Armenians tumbling naked across the stage to Pharrell Williams’ “Happy.”

As Seinfeld’s Kenny Bania would say “That’s gold, Jerry. Gold.”

K. G.