i’m gonna love you till the wheels come off

thank you for reading and writing.

it makes me happy to see the comments. it makes me happy to see the page views. some people use other things – like relationships or sailing – to pass the time until death. i use my online diary. i never said i wasn’t a sad, pathetic creature. maybe that is my appeal. come for the tears. stay for the gold-plated genius. reasonably priced! — unless you are counting time as money.

In Ohio (and maybe the nation?) when someone issues an Amber Alert, there is an instinct that kicks in — especially if you are driving on the highway. Hear an Amber Alert on the radio, and suddenly you are the crimefighter, scanning the licence plate of every green Ford Taurus you encounter on the road. Together, we, the community, will track down the perp. (in serious child abduction cases only.)

Somehow, I can’t imagine the proposed Silver Alert will have the same effect. i am afraid that same protectionist instinct will be lost on … the Silver Alert (see? aren’t you giggling a little already?) The image of elderly wandering the streets unaccounted for is far too hilarious. 

I am afraid that a system designed to save the lives of alzheimer’s patients and disabled adults will be used instead to mock other family members at holiday parties when they say something old-sounding.

Aunt Sally: Where have I put my glasses?

Uncle Bobbie: Why, they’re on your head.

Aunt Judy: Someone ought to issue the Silver Alert

I wish I would have thought of this yesterday, when we learned that mom and dad both “fell” yesterday. Somehow, when you become old, you simply can’t fall and pick yourself up again. Although tragic when it happens to a grandparent, (“Grandpa fell again today,”) it is worthy of a chuckle when 40- or 50-year-olds realize they may be transitioning into the portion of their lives where the consequences of a fall — off a porch or in a slippery gymnasium, for example — may linger for a few days.

Oh, the Silver Alert jokes will be terrible.

We spent New Year’s Eve at my parent’s house. Not wanting to disappoint on the last night of Shitstorm 2007, they (read:Dad) provided a less-than-entertaining night of getting drunk while watching dad hang the last of his kitchen cabinets. they promised a fire and games. I feel scammed. I mean, aren’t parents supposed to feel elated when their adult children want to spent prime social opportunity nights at home bringing light into the lives of the tired old folks? Especially when they bring an english bulldog to piss and barf all over the house? Isn’t this a parent’s dream?

I guess not.

So far, there has been a lot of pressure on 2008. Can you feel it? It is already noon and it doesn’t have a nickname yet. I’m banking on 2008: The Long Road Back. or Aftermath 2008:the Rebuild.

Here is a picture of Maybel as she attempts – for the 40,000 time – to hump Charlie’s head. I cannot imagine what she is whispering, but he is not convinced.


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