On the road in Old Montrose
I was brought up to make myself useful and for a few years I did that with an early morning radio show, waking people up with jazzy jug band tunes and limericks and Ole and Lena jokes and now, at 83, I’ve become an advance scout, assuring the young that old age has many benefits — there’s no need to be cool anymore, in fact it’s well beyond reach, I don’t know who is famous anymore or why, so I just enjoy life day by day and spend as much time as possible with people who make me happy.
Personal identity becomes a closed book. You know that you know who you are. So you just work with it and don’t think about morphing into a genius or a giant insect or a prophet of doom.
Gender fluidity doesn’t affect people my age. Hydration is important and sometimes urination may be a problem, but I’m a guy. I know this. I’m not a football fan, never was devoted to power tools, never owned a gun, never got in a drunken argument with my best friend and killed him. Eugene Onegin did but he was Russian. I’m Minnesotan. We don’t do that type of thing. I belch and pass gas, I snore, I pick my teeth with a thumbnail, and I can bellow and it’s not an ironic bellow, it’s a heartfelt Beowulf bellow. I don’t do profanity well due to my evangelical upbringing and the big famous forceful obscenity I never use because it sounded fraudulent, effete, effeminate, the four times I tried to use it. But I enjoy cheeseburgers and the blues and I am moved when I stand in a crowd and we sing “My country ’tis of thee” or “It Is Well With My Soul.”
I believe my guyness is recognized by other guys as we stand around together not talking about our feelings and drinking fluids of our choice, which used to be beer or bourbon but one day I noticed other guys drinking sparkling water and I made no comment lest it lead to the subject of masculinity, which is behind a closed door with yellow stripes marked “Hazardous.” But I pondered this remarkable fact and one day a miserable hangover led me to put away the booze and the light dawned: my brain felt youthful and agile and I got off the sauce.
Women have no equivalent for “guy” — “girl” got xed out as an insult, and “babe” and “broad” and “dame” and “gal” don’t pass muster. I’m sorry but women are locked into womanhood unless they prefer to be a tramp or a dumb blonde: there’s not much middle ground. The Prominent Woman syndrome requires queenliness and that’s why Hillary and Kamala lost, they were too pure and high-minded, and that’s why I think a woman should run for president in 2028 who is a chain-smoker and can use bad language freely. It’ll make her more human.
My mother was in favor of feminism for her daughters but she enjoyed letting men be solemn and self-important while she loved her sisters and neighbor ladies and I remember them laughing a lot when men weren’t around whereas my uncles hardly ever laughed, being evangelical and responsible for upholding the Eternal Verities every waking moment. They were men. Guys are not under that obligation.
These are wild times. Journalism has come to accept that men use public office to enrich themselves hugely, same as Saudi princes do. Grandiosity is accepted in D.C. and the use of federal agencies as a personal fiefdom. And that’s why guys like me like to skip reading the news and simply live our guy lives, enjoy our friends and family, delve into the vast riches of American poetry and pop song, hike around great architecture. As I write this, I’m in Colorado, in high ranch country, walking down some classic Main Streets, striking up conversations with amiable strangers. What a great country. The MAGGOT people have no sense of history. They ought to set aside their conspiracies and read up on World War II and the technological miracles of the 20th century.
I am out for a good time and it’s up to people half my age to get the government back on track. I’m in the town of Montrose now and I love the friendliness of people. The waitress in Ray’s Café. I told her the joke about the old man who sat down in the café next to the beautiful woman and said, “Do I come in here often?” and she laughed.
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