Getting Dicker With Age: Grandpa Got Issues

A few months ago some friends of mine lost their Grandpa.  The kind reminiscences they shared through social media clearly conveyed the great respect and love they all had for this man.  They spoke of a patron who led their family well.  He seemed to be a devoted, loving and self-sacrificing father; a man defined by integrity and character.

If my gramps died today I would tell you that he had been kind of a dick.

Alright, put down the pitchforks and hear me out before you contact social services about your probable cause for elderly abuse.

The respect and love I really have for my G-Pa should go without saying, but since this is the internet and you may not know me personally, let me reassure you.  I care greatly for my Grandpa.  He has done much for his family, and he has always been there for me.  But, after seeing my friends have such kind words for their Grandfather I am left thinking of what I would honestly say if mine was to pass.  Read my example below and maybe you’ll agree with me.

My wife and I were at my folks’ house for our weekly family dinner.  I walked in the door with a skip in my step, excited to catch up with family once again, and my adorable old-ass grandpa is the first one I see.  The man is 84 years old, and I’ll be damned if he isn’t in the best shape of any other human within two decades of his age.  He works out every day, he can see well enough to read or watch a baseball game, he retains the ability to wipe his own droopy, old-man butt cheeks… this man is living the high life in his autumn years.

At this particular gathering it had been a few weeks since I’d seen my family, and I was genuinely excited to him.  

“Grandfather! I haven’t seen you in forever, how are you?”

“Not too good, Chad.  Not too good.”  His mastery of conversation astounds me.

“Well, that’s a bummer,” was the only reply I wanted to offer.  I was prepared for his depressing and pitiful response, considering my grandpa rarely discusses any topic beyond the cascading failures of both his aging body and mind, but it’s annoying that he is so dour and predictable.  I quickly moved away to be with better company.

It was great to see everyone together again.  My family is one of those over-sharing, over-involved, love-you-so-much-it’ll-be-annoying types of families, and it rocks.  I can talk to them about anything: uncomfortable or strange bathroom experiences, my receding hairline, jokes about the ridiculously short and inappropriate boxers my dad used to wear every night (which were notorious for testicle shaped wardrobe malfunctions)… we just divulge this thought-vomit and get nothing but love and laughter in return—except for discussing my Dad’s balls, that is simply met with face-palming and the type of laughter that combines both light-hearted disgust and genuine amusement.

My family laughed and chatted.  My grandpa silently watched the television in another room.

After ten to fifteen minutes of delightful conversation with my mom and sister, my grandpa walked up to me and tossed out his next conversational morsel.

“You know Chad, you look like you’re gaining weight.”  His words echoed around us as the other conversations abruptly stopped.  My sister’s jaw dropped with the slow cadence of a weary sigh.  My mom glared at him, immediately retreating into a primal state of motherly defense.

Confused, and with a small, quizzical frown on my face I said, “You look like you’re getting meaner.”

Alright, not the best comeback ever, but I figured telling my grandpa that he looked like an asshole was bad form.  But yes, he just sort of looked like an asshole.

This is a typical conversation with the old G-Pa, unfortunately.  When you sit down and try to talk to the old man it just wears on you.  His eyes hurt.  The sun is too bright.  His feet ache and he doesn’t think he can walk for much longer.  You served him too much food at dinner.  They don’t serve him enough dinner at his retirement home.  The kids are too loud.  It’s too cold.  It’s too hot.

It’s driving us crazy.  Truly, he almost drove my mother to a complete mental breakdown while he was living at her and my dad’s house.

I can’t help but think, is this where he wants to be as he nears the end of his life?  He has two daughters who have gone straight to bat-shit crazy-ville with alcoholism and selfishness, does he actually want to drive away the small family he still has that loves and cares for him?

I think if you asked him what his legacy is he might talk about how hard he worked as a Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Deputy, or how far out of poverty he brought his family from where he was as a child.  He would list accomplishments, accolades, goals met, money earned, property gained and sold.  I am sure he would mention his family to some degree, he isn’t heartless after all.  But, what would he say of that family?

Better yet, what would that family say of him?  That he’s a dick, apparently.

If I had to honestly eulogize my Grandfather I’m sure I would focus on the brighter side of his life, but the fact that I’m tempted towards a brutal honesty should tell you something.  If I get nothing else from him before he ultimately passes on, at least I get the perspective of what I can be when I’m 84, if I choose to be.

Kill The Grumpies

Attitudes make this world go ’round. There are good ones, bad ones, and others that fall into a blurry, ill-defined world where good things can be genetically mutated into bad things.  I’m generally one to possess a sunny and chipper disposition. I try to smile a lot, unless it’s towards strangers because I don’t want anyone thinking I’m that friendly. I definitely laugh a lot, though mostly at my own jokes, or my own bone-headed mistakes. All in all, I really try to make the best of life and not let the ocean of bad crap in this world wear down on me too much.

But dang man, there are certainly days when that’s difficult.

 

Unfortunately, today has managed to be one of those rare days. I wish I could identify where this starts, in hopes that I could turn that frown upside down all quick-like and make with the shits and giggles again.  I didn’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed. I stumbled out in the same walking dead manner I always have before hot shower water hits my face. The day didn’t even start badly. All was well until I had one small work snag. It really was small, too, and typical. It was boss related, and everyone has boss related snags on a daily basis. Unfortunately for me, my boss’ name is Dad. By and large, that isn’t a great kerfuffle of a deal. Ain’t no thang. I’ve been working with my Dad for as long as I can remember and we love each other enough that, for the most part, we don’t tear each other apart or get too pissy that often. For those of you that might not have the pleasure of working  alongside a very close family member, you learn a multitude of things under those circumstances. Most of those are things you come to loathe and be irritated by very easily, usually because they are qualities that you were fortunate enough to have had passed down to you.

I need to properly collect and arrange my thoughts here. This isn’t a rant about mixing business with lineage. All this is to say that my father did something to upset me, which is nothing even close to newsworthy, and I am used to dealing with that eventuality every day. What this is a rant about, is how one thing, however infinitesimal on the greater scale of actual life problems, can change the course of an attitude and pull you into an ever widening pit of despair and sadness. A place occupied by silence, but for the wailing of a thousand tentacled netherbeasts whose splintering cries creep between the folds of your brain like weeds, taking root, spreading and growing until you’re certain that the only end to the pressure is to close your mouth, plug your nose, and blow with every shred of strength you have left.

That could have been a hair’s width on the dramatic side, but I’m trying to work on my creative writing skills, after all. But for realsies here folks, it was like an avalanche of the grumpies took over my mind. My attitude had shifted away from it’s normal happy place. I was suddenly allowing my mind to run rampant on the things that bother me about myself. If demons have specialties, I was definitely being attacked by a self-critical demon. I was bogged down by thoughts about things I wanted to accomplish that I hadn’t, or things I was working on that I was suddenly sure would fail. It was a terrible way to spend the day. It amazes me how one relatively small thing can overtake you and filter out into the world. It wouldn’t surprise me if my briefly pessimistic and destructive attitude helped bring someone else over to my wallowing pit of bitterness. I mean, what if one encounter I had during this time affected someone else and caused them to feel this same way? What if I carry this attitude home and relate to my wife under this terrible fog?  I was carrying a pestilence with me everywhere I went, and my attitude permeated every aspect of my outward relations. It really wasn’t until I sat down and put some words onto a computer that I let myself realize the origin of the problem. It had nothing to do with some extraneous event, or some wrong deed that was done to me. Outside forces assault us constantly. Circumstances change, we can’t control the actions and attitudes of others. It’s difficult enough to control our own. I was like a ship with no anchor, just wandering in the ocean. Every gust of wind took me wherever it desired, and I was acting helpless to stop it.

That’s not the truth of my life. I have a foundation. A fool floats along with a tide, ignorant and unaware that they are moving, ever so slowly, miles away from where they intended to go. I have a rock in my life to grasp when I’m tumbling down a river, inches from the waterfall. That rock is Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. It’s my wife, and family, and friends that care for me. The world is going to take a dump on you. It’s gross to think about, but we swim in a world of dookie. That’s what Satan wants to force into us, with the hopes that crap is precisely what we will become. He wins us over my millimeters and nanoseconds. Microscopic changes in our minds and attitudes, like a frog gladly being boiled alive on the stove. Once we realize we are in danger, it’s already too late to get out without being skinned and eaten on a baguette. What I need to remember is, this world reeks of danger. It’s on my tv and radio. It’s on billboards and in magazines. And it’s in every single one of us.

I urge you all, don’t spread this disease. Trust in the promises of God and the fact that you have been made perfect in your imperfection. Without that we are all just slinging feces at each other like monkeys in the zoo, perfectly content  to roll in filth and spread that filth to everybody within an arms reach. Use that Jesus hose and clean yourself off, then do what you can to clean off the others around you. How great would it be if when we felt our attitudes altering into the negative that we had people surrounding us to help, and remind us of our value? I’m certainly not worthless. And you definitely aren’t, because if you have ever read anything on this blog and added to the site views counter, you’ve made a world of difference to me and the relevance of what I have to say.

Be The Example: Foreign Relations

A Mexican man in a mini-van almost side swiped me twice in 5 minutes. I was driving home down an empty Beach Blvd when I heard his engine going crazy pants in the lane next to me. Sure enough, he is tailgating some tricked out BMW and as soon as the Beemer is far enough ahead, the van jumps into my lane to accelerate. I honked for a solid 3 seconds, slowed down and switched over to the empty lane next to the BMW. All three of us were beside each other at the next red light and I gave Mr. Mexicali some solid eye contact and laced my visage with as much disappointment and condemnation as I could muster. He avoided looking in my direction like I was a fat guy in a speedo.

The light turned green, we went on in our separate lanes and all was well. Now I tend to accelerate quickly, so I’m a little farther down the road than the van is, but once his jalopy got warmed up it moved forward and cut me off again. He’s essentially calling me a son of a motherless goat at this point, I think. I switched lanes, we stopped at another red light and this time we were right next to each other, with no BMW to get in the way. I looked over at him and said, “Hey guy, is everything okay?”

“It’s ok, it’s ok!” he repeated, about 8 times. His accent was so thick, I could have sworn he was on his way home from a bull fight. Or un luchador wrestling match. Or Catholic church service. I could go on, but I’m sure you comprende.

“You’re driving crazy, man. You need to slow down and take it easy,” I said. I felt like I was talking a man down from a ledge. I didn’t want to get shot at, after all. Clearly, my amigo wasn’t getting my drift, and assuring me that “It’s ok!” seemed to exhaust his vocabulary.

“Compadre. Necessita tener mas cuidado. Cuidado, senior. Su manejes como un loco…very dangerous-o.” Mr. Manion, my high school spanish teacher, would be proud I retained so much after ten years. I also have a policy of ending every sentence I say in Spanish with “por favor”, ’cause it sounds legit, but this guy didn’t deserve to be the recipient of my good manners.

He ended the conversation by waving to me and turning up his radio. The light was still red, so I figured I had time to tell him that Nicki Minaj’s masterwork track, “Starships” was no fit tune for a middle-aged man to cruise to, but spotify deemed this an appropriate time to shuffle that very song in through my speakers. I gotta delete that from my playlist.

Anyways, I got home safely. But seriously, amigo was a pendejo. Por favor.

Gym, Tan, Fade Into Obscurity: The Final Season of Jersey Shore Approaches

Addio, si sporca coquins

Brace yourselves, ladies and gentlemen. Let Thursday, August 30th, mark the end of a dynasty as MTV announces the cancellation of its smash hit program, Jersey Shore.

I’ll pause for a moment while you search for tissues and hop in your tanning bed to ease you through this dark time.

The Jersey Shore is MTV’s social experiment, reality sensation that debuted in 2009. Our televisions have been graced by the fist pumping, vodka swilling Italian socialites every Thursday for five seasons of engrossing drama, and the upcoming 6th season begins airing on October 4th. Sadly, it will be our last trip to Seaside Heights.

The ‘Shore has served as MTV’s highest rated show in the cable network’s history, and dominates their targeted demographic of viewers age 12-34. And it’s not only fragile, young Americans being taught how to Jersey Turnpike. Jersey Shore is an international sensation as well, being one of MTV’s most viewed programs in Australia, Denmark, Singapore, Spain, Mexico, the UK, Poland, Ireland, Belgium and Sweden. It has even inspired two localized spin-off’s, “Geordie Shore” in Great Britain, which is MTV UK’s highest rated show ever, and the currently being filmed “Gandia Shore” in Spain.

So why put the kibosh on the series now? After only three years of air time, and nothing but dreaded sobriety to potentially slow the cast down? Well, even being the monetary power-house that it is for the network, the cast member’s unbridled popularity has led to some severely inflated production costs. For this final season, series stars Pauly D, Snooki, and Mike “The Situation”, are all reportedly earning $150,000 per episode. For a 12 episode season. I’m no Stephen Hawking, but if I apply the principles of mathematics and carry the two, I believe we come up with 1.8 million dollars each. The remaining cast’s earnings scale down from there, and after seeing what the Snooks makes, it doesn’t matter much that Deena only makes about $40k per episode. However, given the ungodly high salaries, MTV exec Chris Linn states that money is simply not the reason for ending the series.

Entertainment Weekly asked if the cost of keeping the cast around had gotten too high to maintain, and Linn had this to say: “It hasn’t been a significant consideration. The show still dominates, it’s the No. 1 show in our core demo, it’s still incredibly successful. It’s really about their lives evolving and changing in a way that moves them away from the original conceit of the show.”

In other words, Snooki has a baby, Mike just left rehab and is apparently sober, Pauly is in his mid-thirties, and MTV continuing to pour alcohol down these people’s throats and asking the monkeys to dance for our entertainment is beginning to get socially irresponsible. The network can only glorify one night stands, domestic violence, and alcohol dependency for so long before they need to draw a line somewhere.

With MTV renewing the Snooki & JWOWW spin-off show for a second season, and Pauly D’s own show still airing, we certainly haven’t seen the last of our beloved New Jersians. The Situation has his grubby little fingers in about as many business ventures as Mark Cuban. Ronnie is the poster child for weight lifting supplements and wife-beater tank tops. Sammi has her own fragrance, which smells like sun-dried fish and boardwalk tar, according to anonymous sources. Vinny has written two books, one of which detailed his experience with Social Anxiety Disorder. And good old Deena gets arrested for being drunk and violent in the upcoming season, so I am sure some company will give her money to represent them soon.

I, for one, will avidly watch the final season. I just hope that as the doomsday clock approaches midnight and the cast sees that the end truly is nigh, their crazy will hit completely new highs. I see pasta hurled and stuck against the walls, undergarments hanging from the rooftops, STD tests crumpled and blowing in the hot breeze, and Ronnie bounding across the boardwalk on all fours, grunting and barking at the full moon overhead.

God bless American television.