2248 Old Bag

Getting older is a mixed bag. On the one hand you make fewer mistakes because a couple of paces ahead you realize you're about to step in something. On the other hand you get a little impatient with other folks falling into the same piles they did before.

Like a recent poll that showed the economy is the top issue going into the next election. No surprise there. The surprise was that 48% of those polled said the Republicans would do a better job with the economy and only 43% said the Democrats would. Looks like the Republicans have recovered from the supposed final coffin nailing of the 2008 economic cratering. 

Another artifact of age is that you're exposed to new things you don't completely understand. Like the proliferation of a certain type of appetizer spelled c-r-u-d-i-t-e-s.  My first read on the name, based on the spelling, told me it was crud-ites. Like stalactites. Maybe stringers of crud harvested from the ceiling. 

But no, I thought, can't be that, maybe it's crude-i-tee. Like a crude remark someone uttered at a party and they named an appetizer after it. 

Nope. Turns out the word is pronounced crew-dee-TAY, french-wise, with the final S silent. Crudites sounds so much more elegant that what they really are, and what we called them before the turn of the century, Raw Veggies. 

The worst thing about the mixed bag of aging is the whole wrinkle thing. A mixed old bag. I can't afford plastic surgery so I've adjusted with a couple of cheap techniques. First, whenever I look in a mirror, I make sure the lights are turned down low. The amazing power of dimness.

Second, I've adapted the photography technique for achieving flattering soft focus. I put Vaseline on my contact lenses. 

America, ya gotta love it.