While other forms of incontinence are probably on the way, the one that's struck me first, maybe even pre-dotage, is nostalgia. It's no longer confined to the accidental eye contact with Fig Newtons, my mass-produced madeleines, in the cookie aisle, or the odd phrase from the basketball court next door echoing something Rhonda Campbell used to say on the playground at recess in fifth grade, where Richard Perry and I competed to prove Most Worthy of her precocious charms, no, now just about anything will bring it on and just about anything will serve as grist for that particular mill.
Even today's headlines. Why, just this morning I was in the kitchen, making a cup of tea and listening to my new source for world news, CNN. And out of the blue someone whispered to me, "Ha ha, now the grownups are in charge!"
Yeah. The Grownups are in charge. I'm feeling a little misty about the day when, no matter how disingenuous or moronic, someone could actually try to make that claim about this bunch. God help me. I'm gonna go find my 45 of ? and the Mysterians' "96 Tears" and think about Rhonda Campbell's rec room, and get this taste out of my mouth.
2 comments:
Say the following: "Tea-cher says ev-ry time a bell rings an an-gel gets its wings."
Now wrinkle your nose appealingly.
Congratulations, you've displayed more adult behavior than the current holders of the reins of government.
Using this analogy, I could state that the occasional visits to my tiny hometown and its environs elicit nostalgic diarrhea, a torrent of memory-poop that threatens to overflow the adult diapers of my mind. It's always a messy visit.
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