Supporting Nappers!

Why didn't YOU think of this zillion dollar idea, Moron???!!!

What's a Napper?

It's what I used to call 'old coots' some years ago. The Forbes guys will reckon...

Nappers and Droolers!

They Just Don't Seem So Innocent...

Classical Funny

Tony Soprano's Mother!

So I'm looking up common and important Latin expressions for the flashcards I'm creating for my son et al...

And I come across this hilarious one:

Obit anus, abit onus

It means - The old woman dies, the burden is lifted.

I thought better of including it on the flashcards, for now anyway.

Mulit-Generation Parenting Failure?

I guess this is all the rage now - to put 'old coots' on YouTube dancing - to that lovely rap crap.

500,000 hits in 3 days?

'Old Coots' Enslaving Their Grandchildren

Alright, watch the first two minutes of this:

Ms. Palin - A pension is a promise that must be kept...

A pension is a *promise*?

That's a bull$hit metaphor if I ever heard one.

Alright it was a promise in the sense that our lazy ancestors voted for politicians who PROMISED to steal their retirement funds from the next working generation...

If I was giving such a speech to a hypothetical, enlightened, younger crowd I'd be bellowing, "A pension is a CONFISCATION..."

The 'old coots' and 'old bags' that effectively run the government are of course over-simplifying the argument.

Just because they paid-in....that doesn't mean they didn't do a whole slew of other negative things (e.g. elect corrupt, wasteful pols) to cancel out, if I can channel Colonel Jessup, "...what they think they are ENTITLED TO."

They built this country?

Oh really?

Did they ever work past 6pm? Did they work weekends?

Did any of these 'old coots' ever have to jet all over the globe to earn their paycheck?

Were any of them permanently tethered to the grind via Blackberry?

The notion that they even worked hard is sketchy at best.

And whatever it was they did build - the 'worst generation' - well they're doing a heck of demo job on it now with their self-serving politics.

So the bleep what if Grandma took you to McDonalds...

She and her 'old coot' jabronis plan on confiscating half of your lifetime wages!

Realize that pension-pandering is hardly the sin of just one organized political party. And it's only going to get worse from here on.

'Old Coots' - Societal Scourge?

This is actually profoundly funny:

Cheapness - An 'Old Coot' Disease

Somebody was recently lamenting to me the plight of their poor father.

The guy is in his 80s and dying of cancer.

Despite having over $1 million in the bank the guy carries on like a complete destitute bum.

In fact he dresses so poorly that out in public one day someone charitably GAVE HIM $5.

And guess what....HE TOOK IT!

Also, again despite being on his deathbed and having means, the crazy 'old coot' won't pay for home internet access because of a silly price dispute with the cable company. Instead he trucks everyday over to the library to check his email (AOL?).

The purpose of money in life is, well,....life! Tragically some of these misers never figured that out.

On Drooling Nappers

So there's a house right behind ours, about 85 yards or so straight back.

After 9 months here on Long Island now I've become well aware of the nocturnal schedule of these neighbors - a stereotypical 'old bag' and an 'old coot'.

They go to bed very early. I'm not sure precisely when but by 11pm every night their lights are all out.

BUT, around 2:30am the kitchen light comes on, EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, and I can plainly see the fossils stirring.

Saturday night my wife and I stayed up late catching up on American Idol; it was at that time that I informed my wife about these creatures of habit.

Sure enough, like clockwork, I went to the bathroom at 2:25am and saw the old fart up and at 'em in his kitchen. Pointing him out to Mrs. C-Nut we both enjoyed a good laugh.

Mrs. C-Nut - WHAT the [deleted] are they doing up now?!?!

Me - Scrambling eggs, of course!

Who Would Want The Napping Dinosaur, Anyway?

What's your policy on advertising the current book you're reading?

I think most people genuinely try to hide the cover of their book lest anyone cast judgment on what they've chosen - heck, even I do that sometimes to forestall questions/conversations from adjacent Morons.

Yet I always crane my neck to see what others are reading!

Some 'old coot' on the beach the other day was reading the above.

I just had to look it up when I got back. Here's the link with explanatory subtitle:

You Can't Have Him, He's Mine: A Woman's Guide to Affair-Proofing Her Relationship

Why the bleep might a sixty-something 'old coot' be reading THAT!

He was either researching *escape strategies*...

OR it might have been one of those classic cases where the 'old bag' wife just grabs one of her cheesy novels or any old book and throws it to her illiterate aliterate husband, imploring him to *read something*. I'm pretty sure this is what my mother does to my old man. He obliges too - reading at about 2 pages per hour through his closed eye-lids.

Living With The MIL Chronicles 6 - Kitchen Scrapyard

Check it out. That's what my MIL *stores* in her oven.

So every time WE NEED TO USE THE OVEN....that pile of scrap metal has to come out and find a landing spot.

And in a kitchen with ZERO counter-space, it invariably has to go on the stove.

But if you're cooking, chances are you've got a whole lot going on on the burners already!

This is insane. Not only is there ample storage space in the cabinets and whatnot....but also this is PURE GARBAGE. She saves every piece of aluminum that enters the house. Every time someone gets take-out she has to wash and salvage the containers and whatnot (and metal coffee cans, jars, etc.).

The worst is when you forget the junk is in there and pre-heat the oven.  Then you have a whole pile of hot metal to manage!

One day, finally, I asked her if I could throw that stuff away.

MIL - NO.

CaptiousSIL - Are you going to take it to your new fancy retirement home?

MIL - YES.

CaptiousSIL - WHY? (holding up the circular pan/sheet)

MIL - Because my mother-in-law gave me that.

At a minimum that means the cookie sheet, pizza pan, or whatever it is is 40 FREAKIN' YEARS OLD - but it could easily be half a century old.

Do YOU think it's sanitary to cook on that crap?

She moves out in about three weeks...

OH, the blog material I've been sitting over the past 7 months!!!

See also:

Living With The MIL Chronicles 1

Living With The MIL Chronicles 2 - Off The Hook Phone Ringing

Living With The MIL Chronicles 3 - Already Over?

Living With The MIL Chronicles 4 - Leading 'Old Coots' To Water

Living With The MIL Chronicles 5 - What is it?

Living With MIL Chronicles - 1

Alright, here's a good lead-in:




People have been asking me, on the side, what it's like now living with my MIL. After all, it's been some time now - by my count 24 days.

But there're too many other statistically significant variables at the moment to render a targeted analysis.

In a word, things have been totally *fine* thus far. This house is big - providing a large buffer zone for anyone in need of a little space.

Plus, y'all need to be reminded, multi-generational cohabitation is actually the historical norm. Grown adults have been living with their parents and grandparents for well....MILLENNIA!

Recall that I myself grew up in a two-family home, the other half of which was occupied by my maternal grandparents. Also, my wife's grandmother lived in her family house for a bit as well. And when Social Security/Medicare/pensions go bust living arrangements will revert back to what they always were.

Forever molested by foresight, I'm pretty sure that I want to be close to my own children when I'm a drooling, napping, forgetful 'old coot'. I actually asked my 4.01 year old Princess the other night if she'd take care of me when I was old. Without hesitation, she reached around my neck and gave me one of her trademark python hugs, gritted her teeth, and say YES!

So as far as I'm concerned, living with my MIL or even my own *inlawish* parents, is simply part of the family deal.

Note there are a score of benefits to having an adult roommate. For one thing, I can now run out to the store, to the train station, or to the driving range at 6am with the comfort that I didn't leave my small children alone (as I used to do!). And, I fully intend on some late afternoons, taking the train into Manhattan and meeting my wife after work for dinner. Grandma will be left in charge!

Yeah there's the to-be-expected clutter, and the 'old coot' idiosyncrasies that come with the territory....but in my case, thus far, they've been surmountable. And I'm starting to get very comfortable here.

What's funny, if you recall, is that I spent nearly two weeks at my parents' house before officially moving down to Long Island. Put it this way, after dealing with my folks and their cluttered fridge, their insane newspaper hoarding(!), and their queer rubbish disposal procedures (composting!)...

I came down here, to my MIL's house, and the similarities bordered on the profound, with her stockpiles of expired food, her papers everywhere (though mostly mail), and her wacko garbage can ritual (uses those grocery store bags only - about 11 per day that have to be toted down to the garbage!).

So limbo at my parent's house was actually a full-simulation training ground for what I was moving into!

And can someone, anyone, tell me why those all those 'old coots', the same people who run around turning lights off to *save electricity*....why they all have this deranged obsession with leaving a faint kitchen light on all night long?

Remembrances Of 'Old Bags' Past

A group of 40 year old girlfriends discussed where they should meet up for dinner. Finally, it was agreed upon that they should meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the waiters there had tight pants and nice buns.

10 years later, at 50 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally it was agreed that they should meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the food there was very good and the wine selection was good also.

10 years later, at 60 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally it was agreed that they should meet at the Ocean View restaurant because they could eat there in peace and quiet and the restaurant had a beautiful view of the ocean.

10 years later, at 70 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally it was agree that they should meet at the Ocean View restaurant because the restaurant was wheel chair accessible and they even had an elevator.

10 years later, at 80 years of age, the group once again discussed where they should meet for dinner. Finally it was agreed that they should meet at the Ocean View restaurant because they had never been there before!

Siding With The FDA Fascists

My beloved MIL does not believe in the notion of *expired food*.

Sour milk, green cheeses, spices from the 1970s....none of it fazes her.

The other day she asked me to help her open a package of salami. The first thing I did was check the date. It had expired on February 10th, roughly 75 days ago. I refused told her I couldn't open it. She figured it out somehow and promptly made a frittata for her family with it! (I abstained, thank you.)

Now I'm up blogging in the wee hours of the morning and getting rather hungry. We have the best bagels on Earth here in the kitchen along with cream cheese and tomatoes. All I need is some bacon to stuff in the middle and I think I recall seeing a slab of it in the fridge.

Alas, I discover that it too is well past its time. Expired March 5th, some 50 days ago.

Would you eat that? Would you risk serving it to your kids?

By no means am I a Big Government apologist, but I'm going go with them and their *dates* on this one.



One of these days, my MIL is going to send her whole family to *the latrines*!

(My parents are pretty bad in this area as well - but more with antique condiments, cereal, liquors, and whatnot. Heck, all these 'old coots' flout the FDA.)

UPDATE - Before I could publish this post, my MIL arose and started frying that fresh bacon up! It's nice to know she was SAVING it for us but still...

Hoofing It On The Homefront

Over the last couple of years I've been experimenting with *self-denial*.

Instead of my normal 5 pieces of pizza....how about 3?

Instead of my normal brimming bowl of ice cream....how about two-thirds as much?

I've whittled down color TV viewing; replaced some golf rounds with practice sessions; skipped daily showers(!); and cut back sundry other little indulgences.

In particular, going to bed at night without the TV was hard - not to do, but to attempt to do. Not long ago I would shudder at the prospect of spending the night in someone's guest room that didn't have a cable hook-up. I'd often choose to sleep on the floor of the living room!

Realizing this intense dependence I actually became scared. Am I just an incipient set-in-their-ways 'old coot'? Surely this is how my father's queer unbreakable routines began.

So here's my latest idea. Try to spend one day a week either entirely at home or at least without using the car.

I gave it a go on Monday AND made it until 5:32pm before folding. I broke down and took the kids to the park at Nantasket Beach.

While I've more than once Marginalized those harried off-dropping parents, I've acknowledged that I too have a dependency on the combustion engine. I am dependent on rapidly eliminating physical distances at a whim. And that describes most of us non-urban dwellers anyway.

Now the last thing in the world I am is GREEN. Heck, I'll idle my 12 mpg Chevy Suburban all day long just to prove it. So this has nothing to do with *climate un-changed*, emissions, or the eco-pagan religion.

I just think that under the surface of all our dependencies and prosperity there lies some suffocated humanity, some unrealized potential. Eating less makes me appreciate food and taste more; hitting golf balls with only my left hand (no right hand bailout!) has improved my golf swing; and less color TV means more productive time web-surfing, blogging, and reading.

Mix it up a little. You're going to turn into a robotic 'old coot' or 'old bag' eventually....but resolve to fight the process as best as you can.

I'm going to try again to stay completely homebound one day next week. Hopefully this new ascetic endeavor will be more successful than my last one.

Battered Men's Shelter

We're at that age now, 35+, where our parents are getting old (drooling, napping, forgetting, cluttering, ailing, etc.) and essentially need help.

In fact, the C-Nut family is moving to Long Island; we're moving in with my beloved MIL sometime soon. There'll be much more on that development later. Essentially, I'm trading one crazed landlord for another!

But again, this is the age we are at. I was talking to a friend yesterday who just lost his FIL. There was genuine concern for his recently widowed MIL - how she'd get on, would she be lonely, etc.

My buddy told me they invited her to come down to live with them. His only lament was that she had a *dog* as well.

Mind you, this overly-hospitable friend of mine already has his SIL *living* on the premises as well.

CaptiousNut - Ouch....and now your MIL AND a dog? That's rough. You don't even have a yard. The dog is pushing it.

Buddy - The things I do for $ex once a month...

Ha!

I laughed all night long thinking of that line - almost more tragic than any above it on this post!

Parental 'Old Coot' Clatter

I remember as a kid, one of the most irritating noises I heard was the clatter of my father doing dishes at dawn. In the middle of my precious REM sleep, he's thoughtlessly banging pots, pans, and plates from the night before! Sound really travels in a cold 1,100 square foot house.

I even remember one of my college buddies lambasting his mother for the same. The snot-nosed ingrate would spend the morning playing golf and then come home and take a nap in front of the television. But he'd often wake in a fit of anger, also directed at his mother for clanging dishes. What a b1tch, you know, that woman that cooked, cleaned, laundered, and subsidized the entire livelihood of *Sleeping Beauty*!

But here I am now, married and harried by two small children. Sleeping less and less as I age, I'm often up and about in the wee hours.

And I can't tell you how tempting it is to wash whatever leftover dishes I have, dry them, and put them and the clean ones from the dishwasher away!

Us parents have to take advantage of our scant free time, of our windows of opportunity. You 'young coots' will understand, one day.

See also - Dirty Dishes.

Warding Off The Grim Reaper

Here's an interesting article/video on extremely healthy 'old coots'.

Hint: no color TV, regular exercise, less meat, and some spirituality.

Uncovering Secrets To A Longer Life

App-less New 'Old Coots'

I've tried to educate myself a bit on those smartphone *apps*. I just read CNBC's Planet of the Apps; I looked at the Top 10 selling apps of 2009; and I even tested my apps knowledge ignorance on their little quiz...

But I still don't *get* apps. Beyond a phone, email, and the internet I just don't see what else I could possibly NEED.

Sure, others may *need* apps because they have nothing else going on - but I sure don't have time to spare. (Though that golf GPS app seems tempting!) Are modern day earthlings just addicted to gadgets or something? Are they wholly incapable of entertaining themselves? Can they not bear to be alone with their thoughts - OR, God forbid, be alone with THE PEOPLE THEY ARE PHYSICALLY WITH AT THE MOMENT?

What frustrates me here, is not so much all these Morons and their *cool* apps....it's that I can't for the life of me figure out the phenomenon.

Maybe my obtuseness on this front is strictly a function of me aging - of me rapidly approaching 'old coothoot'? Though I was carded at a bar two weeks ago, I will be a ripe 36 years young in three months' time.

In a sense, I feel like that typical fossil in the mid-nineties yammering, "Now what the heck would I ever want or need a cell phone for?!?!?!"



Hah! The *Moron Test* was the 10th best selling app of 2009. First it was Glenn Beck co-opting my schtick...

Of course, there is the real possibility that I am not too old and farty to *get* apps.

There a chance that this is some frivolous fad up there with acid washed jeans, jams, and middle parts with feathered hair...

From a different article, the pro-argument seems more palatable:

"Today's mobile phones are as powerful as many desktop PCs - more so, if you consider that they're also location-aware and have a built-in billing and payment system," said Lisa Allen, a board director of Mobile Monday Mid-Atlantic, the local chapter of a global group that aims to foster education and networking among the mobile-development crowd.

"We're seeing people run their entire lives, even their entire businesses, from their mobile phones," she said.

Fair enough.

BYO-Hot Sauce

So I'm at that highflying Chipotle Mexican Grill the other day...

I order my usual, a steak burrito, and the girl behind the counter gravely warns me that *it's our spiciest meat*.

I was slightly taken aback by the disclaimer but joked:

CaptiousNut - That's why I want it!

But do y'all know why they ask? It's because of those darned 'old coot' New Englanders; those old farts don't like anything beyond *meat and potatoes*.

A perfect example would be my grandparents. They would eat bland-a$$ slop like meat and potatoes and pot roast seemingly every other night. Furthermore, they thought even basics like *spaghetti sauce* were TOO SPICY. My beloved MIL falls into this *tasteless* category as well.

As the Prince and I am almost done eating our lunch, a couple of nonagenarians seat themselves at the adjacent table. Not two minutes later, the 'old bag' was fetching the manager because the 'old coot' found his burrito *too spicy* for consumption. THAT is why they have to warn everyone! The manager even said they let people *sample* the meats - just so they don't have to go through this 50 times a day with the fossils.

Why would this issue rile me up?

Well, because we don't have any good ethnic restaurants up here in Boston PRECISELY BECAUSE OF THESE WEAK-STOMACHED dinosaurs. The few Thai and Indian restaurants in these parts are dwarfed by the sheer number of *American* or *pub fare* eateries. Burgers, fries, potato skins,...and even worse, these places ALL carry antiquated inedibles like chicken pot pie and beef stew, that's it. No one even really needs a menu! I don't know why they just don't put Ensure directly on the menu!

I don't blame the restaurants, they have to cater to the market - and that's what the out-eating, moneyed market is here, 'old coots' and 'old bags'.

Social Networking Competition

Today my Gmail-checking was interrupted by a prompt to check out *Google Buzz*.

I have to assume that it's a foray into *social networking* - that it's an assault on HeadBook or whatever that thing is called.

I remember when Gmail started. They tried to manufacture an aura about it in the sense that one had to be *invited* to get an account. I think their gimmick was to no avail in the early going, but here we are some years later and everyone is using Google's email service. Alright, except maybe for the 'old coots' and 'old bags' are who are still on Aol and Compuserve.

I may not avail myself to the services of *Google Buzz* - and why would I? I have a blog! - but I do hope that it takes a bite out of Headbook. I've always considered it to be blogging for simpletons; it was for the masses what cavity-backed clubs were to golf hackers!