I was sitting around the locker room with some old men after working out. We really don’t know each other well, but we shared gripes and complaints galore. You could have powered several Lewis Black rants with the negativity. Age, youth, women, politics, weather…even God.

My first thought was to get home and write about it, share the sharp insights and general wittiness with the rest of the unenlightened world. At my desk, fingers poised above the keyboard, however, a quote from a favorite television show came to mind: “What all old people need is a positive attitude and someone to share it with.”

Hm. One of the main reasons Old People (OP) complain is it is one of the few activities we can do, anymore. It used to be OP were wise, too, from all the years of learning. But generations of non-OP folks ignoring and disrespecting us OP has left us jaded, ignored, and unheard. So we complain,…for attention.

But complaining doesn’t work, makes us even more un-noticed, and fosters an intended disrespect instead of just plain, old disinterest.

Thank God, my television show was on this morning when I began to write and the quote was repeated, a sign, I understood, from God: no more complaining.

I am by nature a contented person, liking all life offers except for fools, selfish people, and inconsiderate dolts (FSPID)*, so I was forced to explain to myself why complain, at all. Granted, a majority of the American population falls into one or more of the FSPIDs, but that’s always been the case, even when I was young. Did I complain, then? Or middle age?

So. As noted, I have someone to share my thoughts with: the locker room. Now all I need is to reignite the positivity somehow lost in the last decade. But I wonder if I’ll have to find a new locker room with a new group of OP…

* Pronounced “Fizzpids”

A small sample poll (done by me in my free time) of Americans reveals an interesting fact about the $48billion dollar Elon Musk payday: no one cares. NO ONE. At least that I have found in person. Some long distance friends are interested but since I couldn’t prove their identity with face to face communication, their votes were not included in my poll. Seriously. With AI you never know anymore who’s on the other end of you conversation unless you see them. (Sorry, Dennis.)

There is a certain segment of our American population, hereinafter known as the Flock, who view Musk as a hero, a righteous culture warrior not just winning big at capitalism and fleecing the Flock, but possibly a future power who can gobble up Anti-Trump media and shut them down. Or convert them to X.

Not one person asked had any idea how much of the $48billion might be taxpayer money, sent by the US Government to Musk subsidiaries for defense and intelligence work.

The problem is there are now about 5 to 10 people in the US alone, who have enough wealth and power to do what they want, anytime, anywhere. It appears the historical Republican effort to reduce regulations will be having an identity crisis, soon: the billionaires won’t pay any attention to regulations and laws anyway. The Billionaires can gut enforcement like the SEC by hiring all the SEC’s employees away. And for real good example of what money can do, look at all the lawyers protecting Trump (and his associates) from judicial justice. And Clarence Thomas. How many judges at state and federal levels are already influenced not by the law but by(buy) money? In Thomas’s case, he doesn’t care how it looks. Screw you, Flock,

In ten years we won’t have political countries we recognize. We’ll be back to the middle ages with fiefdoms with their own armies and governments. We’ll have a New Civil War on the American Continent between Amazonia and Muskovoy. And the European billionaires will take on the winner.

The saddest part of this poll? Even if EVERYONE cared, there probably isn’t anything we can do about it.

But for a start, we should all stop the GMGA attitude mentioned in an earlier article. Got Mine Go Away, if it is eradicated, won’t slow the Musks and Bezos of the world, but make what’s left for us, The Flock, a little easier to swallow.

The Sheryl Crow song referenced above was meant, I think, to celebrate the somewhat misdirected exuberance of lost youth. But it represents the mature mindset more accurately, and has become an annoying earworm.

When relocating to upstate New York, I made the mistake of buying a very comfortable rocking, recliner, henceforth known as The Chair. The error was compounded by placing The Chair in front of the wall of windows facing north. The situation was further aggravated by sitting in it.

My daily routine is early awake, bathroom duty (yes, “Duty”), small breakfast, and a small allotment of time for news of the world. Unfortunately, I receive that news from The Chair and the small allotment of time is getting bigger each day.

It wasn’t noticeable at first, the reclining just got longer and longer until one day it was time for lunch. Kidding. Any senior reading this knows urinary insecurity ruins everything and would end reclining time at some shorter, inopportune moment, but you get the point: it is a daily struggle to avoid the peacefulness, the comfort, the security, the heaven that is The Chair. And it calls my name all day, the siren call of a Naugahyde beast, though it might be real leather.

My lawyer daughter says the manufacturer can’t be sued for manufacturing such an addictive product, right after she refused an intervention to end the spiral of laziness.

When my 84 year-old mom went into the hospital for what she feared would be the end of her life, she prophetically, if enigmatically, warned me about this very thing. She was tired of being bombarded by tests and treatments no 84 year-old should have to endure when she said: “All I want to do is go home and sit in my chair one last time.”

Now, eight years later, I get it.

The addition to the morning routine, now, is the struggle to get out of The Chair and go have some fun. Do something. Pickelball. Swimming. Walking. Talk to people instead of watching them through the window. Enjoy the world.

So I make the effort every day to move from horizontal to vertical, wondering with each passing day: why bother when there is a heavenly, rocking alternative?

As the song says: “I have a feeling I am not the only one.”

Its time to talk about Trump. Donald Trump.
I’ve recreationally followed Trump for years, going back to his playboy years and marriages and scandals and Democratic activities. He was an interesting figure in New York State news, and then New Jersey news, and then reality television. As a poor man, I resented his seemingly easy path to not just untold riches but the utter and complete privilege so much wealth brings. Resented is the wrong word: I was jealous. As an anti-materialistic child of the 60s’s, the jealousy bothered me, as it revealed a desire for materialism buried deep down inside me, Oh…so for many years I was conflicted, I resented the jealousy, and was ashamed when I would admire his marital and material successes.

It feels good to confess the above, because it means I understand the man with out bias, with no preconceived notions, just a realization of exactly what he is, and isn’t.

In fact, it wasn’t even disconcerting when he changed parties, took out a full page ad asking for the Central Park Five to be executed, and pretended to be exorcised about Obama not being an American. Even when he became a candidate for President, it seemed natural. These actions are consistent with his need for attention, and his need to be heard. He did not have anything important to say, but he realized age and society were sapping his relevance, and gossip pages weren’t filling his needs, anymore. So he called attention to himself in the ways he knew and now the whole world talks about him every day. Every Hour. Every minute.

But why? You do have to admire the man for making the most of the little he was given in life. And he knew going full Mother Theresa in his later years was not for him.

Admiration. He deserves it for finding a plan and sticking to it. The plan has exceeded his wildest expectations: after calling attention to himself as president, he will have the best of both worlds after 2024. He’ll be president, again, and can pardon himself for all he has done and will do. Or he’ll lose the election but half the country will think he won, and his money and friends will keep him out of jail for all the things he has done and will do.

Genius.

And a golf clap to the American People for making it all work out.