Olympic-sized Physical

Today I venture into the doctor's office for the annual physical. This appointment is daunting, and is nothing like the routine physical of the young Olympic athlete. I must bring my checkbook. And my nerve.
In the annual physical the older male is subjected to a series of pokes, prods, and needle-jabs--all designed to insure him that he is ageing as God intended and will die at the appropriate 78.5 years allotted him. Among the various indicators of his health include:

Blood Pressure Check--which is conducted in handcuffs by a beautiful nurse who, afterwards, asks him to disrobe. Naturally, this sends his blood pressure sky high and the doctor immediately administers medication to offset these "excited palpitations".

Cholesterol Jab--here a large needle, roughly the size of Wyoming, is inserted into the older man's arm and a quart of blood is siphoned into a Styrofoam cup. The blood is sent to a lab in Indonesia where it is subjected to a series of picklings, boilings, and consistency tests. The results are sent back over the internet to the doctor's office, along with a menu of lunch options, where a nursing staff interprets the results and determines that the older male is a high-health risk and must immediately be dropped by his insurer. Naturally, there is laughter, but after drawing straws the losing nurse calls the older male and informs him that his cholesterol level is higher than Mount Everest and that, statistically, he should have died four years ago when he last ate at Denny's. Options are offered, including giving up the donuts, cutting out the ice cream, or nixing the butter. The older male rolls the dice of fate and continues to enjoy them all.

HDL--this is the "good cholesterol" which the older male should have in abundance. Naturally, he has little of it, and also tests for low levels of testosterone, libido, and will-power. The doctor tells him to eat more nuts, but the older male is already eating forty pounds of almonds per day and rarely has a banana. Again, the prognosis is not pretty and the doctor, at this point, usually throws up his hands and says, "I can't work like this!"

Eye and Ear Check--here a bright light is shined into the eyes and the older male is asked to read an eye chart containing words like "GYBRZNIK" and "XTUBLUMP", which he cannot pronounce. Afterwards, a sharp instrument is inserted into the ears and the doctor yells, "Can you hear me now!?"

Prostate Exam--enough for today. We shall save this for another time.

Salon.com

In response to the growing popularity of this Manopause blog, you can now visit my insanity on Salon.com.

Just go to the Open Salon icon and find me (Todd Outcalt) or the blog (Manopause) and enjoy a laugh.

Thanks for reading.

Travelin' Man

As a man ages, he becomes adept at packing for a trip.  His plans consist of five pair of underwear which, if he doesn't sweat too heavily, could easily last for five weeks.  He also packs two shirts, one pair of Bermuda shorts (which he plans to wear for the entire trip), and a couple of pair of socks.  He also packs one pair of dress pants in case his wife wakes up one morning and announces, "Let's go to the theatre."  The remainder of his packing is completed by his wife, who removes the five pair of underwear, the shirts, and the shorts and inserts entirely new offerings that she believes will be more consistent with her own wardrobe selection and color scheme.

The traveling man, upon arrival at the hotel, is flabbergasted to find a completely different attire than he packed himself.  But he is grateful for the help and agrees to buy his wife some nacho chips or a big pretzel from one of those street vendors who specialize in botulism and certain types of bubonic plague. 

When the older man travels he also comes prepared with charts and maps.  These he has drawn up himself on small slips of paper, having planned the entire trip late at night during Conan reruns.  When he arrives at his destination he scraps these charts when his wife says, "Let's just wing it."

The traveling man also prides himself on being able to hail a cab--especially if the driver is from a Far Eastern nation or has a twelve-inch scar running diagonally across his face that is still oozing puss.  An older man is not put-off by these idiosyncrasies, but, in fact, embraces them as part of the melting-pot diversity of America.  He wishes that his own name had forty-seven consonants and no vowels.

In time the traveling man settles into his new surroundings and wishes that he and his wife had not brought along the eighteen-year-old college freshman.  They wonder if they should have left him in Queens instead of watching David Letterman and wondering, "Could we have been sitting in the Letterman audience tonight if we had joined the stand-by line?"

Rather, the traveling man comforts himself with cold showers each morning and ventures out onto the street to find a cup of coffee strong enough to strip veneer off a piano bench.  He says "Good morning" to complete strangers and stares up into a facade of skyscrapers so tall that some of them have their own zip codes.  He does not try to hide the fact that he is a tourist, but embraces his own nerdiness, not ashamed of the fact that he has wondered onto the street without shoes.  But he is at home among the derelicts and drops a few dimes.

Later, when he greets his wife, he offers her a morning newspaper and his undying gratitude.  That, of course, is something he can take home.  But he realizes it only when he is on vacation.   

Ode to Andy

While watching late-night TV in a hotel room in New York, I learned about the death of Andy Griffith.  Griffith was 86 and certainly one of my favorite actors.  I was, after all, born the week (October 12, 1960) that The Andy Griffith Show premiered on CBS (October 8, 1960).  I grew up with Opie, Aunt Bee, Gomer, Goober, Floyd, Barney and good ol' Andy.

I don't remember the Griffith Show in first run, but the show has never been off the air since it premiered, and the AGS reruns were a huge part of my early memories and television entertainment.  At one time (long before the 8 seasons were produced in DVD format for sale), I had video-taped all of the episodes (249 total) by hand on VHS format over the course of several years.  I have led many AGS "Bible Studies" as well, and these were some of the best-attended studies I've conducted over the years.  I know most of the episodes by heart and can recite many line-for-line.

Many folks also don't understand how versatile an actor Griffith was.  He got his start in the movie, A Face in the Crowd, which was quite dramatic, and went on to become a gospel recording star (a Grammy-winner) and the star of a second successful show: Matlock.

I'll miss Andy (but I have most of his movies, TV shows, and CD's on my shelves).  Nevertheless, I've got to write a bit about him.  How about an Ode?  (And I have no idea what an ode is.)

Ode to Andy

Some people might balk at a sheriff
Who never carried a gun,
But you never seemed to care if
You had enough laughter and fun.

You had a son named Opie
But no wife or an ex
And though your show was hokey
You must have once had sex.

Of course the town was simple,
Though in its own way, wise.
And you dished out a heart-full
Like Aunt Bee dished out pies.

We loved your sidekick, Barney,
And Otis and the rest.
And though the show was corny
We felt that we were blessed.

We'll miss you, Andy Taylor,
And hope you rest in peace,
Though many still may pray for
More episodes like these:

That we'll dodge Barney's bullet
And laugh until we die
And meet you some day yonder
In that jailhouse in the sky.