Inside the Geezer Studio , part 1

James Lipton:  "Good evening. I'm James Lipton, and this is Inside the Geezer Studio."

(Audience applause, while Lipton nods and smacks his lips with self satisfaction)

Lipton: "In the space of only a year now, Old Geezers Out to Lunch has entirely revolutionized the digital blog world. More than 2 billion people across the globe visit Geezers daily, hoping for new wisdom, and there is, literally, no city, town, village or hovel on earth where an on-line visitor does not log on at least once each minute. The American Medical Association has established a new category of addictive disease classification for on-line readers who are obsessed with Geezers, and Pew research organization now has a dedicated staff that does nothing but read Geezers for insight as to what is really true in the world.

"But just who are these mysterious Geezers, the middle aged fellows who have become the internet's—no, mankind's— most influential human beings? Who, indeed...

"Tonight, you will begin learning exactly that....in the words of those who know the Geezers best. This series will use a different interview technique, in which we'll speak not to the Geezer being examined, but the three other Geezers. We will, therefore, present you with a series of four programs, each one examining a single Geezer through the eyes of the other three.

"Welcome, America, to Geezer Reality!"

(Lipton shuffles note cards as audience applause and adulation fades.)

"We welcome to our stage tonight Mercurious, Dr. Golf, and the Professor. Tonight's subject, obviously, is that Geezer known as.....the Mathematician!"

Lipton: "Geezers, I, along with all of America, would like to know how you first met the Mathematician, and what your first impressions were?"

Um, no. That's not the Mathematician. 

Professor: "The Mathematician is quite a singer…he was the guy who LOOKED like he could hit a low D-flat….I was the guy who actually COULD hit a low D-flat."

Mercurious: "It was a little earlier for me, in fifth or sixth grade when I met Math, which would have made us 11 or 12 years old,  I guess. Math had transferred from another town to our class. He was a bit on the nerdy side, but his impressive intellect was evident even then."

Lipton: "Was your friendship—some might say bromance—instant, or did it evolve?"

Professor:  "'Evolving' isn’t precise enough as a term…he’s like the ocean: always changing and always the same…"

And no, that's not Math, either, although he did
look kind of smart in a similar way. 

Mercurious: "It took a little while to become fast friends back in elementary school, for we weren't used to having another challenging intellect in our midst. So there was a bit of envy at what was clearly a rival in the brain department. At our elementary school, he quickly became evident as one of the top two or three intellects. Though that's mostly a testament to how frickin' stupid our school was. "

Lipton: "What was the Mathematician like growing up?"

Mercurious: "Big, and brittle. It seemed like Math was breaking another bone—a finger, or wrist or collarbone—every other week on the playground."

Professor:   "Has he grown up?  When did that happen?"

Lipton: "What is the thing you admire most about the Mathematician?"

Mercurious: "Probably his culinary skill. That and his clear devotion to family and friends, which is notable and Herculean. Also, I admire his beard. He grew it first at age 7, and although it went fully white by age 10, it remains a model of dignified whisker display. "

Professor:  "Hey, I’m a theatre guy…anyone who can add two plus two (and come up with the correct answer, I might add) is impressive."

Lipton: "What do you most detest about him?"

Mercurious: "Good God, where do we start?"

Professor: "In the popular board game of Risk, which the Geezers play obsessively, the Mathematician has a fondness for the Southeastern strategy which—while being understandable, is irritating.  Detest might be too strong, though."

Lipton: "If the four of you were to be a rock band, who would it be?"

Mercurious: "Probably the Traveling Wilburys. Old coots with a fair amount of talent who get along pretty well and seem to have set ego aside. Except for the fact that we're all alive, and half of the Wilburys are dead."

If the Geezers were the Beatles....

Professor: "Well, there’s only one real contender when you talk about 4-person rock bands.  The mathematician has the soul of a bass player, but he is cute neither while shaking his head back and forth (ala McCartney) or standing still (which he does well when inspired."

Lipton: "What is the single thing you'd like to say to the Mathematician that you've never uttered?"

Professor: “I'd point out that he's not the only one who can do calculations…I know darned well that 2 plus two equals five…it’s just not that hard to do that kind of thing."

Mercurious: "I'd confess that long, long ago, I once dreamed about having hot monkey sex with one of his sisters. And it's not the one most people would expect."

Lipton: "If you were on a desert island, or incarcerated in the same cell with the Mathematician, how long do you think it would take before genuine man-love became a reality?"

No problem. Dr. Golf always had the
hots for Mrs. Howell, anyway. 

Professor: "On a desert island there would be Mary Anne, so he wouldn’t have a chance…Being a pal (I emphasize PAL!) I’d let him approach Ginger and see how she would respond.  Hard to say with prison, but he looks terrible in orange, and horizontal stripes don’t help either.

Mercurious: "Professor, are you seriously pretending to have forgotten? That question has already been answered for all of us. Back in 1976."

Lipton: "What is the thing you know about the Mathematician that he would most like you to keep secret?"

Mercurious: "Sorry, Lipton, but not even I will stoop that low. The Mathematician knows what it is, though, and how much he needs to pay me for continued silence."

Professor: "I’m thinking about that secret right now, and it’s a doozey, that’s for sure.

Lipton: "If the Mathematician were a flavor of food or drink, what would he be?"

Mercurious: "Mushrooms stuffed with some kind of delicious shrimp."

Professor:  "A Smith and Kerns cocktail: sweetness of crème de cacao, the slight density and smoothness of cream, and the liveliness of sparkling water."

Lipton: "If the Mathematician were a psychiatric diagnosis, what would it be?"

Mercurious: "That's easy: OCD. With a side order of gender confusion, because of growing up with all that estrogen floating around his house. "

Professor: "As I like to say about my dear spouse: “They talk about passive-aggressive, she’s aggressive-aggressive.  The mathematician isn’t any kind of aggressive at all. 

Lipton: "If the Mathematician were a tree, what kind of tree would he be?"

Mercurious: "A big Christmas tree completely laden with lots of family-related ornaments."

Professor: "Maple tree…you’re tempted to think he can be sappy at times, but at the end of the day, he’s just plain sweet."

Lipton: "If the Mathematician were a wild creature, what would he be?"

Professor:  "IF he were a wild creature? IF??"

Mercurious: "He's a shelled creature from the Galapagos islands. Wise, impervious to pain and insults, and oh, so methodical."

Lipton: "If the Mathematician were a liquor, what would he be?"

Mercurious: "He'd like me to say Stagg bourbon or something lofty like that. But I say Creme de Menthe."

Professor: "Have to give him his preference of Bourbon…He used to be corny, but time has mellowed him into a real treat." 

Lipton: "What is the Mathematician's favorite curse word?"

Professor: "As followers of the site might guess: “Religion.”

Mercurious: "He was the first I heard coin this, and I'm sure he'd not like to admit it:  "Jesus, F-#$$@#  Christ."

"Well, Mathematician, you DO have
some 'splainin' to do, my man!"

Lipton: "Assuming there is a God, when meeting him at the pearly gates, what would God say to the Mathematician as he arrives?"

Professor: "'I’ve been looking forward to meeting you a lot more than you’ve been looking forward to meeting me.'"

Mercurious:  "No, I think it will be the Old Testament guy who greets Math. 'Begone, infidel!'"

Lipton: "Dr. Golf, your silence is both intriguing and annoying, I must say, though your facial expressions indicate plenty of inner commentary occurring while the Professor and Mercurious participated so fully. Anything you'd like to add, though, at the conclusion?"

Dr. Golf:  "_______ "

Lipton: "All right then, perhaps at the next installment of Inside the Geezer Studio, we'll examine you through the eyes of your fellow Geezers. Until then....

"This has been Inside the Geezer Studio, with me, James Lipton."

Citizens of 4F, January 14, 2014

The 4F commuter bus presents a pretty representative sample of the Minneapolis demographic from the hours of 7:00 am to 9:00, and from 4:00 to 7:00 pm each day—the rush hour windows. In the morning, for example, the passengers on any given bus might include:  high school students wearing school letterman jackets as they head to De Lasalle high school; students from the art and design college who often defiantly omit hats and scarves even on very cold days; day laborers with worn, slightly grimy canvas jackets headed for the temp labor agencies on Lake Street; attractive young men and women in nice clothes,  eagerly pursuing entry level white-collar jobs in their hopes of one day becoming members of the last type of bus commuter—the older executives with long woolen overcoats and expensive leather gloves and briefcases, carrying Wall Street Journals tucked under their arms.

On any given morning, about 60% of the faces are familiar to me; the rest are infrequent or one-time riders, on the bus that morning because a car has failed to start in the frigid weather, or because they're riding to connect with the light rail train line running to the airport.

Fairly often, you also see one or two or even three members of another demographic—adults who appear to have some kind mild disabilities and special needs—adults who are traveling either from family homes or group residential facilities to occupational jobs in downtown. A friend of mine who managed one of these non-profit organizations that help find jobs for special-needs adults has told me that most do indeed commute into downtown via bus each morning. This morning on the 4F,  there was a new passenger fitting this demographic, who I think of as "Charles."

Charles sits at the front of the bus, gripping the side rail tightly with one hand while the other hand pinches his bus transfer with the thumb and forefinger. Charles is about 60 or 65 years old, with a two-day stubble beard that is not a fashion statement. His large, aviator-rimmed glasses don't fit very well and they keep sliding down his nose. At every street corner, Charles nervously leans up out of his seat to check the street sign. In the end, he'll do this for 55 consecutive blocks, since he doesn't get off until the heart of downtown. Periodically he looks up across the aisle at the row of lighted advertisement panels lining the top of the bus; he shifts his head up and down, trying to navigate the line in his bifocals, uncertain of which magnification to use for reading at this distance.

Charles wears new jeans, a crisp flannel plaid shirt, Nike tennis shoes, and a green nylon parka that is vaguely military in style, like the parkas you see on workers on outposts at the south pole. It is the type clothing that few people of Charles' age would pick for themselves, and it hints that Charles has somebody in his life that cares enough to pick out clothes for him to wear. Perhaps it is some kind of professional guardian, but maybe he's lucky enough to have a family member who serves this role. His jacket is wide open, though, and periodically it slides down his arms and back so that he has to shrug it up into place again. He doesn't seem to know anybody else on the bus, and as new passengers board, he looks at each of them with great interest.

When special-needs adults ride the bus, they almost always sit at the front of the bus, sometimes looking a little fearful, especially when the bus ride has not become a routine habit. Many years ago, I recall that kids with special needs riding the school bus always huddled in the front of the bus, too. There was a reason for it then, because kids can be profoundly unkind, and a special-needs kid who found himself at the back of the bus might experience some type of teasing or torment at the hands of other, some yelling the word "retard." We tend to romanticize the qualities of children, but the truth is that they are often cruel, and it's fortunate that as a species we tend to become kinder and more compassionate as we grow older. I find myself wondering if the reason Charles and others like him still ride at the front of the bus as grown adults is because they have ingrained memories of those earlier, harsher times.  We are all creatures of habit, and we all relive old experiences in our behavior without even really knowing that we're doing it.

As the bus pulls up to his stop and Charles starts to stand, his jacket is wide open, and a nearby woman starts to reach out to help zip it up for him. Then she catches herself and leans back with obvious embarrassment; she's probably not certain whether such an overture would seem welcome to Charles, or insulting or threatening.

So Charles' parka hangs wide open, and twice slips down his shoulders to his elbows as he trudges up 5th Street in an easterly direction. He's quickly covered with snow that looks like powdered sugar. Blowing snow is falling heavily, but fortunately the temperatures have moderated this week, and instead of -22, the air is a relatively normal 25 degrees.

Provide his walk is not too far, Charles will be fine.

50 Shades of Dental Floss

At 8:00 am yesterday morning, I had already taken my eye-glasses off and set them on the tray affixed to the dental chair by the time Mistress Veronica, the Dental Dominatrix entered the room, so I could not see her clearly. She was little more than a shadow, an apparition, though I knew she was there, somewhere behind me in the room. For several moments, Veronica did nothing but rustle the papers in my file, deliberately building tension and anticipation in the room. Finally she spoke:

"Ah Mercurious, you've been a bad, bad boy. I see that it's been many, many months since our last session together. "

I could say nothing to this. She was absolutely right; I had neglected my twice-annual checkups for a couple of years, and I deserved to be scolded. Severely. 

"Much has changed since you've last been in my chair," she said. "We have several new....instruments that will seem new to you, and perhaps....a little frightening at first."  As if to punctuate this, she "accidentally" dragged to point of one of her sharp tools across my bare forearm where I was already gripping the arm of the chair. It was not enough to draw blood—she was nothing if not an expert in timing—but enough to give a hint of what was to come.  "Now, we will begin," she said, her voice a throaty command.

She had spoken truthfully about the new dental tools. I am a very poor dental patient, so it is typical for me to close my eyes rather tightly while having my teeth cleaned, or examined, or (God forbid) having actual dental repair work done. Nevertheless, even with eyes closed I could very clearly sense every one of the new dental innovations she had mentioned.

First, there was some sort of miniature hydraulic scissor jack that they now use to pry the upper and

lower jaws apart to hold your mouth open, making it easier for the dental dominatrix to work. Veronica used this accessory with expert precision, forcing my jaws open to the pinnacle, pausing long enough for me to relax, then punching the hydraulics just enough to cause small tears of pain form in the corner of my eyes. She stopped just before my jaw came unhinged entirely.

Secondly, there is a new kind of speculum used to draw the side of the mouth open in a direction at right angles to the vertical hydraulic jack. In combination, these two devices splay your mouth in a manner that leaves you utterly, defenselessly, at the mercy and power of the hygienist. No safe words can be uttered in this position. 

The actual tools used to clean the teeth have changed too. Where once there seemed to be only two different tools used to scrape your teeth, there now appear to be at least fifteen devices of various levels of pointy sharpness.The cleaning is now culminated by a very sharp, very long probe that can extend down into the crevice between teeth far enough to reach the bottom of the tooth root, feeling around the bottom to test the integrity of the nerve root itself. Veronica notably sighed with satisfaction when this probe left me gasping and sweating, verifying that my tooth roots were operating correctly.

There is also a type of water sand-blaster now, similar to the type of water cannon used to extract gold ore from the mountainsides of Alaska. This must be used carefully, I was told, as it sometimes dislodges metal fillings and can tear off dental crowns and force them down your gullet. To keep you from downing, they give you a small, powerful vacuum cleaner that can either suck out water before it reaches your lungs, or give you little hickeys on the inside of your mouth; the choice is yours. Diabolically, they don't instruct you in the use of this tool; you learn on the fly.

Finally, the quality of dental floss itself has changed, as it is no longer a soft white thread, but now consists of very fine and very sharp tungsten steel razor wire that can slice off any gum tissue that interferes with the thread's path to your jaw bone. This makes for a very different experience as the hygienist does her final check.

As the cleaning ended and I opened my eyes, I realized that

Mistress Veronica had also been making a dental porn film with a small, high-def cameral that was exploring my previous fillings and crown fittings, projecting them onto a 50-inch screen across the room. This, I was told, would give the dentist himself a much better way to look for new cavities and examine the condition of old fillings. Even without my glasses on, the porn film made me blush—a live-action montage of glistening, pink. slippery flesh, glimmering in ultra high definition. There were crevices there that I never knew existed, and which should never be viewed in public. Slyly, Vernica froze the live-action film on a particularly graphic and shocking still-action shot. I looked away in shame and disgust.

But at last my session was over, and I put on my eye-glasses. I was startled to see, though, that Veronica had vanished. In her place was a second hygienist, a rather sweet looking young woman who could not have been more than 30 years old. Also gone were the impressive new dental instruments. Instead, there were a selection of rather traditional metal picks on the tray across my lap. Mysteriously, they had also replaced the blood-soaked bib that had been soaking up my bodily fluids with a brand new, clean white bib. Interestingly, I noticed that the new hygienist had a voice that sounded almost exactly the same as Veronica—sisters perhaps?

But the new youngster had much of her sister's wickedness. As a tall dark shadow fell across the room behind me, she punched a button and started up the live action dental porn film, causing me to blush again.

"Mercurious," she said. "It's now time for the dentist to do his....examination.

"I believe you already know Dr. Sado."

Geezers in the New Year (with an Emphasis on Food and Sleep)

Mercurious:  “So, Geezers,, you’re clearly men of intent, and undoubtedly you start each new year with fresh resolve. So what are your goals for 2014,  my good fellows?”

Dr. Golf: "Let's see, let me think...."

Professor: “Well, just off the top of my head:

The Professor's version of a full-court press. 

“#10.  To play even less defense on the basketball court.  I love playing basketball, and I'm thankful I can still pull myself up and down the court.  And I know that the game is supposed to be both offense and defense but…enough with the expectation that I hustle on defense.  As a Geezer, I should have a full and unfettered right to save my energy to take foolish shots and talk trash.  Yes, by all means go through the motions on defense, but to really play it like you mean it—I’ll leave that to the kids in their forties.”

Mercurious: “Admirable that you can still get up and down the floor. As a variation of your #`10—mind you,  my knees can’t take basketball anymore—I’m going to resolve to do more walking in 2014. I slacked a bit in 2013, I’m afraid. Walking for me is just plain good for the soul, in a kind of Thoreau way. It puts me in real contact with the world, which simply isn’t possible when driving in a car.

Mathematician: “So first, I’m not sure I can do 10 resolutions.  I can barely remember to take the car keys and my coffee in the morning.  10 is just a lot more resolute than I care to be.  But here goes.  My #10 is weirdly parallel to the Professor’s.  After a 1 year layoff I plan to play basketball every Sunday in 2014 that I’m in town.  I do not plan to hustle – ever.  Nor will I take foolish shots.  Indeed on any given Sunday I may not shoot at all.  But I will sweat, rebound and set devastating picks.  And I can only hope that next time the Professor wanders through town he makes a guest appearance on my home court.  I’d love to stuff his jump shot just once.”

Mercurious: “Courageous, M.  And don’t worry. I have it on good authority that the Professor’s "jump shot" more closely resembles a really bad Cousy set-shot during Bob’s final days.”

Dr. Golf:  "If you ask me....."

Professor: “#9.  To continue to work hard at sleeping in.  Research show us that many people—as

The Professor resolutely practicing resolution #9

they age—tend to have difficulty sleeping as late into the morning as they used to.  A dilemma indeed.  It's akin to loosing your ability to gorge yourself quite as much on a fine meal with multiple beverages, or losing your ability to…well, let's just say losing other important abilities.  The solution (as always):  PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE.  I have made good progress on such practice over the holiday and I intend to keep up the diligent work in 2014”

Mercurious:  “Well, I’m one of those early risers you talk about, and my resolution will be quite the opposite: I’m going to stop fretting about the fact that I don’t sleep all that much. I’m simply resolving to go with the flow on that matter and stop worrying that I don’t sleep a lot. And after all, early morning sex fantasies are among the very best. “

Mathematician: “I must never give in to the urge to sleep in.  Having joined the ranks of the unemployed, sleeping late is the first step on a slippery slope that ends with me living under a bridge in a box wondering if Soft Scrub is a good toothpaste.  So I resolve to be up by 6:30 each day.  And make the bed by 7, to make my dead Grandmother proud and to prevent the dreaded ‘morning nap’”.

Dr.Golf: "Well, yeah......"

Professor: “#8.  To keep my powers of judgmentality.  So when did exercising judgment get to be such a bad thing.  To be called judgmental is comparable to be called a bigot—or worse—an old geezer.  Let us all continue to work on developing our (best, most reasoned and most legitimately supported) judgments through 2014.”

Mercurious: “I’m quite sure that will be a very easy one for you to keep, Professor. An editorial note, by the way: judgmentality is a not a word. Weighing in at #8 for me:  ‘To continue simplifying my life.' I’m at that stage where I have enough physical stuff, and my head is plenty full of information already.”

Mathematician: “Mercurious, we find you to be a plenty simple fellow already…..The problem with being judgmental is not our inability to reason.  It is our inability to gather evidence. I may judge the poor soul asking for bus fair to be a worthy recipient of my donation, until I later see him enter a seedy bar.  So I will resolve to reserve judgment as long as necessary, which is to say unless and until it is demanded of me.  Offering judgments just to show that I can seems like a bad idea. Or so I judge.

Mercurious: “If the alternative to simplicity is that kind of cryptic gibberish, Math, I’ll double down on the simplicity resolution, thank you very much.

Dr. Golf: "(Clears his throat)"

No words necessary,
you fool.

Professor:  “All right then, #7—To consume quality food and drink whenever possible (and hopefully in excessive quantities on occasion)  As geezerhood overtakes some of us, we cannot drink or eat like we used to without it going straight to our waistline (although sometimes I wonder if my wife's exhortation not to be such a fathead might not be anatomically  precise.)  If we can't do the quantity like we used to, perhaps we should double-down on the quality.  (16 year old Lagavulin here we come…and don't forget the Cuban cigars!)

Mercurious:   “No criticism there, Professor, and since we’re on a wining/dining theme, my #8 resolution is two-part: first, to drop my snobbery in rejecting bourbon and rye whiskey and insisting only upon Scotch. I resolve to more often take the Mathematician up on his offers of alternative whiskeys. Secondly, I resolve to eat when hungry, and to fast when I’m not. I’m well aware that all too often I eat from habit.  I will, however, continue to define thirst very broadly.”

Mathematician: “At last.  A resolution I can sink my teeth into.  I resolve to enjoy more what I eat and drink. Since we are given a limited budget of calories and sobriety each day, why not spend them in the best way we can.  I resolve to be willing to take more time and care to craft truly memorable meals.  And yes, I will serve the good Bourbon to friends and enjoy it as much as my solitary glass at the end of the day.  No Lagavulin in my bar, but Stagg and Old Weller, most definitely.”

Mercurious: “Pretty much every meal I’ve ever had at your house, Math, is a gourmet treat, so I guess I’ll just need to eat there all the time…what time is dinner?”

Dr. Golf:  "As I was saying—"

Professor: “To continue: #6.  To care more about unimportant things.  Treating unimportant things as if they were important is the key to so much in life that it's almost impossible to go into here.  Suffice it to say that—ultimately —controlling the Orange monopoly (St. James, Tennessee, and New York Avenues) is not an important thing.  But without the ability to care about getting such properties, the game doesn't have much appeal.  The same goes for life, as I as I was reminded last Sunday when my oldest son (a Jets fan) invited me over to his new "man cave" to watch the Eagles kick the Cowboys in just the right spot.  His observation: "It's more fun to watch the game with someone who really cares."  Fun indeed.”

Mercurious:  “interesting. I’ll spin a similar subject at #6: ‘To do only what is necessary, and not waste time on the unnecessary.’  By this, I don’t mean to cavalierly slouch through life, but rather to choose to act on things that are truly relevant, and engage them wholeheartedly. Life would be far more interesting, I think, if people believed that every action was meaningful and important.”

 Mathematician: “Caring enough to live life with some passion seems a good resolution in this vein. As Roald Dahl puts it in Uncle Oswald, … ‘if you are interested in something, no matter what it is, go at it at full speed ahead. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it and above all become passionate about it’.  I think I have earned my stripes in Football, Monopoly, Risk, Wine and Bourbon.  Drawing upon observation of my implacable demeanor, few acquaintances would call me passionate. But many of my close friends would.

Mercurious: “Passionate?  I guess that’s accurate, although ‘compulsive/obsessive’ was the term that first came to mind, Math. And frankly, when it comes to Monopoly, you're not all that impressive.”

Dr. Golf: "If you ask me...."

Professor: “All right then. At #5.  To be a role model in "wasting" time.  Yes, we all have to work

Geezers are highly skilled at wasting time, as evidenced here. 

hard, and yes, there are times in life when you just have to keep the pedal to the metal and keep going no matter what.  But what fun is geezerhood if we can't share the fundamental wisdom that many of the novel, distinctive and/or creative ideas we get about our lives occur in time that would be described by an outside observer as "wasted."  I waste time sipping on a cool one walking around my pastures "checking the fences."  Others stare at the moon as it rises fat on the horizon.  Here's to a year in which we all find gaps that we don't fill with activity…without activity, perhaps ideas or insight might fill these gaps instead.”

Mercurious: “No argument from me here. Well stated.”

Mathematician: “The kind of thoughtful leisure that you both describe is part of the spirituality that make us men.  You both know I’m opposed to ‘organized religion’.  And that I cherish Greek philosophy.  So an easy #5 for me is to live the examined life, as Socrates exhorts.  Not to get lost in my own world of questions and self doubt.  But to take time each day to walk the dog, which is really just an excuse to reflect on the day.  I probably don’t really need a resolution for this. It’s ingrained in my nature. But what the hell, at least this is one resolution I will keep even if I can’t remember it.

Mercurious: “That’s fine. Just as long as you pick up the dog shit when you walk the beast.”

Dr. Golf:  "Say what?"

Professor: “#4.  To find joy in the problems of humanity.  We know that people's imperfections are often the things that make them most lovable.  My mom has always had a special bond with my diabetic brother; the kid who has to work hardest on an exam elicits our sympathy and good feelings intuitively.  Could we take this idea and apply it to humanity? Lord knows that Syria, the Duck Dynasty and Congress have all exposed the weaknesses of humanity to us, as one silliness leads to another and one conflict breeds two more.  I want to find a way that the imperfections of what we collectively refer to as "humanity" can become as lovable as the imperfections of those individuals closest to us (as I mentioned above, my son is a Jets fan, Lord love him!)”

Mercurious: “Most excellently stated, Professor. I’m jealous that you phrased this so romantically, as I don’t think of you as a touchy-feely fellow, generally. Extending this a little bit in my own direction, at #4  I’ll resolve to make my favorite Joseph Campbell principle a little more central in my life:  “Cheerfully embrace all the joys and sorrows that life has to offer.”

Mathematician: “I don’t want to spoil this love fest, so I will grudgingly agree to embrace both life’s joy and sorrow.  But I am suspicious of this one.  Some imperfections are downright unlovable.  I will not snoodle Hannibal Lecter .”

Mercurious: “Nien, my good Mathematician. We’re not talking evil here, just normal human failings. Recognizing those failings is the source of all human compassion, and sure you and Socrates wouldn’t piss on that virtue. The Professor had it exactly right here.”

Professor:  “I get all tingly when you approve of me, Mercurious.  So let’s stay on the roll.  At #3:  To keep score.  Many people refer to "keeping score" in a negative way, and it can be, if it prevents you from enjoying the "game."  But on the other hand (as I learned while coaching grade school basketball years ago when one well-meaning coach successfully proposed eliminating the scoreboard) the game tends to be less fun if no one is keeping score.  And besides, even when one claims they're not keeping score, they really are.

The Professor, seeking to accumulate
even more merit points. 

“Same goes for personal relationships.  The "score" doesn't have to even out at the end of the day (or even at the end of the year.)  But a general sense of where you stand in a relationship (whether you are in "debit" or "credit") is a useful tool as you continue forward into a new year.  If you are in debit, it helps you generate the appropriate gratitude for the special relationship, and the energy to give as much as you can to the relationship in the future; if you are in "credit" it just plain makes you feel good, which leads to more generosity.  Keep score, by all means (but keep score carefully—and keep it to yourself.)”

Mercurious:  “Well there’s a uniquely Professorial resolution, if I ever heard one. At #3 for me:  I resolve to live with more softness and vulnerability. There was a time that I tended to live very defensively, a little angrily, even, and I occasionally lapse back into that, unfortunately. But each time I wake up again, I’ve always found that there’s really great merit to staying in touch with one’s basic pain of living, and not trying to defend against it.”

Mathematician: “Since I love statistics, I definitely defend keeping score.  Without ‘knowing the score’, it becomes really hard to adapt.  And since living is changing, I’d rather be measured in my reactions and use the score to guide my choices.  The problem, of course, is that statistics can lie.  Losers often think they are winning.  And the tallies I keep to myself don’t gain me any points with my spouse.  So I guess I’ll go with softness and vulnerability.  The vulnerable Mathematician shall I be.

Dr. Golf:  "What were we talking about?"

Professor; “2.  To stay out of touch.  With Skype, e-mail and cell phones at our disposal, the old cliché request to "keep in touch" has taken on new meaning.  While I find emerging communications technology to be astounding, I do wonder sometimes if I really want to be as "in touch" as technology allows me to be.  Many of my College students are "in touch" with their parents on a daily basis.  My New Year’s wish for many with whom I am in touch: live life fully, and when next we meet (and I mean "meet" as in being in the same room together) we can share some great stories accompanied by some high quality beverages (see 7 above.)  Being constantly in touch can steal the thunder of experiences that—much like fine wines—improve with a bit of time and yeasty "fermentation" that turns experience into stories of distinct color and insight.”

Mercurious:  “I’ll just join you wholeheartedly on this one, Professor, if you don’t mind. It’s a great irony to me that people who are constantly in electronic contact seem to have far less intimacy than the people who take your great good advice to stay unconnected at the right times.”

Mathematician: “Uh…ditto.  And may twitter find a well deserved early grave.”

Dr. Golf: "I guess if I were going to weigh in...."

Professor: “1.  To be old at heart.  The headline in the local paper will read: "85 Years Young!!"  As the famous 70's philosopher Mr. T might say: "I pity the fool."  Just as kids should be allowed to be kids, there is absolutely nothing wrong with acknowledging your age—even if (especially if) it is somewhat advanced.  Let's face it: we know more than we used to, we have (hopefully) learned some things the hard way.  We've got our BA from the University of Hard Knocks (some stayed for graduate school.)  I'll try not to be a windbag (as my fellow geezers know, there is small chance of that happening!) but I will look for opportunities to share my hard-earned geezer perspective.  (Examples: "That's better than a sharp stick in the eye",   "if you get into a contest of strength with a horse, the horse will win every time"…things like that….)

Mercurious:  “Interesting perspective, Professor. I take your point; I find nothing sadder than the

The Geezers, embracing their well-earned decrepitude.

folks who seem terrified by growing older, who take every measure to hide the fact, acting like teenagers when they’re 70 years old. A tangential geezer we both know professes to long for the day when humans will live youthfully for 200 years.  Not me, I have to tell you. Can you imagine anything more unpleasant than a society that had no need for the fresh renewal offered by new generations?  So at #1 for me: I resolve to remember, as Wordsworth said, that “the child is the father to the man,” and not take my geezerhood too seriously, even while I embrace it.”

Mathematician: “ Hmm.  If this is my number one resolution for 2014, embracing my Geezerhood doesn’t feel like the right thing.  Not that I fear death.  And I certainly don’t deny my advancing age by acting like a teenager.  But since my Atheist self doesn’t look for my reward in the hereafter, I must instead come to grips with my mortality in a different way.  I don’t expect to become famous, so I can’t expect to be immortalized like Shakespeare or Kardashian.  I guess I will resolve to find peace in the arms of my children and my father. I will write more about him, and me and them without the self-consciousness that can so easily block expression.  I will remember him to them and in that way bring him (and me) at least some measure of immortality.  Our family name may not live as long as some others, but it will find life for a few more generations.  That should be good enough.  And maybe I won’t notice the awful smell at the nursing home so much if I’m distracted by such noble thoughts.

Mercurious: A very fine way to end things, I think. Thank you Geezers, one and all.

Dr. Golf:  "What?"

Spring is Coming. Really.

As has been true for the last week, it was pretty cold this morning in Minneapolis. My car started, but reluctantly. But by late morning when I had to head to an off-site meeting from the office, I noticed that it had warmed up noticeably.

Here's what the dashboard thermometer looked like at 11:00 am in Parking Ramp C, after the cold of early morning eased: