I called myself a nincompoop this morning.
What am I to do? I mean, I know I have a problem. It's the most fundamental aspect of my personality—my childlike-ishness.
I live life through the eyes of my nine-year-old self. Well, from nine to seventeen. I don't have to get in touch with my inner child, I AM my inner child.
And it appears I just cannot adapt to the fact that I'm an old man.
I console myself with the fact that I still think like a young man.
Until something like nincompoop happens.
I mean, that is an old man's insult. Okay? No person under sixty uses that word. The minute I heard it in my mind, I cringed. And I was riding a bicycle at the time.
I wish I could say that this is the only example of getting a love tap from my age.
There are others. When I was thirteen, I was lectured by my grade school principal about wearing bell bottom jeans to school. I swore I would never be so OLD that I objected to any fashion trend—then found myself decrying the pants falling off with boxers underneath thang. It's a look.
I tell myself my tastes in music make me young at heart. My favorite band is Rage Against the Machine! I think that says a lot. And I used to listen to heavy metal all the time. Think Coal Chamber and "Mi Loco". And I'd listen to that shit while writing.
The other day…I found myself typing "Classical Music" into YouTube and selecting a three-hour collection of Mozart.
Why is this such a shock to me? Is it just the immature little mentality that occupies my consciousness that keeps me from dialing in the me that is old. They say you're only as old as you feel/think/live.
I confess—I feel old. A lot of the time! Weird aches and pains. A general slide in terms of the workouts I can handle on the bike. Like the bhagwan says: "Those telomeres aren't gettin' any longer…"
Still, that's just my body talkin'. And if I'm on hunny real…I don't have any more pain than I've had throughout my life. I've had a lot of accidents! Okay? Four automobile accidents, in one life! All with the vehicle in a totaled condition. Couple I'm lucky to have survived…
I really am at a loss about what to do about nincompoop. I even knew how to spell it. That's only further indictment of my disintegrating mentality. I bet there's a whole array of old man insults, just waiting to become active, taking over my muthuphuckers and dickheads. My momma taught me how to swear. I'll never forget the time in sixth grade where I said the word 'crap' out loud in class and almost got sent to the principal's office. I was allowed to say everything but 'fuck' from the time I was ten.
I do have a pretty robust self-regulating system when it comes to the spoken word. I automatically cut out the f-bombs and related expletives when in the company of the more conservative crowd. I don't think that's what's at work here. I don't know what's going on, if I start calling motorists 'knucklehead' and trump supporters 'scalawags', I'm gonna cry. KIDDING! Well, not really…