My Life As A Hobby

  I’m standing by my chair, waiting for a senior yoga class to begin. That’s because I am a senior, and someone convinced me that bending myself out of shape for an hour would make me feel better. I think it’s a lie, but I don’t have any evidence to prove it. However, a lot of people do believe it helps, because every week several dozen seasoned citizens walk into the YMCA, grab a chair, then twist, turn, stretch and bob. And I’m here too, just one more hopeful member of the geriatric yoga group. I always was one to follow the crowd.  Before we began stretching and grunting, I struck up a conversation with a little old lady sitting next to me. Maybe I shouldn’t say old, because I’m old too.  However, I’m sure there are lots of people in this class who are several years my elder.  What a nice person my classmate Charlotte was.  We begin to talk about a number of things, including our grandchildren - because by law, that’s what older people have to do. That’...

  My wife Carol has been strongly suggesting (I call it nagging) that I visit my doctor and get the once over.  I told her that even though it’s been 6 months beyond my usual check-up time, I feel fine. She responded that I would never let my car go 6 months past its oil change date, even if it was running great. I hate it when she uses logic and common sense on me.   So after I made an appointment and checked in, a nurse escorted me to the exam room. The instant I walked through that door I smelled it: the tart, medicinal odor of isopropyl alcohol. My heart began to race, and a tense feeling came over me. That’s because this scent reminds me of my childhood visits to the doctor’s office. Usually, I was sick, which meant there was a good chance I was going to get a scary, painful injection.  And decades later, one whiff of that alcohol conjured up those same feelings of dread I had as a little kid.  It’s all in the nose.  Apparently, the section of the ...

Since I had knee surgery earlier this year, I’ve been looking for a low impact method of exercise.  Actually, my wife has been looking for me. My choice was no exercise - that’s low impact, right?  Of course, she  completely ignored my comments and promptly enrolled me in her water aerobics class at the YMCA.  I should've reported her to the DHR.  Whoever paired exercise with swimming pools should be forced to wear a Speedo that’s three sizes too small.  Pools are made for slothful activities like sunning on a lounge chair, or hanging on the side with an adult beverage in hand. Swimming laps or diving (unless it’s a cannon ball), should be against the law.  Nevertheless, I agreed to go to water aerobics because I could use this for leverage the next time I wanted to go on a golf trip. So in a couple of days, I walked in the Y, flashed my ID, and for the next hour, was SOL.  I changed, went outside, and was greeted by a swimming pool c...

I was talking to a friend‘s daughter at a high school football game.  When I asked her if they had any special Homecoming activities on tap after the final whistle blew, she said sweetly, “We are going to roll some yards. It’s a tradition.” I smiled and nodded.  Rolling yards was a regular part of my teen years too. I’m still quite immature, but I gave up rolling yards a while back. Besides, after my shoulder surgery, I just don’t have the arm strength anymore.  The interesting thing about rolling yards and other forms of relatively harmless teen-age mischief, is that it was usually reserved for people we liked. I read an article about the psychology behind pranks, and some learned people  believe that their purpose is to socially connect and strengthen bonds with others. I can believe that. If someone rolls your yard, they are interested enough in you to take the time, energy, and risk to one-up you. The more destructive forms of tomfoolery, such as putting che...

  When my cell phone rang, the name on the screen flashed Paul Finebaum. This wasn't an unusual occurrence because I had been writing jokes for Paul to use at his many speaking engagements.   We also occasionally ate lunch together.   No death threats please - I like Paul. While I don’t always care for his schtick, I know he’s not like his radio persona.  For example, once during a conversation, I told him how much I liked Pat Conroy, the great southern author. A few weeks later, Paul called me and said, “I’ve got Conroy on the show tomorrow. Why don’t you come up and meet him?  You can talk to him during the commercial breaks.”  An act of kindness I’ve never forgotten.   I digress. Unusual call or not, my curiosity was piqued. I picked up my cell, and after some chit-chat, Finebaum told me why he phoned.  “You know about that charity roast of me coming up in a couple of weeks?”  Of course I knew. The airwaves had been hawking it for ov...