Pet peeve:
Old people who, even when all others in the room give evidence and testimony to the contrary, believe “it’s cold in here,” and then turn the thermostat to an ungodly 80-plus degrees, making all others endure nauseating temperatures.
I am an old person and, as such, it’s really not required to be oblivious to the comfort of others. When I’m the only one who’s cold, I bundle up. I try to adjust, rather than requiring that everyone else adjust to me.
That’s all.

Why does TV hate old people when old people love TV so much. I know that there is Matlock and Judge Judy, but really TV? Why would you give old people Flashforward and V? Old people are still pissed that Bob Barker retired! That was the ultimate “game-changer” for them. Why would you give them a show with aliens in human skin. And why would you make the ultimate punishment for those aliens to be skinned (see V Ep104, yes, I have beenwatching it)? Seriously? “You are a traitor! Skin him!” “Oh, good! I’ve been wanting to shed this cloned human flesh for months! Why are we wearing it in the spaceship where we have NO CONTACT WITH THE HUMANS here???”

But, I digress…

TV hates old people and my evidence is very simple. Old people can’t work the remote. You can show them where the channel button is, you can say, there are only three buttons you need; Power (this turns it on and off), Channel up and Channel down (this will allow you to surf for Matlock and Dancing with the Stars), and you come back 5 minutes later to them weeping. “What does HDMI2 mean? Input? Why is it all fuzzy? Your cable/satellite is messed up.”

No, grandpa, it’s you. You are all messed up.

Why did you touch the settings button? “I thought it would put on my program…” No, but it did screw up the settings that I spent days tweaking.

Why did you reset all of my preset channels?

Why did you change the inputs? Did you rewire the cable box?

Just leave the poor TV alone.

It hates you.

The world population, at leat in the West, is growing old. And it is not only an economical problem of paying rents in some future, but also a problem of attitude towards the elderly (under this term I mean people over 70, in developed countries). Since my father is 60 now I can see he is far too healthy and dynamic to call him elderly, so I think it is 70 when a person is getting weak and needs more support. The age may vary from country to country though.

Since ages the elderly had been respected and taken care of. That was one of the basic laws of live. Presently I can see a huge shift in the attitude of a younger generation.

1. Due to the new technologies which young people are so good at, there is a huge gap between those who use them and those who are not. It is like living on another planet, literally. Any knowledge/information is so easily accessible that we don’t need many years to learn things. Often a short Internet check gives loads of information and a good insight into a subject. Basically there is an illusive  feeling they can’t lean anything from the elderly and there is no interest in communication on the side of younger generations. As for human relations, some aging people are indeed become wiser, and some grow into frustrated, moaning persons who are not inspiring to take after…

2. Taking care of old parents/relatives is being shifted towards some services and home for elderly. It is not any more common (at least in Europe) to nurse them at home till their last breath. For many people it seems to be a good solution to pay somebody else for taking care of their weak parents. In fact, that shocked me when I first learned about this new trend, coming from Russia to Austria 12 years back. That is how they depict it in a US source: “Few people gleefully anticipate the task of caring for an aging parent—but plenty seem to deny that it’s coming. Sooner or later, avoidance can thrust adult children into the caregiver role with a shotgun start. A parent’s slip in the bathroom or a collision caused by a mistake in the driver’s seat can precipitate a deluge of anguished decisions and rapid changes you’re not ready to handle. Suddenly, you could be scrambling to locate account numbers to pay Mom’s bills while she’s in the hospital, tangling with her insurance company to figure out why coverage for an X-ray was denied, and consulting with your brother—who lives three states away—about getting Mom into an assisted-living facility. You grapple with guilt because your mother never wanted to move out of her home, but now her condition leaves little choice. As the drama plays out, you’re also trying to stay afloat at work and look after your other dependents, the kids.”

I don’t really know any solution for this problem, especially on a global level. I feel it would be good if the elderly (whose who are not too weak to stay inside) would be more integrated into the modern life. I wonder what you think of it?

And what do you think we can do about it?

 thanks, and check this post soon again for the analysis of the poll results!

P.S: some links on the topic that may be interesting: Living with the Elderly.

LOVE; axinia

(image by me)

dayswithmyfather.com

Phillip Toledano’s photo journal documenting the last days he has with his father. Its really beautiful. I went through the whole thing mesmerized, and I was really touched.

Did you know that I don’t know anyone over 60 as more than an acquaintance? My father’s parents died before I was born, and I had only two left growing up. My grandmother died when I was young, and I really dislike my grandfather, hated him for a really long time. And he can’t speak English. So I really have never known anyone over 60 closely, and looking through Toledano’s website has given me a glimpse into what it would be like, and I wish (once again) that my father’s parents -the English educated, professor ones -were still alive. But you can’t change some things.

Now that she’s back in the atmosphere

With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey

She acts like summer and walks like rain

Reminds me that there’s time to change, hey, hey

Since the return from her stay on the moon

She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey

Tell me did you sail across the sun

Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded

And that heaven is overrated

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star

One without a permanent scar

And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there

I was truly shocked tonight when I turned on Channel Four and seen a program called “Ten years younger: Bus Pass Challenge”. I often watch the original ten years younger as some of the results you see are amazing. However, I found it hard to believe that this program was actually going to show an O.A.P receiving all kinds of plastic surgery in order to make themselves appear younger. Well, I was right as this is exactly what was happening. The show featured two older ladies, 64-year-old Marie and 72-year-old Betty who were both unhappy with their appearance. A lifetime of sun-worshipping without wearing protection, along with smoking around 140 cigarettes a week had left Marie with skin like leather and a face with more crinkles than a pack of McCoys. Betty on the other hand was just looking for a bit of a make-over and a few fashion tips.

Marie received eye bag removal, a face peel, a face lift, a nose job and a set of sparkling new veneers. I may have missed a few procedures, however there’s only so many images of sawing, burning, pulling and bleaching I can look at without feeling sick. Whilst Marie was going through this hell, Betty was enjoying a new haircut and a new wardrobe. The end results in both cases were very impressive. They both looked at least 15 years younger than they had done before the miracle team had worked their magic. However, who actually wants a granny who has teeth brighter than those of Tom Cruise or a forehead which lacks the ability to frown. Nothing gives me a giggle more then when my granny sees me before a night on the town and her face says it all. So I for one would think my granny had lost her head if she suggested any kind of plastic surgery.

Elderly UK consumers are increasingly choosing to have cosmetic surgery, a leading private healthcare company has claimed. According to Dr Sneh Khemka of Bupa, the most popular procedure among patients over the age of 60 is bletheroplasty, which is chosen by around 30 per cent of elderly patients. “Bletheroplasty is a reduction of the saggy eyelids people get at the bottom of the eyes,” Dr Khemka explained. Around 28 per cent of patients opt for facelifts, while female breast reduction (eight per cent) and tummy tucks (six per cent) are also popular, the associate medical director revealed. (Private Healthcare UK). These figures astonish me. How many men and women with a bus pass are contemplating plastic surgery?

I believe that we should all grow old gracefully. A healthy diet, some gentle exercise and in general looking after your body is all you need to have a happy retirement. The only exception is if someone requires reconstructive surgery, perhaps after an accident or the removal of a breast following surgery etc. In general I think we are becoming far too obsessed with the way we look and the way we think we should look. I can accept young people having boob jobs or nose jobs or whatever takes their fancy as it is becoming more popular. . However, I urge all the grannies out there to stay put. We love you the way you are, whether you are carrying a bit of weight, have a head full of greys or have to take your false teeth out every night before bed. You are the nice cuddly grannies we have grown to love! So if you feel the need to spruce yourself up a bit, then take Betty’s advice and head down to Boots in the direction of the make-up counter.

Donatella Versace- Old and beautiful? You decide!

Friday morning I am off on a very brief holiday to the ‘West Country‘.

My intinery:

• 1 day in Torquay
• 1 day at the Eden Project
• 1 day at Bath for the Christmas markets on the way back

And the best thing about it?

I’m going by coach

A coach full of old people

Yep this is a bone fide Old Person Holiday.  I’m accompanying my Aunt on this trip – she isn’t a pensioner by the way, she just thought this holiday was a bargain (and indeed it is – £130 inc travel, 2 nights bed breakfast & dinner in a hotel plus admission to Eden Project!).

I’ve never been away on a genuine old person holiday before, with a pile of old folk, and I don’t really know what to expect.   (Debauchery?  Decadence? Dominos?)

Anyway, I’m really looking forward to this trip – it’ll be great to have a break, and the bonus of travelling with a whole pile of elderly folk: there is no chance of us running out of travel sweets on the journey down…

My father never drove a car. Well, that’s not quite right. I should say I never saw him drive a car. He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.

“In those days,” he told me when he was in his 90s, “to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it.” At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in: “Oh, bull—-!” she said. “He hit a horse.”

“Well,” my father said, “there was that, too.”

So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars — the Kollingses next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford — but we had none.

My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines, would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.

My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we’d ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. “No one in the family drives,” my mother would explain, and that was that.

But, sometimes, my father would say, “But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we’ll get one.” It was as if he wasn’t sure which one of us would turn 16 first.

But, sure enough , my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown.

It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn’t drive, it more or less became my brother’s car.

Having a car but not being able to drive didn’t bother my father, but it didn’t make sense to my mother. So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father’s idea. “Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?” I remember him saying more than once.

For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps — though they seldom left the city limits — and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.
Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn’t seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage.
(Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.)
He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St. Augustin’s Church. She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish’s two priests was on duty that morning.

If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home. If it was the assistant pastor, he’d take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church. He called the priests “Father Fast” and “Father Slow.”

After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he’d sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. In the evening, then, when I’d stop by, he’d explain: “The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored.” If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out — and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream.

As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, “Do you want to know the secret of a long life?”

“I guess so,” I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.
“No left turns,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“No left turns,” he repeated. “Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic. As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn.”

“What?” I said again.

“No left turns,” he said… “Think about it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that’s a lot safer. So we always make three rights.”

“You’re kidding!” I said, and I turned to my mother for support.

“No,” she said, “your father is right. We make three rights. It works.”

But then she added: “Except when your father loses count.”

I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing.

“Loses count?” I asked.
“Yes,” my father admitted, “that sometimes happens. But it’s not a problem. You just make seven rights, and you’re okay again.”

I couldn’t resist. “Do you ever go for 11?” I asked.

“No,” he said ” If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can’t be put off another day or another week.”

My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving.. That was in 1999, when she was 90. She lived four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102.

They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom — the house had never had one. (My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.)

He continued to walk daily — he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he’d fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising — and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died.

One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news.

A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, “You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred.” At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, “You know, I’m probably not going to live much longer.”

“You’re probably right,” I said.

“Why would you say that?” He countered, somewhat irritated.

“Because you’re 102 years old,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “you’re right.” He stayed in bed all the next day.

That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night. He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said: “I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet.”

An hour or so later, he spoke his last words:

“I want you to know,” he said, clearly and lucidly, “that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have.”

A short time later, he died.

I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I’ve wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long. I can’t figure out if it was because he walked through life, or because he quit taking left turns. Life is too short to wake up with regrets. So love the people who treat you right. Forget about the one’s who don’t. Believe everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, take it. & if it changes your life, let it. Nobody said life would be easy, they just promised it would most likely be worth it.”

So in september I went to this store  the Rage, in the kensington market (www.ragetoronto.ca)

and a month later they gave me a bunch of fabric to do my prints on.
A month after that I actually did print the fabric, and now tomorrow I’m bringing them the prints and hopefully bringing back a wad of cash.
I’m so professional.

But, I’m excited, and am pretty happy about some of the prints, which are now too packaged to take pictures of and post on the internet.

And I forgot to mention that I made one final Impossible Speed order for 2009 and it’ll hopefully be coming in before december.
Anyways,
That’s what I did today, and thats what I’m going to do tomorrow.

in glowing shopping centres

at the supermarket
being young happy couples
man and man

do they know that
this is just
the first time
they’ll do this?

Do they imagine
it will always be
the same
always with
each other?

Can they imagine
that one day they
might have to go down
a different aisle
with another guy
who might hate celery juice
but love added bran?

I’m sure they
don’t imagine old.
They don’t imagine
being the old guy
facing them from
outside by the flickering
charity Christmas tree.
That’s me.
Too tired tonight
to help choose
what we pick up
by habit every time.

I found one eventually
who loved to shop
loved the aisles
hated juice and bran.

I watch him
and them in
the checkout queue.

Many young men
are beautiful,
more still think
they are.

He is beautiful.
And still
a boyish smile.

A madman who says
my name is Norman
drifts in and out.
I will explain it
he says, no ok I
will sing it then.

Yes, they still hate us . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5EQGHwMd9A

Yes, another real commercial.

[embed]http://www.flickr.com/photos/malingering/321098324/[/embed]
Any picture that contains the words “jeans resting on her mons pubis” is a total win for me. “Mons pubis” by itself is good enough. Evokes the same giddy-yet-trying-to-act-cool feeling you got in 7th grade health class. Oh, the joy of technical terms. SCROTUM.

I remember when I was like 7 years old, playing Super Mario Bros. 3, and as I ducked down behind the bush in level 3 of World 1 to get the magical warp whistle, I said to my friend, “I wonder what video games will look like in the future.” And he said something like, “I bet they’ll look like real people.” At the time, it really just seemed like a pipe dream; like, when video games looked like that, there would be a robotic chauffeur driving me around in a flying car. But with an unimaginable rapidity, less than 15 years later I’m sitting here playing X-Box 360, and it looks like real people! Who would have thought? Not many.

Gordon Moore

There’s a famous 1980s computer quote, purportedly by Bill Gates (though he aggressively denies it) that “640K ought to be enough for anybody.” Regardless of who it was that foolishly made this comment, they didn’t take into account Gordon Moore’s 1965 prediction which, in so many words, states that computer processing power will double every 18 months. Almost 45 years later now, ‘Moore’s Law‘ holds very closely to the original prediction. Interestingly, the exponential growth in the number of transistors able to fit on a computer chip, from thousands in the ’60s to billions presently, has really been the driving force behind most technological advances and innovations.

We, being those that grew up as part of generation Y, who developed as human beings as the personal computer developed, seem to be analogously adapting to the changes with no problem. Also, our older, generation X counterparts are quite up-to-date with the current technology as well and it seems like they too have not really had any problems with the technological assimilation. I think the main reason is that technology has increasingly become the standard in both school and work: emailing stuff rather than wasting both money and paper on printing, PowerPoint for presentations, using the internet for research, and so on. Similarly, utilizing technology is becoming more and more relevant in our everyday lives: there’s a website for everything, phones are starting to double as computers, and the other day I flashed a bus driver a text-message sent to me from Bolt Bus that counted as my ticket.

It really has had and does have a fascinating affect on our lives.

A couple months ago, I was sitting in my room and a friend, who was looking at his computer, said to me, “Wow, only old people send emails.” I didn’t really get it at first, but after thinking about it, it almost made my head explode. I’ve never heard anyone say that before, but it’s so true! What’s amazing about the comment is that, compared to a couple years ago, it would have sounded so futuristic. But with quickly changing technology, our preferred mediums of communication are changing quickly too. It went from emails to instant messaging to texting and now a huge combination of everything, all available through mobile devices.

It’s really a great sign, however, that ‘old people’ are using email. A large portion of the baby boomer population has historically been very hesitant to use emerging technologies and I think it’s because they are already behind. It was at first as if they didn’t trust it. For instance, my mother used to print out Mapquest directions when she first got her GPS just in case anything went wrong. But she’s learned it’s okay to not only trust technology, but also to take advantage of it because it can make your life significantly easier.

Now, I talk to my mom and dad through emails all the time. I sometimes find my grandfather, a fellow night owl, chatting with me on AIM at 3am. My friend’s parents are my Facebook friends. I had a text message conversation the other day with a friend’s father that was giving me career advice.

I think that, despite those people who still somehow don’t know how to use a computer (who obviously haven’t made any attempt at it), the baby boomer generation is really eager to learn, utilize, and benefit from improving technologies. And, I too, am excited to see what’s to come.

God, I fucking hate people who hang out at the OTB.

Hey, guys – notice who’s not there?

WINNERS. RICH PEOPLE. PEOPLE WHO ARE SMILING AND LAUGHING AND HAPPY.

Oh.

AND WOMEN.

Holy Secretariat’s nutsack, people. Look at yourselves. Your faces look like weathered baseball mitts and Jack O’Lanterns in late November. The average age inside any OTB is somewhere between 59 and deathbed. When I walk by the OTB in my neighborhood, to do something productive like drop a Netflix in the mailbox or buy some scotch, I have to wade through a sea of depleted humanity that’s like swimming against a tidal wave. Why are there so many of you? How do you organize? Do you really think that trifecta at Pimlico is going to come through? When did you go from looking at the actual numbers to just picking horses by name? 1989? 1990? You are failing. It’s not working. It’s fun when you have money to waste on a horse because the name reminds you of your ex-wife, and you have plenty of scratch to blow. But when it’s your unemployment check? You should save the money you’re going to burn and walk down the street a few steps. Buy a sandwich and some coffee, and maybe a paper. Look at the job listings. Good fucking lord.

There was a 30 for 30 documentary on ESPN recently about Jimmy the Greek. Aside from his football prognostications, he was quite the pony player. But at some point, he basically says that anybody who thinks they have a system to win at the track is lying, because it’s too unpredictable.

Does that make any sense? Does that hit home? A guy named JIMMY THE FUCKING GREEK, who was so good at predicting the outcome of future endeavors that CBS hired him and PUT HIM ON TV EVERY GODDAMN SUNDAY TO TALK ABOUT THE COUNTRY’S MOST POPULAR SPORT WITH A FORMER MISS AMERICA, BASED MOSTLY ON THE FACT THAT HE WAS GOOD ENOUGH TO GET AWAY WITH A NAME LIKE ‘JIMMY THE GREEK,’ said flat-out that playing the ponies is a pointless pursuit.

But it’s addicting. Sure, I get that. I imbibe in many addictive activities. But let’s look at your company: see any members of the opposite sex around? When was the last time a woman with an address and a checking account wandered into the OTB? I’m going to say … never.

I know you don’t have many options. Some sort of big payday seems enticing. Fine. But you’re not playing the odds – the odds are playing you.

Wait, I take that back – the odds are fucking you in the ass.

The following article is from a blog on LCMS Young Adult Ministry’s site, and it really made me think about the Senior Conference I went to Tuesday with some of our OWLs (Older, Wiser Lutherans in Service) on Aging in Hope.

One Reason NOT to Have a Young Adult Ministry
Pastor Jeff Cloeter

My ministry takes me into circles of people who would be described as young adults.  When the conversation is about the NBC comedy “The Office,” these are some excerpts:  “Hilarious.”  “I want Dwight’s ‘Howl at the Moon’ T-shirt.”  “Can you believe Jim and Pam finally got married?”  When conversation is about marriage, these are some excerpts:  “I want to get married, but he doesn’t want to commit.”  “I want to get married, but just not yet.”  “I never want to get married.”

When conversation is about the church, these are some excerpts from young adults:  “Our church does things the way they’ve always been done.”  “Our church doesn’t care about young people.”  “The Baby Boomers are messing everything up.”  “My church is just so old.”  Without commenting on the validity (or falsity) of these statements, one temptation in the church is to pit generation against generation.  There are multiple reasons to have a specified “young adult” ministry.   And there are reasons not to have one.  One reason NOT to have one (or at least think through why you have one) is that young adults need “old people.”

Last month, I wrote that we need more young adults in leadership positions, and that our church leadership is overwhelming “old.”  This month, I contend that young adults dare not segregate themselves from other generations.  In particular, in forming a “young adult ghetto” you handicap yourself with a lack of wisdom and experience.  Our reaction to an aging and declining church is often to abandon wisdom and experience.  In a room full of 20-somethings, you will have energy, creative thinking, idealistic proposals . . . and a lot of bad ideas.
Here are a few reasons why intentional multi-generational interaction is a necessary part of the church.

Learning the faith.    The imonk, Michael Spencer on his Sept. 30th blog post writes: “I’m watching a father bring his 5 year old to mass, take his hand and dip it in the water, make the cross for him, then take him to his seat and show him how to genuflect. … I am especially impressed with how a small child and an 80 year old man are functioning within the same world of thought, ritual and understanding. … I see evangelicals doing less and less that will hold anyone in the faith into their 80s. If I were 80, I wouldn’t go near 99% of evangelical churches.”

Deuteronomy 6:7 shows us that love for Yahweh is not taught in youthful isolation, cool Gen X ministries, or candle-laden emerging worship experiences propagated by 20-something hipsters.  It is taught within the life of God’s people “when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise.”  Discipleship means that someone with more wisdom and experience pours their knowledge into you.  By its nature, discipleship demands the presence of multiple generations.

Each Has What Others Need.  A properly functioning body needs the participation of each member.  Each offers something that others need.  No part is completely autonomous.  Young adults are great, but if that’s all you’ve got, it’s like having a bunch of thumbs.  You need a thumb to grab objects, but if all you have are thumbs you’ll never grab anything.  Read I Corinthians 12.

Caring for those who have need.  If a mantra in Scripture is to care for the “the fatherless, and the widow,” (Deut. 10:18) it would be a good idea to actually do that.  Go shopping with a widow.  Visit a fellow member who is home bound.  Ask a veteran to tell you stories.  For that matter, baby-sit for a couple with young children.  Teach Sunday school.  Help with your church’s youth ministry.  Children and the elderly share a common vulnerability.  They are dependent and often lack a voice in society.  God has a special place in his heart for such as these.  A highly mobile, educated, healthy demographic of young adults will not know what service, care, and sacrifice are unless they are in proximity to those who have need.

You will be an “old person” some day.  Quickly realize that every 80 year old was once 23.  The only thing that separates you is time.  Value one another as fellow members, not as “old” or “young,” “infirm” or “healthy.”  This gives one a humble perspective of a very big church that has outlasted nations and dynasties.

Having said all this, I realize that many of you are coming from congregations with more wheelchairs and walkers than people under 30.  You feel you have no place.  You may have a very good reason to complain and seek to get away from all the people who are your parents’ age (and older).  But this also might be the perfect venue to start a young adult ministry.  There are appropriate times to gather only young adults.  But you also must figure out how “old people” (and the very young) can be an asset, and not an obstacle.  Hopefully resources on this website can assist your aging congregation to know how they can support you and other young adults.  If this generational understanding can be part of the fabric of the church, we will be blessed and the mission will be furthered.  Today’s young adult ministry will be the Ladies Aid and Men’s Club of 2070.  May those “old people” continue to love, support, and mentor the church in their time.

So many new and wonderful things have been happening yet I have not had the time to write about them. I will just list a few of them so that you can all catch up with me:

1. I started clinicals! It has been…interesting. I have to wake up super early which is a bummer but I always feel really good about myself after I leave the nursing home; it makes me happy to make other people happy, especially cute old people:)

2. Jenni’s lil’ love is finally here! He is the sweetest little baby boy in the world (along with my nephew, of course)  and I am so happy for her and her hubby! Congratulations Jen!

3. It is almost Thanksgiving, which is my favorite holiday!

4. This weekend I get to hang out with the best friend while we go to my sister’s house to work on her project! I am so stoked because I haven’t seen her in a while and we will get to spend most of the day together (it is a long drive Kim)!

5. Last but not least, it is finally here tomorrow…I think you know what it is…oh yes! New Moon. I am going to the midnight showing and I am pretty stoked. It should be amazing.

I hope that everyone is having a great week!

Crowds go
shambling through the shop
groaning, grunting, sighing
like the soundtracks
to old porn films
added later
hot, tired, listlessly
putting it on.

I love those films
men chosen for
a sexiness
big dick of course
but imperfect
corny plots, variable
erections, clumsiness
and raunchiness.

Honest in the moment
if you turn the volume down.
Honesty in two moments
if you don’t.

Still, in the shop
an unsexy crowd
though my smile
gets some smiles
back unforced.

And then
from one grandfather,
cardigan buttoned up
and polyester pants
and long loose balls
lank thick dick
so past pornography,
thin old man legs
and folded arms, a frown
which opens to a grin,
pleased that I looked
below his belt,
a
shy hello
going by.

Alcohol Misuse Among the Elderly: An Opportunity for Prevention, Sarah Mathews, David W Oslin. The American Journal of Psychiatry. Oct 2009. Vol. 166, Iss. 10; p. 1093 (3 pages)

Abstract:

Current census estimates predict that by the year 2020, 18% of the population will be 65 years or older. As most adults in this age group have health care needs, it is vital that clinicians are competent in identifying and intervening in the most common health issues among older adults. The arricie in this issue by Blazer and Wu (1) again reminds us that alcohol use, including binge drinking, is common among older adults and that despite popular culture, alcohol misuse does not disappear as one ages. As noted in the article, the findings are very consistent with other epidemiological literature. Blazer and Wu found that 13% of men and 8% of women reported at-risk chinking and that 14% of men and 3% of women reported binge drinking. This is not to suggest that many older drinkers have a diagnosis of alcohol dependence. However, identification and delivery of appropriate interventions focused on those with regular heavy use of alcohol and binge drinking provide an opportunity for clinicians to help improve overall health, promote independence, and reduce health care costs.

One of the strengths of the Blazer and Wu study is its large, diverse sample, which seems well representative of the population seen in outpatient primary care and mental health clin- ics. Including subjects ages 50-64 was helpful for comparison, as it showed drinking was greater in the younger group than in the older individuals. The study variables used to assess alcohol use for patients with low-risk, at-risk, and binge drinking were clinically appropriate, as they were set to detect those who might be most at risk for harm related to their drinking. One of the findings of great importance was that alcohol misuse in this population was a marker for other problems, including illicit drug use, tobacco use, and misuse of prescription medications. The data demonstrate differences between at-risk and binge drinkers across various demographic groups. For instance, the variables associated with men and women who reported binge drinking suggest that those at risk from each sex tended to be from different backgrounds. These associations can help target at-risk populations, but our overall goal is to screen all of our geriatric patients.

Lancashire Care staff can request the full-text of this paper, email: susan.jennings@lancashirecare.nhs.uk

You’re looking at my best friend Amanda and I. Our story is long, pretty hilarious, twisty, drunken, and chock-full of sexual innuendo.

She’s been around since my restraining order against her expired – and I haven’t been able to renew it since.

On this, the day of her twentieth birthday, I want to wish her nothing but the absolute best of everything, because well, she deserves no less. We have seen each other through all sorts of stormy-type life things and it’s always nice to know that she’ll always be around like Britney Spears is at Target.

We are friends because there aren’t many people out there who will inhale croissants and sip vodka with you for the sake of cheering you up. We are friends because most people won’t stand for public foolishness and other such inappropriate behaviour. We are friends because when we interrupt other people mid-sentence, like we do to each other, they just think we’re impolite. We are friends because when folks of the opposite sex prove themselves to be degenerate jerks – you’ve just got to vent to someone with some actual sense.

There are so many other reasons why she and I are friends – most of which are too dirty and sinister to publicize on the internet. The only thing I can say, truthfully, is that I love her very much. But, only as much as can be expressed in roughly 265 words.

So again, Happy Birthday, Amanda: The sister I never wanted, but never want to be without.