The Green Red Green (9 page)

On the drive home, your thoughts are not interrupted by any conversation or movement as the child sits quietly and stares out the window. About a block from your house, he puts a hand on your shoulder and thanks you for a great day and says, “Can’t wait to tell Mom about everything we did.” When you get in the door, the child regales your wife with stories of wolves, oil sandwiches, and throwing up in the bait pail. Your wife nods and smiles at the child, then quietly tells you she’ll never understand the attraction of fishing.

You find yourself leafing through a Disney World brochure.

I
have a friend in the real estate business, and he was telling me how popular condos are with retirees. He then proceeded to list all the things that people no longer want in a home, which ended up being a pretty accurate description of the house I currently own.

Now, I know the logical decision would be for me to sell my house immediately at a huge loss and go and live in a condo with other people who have done the same thing, and then we could all get together on Saturday nights and reminisce about the good old days when we had backyards and garages. But I’m not going to do that.

There are two things I don’t like about trends. First, trends are like breezes—they have to keep moving to exist. So once you start following trends, you’re pretty much committing to a life on the road. Second, trends are for the sole purpose of making money. I’d rather eke out a living doing something I enjoy than make a fortune doing something I hate.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to make a fortune doing something I enjoy. But that won’t be a trend—it’ll be a miracle.

(Cut this out and carry it in your car)

A
lot of people are working too hard these days. Here are some danger signs to watch for:

I
t’s human nature to compare ourselves with others, but sometimes as we get older, we need to look outside our own circle—or even species—in order to feel that we haven’t done badly. Take, for example, the sea turtle. It can live for a hundred years and yet its only accomplishment of any significance is laying eggs in the sand. You do that every month in the boardroom and you probably won’t make it past seventy-five. Or look at those giant redwood sequoia trees, or whatever they’re called. Some are more than two thousand years old, and they’re famous because people drive through them. Well, you let people walk all over you and you’re only forty-seven. So I say you’re doing just fine. Maybe if you lived to be two hundred we could expect more, but let’s not wish for too much of a good thing.

I
was in a golf tournament recently and I couldn’t help noticing that the young lady in the refreshment cart was significantly underdressed. I’m not complaining. I’m just saying I didn’t know
where to look. Well, actually I did know where to look—I just didn’t think I could get away with it.

I understand that people dress that way to attract the attention of members of the opposite sex, especially in their own age group. But this was a golf tournament made up mostly of old guys like me, so I figure her outfit was mainly a marketing ploy. And it was working. She was doing a brisk business and her tip jar was just one more thing about her that was full to overflowing. There were no victims here, so I decided to feel good about it. I elected to treat it as a medical checkup. If I could look at a beautiful young woman and have an emotional response, that would mean my body is still working. And if I could do that without in any way thinking she might find me attractive, that would mean my brain must be okay too.

I
’m a great believer in maintaining a balance in the types of friends you cultivate. If you’re a middle-aged married guy, it’s important to hang out with an old married guy and a young engaged guy. That way, you’re ready to deal with every personal scenario. When you’re feeling confused and troubled, you can talk to the old guy and find out that he’s just as confused and troubled as you are, which means it obviously won’t kill you. And when you’re feeling successful and omnipotent, you can go and play squash with the young guy.

N
owadays, cars have really fancy streamlined bodies. Although anything you can afford will have a big, boxy, and ugly body. (I’ll resist the temptation to point out the similarities to you personally.)

Of course, streamlining isn’t new. We had streamlining back when I was a teenager. In fact, racing cars were really streamlined, with lightweight aluminum bodies that looked like this …

Unfortunately, your car doesn’t look like that. It’s not made of aluminum—it’s made of rust. And it looks like this …

But now you too can have a streamlined, racy-looking car. All you need to do is take that fourteen-foot aluminum boat you accidentally drove over the rocks last summer …

Then remove all the metal body parts from your car. (Don’t discard these, because I’m sure you’ll think of some great project you can use them for, like a walk-in closet or a spare bedroom.)

Next, take the boat and remove the outboard motor, again saving it because you might be able to use it someday for something, or maybe the guy who owns the boat may figure out that you took it and want it back.

Now turn the boat over and mount it on the car frame like this:

Add paddles at the back for fins, and there you go. Your very own Puntiac. Or an Oldsmoboat.

Now I actually took this a bit further, because when I removed some of the body panels, the engine fell out. So I took the outboard motor and mounted it on the back like this:

Then I duct-taped it in place, removed the prop and turned it into a hood ornament, and attached paddles to the propeller shaft of the motor. This car is now my biggest fan.