Curse Like A Retiree

A few months back, Time magazine had one of those feature boxes that are quick and entertaining reads. It shared some choice curse phrases from Jason Sacher’s book How to Swear Around the World. You’d have to be a holy roller not to laugh at them. My three favorites translated thusly: “You are stupid as a broom” (contributed by the French), “A fart to your beard” (a Persian specialty), and perhaps the strangest one—from Finland—“May you piss into a transformer.”

You just know where this post is heading. IMHO, if you’re going to curse at someone, you might as well be colorful and creative about it. I’m providing an array of new phrases to help you insult fellow retirees. They can also be used to offend people who are not yet retired, but probably should be.

When I was in high school, this insult was going around: “Your mother wears combat boots.” Those in on the game would reply: “She does not. She wears Army surplus sneakers.” This inspired my first retiree curse. “Your walking shoes use counterfeit Velcro.” The savvy wearer will reply: “They do not. I’m beta testing a new and improved version.”

The second phrase is a variation on a foreign localism my brother picked up in the late sixties. After his Army discharge, he crossed Northern Africa in a Volkswagon camper. When he came home, he challenged opinions not to his liking by shouting: “May a thousand camels beat a path across your front yard.” This was followed by drumming his hands loudly on the table. In that spirit, I give you: “May a caravan of out-of-control Jazzy scooters tear a path through your vegetable garden.” Vroom! Vroom!

The Persians inspired this next one. “May the fart you laid turn out not to be a fart after all on the very day you ran out of Depends.” Think about that one… Or maybe don’t.

Here’s one that heaps insult upon injury. “Your grandchildren are so dumb, they don’t even know how ugly they are.” You may want to step back a few yards as you hurl that one.

“The Smithsonian requisitioned your earwax for their collections” is a good start. For maximum effect, follow up with “They’re displaying it next to the amber from Jurassic Park.”

Here are three especially tailored to retirees. “May your pension fund manager make Bernie Madoff look like a Boy Scout.” “May your Social Security payments get auto-deposited into someone else’s account.” “May your shredder short-circuit and destroy all your Medicare paperwork.”

Then there’s the Irish prayer turned insult: “May the road rise up to meet your face when you trip on your daily walk.” Or perhaps more accurately, may your face fall down to meet the road…

Of course, there are the more obvious insults that focus on physical characteristics. There’s Old Gnarly Toes and Gizzard Neck, and for someone who is peppered with liver spots, Domino Face. But they’re not really creative; they’re just mean. Try something more unusual, like: “Didn’t anyone tell you you’re supposed to eat prunes, not wear them?” Or one that’s more with the times, like: “Your face could crash the Skype network.”

It’s always good to tailor the curse to something specific about the person you’re aiming it at. “May you get arrested for flashing a plumber’s butt when the elastic in your Sansabelts gives way.”

Perhaps the worst curse I can imagine directed at me is: “May your chin bristles spread to your nostrils and your ears.” Not a pretty picture. But it’s way better than: “May a thousand camels piss into your cat’s litter box.”

Strange Thievery in Bad Economy

When the economy is bad, home break-ins and retail pilferage increase dramatically. Apparently, so does thievery of a curious array of other items. Time magazine reported on seven of these over the past month or so. Here’s what they said was stolen and the locations where the thefts happened. See if you can match the two lists.

What was stolen:

1.     16,000 barrels of maple syrup (grade not specified)

2.     A truck with $250,000 of raw beef (if there’s any justice, they’ll get Mad Cow Disease)

3.     $100,000 of bees from their beekeeper (Peter Fonda was reportedly devastated)

4.     $3,000 of bras (assorted cup sizes; no wonder)

5.     $65,000 of chicken wings (presumably not yet barbecued)

6.     A tractor trailer with $75,000 of Campbell’s soup (it was probably chunky)

7.     Five and a half tons of Nutella (value over $25,000, and that’s not peanuts)

Locations of the thefts:

a.      Florida

b.      Florida

c.      Florida

d.     Georgia

e.      Canada

f.       Canada

g.      Germany

Looks like you just can’t trust those Southerners or those north of the border…

Here are the matched up answers:

1.     e or f

2.     a, b, or c

3.     e or f

4.     a, b or c

5.     d

6.     a, b or c

7.     g

Always a crack researcher, I dug deeper to see what unusual things have been stolen from retirees in recent months. You’ll be shocked—I say SHOCKED!—at what I uncovered.

A shipment of plaid sansabelt golf pants disappeared near Scottsdale, Arizona. The thieves are still in the wind. Mercifully the pants have not shown up either. Not surprisingly, the value of the goods is being disputed by the insurance company.

Fifty cases of prunes worth $25,000—they were soaked in vodka—were pilfered from a truck in Canada. Culprits were apprehended selling the hot prunes somewhere in Edmonton. They claimed the cases “fell off the back of a truck.” I’ve heard that one before…

A recently retired hot-dogger had his orthopedic boogie board taken from the bottom of a chairlift in Aspen. Worse yet, it was taken around 11 am and he’d purchased an all-day lift pass.

An eighty-year-old woman left her walker outside the stall in the restroom during activities night in her South Jersey retirement community. It was gone when she came out. The thief was caught leaning on it during the Electric Slide. The owner identified it from the macramé wrist strap her greatgrandson had made for her at camp.

Two pallets of diet cranberry juice went missing from a storeroom in Texas. The cost was about $2,000, not including the fees for all the urologist visits that resulted.

In North Carolina, ten cases of counterfeit hearing aid batteries found their way to a retirement home. They have no idea where the real ones were diverted. The trail has gone cold, because it was about three weeks before the residents realized the batteries weren’t working properly.

In Palm Beach, thieves made off with forty cases of old fashioned oatmeal. The entire town was out of sorts for a month. You can’t put a price on that.

Also in Florida, a shipment of Mahjong sets bound for Boca Raton vanished into thin air. What arrived in their place were Ouija boards. One day after their delivery, those also disappeared. When asked if they had any clues, investigators replied: “We think it was someone’s dearly departed, and her name began with an ‘M.’ Or maybe a ‘T.’”

Be vigilant. It doesn’t look like the economy is going to pick up any time soon and you never know what the thieves will come after next. On that note, I’m going to hide my stash of wine.

Pride of Ownership: Sexism in Science and Pop Culture

It occurred to me recently that sexism is rampant and insidious when it comes to science and culture. Many of you are thinking: “And you’re surprised because?” It’s not the rampant part that caught my attention; it’s the insidiousness. I’m not sure exactly how this came on my radar. Retirees have a lot of time for ruminating.

I believe I was posting on Facebook about something philosophical or spiritual and mentioned Pascal’s Wager. Or maybe it was one of those daily mishaps that have us muttering: Murphy’s Law. This prompted me to begin collecting these “owned” phrases of our language and culture.

My list quickly expanded to science, and included Ockham’s Razor (for which I had no idea of its meaning but have since looked it up and hence corrected my original spelling) and Mobius Strip (which I can easily fashion from a piece of paper). I scribbled these on the back of an envelope, confident that the list would somehow grow into a blog post one day.

More of these phrases that I’m describing as “pride of ownership” came to me as I was driving to Vermont recently to visit my sister. Fortunately, I carry a small note pad that I was able to fish out of my purse, along with a pen, without weaving out of my lane on the Interstate. I’m quite good at fishing by feel. I’m often forced to do that to find my earplugs in the tray on my bedside table when Jagdish begins snoring in the middle of the night. I’ve also learned to write short reminder notes in the dark.

So, tools in hand, or actually on the passenger seat (the pad) and in the center console (the pen), I jotted down other phrases as they came to me. As you might expect, some of them were torturous versions of their proper selves.

Somewhere around the Massachusetts/New Hampshire border, one of the CDs keeping me awake led me to write: Elton’s John. Of course, Brits will tell you Elton wouldn’t have a john; he’d have a loo. But Elton’s Loo doesn’t fit my blogging needs. That quickly led me to Paddy’s Wagon and soon after that, Fanny’s Pack. I was feeling quite clever at that point, and I had not had even a drop of wine.

Greek mythology and the Bible provided a source for several additions to my list. The most obvious was Achilles’ Heel. And hot on Achilles’ heels, Pandora’s Box, Noah’s Ark and Jacob’s Ladder. I was on a roll. Somewhere around the mid-trip rest area and after a lot of figurative head-scratching, I added the Midas Touch and Gordian Knots.

As I neared the New Hampshire/Vermont border, it dawned on me: few of these names that show pride of ownership are female. The only familiar phrase I had come up with was Pandora’s Box. That was only after I had first thought of Achilles’ Heel, which (in a fit of anatomical exploration inspired by the song “Dem Bones”) eventually connected me to Charlie Horse, too.

When I returned home and started to organize my notes, I realized that concepts and ideas were always paired with men’s names. It’s Pascal’s Wager and Ockham’s Razor and Murphy’s Law. Only the inconsequential utilitarian objects on my list were named after women. A pack, a box—both female ownership. The wagon, the ark, even the ladder—male. An insidious show of sexism if ever there was one.

One area where women have historically been recognized as “owners” is in the naming of hurricanes and tropical storms. It took until 1978 for the National Hurricane Center to finally share the glory of devastation with men, and that was done in phases; (North Pacific storms in ’78; Atlantic Basin in ‘79.) I suppose I should look upon this as a great equalizer in the “pride of ownership” battle. As my mother always said, “Thank the Lord for small favors.” Small favors indeed.

And as I always say, “Thank the Lord for a fine red wine, no matter whose name it carries.”

Marriage: It’s About Love, Not Velcro

-->

The Supreme Court is hearing two cases related to same-sex marriage, while the Rhode Island legislature is once again debating whether it should join every other state in New England in allowing it.

Conservative voices insist that marriage can only be between a man and a woman because the Church (or the Bible) says so. It seems to me that they’re confusing the sacrament of marriage with the sanctity of marriage. A religious institution has the right to reserve its sacrament for heterosexual couples, but not every marriage takes place in a church or a temple.

My husband and I were married by a judge in a non-denominational chapel at Brown University. The Hinduism and Catholicism of our youth didn’t interfere with our ability to become husband and wife in Rhode Island. The judge didn’t confer a sacrament upon us, but he officially affirmed the sanctity of our love.

It’s unlikely the conservatives who are arguing against same-sex marriage would claim that my marriage isn’t legitimate. The Catholic Church might feel that way and probably wouldn’t have ministered their sacrament to us. But overall, even the holiest rollers would agree that we are husband and wife.

Many of those who are against same-sex marriage claim that civil unions should be good enough for these couples. They decry efforts to “redefine” the term “marriage.” Actually, forcing gay couples to have unions instead of marriages will ultimately muddy the terminology far more than recognizing their right to be married will. Reserving “marriage” for the exclusive use of heterosexual couples will only serve to take the concept of love out of the relationship.

What should same-sex couples call their mates in a civil union? “Unionites”? That sounds so political, so Norma Rae. “Partners” isn’t much better; it sounds like a business arrangement. Like the very concept of a civil union—and in stark contrast to the concept of marriage, both terms fail to convey the emotion that’s the basis for the relationship.

If we acknowledge that all these relationships are based on love, then the singular fact that distinguishes a committed couple labeled one way from a couple labeled another seems to be either anatomy or perhaps religion.

But we’ve already covered the fact that a man and a woman can marry without religious involvement. So, it gets down to anatomy. Which means the conservative definition of “marriage” no longer has anything to do with love, or even anything spiritual; it’s just about body parts. It’s not logical to claim that this protects the concept.

I think conservatives who are against same-sex marriage are mistaking Velcro for love. It’s really quite easy to straighten out this misperception. Velcro is the stuff where one side needs to have hooks and the other needs loops if it’s going to work. Love has no such hooks-and-loops requirement.

Lasting love is a matter of the heart, not the anatomy. The more the heart is at the center of love and the less the hooks and loops are, the more likely the connection will survive the stresses of today’s life. And the more love is allowed to be at the center of marriage, instead of Velcro, the stronger the concept of marriage will be.