Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

One of the first people I looked up to and thought was a cool dude was my grandfather. As a kid I remember wishing I was more like him: bony hands, spots on his arms, always concerned about getting sunburned, loving fishing, taking me fishing, telling stories about being in the Navy -- the skinny red-headed guy who had fight in him down to the end (1997).

This may not sound becoming, but a year after his wife of 60 years died, he had some rough spots. The story goes that my mom found him alone in his Norfolk Virginia home with empty cans of Coors Light strewn about, passed out on the couch (he'd only been a moderate drinker). At the time, that was hard to hear, but now I think that was the best course of action for him to take. When his lady died, it was rough for the old man. Why not show some sympathy and say, hey, he at least deserved to get blotto one last time before the nursing home.

On the subject of getting old, you have to admit, one of the worst clichés in the universe is "Life is Short." God damn, it is NOT. I can prove it.

I am 35 years old and feel like I've been living for-fucking-ever. How many animals on the Earth can claim to have been around 35 years? It's amazing to think that I will likely continue to live for as long as I have already been living. You follow me here? My life is probably not even half over, if statistics are correct.

Here's another part: I've already got the old-guy habits and tastes down pat. Scotch? Like it. Classic cars? Got one. Old sailboats? Love 'em forever. Now all I need is golf, but I have no one to go with, despite having some of the best courses close by ... Derek?