When you are 107 years old like me, you use words like: 4-track cassette, tube television, rotary dial telephone, adult diaper, U2, Bengay® and rewind. You also start suffering from deafness and memory loss. When you’re 106, everything is hunky dory… One morning, you wake up, you’re older, you look at your wife sleeping, and you can’t hear her snore anymore. It just crawls up from behind. So you take your earplugs out, you get up, and you make up a
will list, you write important things down – the grocery list, things you should do this week, things you’ve done last week, the names of your kids – you put the list down, you grab another coffee, you come back to your desk, and you look for that damn list…
I’ve blogged about mental health lately, on fatherhood, on hipsters, and on being a sassy beardsman. For someone my age, it’s too much. I am bound to forget these posts. To synthesize, summarize and add as many synonyms as I can to create content and a longer blog post – that’s what I need to do. Here goes nothing:
. On mental health: November 20, 2011. My wife’s at her mom’s place. Living with bipolar type II has been hard on her, on our kids and myself. We’re taking some space.
. On fatherhood: I’m home alone with my daughter. My son is with his mother, indeterminably – or at least, until my wife reaches stable grounds.
. On being a hipster: I take my fedora hat, I put on two scarves simultaneously, my Converse, and wear a Movember t-shirt. We’re going down to Occupy Montreal.
. On being a gorgeous beardsman: Just watch the video below.
Why? To film a get-well-soon-we-love-you-and-miss-you video for my wife, on The Black Keys‘ Lonely Boy. I call a few friends, grab a CD and a camera, and like any quintessential Montreal driver, head to the Occupy Montreal site in a flash, without running anyone over, thank you.
A reminder: I’m a 107. I’m badly organized and I have the memory of a squirrel. We don’t have anything to play the CD with, no dancers and no one to hold the lyrics – badly scribbled on a bristol board [note to self: write a blog post about your handwriting and how being 107 years old makes it unreadable].
And my dear friends, this is how the very pretty citizens of this great city ended up being f*cking saviours: general assembly speakers lent us their generator and CD player, another kind activist offered to hold the bristol board, and two faux-fur hipsters joined us to add some panache to our project.
I’m old, I don’t want to forget this moment / my previous posts / where I’ve put the car keys… So before I forget, press play, REWIND and repeat. You can do the same.
Damn that beardsman is handsome. Who the f*ck is he?