When I grow old, I want to be fat and arthritic

One of my good friends from university once penned a paper on the crisis of the aging population in Japan that began as a wartime news-real spoof, the catch line being "there is a new enemy among us, a grey enemy". The rest of the exposition is done around the supposedly true legend of Ubatsuteyama, the mountain where you go to cast off your burdensome old relatives. It is a real mountain in Nagano, so lonely grandma's tired old bones are likely now interred somewhere under the Olympic ski jump slide - the Olympics: caring for world culture, over our dead bodies - but I digress. The whole point is and was this: how did the Japanese get from abandoning the elderly to wolves and monster centipides of the highland wilds to worshipping them with gratuitious subtitles for daytime TV dramas and cheap medicinal bath salts, and then back to beating them in secret with the indoor shoe and leaving them at the bath house for weeks at a time? Is there any culture left that treats the elderly with the respect they deserve? I submit my voice to the many now that cry that the elderly are getting EXACTLY the amount of respect they deserve, so there.

I am actually being sarcastic. But that wasn't always so. I have only recently discovered the wisdom that some elders have to offer, and it is something to be respected when it is found. But as a demographic, it is easy to see why the elderly are largely so depised. Most have no intention of behaiving like old wise people. Rather, they spend their vast pensions -the last great pensions of this era- on sport cars, tropical vacations, and anti-aging face creams. After a lifetime of indulgence, their fattened arteries cave in and they suck up the last pennies of the inheritance they could leave their families battling the inevitable in the soul-crashing sterility of nursing homes, futile tubes lining every orifice, mumbling bitterly at the few relatives that could stand to visit. No songs or crafts passed to the grandchildren, no solemn words of comfort or wisdom to ease the fear of the great beyond. No insights into the true nature or meaning of this mortal coil. Nope, most old people die exactly as they lived; as dumb, fat bastards who wasted their lives in the pursuit of material possessions and drunken abandon. After all, growing old is inevitable, growing into a worthwhile human being is entirely optional.

And they want RESPECT! Because they lived through a bunch of time and crap, and that counts for something, goddamit. And they wonder what is wrong with "young people these days", who are so un-mindful of the glorious future they have inherited from their elders, like global warming, GMO death plants, and nuclear-genetic apocalyse, to name a few. Wow, thanks grandpa, and it's not even my birthday! And for all the oldies and fogies who think that hating the elderly is only the latest trend, I direct them to the writings of Aristotle, whom many no doubt picture as a wisened grey beard, who had this to say in chapter 13 of his Rhetoric: "they are sure about nothing and under-do everything. They "think," but they never "know"; and because of their hesitation they always add a "possibly" or a "perhaps," putting everything this way and nothing positively. They are cynical; that is, they tend to put the worse construction on everything. Further, their experience makes them distrustful and therefore suspicious of evil. Consequently they neither love warmly nor hate bitterly, but following the hint of Bias they love as though they will some day hate and hate as though they will some day love. They are small-minded, because they have been humbled by life: their desires are set upon nothing more exalted or unusual than what will help them to keep alive. They are not generous, because money is one of the things they must have, and at the same time their experience has taught them how hard it is to get and how easy to lose. They are cowardly, and are always anticipating danger; unlike that of the young, who are warm-blooded, their temperament is chilly; old age has paved the way for cowardice; fear is, in fact, a form of chill."

Yeah, Aristotle, bitches. Take that, old people.

Despite all this, I don't hate old people. I used to hate old people, and babies, and children, and the handicapped, and teenagers, and the middle aged: I used to hate people. But now I love babies and children, I think the handicapped teach patience, teenagers will grow up and the middle aged are literally neither here nor there. So you must wonder what inspired this rant, and it is simply this: old people can't stomp and clap to the rhythms of celtic music. I spend 3 hours this Sunday afternoon at the local theatre being entertained by an 8 part Celtic band, and the only problem with the concert was the audience. Most were silver haired, and left right around potty time, and few could keep up the clapping and shouting that celtic music demands for full enjoyment. Yeah, I know your gout is acting up, and your hands cramp easily, but that's why you pop a few tylenol from that easy-to-open bottle an hour or so before, so you can move with those withered bones to the beat! I've had this problem at several Powell River concerts: they are largely attended by those too old to properly enjoy them, and they tend to spoil the fun for those still living a few kilometres away from the grave, feet pointing due north.

So my only real point is this: if you are too old to clap, keep to your church social and poorly ventilated bingo hall. If fun wasn't something you gave up after retirement, then please live it up. For tomorrow may never come.