There was a time when my friends described me as a ‘smart cookie.’  Now, I’ve been told, they (the few that remain) refer to me as a ‘grouchy, ill-tempered man.’  They can say what they want, those miserable backbiters, but I know they’re as wrong as sin.  I’ve survived many decades because I’m smart and I keep sharp by  following one cardinal rule (‘redundant’ you say? Sue me!)  The rule: “Stimulus begets response.”  Oh, poor you, you don’t understand what it means? Ask your 12 year old grand-child because from this point on I will brook no further interruptions. (you nincompoop)     Back to my story.  Those rumors about my disposition are wrong and malicious, and to make my case, I’m going to allow you to access my journal page for today which will describe the prosy minutia that I have to contend with. .  This will permit you to judge for yourself if I’m quarrelsome or, more than likely, a victim of spiteful slander.

Athletic Center which opens at 6:00 a.m.  I enjoy my shower; it’s the shaving I dread.  The junction of my right nostril with my upper lip is a clever ambuscade.  I exercise care but my Gillette is not up to the task and once again I nick the edge of my nostril.  The bleeding is surprisingly profuse but a small piece of toilet paper absorbs the blood and I go about my daily chores.  I could solve the problem by growing a mustache, but my spouse out-votes me 5 to 1.   Sadly, golf equity members also are endowed with a 5 to 1 vote advantage.  Whatever happened to one person, one vote?

     The glass sliding doors are coated with condensation making it necessary to step outside to check the pool.  The heat is oppressive and the only sound I hear is the compressor chugging away.  No alligators.  Perhaps they’re satiated with iguanas and too sluggish to climb the banks of the canal.  The pool filter kicks on and I think that in the next life I’ll invest in FPL.       5:15 a.m…  Time to check the computer.  My spam is overflowing with offers to solve erectile dysfunction.  Whose been peeking over my shoulder?  What do they know that I don’t know?  Has somebody stolen my identity?  If anybody has reason to complain, they should speak to me as woman to man.       One more thing:  If you read my blog, do not expect me to post your comments.  First of all, they’re sophomoric and secondly, I don’t know who you are and I don’t care who you are.  Read my stories, if you will, but keep your adolescent critique to yourself.

Everglades. I can waste a rabid raccoon, but a 17 foot python is probably more than I can handle.  The garage is clear, so I mount my trusty Prius, tighten the cinch and back out.   A push on the button closes the gate to the corral and I head west to the Athletic Center, ready for another day in Paradise.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Leon.”  My brain isn’t in gear at that hour so I bob my head up and down, and they accept the response.  Today the men just stood there, staring at me, expressionless, apparently fascinated by my right nostril which has a piece of toilet paper stuck to it.  By and large they’re good guys; I’ve met a few of them at the club and found them to be dynamic go-getters, always willing to let me buy them a drink.     8:30 a.m…  After working out, I shower again in the men’s locker-room. This definitely cuts down on my Water Utility bill, reducing the rip-off charges described as Facility Fee, Waste Commodity and Restriction Sur Charge.  A bunch of gobbledygook that I don’t understands, but I pay the full amount due. Failure to do so will result in my water supply being cut off.’  . To get to the showers, I pass by the men’s locker room.  Man, this is an experience, recommended only for those with strong stomachs. I won’t go into detail, but it’s impossible to ignore the corpulent, undraped bodies.  What has happened to the men of the Greatest Generation?       9:15 a.m.  A cup of coffee and a bagel with the missus.  Somebody should tell the bakers at the super-market that a bagel is more than a round piece of dough with a hole in the center.  I’ve told my wife repeatedly to buy N. Y. bagels but she countered with a low blow (“You haven/t the teeth anymore for a real bagel.”)  I keep quiet but between you and me, my teeth are loose  because of her chocolate chip cookies.  I’ve tried to find out how she can take all purpose flour and create the equivalent of quick setting cement, but she is sensitive about her cooking so I stay out of the kitchen.  If there is ever a shortage of cement, she can make a fortune converting flour to cement, but, as she says, ‘money is for spending, not for making.’  You can’t argue against such logic; I gave up 56 years ago.     10:30 a.m...I’ve changed my clothes and skimmed through 3 newspapers, each with a different slant on the news. The Wall Street Journal and the N. Y. Times go head to head.  Politics and international affairs are confusing in themselves but their opposing opinions have me sitting on the fence.   I decide to write to the Editor of  the Times about a matter that has bothered me for months.  Apparently they do not understand that the use a hyphen to split a common name (i.e.:   Si- at the end of the sentence and mon at the beginning of a new sentence) is, in effect, decapitating the head of Simon; I don’t care if it’s a common practice. It’s barbaric. If they want to split an infinitive, it’s okay with me, but where do they get off using a hyphen to mutilate \ a common name?   No wonder the kids can’t read or write when they are finished with school.      1230 p.m…  The Club mandates that $1000 be used for food and drink consumption by the end of August so I decide to have lunch at the club.  Man oh man, the vultures are swarming around the buffet table but I clear a path with my elbows.   A few of the diners start to object but when they see the expression on my face, they back off.        The price of the buffet is modest and I’ll never hit the thousand dollar mark that way, so I order a gin martini and settle back and check out my fellow diners.  Some of the men are wearing shorts; a ludicrous sight since the shorts are secured above or below potbellies which highlights their skinny legs.  Too bad they do not permit men to wear muumuus in the dining room.  Their outlandish appearance calls for a second martini.  Habits die hard so I check out the women.  I may be old, but I’m not dumb so don’t expect any comments from me. If you’re that curious, check the women out yourself.     I’m feeling the martinis, and decide to sober up by watching the golfers on the putting green.  Funny, they don’t look any different than I do and yet they have 5 votes to my 1.  I console myself; we are all equal even though some members are more equal than others.     3:00 p.m…  I have an appointment with the Manager of Bank of America and explain to him that the photocopies of the cancelled checks were making me unhappy.  I want to be able to balance my check book without using a magnifying glass and it’s important for me to know who endorses my checks.  He’s being extra solicitous but I have him over a barrel. The pre-merger deal with Merrill Lynch is starting to smell to high heaven and I wasn’t going to take any malarkey from him.  He gives me the usual crap about being a valued customer and he will see what he can do.  Little does he know that I will be asking for a daily progress report.  The previous manager asked for a transfer.  Good luck to him; he seemed to enjoy my daily visits.   If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen.  Was it Harry Truman who said that?  Now there is a man I admire.      3:45 p.m…My hair is kind of shaggy so I decide to have my hair trimmed.  Joseph has been taking care of my hair for 15 years and in those years he’s gotten heavy, has varicose veins and is slowed up by tennis elbow, but he has a font of good jokes and will take me anytime I show up…no appointment necessary.  My kind of guy.  As soon as I opened up the door, he walked quickly to me, as if to embrace me but stopped short and said:  “Leon, I can’t take you today.  I just haven’t the strength for you.”     That’s the nicest compliment I’ve received all day.  “That’s alright, Joe.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”       It was time for me to spend some time with my friend Macallan so I head home where I’m greeted by the smell of baking chocolate chip cookies.       I pour myself a double and just about settle down, when the phone rings. I have caller I.D. which is great for avoiding dead-beats.  The call is from my first- born, a sweet, intelligent gal and I pick up the phone on the second ring.     “Hi, Sweetie.”’     “Hi, dad.  How’s it going?”     “Everything is fine, dear.  It’s hot, of course, and we had a brief shower, but all is good.  Mother is feeling fine and there are no alligators in the pool or pythons in the garage.”     “I don’t understand, dad, what’s going on>”    “Sorry, honey, that’s an inside joke.   It’s been an interesting day and mother and I are in for the evening.”     “It sounds good.  What did you do today?”     “I exercised this morning at the A.C.  The usual insomniacs are there before 6:00 a.m. but they’re nice people.  I took a shower in the men’s locker; plenty of hot water and a generic shampoo that’s as good as the perfumed junk we have at home.  You must try it the next time you visit.       I went home, had breakfast with mother and worked on my journal.  I often think that if Hemingway had a computer, he would have doubled his out-put.  Lunch at the club was satisfying; they must have a new chef.       “I had an interesting conversation with the new manager of the B of A; He seemed to know all about me as a long time client, and invited me to drop by as often as I liked.  He enjoys talking to me.       “I saw Joseph the barber and made an appointment have my hair cut tomorrow.Amazing how he’s aged in 15 years, but I wouldn’t think of seeing anybody else.Yup, it’s been a good day. What’s new at your end?”     “The usual stuff. Lou’s in Brazil, the kids go back to school this week and Roberta will be over for dinner tonight.  Everything is under control.  Is mom available?”     “I don’t think so, honey.  She’s in the kitchen making her chocolate chip cookies.”     “Dad, don’t forget to dunk the cookies for at least 30 seconds.  They’re good cookies, I know, but don’t forget to dunk.  Dentures are not the way they are portrayed on television.  You should try and preserve your teeth as long as you can. Do you understand?  Do not forget to dunk those cookies.  Okay?”     “I read you loud and clear honey.  Listen, I got to go.  I think I know how to end my story.  Call me tomorrow.  Okay?  Love you, honey.”

Miami providing I could be convincingly irascible.  I’m working on it; it’s a great job.’  It would be my responsibility to recognize and prohibit the admission of riffraff, and, conversely, to greet and escort the wealthy and well connected through the club’s heavenly gates.

Red Sea.   This would, in a small way, compensate those individuals who were exposed to my alter ego.

*Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, 1987   

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