It is 12:10 and I hate 2017. I can't wait until 2018.

[kewtex]

So my fellows, which popular songs bring a tear to the eye and lump to the throat for you?

 

In no particular order:

"The Way We Were" - M. Hamlisch, A. Bergman, M. Bergman

"Leader of the Band" - D. Fogelberg

"Losing My Mind" - S. Sondheim

"Old Man River" - J. Kern. O. Hammerstein

"The Star Spangled Banner" - F.S. Key

[+ sam.fitzpatrick]

So my fellows, which popular songs bring a tear to the eye and lump to the throat for you?

 

I will steal a couple of songs from your list PK: "Tears in Heaven" and "Sounds of Silence" usually do it to me. I will add "Cat's in the Cradle," "I Am What I Am," "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" (the Judy Garland recording,) and "What Kind of Fool Am I?"

[+ purplekow]

In no particular order:

"The Way We Were" - M. Hamlisch, A. Bergman, M. Bergman

"Leader of the Band" - D. Fogelberg

"Losing My Mind" - S. Sondheim

"Old Man River" - J. Kern. O. Hammerstein

"The Star Spangled Banner" - F.S. Key

Hadn't considered the Star Spangled Banner That is more a give the chills song, depending on the circumstances. Dan Fogelberg has a number of songs which are in this category. Gone too soon.

[kewtex]

Hadn't considered the Star Spangled Banner That is more a give the chills song…

 

Chills does seem a better descriptor for the feeling our national anthem invokes in me.

 

I should add the sounding of "Taps" at a military funeral to the list of tunes which bring a tear to my eyes and a lump to my throat. My last living uncle, an Air Force veteran, was buried with military funeral honors in November. The ritual of folding the flag followed by "Taps" was profoundly moving in its beauty, precision, simplicity, and symbolism.

[+ Charlie]

"Taps" and "Try to Remember" from The Fantasticks.

[+ purplekow]

I awoke early this morning or I almost did. I was awake but not entirely awake. I was awake enough to know I was awake but I was also asleep enough to continue the bizarre dream I was having. I usually refer to this as twilight sleep, though there is probably a medical term for it, I have never bothered to inquire as to what it may be. The nice thing for me about this semi conscious state is that I have a vague notion of what is happening around me and also a clear notion of what is happening in the dream. I am able to move if I want to do so, but that will bring me into the definitely awake state, but I am able to make decisions about my actions in the dream and state in that between world. I may take actions in the dream but, and take it from a man who enjoys big buts, I am never sure of the consequences. In that way, the dream is very much like life. One can make a logical and well considered decision and then life, or dream life, in this case, my then just go to hell with it. I used to use this dreamlike state to inject erotica into my dreams. I would frequently be successful in getting myself sexually aroused both in the dream and in my waking life, but it was only in my waking life that I would be able to take that excitement to it physical completion. Alas, nowadays, even if I am successful in injecting a bit of sexual acrobatics into my dream, the rollover into waking life is not as vigorous and not as physically irresistible as it once was. In this regard, my dream self and my real self both seem to have lost a bit of fire.

Lately, I have been using this state of sleep wakefulness to consider problems facing me in my waking life and taking them to my dream life to see what becomes of them. Surprisingly, at times I have awaken fully after such a period and found a course of action I had not considered. A dilemma which has been vexing me for days will suddenly seem straightforward and easily remedied. Sometimes however, I simply awake with an answer to a crossword puzzle clue which baffled me enough to induce sleep. Five letter word for Twist, as it happens is Irony. For some reason, I could not see that while awake and the crossing clues gave me only the "n", resulting in my brain hearing "TURNS" repeatedly similar to an old Byrds" recording with a scratch, "Turns, turns, turns, turns, turns, turns" Need I explain further why it is I fell asleep at that point?

Anyway, this morning I was not successful in injecting eroticism nor crossword puzzle solving into my wake dream state. I merely woke up. I concentrated on moving my right index finger and after a false start, I was able to move it and then my hand and then I was able to rub the head of Bear, dutifully lying next to me. That is Bear my dog, not a bear I met at a bar. Bear did not awaken, he did give out a contented exhale. I wondered whether he too was in that state of almost awake, not quite asleep. His arousal, suggested that perhaps he was.

 

So curmudgeonry has taken to me this point. Even in my kind of dreams, I am not getting it as much as I once did. So, guys are you still having dreams of smooth muscular men lathering you with whip cream and then sliding their magnificent bodies over you, or are you coming up with the answer to 26 Down: Frumpy Former Freak 10 letters?

[+ purplekow]

Unemployment has led me to be lost in time. Monday, Thursday, Sunday, Tuesday, who the hell knows which day it is? Time has become irrelevant for me but apparently not for the rest of the world. Food shopping, not so easy at 3 AM. Hard to find a movie theater open at that hour. There was a time when there would be an all night BJ theater in the Times Square area, but those days are gone as are those theaters. Shave and a haircut, 2 bits, but not at 2 AM. So it is that time still rules my life though my life is not following the rules.

I go to sleep when I am tired. I eat when I am hungry. l walk the dogs when they bark so much that i can't possibly sleep through it.

 

I have lost my circadian rhythm. I woke up today and I had no concept of the time of day. It took me a few minutes to realize that I had fallen asleep after a midafternoon Close Encounter of the 69th kind. What does one eat when one has slept for 8 hours and it is 11 PM? I went with breakfast. It seems that eggs and toast and coffee are good at any hour. There used to be an all night diner near my home and I would sometimes go there at 2AM and have pancakes, orange juice and two eggs over easy while I read what amounted to yesterday's newspaper which the diner had in abundance. I enjoyed the food and the ambience of this particular diner. AT 2 AM drunk college kids would be stumbling in from a night of partying at the local bars. There was always one in the group who was worth a third look, all of them were worth a second look. After all it was 2 AM and they were drunk.

 

As far as the food goes, the cooks always managed to get the yolk of the eggs to just the consistency I like with a skill I never quite succeed in getting when I make the eggs at home. After that sublime breakfast meal, I would head home and sleep like a baby.

 

I do have a feeling that my Circadian rhythm disturbance is adding to my general feeling of curmudgeonry. It is much easier to be a grump when you feel out of step with the world in general. It does make me consider the plight of shift workers. I have done shift work in the past, but that was at a time in my life when I was only sleeping 4 hours a day anyway, so it was easy to stay in step with the march of time. Now, when I a nap lasts somewhere between an hour and a century, regaining the synchronicity of my body to society has been near impossible.

 

So those of you out there who are out of work, are you also out of step? Are you eating breakfast at 11 PM or eating Early Bird Dinners at 3:30 in the afternoon? Have you any tips on staying in step with society's services as you march to the beat of your own drummer?

AS it says at the bottom of the stub from that diner, tips are greatly appreciated.

[Phil_musc]

Two observations for you PK:

 

1) I'm not sure I know what a Close Encounter of the 69th Kind is that you mention above.If it's what I think it is, then you have successfully figured out that being retired or out of work is a perfect excuse (not that one is needed) to engage in an occasional afternoon delight. And if one is engaged is this kind of activity, one can't be completely cut off from the rest of society.

 

And,

 

2) There is a certain poetic rhythm to your writing in the above post. I think it might work as a song - now that Leonard Cohen is gone, that particular genre is wide open. Time to haul out your old guitar, work on a few chords, and sing the blues. If you put together enough, perhaps you could create a one-guy kind of evening of sung curmudgeonry. I think the world might be ready for it. Especially after noon today.

[+ Charlie]

Although I retired 14 years ago and moved three time zones farther west, my body still has almost the same same schedule I had when I was working. I go to bed a little earlier (9pm rather than 10pm) and usually wake up a little earlier (5am rather than 6am). I do have more difficulty falling asleep, and I wake up more often during the night--the WC calls--but otherwise my body clock works pretty much the same as it has since I gave up going to the bars when I turned 40.

[+ purplekow]

When I was young, do not laugh, I was young and I have tintypes to prove it, my friends and I would occasionally speculate as to which character from a movie or comic book we would want to be. While most wanted to fly as Superman does or be superstrong as Superman is or to move supernaturally fast as Superman can, I always opted for invisibility as the power I would want to have. The Invisible man, what fun, what joy, being but not being seen. Observing without being observed. Moving through time and space no one the wiser.

 

Well, my parents warned me to be careful what you wish for, (my parents often left prepositions without an object) but I did not listen. However, now that I am invisible, it seems my parents were correct, just not grammatically correct.

 

I first tried being invisible in my youth. As it turns out, sitting off by oneself does not make one invisible but it does get people to saying things like: "Danger Danger No one else is stranger." College years, I practiced being invisible in the classrooms with mixed success. When the Organic Chemistry class had over 250 students almost everyone was invisible, but by the time one takes a 600 level Biology courses, it becomes impossible to be invisible. There are less than six students in the class and most of the professors are able to count that high and they have had years of experience ferreting out wannabe invisible students. While not totally succeeding at being invisible in the classroom, in the social and political aspects of college life, I was as invisible as they come. Though when I look back at the tintypes I now see a fairly handsome young man with a nice physique, a bad haircut and no fashion sense whatsoever. When I was living it, invisibility seemed preferable to being seen. Still, I was occasionally glimpsed in toto and I was never able to totally melt into the ether. It seems there are always other college students who fear invisibility and they go about searching out those who would be invisible and force them to even up the sides for Beer Pong and Touch Football or to go out with the roommate of their date, so as to keep her from interfering in a master plan seduction.

So despite my best efforts, I was not totally invisible in college.

Then I had a metamorphosis and actually liked being seen. There was a short span of time in my twenties when I was seen and enjoyed it. My appearance improved with age. I went to the gym before it was fashionable to do so and developed a bit of a toned body. I stopped cutting my own hair. I did not dress for success, but I was a bit better at it and on a good day, I was not an embarrassment. I went to the clubs, danced until 4 AM, occasionally went home with a stranger. I was seen on the scene and occasionally got to be obscene.

Then at thirty two or so, I started to become involuntarily, selectively invisible. I would go out with friends and despite efforts to be seen, people were looking over me, past me or through me. I was not sure how it happened but it did. Invisibility was now my curse. Perhaps it was never a good superpower.

As I aged, I became invisible more and more frequently. I was invisible when I was out socializing. Then, I became invisible at my job. As my friends paired off, single men became invisible to them, and so I joined those invisible solos. Invisibility changed me and not for the better. Soon I became unrecognizable to myself and eventually invisible to myself as well.

Then one day, making my invisible tour of life, someone saw me. Someone saw me as if it was the first time I was ever seen. She saw me in ways I could not imagine and she saw all of me. She saw the strengths, the weaknesses, the bravado, the shyness, the confidence, the fear. She saw every fiber, every molecule, every electron. She saw me when I tried my best to go unseen. She saw me hide. She saw me when no one else did. She saw me when no one else wanted to see me. She saw me and she did not look away.

By this time, I was almost 40 and being invisible had become my steady state, my comfort zone. Suddenly to be seen was frightening. It made me breathe fast and it made my heart race and turn over in my chest. It knotted my gut. Being seen in this way awaken me, invigorated me and it allowed me to see myself. To see myself in her eye. Being seen enabled me to see her as well. You would think that being invisible would allow you to see others with them being none the wiser, but that is not so. Invisibility takes your sight with it. You are not seen but so too you do not see.

Now, after nearly a quarter of a century after being really seen, I have become invisible again. When the one who sees you goes, being seen becomes unbearable. The wounds are fresh and ugly and you want to protect yourself from the stares and you want to protect others from the from the anguish of your face. Then with time, scars transform and deform you and hiding is not enough, One could never submerge oneself deep enough or get far enough away to hide the horrible visage and the twisted mass of muscle, bone and bleeding soul.

I am not sure if I have succeeded in becoming invisible or if it is the nature of life that as one ages one becomes invisible. In either case, when I walk down the street or stop for lunch at the deli, people seem to know I am there, but yet I am certain that I am invisible. When I nod to an acquaintance or order a coffee, I get a nod in return and someone else's coffee, and I am certain I am invisible. When I go to church, the basket is passed to me my contribution is counted but I am certain that to the priest and to God, I am invisible.

 

So, is anyone else out there invisible. If so, do you revel in the invisibility or are you struggling to be seen?

 

I need to say, that when I sat to write this, I thought it would be light and airy and merely a commentary on how people tend to dismiss older people as though they are invisible. It became a bit darker, which likely resulted from the activities of the day, the inactivity of my life at the moment and the activation of memories that pounce upon me now and again. I considered deleting it, but in the end, I thought perhaps there are others out there feeling invisible and that perhaps for today, we could be invisible together.

[+ Charlie]

When I was in the 5th grade, my teacher decided I was becoming too visible; her diagnosis was that I clowned around because I was the smartest kid in the class and was bored because everything was too easy for me. She recommended I be moved one grade ahead, and the principal agreed. Suddenly I was the youngest kid in a class of new classmates who already knew more than I did. I quickly tried to make myself invisible, and believed I was successful at it until I was 21. The motivation was compounded by my realization when I was 13 that my sexual desires were out of sync with my peers. It still amazes me when I encounter classmates from high school and college and they not only remember me, but remark on what a sharp wit I had when I was young, something that I can't remember ever consciously exhibiting.

 

Becoming openly gay at 21 was what made me visible again, and I made the most of it for a decade, before I managed to adapt to a more balanced visibility/invisibility. And like most old gay men, I find myself fading to invisibility again.

[+ purplekow]

Well, after posting here at 5AM, as evidence of my loss of Circadian rhythm. I am back to report on the result of the latest round of The Bowchelor. The Bowchelor is a dog game I play with my four four legged roommates. In this game, I take a handful of doggie treats and call each of the dogs front and center. They know the treats are coming and they quickly leave whichever piece of furniture they are lying on, or destroying and come running to the kitchen. They sit attentively while I describe the rules. They already know the rules, but I want to make it clear to them that the rules have not changed. I inform them that this is the Bone Ceremony. I let them know that there are a handful of treats and they will be called individually and asked to accept the treat.

And so it begins:

"Bonehead, will you accept this Snausage?" A tail wag, a tilt of his yellow head and a bright doggie smile leads to a gobble which leaves me counting my fingers." Bonehead invariably needs to be reminded to go slow when taking the Snausage, but being a Lab, he is way too excited to remember that on the first round,

 

"Ben, will accept this Snausage?" Ben is reticent. He is quite a bit older than the others and so he is not sure if he is worthy of a Snausage. He looks at the others to insure that they acknowledge the appropriateness of his acceptance and only then does he take the Snausage in a manner which has led me to nickname him Gentle Ben.

 

"Bear, will you accept this Snausage?" Bear, my only black furred contestant is happy to get a Snausage. He assuredly takes the Snausage without movement. He is always the first to come at the onset and the last to leave when the Bone Ceremony is over. Despite his large size and fierce appearance, he seems the most at peace with his life.

 

So there sits Brandy. She continues to look expectantly. The others have received a treat but she alone is wanting.

"I am sorry Brandy. Say your goodbyes." A slow wag of the tail, a forlorn look and then the surprise twist, "Brandy, you too get a Snausage." "And you get a Snausage, and you get a Snausage, every dog gets a Snausage." I gesticulate as each of them gets a second treat.

Tails are wagging, tongues are handing and hug dog smiles are spread across their faces.

Sometimes I will play a second round, different order of course otherwise they would not be as excited to hear their name being called.

 

So this does not seem to fit into the year of the curmudgeon, but as anyone who has ever dropped a tear or twelve while watching the movie "Up", it is well documented throughout history that dogs have the ability to melt even the most curmudgeonly of hearts.

 

So pet owners, do you have an idiosyncratic behavior which you share with your pets. In which ways do you anthropomorphize your non human companion? How unconditional is your love for them, knowing it can never match the love they have for you?

 

Got to go, time for a quick game of Wheel of Dogtune. I Spin a wheel and well....another time for that.

[kewtex]

So, is anyone else out there invisible.

 

Invisibility is inevitable. It comes with age, perhaps more so for gay men. Yet, as invisibility creeps upon me, I can smile at the overly self-confident young men with the world at their fingertips, the ones who look right through me, and think to myself, "I know something you don't know."

[Phil_musc]

There is so much insight here that I don't know whether to smile or cry. PK, you just keep me hanging on with your writing about aging. I even feel like I know your dogs a bit. And as has been noted by others above, with age comes invisibility - it still pisses me off.

[kewtex]

And as has been noted by others above, with age comes invisibility - it still pisses me off.

 

Isn't it grand that an hour with an escort can assuage that anger?

[+ glennnn]

Well, after posting here at 5AM, as evidence of my loss of Circadian rhythm. I am back to report on the result of the latest round of The Bowchelor. The Bowchelor is a dog game I play with my four four legged roommates. In this game, I take a handful of doggie treats and call each of the dogs front and center. They know the treats are coming and they quickly leave whichever piece of furniture they are lying on, or destroying and come running to the kitchen. They sit attentively while I describe the rules. They already know the rules, but I want to make it clear to them that the rules have not changed. I inform them that this is the Bone Ceremony. I let them know that there are a handful of treats and they will be called individually and asked to accept the treat.

And so it begins:

"Bonehead, will you accept this Snausage?" A tail wag, a tilt of his yellow head and a bright doggie smile leads to a gobble which leaves me counting my fingers." Bonehead invariably needs to be reminded to go slow when taking the Snausage, but being a Lab, he is way too excited to remember that on the first round,

 

"Ben, will accept this Snausage?" Ben is reticent. He is quite a bit older than the others and so he is not sure if he is worthy of a Snausage. He looks at the others to insure that they acknowledge the appropriateness of his acceptance and only then does he take the Snausage in a manner which has led me to nickname him Gentle Ben.

 

"Bear, will you accept this Snausage?" Bear, my only black furred contestant is happy to get a Snausage. He assuredly takes the Snausage without movement. He is always the first to come at the onset and the last to leave when the Bone Ceremony is over. Despite his large size and fierce appearance, he seems the most at peace with his life.

 

So there sits Brandy. She continues to look expectantly. The others have received a treat but she alone is wanting.

"I am sorry Brandy. Say your goodbyes." A slow wag of the tail, a forlorn look and then the surprise twist, "Brandy, you too get a Snausage." "And you get a Snausage, and you get a Snausage, every dog gets a Snausage." I gesticulate as each of them gets a second treat.

Tails are wagging, tongues are handing and hug dog smiles are spread across their faces.

Sometimes I will play a second round, different order of course otherwise they would not be as excited to hear their name being called.

 

So this does not seem to fit into the year of the curmudgeon, but as anyone who has ever dropped a tear or twelve while watching the movie "Up", it is well documented throughout history that dogs have the ability to melt even the most curmudgeonly of hearts.

 

So pet owners, do you have an idiosyncratic behavior which you share with your pets. In which ways do you anthropomorphize your non human companion? How unconditional is your love for them, knowing it can never match the love they have for you?

 

Got to go, time for a quick game of Wheel of Dogtune. I Spin a wheel and well....another time for that.

 

I sincerely love you. Thanks for the smiles and tears that let me know I am alive.

[+ purplekow]

I got an urgent phone call today. My township was calling to warn of impending bad weather. This was a new and perplexing service the town was providing There will be rain and gusts of wind to 60 miles per hour and there may be coastal flooding. This is the kind of news that in bygone days would have gotten me nervous about the morning commute and the effect it would have on my business. I would be concerned:

Do I have enough provisions? Where are the candles and blankets in preparation of black outs and freezing temperatures.

Will there be road closures interfering with my daily existence? Did I need to make a rush on the supermarket for milk and bread? Where is my printed porn in case the internet goes down.

Well now, as an unemployed curmudgeon, my reaction to this phone call was a shrug of the shoulders.

I am impervious to weather.

Twelve inches of snow? Roll over and wait for it to melt

Torrents of rain slashing sideways in hurricane force winds? Let the drops hitting on my roof lull me to sleep.

Temperatures to 100 degrees seven straight days? I usually am cold anyway and I have found that iced tea and a fan are a great way to spend a summer afternoon.

This announcement did cause me to consider if:

 

I had enough puzzles and books to keep me occupied should I be holed up for two days.

Is this new alert system a reasonable expenditure for the township.

Is NBC going to interrupt Days of Our Lives, now in its new time slot of 12 noon, to tell us it is raining?

 

My life is otherwise unaffected by the vicissitudes of daily weather. This is true, except that the wind and rain are upsetting to the dogs. They will likely come to find their place on the bed and will want to curl up as close to me as they possibly can. I will then be unable to move should a postman be making his appointed rounds through the rain. Although it is a common conception that postal carriers take an oath saying that: "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds" in fact, I was a postal courier and I never took such an oath. If the truth be known, if they were to make such an oath a requisite, I would suggest that they include: nor seductive older women whose mother's are on vacation in Spain and who think it is a good idea to invite naive young men in for a refreshing beverage with the intent of and with success in stealing their innocence. But I digress.

 

So fellow curmudgeon's, while the weather outside is frightful, inside is it quite delightful?

Also, yes, I did indeed leave for work as a boy and returned home as a man, July 23 1969. Man had walked on the moon earlier in the week but for me it was only the second most important thing that happened that week.

 

Just as an aside, will the Patriots please lose the SuperBowl. I mean, enough already.

[+ WmClarke]

Although it is a common conception that postal carriers take an oath saying that: "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds" in fact, I was a postal courier and I never took such an oath.

It's just a quotation the architect put on the USPS building. That's what I heard, anyway.

[jjkrkwood]

Invisibility is inevitable. It comes with age, perhaps more so for gay men. Yet, as invisibility creeps upon me, I can smile at the overly self-confident young men with the world at their fingertips, the ones who look right through me, and think to myself, "I know something you don't know."

 

Some seniors DONT have $300 an hour to spend for this luxury.....

[Phil_musc]

Even the $300 won't erase the invisibility problem.

 

PK, you dog you. So you were corrupted by some not-so-well-meaning cougar. I love your digressions. Go on, digress away!

[+ Charlie]

Bad weather bothers me more now than it did when I was younger, when it might mean a day off from work, an excuse to hunker inside with a relaxing read. The weather here in Palm Springs for the past month has been miserably wet and cold (sorry to make this public, Palm Springs Tourist and Convention Bureau), which means my tennis matches keep getting cancelled, and my dog is very unhappy about not getting out to exercise and do his other business (he is unaccustomed to rain and doesn't know what is wrong, but is sure he is being punished for something). Now I get really irritable when it isn't sunny and mild every day.

[+ purplekow]

It's just a quotation the architect put on the USPS building. That's what I heard, anyway.

True enough, the quotation is on a Post Office in NYC. There is no pledge which has been taken, no long standing tradition of generations of postal workers who have pledged to go out and complete their rounds. It holds just has as much sway as Emma Lazarus' statement on the Statue of Liberty welcoming the huddled masses to join us here, beckoning the tired and poor to come to the entrance to the golden door.

 

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.

I lift my lamp beside the golden door."

 

Hippocrates and his oath, well I did swear to the God Apollo. I did pledge to do no harm. This was indeed part of the graduation ceremony when I graduated. I am not sure it is said at each and every graduation from medical school, but there is a long tradition that these words should be a guide to the practice of the art of medicine. For those interested here it is:

 

 

I swear by Apollo The Healer, by Asclepius, by Hygieia, by Panacea, and by all the Gods and Goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will carry out, according to my ability and judgment, this oath and this indenture.

 

To hold my teacher in this art equal to my own parents; to make him partner in my livelihood; when he is in need of money to share mine with him; to consider his family as my own brothers, and to teach them this art, if they want to learn it, without fee or indenture; to impart precept, oral instruction, and all other instruction to my own sons, the sons of my teacher, and to indentured pupils who have taken the physician’s oath, but to nobody else.

 

I will use treatment to help the sick according to my ability and judgment, but never with a view to injury and wrong-doing. Neither will I administer a poison to anybody when asked to do so, nor will I suggest such a course. Similarly I will not give to a woman a pessary to cause abortion. But I will keep pure and holy both my life and my art. I will not use the knife, not even, verily, on sufferers from stone, but I will give place to such as are craftsmen therein.

 

Into whatsoever houses I enter, I will enter to help the sick, and I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of man or woman, bond or free. And whatsoever I shall see or hear in the course of my profession, as well as outside my profession in my intercourse with men, if it be what should not be published abroad, I will never divulge, holding such things to be holy secrets.

 

Now if I carry out this oath, and break it not, may I gain for ever reputation among all men for my life and for my art; but if I transgress it and forswear myself, may the opposite befall me.[5]

 

 

Quite a few pledges there which in this day and age would raise eyebrows. As a result, some medical school administrations which wish to offer the Oath, have changed to a modern variation. No longer are Greek gods invoked. No longer is medicine to be taught to an elite group of friends and relatives of physicians and a few indentured souls who have pledged to practice medicine. There is the precedent of referrals for surgery, privacy and confidentiality of the patient and perhaps malpractice. Assisted suicide and abortion, not specifically address in the more modern version.

 

Below, find the more modern and more commonly administered oath which has been credited to Louis Lasagna in 1964. Imagine going through life with the name Louis Lasagna. How many slings and arrows did the man suffer? Well here is his version. Some may say that this piece of Lasagna is half-baked but I would never say such a thing.

 

The Lasagna Oath

 

I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:...

 

I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow.

 

I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism.

 

I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug.

 

I will not be ashamed to say "I know not," nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery.

 

I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. Above all, I must not play at God.

 

I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick.

 

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

 

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

 

If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.

 

 

So, Fellow Curmudgeons, have you taken an oath. An Oath of Office, Hippocratic Oath, the Oath of Lasagna (I can't help it, the Oath of Lasagna just sounds so.....saucy) or any other Oath? Are you like Brienned of Tarth, an Oath Keeper? or are you of the opinion that such pledges are meaningless and should go in one ear and out the Oather?

[+ not2rowdy]

Everyone who has served in the military has taken an oath.

They are different between officer and enlisted.

The one officers take is the same as taken by the Vice President and Congressmen.

[+ purplekow]

Everyone who has served in the military has taken an oath.

They are different between officer and enlisted.

The one officers take is the same as taken by the Vice President and Congressmen.

I have not been in the military and I admit to ignorance of an oath. I have taken an oath when I have testified in court. I have taken a vow when I married which it seems is similar to but not exactly and oath. Oaths seem to be related to veracity or pledging that the statements in the oaths are true. A vow seems more as a promise to meet an ideal. They are likely interchangeable for most situations, though I have never heard marital vows being referred to as oaths.

[+ purplekow]

I have been ordering in food from a local restaurant, more lately, after they hired a new delivery man. He is in his early twenties, solidly built and with a handsome face and he is always pleasant. He makes eye contact when I answer the door and he is playful with the dogs when they slip out to greet him. I ordered soup yesterday, as i was feeling a bit under the weather. It seemed like a soup day, cold and rainy. I could almost see those Campbell soup commercials of my youth with the sexually unclear soup selling twin gingers in their red and white striped shirts singing: "Hmmm hmm good". Well when I ordered the soup, I thought, ah, hot delivery guy will be dropping by with the soup. . "Hmmm hmmm good".

 

So I called. The order taker told me it would be 45 minutes, which meant either 15 minutes or 90 minutes. This is an alternative fact i have been dealing with for my entire history of ordering in food, it will be early or it will be late but you can count on it arriving other than in the amount of time you are told.

 

I digress for a moment. Do you order in food, as the delivery people bring it in to you or do you order out food, because they take it out of the restaurant and bring it to you? I know restaurants refer to it as Take Out, but from their perspective, the food is going out, so there is no dilemma.

 

Anyway, 15 minutes later, the delivery man knocks on the door, the dogs bark and I open the door. As I usually want to spend a few minutes of chit chat with the delivery man, I have not asked beforehand how much the bill will be, nor do I have my wallet at the ready. It is raining and I invite him in. He hesitates, then smiles and wipes his shoes on the mat before entering. He has left his jacket open and and his shirt is wet and clinging to his well worked out physique. He asks if I have a towel as he has gotten wet and i leave to get a towel and the money for the soup.

 

All the while I am getting the towel and money, I am thinking: "That is going to be really hot". "I cannot wait to get that in my mouth" "I bet it is really beefy." " i loved the scent" I get back give the delivery man the money and the towel. He undoes his shirt and dries off his chest. He thanks me and leaves. It was true. The soup was hot, smelled great and was really beefy and I could not wait to get it in my mouth. The delivery man, well he was hot and beefy but I made no attempt to get him in my mouth, after all, my life is not a porno.

 

So, I am pretty sure that I am now enough of a curmudgeon to realize that porn film moments in my life have escaped. When life gave me beef, I readily chose Beef Barley. As for Randy, yes his name really is Randy, great smile, great body, great personality, but no Soupman for Me.

By the way, the towel did smell of cheap body spray, Axe perhaps?