Me ‘n Mister Jones

“You walk into a room/
With a pencil in your hand/
Realize you’re naked(!), an’ then you/
…watch where you stand/
There oughta be a law against you/
Walking around,
You should be wearing, at least/
And you know you forgot something/
But ya’ don’t know what it is/
Do You, Mister Solberg?

-Credit to ‘some guy they just last week lassoed into being a noble larriat’-

Ok, Everyone reading this know the feeling: walking into a room and forgetting why you came there. But for me, at 67, 20 times a day, it reminds me that whatever I wanted to have in common with two of my heroes, Terry Pratchett and Robin Williams, it might not necessarily be ‘early-onset-whatever.’
And now I read that, at my age, I don’t even have the sympathy-vote of ‘early-onset’! “Deal wid it, you over-the-hill fossil”, I hear the nurses saying under their breath, while the Management frets about a shortage of beds for the ‘salvageable’.
I’ve dealt with memory-loss before; at least I think so? “Save me, Oh cloud!” I chant, scrolling through ‘previous posts’. I can now feign coherence till my batteries die. My paternal Grandpa, who voiced his last translatable utterance a decade before he went to rest among his ancestors, had no WIFI. Strange to think that that factoid is what distinguishes us from each other.
I compensate with my proudly-engineered work-arounds. Like Zappa said: ‘No one will know if we don’t want to let them know.’

Soo.. what am I doing in the kitchen, ‘shtrunkel’ hanging out, fair game to any nasty woman who’s famous or rich enough not to need to ask permission?
Ah, the pencil; a clue?
Aha, I merely wanted to write down a joke I just heard, and my daily journal (‘What the hell did I do, like, ten minutes ago?’) was on the table there.
‘An Amish kid hears about ‘orgies’, and ask his older brother what it’s all about. The brother says: ‘Simple; ya chust take off yer clothes an’ go to town!’
The next morning the police find him walking alone along the country road to Lancaster, buck nekkid.

What, that’s it?! That’s the excuse for this post?
Yeah, I think so, But if I remember a deeper point I can always ‘Edit’, right?


8 thoughts on “Me ‘n Mister Jones

  1. promisesunshine

    So the other day, I said to a kid, “please put your refrigerator back in the kitchen”. This kid, obedient, and therefore not my own, picked up his lunchbox and took it back in the room.

    It’s a good joke. Definitely worth writing down and then sharing with the class.

    How does a dude from Amish country end up way far away?

    1. solberg73 Post author

      I just finally read some of your posts, and feel very much like returning a bit of the valued attention you bless me with here, Look for comments there on-site. I’m expert at excusing apparently dismissive remarks as actually ironic admissions and proofs of long-term love,
      I so understand the quotation’ you cite above; lately I need to ‘try-out’ mentally most of what I say, before-hand. Most embarrassing is waiting thru a half-hour of Musak on vitally-important toll-free US help lines only to ‘spiel’ to the finally-human agent my request… but in Hebrew! I do forgive them for asking politely: “Um.. what did you say, sir?”
      As to the saga of my presence here: a short version has me following a girl so gorgeous that one can’t take his eyes off of her… but that theory undervalues my genetic kinship with ‘my people. Only take one ‘Ms Katz from Bialystock, Russia (1812) to make me a jew at heart, I guess.

      1. promisesunshine

        What a lovely answer to my question.
        I was so dreading that you might feel a need to return the favor. Blushes. Because I have done quite a lot of complaining. There are none complain-y things way back.Somewhere.

  2. solberg73 Post author

    That ‘mistaken hat’ book is kinda my bible;and no less incisive in the Hebrew translation I most often read; rumor has it that he insisted on an accurate facsimile. I already did two parodies of it on Xanga, And can recite chapter and verse. Would have loved to have met him in person, RIP. As to Amish w/ Tourettes; like they said about Palin on drugs “How would you know?” ! I’m not over-proud of our PA-Dutch vocabulary; serviceable enough for planting corn… My great-uncle was the seminal/ only translator of the classics into the rough-beast tongue. His ‘Merchant von Venice’ elicited lots of, “Oy, Gott sei Danke, dats the first time I ever unnerstood it!’


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