…is there any finer sign of encroaching middle age?
Got a lump carved out of my neck this morning. The wife encouraged it. I fought her on it, but when the thing grew a mouth and started talking – and I don’t know where it learned that sort of language, I swear – she suggested that I take action.
In the end, I agreed because I feared it would turn out to be more a more interesting conversationalist than myself. Trumped by the lump – the stinging shame of it!
A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
Søren Kierkegaard
Walker Percy
Bob Dylan
Literature & History
Letters from an American
Beau of the Fifth Column
This American Life
The Writer’s Almanac
San Diego Reader
The Stranger
The Inlander
Adoremus
Charlotte was Both
The Onion
From Empty Hands
Ellen Finnigan
America
Commonweal
First Things
National Review
The New Republic
All Manner of Thing
Gerasene Writers Conference
Scrutinies
DarwinCatholic
Catholic and Enjoying It
Bad Catholic
Universalis
Is My Phylactery Showing?
Quotidian Quintilian
En pocas palabras
William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire
Signposts in a Strange Land
Ben Hatke
Daniel Mitsui
Dappled Things
The Fine Delight
Gene Luen Yang
Wiseblood Books
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Matthew! What was the nature of the lump? I hope not an ill one.
“Another Fine Sign of Encroaching Middle Age”: bifocal eyeglasses. I’m wearing my first pair. Presbyopia, “elder vision”, is the medical term for the condition that requires their use.
I believe you’re more than a decade behind me. Encroacher!
Matthew,
At least your lump is operable – I’ve got one of those lumps that gorws uncontrollably wild during the social season. It waxes with each triumph (imagined or otherwise – but mostly imagined) and wanes with each humiliation (howsoever rarely such things occur).
Egoicitis I think they call it.,,
JOB
p.s. Next time LET ME KNOW YOU’RE GOING UNDER THE KNIFE SO I CAN PRAY FOR YOU!
Did the mouth talk in a high pitched, maniacal voice? If so, you did the right thing … surely, it would have resulted in an asexually produced alter-ego bent on destroying you.
And now I have that awful Black Eyed Peas song stuck in my head. Check it out. Thanks, Matthew.
Sorry about the Black Eyed Peas thing. Really I am. Instead, why not think of that old tune from The Presidents of the Unites States of America: She’s Lump/She’s Lump/She’s Lump/She’s in my head…
If only on the high pitched manaical voice. No, it spoke much like Noel Coward. If anything, it made me sound high pitched and manaical. It had to go.
Thank you kindly for your concern – the docs think it was just a benign sort of clogged something or other. But they’re sending it to the lab anyway.
That’s hilarious about Presbyopia! Very humble of you to submit it…