“Old man take a look at your life
I’m a lot like you were. “
Fifty years ago Neil Young wrote those prophetic words. He was in his early twenties. He said he wrote it for a caretaker on his ranch. Like hell, it’s got his Dad’ stink all over it. You can see his Father’s fingerprints on the beer glass.
Old man walk. You’ve seen it. You may be living it now. Head slightly forward, a kind of stumble, legs stiff, heavy in the foot. Not quite the prostate pose, but it’s growing. If a man gets old enough, the prostate becomes an issue. I have a gay friend who swears that regular prostate massage kept him looking young into his 80 plus years. Either way you roll, there is still the old man walk. And a roll. Walk and roll.
Then there is the type of guy who gets the beer baby bump.
“It is not unusual to see men with a vast abdomen that makes them look, as you say, pregnant, but with slim arms and legs, giving rise to what is sometimes called the 'lemon-on-a-cocktail stick' appearance.
The important point to make is that excess visceral fat is associated with an increased risk of conditions including type 2 diabetes, colorectal cancer and Alzheimer's.
We have also known for some time that a large waist is just as significant a risk factor for coronary heart disease as body weight.
It's not clear exactly why this is, but research suggests that visceral fat affects hormonal functions in the body.
For example, it can contribute to insulin resistance, where the body does not process sugars properly (which can ultimately result in diabetes).”1
So what the cause of “lemon on a cocktail stick”?
Genetics and diet. Meat based diet, alcohol. Weakened liver, and also weekend liver. Visceral fat. Pre- Type 2diabetes. The sugar. Obesity. My Dad had some of that. The I had some of that, but lost most of it after my bypass surgery. Now with my cancer fighting weight, my big boy pants are donated. Not ever going back there, he said.
After this cancer diagnosis in the health opportunity club that I now am a proud member, I am saying goodbye to alcohol and the meat based lifestyle. Call me vegan curious. Besides concerns for the plight of Animals in our state sanctioned death culture, there is also the karmic debt that we carry.
Carrion. Luggage, baggage, card carrion member since….
Who wants to fit that profile? Literally a profile of male pattern badness. Which autocorrect keeps forcing into baldness. Of course my genetic ancestry traded our cardiovascular system for of full head of hair, slightly diminished now with the chemo. Not total hair loss, but a gradual encroachment on my radiated neck and beard.
I woke this morning, did my stumble walk to the bathroom, sat down and peed. My Mother raised all her sons to sit to pee, because she didn’t like cleaning up the errant urine around the toilet. Did it take? Yes and no. Sort of like the over/ under for the toilet paper roll. My Mother, who was left handed, favoured the under roll. Right handers like me favour the over roll. Is it ease, control of sheets, or basic physiognomy? When I worked at the bakery, I notice sales of small coffee outpaced large. Which of course made no sense, so I investigated. The small cups were on the side where right handed people would reach for first, ( this in the days of self-serve coffee) so I switched the small cups for the large cups. And sales reversed themselves. Did people suddenly want larger cups of coffee? No. Did they even notice? No. Did sales increase? Yes. Was I a marketing genius? Or just a student of Human nature and patterns of behaviour. Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?

These inheritances. We carry them, we breathe them, and we pass them on. Cultural batons in the great relay race. I remember the day in my thirties when I looked in the mirror, and didn’t recognize the face staring back. I’ve had many of those moments in this life. Lately with the cancer weight loss, I see new wrinkles in my chin, turkey neck gobbling up any youthfulness I had been holding on to.
Fullness in my face may come back to some degree, but I think once this test is done, a new physical regime is called for. More exercise, better eating decisions. Loss of taste has killed urges, binges, emotional eating. Will they come back with my taste? Will my taste even come back? Will the roar of tinnitus subside? Will the memory loss continue?
That’s why I’m writing every day. Getting it down. Getting it right. Getting right by God, or dog. The high and the low. Meeting in the middle, but my middle, that soft gooey centre middle is no more. No more belly.
Did you know Nestle is the largest food company in the world? Those multinational thieves who steal our pristine (or so we like to think) water, bottling it in plastic bottles, selling it back to us, while communities have to shut down for weeks in the summer due to droughts. Smoke on the water. Fire in the sky. Christ, here come the warm jets of the 70’s while we creep into our own seventies, like the 60’s redux in our Sixties. Like when Neil Young’s longest running roadie said back in 2013 in Montreal to Peggy Thompson and I, “ Being in your sixties is like being back in the 60’s —you just don’t give a fuck.”
I mentioned Nestle because they make Boost, or Ensure or both. Nefarious Merchants of Ivory Death. They do all the meal replacements. You know what’s funny? Speaking with a Cancer nutritionist, asking if I have heard of Carnation Instant Breakfast?
Hell yeah, my Mother gave it to us as a morning drink, along with Tang, the juice the astronauts drank. It has 1300 calories in a glass. And about a cup of sugar. Of course we loved it. Breakfast replacement. You remember the Replacements? You mean the Meal Replacements?
Hip replacements, knee replacements, meal replacements—oh. That is a line in my song Punk Rock Nursing Home, dedicated to my friends at Lanalou’s. It will be coming out this fall on Heavy Like A Baby records, from The Nightflower Orchestra. It is tentatively called Pre-Cancelled ( For Your Convenience).
"“ Being in your sixties is like being back in the 60’s —you just don’t give a fuck.” - this is the best thin I've heard in a while
I have become a watermelon on a stump.