Milestone: This is my 50th piece on Substack since publishing began 18 months ago. All are available on my Quote the Maven home page.
A few weeks ago a random video from the late great funnyman George Carlin popped up on my YouTube feed. The clip was from 1992 when Carlin was at the height of his comedic powers.
In the bit Carlin riffs on euphemisms, the practice of substituting a mild or indirect word or expression for one considered to be too harsh or blunt. (Example: when the military reports collateral damage instead of saying dead civilians).
Toward the end, he turns to “senior citizens” …
Vintage Carlin. A masterclass on linguistics.
Tired “Old” Jokes
Carlin’s musings are still relevant 30 years later — a testimony to his greatness. Society remains hyper-obsessed with youth, so much so that we can’t even give a compliment without a cringy, disingenuous qualifier: “Geez, Bob, you look great … for your age!”
Moreover, today’s language gendarmes recoil at any whiff of offense or injury. Even euphemisms such as Golden Years and Senior Citizen have been added to the growing list of no-nos associated with “age-inclusive language.” (Code: Can’t hurt Grandma and Grandpa’s feelings.)
Anyway, I don’t give two shits about age-inclusive language. I’m not sure when I officially became a Geezer. Or as my youngest calls me “a fossil” I suppose the chronology is arbitrary.
But now that I am one, it got me thinking: How many new “old people” jokes are there? “OK, Boomer” was a favored taunt for a moment among Millenial Twitter Twits. But everything else fits the archetype of a 60th birthday card with one-liners about creaking bones, memory loss or incontinence.
This isn’t butt hurt over ageism. To the contrary, I despise all “-isms.” I’m just weary of bad “old” jokes. Most are a bunch of hokum and clichés. And I hate clichés.
So these presumptions are dead to me …
I don’t do “theme” cruises. In fact, I dislike cruises, period.
I don’t play Pickleball.
Werther’s Originals and petrified pepperments make me gag.
I don’t prattle on about drinking water from a hose when I was a kid. I did. It sucked.
I’ve never texted the wrong person.
I’m really good with technology.
I don’t wear Dad jeans.
Not funny. We can do better. Time to bone up on gerontology and find new ways of drawing old blood.
Subjective Age
We’re never fully cognizant of aging, partly because changes in mindset do not come with a time stamp. Years pass, we live life and evolve, yet still think as we did at 21 — maybe just smarter and a little less reckless. I reckon if you ask most sexagenarians they’ll agree.
Psychologists call it “Subjective Age,” which is a key indicator of both physical and mental health. According to a study published in the Wiley & Sons Journal of Personality, "people with younger subjective ages -- older people who think young -- are healthier and become more conscientious and less neurotic. They adapt to positive changes that come with normal aging.”1
OK. That’s cool. I’m a good vibe guy — positive, optimistic and usually jovial.
However, the study goes on to say “… having a lower subjective age doesn't leave us frozen in a state of permanent immaturity."
Well, here I beg to differ.
However, the study goes on to say “… having a lower subjective age doesn't leave us frozen in a state of permanent immaturity."
Well, here I beg to differ.
Like many of my male peers, I sometimes function as a post-pubescent knucklehead (Subjective Age 16) much to the chagrin of the females in my life.
I still dial it to 11 for U2. I drop random F-bombs and can recite Caddyshack one-liners verbatim. “Pull my finger” still works.
And I still “nyuk nyuk” at the “Curly Shuffle.” So does my brother Steve, who is in the same idiot class (Subjective Age) as me. But I have an excuse — I’m three years younger.
With Age Comes Wisdom: And it is hilarious
In memory of my late mother-in-law Iris
When I was a teenager, if I saw a “Don’t Push!” button the impulse was just too great. Now that I’m older I pause first and think – “Will I get in trouble?” Are the button police going burst from the darkness and put me in shackles?”
Then I go ahead and push. I point to that pause as “wisdom.”
This may be a signal that “F**k-it!” age is on the horizon. That’s the point in life when personal filters dissolve and spouting off becomes socially acceptable. It might just be liberating. Perhaps I should have abandoned worrying about what other people think a long time ago.
My late mother-in-law Iris was a gem. Iris personified the “F**k-It!” mentality. She got funnier as she got older. Her most endearing quality was self-depredation; it was what made her irresistibly charming. When Iris misspoke – which was often – she’d giggle like a child.
Among Iris’ gaffes:
While test-driving a new car, she commented to the salesman “This Vulva drives so smoothly!”
Iris became indignant while waiting in a long line at Customer Service. When she got to the cashier, she sputtered: “I be here long time!” Afterward, she laughed and laughed.
At a family dinner, she casually announced how much she liked “pussy and dumplings.” Everybody roared. So did Iris. She was in “F**k It!” mode.
I miss Iris. She had wisdom. And she was funny.
Dark Humor
I’ve always favored dark humor. You know, the “cover-your-mouth-while-laughing” jokes? I’ve never minded straining convention and decorum. Virtually nothing offends me.
Remember this infamous 1973 cover of National Lampoon magazine?
I know. Animal lovers were aghast. I thought it was glorious. Still do.
So in place of shopworn “old” jokes, I submit this new material with a little more comedic bite …
An old man went into a library and asked for a book on how to commit suicide. The librarian said: “Fuck off, you won’t bring it back.”
People ask me what I’d most appreciate getting for my 70th birthday. I tell them, “A paternity suit.”
Last words to my offspring: “Erase my search history, son.”
My grandma’s dog died, so I tried to cheer her up by getting her an identical one. Unfortunately, it just made her more upset.
She yelled at me, “What am I supposed to do with two dead dogs?”My grief counselor died. He was so good I didn’t even care.
When I die, I want to go like my grandfather who died peacefully in his sleep. Not screaming like all the passengers in his car.
I took my grandma out yesterday morning. Being a sniper is awesome.
Last Words: My parents were married for 61 years. Just hours before Dad died, he motioned to Mom to come closer. She did … “What is it, honey?” Dad snapped: “Get out of my face!”
True story. And funny.
OK, some old people jokes are true …
I know better than to “act young” around young people. Besides, I already know I’m cool … a student once called me an “OG” and I didn’t have to look it up.
That said, I must confess there are some truths to getting older:
I have to scroll forever on drop-down menus to find my year of birth.
I do a fist pump when an event is canceled that I didn’t want to go to in the first place.
I am baffled when I encounter chic new ways to turn a shower on and off.
I text with my index finger.
I have reached the stage where people who look old are really my age.
I’ve come to realize that 98 percent of people are just winging it out there. Most people really don’t know what they’re doing. Including myself.
No matter. I view these as “costs of living.”
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life
It occurs to me that those who live hoping for a better afterlife somehow cheapen the one they have. I suggest everyone, regardless of age, should “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.”
“Life’s a piece of shit,
When you look at it.
Life’s a laugh, and death’s a joke; it’s true.
You’ll see it’s all a show.
Keep ’em laughin’ as you go.
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.”
“Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”
— From Monty Python’s “Life of Brian” (1979)
Yes, the last laugh is on you.
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Jim Geschke was inducted into the prestigious Marquis Who’s Who Registry in 2021.
"frozen in a state of permanent immaturity" is beside my name and pic in the invisible dictionary of life. Sorry, not even a little. National Lampoon and Monty Python were both my faves. There was a writer named Chris Miller for Nat Lampoon.
The only time I laughed more was watching the Monty Python and the Holy Grail scene, "It's just a Flesh Wound". ( https://youtu.be/-6VTci1Bunk )
Thanks for the mammaries! As I say to myself - "What, are you 12?"