Spare a few thoughts today for the victims of the awful Brussels terror attacks. There’s no place in the world today that’s totally safe anymore. Just awful…
The photo above made me smile, though: This was Air Force One on its way into Cuba. What an incredible shot of a historic trip. I thought about writing about the terrorist attack today, but have no new thoughts to share; sadly these have become so frequent that anything I thought of to say sounded trite. So instead, I bring you a short bit about getting old, and two stories that will hopefully make you laugh.
I never actually “felt” 30 years old. I didn’t really feel any older, or different, or have any thoughts whatsoever about hitting a new decade.
I never felt 18, except I could vote and buy lottery tickets. I never felt 21, except I could drink and gamble in casinos (which was a very big deal to me).
But let me tell you something, I absolutely have felt 40 the past few days. Yeah, I’ve been 40 for eight months now, but in the past week I’ve felt closer to 50.
Getting old sucks for everyone, sure. But 40 has snuck up on me physically. The littlest things now can cause pain or discomfort, and it makes me mad. A few days ago I was standing a certain way and watching TV in that position, sort of crouched over, for about 10 minutes.
When I got up, I had shooting pain in my lower back. Then it felt really, really stiff, and I had trouble walking for the next few hours. It went away, but that shit never happened before.
Then Saturday, I did a routine 3-mile run on a treadmill. I didn’t go crazy-fast, I didn’t do anything that I don’t normally do. I stretched before, I stretched after. And I’ve had right hip flexor/adductor pain for the last three days. Until today I thought I was just sore, like, you know, good sore from running.
Tuesday every time I took a damn step with my right leg, or shifted my weight to that side, I was in agony. I’m going to the doctor today, I’m sure she’ll tell me I have a pulled muscle in my hip or something like that, and she’ll give me some anti-inflammatory medicine, and send me on my way.
And I’ll realize once again, that this never used to happen to me. But now I’m 40. And I’m getting old. And I’m mad.
That’s all. You fellow 40-year-olds out there can surely relate.
**Next up today, a wonderful and heart-warming story from the world of education. The state of Alabama has just seen its Senate committee approve a bill that would require teachers to receive an hour of training a year on sexual relations and other inappropriate relations with students.
The Education Policy Committee approved the bill by Sen. Cam Ward, R-Alabaster, the Decatur Daily reported.
The Educator-Student Interaction Training Act would require training on sexual or romantic contact, social media interactions, interactions outside the classroom and the use of corporal punishment and physical restraints in classrooms.
SERIOUSLY??? So let me get this straight: The state of Alabama feels a need to train teachers NOT to have sex with students? Can I please just imagine what the course trainers might say?
“Now folks, I know you all have needs. And I know you might think that Janette there in the third row is looking mighty fine in her crop top and shorts. And I know you might think that hey, she’s 16, she’s practically an adult, she and I can go out. But you just can’t do it, OK? Go home, watch some porn, and forget about her.
OK, class dismissed. Tomorrow: Why you older male teachers shouldn’t drive past college campuses in the springtime.”
**Finally today, I don’t usually laugh at juvenile humor too much, but this cracked me up. Maybe it’s because I’m a male. But on the boxscore for the Denver Nuggets game on Saturday night, beneath the players who played were listed the players who didn’t play and why. These are done in every boxscore for every NBA game, with the abbreviations DNP (Did Not Play) or DND (Did not Dress).
However, I’m pret-ty sure that the reason for Kenneth Faried missing the game was kind of unique.
Let me tell you, that can be painful. Only thing worse? High sack soreness.
Poor Kenneth. He’s never going to live that typo down.