Have you ever heard of Big Week?
No, it is not the aerial bombing of the 1940s.
And no, it is not the Biggest Losers counterpart – Smallest Winner.
Where I am from, Big Week is Rodeo week. It is held every year toward the end of July and is supposedly the largest on the west coast.
Now, I may have redneck tendencies, but I am no cowboy. Disney Sing-A-Long has contrived a list of requirements one has to ascertain to be designated a cowboy. A cowboy needs a horse, a hat, a pair of fancy boots, a set of shiny spurs, and a rope-o-o-o if he wants to be a cowboy. Let me calculate my haul of currently owned items…Carry the two, subtract the W, add pie, pumpkin preferably…Zero. That suggests my attire for such an event is exiguous in comparison to fellow attendees. I end up looking like a Hipster-Wannabe-Cowboy with a plaid shirt, skinny-FIT jeans (there is a difference), and some shoes. Meanwhile, I see men and women dressing to the nines in their western wardrobe. I’ve always wondered, wow, for a country guy (or girl) they sure look spiffy. I’ve wondered how they have kept their clothes so crisp and immaculate. I’ve come to the conclusion it is because they only wear the shit once a year. Now, my town has its fair share of rednecks, but we are more infamously known for our gang affairs. Local law enforcement is just not well versed in managing snapping Broadway gangsters. One would reckon that Jazz Hands 101 be a prerequisite to graduate the Police Academy. Regardless, fact of the matter is this town does not have that many country people. We do have a lot of pretenders. And none are The Great.
I know this to be a fact. I have friends who participate in these rodeo festivities. Friends who are only cowboys for 168 hours. While not the same amount of hours, I liken it to how long it felt when watching James Franco’s movie. It appears to be a lengthy carving of time, but put in perspective with the 8766 hours in a year, it’s rather brief. It does not prevent them from embodying their western clothes and jumping up on that “high horse.” Pun(s) intended. For one week they think they are some badass cowboy. Until I remind them, “You work at Carls Jr., you don’t listen to country music, and you’ve never even ridden a horse. The closest you’ve come to western is selling me a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger. Now, which window do I pull up to? The second? Why do you have two windows, but only occupy one? I want to know what’s behind window number one.” Okay, I got carried away with that fabricated conversation, but the drift has been got.
There are exceptions to this rule. Women. I do not care if you have never seen the stars above the city glow. If you want to slap on some daisy dukes, roll up your t-shirt, and rock some boots you go right ahead and do so. There are so many cheap jokes here, I’m talking five cent spittoon cigars worth, but I will take the high road, the one that leads off into the sunset. In a car.
The old gray mare she aint what she used to be. Many long years ago.
Or maybe she is? I don’t know. It’s a horse. Let me get some Elmer’s for my artwork and let’s be done with it.
I ought to have said old gray people aint what they use to be. Why you may say? Let me count the ways.
- Speed – I have noticed that old people have two speeds. They are either a tortoise or a hare. There is no casual acceleration. The bearing’s in which this occurs most frequently is on the road. There are old people driving 25 MPH in a 50 MPH zone. Yes, I know you may have driven a Model T and are use to the 25-30 MPH speed, but see that number “50” on the speedometer, it’s okay to push your Buick to those blazing speeds. I feel like Flash each time I pass one of them on the road. I have super power abilities!…Dang, it is just an old person. Oh fecal matter! And no I am not talking about your colostomy bag sir. Then there are those old people speedsters. The ones that make me look like a chump for going 80 in a 65 when they are charging forth at 90-plus. These are daredevils. No, not like the blind superhero, more so the risk-taker variety. It could be that, or that they fell asleep at the wheel. Nap-time down the stretch. Or they could be trying to match their speed with their age. Not sure, but they are swift and hazardous.
- Patience – Old people seem to lack patience. I noticed this in my retail experience. They are complacent with counting out their $4.56 worth of pennies, but when it comes to me doing my portion of the work, they will not stand for it. Quite literally, I have had to get chairs before. I have put some thought into it and I cannot fathom why they are so impatient. At eighty-two, where do you have to be? A doctor’s appointment? I know they have limited time, but come on, what else are they actually going to accomplish? Is that blood test the highlight of their day?
- Eye sight – Eye sight fades. Look at me for example, I never had much of it to begin with. So I am sympathetic to their loss. Others do not share my compassionate ways. I have a friend who often thinks old guys are looking at her. A week or two ago we met up and she stated the same case. Two old guys were staring at her. Rightfully so, I bet all guys look at her. Modest in her clothing, but worth a double-take. So why is it that she only notices old guys? It is not because they are perverts. It just takes longer for their eyes to focus. They are not as quick as the young whippersnappers.
Once normal people, they have now transformed into old people, the last stage of life. What are you going to do? It’s the elderly transformation.
Original Facebook Status Update:
You always catch old guys checking out girls. It’s not because they are more perverted, it’s because their eyes need more time to focus. Give a guy a break.