Woes Of The Solitary Man

As the SIX of you noticed, I haven’t posted anything for quite some time.  Now, I know what you‘re thinking: “Why ruin a good thing just before the holidays, right?  Well, get over it.  I’m doing this for ME!  I find myself needing to take an attitudinal “dump,” and this post is no more than a word-filled suppository.

Let’s get to the point.  Some old guys like me would rather live their lives as if wearing Harry Potter invisibility cloaks.  We try to fly SO far below the radar that our bellies have abrasions where hair used to be.  But unfortunately, the world is crowding in on us like we were sale items at the Swap Meet.  And the more it happens, the faster our “Bullshit Bags” fill up and need to be purged.  Today is one of those occasions.

It all hit the fan when I began getting this persistent message on my computer monitor:  “There are unused icons on your desktop. The desktop wizard can help you clean up your desktop.  Click this balloon to start the wizard.”

First of all, who in the hell is this “wizard” living in my computer without permission or a rental agreement?  And how the heck does he get the right to snoop on me and keep track of the frequency with which I use specific icons, anyway?  What’s more, why does he feel the need to assume that certain icons on my desktop are causing me stress and need to be banished for the sake of my mental health?  And who asked for his help, in the first place?  I certainly know how to use the “delete” key when I feel the need.

“My,” you might say, “what trivial things set you off these days, Mr. Paisano.  Get a grip !  It’s only the computer company trying to make you more efficient and well-organized.”  Well guess what?  My 9.5 decade-old  mother was a career secretary, and I got all the practice I needed in life efficiency and organization while I was growing up.  So as an older man, I now claim the absolute right to live my life in logistical chaos if I wish.  And that could mean  storing my woodworking tools in the refrigerator, or stashing my pepperoni in the underwear drawer if it makes me happy.

Frankly, I’m damn sick and tired of strangers who couldn‘t care less about me, yet strive to dictate the way I live my life.  A meddling government, for example, that mandates I have health insurance that covers me should I become the first male in history to experience an immaculate conception.  And nannycrats with big enough balls to legislate how much trans fat I can eat, or the size of my “Big Gulp,” or if I can buy “E Cigarettes” as an alternative to tobacco.

Not to mention those agencies that keep records of my calls or e-mails simply because I know someone named “Samir,” or because there’s a possibility I’m spending time with “Mrs. Habeeb” at the Senior Center because we’re plotting to bomb the DMV for taking lousy pictures at our last driver‘s license appointment. What a perverse twist of governmental “oversight.” 

And what gives anyone I don’t know, the right to collect and store every scrap of my personal information? And what need is there for the feds to have the GPS coordinates of my front door on file?  Even if I fall and can’t get up, they’re the last ones I’d want to show up to administer help.  And why should some spy system assume I’m dyslexic and was Googling for “porn,” when all I was attempting to do was learn more about shellfish, and mistakenly typed “pron” in the search box thinking it was the correct spelling for “prawn.” 
 
Beyond that, there should be no need for me to endure ten solicitation calls a day when I’m supposedly on the “No Call” list, or have to wait for commercials before I can view something on You Tube.  And I should still be able to pay with an old-fashioned check, instead of being forced to put my personal information on the internet in order to make purchases from certain companies.

Financially, I shouldn’t have a $49.95 “money-saving” bundled package with Verizon, and end up paying almost $75.00 after “someone” tacks on a bunch of mysterious fees in miniscule print.  And my rates for certain utilities shouldn’t skyrocket the minute my neighbors and I do a great job of conserving resources and cause the revenues of those companies to drop.  Who granted them the right to a guaranteed  income, anyway, especially using MY money?
 
Finally, as a solitary man I strive to live a “nag-free” life, and not feel like a polygamist husband at the wrong time of the month.  That’s an impossibility, however.  My computer bugs me regularly with messages to get off my ass and start using Facebook because there are SCORES of folks just dying to “talk” to me.  (Who are these people, and what is their mental condition if they need ME in order for their lives to be complete?)  And my mailman has gotten a hernia delivering “reminders” that I’ve failed to renew a magazine to which I subscribed in 1996, or that I’m going to miss out on someone’s special offer that ends in twelve hours, forty-two minutes, and three seconds.  I mean, what the hell?    

  The truth is obvious, Folks.  There has never been a time in history when there has been more meddling in our personal lives.  Our daily pursuits are riddled with unsolicited “wizards” of all sorts, human and otherwise… all forcing us to either change the way we live, or perish like the dinosaurs.  And guys like me who continue to resist, well… we’re considered fossils.  So take note, the SIX of you who actually read this stuff.  Start calling me Prehistoric Paisano if you like, understanding I’m more than comfortable being classified as “petrified remains,” and make absolutely no bones about it !