The Perils and
Foibles of Being Simultaneously Nearsighted and Farsighted
Aging in an Age of
Aging
Writing Subtitles
Even When the Thesaurus Tool is Malfunctioning
“Oh Magoo, you’ve done it again!” – Quincy Magoo
“I Can’t See Nobody
No, I Can’t See Nobody” – The Bee Gees
Despite the best efforts and intents of resveratrol, CoQ-10, fish Oil, flavonoids, beta-carotene or any other of the seemingly infinite, and completely unregulated, anti-oxidants and natural supplements we devour desperately - individual Ponce De Leons all, in a quixotic quest for our personal fountains of youth – each and every one of us, mortal to our very core, will inevitably succumb to nature, aging and maturity and their inescapable consequences (Benjamin Button – a curious case, Joan Rivers’ eyelids, and the GOP policy towards women’s health issues aside.) As I ascend through the furtively fleet passage of time, I fear that the illustration of Mr. Magoo, presented here, represents a fairly accurate depiction of the current and future states of nycityman - and not only in appearance and stature, but even more so in terms of awareness, alertness and overall general behaviors. I’ve become as myopic as Michele Bachmann’s matchmaker, as Donald Trump’s hairstylist, or as Cardinal Timothy Dolan at the annual gay rights parade.
Being nearsighted is far from a new development, gold
aviator frames with brown-hued, gradient lenses (scoff if you wish, but it was
the era, they were the trendiest of all spectacles and coordinated brilliantly with
the quiana shirts and platform shoes – we were stayin’ alive) were indispensable
accoutrements beginning in high school. My ocular acuity decreased as
persistently and precipitously as an abstinence pledge in Wasilla, Alaska, and
if not for the astonishing advances in lens technology, I’d be sporting glasses
that look like 19thcentury stereoscopes. But, alas now, thanks to
the generosity, gifts and good graces of Father Time (whom I think of more as a
neglectful, if not abusive, step-father) I am also farsighted, and that
condition too is deteriorating as rapidly as a Fox News viewer’s useful grey
matter. Ponder the reality – if one is farsighted, and one is also nearsighted,
what category of “sighted” remains? Through laborious and ceaseless scientific
study and inquiry (lying in bed, sans corrective lenses, periodical and ruler
in hand) I recently ascertained that the area I can see clearly, the entire
distance in which I can discern the visual variation between Arnold
Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito, totals 5
inches! From about 12 inches to 17 inches away from my eyes, words and objects
are distinct and distinguishable - before 12 inches and beyond 17 inches, my
sense of being, life, humanity and events is perceived through the same camera
filter that was used to shoot Doris Day on the old television series that bared
her name. When prepping for slumber, and therefore lens-less, the cloudy,
amorphous, shapeless blob lurching toward me in the gloom of darkness could be
anyone from, optimistically - winsome, Welsh warbler, Katherine Jenkins (temporarily
replacing Barbara Eden as the current, comic, childish crush reference) to, more
pessimistically, renowned cinema villain, Kane Hodder, cleaver at the ready.
Actually experiencing life as a Mr. Magoo is not minutely
as amusing in reality as it is in the animated realm. For example, driving into
a fire hydrant has very little actual comic value, even if a chicken
inexplicably appears upon the scene and is thrown into the air upon contact.
Similarly, should you find yourself driving off of a cliff your vehicle will
not defy gravity and stay aloft in the air as you register a triple take to
camera before plummeting. And, it’s best
if we spare the details of the actual aftermath of an anvil dropping on a head.
Needless to say the body does not transform into a whimsical accordion.
Once upon a time I could see. I was a sharp-eyed, alert, hormone-driven
youngster who could spot VPL and muffin tops and most urgently, adam’s apples
on people whom in every other aspect appeared wonderfully womanly, from a
football field away. I could see near and far, hither and yon, fore and aft,
and even Shields and Yarnell. I could
see fire I could see rain. But now, I have to give serious, thoughtful and even
lengthy deliberations to concerns like – if I were to be in a plane crash,
would it better if I were wearing my contact lenses or my glasses? I’m still
debating that.
The Bee Gees, and “I Can’t See Nobody”
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