And I can’t help it; when I read “prolly” my left eyebrow starts twitching sort of like Dirty Harry.
So it’s been 5-weeks since the total Anchor Steam on tap-type nosebleed meeting breaker landed me in Kaiser with a Tampon secured way up my right nostril. But after a couple of lesser flare-ups, I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel (yet another misapplication of probably one of my all-time fave overused metaphors.)
And I haven’t ridden a stationary bike in a roomful of mirrors listening to crappy club music or dropped a primordial profane “Yalp!” during a beautiful walk ruined by a little dimpled white ball…in five freakin weeks!
The NBA playoffs are history; college football is a couple of months away and my Giants and Angels are probably two of the worst clubs in major league baseball. All I’ve had goin’ for me is counting lies like sheep after watching CNN coverage of the game show host in-chief and figuring out the over/under for how many Americans we have to kill so that the super-rich can get a little super-richer.
Currently, even though I’m the consummate uber-cool professional on the outside; I’m former VP Dick Cheney handcuffed to a chair in a roomful of Big Macs on the inside.
But what a relief! I’m part of an innovative, fun, and off-the-charts talented elite group of colleagues led by the mentor you’ve always wanted but just didn’t know it…and he does great stand-up too.
I’ve been practicing dentistry for almost as long as the president has been delusional and by now I know special when I see it. And I get to work with twenty-five of the most capable Invisalign-providing GPs in the history of fixing cockeyed teeth and smiles in 9-months or less. The Magnificent Twenty-five come from all across North America; hand-picked by the Wolf of Invisalign. I was granted admittance by way of an athletic scholarship and because I laugh at all of the Big Guy’s jokes. Yeah, I happen to be the fastest cyclist on a stationary bike on East or West Las Tunas Drive, a 3-handicap golfer, and the owner of the best early topspin crosscourt backhand return of serve in the history of my own mind.
And just when I needed my elite corps of colleagues to support me during my five week Bataan march through and around Pasadena (because walking is my only allowed “exercise”), the whippersnapper component (in their own mind) of the Mag-25 up and let me down. The kids started texting “prolly” to replace the very respectable word, “probably.” And I can’t help it; when I read “prolly” my left eyebrow starts twitching sort of like Dirty Harry and I get all paranoid about another nosebleed. It’s sad.
And after five weeks of nasally induced frustration and inactivity, “prolly” probably could have been the last harmless cute little urban colloquial irritant to snap Smilin’ Jack into that “get off my lawn” guy nobody wants to be. And it’s bad enough I’m already the oldest guy in the club.
But just like my 2-iron, Soul Cycle, and my wooden Jack Kramer racket, this too shall pass. I’ll probably just put “prolly” away in the garage and then probably just keep on smilin’.