I think I need to take my head out of my arse and pay more attention. To be fair, I was trained well enough back in the day so I should know better. My father would gently clip me around the ear, my mother only had to raise her voice a notch and in school, well let’s just say, stealing from the Spanish Inquisition wouldn’t have kept you more on your toes.
I am of course talking about the potential danger that I might soon fall into the trap of being out of touch with the ‘young’ people or ignoring anything new that doesn’t relate to a specific period of my life when I was at my peak. God Forbid.
It seems some young wan’ called Kim Kardashian is breaking up with a lad who I originally thought was called Kane and when I heard the news, my world wasn’t shaken. It seems I’m losing touch.
I pride myself in keeping relatively up to date with contemporary music, but I have to admit I struggle on occasion as fashion in music swings through its vagaries and I am not always enamoured with the changes. There is an element of the old Fogey creeping into my head at times despite my insistence somewhere deep inside that I am still a young man at heart.
Perhaps we gain and lose patience as we grow older if that makes any sense. I’ve lost patience with nonsense and I suppose maturity gives me the ability to say what I think and not put up with as much Blarney as I used to when I was younger. I have conversely become more patient and can treat life’s little malfunctions with a more relaxed attitude than I once did. My auld fella used to say, “There’s only so much shite I can listen to” and my ma would tell me to listen to what others say. Growing older gives me the perspective to see when I fall into either category.
The problem of course, is that very much age related thing of getting stuck in your ways. It’s a creeping, pernicious thing and if you’re not careful, before you know it you’ll be halfway to becoming an old fart. Now I’m a long way from that – I hope- but that’s not for me to judge and that’s the problem. I can be a particular fecker – no it’s not a typo- I said fecker not the bad word – and in identifying my particularness – (not a real word until now) – there is hope for me yet.
The first step to maintaining your head in an out of your own arse position, is to identify the potential for you to stick it up there in the first place. It’s pure science. Let’s take my aphisma – you might want to look at my last blog for that one, but in short aphisma being my condition whereby I slap my body to look for my wallet or keys only to discover they are right where they should be after I complete my panic attack. That in itself is not necessarily an indicator of aging, young folk can have aphisma attacks also but combined with secondary clues, aging can be more easily identified. What secondary clues you ask? Using expressions like ‘young folk’ might be one.
I’ll pause at this point because what I’m trying to establish has no word and I may need to offer you my second contribution to the English language this year and that is a word to describe the skill of avoiding becoming an unwilling practitioner of the ancient art of head-up-your-own-arseology. Yes indeed. What I’m describing here is looking up to smell the roses instead of smelling the same old shite that you are responsible for peddling when you fail to open your heart to other ideas as you get older.
If you can name it, you can shame it that’s my logic and if you shame it … and let’s not forget my 1970’s, Irish Catholic, working class, feck the begrudgers and begrudge them anyway upbringing here… if it wasn’t for guilt we would have had nothing…if you indeed shame it, them maybe…just maybe…you can break the habit.
So in order to exorcize my head-up-me-own-arseeology, I hereby offer another new word. – Darcification.
Noun ; Darcification Pronunciation ; d.arse.if.i.cation.
Verb ;- Darcify Pronunciation n d.arse.if.I.
I realised I’d been talking shite for half an hour so I decided to listen for a change. It was time for me to darcify.
My wife told me I’d been acting like an old fart and a prat, talking rubbish and behaving like a condescending auld fecker. When the truth struck home I was darcified.
I spent the evening drinking Guinness with my two oldest friends, whining about young people and romanticising the good old days when it struck me, these two were in part at least, responsible for my darcification.
Now go darcify. Set your spirit free.
Max Power’s books include, Darkly Wood, Larry Flynn Bad Blood and Little Big Boy
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