Cheapskate I am! published in Tioga County ny on 04/26/23

 The Old Coot is cheap .

By Merlin Lessler

 I’m a cheapskate! I’ve learned to live cheap!  But, I’m not stingy. Cheap and stingy are two different things. I’m living the low life, a low-price life. It doesn’t always work, not when the lowest price is junk and I have to repurchase it. So, sometimes I move up the price scale, it’s been a life time of learning, when to pay more. Long before I became an old coot.

 This is how I operate as a cheapskate. Take beer and wine for example. You can pay eight, nine or ten dollars for a glass of beer these days. Or, you can learn to like the cheap stuff. I only have two or three beers once a week or so. Usually on a Friday, out with my wife. I don’t ask for a beer by name. I ask, “What is your cheapest beer?” (As my wife sitting next to me cringes). Same thing with wine. Years ago, I drank more wine than beer, my favorite was Two-Buck-Chuck. A two-dollar bottle of wine sold only at Trader Joe’s. None of their stores are in this area, but you can find something similar, just ask the liquor store clerk, “What’s you cheapest wine?”

 It's easy to learn to like cheap wine and beer, as it is to develop your palate for the high-priced stuff. The same is true for groceries. Store brands are easy to adapt; most of the time they are the same exact product as the name brand, just cheaper. Same thing with dining out; It’s one of the best things about being an old coot. I can’t eat the full portion they serve in a restaurant anymore. So, I split it with my wife and cut my cost in half.

 Now that I’m eighty, I employ a new cheapskate technique. I order from the children’s menu. If I’m told the children’s menu is only for kids under 10, I play my 80 card. “I’m eighty, that’s the same thing as being a little kid. Give me the same courtesy, please.” Nine times out of ten it works.

 Buy plain old coffee. You can live without a ten-dollar double shot, mocha latte. Never buy a new car. Fix stuff yourself (if you can). Wash your own car, don’t pay a car wash place. Mow your lawn. Rake it. It’s great for your physical (and mental) health. That’s it for today. If I go any farther, it will take two sheets of paper to print this out. Something a cheapskate like me tries to avoid. 

The Old Coot is on it. Right now, 4-19-23

 The Old Coot can’t get anything done.

By Merlin Lessler

 People who think that old coots have zero memories are wrong! It’s true that we aren’t as sharp as we once were, but our memories are not really that bad (except for names of people and places). We do suffer from a chronic illness that makes us appear more forgetful than we really are. It’s called “the do-it-right-now” syndrome. It’s the exact opposite of the syndrome we had when we were teenagers. I know; it’s hard to believe that an old coot like me was ever a teenager, but I was. And, just like today’s teens, I suffered from “the put-it-off-until-the last-minute” syndrome back then. Now, I do the opposite.

 I walk into the living room to get the newspaper for my wife and spot a smudge on the mirror. My “do it right now” disease sends me back to the kitchen to get a bottle of Windex and a paper towel. But on the way, a screw driver I was using earlier to fix a loose doorknob attracts my attention. I bend over to pick it up, and the trip to the kitchen for window cleaner flies right out of my head. “Where’s the paper?” my wife asks when I pass her on my way to the garage to put the screwdriver away. “Right here,” I reply, and hand her the screwdriver.

 This happens all through the day. Whenever I go to do something, the “do it right now” syndrome sends me off in another direction. I never finish anything, at least on the first try. I’m as bad as the teenagers who never start anything. Thank goodness for the generations in between; they get things done. But, you have to give us credit, teenagers and old coots alike; we have good intentions.

 

The Old Coot knows how to sleep. Article #1023 - 4/12/2023

 The Old Coot is a pro at nap taking.

By Merlin Lessler

 There is a lot of chatter out there about sleep. A lot of worry and anxiety! People say - “I can’t get to sleep!” – “I wake up at two in the morning and toss and turn for hours!” – “I don’t get enough sleep. I doze off in meetings.” That sort of chatter. It’s nothing new, according to historian, Amanda Foreman. Worries about sleeplessness even kept ancient Egyptians up at night. In fact, some of their methods for treating insomnia are still in use today – Lavendar oil and chamomile tea to name two.

 Medical commentators ramp up the issue on TV all the time. They claim the average American doesn’t get enough “good” sleep. We are advised to turn off the TV, black out the room, read, take a bath, wind down. I don’t have a sleep problem. Like a lot of old coots, I sleep like a baby. I wake up every two hours, roll over and watch TV. But it’s not a problem. I take naps to make up for it. It’s my favorite pastime. Sometimes I don’t even realize I dozed off.

 Put me in a movie theater or in front of a TV and I zonk out. When I come back to planet Earth I’ve missed 20 minutes of the storyline. That’s when I drive my wife nuts, and all the people around us, with a game of 20 questions. “Who is that guy with the gun?” – “Did the woman in red have a baby?” – “Why is that old man in jail?” A chorus of “SHUT UPS!” leaves me in the dark. Later, someone will ask, “How did you like the movie?” I reply, “I’m not sure. It was kind of disjointed.”

 I’ve tried all the tricks to get a good night’s sleep or to get back to sleep. I have a collection of sounds on my I-pad: thunder storms, ocean waves, night birds, breezes, winds & even wild winds. One thing I haven’t tried is a warm cup of milk before bedtime.  It’s what my mother did with us when we were kids. It worked. Stephen King published a great book called, “Insomnia.” The main character woke up (and couldn’t get back to sleep) earlier and earlier every morning. He eventually only got a few hours of sleep. It took me more than a year to finish the book. The old guy with the affliction made me feel as tired as he was. I couldn’t get through ten pages without dozing off. Probably something you do after the second paragraph of one of my old coot articles. Glad you made it all the way through this time.   

 Comments? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com   

The OldCoot says, "Cheerio!" A southerntier NY Coot Article of 4/05/202

 The Old Coot tries out a new accent.

By Merlin Lessler

 These thoughts ran through my head and out my pen in 2012. I still am irritated and can’t help but notice the continuation of this invasion from across the pond. And, the fact that media moguls think we are too dumb to notice what’s going on. So, I’m giving it another go. What? You ask. THE BRITISH INVASION OF OUR AIRWAYS!

 There are a lot of British accents on TV.  It’s an invasion of sorts, like when the Beatles came to America and pushed Elvis aside. More and more of the commentators on news shows have British accents. You never hear them say, “I seen a man get hisself arrested in Albany!” They speak the language at a high level. – “Good show, old chap.” – “That was a smashing street demonstration.” It’s the accent that makes everything they say sound credible.

 The people who run TV news programs know this and hire as many people with British accents as they can. They want us to think the newscasters are smarter than us. People with British accents help sustain that myth.

 The accent not only makes reporters and commentators seem smart, it also makes them seem honest and frank, like Simon, when he was on American Idol. He told it like it was. (He’s since softened up, unfortunately.) Eventually, all plain speaking American reporters will be pushed aside and replaced with Brits. The Revolutionary War isn’t over. We won the battle but not the war. It’s still going on.

 I’ve been practicing my British accent, hoping to regain the respect that hasn’t come my way of late. It’s working pretty good. (Oops.) I mean, it’s working pretty well. I watch BBC a lot, to learn British sayings and pronunciations. Not all my attempts to speak British have turned out so hot. I asked the clerk in the gas station where the loo was the other day. She said, “Lou doesn’t work on Thursdays.”

 That’s OK; I’m in no hurry. I can take my bloody time making the transition. I’m going to try it out and order eggs and bangers with a spot of tea instead of my usual #3. I’m sure the boys at the other end of the counter will start to show me some respect, especially when I get up to leave and turn to them and say, “Cheerio! It’s been jolly good to see you again!” I’ll be the only British old coot in town. Finally, a place of distinction!

 Comments! Sent to - mlessler7@gmail.com