Where Did I Leave Those Keys?

On an 82 Year-Old President

While traveling this week, I availed myself of the (sumptuous, consistent) morning breakfast buffet at my hotel of choice, and in addition to breakfast, I grabbed two hard boiled eggs that would later become lunch. I have this routine down to a science, to include the packing of tiny plastic baggies that house the hard boiled eggs within the community refrigerator at the jobsite. Having scheduled a phone call “back east” for the morning, I returned to my room, grabbed the baggie, inserted the eggs and then placed it in the refrigerator. Genius that I am, I placed my rental car key and my ID/Lanyard right here next to the eggs, so that I would not walk out without my lunch. I then conducted my phone call and a bit of performative Twittering (because that is what is done on Twitter).

When it was time to pack everything up and head to the jobsite, I looked for my ID and lanyard and couldn’t find it. Panic. This is a government ID that I have had epic battles to obtain across the years, and I began to contemplate the chaos that would enter my life had I lost it. I remembered pulling it out to show the front desk the night before. I rifled though every bit of kit I had, several times, and had finally decided that the only thing to do was to go o the front desk to see if I had left it there or if it had been returned. As I neared the door, I saw the little refrigerator and realized my error. To be honest, I had yet to realize that my car key too was missing. I rescued same (and eggs) from the refer and went on about my day.

I am 57 years and nine months old, and I lost track of my ID and keys in the space of an hour. I have never been good with people’s names, and what limited capacity I had gets less every day. As someone who deals in words, I find that my capacity to locate the perfect word escapes me more often than it used to.

Joseph Robinette Biden Jr. is 23 years older than I, and he is the President of the United States. Even taking into consideration all of the other factors that go into how one’s brain ages, he is in a stage of life in which it is quite natural to have cognitive diminishment. I realize that there are plenty of 80 year old’s that are sharp as a tac, but we have the evidence of not only watching him every day and seeing his absolute performance in action, but also fifty years of exposure to him as a public speaker with which to compare. Clearly—like me—the man has lost a few steps.

What I’m getting at here is that as I think ahead to the blessed possibility that I may someday be 82 years old (the age Mr. Biden would be on the day he begins a second term, if he runs and is elected), I am utterly convinced that I would be unfit for the job, given my current understanding of its requirements and a reasonable rate of aging. I often find myself thinking that he is currently not up to it, and I wonder what level of staff management is put forward each day to contest that view. To be honest—some days he’s on point. Most of the time though, you can see the rounded corners of his acuity.

This is obviously a problem for the Democratic Party, and as I am not in the habit of offering that institution advice, I will assume that they’ll handle it as suits them best. As for the GOP, let us not forget that Donald Trump is 76 years old. What a shame it would be for America to be forced by the incompetence of the major political parties to rerun the 2020 Election.

On College Basketball

I am writing this essay from the city of one of the four remaining teams in the NCAA Men’s Basketball tournament. The City of San Diego is rightfully proud of its San Diego State University Aztecs, as I’m sure Storrs, Miami, and Boca Raton are of its entrants.

But I’m writing to bitch a little.

I lost interest in the tournament when my feckless Wahoos repeated their March underperformance, but I’ve followed through one open eye and what I’ve arrived at is that I am not happy with the result. It isn’t JUST that Virginia is out—although that is vexing. Legions of college basketball grandees are lining up to tell us that the lack of “name” programs (c’mon…deep down you don’t REALLY consider UCONN a blue blood) in the Final Four is great, and that REAL college basketball fans (as opposed to the “casuals”, as they are termed) are eating up this pastiche of middling seeds.

I’m not a casual. I watch a LOT of college basketball that does not have my team playing. I get as excited as anyone when a high seed gets knocked off by a nobody. Although the UMBC win over Virginia a few years ago was difficult to take, the losses to Syracuse and Michigan State (2X) left deeper marks. I thought Purdue losing to Fairleigh Dickinson was “neat”, but let’s be serious…those teams play each other 100 times and Purdue wins 98 of ‘em. I guess what I’m getting at is that March Madness is an AMAZING spectacle and it is compelling viewing, but as a means for determining the best team in college basketball—it is flawed. It is a great way to determine who gets hot in the last two weeks of March—but little else. GENERALLY speaking, the team that wins is ALSO a team that demonstrated season long excellence, but this particular year that will not be the case. Put another way, there is a randomness to this year’s tournament that makes the “what is the whole season for?” argument—one that is USUALLY more easily swatted away—much more relevant.

You may not agree. Talk amongst yourselves. And WAHOOWA.