Uncataloged Nonsense
by Pete Merrill

September 14, 2006

I have unraveled the answer to one of life's greatest mysteries, though it has probably been known to most, if not all, old men of my age since they began to wear pants with convenience openings in the front.

The mystery? Why are old men so often seen with their flies open?

The answer? Old men are frequently-very frequently-troubled by a physical problem known as "frequent urination" or more commonly "Having to pee a lot." I'm sure it has a formal medical name that I can't think of at the moment - it's often advertised on TV.

Anyway, and this is a delicate subject not much talked about in polite company, it causes men-mostly old men-to have to P a lot. Specifically they can't finish P-ing and they often have to go twice in one time if you get my meaning, so, knowing that they will be going again in just a minute they figure what's the use of zipping up when you'll just have to zip down again. Then, between times they are interrupted by some other event and what with the notorious brevity of old men's memories, the result is predictable. They forget what they were doing.

The inevitable result? The open fly.

Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found you.

* * *

I was sitting out on my deck yesterday, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon during the Labor Day (2006) weekend and the following observation occurred to me: It's a good thing that we don't have lots of nice warm weather around here because we would not be able to enjoy our waterside homes.

During the two hours I was out there I was assaulted by the constant racket of unmuffled water craft-even from boats clear across the Canal - along with the stench of gas fumes which, on such a busy day like yesterday, is enough to drive a grumpy old man indoors. I won't mention the steady parade of highway traffic on the other side of my house - endless recreation vehicles looking for a place to recreate, including multitudes of unmuffled motorcycles. (There, I did mention them.)

Oh, the hell with it.

* * *

As I was having my breakfast of cereal and fruit this morning a fruit fly joined me. I asked him politely to bug off since I had barely enough for myself. I thought perhaps he hadn't heard me since he continued to hang around trying to get a bite out of the nectarine I had so painstakingly prepared.

"Be off," I cried, "Are you hard of hearing, sir? Go out to the kitchen, I have left the pit of the fruit out there and you are welcome to it. Most of your family and friends are out there, go join them."

The small fly continued to ignore me and my hackles began to rise. I have long since given up trying to swat a fruit fly. Even though they are not good flyers, they are highly maneuverable and have no problem out-smarting a clumsy old codger like me. Likely as not I would miss the fly and hit my bowl and spill the whole works, which is likely what the fly was trying for in the first place. I decided to reason with him/her.

"I have been doing some research on your species," I said, thinking this would flatter the little creature which might win him over on my side of our small dispute. "I have learned that your kind are quite prolific and if given a year's time of unrestricted egg laying, you and your descendents could fill the void between the earth and the sun completely with eggs. Could this be true?"

"Don't tempt me," I heard in a tiny voice as the fly headed toward the kitchen.

* * *

Here's another puzzler. This came to me the other day while driving along the road in my auto (2005 Honda Civic Hybrid).

A warning noise began, an ominous bleating, except it's not a bleat. It's not a whistle, either. It's not a bell. It's not gong or a horn or a siren. It's kind of a tone, but "tone" is really not a strong enough word. A tone is what that sweet voice operator asks you to pay attention to when she's trying to avoid actually talking to you.

This noise in my car signaled imminent disaster, like an approaching tsunami or something. Kind of what a truck sounds like when it's backing up, only more so. It was loud and unsettling, very unnerving.

Maybe "gong" is the word I'm after. It was gong-like, but not quite gong-ish. Maybe it could be called a high-tech gong and a word hasn't been invented to describe it yet. I hope this is being worked on.

What the noise was trying to tell me was that the driver's side door was ever so slightly ajar and didn't start its high-tech warnings until I came to a sudden stop at an intersection. My little car is a cheap one and doesn't have one of those diagrams on the dashboard that shows when doors and things aren't completely secured. Actually there isn't room for such a diagram on the dashboard.

There's too much other stuff there already.