John Furie Zacharias
having a bad day in a strange place
Thunderstorms Anywhere

Thunderstorms in the Imajica

 The different ways I don't like you 
 in a list that may never become organized
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Monday, November 17, 2003
Save the manatee

Older people float less in water, 2003
I have been seriously slack in getting some exercise lately.  My favorite thing to do -- and thus, what I do most often -- is go swimming in the big community pool at the front of the complex. Most of my neighbors are pretty cool for being many decades older than me.  Some act like assholes at times.  I imagine they are no different, as a demographic, than any other group of people.  

The complex where I live right now is where we bought a winter vacation place for my mom.  It's not officially a retirement village, but then again, it seems to me nearly every residential development in Florida is a defacto retirement village.  Only about 5-10% of the residents live here all year and the vast majority of our local population come down here when the snow flies up north.  They are Snowbirds.  (Mental note: one day soon I will have to expound on the care and feeding of Snowbirds.) I think I've been slack in getting in my near-daily swimming exercise because of the Snowbirds.

I'm normally a very private person and most of my neighbors only see me during their waking hours when I go swimming or head up to the business office on an errand. Otherwise, most of them don't know I exist.  I prefer it that way. During most of the year, I can go swimming and never see anyone up there.  I can go swimming whenever I want.  In the evening, I can float in the water crucifix-style like Pink (Floyd), wait for the security lights to time off and check out the constellations of stars in the night sky. During hot afternoons, I can bring my little blue radio and play Eminem loud enough for me to hear Marshall bitch about his ex-wife while swimming underwater.

But now (sigh), it is that time of year again. Now I feel like Steve Gutenberg in the 1985 movie Cocoon.  I know where author David Saperstein got his plot outline: "When a group of trespassing seniors swim in a pool containing alien cocoons, they find themselves energized with youthful vigour". If I do bring my little blue radio, I have to bring a Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin CD so I can listen to some kind of music. It will drown out the chattering of the floating Q-tips in the pool who are catching up on a full year of gossip. If I want to swim, I guess I'll just have to smile, tolerate the usual interrogation from the pod of grannies and stop myself from tossing my little blue radio into the water with them.

Posted at 02:42 pm by John Furie Zacharias


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