End of Summer Clearance

Mighty Toy Cannon is clearing out inventory to make room for Back-To-School sales. All partially-completed or ill-conceived blog posts must go!

I routinely send myself e-mail messages containing ideas, notes and links that I intended to transform into coherent blog posts. Some are little more than cryptic subject lines, such as: "City Hurts Brain." Can't remember what that was about.

And then there's this snippet, which I must have written on my birthday:

"Despite an outward air of youthful sprightliness, and discounting the elan with which I embrace modern ways, I’m getting old."

I never got further than that, though on the same theme, I once started a post about that famous poem regarding old ladies with colorful hats. You know the one I'm talking about. It has inspired millions of women of a certain age to don gaudy red chapeaux and purple pantsuits, gather together in roving bands and terrorize outlet malls and natural history museums.

The official organization of these anarchists is the Red Hat Society, which has its own branded Visa Card, an online shop selling red and purple accoutrements, and Facebook and Twitter accounts both. Here is the original poem, written by Jenny Joseph in 1961:

WARNING

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens ...

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

After spotting a platoon of Red Hats (no relationship to the Blue Helmets) enjoying a cool jazz performance in the lobby of the PCPA a few months ago, I was inspired to write a parody--a version for old men, as if written by Charles Bukowski.

I decided not to publish it for several reasons:

(1) It was fundamentally mean-spirited and snotty. I have no cause to poke fun at women who have chosen to embrace life and sisterhood;

(2) It was too easy. The original poem is a barrel full of fish and I felt like I was handed a loaded AR-15;

(3) It has nothing to do with life and arts in Portland, Culture Shock's putative theme; and,

(4) It was more profane than funny, and I worry about the delicate sensibilities of our readership.

What's that you say? You want me to post it anyway?

I really think it should just be forgotten. Please, let it go.

I know, I know. But really, let's move on.

Okay, okay. But I warned you.

WARNING

When I am an old man I shall wear sweatpants
With a baseball cap that says, “Blow Me”
And I shall spend my pension on gin and beef jerky
And shoes with Velcro, and say we've no money for nothin’.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm drunk
And gobble up beer nuts in bars and throw up in alleys
And rub my crotch in public places
And make no apologies for the recklessness of my youth.
I shall go out in my jockey shorts in the rain
And piss on the flowers in other people's gardens . . .

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and my nose has turned purple.

Happy?