Most of you
probably think I just sit here writing funny stories, oblivious to the fact
that all of you are out there suffering from ebbing brainpower, creeping memory
loss and other scary evidences of growing mental impairment. This is certainly not so. One of my very first considerations each
morning is “How can I keep these geezers on the tracks for another 24
hours?” It’s a heavy responsibility, let
me tell you, and not one I take lightly.
So, today I come to bring New Revelations.
First, you might
consider taking a supplement called—are you ready?—Phosphatidylserine. Dr.
Elizabeth Yurst at the Boulder Longevity Institute says that 100 mg. a day will
significantly improve brain cell function, including memory enhancement, and
she should know. After reading about Dr.
Elizabeth’s findings, I explored further and discovered a well-reviewed product
called Flavay Plus, some of which I
have actually bought despite its expensive asking price. What the hell—how much is a better brain
worth? You can’t get this type of
improvement for pennies, you know.
Anyway, the nice people at Healthy
Source who put together this stuff recommend 400 mg. a day and in my
simplistic way of thinking if 100 is good, 400 must be better, right? So I took some yesterday and, believe it or
not, I have already noticed a positive change.
This morning, I could remember all my dreams and usually I can’t
remember any of them—unless, of course, it’s the dreams where I lose my
car. I remember all of them. Anyway, to save
you money in case this doesn’t work out, I’ll be the guinea pig and let you
know what happens. I’m expecting big
things.
I have never had
any particular desire to be a genius.
When I was a kid, the very few geniuses we knew were creepy. They spoke their own language and didn’t mix
well with others. In first grade, one of
them jumped out the classroom window.
“Oh, some genius,” you might be inclined to say, but that’s because you
don’t realize it was only the ground floor.
I say if you’re going to be going around jumping out of windows it might
be a genius move to pick one on the ground floor.
I don’t know why,
but the genius kids never seemed to like sports. Or girls.
The latter shortcoming definitely makes them suspect on my list of geniushood
qualifications but it never seemed to bother the teachers or other purveyors of
the title. Also, geniuses always seemed
to be, well, six inches from crazy.
I didn’t dislike
being fairly smart, though. Smart was
acceptable. Except, maybe, at Lawrence
High School, which my sister, Alice (the Republican) attended. Alice was smart in elementary school but
discovered smart was not cool at LHS so she got unsmart for awhile. Some might argue that, with her being a
Republican and all, the unsmart carried over for an awfully long time, but that
would be unkind.
I was never the
smartest kid in school but I was always “on the board.” And I was always the best speller. In grade school, the nuns loved to conduct
what they called “oppositions”—the nun equivalent of spelling bees. They would stand half the class on one side
of the room, the other half across from them and give you words to spell. If you erred, you sat down. I always won these things. Once, one of the kids asked a nun, “Why do we
even bother—William Killeen always wins.”
So, I guess I was a minor genius at spelling. That and three quarters will get you the
daily paper, but not too many jobs. When
we graduated from St. Patrick’s, the nuns passed out pins for excellence in six
subjects and I, of course, got the Spelling pin, which slightly beats the pin
for Religion, I think. I maintain to
this day that I was screwed out of my rightful claim to the English pin.
I have advised you
in the past, of course, that I am the world’s greatest Jumble savant. If you have
any doubts, just ask Siobhan, not one to be giving credit where credit is not
due. I can almost solve the Jumble without even opening the
newspaper. I expect to improve on this
impossible performance now that I am taking Phosphatidylserine. And, if this stuff works as well as expected,
there is hope for many of you. Perhaps
Irana will be able to make a Scrabble
move in less than seven hours. Maybe
Alice will become an Independent.
I can feel the
magic elixir trickling through my brain as we speak. New avenues are opening up to me, new
discoveries are imminent. Wait a minute—something
is coming through right now….I’ll have it in a second!
E=mc2!!!, y’all.
WHAT? Albert WHO?
Uh uh—I don’t think so!
Can’t Sleep?
In the past, I’ve
recommended Melatonin and Valerian. Works for me, but not everybody. And even I have been waking up around 5 a.m.
these days, necessitating more research.
The new Collector’s Edition of Life
Extension Magazine is touting bioactive
milk peptides, which might actually work.
I mean, your mother always gave you a glass of warm milk to go to sleep
with, right? I guess this is the 2012
version of warm milk. We’ll see. I ordered some of these, too. It’s very expensive being an advice-dispensing
journalist. I’ll let you know when I
need contributions.
The Hessians Are Coming! Well….One Of Them, Anyway
Siobhan’s research
often leads in unusual directions. She
somehow got hooked up with Kristina, a researcher in Berlin who is studying Sarcocystis in birds. One thing led to another and now Kristina is
coming over here for a month and staying in our tiny house, to boot. I am always willing to suffer these
intrusions, of course, because they inevitably lead to exciting adventures which
I can use in this column. Also, it gets
us out of the house for the perfunctory trips to St. Augustine, Cedar Key and
maybe Orlando, not to mention a few others.
We’re skipping the trip to the D-Day Museum.
Is Anybody There? Really There?
Siobhan and I went
to Tampa the other day to discuss some business with a new company. We hate to be vague about the exact nature of
these things but you never know who’s reading our little offerings so we must
be careful. Anyway, the Google Map the
company sent us was terribly erroneous.
It sent us East when we should have been going West and we were out near
the Fair Grounds before we turned around.
Siobhan had left her contact number at home (as geniuses are wont to do)
so we had to get a Tampa information operator to find us the company’s number
to locate where the hell they were. Have
you talked to any of these people
lately? I think they get them from the
Wal-Mart Greeter rejection list. Neither
of the two women we talked to could find us a number—not in Tampa, anyway,
though they came up with a few in other towns.
We finally called Siobhan’s brother, Stuart, who quickly brought it up
on his computer. This was probably the
fourth or fifth time I have tried to get a number from one of these operators
with no success. I don’t know why I
bother.
I have a vision of
these people sitting around a dank warehouse, spider webs on the walls, waiting
for a call. I think they drink. The telephone company probably provides
activities for the women to engage in while they wait for the calls which never
come. It’s a sad spectacle. When their little phones actually ring, they
get so overwhelmed they just can’t function and get all flustered and give you
numbers in the wrong towns. I was about
to give up on the whole mess entirely but now there is at least a flicker of
hope. I’m sure the telephone company
would qualify for a massive group discount rate from the providers of Phosphatidylserine.
Surprise!
We got a LOT of
new readers around the Southeast after the several broadcasts of Court Lewis’
wonderful radio show. They probably
thought they’d tune in here and continue to glean more knowledge of horses and
the thoroughbred world, which is what we discussed on Court’s program. Columns like this one could be altogether confusing
and cause them to run screaming from the room.
Nonetheless, Court Lewis says the world is being deprived of great
literature due to the tiny circulation of The
Flying Pie and he’s looking into various ways of providing edification and
enlightenment to a broader market. I
guess this means I’ll have to be appearing on Oprah and Ellen and all
that stuff like everybody else does when they’re trying to promote their
efforts. And I have nothing to wear….
Planning Your Vacation?
You might want to
stay away from Maine. My sister, Alice,
is planning on coming up there in June, so there goes the neighborhood. I guess she just wants to be around fellow
Republicans. So try Hyannis, on the Cape,
or Old Sturbridge Village, but don’t go anywhere near Bar Harbor, it’s going to
be dangerous.
Happy Birthday To You!
Our friend and
neighbor, Allen Morgan, is 87 today. He’s
over there with his two brothers, playing poker and planning which restaurants
to go to for the next few days. Allen
likes going to restaurants better than sex, which at his age is entirely
appropriate. We hate to say this, but
Allen is getting very crotchety in
his declining years (if, indeed, these are
his declining years—he might live longer than me). The other night, after a rare Gator softball
loss, Allen spouted “I’m not going
Friday. This team is driving me crazy! I’ve
had it!” Gee.
Allen called back
early this morning. “Still going to the
game Friday?”
“Yes, Allen.”
“Well, come on by
and pick me up then.”
“So you’ve
forgiven the girls?”
“Well, maybe. That and it beats hell out of watching
television reruns. Maybe we can get ice
cream after the game.”
It’s always nice
to get your priorities straight.
Tune In Next Week
For our annual
Kentucky Derby Preview, not to mention an important Phosphatydilserine follow-up.
If I get really smart, maybe I can conjure up the winner. Don’t bet on it.
That’s all, folks….
