Coonridge Digest: Sliding into the Geritol generation

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

My time’s finally comin’ and I just pray I stay alive to see it. Right now we’ve got 40 million senior citizens be-boppin’ around the U.S. and knockin’ at the doorstep are another 70 million baby boomers ready to slide into the Geritol generation. When that happens we’ll be in the majority for the first time in our history. There’ll be more seniors than teens. More false teeth than training bras and support hose will outnumber spandex.

I can’t imagine the world of commerce and advertisin’ lettin’ this potent statistic slip past ‘em.

In this Grey New World we can look forward to a whole new push in commercials, catalogs and talk shows. I’ll glory in a chain of GAP stores that feature pink polyester jump suits and pale blue knee-shorts with dorky-lookin’ golf hats. In the words of the old hymn, What a Day that Will Be!

I assume Madison Avenue realizes that when we retire, we’ll take our money with us. Barbie and Ken had best make way for Granny and Gramps and for once I won’t feel like a decrepit slug whenever I watch television commercials.

It’ll be a fine day when the first geriatric granny leaps from the top of the Grand Canyon, passes a flock of startled peregrine falcons on the way down and catches a Mountain Dew can before it reaches the canyon floor. She’ll pop the top, lick her lips and proclaim, "When you’ve been around as long as me, you know which trips are worth the effort!" Then the camera will fade into a long shot of wheelchairs perched atop a high plateau, spoked wheels gleamin’ in the Colorado sun, and filled with a chorus of senior saints singin’ "We’d like to teach the world to gargle!"

Forget the Kiddie Meals, Ronald. Unless you come up with a new McFiber, you’ll be left in haze of tofu dust. And as for standin’ in long lines, you can kiss that old habit farewell. Our knees won’t take it. There’s but one magic word for the future of eatin’ out and it’s spelled B-u-f-f-e-t.

Shoot, I might even subscribe to MTV once Willie Nelson and Guy Lombardo’s Royal Canadians startin’ toppin’ the charts again. And you can forget the Walkman craze. In a few short years earlobes will be filled with our own hearin’ devices. Bring back the speakers, honey. And get ready to crank it.

Herb says that the vision of a nation of sup-hose scares him. He’s always kept his keenest eye on the generations below him and not his own. He allows as how this keeps him young. I tell him he’s nuts and that all a nation of teenagers does for me is make me feel old. Face it, the biggest advantage of havin’ the majority of the population over 60 is that I’ll look younger by the day.

"But Freida," he whines. "It’ll be depressin’ to live in a country without youngsters."

"Herb," I tell him, "We won’t destroy teenagers. We’ll still keep a few around as pets. But they won’t run the derned place anymore! Look at the world, Herb! It shouts Youth! Youth! Youth! Meanwhile you and me are just gettin’ old, old, old!"

"But think of the cost, Freida. They’ll have to make all the doors wider, the stop lights bigger, and the cost of added toilets alone will destroy the Federal budget."

"Herb, the whole country’ll run at a saner pace. Think of the wisdom we’ll gain as nation then most of our population takes its teeth out at night."

"Sounds depressin’ to me."

"Tell me the truth, Herb. You’re worryin’ about what you’ll have to look at."

"Well, if you want the honest truth…"

"There you have it. Another advantage to a grayin’ population. Herb Crump will finally grow up and keep his mind where it oughta be." "Maybe you’re right, Freida. We can look forward to the day when department store windows will feature matronly full-figured gals bendin’ over to weed their tomatoes. We’ll open our magazines to see double-page ads on hemorrhoid treatments and countenance cures." "Herb, that’s just…"

"No. No Freida, I can see your point. The Miss America Pageant featurin’ facial reconstructions and a runway lined with housecoats. A Baywatch where it takes two lifeguards and a winch to haul in the victims, Vanna White forgettin’ which letters she’s turned over, and re-runs of Cheers where they have to wake up the barroom crowd at eight to send ‘em home. Yes sir, I’m really lookin’ forward to runnin’ the planet."

I’m gonna re-think all this and I’ll get back to you.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.