Eric is not writing much these days, but I'm still typing up those on hand. This one is probably from about 6 months ago:
The Hear and Now
Yes, it is a terrible thing to admit. But I don’t have a cell phone.
My hand can go on for days without being anywhere near my ear. In public, I have no way of demonstrating that I enjoy communication with another human being. Seen grimacing, I am assumed to be suffering from gas. Smiling, I’m a kook. A wireless weirdo.
Well, ishhabibble! I firmly believe that 90 percent of the people I see on the street smiling and nodding on their cell phone are actually in communication with no one. It’s a social pretender. Drawing attention, but with no other need.
Okay, I admit it. I am a smidgeon envious of the person so popular, so needed, that he must ever be in touch with those lucky enough to be able to reach him even in the men’s washroom. To be standing in a crowded building elevator with people bewitched by what they are hearing on their cell phone, even though it’s just a busy signal, is to share the status of India’s Great Unwashed.
The major distinction of the old-fashioned telephone booth was that other people were not standing beside you, trying to hear without listening. Even the plains Indians smoke signals were less invasive, since a Pocahontas didn’t have to try to sort things out with her father on the cell phone.
No, there is no good reason why my cheek should twitch when I see someone using a cell phone in public. That person may have a medical condition that requires him or her to be in constant touch with a physician.
That doesn’t explain the giggling, of course, which I find doubly offensive. People should not be seen enjoying life in public. Not if they live in a basically Anglo-Saxon community like ours. Municipal law and order depends on everyone’s appearing to be concerned with survival.
As for those persons I see talking on a cell phone while operating a vehicle- a sickening spectacle. Those people are, perforce, steering a moving mass of steel while subject to emotional disturbance caused by a conversation that should never have left the house! (Sorry, but that exclamation mark is needed to express my indignation at the mayhem attributable to mobile cell-phoning.)
Now, I can understand that many people- unfortunate, socially starved because of communicable disease or simply very bad breath- have real need to have a cell phone clamped to their ear just to maintain a vestige of self-esteem. I have observed some bravura performances. Worthy of The Old Vic.
I fear that the cell phone now provides so many services- colloquy (simulated or real), entertainment, information, obscene messaging- that a person has no need of the actual physical presence of another human.
Many young people don’t know how to start a conversation without pulling out an aerial. The doctors’ offices are going to be crowded with people suffering the effects of cell-phone use: permanent crooking of the arm… partial freezing of the fingers….
Already, many young people think of their cell phone as a vital organ. Right up there with the TV.
Would I ever consider using a cell phone? Only if confined in a penal institution. Which is the proper place for that ungodly gadget.

More Retirement Wheezes
From the Willow lounge, the sound of a music school student volunteering making us residents more acceptive of death. I put on the steel earmuffs. When this concert ends, sigh of relief gusts down the hall, shaking the dust, and I remove the steel earmuffs.
Worn over my eyeglasses, the earmuffs must give me the aspect of an astronaut that never got off the ground. I can visibly startle visitors, unless they have been warned that any or all of their senses are at risk when they enter my room.
Status-wise, I see myself as being la crème de la crematorium. *** Oops, an attendant comes into my room to ask if I had a b.m. this morning. I frankly don’t remember whether I had a b.m. this morning or any morning of recent times, but I immediately reply, “Yes, thanks.” I don’t want to be given something ghastly to swallow, just to wake up the tripes.
Thus I am not only my own worst enemy, but no one else seems to find me worthy fighting.

Written during a hospital stay for a spontaneous compression fracture of the coccyx:

The Fare
Hospital food is the main source of early departure of patients. Feet first are fortunate.
Patients don’t realize how minor their ailment is till they taste a hospital meal. Which being tasteless, immediately sows the fear in the patient that his mouth too has failed: only fit to spit.
For the guy, the emasculation effect of the hospital stay begins when he is required to put on a gown. This is not a stylish gown. It is a shroud, with armholes. The doctors wear gowns too, but only when masked. The patient is clearly identifiable as a mummy on leave from an Egyptian crypt.
On the plus side, your hospital gown leaves your legs free to run. You will, however, be given no opportunity to run, even in case of fire, but may run in the bed, knees creating satisfying billows that frighten off social workers.
The hospital gown is perfect for “mooning,” i.e. flashing your bottom to discourage predators. Untimely visits can be curtailed quickly by mooning your hospital gown, with a saucy wink. Some guys feel that having to wear a hospital gown has destroyed their manhood. A false fear. It is true that there is no record of a guy’s fathering children after wearing a hospital gown, but this may be a statistical freak.
If wearing a diaper all day aggravates your mental decline into a second childhood, and you have money saved for such a crisis, you may ask for a room with a “private” toilet. Which limits intrusion to foot traffic.
Your hospital room may have a window. You will not be able to observe much out of it, being laid out, but you will have a unique opportunity to observe cloud formations.
Gear you need to take up residence in a hospital room:
1. Electric fan. The windows open only under duress, to conserve bodily fluid. In summer heat, this gives you Calcutta with bed sores.
2. A heating unit. The hospital staff come to work equipped for all weather conditions, so no problem.

By pressing a button on the side of the bed you can jackknife your body into a
position you didn’t think possible.
If you are in the hospital for longer than 20 minutes (and suspect you are a guy) they will shove a catheter up your penis, women pee at will.
The catheter works on the same principal as draining oil from a car engine, though the car is less likely to scream for help.
To pee or not to pee, that is the question not asked by a nurse who wants you clear for her coffee break. Some patients are urged to think hard about Niagara Falls, as they strain at their catheter, but all too often the pee is not to be.
What colour should pee be? There is a broad spectrum of urine shades, ranging from tangerine (good) to black (not so good). Cloudy is a negative term for pee, threatening precipitation that has not been forecast.

Keep them coming, Mary!

Glad to hear the sores have cleared up. I hope the situation improves soon. ((((HUGS))))

Hope I haven't posted this before. I've edited it (somewhat) for saucy bits.

Status Report
My compliance with my status quo is earning contempt, and can expect a raise.
I seem to have fallen between two stools- and the shit is spreading.
Trying to keep a stiff upper lip, I am eating more starchy food.
Life can be difficult for us egomaniacs. We develop “I” trouble. Using the royal “we” (“We shall be happy to attend your funeral”) does sound a bit affected, outside Buckingham Palace.
Some days, I feel that my will to love has been probated. And I’ve left everything to the last.
Later in life, you will have fewer regrets if you have a bad memory. Total recall can be an absolute nuisance. Fools rarely look worried, sages sad.
At eighty-nine, I have reached the age of consent. But I don’t seem to have much to agree to. A lot of compliance going to waste! Damn shame.

My mistake. That should read "Status Report" and be centered as a title.

ah its great to see that he still has his sense of humor,we should all be so blessed