You know you’re an old man when your wife says “HONEY” in that special way and you’re disappointed that she wants sex rather than to let you know dinner is ready.

You know you’re an old man when every time you hear water running you have a sudden urge to pee.

You know you’re an old man when you aim at the toilet and hit everything but the toilet.

You know you’re an old man when you know where every bathroom between home and wherever you are going is located.

You know you’re an old man when you pee before leaving the house and again in 20 minutes.

You know you’re an old man when you hear the name Starbucks and you think, “They have a clean men’s room.”

You know you’re an old man when your wife says, “Let’s stop at Bed Bath and Beyond and you think, “bathroom to right of front door.”

You know you’re an old man when having fun means taking a nap.

You know you’re an old man when you pass on making love in favor of an extra nap.

You know you’re an old man when making love takes 30 seconds and goes like this: “Honey, I love you.” ” I love you too, now go to sleep.”

You know you’re an old man when your neighbor complains that your snoring is keeping him awake.

You know you’re an old man when you put on your CPAP mask and night guard and pretend that your call sign is Maverick.

You know you’re an old man when you can’t find anything without the help of your wife, and that includes your penis.

You know you’re an old man when you can’t remember your best friend’s name, and neither can he.

You know you’re an old man when your shirt looks like a culinary record of everything you’ve eaten this week.

You know you’re an old man when you brag about the dump you had this morning.

You know you’re an old man when you worry about not having a dump this morning.

You know you’re an old man when you can’t figure out how to turn the sink on in the men’s room or get the towel dispenser to give you a towel but your grandson can.

You know you’re an old man when farts seem to just appear out of nowhere and you don’t give a shit.

You know you’re an old man when you actually give a little shit with the leaking fart.

You know you’re an old man when you are afraid to laugh because you might pee.

You know you’re an old man when your bucket list has been replaced by a fuck-it list.

You know you’re an old man when every time you open a book and start reading, you fall asleep.

I know I’m an old man when I fall asleep 3 times while writing this blog.

And finally, you know you’re an old man when a happy ending is a good night’s sleep!

Here’s your daily joke:

Tom, Mike and Johnny are sitting around the breakfast table having coffee.

Tom says, “Oy, life’s a bitch.  I wake up every morning and sit on the throne for an hour, straining to take a dump.  All I get are these little rat turds.  It’s miserable being constipated.”

Mike says, “I don’t have any problem taking a dump. However, it takes me an hour to piss.  Start, stop, dribble and repeat.”

Johnny says, “I don’t have any problems taking a dump or peeing.  I just do both an hour before I wake up!”


I was watching a movie last night in which the hero seriously upsets his lover.  In his apology, he states, “I didn’t know what I didn’t know.”  What a powerful statement!  We live in a world where everybody is an expert.  People surf the internet, assimilate what they read and then go out and regurgitate their knowledge in the form of strongly stated opinions disguised as fact.

Since their opinions carry truths backed up by Google searches, they stand by them and freely share them with whomever will listen.  Since everyone is an expert and everyone assimilates his/her set of facts, conversations can become quite heated and deteriorate into arguments as each expert is sure he/she is right.  The result is our society becomes more polarized than ever.

The most important lesson of my career as a doctor was entitled, “The Pyramid of Knowledge”. At the top of the pyramid, occupying the smallest part of the triangle, is what you know. The next portion of the triangle is what you know that you don’t know. At the base, occupying the largest part of the triangle, is what you don’t know that you don’t know.  It’s what you don’t know that you don’t know is the segment that is most likely to hurt you and others.

One of the goals in life is to increase what you know.  It’s the primary purpose of education.  I had thousands of hours of study and lectures under my belt prior to practicing medicine (augmented by 38 years of practicing medicine).  Despite my MD degree and knowledge base, there are things associated with new vaccines that I don’t know that I don’t know.  In time, I’ll learn more as more vaccine is given.  One of many examples is:  when the measles vaccine was approved for use, there were things we didn’t know about it.  Now, after years of use, I can tell you everything about it.  I can say the same thing about all my vaccines. During my career, I can only remember one vaccine that was withdrawn from the market after initial approval.

“I didn’t know what I didn’t know” is a powerful statement!  The next time you find yourself in a conversation that is heating up, hit the pause button and ask yourself, “Do you know what you don’t know (does he/she know what they don’t know?”  The next time you find yourself believing that you are an internet expert in law, medicine, politics, etc., remind yourself that you probably don’t know what you don’t know and guard against the unknown as best you can.  You have a right to your opinion!  Your opinion is important.  Don’t forget that your opinion may not be fact.  Consider that there may be things you don’t know about the subject you’re discussing.  When it comes to medical facts, rely on your doctor.  A good doc knows what she/he doesn’t know and knows where to find it.

Here’s your joke for the day:

A man wonders if having relations on the Sabbath is a sin because he is not sure if doing so is work or play, so he goes to a priest and asks for his opinion on this question. After consulting the Bible, the priest says, “My son, after doing exhaustive research, I am positive that sleeping together is work and is therefore not permitted on Sundays.” The man thinks: “What does a priest know about having relations?” So, he goes to a minister who, after all, is a married man and experienced in this matter. He queries the minister and receives the same reply. Sexual relations is work and therefore not for the Sabbath! Not pleased with the reply, he seeks out a Rabbi, a man of thousands of years of tradition and knowledge. The Rabbi ponders the question, then states, “My son, it is definitely play.” The man replies, “Rabbi, how can you be so sure when so many others tell me it’s work?” “Because, my son,” said the Rabbi drily, “if having relations was work, my wife would have the maid do it.”



What happened to sandboxes?  When I was a kid, my neighbor had a large sandbox and we played in the sand for years. Occasionally, we would start at 8 a.m. and quit when our moms called us in for dinner.  We dug tunnels and built roads with our Tonka trucks.  As we grew older, the sandbox became a war zone.  We had an army of plastic warriors protected by tanks, troop carriers and planes.  Of course, we built model planes, trucks, ships, etc.  In our teens, loaded with M80s and cherry bombs, we had a blast blowing it all up.

Sandboxes were easy to build and inexpensive.  We played outside; and, instead of having gigabytes of memory and computer-generated images, we used our own brains and creativity.  What happened to sandboxes? What happened to playing outside?  What happened to using our own creative minds?

Obviously, computer games have captured and taken our children hostage.  They still play outside but their “outside” is inside a computer screen or television screen.  Their parents try to limit their screen time and get them involved in outside activities.  Limiting their screen time usually leads to a fight.

My parents never tried to limit my time in the sandbox.  Quite the contrary, my mom would say, “Why don’t you go over to Harris’s house and play in the sandbox.”  I gladly went out.  I’ve got to admit, I often fought coming home at dinner time.  Like all kids, I bargain for “just a few more minutes.”

I was pleased to see sandboxes are still sold and that Amazon has a large selection.  Now, I just have to convince today’s parents that playing in the sand is preferable to playing with an iPad.

Did you have a sandbox?  Do you have fond memories of playing in the sand?  Do your children or grandchildren have sandboxes?  If you didn’t have a sandbox, did you build sandcastles at the beach?

Here’s today joke:

A married couple is lying in bed.

The wife leans over and says, “I want you to say dirty things before we start”. So, the man starts to caress her neck and whispers to her. “Living room, Bathroom, Kitchen”.


Are you old and hard of hearing?  Is your vision decreasing with age?  Do you have any other handicaps? If you’ve answered any of the above questions with a yes, then keep reading.

By law, there are handicapped parking, handicapped equipped bathrooms, hotel rooms, entrances and exits from buildings, etc.  Handicapped accommodations make my life much easier and safer.  I am thankful that Congress has recognized the handicapped’s need for help and provided it.

Today, I want to propose that the handicapped laws be expanded to cover one additional area.  Today, I called the customer service line of a major insurance company.  The phone was answered by a soft- spoken agent, speaking rapidly in broken English.  I had a lot of trouble understanding what he was saying.  My end of the conversation was, “Could you please repeat that?”  “Can you speak up?” “I can’t hear you!”  “Is there someone who speaks English?”  “Can you spell that word for me?”

Typically, Customer Service refers me to an internet site where I am bombarded with screens designed to setup my account and password protection.  Then there are forms made up of a number of fill in the blank questions and free type boxes.  God forbid if you don’t have email.  Without email access, you end up trying to communicate with another individual speaking broken English. You are really up the creek if you speak in broken English.

           Unfortunately, my typing skills have diminished with age, arthritis and Parkinson’s.  Usually, I go to the Customer Service internet site prior calling and call only if I can’t resolve the problem online or it is too confusing to be navigated.

Now imagine you’ve called Customer Service and are at the first choice point: dial one for English or3 dial two for Spanish.  My proposal is to add a third option: dial three if you are hard of hearing. Pushing number three would take you to a panel of customer service agents who specialize in communicating with the hearing impaired. Other disabilities could be addressed on the internet by employing programs designed for those with visual handicaps.

If you agree with my basic premise, share this article with your family, friends, and congressional representatives.  Until the laws change, politely ask to speak to a native speaker (interpreter). 

Here’s today’s joke:

A police officer pulls over an elderly couple He walks up to the driver’s side window and asks the husband for his license and registration. The wife, hard of hearing, asks “What?! What did he say to you?” The husband replies, “He wants my license!”

The officer asks him if he knew how fast he was going.

The wife yells “What?! What did he say to you?”

The husband yells back, He says I was speeding!”

As the officer looks at the license, he notices they’re from Ohio and says, “You know, I used to live in Ohio. Worst place ever. I was seeing this woman there, and it was just miserable. She would never shut up, couldn’t cook worth shit, constantly belittled me, and the sex was just awful.”

The old lady once again yells, “What?! What did he say to you?”

The husband yells back, “He said you two used to date!”


I’ve been working on my diet for months; and, unfortunately, I’ve had very little success.  In “Diets and Other Unnatural Acts,” which I wrote years ago, I explained why I preferred refining your own diet as opposed to conforming to someone else’s diet plan.  I was right, at least in my case.  Conforming to a “canned” diet has proven unsuccessful for me.  I was also wrong.  Refining my own diet has failed, as well.

I stated yesterday, I’ve been using food as an antidepressant.  I’ve been using food to fill the long hours of an otherwise boring retirement.  I realized that since retirement, I’ve been on a pity diet.  My pity diet has led to a fifty-pound weight gain.  Obesity sucks.

Three weeks ago, I decided I needed a radical change in my diet and some major behavioral changes.  I’ve done well!  I’ve lost 9 pounds on a modified keto diet.  Keto has not been easy.  I’ve spent a lifetime limiting fat ingestion despite the fact that I love cooking and eating fats. I haven’t abandoned my ideal, defined and refined, life diet; I’ve just put it off until I’ve lost a total of 25 pounds.

Striving to stay within the guidelines for a Keto Diet, I’ve sampled many foods that I’ve not eaten in the past.  I’ve also thrown out more food than I ever have.  One of the secrets of the Keto Diet is that many of the “Keto friendly” foods taste so bad that you want to spit them out.  While the internet will tell you that Aldi’s Keto friendly bread is the best, I’ll tell you that it is solidified sand and cardboard.  Remember, qualifying terms such as “the best” are all relative.  The best poop is still poop!  The Keto ice cream I just bought is probably made from poop.  It is a zero-calorie product (since I won’t eat it).

Obviously, to achieve permanent weight loss, I’ll have to find answers to depression, boredom, and pity.  I’ll also need to resume my Wellthy Diet, eating healthy food in appropriate quantities.  This is going to be a long-term project.

Today’s joke came out of the mouth of my 4-year-old granddaughter’s boyfriend’s mouth. 

“Mommy, is my butt-hole a poop copier?”

Which led to my asking: “Why do people hate poop jokes?  Because they kinda stink.”


The number of my friends who suffer with depression is staggering.  The number of my former colleagues (physicians) who are depressed is also staggering!  I find myself wondering whether this is a new phenomenon or tied to Covid, politics and the media’s new role (BREAKING NEWS scrolling across our TV and computers every 15 minutes).  Whatever the cause, depression should be treated aggressively.  Unfortunately, most depressed individuals will neither admit to depression nor treat it.

Are you depressed?  I once asked a patient that very question.  Her answer was an emphatic, “NO!”  She had all the signs of depression as well as a multitude of depressing problems, yet she appeared angry that I would suggest such a diagnosis.  Her response was a typical one.  Depression is accompanied by an ancient stigma.  Admitting to depression is like admitting to a character flaw or weakness.  A diagnosis of depression can have a significant, negative impact on your career and inter-personal relationships. This particular patient was deeply entrenched in her denial.  I gave her a choice.  “Mrs P., your choice is to be depressed or insane.  Your story is so sad that it depresses me.  If you are not depressed, then you must be insane.  Any sane person I know would be depressed given your circumstances.”   She chose the diagnosis of depression and eventually accepted treatment.  (She’s doing well.)

As a physician, I can tell you that once you’ve gotten a patient to accept a diagnosis of depression, you then have to get them to accept therapy (medication, counseling, etc.)  Making the diagnosis is fairly simple.  Getting the patient to accept the diagnosis is difficult.  Getting the patient to accept help and treatment is nearly impossible.

When my doc told me I was depressed my response was, “DUH!”  Hurdle number one was easy, diagnosis made and accepted.  When she offered pills and counseling, she hit a wall. I was already on a shitload of pills with a host of side effects.  Further, I explained that I had spent 30 years counseling patients and didn’t think counseling was going to be worthwhile.  Ultimately, I gave in and started on meds and in counseling. I ended teaching the counselor.  The meds I agreed to take did not help.

What I’ve found is the best antidepressant in the world is time spent with my grandchildren and their parents.  Second best is cruising North Carolina country roads on sunny days in a convertible.  Third best on my list is eating.  Unfortunately, the side effects of eating are weight gain and obesity which then lead to more depression (in my case, anyway).  Certainly, treating the underlying disease would be helpful (if successful).  Parkinson’s is a mean adversary.  Fourth on my list of non-medicinal therapies is watching my garden grow.

In March, I’m scheduled for DBS (neurosurgery) in a final attempt to slow the ravages of Parkinson’s.  My garden guru will plant my vegetable garden and tend to it while I recover.  Renee will drive me around with the top down while I recover.  Luckily, she’s a racecar driver, taking curves at max speed and making every excursion an exciting experience.

If you are depressed, talk to your doc.  Certainly, meds and counseling can help.  What works for me may not work for you and what failed me may help you.  The important thing is being open to help.

Here’s today’s joke:

I was having issues in my personal and professional life. I hated everyone. I was on the brink of a mental breakdown and depression. I decided to see a therapist about it. The therapist suggested that I should write letters to the people I hate and then burn them. I must admit I feel much better…

But now I don’t know what to do with the letters.

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