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Old Yellow Diaper Wearer before/after And I still don't know what to make of the old guy in the yellow diapers at the beach. Well, they looked like diapers. From a distance it looked like a baggy speedo, closer up, diapers. In the final analysis, it was a swimsuit, likely older than I am. Who knows. I saw him walking across the beach, and decided I must have a picture. I snapped two as he walked at me, and then for proprieties sake, put the camera away. Not sure if he noticed, but then, a part of me says he'd have to had noticed, as I was in his path. Not that I care, really. I've become quite brazen with my picture taking. (You should see my whole collection of mullets.) He was old and had horrible oddly shaped moles on his back and stretch marked flab around his armpits. He was lonely, even though married. Then again, maybe he was a total freak, and his wife was stuffed and wearing a sweater back at his house. He talked my ear off. I paid not so much mind to the conversation, putting little effort into it. I will even admit to mugging a little bit when he was not looking. You know, that sort of wide eyed, open stare into the ground that says, 'Woah, you're a freak.' The wisdom he came to me with was not new. In fact, I surmised it when he enlightened me to this tidbit of knowledge: the sun is good for the prostate, and prostate related problems. I did not know that. Right now, I really don't care. The prostate is always something older guys worry about when it goes bad. Other than that, no one really thinks about their prostate, except the fetishists who love ass play and get theirs "milked", much like the guy in that movie. Never have, never will. Don't even ask. I've done a lot of experimenting, and I can't take the finger, don't like the tongue. Never, never, never. "Hey, arg?" yeah? "Going on a bit about your ass, aren't you?" Yeah, so? Anyway... My wisdom was simple: everything I like in life causes death, so why not enjoy it. He agreed, which was the nut of his wisdom, that everyone was scared today, and back in his day, there were no warnings. Enjoy what you can, and don't worry about it so much. So the guy talks and talks to me. He's from colorado, moved here after a guy wrote him a blank recomendation that he didn't take advantage of and has two daughters, one in denver who sold a house in westminster that had a wonderful veiw of Denver for a 20,000 dollar loss because it had a cracked foundation and it worried her and another daughter in california in someplace I never heard of who is a part-time scientist, works contract work because money isn't important to her, he's married and moved here after working as a pattern press in a foundry and he could have bought lake front property but didn't when he had the chance, and bought his first house for 2500 in 1950 or some bullshit, what can I say, the guy could have been lying and I wouldn't know, or consequently, cared. I have no use for any of that information. Not being on drugs, I will remember it now until I die, to float in the flotsam and jetsam of my mind. But what finally got me hooked, and thinking about this useless bastard was the pretty much the last of the conversation. useless bastard:"I forget names and such...I'm really bad...even when its important...when I'm first introduced, I never remember..." and he trailed off. arg:"Yeah, I do that, too." I said, trying to make him feel better, I guess. I could have said something like, "Yeah, when I'm really smoked out, I can't remember names for shit, dude," but that doesn't seem to go over well in civil conversation with the elderly. And he was flummoxed and embarrassed, as he felt he disclosed too much. He immediately gathered his blanket and belongings and left. I waited a beat, and decided it was time to eat. I waited a good amount of time. And walking up the ramp to my car to drop off my purple and white mexican blanket that really isn't mine at the car, which is, I saw him there, wearing an awesome canary yellow polyester shirt, looking confused. The shirt ruled. It was a lattice type, all one pattern, very thin and breathable. Old lonely guys always have the bomb-assed awesomest polyester shirts. I have a collection of polyester, as its something I like to wear, and I am often envious of the old men who have them. Which brings to mind the notion that I have only started my shirt collection early in life, and they will come in handy when I am one of these sad lonely old bastards that I like to mock. Anyway... He wanted to go back to the beach, but couldn't make up his mind. I think he was still embarassed, or, more likely in the early stages of Alzheimer's disease. I asked him if he was leaving, and he said he was thinking of going back out there. I told him to have a good day. Eventually, he gets his shit together and leaves. And in the end, his earnestness has won me over, and I don't know how. I want to mock the fuck out of him. And maybe the fucker is a serial liar, or lost so much of his memory, he spilled a line of bullshit, and there was no earnestness on his part, but perception on mine. I don't know. I suppose there is the fact that it confronts me with thoughts of getting old. Maybe the fact that I'm getting softer. And maybe on some certain level, its just sad as fuck. I hope I don't look that sad to some burly young overly sensitive guy on a beach when I'm that old. I won't talk his ear off. No, I won't even talk to him, or anybody. And I'll make damn sure I don't wear a diaper-looking swim suit.
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