Trophy Geezer

I was deep in the throes of TV inertia. Anyone who has gone through Hep C treatment or chemotherapy knows the drill. You are home from work, or have done some work around the house or have just managed to drag yourself through the day and you are tired and you couldn’t concentrate on anything to save your life. You flop (or gracefully settle) down onto the sofa, grab the remote and turn on television, the great savior of the addled, befuddled and fatigued.

Luckily, the brave new world of cable (or satellite or internet) television gives one an almost infinite set of choices of worthless time wasters to choose from. Celebrity Rehab: B, C, D and E list “celebrities” try to get off drugs and use the show to rebuild their careers at the same time; Holmes on Homes: Canadian contractor makes you feel that any work that was ever done on your home was probably both substandard and outright dangerous; Whale Wars: Sea Shepherd staff and volunteers demonstrate a belief that their self-righteous conviction to the cause of saving whales means they do not have to practice or prepare in anyway for their maneuvers until they are in the middle of the Antarctic Ocean (oh, and never bring any spare parts either); Comedy Central Presents: an endlessly supply of comedians you have never hear of doing the same 30 minute set on travel, life in the city, health and grooming habits, how their girlfriend-husband-wife-boyfriend are impossible and then the windup about the perils of sex; all these hits are available for your delectation.

The other day none sufficed until I flipped by John Stewart’s The Daily Show just as he was introducing his guest, Emma Thompson. The lovely Ms. Thompson is my favorite actress and the only woman intelligent, loony and sexy enough that I would leave my wife for her. She was delightful and indeed completely loony during the interview. She went on about the narcissism of Mary Poppins (she was promoting her new Nanny McPhee movie), the practice of raising British children in boxes and never letting them outside when the sun was shining and how she did her scriptwriting longhand and indeed only wrote one letter per page so that her finished scripts were huge stacks of paper. Okay, you had to watching – but I was and it was fabulous.

Later that evening I was describing this to my wife and, for the umpteenth time mentioning that Emma was the only women I would leave her for while adding that there was no danger the attraction would be mutual (did I mention certain saint-like characteristics of my wife), To which my wife replied why not? Why wouldn’t Emma Thompson find me attractive? Flattering I said, but I’m older than Emma, have bad teeth and thinning gray hair and am not a wealthy guy and movie stars generally go for the good looking fit younger sorts, especially if those sorts don’t have money (the trophy wife, boy toy thing). So she suggested that I play the anti-boy toy card. That I be the intelligent, amusing, somewhat eccentric older guy; that indeed, I be the trophy older guy.

That’s when it hit me. I could start a career as Emma Thompson’s trophy geezer, her partner in inspired, insane lunacy. She would have to pick up all the bills of course as whatever talents I posses have never led to money, but she can afford it. And to think, I have my wife to thank for this brilliant idea. My trophy geezer facebook page and twitter accounts should be going up soon as well as the trophygeezer.com website where you can sign up for courses on becoming a trophy geezer and share you experiences on the various trophy geezer forums. And I owe it all to Hepatitis C…

Disclaimer: The events, ideas and descriptions described in the above post may have occurred due to the interactions among the panoply of drugs I am currently taking in my treatment…