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Oh, My Heavens, It's The Golden View!

Well, my friends, it's that special time of the month. Yes, the new Golden View is out!  Gee willikers, is it already time for the May issue?!  Doesn't the time fly as we barrel along toward our collision with mortality?



Well, I don't know about you, but when the new GV busts out, I go straight to S.E. Persinger, the very heart and soul of this media empire. Look, today she's taking about crowns! What kind of crowns? All kinds, silly. Sure, it's a broad subject but S.E. is not afraid to tackle it.



See, there are all kinds of crowns, from beauty pageant tiaras to Our Precious Lord's...



ZZZZZ... Snuh... hurf? Sorry, I dozed off there for a minute.



You know, I hate to quibble and I surely don't want to cross wits with the great & powerful S.E., but, um... was this really what you'd call a chat? I mean, I was of course cajoling, chuckling and enthusing aloud while I read, but somehow I got the feeling she couldn't hear me.

I've got a suggestion for next month's column: we could talk about the word "chat." We could look it up in the dictionary, talk about what it means, give examples, you know, like that. Just a thought.

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Now Betty is a little more focused on the here-and-now than S.E.  She likes to help us solve those vexing little problems that send us grumbling and fidgeting into our twilight years, ruining our well-deserved peace-of-mind.



Uh-oh. I'm going to have to pass this along to my friends in the band Sorghum Apocalypse. If what Betty is saying here is true, there may be a limited market for cassette-only releases. Gosh, what you can learn.

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I always appreciate the insights of Rev. Claassen. Sure, the Bible is a really hard book, but he lays things out in terms we can all understand. Like this month, for instance, I learned that our relationship to God is just like the relationship between the toys and the little boy in Disney's Toy Story franchise. (Hint: we're the toys.)



Now see how easy that was? Who needs to wrangle with the severity of the Decalogue or the fundamental conflicts between the Psalms and Job? Didn't Jesus say we should come unto him like little children? The Rev. is sure helping us out on that count.

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One thing I particularly admire about the Golden View is the respect it shows its readers. Like for instance, there's always a cover story about a local business catering to older folks. This business is always mentioned by name and its good practices, unbeatable value and sterling reputation are extolled right off the bat. Now, some more patronizing senior newspaper might spell out the fact that their cover story is what TV stations call 'paid programming'.  But the editors of the Golden View know we're smart enough to grasp the subtext. 



See how they let us in on the joke with an ironic, postmodern, wink-wink-nudge-nudge?  They know older folks are in on the joke and like, totally hip to the cheap cynicism of our age.

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And yet there is time and room for some innocent fun.  Just look at this.  It's like a waking dream.



No, I don't understand it, either.

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Now this is some sly stuff.  I had to look at this a long time to get the joke.  There IS a joke, I'm telling you.  Keep looking.  See if you can figure out.  Don't peek at the answer yet!



Give up?  Well, once again, the editors (if there are any) at the GV have shown that they don't buy into demeaning stereotypes about the elderly, like, for instance, that their eyesight is not as eagle-sharp as a teenager's.  I've placed a dime for scale next to the part of the picture that contains the answer as to why this is funny.  See it yet?  Get it?



He's YAWNING.  Mr.Griswold is boring him and THAT'S how we know he's been eavesdropping!  Told you there was a joke!  Yes, he is too yawning.  That's a yawn... look closer.



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The GV is not just for older folks, by the way.  It's also edifying reading matter for hot young couples who just happen to suffer from the same afflictions as your grandparents, like these two.



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I must confess that one of the things that frightens me about getting older is the increase in little rules and regulations... a sort of gradual shedding of adult freedom and choice, a slow return to kindergarten.  Look at this fun! movie! for old folks!



You have to be 60 or older to attend.  It's at a hospital.  You have to register... register to watch a movie?  Do I have to ask permission to go to the bathroom?  If I don't like it, can I leave?  Can I bring my own snacks?  I'm pretty sure they won't let me bring a flask of scotch but if I do, will they take it away from me and pour it down the sink?  This is really upsetting, what is this a freaking GULAG?  I stormed the beach at Normandy to put up with this shit?!  Aaargh... my heart... I'm having a heart attack!

Quick call PARAMOUNT AMBULANCE! I saw their ad in the Golden View and that's a publication I trust!



Thank you for saving my life, the Golden View.  I promise I will work on my attitude.  I know the rules are there so I can be safe and happy.

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Well, let's lighten up a bit.  I know just the irreverent punster to help me recall that life is just a slapstick farce.  Al Batt is always a laff riot.



Har har... uhm., heh...  What if my life was a reality TV show?  Would I watch it?  Well, let's see... here's me, reading the old folks' newspaper...

Damn, Al, if you're going for the humor angle you might want to lead with something a little less, you know, stinking of existential dread.

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I'm not sure what to say about this ad here.  There seems to be some confusion in terms of the mental state of the readership going on.  Like, we can see cartoons smaller than a dime...



But we can't tell the difference between a.) a grainy black-and-white photo of an old hospital, and b.) the eternal paradise of the elect? 

I don't know about you, but if it turns out there is an afterlife, and if it turns out to be on the grounds of a vaguely East German-looking hospital, re-purposed as an old folks home... well, I for one, am going to be pretty much gobsmacked.  Like, golly, Mister Prime Mover of the Cosmos, this is the best you can do?  What's Hell, a slightly uncomfortable pair of shoes?

But then who am I to be critical?  Maybe the folks at Windsor Park know something I don't.  Maybe the architect had a near-death experience, saw heaven and just drew up the blueprints from memory.  If it wasn't true, it wouldn't be in the Golden View.  I guess that's what heaven is going to look like.  I sure hope there's golf.  Even miniature golf would be better than nothing.

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Well, while I can still drive and stuff, I think I'm going to a movie, one I don't have to register for at a hospital.  I wonder what movie I should see?  Let's ask Paula J. Giese.





Okay, gee, great, let's go to that, I guess.  Any movie will do.  I'm losing the will to live.

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Must... shake... off... depression... no sense giving in to despair.  Even when all my friends are dead, I know the proprietor of my assisted living facility will take a genuine human interest in my life story.



Walt used to play basketball.  What else can we learn about Walt?  Ah, here's what I was wondering about Walt!



Walt loves Sunset Park Place.  What a unique characteristic of Walt!  I'm glad I know that.  I feel like me and Walt are best buddies now.

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Brace yourself, dear readers.  I must now make an uncomfortable confession.  As much as I love the Golden View, there is one column I have never read.



I'm sorry, Gary Dolphin, V.P at US Bank.  I just can't do it.  Not for love or money.  Not in a month of Sundays.  It's never going to happen.  I would rather eat the phone book.  Unsalted.

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On the other hand, I'm always looking for golf tips.  One of these days I'm going to take dad's old clubs and hit the links, yes I am.  Even though it costs, like, $100 to play a round of golf, I really am going to do it one day.  And when I do, I'm going to shave a stroke or two off my total with tiny, tiny golf tips from Jack Nicklaus that I gleaned from the GV. 

They're so tiny, in fact, I could cut them all out and keep them in my wallet.  That way, when I do finally get my golf on, I will be ready.  If I land in the sand trap, I'll exclaim, "Wait a minute!"  Then I'll whip out my wallet and shuffle through a little stack of clippings until I find this one...



And if I happen to have a magnifying glass on me, I'll read what it says and then, THEN, to the amazement of my partner, I will reach for my pitching wedge instead of my sand wedge!  And when I chip that ball right up to the flag like a pro, my partner will say, "Holy mackerel, Morrison!  Where did you learn that trick?"  And I will answer nonchalantly, trying not to sound too smug, "The Golden View, my friend, the Golden View."

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Well, we've reached the end of our little walk about the grounds.  I'd like to close with the best advertisement in the history of advertising.



Give 'em a call.  Get a little color into your life.  There's no reason your golden years can't be festive.  Festooning your room at Fading Acres with a colorful fruit array might be just the thing.  Just don't try and take them to the movie at Finley Hospital. because I'm pretty sure that's not allowed.

I hope you've enjoyed our little chat.  I know I did, because I got to do all the talking and it was easy for me to imagine everyone nodding in agreement, chuckling now and again, generally attending to my whims like a well-paid and compassionate home health-care worker.

You can go to the bathroom now.
Tags: iowa, the golden view
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