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What makes a GOF?

The last time I was in an Apple store I felt like I was in the bar scene from Star Wars. To say the clientele was diverse would be the understatement of the century. So go ahead and put me down as a GOF.
I live in Seattle. The area my office is in doubles as the bar scene from Star Wars.
 
This is the one that cracks me up. The younger people who complain about older people being, you know, who and what they are, those people sound like grumpier old farts than we do. I call them members of the future curmudgeons club.

I'm in the group here that probably acts younger than I am, and I always looked younger than my age. When I was in my 20's I hated that, but it's an asset now. I love wearing completely age-inappropriate clothing and hair on stage and yukking it up like a kid. Keeps me feeling young, and I don't really have a good reason to want to feel old instead, so there ya go.
My mom once told me about a radio interview she heard with one of the first black men to cross the color line in professional baseball. He was born at home and was not sure how old he was. When the interviewer asked if that ever caused him concern he replied “whenever i asked my momma how old i was she always asked me how old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?”
That one simple thing has been one of the guiding principles of my life since childhood. If asked how old i am i can tell you my birth year but i have to subtract that from the current year to give you an exact number because the only time i think about my age is when it’s required on some official form or on my birthday if someone throws me a party, something i actively discourage.
 
I am more of a SOF (s for sarcastic) or maybe just a wise guy.
About five years ago I took my brother-in-law to G.C. to buy a new amp. I was in my early sixties at the time and he was in his late sixties. The guy has lived a rough life and he looks a lot older than he his. He has bad knees from being a bike messenger and walks slowly. He is also a past member of many local bands and played a lot of punk at one time.
We shuffled in to G.C. and all the young, inked, pierced folks working there probably wondered what the two old farts wanted. One guy approached us and we told him we needed an amp. My brother (in law) sat down plugged a Tele into one of the new Fender modeling amps to give it a try. He cranked the amp and started riffing like crazy. Seemed like the whole store was put on pause. The look on the G.C. dude was priceless. His jaw fell dropped and his eyes were wide open. Seemed like was trying to deal with what his ears heard but his eyes said couldn't be true.
In a few minutes the manager came over and told us to "TURN THAT DOWN." He had to shout to be heard. I turned it down and I looked at the manager with a grin and said "If it is too loud, you are too old."
We ended up buying the amp and shuffled out the door. None of the young dweebs offered to help the two old geezers carry it to their car. Why I oughta...
 
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The old folks TalkBass clubhouse.

Get off my LAWN! "Grumpy Old Farts"

Thanks, @beans-on-toast. I didn't want to mention the Club for fear I might be thought of as trying to recruit new members ;). But you "let the cat out of the bag" (more on that saying, later).

The Club is open to all...you don't have to be a member to partake in any of the many subjects. Even a single post could have several subjects making it mentally challenging but, that's what keeps us young and being GOF's we can get away with it:D. Plus, from time to time, there are free courses in new and improved ways of being grumpy and helping to educate our youth without sounding like a GOF.

Now, about this "cat out of the bag" thing. I will say that, prior to my recent experience, I loved all cats, just never had one. (as i said, being a GOF, it's nice to have an excuse to jump to another subject)

My wife has a soft heart for all animals. A few years back, she decided to adopt a stray kitten that just showed up in our yard. As it grew, it developed a very warm affection with my wife. I would attempt to bond with it but those attempts ended with that little beast clawing, biting and scratching. I tried ignoring it, but it was on a mission.

She sensed my allergies to it and tormented me by jumping up on the bed, lying next to my head and glaring at me. That wasn't enough, during the night she positions herself so that her tail brushes on my face.

Her favorite game is tearing around my feet as I walk down the hall, hoping I trip over myself and fall.

Recently she has come up with another one and this could be the clincher. She knows that I avoid the laundry room and hold my breath every time I have to pass through it. So, this creature has decided to spread cookies, as they are call on the web, throughout the house. These cookies or, more correctly called, pieces of :poop: are a joy to step on, early in the morning, with bare feet :vomit:.

This leads me to my GOF solution. I plan on secretly stuffing her back into a bag she belongs in...only letting her out when my wife misses her :hyper:.

Now, if anyone wants to comment on this cat thing, I will forewarn you that a thread recently did that and a few serious cat lovers set fire to it. YMMV
 
Thanks, @beans-on-toast. I didn't want to mention the Club for fear I might be thought of as trying to recruit new members ;). But you "let the cat out of the bag" (more on that saying, later).

The Club is open to all...you don't have to be a member to partake in any of the many subjects. Even a single post could have several subjects making it mentally challenging but, that's what keeps us young and being GOF's we can get away with it:D. Plus, from time to time, there are free courses in new and improved ways of being grumpy and helping to educate our youth without sounding like a GOF.

Now, about this "cat out of the bag" thing. I will say that, prior to my recent experience, I loved all cats, just never had one. (as i said, being a GOF, it's nice to have an excuse to jump to another subject)

My wife has a soft heart for all animals. A few years back, she decided to adopt a stray kitten that just showed up in our yard. As it grew, it developed a very warm affection with my wife. I would attempt to bond with it but those attempts ended with that little beast clawing, biting and scratching. I tried ignoring it, but it was on a mission.

She sensed my allergies to it and tormented me by jumping up on the bed, lying next to my head and glaring at me. That wasn't enough, during the night she positions herself so that her tail brushes on my face.

Her favorite game is tearing around my feet as I walk down the hall, hoping I trip over myself and fall.

Recently she has come up with another one and this could be the clincher. She knows that I avoid the laundry room and hold my breath every time I have to pass through it. So, this creature has decided to spread cookies, as they are call on the web, throughout the house. These cookies or, more correctly called, pieces of :poop: are a joy to step on, early in the morning, with bare feet :vomit:.

This leads me to my GOF solution. I plan on secretly stuffing her back into a bag she belongs in...only letting her out when my wife misses her :hyper:.

Now, if anyone wants to comment on this cat thing, I will forewarn you that a thread recently did that and a few serious cat lovers set fire to it. YMMV

The cat is jealous of the bond with your wife. It wants to replace you. Maybe it needs to mellow out with some catnip. Maybe you should be the only one feeding it.

Leaving droppings is pure spite.
 
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My mom once told me about a radio interview she heard with one of the first black men to cross the color line in professional baseball. He was born at home and was not sure how old he was. When the interviewer asked if that ever caused him concern he replied “whenever i asked my momma how old i was she always asked me how old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?”
That one simple thing has been one of the guiding principles of my life since childhood. If asked how old i am i can tell you my birth year but i have to subtract that from the current year to give you an exact number because the only time i think about my age is when it’s required on some official form or on my birthday if someone throws me a party, something i actively discourage.
That baseball player had to have been Satchel Paige. If it wasn't Satchel Paige, then he should have been. Satchel Paige is my favorite philosopher.
 
Thanks, Beans. Are you a cat whisperer? I thought I might be in need of a cat exorcist ;).

Cat Whisperer here. This glyph is actually the work of a cat, and roughly translated means, "I hate you, get away from me." I pride myself on interpreting animals thusly - it's a gift!

Photo on 4-11-18 at 8.27 AM.jpg
 
I just turned 47. I don't think I'm old. But I definitely qualify for SMC (snarky middle-aged curmudgeon).

You don't have to be old to join the ranks of the GOF Club. You don't even have to ask for a number or submit pics to prove who you are! No one in the Club knows how to issue numbers. If they did, they have forgotten or can't be bothered ;). All that's necessary is to post something, make up a number or use the number of the post as your membership number. Us GOF's like to KIS :).
 
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Good points...I love the discounts and the offers to help. Just the other day, my wife and I were at the supermarket and the check out clerk asked if we need help to the car. For fun, I said, "No thank you, that's why I brought my mother".

One of the first times that I didn't get carded buying beer, many years ago, I happened to be with my wife. I told her that the checker thought she was my mom. Didn't go well......
 
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