Moses Znaimer, Leave Me Alone!

Moses Znaimer, leave me alone. Some of my friends like your magazine, but not me. I'm not buying your schtick. In fact, I'm irked.

All my boomer life I've been under unrelenting pressure from the media purveyors of mass culture to be cool. I've got to do this, be that, buy the other thing. I'm pretty sick and tired of it and figured that at least one compensation for getting old was that I'd be left alone. I could do what I wanted (actually, I want to do as little as possible), and pretty much ignore the latest trends. I thought few would notice and no one would care.

And then you come along, Moses, and ruin a pretty sweet deal.

It's too bad you lost your TV stations (and your hair), but why didn't you just buy a sports car like everyone else? Instead, you have to go and buy the fogey magazine CARP (a great name, by the way) and rebrand it Zoomer. Now, instead of a stodgy publication filled with earnest articles on stool softener and RRSP's, we have a zippy periodical filled with earnest articles on running marathons and engaging in tantric sex. I don't want this kind of pressure, Moses.

I think it's a plot to keep us spending. Old people didn't used to have to spend a lot of money. Another compensation for getting older. You could wear the same pair of glasses for twenty years. Cheez Whiz on Ritz crackers was fancy fare for the weekly euchre game. A trailer in Florida for a few months in the winter was high living.

But you come along with this Zoomer scam and you've got us blowing the kids' inheritance on laser eye surgery, organic truffle oil from Pusateri's, and backpacking through Nepal. Don't leave your cash to your kids; give it to Moses and his advertisers.

And it is a scam. Old people don't want to be bothered with all this zipping and zooming. Want proof? Look who's on the cover of the May issue of Zoomer magazine: Nia Vardalos. She's 47. You can't get sensible older folks to drink your Kool-Aid, but the kids will (as long as it's not sweetened with sugar. Agave syrup, maybe, or stevia.) So you redefine old as 45 and up. Are you kidding me? Even if I could be 45 for ever, I couldn't afford it.

You're not my role model for aging, Moses, but you know who is? Oscar on Corner Gas. Now there's a man who clearly knows how to enjoy his senior years. He dresses old, he talks old, he acts old.

So, Moses, don't lead me where I don't want to go. These high-waisted pants are really comfortable and my Crown Victoria has a nice quiet ride. Jackass.