Tuesday, November 18, 2014

My Hero

Saw a great movie this past weekend.

Bill Murray is "St." Vincent ... a sloppy, disgruntled, nasty curmudgeon who lays around on a lawn chair, smokes too much, gambles too much and has a Russian hooker as a girlfriend.

Yes ... he is my new hero. 

Truth is, I always liked Bill Murray and related to all his characters ... even his sleazy nightclub singer, Caddyshack groundskeeper and Todd DiLaMuca (Lisa Loopner's boyfriend) on SNL. 

But as St. Vincent he has touched a special place in my heart. 

I think us guys are all Vincent at heart. When we hit our sixties, our innermost thoughts change from being cool to sitting around in our underwear, bitching about politics or sports or women and in general not really caring about much of anything related to appropriate behavior. We'd all be happy smoking and drinking and gambling (if we weren't afraid of immediately dropping dead). 

Women are different. As they age, young "wild" women become clones of Mother Theresa. The wilder they were as kids the holier they are as older women. 

There are exceptions of course. My buddy Mike was born a curmudgeon and can't wait until he's sixty to sit on the street in his underwear. My wife Debbie was born as Mother Theresa and continues that path today ... Never missing a mass no matter what part of the world she's in. 

I keep my St. Vincent tendencies  in check most days although lately I find it harder to sit in meetings where the discussions drift to where a comma belongs in an invitation or whose responsibility it is to fix the thermostat. 

But I dream of the day that St. Vincent appears. My lawn chair awaits. 

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