I Can't Complain

During a recent conversation with my friend Zalman (see this story to get an idea of what a blessing his friendship has been to me), I asked him how he was feeling - a perfectly reasonable question, considering what getting older does to people. He said something like: "for a man as old as I am, everything's fine." I knew this was not a good report. And so ensued a dialogue about getting old, about the failing body and the increasingly apparent justification for kvetching - Zalman being stolidly anti-kvetch, Bernie, nevertheless, pointing out the actual fun, if not necessity, for a good kvetch.

It can most definitely be fun, don't you know, kvetching: embracing the abject agony of existence - in particular, yours; rejoicing, in your miserable way, at the extent of your daily suffering.

For Zalman, however, it turns out to be a joy best denied. For him, it is better to spend life celebrating life.

Which reminded me, as I apparently needed to be, of why I chose to call myself "Major Fun" in the first place. Sure, I know the joys of kvetching, believe you me, and how much fun a good group kvetch can be. On the other hand, kvetching isn't something you do with a guy called "Major Fun." Laughing. Playing. Being silly. Not wallowing in the muck of misery, not delving into the depths of despair - but jumping as high as you can, for joy.

Times being what they are, I need to be constantly reminded. And if you remind me, maybe I'll remember to remind you.

So yes, call me Major Fun. And when you ask me how I'm doing when I'm not doing well or feeling well or acting well, I'll probably say something like "I can't complain." Because, see, as Major Fun, I can't complain - not as Major Fun, not now, not when there's so much fun to be made.


from Bernie DeKoven, funsmith