Not Falling Down Funny (Cigar Smoke 9-25-08)

First of all, I want you to know that I don’t think falling down is falling-down funny. No, I’m not like “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” They wouldn’t have a show if people didn’t fall down. Kids fall down, brides fall down at the altar, people fall off stages, babies fall out of cribs, seeing-eye dogs fall down. Hey, it’s falling-down funny. You might even say it’s a trip. That may be funny.

And no, I definitely don’t think old people falling down is too damn funny. You always hear about the old guy who takes a tumble and breaks a hip — and then it’s memorial service time. I think Forest Lawn sponsors broken hips. You break a hip, baby, and it’s time to cancel the subscriptions.

But because I am a what? I am a journalist. I have to report the truth. I am getting semi-old and I am starting to fall down with something my bowels aren’t familiar with — regularity. I’ve probably fallen down seven or eight times in the last year or so. I’m just here to show you what you’re in store for when you start reading Modern Maturity.

There are many different types of falls. I would classify all of them for you, but sadly I fell and hit my head and I can’t remember diddly. I think his first name is Bo, but that’s all I can recall.

It seems to me that I fall basically because I can’t stop from falling. Now, I know that sounds simple. But here’s the thing. You step on a rock or you step in a small hole, and in your younger years you just compensate for it, and your upper body muscles help you hold yourself up. But now they don’t. They’re in a rest home in Florida.

I was walking across the damn street the other day at Allen and New York, and as I got to the middle of the street, I stumbled over a little uneven section of asphalt. Just a little rise. And damned if I didn’t go down like a sack of wet rice. My upper body compensation muscles were nowhere to be seen. Bastards. I never did like them, even when I was younger.

A while back I was just walking out to get my newspapers in the morning, and I walked out of the house and got to the top of my driveway and I took a step off the walkway and misjudged where the end of the step was and I stumbled. I immediately lost my balance and was starting down the driveway completely out of control. At first I didn’t fall down, I just staggered for about 20 feet and gained some momentum, and I was gathering some serious moss, baby. I was really moving.

Finally, as I got near the street, I decided I better just go ahead and fall or I might get nailed by a trash truck.

So I did my old football roll and ate the pavement.

Didn’t really get hurt, but I skinned my knees and had to spit out some pebbly gnarly stuff. But there is a bright side: While I was on the ground, I crawled over a few feet and picked up the papers. At least I didn’t have to bend over and throw my back out and fall down again. I felt very efficient. My hips applauded.

About six months ago I was in a casino in Reno and was walking down some stairs to get some lunch. When I got down to the last three steps or so, I tripped and took a nasty spill. I fell hard on some cement floor and I was kind of stunned. As I was looking around, dazed, I saw about 50 guys watching a football game on TV and not one of those bad Samaritans came to my aid. To be fair to mankind, I was wearing an SC shirt, and I did look into the eyes of one guy who was sipping a beer, and he just looked at me, and slowly mouthed the letters “U-C-L-A.” I thought that was pretty cold.

And I don’t only fall down. I fall up, too. I am an equal opportunity faller. I was walking out to my backyard deck — and it was at night and it was dark out (who would have thought) — and I had a cigar and a lighter in one hand and two fudgicles in the other hand and an iPod and earphones clutched to my chest, and Hadley was somewhere between my feet, and damned if I didn’t miss the first step. I fell pretty hard up into other steps and landed on some ornamental damn rock.

But I was lucky. I was OK, but everything was scattered all over hell, and as I struggled to get up, I noticed Hadley was eating my fudgicles, including the wrappers and the sticks. Man’s best friend, this!

I also slipped in the kitchen last month and did the splits and my thighs split open and my tendons and ligaments fell onto the tile. Felt like it. And it’s just a matter of time before I slip in the bathtub. I know it’s going to happen. Yup, I think I’m going to buy it in the shower. I can see it. I’m going to break a hip and probably a head. And I know the paramedics (who will still have their pissy compensatory holding upper body muscles) are going to come out and I know they will say to Marge, “We can’t get the rubber ducky out of his cold dead hand.”

Have a nice day, whippersnappers.

Jim Laris is the former owner/publisher of the Pasadena Weekly. Contact him at jimlaris@mac.com.