The Not-So Secret Elephant Burial Grounds
Well, it's official - London, Ont. has been named one of the best places in which to retire. Apparently we tied with Denver, Colorado for second place. Victoria, B.C. as everyone knows is the old-people capital of the world. All them old English ladies flock there just to drink tea in the Empire Hotel every afternoon.
The fact that London ranked so high on the list shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who has ever noticed our driving habits or listened to our local radio stations. This invasion has been going on for years. If not in the actual amount of grey-hairs who flock here but also in the mindset of people already here who are 30-going-on-80. They just love the place. And suck almost all the vitality right out it. You want to live in a place where people talk incessantly about their kids, their mortgages or their feet - then this is your town.
But what brings them here? Victoria has its tea rooms and book-stores where you can pick up five used Barbara Cartland romances for under two bucks. And Denver has its skiing. The perfect sport for people who can't slip coming out of the bath-tub without requiring major hip-replacement surgery. And the number four spot, Portland, Oregon has the water. It's on the Pacific Ocean, right? San Antonio, in at #5, has the Alamo. Shit, I'd retire there just for that alone. I've always wanted to see the basement of the Alamo.
So what does London have to offer?
It could be our summer festivals that clog the parking in our downtown streets almost every weekend in the summer. It sure ain't the music at these events because you can barely hear it above the roar from all the generators powering the fast-food trailers and arts&crafts stands. It can't be the variety of music at such events. Let's see, we have a folk festival, more classic rock weekends of reunited bands old enough to retire here - and then we have the Latin-themed Sun Fest and it's kid sister, the imaginatively named Fiesta del Sol a few weeks later brought to us by the same promoter. So that might have something to do with the appeal of coming to London. You know how old people are, they just love those Arts&Craft stands. Because they don't have enough useless crappy knick-knacks filling up their apartments.
So I figure it has to be our malls. There are enough malls in this town that if you were an old guy, you could go to a different mall every day of the week for those vigorous group walk-abouts before the stores open in the morning. There's even one mall, Cherry Hill - which is devoted entirely to senior citizens. Hundreds of seniors just hanging around in the food court or milling about, taking up space on the benches - with all the sense of purpose as a buncha young louts on a street corner downtown.
But the most likely appeal of our malls is that they all have the same stores. The same big name department stores. The same franchise food outlets. The same chain stores. You could be in AnyMall, in Anytown, Anywhere. You could even imagine you were in your old mall back home in Peoria or Mississauga. You get to a certain age and take comfort in the familiarity of your surroundings.
Good ol' London - the place where people come to die.
And only in this hick town would such a reputation be considered something to be proud of.
Mark my words. This is not a good thing. This means there's going to be even more commercials for hearing aid stores flocking to town. Prune juice bars will replace our hip downtown watering holes. And our talk radio shows will be filled with old ladies calling in, "Hello, Mr. Brady? My name is Gladys. And I'm worried about my cat."
And can you just imagine how pissed off all these dying old farts are going to be when they get to town and realize they can't even find a family doctor. Because none of them want to practice here. I've already experienced the vile tongue of such cranks when I was stuck behind an old coot in the line-up at the beer-store the other day and he insisted on getting his 'seniors' discount' and refused to budge or pay until he spoke to the manager.
Of course there could be an upshot to this great pilgrimage of the near-dead. I've always wanted to open up my own crematorium. This might be just the right time.
The fact that London ranked so high on the list shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who has ever noticed our driving habits or listened to our local radio stations. This invasion has been going on for years. If not in the actual amount of grey-hairs who flock here but also in the mindset of people already here who are 30-going-on-80. They just love the place. And suck almost all the vitality right out it. You want to live in a place where people talk incessantly about their kids, their mortgages or their feet - then this is your town.
But what brings them here? Victoria has its tea rooms and book-stores where you can pick up five used Barbara Cartland romances for under two bucks. And Denver has its skiing. The perfect sport for people who can't slip coming out of the bath-tub without requiring major hip-replacement surgery. And the number four spot, Portland, Oregon has the water. It's on the Pacific Ocean, right? San Antonio, in at #5, has the Alamo. Shit, I'd retire there just for that alone. I've always wanted to see the basement of the Alamo.
So what does London have to offer?
It could be our summer festivals that clog the parking in our downtown streets almost every weekend in the summer. It sure ain't the music at these events because you can barely hear it above the roar from all the generators powering the fast-food trailers and arts&crafts stands. It can't be the variety of music at such events. Let's see, we have a folk festival, more classic rock weekends of reunited bands old enough to retire here - and then we have the Latin-themed Sun Fest and it's kid sister, the imaginatively named Fiesta del Sol a few weeks later brought to us by the same promoter. So that might have something to do with the appeal of coming to London. You know how old people are, they just love those Arts&Craft stands. Because they don't have enough useless crappy knick-knacks filling up their apartments.
So I figure it has to be our malls. There are enough malls in this town that if you were an old guy, you could go to a different mall every day of the week for those vigorous group walk-abouts before the stores open in the morning. There's even one mall, Cherry Hill - which is devoted entirely to senior citizens. Hundreds of seniors just hanging around in the food court or milling about, taking up space on the benches - with all the sense of purpose as a buncha young louts on a street corner downtown.
But the most likely appeal of our malls is that they all have the same stores. The same big name department stores. The same franchise food outlets. The same chain stores. You could be in AnyMall, in Anytown, Anywhere. You could even imagine you were in your old mall back home in Peoria or Mississauga. You get to a certain age and take comfort in the familiarity of your surroundings.
Good ol' London - the place where people come to die.
And only in this hick town would such a reputation be considered something to be proud of.
Mark my words. This is not a good thing. This means there's going to be even more commercials for hearing aid stores flocking to town. Prune juice bars will replace our hip downtown watering holes. And our talk radio shows will be filled with old ladies calling in, "Hello, Mr. Brady? My name is Gladys. And I'm worried about my cat."
And can you just imagine how pissed off all these dying old farts are going to be when they get to town and realize they can't even find a family doctor. Because none of them want to practice here. I've already experienced the vile tongue of such cranks when I was stuck behind an old coot in the line-up at the beer-store the other day and he insisted on getting his 'seniors' discount' and refused to budge or pay until he spoke to the manager.
Of course there could be an upshot to this great pilgrimage of the near-dead. I've always wanted to open up my own crematorium. This might be just the right time.
posted by Sonny Drysdale at 9:50 AM
8 Comments:
Why don't we all just get lobotomies and call it a day?
Beforewarned H.P. - you can get a helluva buzz off Geritol. But it also takes five years off your life.
Honey Pot, the only way to get a buzz off Geritol is to mainline it, smoke a joint of B.C. Bud and then drink six, ice-cold beers (for the head freeze effect a la Ian Gillespie) in rapid succession.
I used to be an Aqua Velva Man until I discovered Hai Karate.
That's when Honey Pot and Chicken Sisters (gobble gobble) started chasing me around town like I was the reincarnation of Sir Lancelot.
I had to become a pig farmer to shake off all the screaming poontang.
Honey Pot, Old Spice is pretty inexpensive toilet water, the eau de toilet favoured by squinty-eyed sailor boys and high-plains drifters.
As a matter of fact, I'm wearing some right now.
Sonny--that piece was pure brilliance. If I were a hat wearing man, I'd take it off for you.
Cherryhill Mall--or Wrinkle City.It's like an anteroom to the afterlife. I was just there today, and it has the worst psychic energy: a mixture of defeat and lottery fantasies.
Yo Young Dork, what you say about CherryHill Mall is true - but they do have a dandy hardware store.
Sonny, as you know the Home Hardware left several years ago and now it's a Shopper's Drug Mart.
Kid Dork, for someone obsessed with the Ramones, I wouldn't be criticizing wrinkles and old people too much.
Blink your eyes baby and they'll be feeding you breakfast through a straw at the Happy Valley Rest Home -- where the thrill of the day is watching the RNAs' dress creep up her ass as she's hooking your roommate up to an IV.
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