Satire: Looking at a futuristic nursing home

December 18, 2075

Dear Diary,

It was another Pine-Sol scented day at Sunnyville Nursing Home/Family Abandonment Center.

I checked my Facebook account as usual and updated my status. Meanwhile, I viewed the pages of some old classmates. I don’t particularly like them, but I friend them so at least when I die I look remotely loved. I opened my friend Irvin’s page, and his status reads, “Irvin Edmonds is dead.” I found this peculiar, so I hobbled across the hall to check and see if he’s just changing his status for attention. Nope. He’s dead.

The nurse rolled me down to the activity center. Wii bowling was already in motion, so I helped Mr. Howard on the Rock Band. In his prime, he was a champion, but due to his arthritis he’s forced to sing vocals and yell finger numbers at me while I attempt the bass. I don’t mind because he’s turning 75 years old tomorrow, so the government is coming under the cover of night to kill him. I’ll let him have his moment. We play the classics: “Bad Romance,” “Colt 45″ and that Spice Girl’s number with the “zig-a-zia-ah.” It’s amazing how hustling, profanity and Europeans survived the recession.

Muriel down the hall fell in the shower yesterday and died. The last thing anybody saw of her was the butterfly tramp-stamp she got years ago, which now resembles a furry pterodactyl.

My daughter came to visit, spread holiday cheer and steal money from my drawer when I wasn’t looking. She brought the three grandkids: Faith, Hope and Accident. I usually love the grandchildren, but now all teenagers do is complain. They know nothing of hardship. They wouldn’t have survived a day in 2010, when we used to slave over a hot laptop – updating our iTunes, watching our PC’s crash and then Googling instructions on how to bootleg songs directly from an iPod to iTunes. Life used to be hard.

My daughter is an English teacher at Yale – where I attended graduate school. They accepted me because I was brilliant. Anyway, she texted me her course books. We never talk. We just sit across the room from each other and text. It’s more convenient that talking because most responses are yes/no and prevent any unnecessary anecdotes. She texted me “Jane Eyre.” I kindly sent her a picture of my middle finger and we both had a wonderful father-daughter awkward silence. We’ve never agreed on great literature and sometimes it gets very intense. I remember last year when she threatened to pull the plug, so I pulled out my Glock and shot her husband.

Tonight, I think I’ll curl up in bed and watch TV Land. It’ll take me back to a simpler time. A nicer time. A time of “Fast and Furious,” “Grand Theft Auto,” and of course, “I Love New York.” Our generation was sent out to change the world, and we did, somehow.

Steve Holbert

P.S. Dakota Fanning still looks the same. I always knew she was a witch.

Posted by Steve Holbert on Feb 12 2010. Filed under Opinion. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry