See the 2022 Women in Business Magazine

From the Crow’s Nest: Nothing lasts for long

By Clint Younts

Well, that didn’t last long! No, I’m not talking about TCU’s hopes of winning the National Championship. I’m sad to report I broke my New Year’s resolution a week after making it. Most years I keep my resolutions well past MLK Day, but due to the abundance of idiotic, dangerous drivers who learned to drive by watching the Fast and Furious movies, I quickly returned to being a grumpy, old man who fusses about all the insanity around us.

Hey, I haven’t always been like this. There was a time, many years ago, when I could sit on my deck and enjoy the peace and quiet of country life. The sounds of birds chirping and longnecks opening have been replaced by the clamor of heavy machinery and sirens of emergency vehicles. Instead of trying to identify the type of bird that I hear singing in the treetops, I now listen closely to determine if that’s a police car or a fire truck hurrying to another accident. 

Back when I always had a smile on my face, I could drive to town in five minutes and be sipping a frozen margarita in eight minutes. Now, with traffic backed up like a constipated cat’s colon, it takes four times as long to drive to Kyle and when I finally get there, I have forgotten why I’m there.

Back in the days when I would drive to Buda to get my VCR repaired, I didn’t worry about dangerous drivers who consider red lights as just a mere suggestion to stop. Just yesterday, as I was returning home from Tractor Supply, not one but two vehicles sped through the red light as I was trying to pass through the intersection. If either car had been smaller and more expensive, I might’ve let ‘em hit me. Then I could call one of those obnoxious lawyers who are always on TV and earn some serious money.

Back when my clothes were still in style, I didn’t fuss about the price of cattle feed or deer corn. I reminisce often about buying a 6-pack of beer for $2.00 when I was wearing bell bottoms and shirts with puffy sleeves. I remember enjoying the taste of a perfectly grilled T-bone steak back when my knees didn’t creak and pop every time I stand up. One day, if I win the Powerball, I might be able to afford beef again.  

Back before my first gray hair appeared, I loved eating bacon and sausage for breakfast. Now, with gray whiskers clogged in my Norelco, I try to determine if that bacon I just ate for breakfast came from a turkey or some weird legume. As a young man, I also enjoyed eating tasty breakfast cereals like Cap’n Crunch and Cocoa Puffs. Nowadays, I have to eat cereal that is full of fiber and tastes like cardboard or I’ll be suffering like the previously mentioned cat.

I had resolved to stop complaining about all the new neighborhoods being built in areas that have been experiencing a severe drought for several years, wondering how toilets in all those new homes will flush without any water. If I hadn’t broken my 2023 resolution to stop fussing about politicians, I wouldn’t be worrying about our Congress that just spent a week trying to decide who can bang the gavel.

Well, so much for trying to be a happy, go-lucky fella like I used to be before the world turned upside down, back when the majority of the country cared about their neighbors. I still will try not to express my opinion about gun control, even after a 6-year old takes a gun to school and shoots his teacher. And I will attempt to limit my comments about how so many Americans still can’t distinguish the truth from a steaming pile of bovine excrement. I won’t promise anything, but at least I’m attempting to treat my bellyaching by sitting out on my deck, ‘70s music blasting from my Bluetooth, and hearing the satisfying sound of the cap popping off a longneck bottle. 

About Author


Comments are closed.