I was just in Florida for a few days so I’m talking about fish today, or rather the lack of fish in a place like Florida, or specifically in their “fish” restaurants…But I need to start with a few words about Joan Rivers. Having just spent four days locked in a gated senior community in South Florida, where I went to old lady aerobics with my mom and shopped at Publix and listened to poolside chatter about decrepit hips and crumbling backs and cancer and weakening hearts, I have to say one thing. And that is, that I, Erica Wides, for damn sure, will not go gentle into that good night. Like my recently departed idol, Joan Rivers, I plan to rage, rage against the dying of THAT light. Work up until the very end, like Joan did. Boy did I love her.
And that’s good, because retirement as we know is is about to become as extinct as tuna anyway, and my generation and all the post-boomers after me will never know the joy of spending one’s golden years in a gated condo fortress named for a Vatican Librarian…We’ll never be able to afford to stop working, anyway.
We won’t (can’t!) become extinct too soon, like the tuna and swordfish and marlin that show up, overcooked and paprika-sprinkled on so many middling restaurants. I don’t care how many baked potatoes and vegetables and salads come with it, life ends with the early-bird special, and I plan to stay up very late.