EXTRA: Tens of Thousands Follow Life of Douglas Cress

As the title reveals this webpage has been visited over 10,000 times. That's considered quite a milestone for the casual blogger. Perhaps I have poured too much of myself into the blog. As Dave D. once remarked, "You need to get your head out of the blogosphere and return to reality!" Maybe he's right.

I've been hanging around my former employer’s townhouse most of this weekend. I've been sharpening my house-sitting skills hoping to parlay my experience into a full time position. It takes a certain type of person to housesit. Not just anyone can handle the long hours on the couch--watching television, eating, or surfing the internet.

I'm sure many of my readers are out there thinking, "I sit on my ass all day long. I could do your job easily." Perhaps you can sit on your ass...but can you watch TV and eat simultaneously? Can you handle the added pressure of getting paid while doing so? Experienced house-sitters, or "vacation-specialists" as we preferred to be called, have mastered the finer points of this profession. Take for example my esteemed colleague, pictured here in action.

Notice the athletic apparel. Staying comfortable while house-sitting is paramount. Secondly, take heed of the positioning--this man has quite literally planted himself on the sofa; he should be comfortable for many hours before needing to readjust. Finally, I invite you to marvel at his abilities to consume french fries while channel surfing--truly remarkable.

Adam, Rustam

Nicole, Rustam

And again.

Adam, Nicole, Neel

The Pretender.

Today I witnessed an old man striding like a teen.
I was on my way to work--he was crossing Lexington Avenue at 84th.
Do old men have places to be at 8am on Tuesdays?
His flowing hair seemed slightly comical,
was he really aged?
Or Pretending?

Was this a younger man disguised as an elderly individual?
The effort would earn him a seat on the subway.
Perhaps he had his heart set on a senior discount.
Or was it something more wicked.

The application of the old man features were flawless.
It was his stride that clued me into his deceit.
Capitalizing on the wisdom of the aged,
an evil plan was hatched.

He walked far too fast...
out of sight.

Out of my mind.

I have my health

Like most people, I tend not to think about my good health--that is, until I fall ill. When sick my health is all I can think about. I hate not being 100 percent, what a pain! I have trouble 'taking it easy'.

I am fortunate that sickness is no more than an inconvenience. At some point in my life I will become chronically ill. It is highly probable than a disease of some sort will kill me. Its best not to dwell on these things, especially at twenty-three, likely my physical peak.

There's something to be said for living every day like its your last. I take for granted the fact that I will live a long healthy life. This mentality factors into everything I do. I don't always put my family first, I waste a day here and there doing nothing, and I'm in no rush to procreate. Sure, there will be a time when legions of little Douglas Cress' rule the earth. That time is not yet at hand, blog readers rejoice!

Length of life is far less important than quality of life. Old age can be a slippery slope, for as we advance in years our bodies deteriorate at an exponential rate. It is far more important to maximize the years we spend in good health.

I don't smoke cigarettes, my healthy eating habits are borderline obsessive-compulsive, and I exercise religiously. It is unlikely that these factors will prevent or even delay my demise. I can only hope that my lifestyle will allow me to get the most out of the time I have.

Today I feel great, what a gift.

Vladimir Krestovich, Chapter 3

The man’s name was King Ghidra but everybody called him King. A seasoned octogenarian, he had come to the home after an auto accident robbed him of his independence and two-thirds of his left leg.

The injury slowed King down considerably and it drove the man crazy. He avoided calling attention to the handicap, and only reluctantly adopted the scepter-like cane which he used steady himself. King had aged well; he practiced calisthenics daily, commanded a full head of hair, and had child-like grey eyes for which he needed no glasses.

While most of his peers had begun the slow degeneration into infancy, King was as vigorous as ever—he even had relations with some of the more youthful elderly women in the home. Like any monarch, he was both admired and despised; envy leads to distrust.

The first words Vlad exchanged with the man were whispered in a seldom used hallway. He listened patiently knowing it was always best to let an individual make their point. King did not waste words.

Residents were not supposed to leave the facility without permission. This rule was designed to prevent the senile from wandering off, but as with any blanket decree, it hurt more people than it helped, King especially. Vladimir had never broken any rules at the home and yet it took only a minute for him to acquiesce to King’s request: a ride out of the home and into the City.

The man was teeming with charisma. His charisma would spill over into all those he encountered. There was something in the way King held himself that led one to believe wholeheartedly in him and his cause—something ethereal which made one feel better about oneself.

Saying no to this man would have been unbearable.