Finding my inner curmudgeon

I was recently surfing through several news websites and discovered just how out of touch I must be with the rest of the world. While I keep searching for meaningful analysis and news, the rest of YOU are dwelling upon stuff of which I have NO clue.
Headlines, from local sites to international press, told of the absolute shocking death of Stephen Gately, a member of the band, Boyzone, in Majorca.
Sorry, but who?
And then several sites proclaimed the good news that Kourtney Kardashian is having a baby – and it’s gonna be a boy!!!!
Sorry again, but who?
Surely, the results of the People’s Choice Awards is the most discussed matter at every water cooler.
Uh, pardon me, but … what’s that? I didn’t choose a thing.
And here is the death of Tia Tequila's "wifey," as if I give a shit...except she was a very hot lipstick lesbian.
I don’t know a fucking thing about these people and the social circles in which they travel. And frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn (a line NOT borrowed from a Tina Fey skit on “Saturday Night Live”). It’s not that I’m sympathetic; I just don’t give a shit. Lately, the number of items being compiled on my “what not to do” list is increasing by the nanosecond.
So if that makes me a curmudgeon ... whatever.
I couldn’t tell anyone a thing ever sung by Lady Gaga or Taylor Swift or Hannah Montana or Billings, Montana. I don’t watch reality shows other than the news and baseball. I don’t want to see who is the lesser loser on “The Biggest Loser,” or why I should ever care about dysfunctional families like “Jon and Kate Plus 8” (my former in-laws provided enough of that for 10 lifetimes). I don’t want to ever watch anything about a guy who unleashed a flying mushroom across Colorado and got his kid (named after a bird) to help scam the nation.
I don’t care who’s on “Oprah” or “The View” and I don’t watch shows like “Gossip Girl” or “The Hills.” Of course, I never saw “Friends,” “Seinfeld” or even a single chapter of “Roots.” I still have the original episodes from “Lonesome Dove” I taped (as in VCR) from 1989 and just haven’t gotten around to watching THAT in 20 years’ time.
I don’t watch anything (and anyone embarrassing themselves or others) on YouTube because it rhymes with “boob tube” and demonstrates how that phrase has become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I don’t eat seaweed because … well, just because sewage. I don’t eat sushi since I like my meal, more or less, dead. And Pad Thai sounds like a bundle of paper encircled by twine.
I liked reading newspapers until the Internet made it unfashionable to get your fingers stained with printer’s ink (which I always took a sign of actual, nor artificial, intelligence). If I would read a book, I like the kind with paper and hard covers instead of coming on a palm-size device.
And I prefer to have had this written on a manual typewriter rather than a computer keyboard because I actually enjoy prying apart jammed keys against a carbon ribbon. It, too, was a sign (and unmistaken sound) of man’s brain cells participating in the lost art of clever reasoning and engagement.
If all this makes me a curmudgeon, then I wear it proudly like my favorite baseball team’s cap on my bald-ass head. There’s no law that mandates automatic acceptance of modern culture, technology, morals or standards. As far as I cal tell, the answer of “…well, just because” is sufficient to almost anyone’s contrarian point of view.
The dictionary describes a curmudgeon as “a crusty, ill-tempered, and usually old man,” which is actually sexist because why can’t a female be just as curmudgeony? Why can’t men act differently during certain times of the month (like payday, or tee-time, or kickoff)?
I’d rather be a curmudgeon than the modern version of hip. After looking closely in the mirror, believe me, I AM hip! Nice and wide hips … and stomach, too. I am who I am, and I’m not changing to reflect, or keep up with, the times. All that matters is being accepted by the people who matters – the ones who love me … for me.
Now excuse me, but I’ve got to go catch up on missing episodes of “I Love Lucy.” Is she still married to Ricky?