When you get old, your TV won’t let you forget it

You can tell how old you’re getting by watching TV. The tube just comes right out and tells you when you’re falling apart. Mine knows I’m not getting younger and it ceaselessly reminds me of the fact by aiming ads at me.

There are things that can slow down the process, the television informs us in a sinister whisper, like an ancient herbalist in the back of a tailor shop off a dark alley in Chinatown. “Yes, take this Cymbalta and your depression will go away and you will fly kites at the beach on a sunny afternoon with a mate who may or may not be your actual spouse. There will be a happy dog there, too. Unless you prefer kittens.”

Before you offer your shaman a wad of cash, be warned: There could be an emergence of suicidal thoughts and behaviors with the miracle cure. Other side effects include hepatotoxicity, orthostatic hypotension, falls, abnormal bleeding, severe skin reactions, and, sadly, more. You need to weigh this information against the kite and the dog.

Only older people get to see these ads. While younger viewers enjoy Apple Computer commercials and BMW spots, you know you’re getting closer to the “cessation of all hankering” when all you see on TV are ads for walk-in bathtubs and chairs that launch you into a standing position.

My wife and I enjoy cocktails most evenings while watching Chris Hayes and Rachel Maddow on MSNBC, because we’re not idiots, though we make brief and horrifying excursions into the realms of Sean Hannity and Tucker Carlson. During breaks, we are reminded that we will not be allowed a dignified death; now, please enjoy this advertisement for Phillips Colon Health!

No! We switch quickly over to Hannity to see what’s going on with Hillary’s emails, but Fox and MSNBC tend to show their ads at the same time and we run smack into a commercial for Fixodent, which at least gives us something to talk about, which is who has dentures anymore? I thought they went out with ear horns. When I was growing up, a glass of water with phony teeth in it was a standard bedstand accessory, but these days anyone who brushes every couple of days should be able to eat toffee well into their 80s without their face collapsing.

AARP is another Maddow sponsor and, Lord, though their ads are supposed to be fairly uplifting and optimistic, they’ve been difficult to watch ever since I realized that I’m older than AARP. Seriously. Older than the entire organization, which was founded in 1958. So, if you’re older than 60, you’re older than AARP. You imagine people talking behind your back, saying, “Look at that guy. He’s older than AARP.”

Sometimes I blunder into watching a football and baseball game on television and I feel like I’ve discovered the Fountain of Youth. The air is sweeter, the colors more vibrant. Birds sing from ev’ry treetop as I enjoy ads for Pepsi, Home Box Office, Cadillac, Slim Jims and Red Bull. It’s like I’ve been rediscovered as a member of a youth brigade of enthusiastic consumers. Even though I know they only love me for my money, I nevertheless get the warm feeling of being wanted — pursued! — again, by companies that want me to enjoy life rather than forestall the alternative.

But soon the day loses light and the jug of gin comes out. We feed the dogs and turn on the set just in time for an ad from the Visiting Angels. Nothing scares me quite as much as the Visiting Angels, for what should be obvious reasons. Being “visited by angels” is a fancy if hackneyed euphemism for death; it’s pretty much the end of the show, and it’s an utterly terrifying TV ad. The “angels” look nice on TV, but they’ve got to get a new name if I’m ever going to let them run around in my house doling out drugs.

And then the ads stop and your president’s face fills the screen. Between the programming and the ads, this is no time to stop drinking.