Kind of blue

While enduring a wait on the tarmac and deprived of “all electronic devices”, I reached for the American Way magazine. On page 42, I encountered this disturbing image.

Let’s temporarily suspend the discomfort that comes with looking at a shirtless man born in 1940. The old man, bare-chested thing induces flashbacks of Jacques Cousteau’s leathery, gray haired and considerably less taut chest on display aboard the Calypso. Hey, at least M. Cousteau’s shirtlessness was part of his job.

As opposed to the practice of this so-called Dr. Lite, which I would assume includes a doctor’s smock to cover up his well-defined, if not occasionally oiled pecs. (Given the old man's guns, I'll grant you that smock might be sleeveless.) Whatever. My doctor’s office won’t even let me in the door without a shirt or shoes.

Anyway, thanks to a ubiquitous ad campaign in the sports sections of metro newspapers, I’ve seen more of this guy’s improbably sculpted body than I’d care to.

And I certainly didn’t need to see what’s beneath that chest. Cartilage, bones and some sort of atomic blue fluid coursing through his aging veins. What the?! All before the morning beverage service, too. This primitive coach passenger in 22F can’t make heads or tails of this X-ray vision ad. Maybe the point is that the secret of Dr. Lite and Cenegenics resides in blue kneecaps. Or perhaps its that if I’m experiencing sudden blueness in my skeletal extremeties, I should call Dr. Lite.

Too confusing. I’ll just schedule an appointment if I experience hair loss.