Rick Nelson and Claude Peck dispense unasked-for advice about clothing, etiquette, culture, relationships, grooming and more.
RN: Funny how you've never mentioned the worst downside of growing older.
CP: What? Lack of sleep? That's because I'm too busy sleeping like a rock every night. You're the one who's always complaining about waking up in the middle of the night. Maybe it's that over-50 bladder.
RN: You really should have followed that first career instinct of yours and gone into urology. For one thing, after devoting decades to healing the hurts-to-pee, you'd be retired by now and living the good life in Boca.
CP: With a yacht named "Go With the Flow." I always sleep peacefully when near water.
RN: I used to greedily soak up nine, 10 hours of uninterrupted shut-eye a night. Now I'm lucky if I can make it to six. My Facebook postings routinely say things like, "4:09 a.m. and wide awake. Great."
CP: At least you are using those wee hours profitably, scouring YouTube for classic show-tune clips.
RN: Remind me to forward the URL from this fantastic Nanette Fabray tribute that I just discovered. But back to sleep, or my lack thereof.
CP: You should have a word with your lifemate. All your friends know he wakes up earlier than Matt Lauer. What time does Robert routinely greet what he dares to call "the dawn"?
RN: Is "the middle of the night" too vague for you? I try to admire his self-discipline, but hearing the alarm at 3:45 has unfortunately given me the circadian sleep rhythm of an old white guy trying to dance to Wild Cherry's "Play that Funky Music."
CP: I'm surprised I don't see him more often when I'm heading home after an evening out.
RN: Me, too. Let's not forget Sophie the Wonder Dog, who often finds herself stuck under the bed and then flails about, trying to escape. So restful. It's not unlike living under the flight path at MSP. Suddenly the birds start chirping, the sun comes up and it's over. I'm awake. Oh, joy.
CP: Being awake is the new sleep. So many people seem to have sleep disorders of one kind or another. Journalist Patricia Morrisroe just came out with a memoir about her insomnia. There's our pal who hooks himself to the CPAP machine every night at bedtime. There are the Ambien-dependent. I almost feel guilty admitting that once I don my Gucci sleep mask -- and if the neighbors aren't having one of their beer-and-death-metal soirees -- I slumber like a teenager.
RN: Consider yourself fortunate.
CP: I do. I'm so spoiled that I get mad if I lie awake for 10 minutes, pre-dreamland.
RN: Showoff. For me to replicate my 1970s sleep patterns, I require an unearthly silence, a room dark enough to develop a few rolls of Kodachrome and a climate slightly chillier than the fur storage vault at Ribnick's. Plus a down comforter thicker than Kyra Sedgwick's cracker accent on "The Closer."
CP: Stop it, you're making me drowsy.
E-mail: witheringglance@startribune.com.
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