Sunday
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3/22/05
I'm Chronollogicaly Challenged
It was only a few short weeks ago that I was taken by surprise by an event which, in hindsight, I really should have seen coming. Luckily enough there were no rodeo clowns or watermelons involved in this incident, but any casual passerby might have thought so judging from the resulting emotional wreckage... in short, I turned forty.
Its hard to believe, I know. I never even realized that people got that old. Indeed, I had to do the math just to be certain, but sure enough my abacus came up with the same result time and time again: 2005 minus 1965 equals 40 for me.
When this terrible realization finally sank in I began to consider the oddest things; things like how foolish Rodger Daltry must feel by now and the fact that I'm apparently old enough to be the father of most of the vacuous yet wildly wealthy pop stars who litter our airwaves with songs like 'Oops! ...I Did It Again.' Then I began to wonder about other things, like trying to remember just exactly how Dorian Gray had gone about securing his youthful vitality with that portrait of his. But then it occurred to me that you probably have to start earlier and healthier for that sort of Faustian bargain to make any sense. And things didn't really work out very well for Dorian anyway what with all the horrifying misery and death and all.
So, when I finally calmed down and regained my composure, I addressed more practical concerns. Should I, for instance, admit this recently discovered chronological crisis to my friends and family? What would they say? Were the boys mature enough to understand? I could only hope that the media didn't catch wind of the entire affair. I wondered if there were any twelve-step groups that could help me.
In the end, of course, I had no choice but to simply surrender myself to the inevitable and accept the same fate that, I've since been told, countless others before me have experienced. And so it was on a blustery Saturday evening recently that my Lovely Bride and I walked into the billiard room of our local Fox Sports Grill where a dozen or so friends and family awaited me with cocktails and gag gifts.
Yes, there were not only 'Old Fart' birthday cards, but also birthday cards with swimsuit models on the front that proclaimed that now that I'm forty I would probably rather take a nap. Ha, ha ha ha ha. There were big '40 Sucks' lollipops. There were black plastic 'Over The Hill' dribble/slobber bibs. There were humor books that seemed to be filled entirely with Rogaine jokes. Ha ha ha ha ha ha, indeed.
But, in the end, accepting my fate wasn't nearly as emotionally damaging as I had feared it might be. Dinner was pretty good, we had our own pool table and the bar apparently had an endless supply of Southern Comfort. But you know what? Even better, as I looked around the room I realized that not only was everyone there close to turning forty as well, but I still have all my hair. So ha! Bring on forty one!
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3/22/05
I'm Chronollogicaly Challenged
It was only a few short weeks ago that I was taken by surprise by an event which, in hindsight, I really should have seen coming. Luckily enough there were no rodeo clowns or watermelons involved in this incident, but any casual passerby might have thought so judging from the resulting emotional wreckage... in short, I turned forty.
Its hard to believe, I know. I never even realized that people got that old. Indeed, I had to do the math just to be certain, but sure enough my abacus came up with the same result time and time again: 2005 minus 1965 equals 40 for me.
When this terrible realization finally sank in I began to consider the oddest things; things like how foolish Rodger Daltry must feel by now and the fact that I'm apparently old enough to be the father of most of the vacuous yet wildly wealthy pop stars who litter our airwaves with songs like 'Oops! ...I Did It Again.' Then I began to wonder about other things, like trying to remember just exactly how Dorian Gray had gone about securing his youthful vitality with that portrait of his. But then it occurred to me that you probably have to start earlier and healthier for that sort of Faustian bargain to make any sense. And things didn't really work out very well for Dorian anyway what with all the horrifying misery and death and all.
So, when I finally calmed down and regained my composure, I addressed more practical concerns. Should I, for instance, admit this recently discovered chronological crisis to my friends and family? What would they say? Were the boys mature enough to understand? I could only hope that the media didn't catch wind of the entire affair. I wondered if there were any twelve-step groups that could help me.
~ ~ ~
In the end, of course, I had no choice but to simply surrender myself to the inevitable and accept the same fate that, I've since been told, countless others before me have experienced. And so it was on a blustery Saturday evening recently that my Lovely Bride and I walked into the billiard room of our local Fox Sports Grill where a dozen or so friends and family awaited me with cocktails and gag gifts.
Yes, there were not only 'Old Fart' birthday cards, but also birthday cards with swimsuit models on the front that proclaimed that now that I'm forty I would probably rather take a nap. Ha, ha ha ha ha. There were big '40 Sucks' lollipops. There were black plastic 'Over The Hill' dribble/slobber bibs. There were humor books that seemed to be filled entirely with Rogaine jokes. Ha ha ha ha ha ha, indeed.
But, in the end, accepting my fate wasn't nearly as emotionally damaging as I had feared it might be. Dinner was pretty good, we had our own pool table and the bar apparently had an endless supply of Southern Comfort. But you know what? Even better, as I looked around the room I realized that not only was everyone there close to turning forty as well, but I still have all my hair. So ha! Bring on forty one!
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