Monday, April 24, 2006
First It Steals Your Mind
I recently went for a run that involved too much turning left, but just the right amount of rain. And on this run, which was not the type of run that naturally would lead to much philosophizing, one of my partners mentioned that the spector of old age could be, for a long time, dimmed, as long as one maintained a respectable weight and good hair.
It should be no surprise that this guy is in terrific shape and has a solid, brown hairline thick enough to pass for Scottish.
Not that I disagree with him. It's hard to see a balding friend and not also see the passing of years so physically displayed. It stares right at you.
But then, there's nothing more refreshing than someone who embraces his age. That's why I think I'll be good when I enter my 30s. Because in my 30s, I can pretend to be an old man, but still not be. And I think I'll be a damn good pretend old man. I'll have the opportunity to continually express my humility and uselessness, merely because I shall be old. Of course this won't work too well with my elders. But for those younger than me -- how can they disagree? Because to them, 30 will seem depressingly, shockingly old. For me, though, it's a lot of steps from 50, which is still pretty far from the next Halley's comet.
I can't wait to be a pretend old guy. I already slouch really well. I've been doing that since my teens. I complain about young people already. I already dress like it's 12 years ago. I'm nearly there! I might as well start saying I'm 30. But then that would mean I would miss 29. And 29 is a good year also. A prime number, so I'm in the prime of life, of course.
When I write posts like this, I recall reading a column in which the writer bemoaned blogs for being a grand symbol of the self-obsessed. I guess I can't argue against that, but what I think the writer missed is that everyone is self-obsessed. Sure, those with kids believe that they are martyrs and saints, just because they're doing their job. But once the kids leave the nest, these parents get to go back to concentrating on themselves. There is no one ME generation. We're all about ME.
It should be no surprise that this guy is in terrific shape and has a solid, brown hairline thick enough to pass for Scottish.
Not that I disagree with him. It's hard to see a balding friend and not also see the passing of years so physically displayed. It stares right at you.
But then, there's nothing more refreshing than someone who embraces his age. That's why I think I'll be good when I enter my 30s. Because in my 30s, I can pretend to be an old man, but still not be. And I think I'll be a damn good pretend old man. I'll have the opportunity to continually express my humility and uselessness, merely because I shall be old. Of course this won't work too well with my elders. But for those younger than me -- how can they disagree? Because to them, 30 will seem depressingly, shockingly old. For me, though, it's a lot of steps from 50, which is still pretty far from the next Halley's comet.
I can't wait to be a pretend old guy. I already slouch really well. I've been doing that since my teens. I complain about young people already. I already dress like it's 12 years ago. I'm nearly there! I might as well start saying I'm 30. But then that would mean I would miss 29. And 29 is a good year also. A prime number, so I'm in the prime of life, of course.
When I write posts like this, I recall reading a column in which the writer bemoaned blogs for being a grand symbol of the self-obsessed. I guess I can't argue against that, but what I think the writer missed is that everyone is self-obsessed. Sure, those with kids believe that they are martyrs and saints, just because they're doing their job. But once the kids leave the nest, these parents get to go back to concentrating on themselves. There is no one ME generation. We're all about ME.
