Ugh. I turn 38 soon. My mother claims I am firmly entrenched in middle age. I may not be more mature, but I do notice the little differences. My hariline is making a slow but sure forced retreat from my face (although reinforcements are amassing on my chest and stomach. Fortunately, the back divisions do not seem to be showing up). I wake up much stiffer in the mornings. No not THAT, you sick bastards — knees, neck, back. And I definitely spend more time puttering than partying.
Half a lifetime ago I still wanted to be a writer. I can’t remember if the dream of being a famous writer was still alive, or if it had already been crushed and replaced by the dream of being a well-fed writer. Eventually, even the struggling, kind of pissed and usually hungry writer dream failed as well. Now I just dream of having someone else to mow the lawn, trim the hedges, prune the orchard and fix up stuff around the house so that I can go back to puttering. I am a good putterer; I putter well.
I do blog, obviously, which, while providing neither fame nore a living, at least lets me pretnd to have readers. As an added bonus, I do not have to worry about spelling, grammar, trademarks and copyrights, or even forming a coherent sentence. Yay, blogging!
I felt my age at the movies the other day. The wife and I went to see American Dreamz because she is a big Dennis Quaid fan and I am a big mock GW fan. The audience was largely teenaged and incapable of shutting the hell up. the little turds tossed food and wrappers at each other in the lower seats and yapped throughout most of the movie. Directly in front oof us sat the doubleblimp halfwit twins, whipping their cell phones out to text-message friends throughout the film. I couldn’t remember if etiquette required me to talk to them before smacking them in the back of their heads and grinding their cell phones into small piesces, so I stayed quiet instead and sent out a small prayer to any listening gods to have them choke to death on their popcorn. I was even willing to settle for them being run down in the parking lot, but as usual, the gods failed me.
With age, my standards of beauty have changed as well. Sure, Fairuza Balk still occupies a special place in my heart and loins, but I now tend to consider personality as the dominant trait when considering a woman’s attractiveness. I am still as deep as a wading pool, but at least now there is an inch or so of water in the bottom of that pool.
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