Monday, November 26, 2007

I Need Old Lessons (Still, Again, Whatever)

[Editor's Note: Re-run from so long ago you can't recall it or didn't see it anyway]
{Author's Note: I'm busy and there is no editor and even if there was I'd have him sanding things instead of editing}
I'm not old, really.

I don't mind the idea of getting old -- I guess. I hate many of the early manifestations of it, of course. I don't like waking up feeling worse than when I went to sleep. There was some creaking in the hips after pulling my toddler son in a wagon all over creation on Hallowe'en. The calendar really does have a sense of urgency now; it never did when I was young and dumb.

So I'm ready to learn. I'm in the market for Old Lessons, but no one's selling. Everybody justs acts like overgrown teenagers until the day they die. And I'm not interested.

You see, I'd like to be dignified, at least a bit. Is that so hard to understand? Forget the calendar; just hanging around long enough to see bell bottom pants come and go and come again is enough for me to think: I'm getting off this crazy train.

I don't want a second wife. I don't need any Viagra.

I don't want to listen to Jay-Z records... I mean discs... grrrrr... downloads.

I don't want to dress like an effeminate Frenchman and wear a helmet to ride a bicycle. I don't want to wear sneakers to funerals.

I don't want to get married on a beach by a Vegan Wiccan mail order minister, while releasing doves. I don't want to go to Disneyland - and leave my children home. I don't want to get dressed up for Hallowe'en.

I don't want to watch television. I don't want to paint my face to attend sporting events and run on the field. I'd prefer to dress like Tom Landry. I think all the coaches should dress like Tom Landry, too.

I don't want to drink out of a great big sippie cup all the time, like a gigantic infant, just because you've all decided that you're dehydrated.

Note to the world: Coca-Cola, and all its brethren, is candy. It's sugar dissolved in fizzy water. Only latchkey children eat candy all day long. Note also that Diet Coke and all its brethren are diet candy. Diet candy is for diabetics. What kind of person eats diet candy all day long? I don't know, but they're not going to be giving me any adult lessons. I'll have a glass of water, thanks. In a glass. A glass glass.

I don't want to see Lindsey Lohan naked. I don't want to see Lindsey Lohan clothed. No bungie jumping. No fantasy camp. No Zima. I don't want a Dodge Viper. I refuse to walk around with things stuck in my ears to listen to rock music that I could recite from memory anyway. I don't want a tattoo. I don't want an earring. I don't want a Harley.

I don't want to give anybody a high five.

I like it when the clerk at the bank calls me "sir". But then again, I always did. I'm not "dood." I don't want anyone to ask me for my driver's license when I buy booze. There were 48 states when I was born, and one telephone company, kid. Give me my booze.

And no -- no diet beer. That's for little girls. I'm a man. And I'm going to be an old man someday...

If it kills me.


Sam L. said...

Damn Right!

stephanos said...

You sound like Dad. You're right. It's time to grow up.

Everyman said...

I'll be happy to tell you all there is to know about aging. But until I have that chance - I'm not about to reduce it to writing here or anywhere else, for that would make it a matter of record, and it might come back to haunt me - I'll settle for the old standby:

It ain't for sissies.

nunyaa said...

Hooray there are real men out there !