As my 66th birthday rapidly approaches like the hot kiss at the end of a cold fist, my mind drifts back to my younger days. Aches and pains were minimal, friends and relatives were not passing faster than the bean soup I had last night, and each meeting with friends was not filled with tales of medical misadventures. No longer do I run to greet the new day. Instead, I slowly meander, as if my feets is encased in a thin patina of cement that burdens my very existence. The last few years have been filled with attempts to compete with my younger self on bicycles, motorcycles, golf, and hiking. All have resulted in some form of moderate to severe injury to my ego and body.
I won’t go through all of the activities I regularly engaged in with youthful vigor, but I will say that I still dabble in them all, albeit a little less vigorously. At first I thought it was just I that was experiencing the effects of the amazing slow downer machine, but I have recently come to realize that it is the vast majority of people that I associate with. Believe me, I’d rather associate with a younger and more youthful assemblage, but sadly, the feeling is not mutual. I can’t keep up with them young whipper snappers, although I do talk a good game whilst recounting the glory days of my youth. The old geezers that I know will often tell me that younger folks just love hanging around them to listen to the tales of yore and to absorb the wisdom of the ages. I hold back from telling them that those are the first signs of early onset senility and that the last dude that a youngster wants to hang around with is some old bastard constantly telling them “back when I was a kid” stories that are half bullshit anyways.
So what is an old coot to do when someone asks them what do they want to do tonight? The answer comes in a quote from one of my cartoon mentors of recent years.
The same thing we do every night Pinky. Try to take over the world.
