·
When I try to think back to all the crazy,
rebellious things I did as a teenager, and once again come up with nothing
beyond “I preferred New Coke,” I can comfort myself with the notion that my
memory is starting to fail me.
·
My sexual fantasies are increasingly punctuated
by pee breaks.
·
I recognized the look on the face of that
barista when I grumbled about the Journey song playing over the coffee shop PA
as the same one I gave the sixty-year-old guy at the thrift store when he
ranted to me for twenty minutes about “Hanoi Jane.”
·
Nobody laughs at my Steve Martin or Mork from
Ork impressions anymore. Nobody laughed
then, either, but now I can rationalize.
·
I have become quite adept at the pubic combover.
·
I found myself lecturing my son that “in my day,
we were ignorant of and indifferent to things that really mattered.”
·
I can’t hear a certain song from my adolescence
without quietly weeping bittersweet tears about the passage of time, lost
innocence, and the myriad squandered promises of youth. Unfortunately, that song is “Axel F.”
·
I swear that was Macaulay Culkin I saw on the
cover of the AARP Bulletin.
·
When people say I remind them of one of the
Baldwin brothers, I no longer take it as a compliment.
·
I can stop hoarding now – I’m pretty sure the
cassingle isn’t coming back.