Friday, May 11, 2012
· 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.