Older and better?
Who says an old guy can't enjoy a good beheading? Not me. The older you get the more... proficient you get. Wait, that doesn't sound good.
Moving on, I noticed the hair on my right shoulder this morning. Don't get creeped out, just yet. It was nothing special, I am not hirsute by any means, but while I stood there drying off I noticed that more hair had shown up on my right shoulder than my left and one of the little buggers was gray. I stopped looking right away and thus, for the time being, ended contemplating my mortality. I spent the better part of the morning trying to reposition this little gray hair as a fashion statement, but my guess is Heidi Klum would disagree with a wry "auf wiedersehen."
Let's talk about really scary things like aging.
I wear slippers now. No reason, I just saw them in a store and thought, "Hey those might be nice to wear around the house on a chilly night." What worries me more and more each day is that I find myself thinking of things I wouldn't have before. "Tums are helpful and even quite tasty." "Maybe I should try black licorice once more to see if I like it." "Where are my teeth?" Okay, the last one I made up, but honestly these phrases scare me as I approach middle age.
I am beginning to think that I am no longer the young buck I once was (I know what you're thinking, "Beginning to think? Ha!" but it's true). I just can't seem to wrap my head around being the old guy in the room. What used to be seen as "youthful exuberance" is now just "cranky old guy with a 'tude and, on a good day, a vocabulary."
Well, what are you gonna do? I can't stop time, but I can alter my situation by installing a screen door on my porch to kick open and yell, "HEY, YOU KIDS! GET OFF MY LAWN!" Embrace change as they say.
On another note, I've always thought that "time" cannot be a dimension. According to certain Euclidean space perceptions, the universe has three dimensions of space and one dimension of time. I'm not buying the fourth dimension angle because in time you can only move in one direction. In space you can always move in two (left, right, up, down, back, and forth). Some would argue that you can't move backward through time "yet", but I don't see that happening any time soon and I even have a reason why.
Time, to my thinking, is nothing more than a measurement of decay. Now, I don't mean decay as something horrific, although it does sound bad, but more as a progressive decline. If we hold that this is true then, per my theory, after each and every moment the previous moment ceases to exist. Which means you could never go back to it. It only exists as a thought in yours or somebody else's memory.
It could be why reunions are so scary and so fun at the same time. Your memory (and any errant pictures you happen to let someone take right then) are all that remains of that time. When you look back on them they are enhanced or diminished based on what you choose to think at that new moment. Conversely, it also is being viewed by everyone else at the party and this is where the scary part comes from.
(I have got to stop ending sentences in prepositions, but I can't stop myself. Except right there.
It's a bad habit that I gained from years of reading advertising copy. I have to stop over thinking it. It's not like famous authors don't do it all the time. After John Dryden first issued that doctrine it has been a thorn in the side of anyone on this side of grammar school. Bet you didn't know about John Dryden. I love the interwebs. But I digress.)
I heard a great phrase the other day. I think it was from a Harold Pinter play or Star Trek, I forget. Either way it went something like, "Memory is a velvet cloth placed over the tiles of our lives." Or some such. I thought that was just a great way to say that memories soften the harsh reality of our past.
As I get older that is the way I am going to choose to think of it.
Now, if you'll excuse me I have some meddling teenagers to scare out of my amusement park.
Cheers!
Moving on, I noticed the hair on my right shoulder this morning. Don't get creeped out, just yet. It was nothing special, I am not hirsute by any means, but while I stood there drying off I noticed that more hair had shown up on my right shoulder than my left and one of the little buggers was gray. I stopped looking right away and thus, for the time being, ended contemplating my mortality. I spent the better part of the morning trying to reposition this little gray hair as a fashion statement, but my guess is Heidi Klum would disagree with a wry "auf wiedersehen."
Let's talk about really scary things like aging.
I wear slippers now. No reason, I just saw them in a store and thought, "Hey those might be nice to wear around the house on a chilly night." What worries me more and more each day is that I find myself thinking of things I wouldn't have before. "Tums are helpful and even quite tasty." "Maybe I should try black licorice once more to see if I like it." "Where are my teeth?" Okay, the last one I made up, but honestly these phrases scare me as I approach middle age.
I am beginning to think that I am no longer the young buck I once was (I know what you're thinking, "Beginning to think? Ha!" but it's true). I just can't seem to wrap my head around being the old guy in the room. What used to be seen as "youthful exuberance" is now just "cranky old guy with a 'tude and, on a good day, a vocabulary."
Well, what are you gonna do? I can't stop time, but I can alter my situation by installing a screen door on my porch to kick open and yell, "HEY, YOU KIDS! GET OFF MY LAWN!" Embrace change as they say.
On another note, I've always thought that "time" cannot be a dimension. According to certain Euclidean space perceptions, the universe has three dimensions of space and one dimension of time. I'm not buying the fourth dimension angle because in time you can only move in one direction. In space you can always move in two (left, right, up, down, back, and forth). Some would argue that you can't move backward through time "yet", but I don't see that happening any time soon and I even have a reason why.
Time, to my thinking, is nothing more than a measurement of decay. Now, I don't mean decay as something horrific, although it does sound bad, but more as a progressive decline. If we hold that this is true then, per my theory, after each and every moment the previous moment ceases to exist. Which means you could never go back to it. It only exists as a thought in yours or somebody else's memory.
It could be why reunions are so scary and so fun at the same time. Your memory (and any errant pictures you happen to let someone take right then) are all that remains of that time. When you look back on them they are enhanced or diminished based on what you choose to think at that new moment. Conversely, it also is being viewed by everyone else at the party and this is where the scary part comes from.
(I have got to stop ending sentences in prepositions, but I can't stop myself. Except right there.
It's a bad habit that I gained from years of reading advertising copy. I have to stop over thinking it. It's not like famous authors don't do it all the time. After John Dryden first issued that doctrine it has been a thorn in the side of anyone on this side of grammar school. Bet you didn't know about John Dryden. I love the interwebs. But I digress.)
I heard a great phrase the other day. I think it was from a Harold Pinter play or Star Trek, I forget. Either way it went something like, "Memory is a velvet cloth placed over the tiles of our lives." Or some such. I thought that was just a great way to say that memories soften the harsh reality of our past.
As I get older that is the way I am going to choose to think of it.
Now, if you'll excuse me I have some meddling teenagers to scare out of my amusement park.
Cheers!
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