I’m hot right now. Yesterday’s mail brought the first of what will surely be a great many solicitations to join an “active retirement” community….really? At first I thought it was a joke played on me by my wife who took enormous pleasure when I received my “Special Offer” to join AARP a few years back. She actually signed me up. I’m beginning to wonder what she’s up to. The only thing she keeps in our safety deposit box is MY life insurance policies. What is it that those young people say…errr….I mean type? Wtf? Although the free insulated tote was sort of awesome, it didn’t take long to scrape the AARP logo off either.
Listen, I may be 54 years old, and I may like to eat dinner at 4:30 and hit the sack after the 7:00 news….but I’m not old! Plenty of young people are up at 4:00 a.m. for a nice cup of tea and some toast with low cholesterol butter substitute and orange marmalade, aren’t they? Oh sure, at a recent round of golf with four of my closest friends we did spend a lot of our time talking about the benefits of fiber. Hell, I remember when we used to talk about women’s asses, and now we seem all possessed by our own. Then I began to notice that our daily coffee group, once considered a roundtable of local legal heavyweights, has an average age of 58 and our breakfast choices have changed from eggs and bacon to oatmeal and bran muffins. Maybe these guys are old…but not me….no chance.
I read somewhere that 50 is the new 30. I’m just wondering who said that and how they came by that information. I have the sense that some 80 year old is chuckling to himself. I’m fairly confident that the phrase wasn’t coined by some hipster Doofus waiting in line at a PinkBerry some place.
I do think that there have been some very troubling trends as I’ve reluctantly waded into my “advanced middle life”. For instance, what the hell is going on with my hands? About 5 years ago I looked down one day at a deposition and realized that I have my father’s hands. What in the name of Jehoshephat are those brown dots all over the backs of my hands and why did I just say “Jehoshephat”? At my annual physical later that month I asked, “hey doc, what the hell are these brown dots all over the backs of my hands?” Without skipping a beat, or much of a look at the spots all I got was “Don’t worry about that, it’s nothing…just a few ‘age spots’, now bend over and then let’s get you scheduled for that colonoscopy and a nice flu shot”. As I waited for the twenty something receptionist to validate my parking ticket and repeatedly remind me that the lab was on the first floor… “Listen you dolt, give me me goddamned lollipop and validate my ticket…don’t you have a Justin Bieber concert to get to….idiot!”
After that visit it occurred to me that it was time to pick up the sport’s car. I bought a nice silver 350Z convertible number about two days after that visit, scheduled a guitar lesson, bought a guitar, new skis, got some really cool Oakleys, and started wearing Ed Hardy tee shirts on my new motorcycle. That year I also signed up for a triathalon and nearly died when the small group of 50-54 year old swimmers I latched onto failed to “veer” right past the enormous orange marker and were on a bee line to the English Isles when the event organizers mercifully sent a small armada of volunteers in kayaks to herd us back to the group.
Oh, and about those “age spots”….do not…I repeat DO NOT try to rub them off with an apricot scrub….you’ll just end with red raw hands with brown spots all over them. I think they got a bit darker in fact.
At first, the AARP membership was a running joke around the old homestead. Now I look forward to the monthly magazine for the articles dealing with increasing testosterone levels, prostate health, and managing cholesterol. They’ve done a wonderful series of articles on effective ways to deal with gout and uric acid in general. I cancelled my Sports Illustrated and eagerly await my subscription to “I’m Old Quarterly”. Plus I’ve found that you can really meet some nice people when you have dinner at 4:30.
Here’s the truth of it….we are a different generation, we don’t smoke, eat tons of red meat washed down with Manhattans, the only thing I actually use the AARP magazine for it to line the litter box…screw them….my generation exercises like no generation ever has. I just wish corporate America would stop telling me I’m old. I so desperately want it to come as a surprise! I decided not to make that appointment at the Mature Living Community…nah, I’m going to take the baffles out of the straight pipes on my Harley and then I’m going to go down there and scare the bejesus out of some old farts….I’ll see you suckers at the funeral home, I’ve got some living to do!
Ps. If anyone knows where I can find bifocal motorcycle shades please drop me a line.