Another Year Older

Six highly-inconvenient signs I’m not a kid anymore…

This past weekend I “suffered” a birthday and the fact that I didn’t “celebrate” a birthday is one of the signs I’m Officially Old because at some point birthdays stopped being fun and became reminders that just like Santa Claus, the Grim Reaper is “making a list and checking it twice” and you never know what moment might be your last.

A guy I knew died on the toilet and I’m guessing he didn’t see that one coming.

If you haven’t already made “Upon My Demise” arrangements with a good friend, do so immediately because you’re going to want somebody to pull your dead body off the toilet and make you presentable for your family because your kids don’t need to know you found women’s silk underwear really really comfortable and while your friend is at it, have him or her delete your browser history.

(This is great advice and you should probably be taking notes.)

Somewhere in my early 50s birthdays ceased to be fun and I’d rather not be reminded that the roller coaster ride is coming to an end so I took my birthdate off Facebook because who needs complete strangers reminding me that I’ve got one foot in the grave and the other foot on a roller skate on top of a banana peel.

So I took that reminder of my advanced age off the table, but over the weekend couldn’t help noticing a half-dozen other inconvenient signs of aging and we’ll start with…

1. Going to Bed Early

I kinda sorta follow the NBA because my “kids” are into it (more on that in a moment) and the Warriors were playing the Rockets in Game 7 of the First Round of the playoffs and at the end of the third quarter I looked at my watch and realized they still had a full quarter to go and when NBA games are close it can take approximately 90 minutes to play the last 90 seconds and then they could possibly go into overtime, so I said:

“Fuck it, I’m going to bed.”

I figured the results would be online the next day. (I almost wrote “in the newspaper,” but since the Kansas City Star began printing their newspaper in Anchorage, Alaska the results of a Sunday night game will be in the Tuesday paper and complaining about penny ante crap like this is yet another sign I’m aging.)

I’d tell you who won Game 7, but don’t want to spoil the surprise for those of you still waiting for your Tuesday paper to be delivered.

2. My “Kids” Aren’t Kids

Four paragraphs ago I referred to my “kids” even though they’re actually my “grown-ass men” and my mom – who is currently giving Methuselah a run for his money – still thinks I’m her “kid” even though all her “kids” are Social Security eligible, wear reading glasses and know the Mickey Mouse Club Theme Song by heart.

(See? That right there is yet another proof I’m old because to get that joke you have to know what “Who’s the Leader of the band that’s made for you and me?” refers to.)

No matter how old they get, your kids are always your kids, which is the one permanent relationship in our lives.

Think about it; assuming you can afford the legal bills, you can have lots of wives and/or husbands, but your “kids” will never stop being your kids—unless they find you dead on the toilet wearing women’s underwear and then they’re going to change their names and move to another state and claim they never heard of you, so make sure you call your “Upon My Demise” friend right after you finish reading this.

3. Complaining About Today’s (Fill-In-The Blank)

Over the weekend one of my “kids” sent me a video of a Big League first baseman getting hit in the nuts by a short-hop bad throw which made me laugh because no matter how old you are, someone getting hit in the nuts is hilarious.

(BTW: Me getting hit in the nuts is a tragedy, you getting hit in the nuts is comedy.)

According to the Bible, Moses lived to be 120 and after living 119 years and 364 days, if Moses saw an Israelite get hit in the nuts, Moses would still laugh his ass off. As long as it happens to somebody else, it never gets old.

Anyway…

My son started complaining about defense in the Big Leagues and he’s right; the numbers guys don’t know how to measure defense so they ignore it and pretend it doesn’t matter and if a player provides enough offense they’ll put him on the field and don’t much care where they put him.

But when my son said the 2014 and ’15 Royals were much better defensively, I pointed out that complaining about today’s players and comparing them to the players of your youth is a sign of aging and if he’s getting older I’m really goddamn old and I didn’t need yet another reminder that my idea of a good outfielder is Willie Mays.

I’m so old I actually saw Willie play live in Candlestick Park and after us kids in the outfield badgered him for about seven innings to “Say Hey” Willie finally turned around and gave us a half-hearted “Say Hey” so I’ve got that on my A Life Well Lived resume as well.

4. Not Recognizing the Saturday Night Live Host or Musical Guest

On October 11^th, 1975 George Carlin was the first Saturday Night Live host and the musical guests were Billy Preston and Janis Ian and I watched that first show and thought they were on to something, but last Saturday night the host was Quinta Brunson and the musical guest was Benson Boone and as happens more and more often, I’d never heard of either one of them.

Apparently Benson does gymnastics while singing (both songs featured a flip) which seemed totally unnecessary, unlike Chuck Berry’s Duck Walk which definitely makes the music sound better.

5. Receiving Yet Another Beatles Album As A Gift

I actually liked Benson’s two songs, but wouldn’t buy an album, probably because I’m still listening to the Beatles and the remastered versions of old songs and another son gave me another Beatles’ collection and you can hear things you never heard before like the kettle drum on I’m Happy Just to Dance and here’s that song, but you won’t hear the kettle drum unless I give you a ride to work and you hear it on my car stereo:

BTW: It has come to my attention that there is a YouTube channel where someone claims they never heard the Beatles before and you watch her react to their music and in comparison Linda Blair’s performance in The Exorcist was subtle. I decided it was a scam aimed at Old People like me because here was a young person being blown away and confirming Our Music was the Best Music Ever so like and subscribe and she’ll keep pretending she’s never heard Yesterday or Eleanor Rugby and have musical orgasms while we watch.

Apparently this has become an internet thing: our reactions aren’t enough anymore so we like watching other people react to the things we like and I stumbled across a Black couple finding Bill Burr’s observations about race hilarious, which means it’s OK for us White people to laugh at what he says—“See? They think it’s funny, too.”—but word of warning: Bill Burr is a professional comedian.

Your observations about race will still get your ass kicked.

6. Not Recognizing Slang

I’m on the 18^th of 20 Patrick O’Brian novels about naval adventures during the Napoleonic Wars and that’s another old person thing to do; I mean who reads books anymore?

When my best friend confessed he started reading Agatha Christie books I asked if he was now wearing a shawl with a blanket across his knees, sipping warm tea while petting a cat as he read Death on the Nile and now would be a good time to ask yourself the last time you saw anyone under 30 reading a book, which goes a long way in explaining how Donald Trump got re-elected.

Anyway…

The O’Brian novels have a lot of nautical terms and I googled “wearing a ship” (basically “turning away from the wind in a square-rigged ship” which still didn’t enlighten me all that much) and stumbled across “shipping” which sounds like it would involve UPS, but doesn’t.

Turns out “shipping” is now slang for a fan’s desire that two people – real or fictional – be in a relationship.

WTF?

Young People are spending time thinking about this?

Hey, I’ll admit I have occasionally wondered what their kid would be like if Superman banged Wonder Woman, but I never created fan art or fiction about it even though the cartooning possibilities are endless.

OK, I just “shipped” that Superhero Combo directly out of my ass, but apparently I’m not the first to think about it because here’s some fan art that depicts the two characters in the early “Listening to Barry White” stage of getting it on:

I’m guessing Wonder Woman would be great in the sack, but if I had to choose I’m still going with Catwoman.

Today’s Lesson

If your shoes seem like they’re getting farther away or you can’t remember if you took that high blood pressure pill this morning or yesterday morning or you had to wear drugstore glasses to read this article, you’re getting older too.

Face it, eventually we’re all going to take a long, long Dirt Nap and I’m not sure how I want the ride to end, although a guy who played in My Old Man’s Baseball League, stole second base and then died right there on the field and I always thought he probably went out feeling pretty good:

“Hey! I just stole sec…”

But if you go out that way you don’t get a chance to clear your browser history so make sure you get someone you trust to do that for you and also get the remastered Beatles albums and never start a sentence with “In my day” and remember someone else getting hit in the nuts is Comedy Gold and while you can’t be young forever, you can be immature until the day you die and I think this birthday essay proves it.

Enjoy it while it lasts, people.