Gray Hairs and Cocktails
I was trimming the ole beard the other day when I noticed something strange. There was an oddly colored hair among the jumble of blonde, dark, and ginger colored facial hair. A solitary white hair stuck out like sore thumb. Unconcerned, I took the tweezers and plucked it out. After all, everyone has a rogue hair that refuses to conform from time to time. That was a month ago. I have plucked that same hair out several times, but it refuses to stay down.
"What are you doing hair??" I plead with it. "It is not your time yet! Stay down a bit longer... just 10 more years. You can do that, right?"
But it doesn't listen. It keeps coming back.
I have had to come to come to grips with the fact that this gray hair may be permanent. And, even harder to swallow, I've had to accept that I am getting older.
A few weeks back, my high school friend Charles came over for a weekend of man-time. My wife was out of town and so we planned on playing video games, staying up late watching action flicks, sleeping in, and being all-around lazy in a wife and (for him) child free couple of days. We ended asleep before 11, up before 7:30, and craving a salad after too many greasy (yet delicious) meals. Heck, on Saturday morning we actually took a morning walk. If that isn't geriatric behavior, I don't know what is. I am getting older.
Of course, my increasingly decrepit body has been trying to tell me this for years now. My joints are crap. Heartburn crops up after heavy meals. I can no longer sprint up the subway stairs like I used to. My work schedule has made late nights virtually impossible.
Two weekends ago, I accompanied Jessica's dance company to an arts festival in Portland, New Hampshire (very cool town, by the way). After their Saturday evening performance, the dancers and groupies (read: boyfriends and husbands) went out for a celebratory night on the town. We started out at a brewery pub, which was fine; good beer, good music, lots of standing around chatting. But as the night wore on, the older elements in the group got worn down and gave into the desires of the fresh-faced college grads in our midst. Suddenly we found ourselves in a "bro bar," surrounded by popped collars, backwards baseball caps, frat-boys, and inane music. Sweaty masses of men in polo shirts trying to pick up girls. An avid pub fan, I hadn't been to a real "club" in years and it made me realize how much I didn't care about the whole thing. Now, even when I occasionally went to these kinds places in college, I was never a super fan of this kind of place; after all, I'm not really the muscular, polo-shirt, type of guy. But when I did go, I felt insecure enough to try to "be cool" (like 80% of the guys at those places, the other 20% actually do believe they are cool). But this time, I could have cared less. Heck, I didn't even care when a guy bought Jessica a drink while my back was turned. We just thought, "free drink. nice. one less expense." The younger people in Jessica's group went down to the dance floor. Those of us over 25 stayed in the "chill out" area and played with our swivel chairs until it was time to leave.
Yes, my tastes have gotten older. If I am going to go out, I want to have decent drinks in a place where I can hear people talk. Sitting down, if possible. I don't want cheap beer or shots. Most of the time I would rather hang out with friends at someone's house anyway. Even my "immature" tastes have matured. Gratuitous, over-the-top violence and sex offend me in movies and video games, not because violence and sex are anathema per se, or that I find them in poor taste... but because they are just boring. 10 years ago, when I was independent and free to indulge in whatever kinds of movies I wanted, over the top movies were new to me. But things aren't as new anymore. Some, like me, have gotten old. Maybe movies should have a gray hair rating, as in:
"Is that movie appropriate for someone who doesn't bring a keg to a party?"
"Oh sure! It got 4 and a half gray hairs!"
"Good. The last movie we went to see was terrible!"
"That is what you get for seeing a movie with a 3 brown hairs rating."
"What are you doing hair??" I plead with it. "It is not your time yet! Stay down a bit longer... just 10 more years. You can do that, right?"
But it doesn't listen. It keeps coming back.
I have had to come to come to grips with the fact that this gray hair may be permanent. And, even harder to swallow, I've had to accept that I am getting older.
A few weeks back, my high school friend Charles came over for a weekend of man-time. My wife was out of town and so we planned on playing video games, staying up late watching action flicks, sleeping in, and being all-around lazy in a wife and (for him) child free couple of days. We ended asleep before 11, up before 7:30, and craving a salad after too many greasy (yet delicious) meals. Heck, on Saturday morning we actually took a morning walk. If that isn't geriatric behavior, I don't know what is. I am getting older.
Of course, my increasingly decrepit body has been trying to tell me this for years now. My joints are crap. Heartburn crops up after heavy meals. I can no longer sprint up the subway stairs like I used to. My work schedule has made late nights virtually impossible.
Two weekends ago, I accompanied Jessica's dance company to an arts festival in Portland, New Hampshire (very cool town, by the way). After their Saturday evening performance, the dancers and groupies (read: boyfriends and husbands) went out for a celebratory night on the town. We started out at a brewery pub, which was fine; good beer, good music, lots of standing around chatting. But as the night wore on, the older elements in the group got worn down and gave into the desires of the fresh-faced college grads in our midst. Suddenly we found ourselves in a "bro bar," surrounded by popped collars, backwards baseball caps, frat-boys, and inane music. Sweaty masses of men in polo shirts trying to pick up girls. An avid pub fan, I hadn't been to a real "club" in years and it made me realize how much I didn't care about the whole thing. Now, even when I occasionally went to these kinds places in college, I was never a super fan of this kind of place; after all, I'm not really the muscular, polo-shirt, type of guy. But when I did go, I felt insecure enough to try to "be cool" (like 80% of the guys at those places, the other 20% actually do believe they are cool). But this time, I could have cared less. Heck, I didn't even care when a guy bought Jessica a drink while my back was turned. We just thought, "free drink. nice. one less expense." The younger people in Jessica's group went down to the dance floor. Those of us over 25 stayed in the "chill out" area and played with our swivel chairs until it was time to leave.
Yes, my tastes have gotten older. If I am going to go out, I want to have decent drinks in a place where I can hear people talk. Sitting down, if possible. I don't want cheap beer or shots. Most of the time I would rather hang out with friends at someone's house anyway. Even my "immature" tastes have matured. Gratuitous, over-the-top violence and sex offend me in movies and video games, not because violence and sex are anathema per se, or that I find them in poor taste... but because they are just boring. 10 years ago, when I was independent and free to indulge in whatever kinds of movies I wanted, over the top movies were new to me. But things aren't as new anymore. Some, like me, have gotten old. Maybe movies should have a gray hair rating, as in:
"Is that movie appropriate for someone who doesn't bring a keg to a party?"
"Oh sure! It got 4 and a half gray hairs!"
"Good. The last movie we went to see was terrible!"
"That is what you get for seeing a movie with a 3 brown hairs rating."
Comments
No grey hairs yet, though...