(Probably not as much as the next chick, though, when it comes to saying "FML". I have only seen two guys do it and both of them had their dude card revoked.)
In spite of this general lack of reluctance to whine, I think I've done a reasonably good job of accepting my advancing years with some grace. I rarely complain about the three or four gray hairs I have, and I don't find getting out of bed more difficult now than I did, say, a decade ago. I even attribute my primary physical pain to poor ergonomics, rather that Father Time's invisible hand gripping my right shoulder blade 20 hours a day.
With all of this said? I have been wondering if I've felt old the last week or so. A few little encounters have made given me pause:
On Saturday night I went with some peeps to Hula Hula. I hadn't been there in a month or so, and with my lingering sore throat I hadn't sung much karaoke recently. I had turned in a song and was having a rum and diet when I was approached by a guy I used to bump into around the neighborhood quite a bit.
You remember in school that there were kids you knew you were not supposed to make fun of, but you did it anyway? Maybe the kid was always dirty, or maybe he smelled bad, or maybe he was mentally slow, or maybe he was a girl. In any case, upon reflection as an adult you wish you hadn't mocked/bullied/mock-bullied?
Well, this guy is one of those kinds of guys. As an adult, I find him strange and off-putting. He's got several things about him that can make the kid in me giggle at him and the adult in me creeped out by him... but I try to treat him with respect and understand that if everyone did then his life would probably be better for it.
Anyway, he was there. He came over to me, as I was drinking my rum and diet, and asked how I was doing, etc., etc. Totally fine and normal conversation until he sort of stopped me with--out of the blue--this proclamation:
"You look tired."
Hmm.
It would have been easy to respond with, "You look ugly, stupid-head!" but I did not. I think I joked about how that was sort of rude.
But did I look tired, even though I didn't feel tired? Don't old people look tired when they don't feel tired?
Sunday was the NFL conference championship games. I had been up pretty late Saturday night, but given that the games didn't start until noon I was in prime position to watch both of them. I had no rooting interest, though, and ... just didn't care.
When the second game rolled around, I watched (partially, as I worked on something on my compter) the first quarter and then ... took a long nap. I woke up just in time to turn on the TV and see the Saints kick their game-winning field goal in overtime. And felt nothing. Not merely a lack of excitement, but a lack of interest.
This might be traced back to a lack of someone to root for. During the regular season, I play fantasy football and it gives me players and teams to root for each week (indeed, in most games of every week). Maybe I'm accustomed/programmed to feel that rush of adrenaline in every game, and when it's gone, the interest is gone.
I've noticed something else, though, with the one team I do root for: the Portland Trail Blazers. I made it through the close losses against the Lakers. I weathered the years where they were mocked as the "Jail Blazers". I even managed to make it through losing Greg Oden (one of the best prospects ever) to a knee injury for a year before he played his first game.
But this year? So many injuries. Greg Oden, in his third year, was lost for the rest of the year after the first part of the season, and he's been joined by over a half-dozen teammates with injuries of varying level of severity.
I still watch the Blazers. But I miss games sometimes if I forget to record the games. I don't get upset when they lose on last-second shots. I won't be disappointed if they miss the playoffs this year.
I tell myself that I will care more next year, when the team (including Oden) is healthier. But will I? Have I lost the innocence that is so often associated with sports fandom? Don't old people give up on primarily meaningless hopes that can be easily crushed through no fault of their own?
Monday, after seemingly an eternity, I finally made it back to the dentist's office. Up until this past year, when a little thing called "Funemployment" derailed me, I had gone to the dentist's office regularly. Every six months I got a checkup and an ego boost as I was reminded that, no matter what other shit had been happening in my life, at least my teeth were in reasonably good shape.
By the end of the visit, I had felt the warm and fuzzy feeling that I'd come to know and love from the dentist, but there was a point where I was (lightly) chastised by the hygienist. They do some thing where they prod your gums and can tell the health of them. Evidently I'd had merely two fours, or something, my previous visit, and this visit I had like eight fours and two fives (fives being worse, indicating early periodontal disease symptoms, or something).
Yes, it can be reversed with flossing, and yes, I haven't flossed much lately. But I never had to floss much before to avoid getting fours and fives. Don't old people have early indicators of the onset of periodontal disease?
...
So. I'm old?
I'm not willing to admit it just yet. I still have good vision. I still have all of my hair (most of it not gray). I am able to occasionally trick younger women into hanging out with me. I even get carded at the liquor store occasionally.
I sometimes joke that I'm closer to death now than I ever have been (yes, my humor is occasionally dark). But I shouldn't even be sure of that. With nanotechnology and improved nutrition and the upcoming return of Elvis, I might be farther away from dying now than I was when I was born.
So I am farther from birth than I've ever been before, but--in spite of looking tired, being apathetic to sports and having early signs of gingivitis--I am not willing to concede that I am old.
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