It's been said that there are four major transitions in every man's life.
Birth. Puberty. 40. Death.
IF the disease is turning 40, here are some of the symptoms.
Facebook photo albums labeled, "Now we are all old", showing themselves.. eating, smiling, in a park chasing kids. Am pleased to say they don't seem to be afflicted with extraordinary stress or hardship, though Facebook is not exactly the forum for hardship is it?
Facebook photo albums labeled, "Now we are all old", showing themselves.. eating, smiling, in a park chasing kids. Am pleased to say they don't seem to be afflicted with extraordinary stress or hardship, though Facebook is not exactly the forum for hardship is it?
An aptly named panel at the South By SouthWest film festival, called Growing Up or Getting Old?
All the athletes we grew up with have retired. Our bands have split up, with only the lead singers left to sing favorite --oldies.
The women we fell in love with, irresistably, and inexplicably, have all "matured," hardening into a set of behaviors and responsibilities that we might not recognize as attractive any more.
We grey. Metabolism slows down. Food, it's said, becomes as appetizing as sex. Religion, it's said, becomes somewhat, though not very, tantalizing.
And not making that transition? Can be seen as prolonged juvenile behavior.
So this age is where the average soul begins to contemplate immortality. The lack of growth without extraordinary means (steroids, viagra, rogaine, young muses) is clear.
It's more about maintenance now. We've built and mastered our tools; innovation is either part of a process, or it's for the young, who can take our unfulfilled dreams, our remaining inspirations, and dedicate themselves to them, as we did for our mentors.
Standing on the shoulders, so to speak.
And not making that transition? Can be seen as prolonged juvenile behavior.
So this age is where the average soul begins to contemplate immortality. The lack of growth without extraordinary means (steroids, viagra, rogaine, young muses) is clear.
It's more about maintenance now. We've built and mastered our tools; innovation is either part of a process, or it's for the young, who can take our unfulfilled dreams, our remaining inspirations, and dedicate themselves to them, as we did for our mentors.
Standing on the shoulders, so to speak.
Each of my peeps has a different story:
One is leaving Manhattan after 16 years in an East Village pad, to Queens, to move in with his lady, hoping his music career can continue its acceleration and pay the rent.
Another had a kid last year, and got married, though he made bank and could retire if he felt like it. It's all about the challenge of being able to chill at home now.
One moved out from his girl's place, because her son (not his) starting calling him daddy, and is hoping his internet design company has the right talent to persist.
Another has basically turned his music studio into a storage unit for a jumble of projects: video, construction, even culinary ideas.
Another is opening a chimp preserve in Texas. Damn straight.
Others seem like they've been 40 for years already.
Those guys with a circlet of pale skin under their wedding bands who have sired several wonderful, stable kids, speak the jargon of office talk, and look financially, if not physically, healthy.
The seemingly immutable guys, who've set their life in stone, the ones you just don't think about enough, because they're doing just fine, content, who always have a few dozen priorities on their mind.
But the ranks of my New Orleans Jazz fest cohort are swelling. Maybe the mortar is loosening a bit. This year, with mid east turmoil, nuclear meltdown, natural disaster, financial instability, loose nukes, and yes, the loom of 2012 overhead, the call to New Orleans for a weekend out has been answered from across the nation.
40 years.
Y Que, culero??
.
40 years.
Y Que, culero??
.
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