Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Its official. I'm an old grumpy man. For years I denied it, avoided it, looked beyond it- but there is no denying the truth. Grumpy. Old. Man.
I mean, is it so wrong that I want to be in bed by midnight, even on the weekends? Or that I just want to have a quiet evening at home, watching a little TV or something? Lately I've felt like a social pariah because, at 2:30 in the morning, I suggest we leave the bar. OK, it's really 11:30, but in my mind that is late!
Don't get me wrong. I could drink you and your mother under the table, I just would prefer it being my dining room table, if that is OK. It all started with my moving to New York. You see, unless you are within a short walk from your apartment, going anywhere in this city is a chore. Especially if it is cold/raining/snowing/sleeting/sweltering/humid. There the walk then the subway then the wait for the subway. Or you can get into the hailing a taxi routine, which will break you if you make less than 6 figures.
My other problem is that, for the most part, all my friends are about 6 years younger than me. And it's an important 6 years. I'm 32. They're 26. When I was 26 I was snorting crystal methamphetamine off of the breasts of Mexican prostitutes*. I sported a double mohawk and was known as 'Dr. Feelgood' on campus. So technically, they are the lame ones. At this rate, they'll be infirmed by the time they are 32.
And I can't wait.
* not really, Mom
I mean, is it so wrong that I want to be in bed by midnight, even on the weekends? Or that I just want to have a quiet evening at home, watching a little TV or something? Lately I've felt like a social pariah because, at 2:30 in the morning, I suggest we leave the bar. OK, it's really 11:30, but in my mind that is late!
Don't get me wrong. I could drink you and your mother under the table, I just would prefer it being my dining room table, if that is OK. It all started with my moving to New York. You see, unless you are within a short walk from your apartment, going anywhere in this city is a chore. Especially if it is cold/raining/snowing/sleeting/sweltering/humid. There the walk then the subway then the wait for the subway. Or you can get into the hailing a taxi routine, which will break you if you make less than 6 figures.
My other problem is that, for the most part, all my friends are about 6 years younger than me. And it's an important 6 years. I'm 32. They're 26. When I was 26 I was snorting crystal methamphetamine off of the breasts of Mexican prostitutes*. I sported a double mohawk and was known as 'Dr. Feelgood' on campus. So technically, they are the lame ones. At this rate, they'll be infirmed by the time they are 32.
And I can't wait.
* not really, Mom
Monday, January 12, 2004
I'm sorry....I'm so sorry.
I could blame my absence from the roll of blogs on many things. The holidays. My new job. My recent case of some sort of flu.
But, alas, I have returned.
Full on.
So, true believers, know this: this face is on the case.
The blog is back.
I could blame my absence from the roll of blogs on many things. The holidays. My new job. My recent case of some sort of flu.
But, alas, I have returned.
Full on.
So, true believers, know this: this face is on the case.
The blog is back.
