Forty is the new 15

I dreampt last night that I visited Disneyworld. In my dream, I met a woman and her college-aged daughter who was hoarding those mini-bottles of alcohol - the kind they serve on airline flights. The girl was going to take her stash back to school.

"Gosh," I said. "I haven't done that in... uhm... 20 years. (Has it been that long?)"

I don't think I ever really hoarded mini-bottles of alcohol, but it was my dream. But it was nearly twenty years ago when I was at college; when I was fascinated by alcohol.

Forty is the new fifteen. I've been pressing that argument for the past three months. It usually results in a smile - followed by a look of incredulous incomprehension - followed by a smirk.

But saying that being 40 of today is like being a kid again is not only missing the point, but it's feeding into the cult of youth. You know the one that says you gotta be young to be fresh and cool.

Packaged luncheon meat is still fresh and cool when it's in its 20s.

But I"m not luncheon meat. Older guys have wisdom and it's no good to pretend to be a kid. And anyway, who would wanna be?

Instead, let me suggest that 40 is the new 40. Doesn't have to mean I'm an old fart, just that I've aged - well as is the case.

Here lies one whose name was writ in water

It has been brought to my attention that John Keats might object to my indictment of his masculinity in the previous post.

I would just like to make clear that my comment was made in the purest sense of crotchetiness and cynicism based on my own condition of having been recently diagnosed as chronologically challenged.

Of course, such was not a condition the great poet himself ever reached. Keats died young of the great twin wasters of poets and thinkers throughout history: Poverty and tuberculosis. I have already surpassed him in age but not in achievement.

Furthermore I, of all people, being one of very few individuals who has had his name writ on the rosters of both boy scouts and girl scouts, as well as the roster of un-reformed English majors, is in no position to comment on Keats except in jest. Something the man might appreciate. In the final tally, my own masculinity is in no danger from my circumstances, nor is Keats from my comments.

Of course, you don't need my opinion of Keat's poetry, for I have nothing of merit to note. Except for this: Let me state for the record that not enough people read Keats anymore and the world is made plainer and sorrier for it.

In the meanwhile, dear reader, if you recognized the obvious spoof on Keats "Ode on a Grecian Urn," thank an English teacher.

I would just like to take a moment to say....

Rapsberries to Keats "Ode on a Grecian Turn": "Beauty is youth, youth is beauty. That is all ye know on earth and all ye need to know." Hubris to be sure, but the youth of today would have us believe it.

Raspberries I say!

I wrote the above on the occasion of my older brother's birthday. Now that I've joined the legion of Over 40's, I would like to say for the record that Keats is a pansy.

I wish I knew everything now that I knew then.

Being 40 is gonna be an awesome time. I am older to be sure, but wiser and still able - still full of spit and vinegar - ok, so I hafta watch the heartburn now. And only one box of girl scout cookies in a sitting - ok. ok. ok. cholesterol, yea I know - two cookies then. One? Exercise?

Forty is gonna be awesome. You get to do things you've never done before - I'm not quite sure what those things are - but I get to do them.

The little green faery

"The little green faery" It's a common moniker for Absinthe, a distillate potion flavored with a variety of spices including wormwood, which kinda rolls off the tongue like "graveyard dust".

Absinthe is also commonly shunned in many places because it has a reputation for taking consumers down very dark roads indeed. Van Gogh, Oscar Wilde, and Hemmingway were well known Absinthe drinkers and, well, look what happened to them.

I have a little green faery and it's NOT Absinthe. It's Better. Safer. It is, however, hypnotic and absorbs my attention. In some respects, it tames my attention from the need to wander. It's called IPod nano - Green (of course). I recently acquired it (thanks, mom and dad) and I love it.

Finally, I can think and work - concentrate, even - with out all the petty intrusions and distractions from the environment. AND there is nothing like wearing an IPod that says to people "Go away and don't bug me - I'm tryin' to get something done here."

That includes a certain annoying, little, internal editor who bugs me about the propriety of every single written word. He is now drowned out by the dulcet guitar riffs of the Cure or the Rolling Stones and the steady rap-tap-tap of the drum trap saying get back on task.

My little green faery now lives in my shirt pocket. You should get one. An IPod. They are hip. Hoppin'. And very cool.