The twenties were nice, the thirties not bad. The forties, I’m finding, are hard to adjust to, mentally.
Thing is, it’s at this age, I’ve finally figured out, the majority of humanity is younger than you are. This is a lot weirder to imagine than you might think.
Friday night, at a farewell party for a couple of co-workers, I noticed the chairs at the bar we went to, and commented that their style - 60s modern - reminded me of the 1964 World’s Fair (think of the scene in Men in Black where they’re being given that written test and the big circular chairs there). No sooner did I finish commenting than I realized that none of the people there was even born in 1964! Someone looked at me and said “What?” and I just waved my hand and said “Never mind.”
The Gold Suit Incident, or Miami Vice’s Golden Years
Tuesday, I’m conversing with two co-workers when one of them looks at me, noticing how resplendent (ahem) I am in my matte gold sportjacket and khaki polo shirt, and says that I must be nostalgic for the Reagan years, as I look like I just stepped off the set of Miami Vice. I laughed and said it was a regular ritual at my house in the 80s, with my wife and I settling in on a Friday night to watch. The other kumquat said “Whoa! Married? I was in high school back then.”
Kumquat number one then says “You probably had a white suit too, huh?” “Of course I did”, replied I, “white silk.” Kumquat number two asked “Did you push up the sleeves like they did?” I shook my head and said “Nah. I always considered that to be vandalism.” Which was true.
Oh, and Borderline by Madonna was the best. So there.
