I’ve said this one before, but… if you now re-watch “The Breakfast Club” and your favorite part is where Paul Gleeson promises to beat the snot out of Judd Nelson… yeah, you’re old!
This. And allow me to plug in some numbers.
Many classic rock radio stations play 80s songs. I get the same thing with the background music in many stores I patronize. Let’s just say that a large number of those songs are from 35 years ago.
The equivalent would be if I had been listening to songs from 1930 instead of The Beatles back in 1965. That’s hard for me to comprehend.
I was amused when an elderly man in the locker room at the gym I go to commented that at his age he misses the days he could stand on one leg and put on his pants without falling over. I smiled and agreed-I was leaning against the locker to put on my pants. Sigh.
Now, that’s funny!
When I was a kid, the middle-aged veterans were Vietnam veterans. The people who were running the businesses were the ones who could drop fire out of the planes they couldn’t paint “Fuck” on. WWII veterans were retirees and Camp survivors were the nice little old ladies in Skokie my grandmother lived with. There were a very few WWI veterans kicking around in assisted living centers or similar.
Now, the middle-aged veterans are Gulf War Vets, the ones who stormed in with Stormin’ Norman Schwarzkopf. WWII veterans are still a lot more numerous than WWI veterans were when I was young, but they’re getting to an age where living alone is increasingly a problem. WWI veterans are one with the Spanish-American War veterans (who founded the VFW) and Civil War veterans (who founded the GAR) and Nineveh and Tyre. And now Vietnam veterans are edging towards Medicare and Social Security like a massive bolus gets pushed towards an inflamed colon by the inevitable peristalsis of time.
And I can still see Hawaii Five-O episodes where it’s the WWII veterans who look like my dad.
After my experience at Burger King this morning: When you remember when fast food was fast.
I’ll have to remember that one.
…you have to bite your tongue to refrain from reminding your boss that not only can you read, you’ve been able to read longer than he’s been alive.
My office-mate is young enough to be my grandchild - I’m only 3 years younger than his grandmother.
The guy in the office next door is a year older than my daughter. And I’m pretty sure I’m old enough to by my boss’ mother - I don’t think he’s 40 yet, and I’m closing in on 64.
But to parrot an earlier post - it really hit me when Obama was elected - he’s about 7 years younger than I am. I’d gotten used to doctors and dentists looking like children, but the President??? Just get off my lawn…
When you watch “That 70s Show” and find yourself siding with Red Foreman. Those damn kids really are dumbasses.
When the girl who appeared as the sensitive teen in that movie from just a few years ago shows up as the parent of a teenager in Sunday’s Wisdom of the Crowd.