There are some things about the aging process that, when I hit the age of 50 this year, I accepted. Begrudgingly.
I get tired a lot easier than I used to. Thankfully I don't nod off while somebody is talking. Though I've thought about it.
When I was younger (and I suppose one could argue "more hip") I enjoyed cranking up the music on my 8-tra--...wait, who is going to know...OK, try this...I loved grooving to the throbbing speakers when I twirled the knob on my record pla--...no...that won't work...how about...it was a trip to zip through my neighborhood with my headphones on and the volume jacked up to maximum overdrive on my Sony Walkm--OHFUCKINGCRAP.
Loud music was cooler when my eardrums weren't made of dust.
We had cool gadgets to listen to which we actually had to learn how to use. They came with INSTRUCTION BOOKLETS, imagine that. We kept them for a couple of years, sometimes longer, and we crafted the art of making the ultimate mixes, we didn't have iSongs playdates and Spotbleeding and YouTune DEVO or whatever you young people call all your newfangled whatchamajiggles. Well, we DID have Devo...
Music was something you went to the store to buy or recorded on the radio, and you went to the movies to watch movies not sit and watch thirty minutes of commercials while watching your own mini TVs and the volume in the movie theaters was loud but it was leveled and it was cool and it enhanced the movies. 3D was an extremely rare novelty. Like seeing a Trump on TV.
These days, everything around me is at a volume level I can't manage. Too long and I start getting a headache. Which makes it WAY more difficult to hear the voices in my head. And movies? Nope. I can feel my kidneys bleeding from the vibration. Oh my bad, that was just my hemorrhoids. It's crazy loud though what can I say. My ears are sensitive.
Speaking of which...sigh...the ear hair. There, I said it. Grows like WEEDS. And not the good kind. As a guy who wishes nothing more than to have a full thick luxurious head of Thor-like locks...the last thing I ever wanted was white pubes sliding out of my blood red ears even faster than my chin hair grows. These nasties grow on the OUTER parts. ON THE OUTSIDE DAMMIT. They never grew there before. EVER.
My eyesight. Bad. Getting harder to see well at night. The exact polar opposite of Batman. There goes my side hustle SHIT.
Combine the two? The eyesight and the ear bush? Yeah, you guessed it. Sometimes I miss some of those squigglies and then, well, I see a glimpse in the mirror, that afternoon sun catches the side of my chunky melon just right and...and...OH MY GOD...IT’S THE SIZE OF A FETTUCCINE! I’ve given up with clippers and started using tweezers. Ripping them out of my flesh one at a time is better than a cup of coffee.
If there is a bright side to 50 it is the lack of facial acne. It zeroes in totally on my back and butt now, which is awesome. Extremely well hidden. So as you might expect, when I wake up and see a bulging red ZIT the size of a kernel of corn on my thick ass neck (what in God's name is an ASS-NECK???), I obsess over it for the rest of the day.
That's another thing I've noticed about being 50...little things like that bug me more than they used to. I always thought the opposite was supposed to happen. That when you get to a certain age you just don't care about stuff. 60 maybe?
In moments of these extreme pimple discoveries I lament the unfairness of life. The inequity. The horror. And these neck zitters can be very bothersome. They aren't very deep, they're incredibly unsightly and they hang around for days.
Like shitty relatives.
Then again, as I write this and take some time to think it over, I’m asking my inner self...why didn’t you just cover it with a Band-Aid and move on with the rest of your day?
Hm...maybe next time.