Notes on Aging

I turned 24 several months ago and have put together a list of my thoughts on aging. I thought this was important to let the world know as I near the quarter-century mark.

- I fart more now.

- I worry about trans fats, and I even considered switching to Lean Pockets.

- note to reader: when I wrote the above point I accidentally wrote “I worry about trans farts more...” I don’t know what a “trans fart” is, but I’ll bet my horse it stinks.

- I don’t think “aging” should be spelled “ageing” – that unecessary e could really piss somebody off.

- I don’t know if I fart more because I haven’t switched to Lean Pockets or because I don’t exercise. Anyway, Chris is the one who has to deal with it, so wtf?

- Some of my students call me “Mr. Klein” - weird

- I wonder what my future children will want to call me: Pop? Dad? Poppy? Papa? My Ol’ Man? Father?

- I still don’t know the first thing about buying a house. This portends ill.

- It’s true that when you get older it becomes more difficult to remember things: just yesterday, I got hit by a car, and then I forgot, and got hit by the same car. Actually, now that I think about, maybe I was the one driving.

- After listening to some new rap music, I thought to myself, “man, Snoop Doggy Dogg was much more articulate and wrote much better music than any of the posers today.” This is something an old person would probably say. ~“sippin on gin and juice…”~

- Speaking of rap music, I read the lyrics to Naughty by Nature’s “OPP,” a song I had heard in middle school, and thence discovered that the song is not about some guy named OPP whom we are all down with.

The Last Time I Saw Barry

The last time I saw Barry I was no more than a kid who occasionally shaved. I still remember the way he entered the room. There was something about him that brought all conversation and activity to come to a complete, awestricken stand still. His hair tied back modestly, glossy and healthy against the collarless, black silken shirt. I could never forget him.

Here am I, again in the presence of that heralded human. He sits not ten feet from me in a small coffee shop. I wonder, as I try to study, what he is drinking. What is he thinking? Even after graduating from college I know I’m a nobody next to him. I mean, you don’t just walk up and strike up a conversation with a guy like that. You better have something profound to tell him or bring an infant to be blessed by him. I wish I could just look at him, but my head is uncovered and I can’t easily remove my shoes. My breath is short as he heads for the door. The displaced air from his movement is sweet in my nostrils. He is gone.

The last time I saw Barry I didn’t understand him. I still don’t and I probably never will.