“It takes a long time to become young.”
- Pablo Picasso
Pardon me, I just need to take a moment of reflection as I'm headed towards another milestone.
In just two short days I will be hitting that stage of life that is 35. Can you believe it? I'm becoming an adult.
Now I don't want to come off as though I am one of those that worries about age or some such thing; there is no point in worrying about something I have no control over. I promised myself I'd never become one of those people that say they stopped having birthdays when they turned 30. Sure, you can say you've stopped but your body is just going to go right on getting older. The way I see it is that if you feel pressed to lie about your age you should go higher not lower. Telling someone you're 30 when actually you're 40 makes you seem desperate.
But tell them you're 40 when you're 30 and suddenly you appear as though you're in peak shape.
No, it's not the age that bothers me; it's mostly the date. Perhaps I should explain.
I have friends whom, for some bizarre reason, enjoy reading about astrology. They love to tell me all about stars and signs and how they control the outcome of my life.
Now I don't know much about cusps or anything of that kind. The last time I considered a moon rising it was out a car window on a double dare.
The point here is that my birthday lands on Jan. 9.
Sure you may be scratching your head and wondering what is wrong with that. To be fair there is nothing intrinsically wrong with the date; it's something more abstract.
The problem with having my birthday on Jan. 9 is the company I have to keep.
If I had been born just a mere 24 hours earlier I could have shared the day of my birth with an icon - Elvis. Instead whom do I get to share some cake with? Bob Denver. You know - Gilligan!
I am sure that it will come as no surprise to anyone that there is no “Elvis” in Bob Denver.
Elvis was the King. Up on stage shaking his hips in that jumpsuit; making women swoon just from the sound of his voice. Elvis was the star of his own Blue Hawaii; surrounded by exotic beauties on a tropical paradise.
Gilligan, on the other hand, never changed his clothes. That and the fact that even after seven years stranded on a deserted island with Ginger and Mary-Ann he couldn't score one kiss. The only coconuts he ever got to feel came from trees.
These are the thoughts running through my head as I prepare to blow out the candles.
On a positive note it seems as though my inner child is about to go through puberty.
So this coming year should prove to be quite interesting.
Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here each Sunday in The Citizen. He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com
Pardon me, I just need to take a moment of reflection as I'm headed towards another milestone.
In just two short days I will be hitting that stage of life that is 35. Can you believe it? I'm becoming an adult.
Now I don't want to come off as though I am one of those that worries about age or some such thing; there is no point in worrying about something I have no control over. I promised myself I'd never become one of those people that say they stopped having birthdays when they turned 30. Sure, you can say you've stopped but your body is just going to go right on getting older. The way I see it is that if you feel pressed to lie about your age you should go higher not lower. Telling someone you're 30 when actually you're 40 makes you seem desperate.
But tell them you're 40 when you're 30 and suddenly you appear as though you're in peak shape.
No, it's not the age that bothers me; it's mostly the date. Perhaps I should explain.
I have friends whom, for some bizarre reason, enjoy reading about astrology. They love to tell me all about stars and signs and how they control the outcome of my life.
Now I don't know much about cusps or anything of that kind. The last time I considered a moon rising it was out a car window on a double dare.
The point here is that my birthday lands on Jan. 9.
Sure you may be scratching your head and wondering what is wrong with that. To be fair there is nothing intrinsically wrong with the date; it's something more abstract.
The problem with having my birthday on Jan. 9 is the company I have to keep.
If I had been born just a mere 24 hours earlier I could have shared the day of my birth with an icon - Elvis. Instead whom do I get to share some cake with? Bob Denver. You know - Gilligan!
I am sure that it will come as no surprise to anyone that there is no “Elvis” in Bob Denver.
Elvis was the King. Up on stage shaking his hips in that jumpsuit; making women swoon just from the sound of his voice. Elvis was the star of his own Blue Hawaii; surrounded by exotic beauties on a tropical paradise.
Gilligan, on the other hand, never changed his clothes. That and the fact that even after seven years stranded on a deserted island with Ginger and Mary-Ann he couldn't score one kiss. The only coconuts he ever got to feel came from trees.
These are the thoughts running through my head as I prepare to blow out the candles.
On a positive note it seems as though my inner child is about to go through puberty.
So this coming year should prove to be quite interesting.
Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here each Sunday in The Citizen. He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com
The Citizens' Say
There are 3 comment(s)
wonder twin wrote on Jan 13, 2007 1:21 PM:
Chris wrote on Jan 9, 2007 11:34 AM:
stacy wrote on Jan 8, 2007 7:55 PM: