Something awful happened yesterday. Awful, yet not entirely unexpected. On July 27th, at 12:00AM Pacific Standard Time, I turned 30. The event was somewhat unexpected in that I never imagined myself getting this old. The oldest I could ever picture myself being was 27. Everything since has been a bit of a surprise. Sure, logically I know that I’m going to be 45 one day, 50, 65, and so on. But knowing and believing are two entirely different things. In turning 30 I’m confronted with the fact that I am indeed going to keep aging, and that eventually I will die. For the first time in my life I am confronted in a very real way with my mortality.
That’s right, I put the “happy” in “happy birthday.”
Let’s work out just how old I am.I am old enough to remember when Gary Coleman was the biggest star in the world.
I am old enough to remember when Jean Grey was dead (the first time).
I am old enough (as my friend Paul likes to frame it) to have seen Public Enemy in concert while they were still relevant.
I am old enough that this is the first comic I remember buying off of the rack:
I am old enough to remember when cell phones were a novelty.
I am old enough to remember when VCRs were a novelty.
I am old enough to be your father, provided that you are between the ages of zero and ten.
I am old enough to know better.
I am old enough to remember when the Transformers cartoon premiered on TV.
I am old enough have to have seen eight-tracks sold in stores.
I am old enough to remember when Trudeau retired.
I am old enough.
Thanks to everyone who called, wrote, or came out yesterday. And to everyone who helped fill me with the demon liquor last night, you’ll get yours you bastards.
Note to John: I don’t care what you say, telling people that we became friends when we worked together in a counter-espionage unit in the Yukon is a bad lie, no matter how you look at it.