JohnLines

Best headline of the year. So far.

Yeah, I know.  It's only January 4th.  But this is one killer headline that reveberates in so many different directions.

To the unknown WSJ Editor:  Bravo.

On being spit into the demographic cuspidor.

Old age, Tolstoy said, is the most unexpected of all things that can happen to a man. 

I don’t know a lot about Tolstoy, but I know this: damn, he nailed that one.

I might as well get this part over:  I turn ssss-ixty tomorrow.  Now, when I talk about the sixties, I’ll be talking about myself.

Years ago, when I worked in advertising, the most coveted demographic target was ages 25 to 59.  These were the people with disposable income, the most likely to make purchases.  With good reason.  They were ALIVE.

At least that’s what I thought — being the tender and callow fellow I was then.

Beyond 59 was uncharted territory, floating off into the mist.  That long paddle down the river Lethe.  The other side of the mountain.  Talking the dog out for a walk and not returning.  If I used the word disposable to describe this group, it was never followed by “income.”

Old thought grooves don’t disappear;  new thought grooves aren’t nearly as deep.  Things may have changed.  But  part of me still says: 

Here I come, spittoon.

This is the part of the story where I’m supposed to start looking on the bright side.  But being of Irish descent, you see, this is very hard.  Somewhere encoded in my DNA is this thought:  there is NO bright side.  There are only temporary ports in the sh-tstorm. 

And so, life goes on. 

Which is, now that I think of it, the bright part.