by Nathan Lindberg
Ahh, I remember when I was cool. Well, at least when I thought I was cool. It was at the same time I worked much harder than kids these days, music was really good, and computers were evil creatures bent on killing Captain Kirk. But the other day while I was unclogging the toilet, again, I realized my era of cool was undeniably dead.
Cool is everything I am not and can not be. Cool is being bored. Cool is rebelling. Cool is looking good. Cool is saying smooth lines that actually don’t make people laugh. Now I am a father of two with a full time teaching job. I long to be bored, sitting around with nothing to do, but those dishes are not washing themselves. I no longer rebel, kids rebel against me. If I try to rebel I’ll probably be shunned at the next PTA meeting. My occasional outburst is a spell-checked letter to the editor, or a call to a late night talk show under the moniker of “Ray.” It’s physically impossible for me to look good. If I wear younger clothes I look like grandpa went to the wrong section of the mall. If I put on my best clothes I look like I’m either out for a Sunday jaunt or ready to hit the olde country club. My bald spot and bulging middle say, “Do I get a discount?” not “Hey, baby.”
“Coolness” is dependent on “youngness.” Young people get injured by falling off snowboards, crashing motorcycles, and having too much sex. I get injured by taking out the garbage, sitting in a computer chair, or standing up too quickly. Young people shave their heads. Mine seems to have shaved itself. When young people have to unclog the toilet, it’s funny and a great story to tell their friends. When I unclog the toilet, it the final result of having terrible hemorrhoids.
Coolness has been replaced by practicality. Sexy brands of toothpaste are swapped for whatever was on sale or something I had to buy at an Amway party. My refrigerator is slowly being infiltrated by Low-Fat syndrome. Sugar-free ice cream, bacon substitute, baked corn chips and vitamin supplements – things that used to make me giggle have taken over and now my fridge looks like a lecture from Uncle Harold after his third heart attack.
It’s not difficult to find out you lost your cool. Young people are incredibly very willing to point it out to you. A well-placed snicker at the swimming pool or an overheard joke outside your bathroom can paint a thousand pictures. The first time stings, but eventually you face the inevitable. Old fartness has replaced “youngness.” Oh, I know there are those of you my age denying old fartness, and then there are those of you younger-type folks who swear it will never happen to you. But do not reject old fartness. Let it come to you like gas after an operation. It feels good, despite the smell.
Think off all the benefits that come with not being cool. You never have to feel bad looking in the on sale bin, nor do you need to apologize when the stuff in it is garbage. In fact, you can tell the 19 year old sales clerk that the clothes look like something a pimp and his boyfriend would feel embarrassed wearing. Embrace your old fartness, yell at the neighbor for playing Eminem too loud. And don’t be afraid to add that anyone who constantly sings about his penis must have deep disturbing issues with it. What every happened to the Sex Pistols? Now that was real music. Then tell the cute clerk at the grocery store the same joke you’ve told her 37 times before, and laugh just as hardily. Heck, get a Harley motorcycle and park it proudly in your garage. You might even start it every now and then.
All right, I’m actually only 44. I’m not ready for prescription drugs and day time TV, but I can see it just over the horizon. It’s beckoning me like eating a discounted Denny’s grand slam a 7 a.m. after a full night’s sleep and no hang over whatsoever. And standing around bored, looking cool, rebelling against vegetable eating and reciting things I saw on cable TV – well leave that to Bono or Sting or one of those younger-type folks. After all, those dishes aren’t washing themselves.
by Nathan Lindberg
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