I don't regularly watch Craig Ferguson's show, but every now and then he will come out with a keen and clever commentary that really grabs my attention.

Please devote the next three minutes of your life to his spot-on rant on the folly of modern society's obsession with youth. Amen and amen, Craig.

Lament # 16

Three words: Swine Flu Parties.



p.s. The fact that the man pictured above appears to have a creepy face on the back of his head is in no way relevant to the post. It is just a bonus.

Now it comes to it: I am actually considering becoming a Twitter-er. For both of you out there who don't know what Twitter is, the simplest explanation is that it combines the basic idea of a blog with the brevity and immediacy of texting. For some reason, the powers-that-be chose the goofy name "Twitter" over my much classier suggestion, "Blexting".

The messages you type on Twitter are called "tweets" and you have "followers" who sign up to read your musings. You can tweet as often as you like (some people do it every five or ten minutes!) and the only limit is that your tweets cannot be longer than 140 characters.

Why Twitter, you ask? That's an excellent question. I really don't know, other than the fact that it seems kind of cool for some reason. The problem is, I'M not that interested in a lot of the day-to-day parts of my life. Why would I want to inflict that on others? For you see, the vast majority of tweets are not earth-shattering epiphanies. Most tweets tend to talk about the weather, or the selection of breakfast cereal that morning or whether Tide or Cheer made the cut at the laundromat. In other words, most tweets are really lame and really dull.

If I were to Twitter, though, please know that I would bring the spice. My tweets would be gripping, explosive and make you beg for more. Some samples of what my future tweets might be like:

"We're removing the plutonium core from the bomb right now. My partner's giving me dirty looks--I really should be using both hands for this. LOL!"

"Well, that's the eighth orphan I've pulled out of the burning building. I really hope that's all of them, because that roof could collapse at any second!"

"Things I did today: vacuumed the rug, ironed four shirts, disproved the Theory of Relativity, found that missing Gold-Toe sock behind the dryer."

"Man, I'd heard it before, but I guess you just have to experience it for yourself. Grizzly bears are strong!"

"I had to dig the bullet out of my shoulder with my own bare hands, but at least the president is OK. Shane: 1 Terrorists: 0."

Lament #84

Walking into the gym today, I saw the same car circle the parking lot three times looking for the absolutely closest space possible.

It finally happened yesterday: someone used the dreaded "your age" reference with regards to ME. I let it pass for the sake of appearances, but I was a cauldron of seething rage inside. Here's the skinny:

We were in the car with my 23-year-old brother-in-law and he asked me if I'd seen the new "Transformers" movie yet. I replied that I hadn't, as I'd been so let down by the first one's deconstruction of my childhood icons.

The insouciant boy then replied, "Yeah, a guy I work with is about your age, and he said the same thing." My eyes flared open in disbelief. Was the dial on my hearing aid not turned to "loud and squeaky"? Had this whey-cheeked upstart really just called me out on my advancing years? I began to fumble around on the floor for my cane to administer some old school justice on his still-cone-shaped-from-birth head.

Then a thought slowly wended its way through my ancient neurons: this walking ultrasound hadn't meant to give his elder "the sauce". I'm sure he had no idea the effect his callous remark would have on my wizened emotions. Nothing going on here but the folly of youth on full display.

So, demonstrating my decades of accumulated wisdom and forbearance, I let it pass. He fell quiet, no doubt musing on the relative advantages of various Otter Pops flavors and wondering what time Pokemon was on.

To him, and to all smug teens and twentysomethings out there, I paraphrase another icon of my '80s childhood: "When 30 years of age you reach, look as good you will not."

What constitutes both the fastest and the longest sixty-five seconds of your life? A ride down the bobsled track at the Olympic Park. My entire body is still tingling.