On Becoming Dirty Old Men and Women
ON BECOMING DIRTY OLD MEN AND WOMEN by Doug Lane
Dropped by a neighborhood bar the other evening to have a beer and discovered I had become invisible. Especially to the nubile females in attendance. Why? Possibly because, over the last several years, my waist has thickened, my hair has thinned, and I have grown old enough to have fathered everyone in the joint. In short, it's official: I'm middleaged.
Other explanations for my invisibility include: I am not a celebrity, nor have I aged as beautifully as Paul Newman and Richard Gere. I will say, in my own defense, that though I am presently the same age that Judy Garland was when she cashed in her chips, I think I look better than she did in her last year. But I don't sing as beautifully.
On the other hand, my TRW rating is excellent. That ought to count for something, even in a thickwaisted bald guy, even if all it means is that I owe a lot of money on a lot of credit cards.
Heck, I'll bet some of those waspwaisted whippersnappers at the bar that night didn't even have ONE credit card, much less a collection whose total balances exceed the national debt. That's a problem for Boomer Guys. Now that their looks are gone, how can they impress chicks at a pick-up bar with their level of indebtedness?
One way is to drive up in the debt. Parking a new Porsche in front of the bar is proof positive that you count for something in this world, at least to your Porsche dealer,to whom you still owe $50,000 or $60,000.
There are other ways for dirty old men to get young girls' attention that involve raincoats and no underwear, but those methods can also entail a bust from the local vice squad unless the raincoated dirty old men in question are also fast on their feet, which they rarely are. It's dirty YOUNG men who are fast on their feet. Anyway, the raincoat ploy makes for a sensational opening but it's a tough gambit on which to build a meaningful relationship....or even a one-night stand. Unless, unless the young lady subjected to the exhibit is a professional, willing to overlook geriatric shortcomings in return for a fee.
You, the reader, might well ask what a middleaged man is doing in a bar late at night in the first place. Shouldn't he be at home, with wife and kiddies? Not if he's divorced he shouldn't. If he's divorced, it might be very awkward for him to be at his ex's home late at night, especially if she has remarried.
Another suggestion: If the middleaged man is invisible to nubile females, why doesn't he seek the company of a middleaged female? And here we get to the nub of the issue. Babyboomers, male and female, are losing their looks. They used to be the ones with the big hair and the small waists, they used to find each other very attractive. Now, appearance-wise, they can take each other or leave each other.
And leave each other is just what they frequently do.
Here's another stumbling block to romance among the ruins: Sex drives, especially in the men, are diminishing. When the Boomers were younger, they needed sex so bad they were ready to suffer all manner of humiliation, manipulation, and character failings on the part of partners who held the power of sexual-affirmation in their firm bodies. But now the blood that ran so hot runs tepid.
Freed from overboiling lust, both Boomer sexes are more likely to look objectively at the personalities of prospective romantic partners. And an objective examination of a middleaged personality can be even more ferocious a turn-off than an objective examination of a middleaged body.
So is there any hope for the sex lives of Boomerites? Yes, if you are President of the United States. Otherwise, forget it. Recent polls (taken by me, at the 7-11) indicate that many unmarried Boomerites haven't had sex since the last Republican administration, and neither, with the exception of Bill Clinton but not with the exception of Hillary Clinton, have many married Boomerites. And the census figures for the sex lives of Pre-Boomeritic Republican administrators are even more discouraging. George Bush can't be found to talk, Barbara is too discreet to talk but we know what her answer would be, Nancy won't talk because she's too damn ornery, and Ron will talk but nothing he says makes sense and anyway, he couldn't remember when he last had sex even if he could make sense.
But to get back to Boomers: From what I hear, young groupies have to force themselves to look the other way even when having sex with middleaged men as exalted as the Rolling Stones. They fantasize that they are pleasuring Hootie and the Blowfish, or some other less chronologically challenged band.
And does this mean that Boomericans*, we of the Summer of Love, are doomed to wander the earth alone and unsatisfied, ships that pass in the night but rarely collide? And that when we do collide it's eco-disaster as we spill great shore-polluting gouts of bilgewater and liquid self-loathing out of rents in our hulls?
Must we hold our own hands or other body parts because no one else will hold them for us unless we pay them with ready money, self-abasement, or a ride around in the block in an unpaid-for Porsche?
Yes. The Age of Sexual Entitlement is over for all but a few freakishly fortunate Boomers. For the rest of us, it's hard scrabble time. We're going to have to get down and scratch. No longer can we depend on gleaming teeth, billowing hair, high poppers, clear eyes, raging hormones and bulging biceps to carry us over the barricades into the fortress of the opposite sex.
Some of us, perish the thought, may actually have to develop personalities. Of course, for those who haven't developed one already, it's too late to develop a personality capable of staying the course for longer than a bed-and-breakfast dirty weekend in Bolinas.
It's not that we're charm-free zones. Au contraire, we're dripping with charm, charm like paper clothes that look great when you first don them but aren't meant to be seen or shared for more than a weekend.
What we Boomeridians, roaming alone in the solitary night, may need to cultivate is forgiveness. We need to forgive ourselves, and others, for growing old and ugly. Having done that, we may be free to see our, and others', spiritual beauty. But that's not the same thing as getting laid.
A last word of advice: If forgiveness, compassion, and spiritual enlightenment aren't your thing, if you're determined to go on getting laid long after you've lost your looks, then learn to better manage your finances. Your future partners may no longer love you for your body, but if you pay them well, perhaps they'll love you---if they don’t despise you--- for your generosity.
--FIN—
*A SHORT SELECTED GLOSSARY OF BOOMERITIC SUBPEOPLES: Americans--Boomericans Canadians--Boomeradians Mexicans--Boomerexicans Panamanians--Boomeranians Gringos--Boomeringos Amerasians--Boomerasians Australians--Boomeralians (also: Boomerangs)
Tahitians--Boomeritians
Somoans--Boomeroans
Hawaiians--Boomeriians
Martians--Boomerartians
Venusians--Boomerusians
Russians--Boomerussians
Belorussians--Beloboomerussians
Dropped by a neighborhood bar the other evening to have a beer and discovered I had become invisible. Especially to the nubile females in attendance. Why? Possibly because, over the last several years, my waist has thickened, my hair has thinned, and I have grown old enough to have fathered everyone in the joint. In short, it's official: I'm middleaged.
Other explanations for my invisibility include: I am not a celebrity, nor have I aged as beautifully as Paul Newman and Richard Gere. I will say, in my own defense, that though I am presently the same age that Judy Garland was when she cashed in her chips, I think I look better than she did in her last year. But I don't sing as beautifully.
On the other hand, my TRW rating is excellent. That ought to count for something, even in a thickwaisted bald guy, even if all it means is that I owe a lot of money on a lot of credit cards.
Heck, I'll bet some of those waspwaisted whippersnappers at the bar that night didn't even have ONE credit card, much less a collection whose total balances exceed the national debt. That's a problem for Boomer Guys. Now that their looks are gone, how can they impress chicks at a pick-up bar with their level of indebtedness?
One way is to drive up in the debt. Parking a new Porsche in front of the bar is proof positive that you count for something in this world, at least to your Porsche dealer,to whom you still owe $50,000 or $60,000.
There are other ways for dirty old men to get young girls' attention that involve raincoats and no underwear, but those methods can also entail a bust from the local vice squad unless the raincoated dirty old men in question are also fast on their feet, which they rarely are. It's dirty YOUNG men who are fast on their feet. Anyway, the raincoat ploy makes for a sensational opening but it's a tough gambit on which to build a meaningful relationship....or even a one-night stand. Unless, unless the young lady subjected to the exhibit is a professional, willing to overlook geriatric shortcomings in return for a fee.
You, the reader, might well ask what a middleaged man is doing in a bar late at night in the first place. Shouldn't he be at home, with wife and kiddies? Not if he's divorced he shouldn't. If he's divorced, it might be very awkward for him to be at his ex's home late at night, especially if she has remarried.
Another suggestion: If the middleaged man is invisible to nubile females, why doesn't he seek the company of a middleaged female? And here we get to the nub of the issue. Babyboomers, male and female, are losing their looks. They used to be the ones with the big hair and the small waists, they used to find each other very attractive. Now, appearance-wise, they can take each other or leave each other.
And leave each other is just what they frequently do.
Here's another stumbling block to romance among the ruins: Sex drives, especially in the men, are diminishing. When the Boomers were younger, they needed sex so bad they were ready to suffer all manner of humiliation, manipulation, and character failings on the part of partners who held the power of sexual-affirmation in their firm bodies. But now the blood that ran so hot runs tepid.
Freed from overboiling lust, both Boomer sexes are more likely to look objectively at the personalities of prospective romantic partners. And an objective examination of a middleaged personality can be even more ferocious a turn-off than an objective examination of a middleaged body.
So is there any hope for the sex lives of Boomerites? Yes, if you are President of the United States. Otherwise, forget it. Recent polls (taken by me, at the 7-11) indicate that many unmarried Boomerites haven't had sex since the last Republican administration, and neither, with the exception of Bill Clinton but not with the exception of Hillary Clinton, have many married Boomerites. And the census figures for the sex lives of Pre-Boomeritic Republican administrators are even more discouraging. George Bush can't be found to talk, Barbara is too discreet to talk but we know what her answer would be, Nancy won't talk because she's too damn ornery, and Ron will talk but nothing he says makes sense and anyway, he couldn't remember when he last had sex even if he could make sense.
But to get back to Boomers: From what I hear, young groupies have to force themselves to look the other way even when having sex with middleaged men as exalted as the Rolling Stones. They fantasize that they are pleasuring Hootie and the Blowfish, or some other less chronologically challenged band.
And does this mean that Boomericans*, we of the Summer of Love, are doomed to wander the earth alone and unsatisfied, ships that pass in the night but rarely collide? And that when we do collide it's eco-disaster as we spill great shore-polluting gouts of bilgewater and liquid self-loathing out of rents in our hulls?
Must we hold our own hands or other body parts because no one else will hold them for us unless we pay them with ready money, self-abasement, or a ride around in the block in an unpaid-for Porsche?
Yes. The Age of Sexual Entitlement is over for all but a few freakishly fortunate Boomers. For the rest of us, it's hard scrabble time. We're going to have to get down and scratch. No longer can we depend on gleaming teeth, billowing hair, high poppers, clear eyes, raging hormones and bulging biceps to carry us over the barricades into the fortress of the opposite sex.
Some of us, perish the thought, may actually have to develop personalities. Of course, for those who haven't developed one already, it's too late to develop a personality capable of staying the course for longer than a bed-and-breakfast dirty weekend in Bolinas.
It's not that we're charm-free zones. Au contraire, we're dripping with charm, charm like paper clothes that look great when you first don them but aren't meant to be seen or shared for more than a weekend.
What we Boomeridians, roaming alone in the solitary night, may need to cultivate is forgiveness. We need to forgive ourselves, and others, for growing old and ugly. Having done that, we may be free to see our, and others', spiritual beauty. But that's not the same thing as getting laid.
A last word of advice: If forgiveness, compassion, and spiritual enlightenment aren't your thing, if you're determined to go on getting laid long after you've lost your looks, then learn to better manage your finances. Your future partners may no longer love you for your body, but if you pay them well, perhaps they'll love you---if they don’t despise you--- for your generosity.
--FIN—
*A SHORT SELECTED GLOSSARY OF BOOMERITIC SUBPEOPLES: Americans--Boomericans Canadians--Boomeradians Mexicans--Boomerexicans Panamanians--Boomeranians Gringos--Boomeringos Amerasians--Boomerasians Australians--Boomeralians (also: Boomerangs)
Tahitians--Boomeritians
Somoans--Boomeroans
Hawaiians--Boomeriians
Martians--Boomerartians
Venusians--Boomerusians
Russians--Boomerussians
Belorussians--Beloboomerussians
posted by mobydoug at 12:32 AM
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