46/52: Sometimes I Give Myself the Creeps

December 22, 2014

Do you have the time to listen to me whine about nothing and everything all at once?

The other day, I heard that Green Day was being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. It was enough to turn me into a basket case. I don’t have anything against Billie Joe and his Berkeley brethren, but in order to be inducted, a group must wait 25 years after their debut record (I call this the Hanson Rule). Upon hearing that news, one of my jet black hair follicles instantly turned albino.

Moments like this aren’t uncommon, which may explain all the white hairs. Here are a few moments that happened on this very day:

  • As I drove by gas stations, I felt the need to comment out loud about the low gas prices. I stopped just short of posting about it on The Facebook.
  • While listening to the radio, Sara and I heard a song that was popular when we were in college. We couldn’t identify the artist, though Sara read the name of the track from the display—”Smooth”. I instantly knew it was Carlos Santana rocking the guitar, but could not identify the singer. It took me about five stoplights to blurt “Matchbox Twenty!” and I didn’t even remember that it was Santana’s song with Rob Thomas as the featured performer.
  • I got irrationally angry at an article that Sara was reading. The author argued that  Love Actually was the least romantic movie of all time. The thing that got me all Krakatoa’d up was the tone of the article. I felt the author just wanted to feel superior by taking down something popular. I described him as “a junior high student with bigger words” to my wife. This made me feel old because, back in the day, I would have taken great joy in producing something similarly cynical with lots of clever take downs. Now that I’m old, I’m no longer the hater I once was (except when it comes to hating the haters, I guess). I am also too old for someone to question the magic of Colin Firth’s plot line!

Sometimes I wonder why I’m writing all these posts this year. Then I take comfort in the likelihood that I’ll forget nearly everything.

Grasping to control, so I better hold on.

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