What the fuck, Canada? Tired of being the nice guy, the good neighbor, the purveyor of poutine? You gotta get up in my tired face and call me 50????
|French fries, cheese curds and beef gravy.||YUM!|
I have a lot of stuff to do, and adding seven goddamn years to the tab is not easing my anxiety level.
Do you do those life lists? Me neither.
Mostly because I try and then I get all hyperventilate-y about how I'll never get to go to Paris with a lover or even Vegas with girlfriends or enjoy setting a signed first edition copy of Atlas Shrugged on fire.
I would be o.k. with any of that if I knew there was something wonderful and glamorous I could accomplish.
So I am asking you, my friends, my lovers, my confidants who never called me 50 [to my face], what do you think my life-listy goal should be for the next few months:
Write a goddamn novel, already.
Re-learn how to play a lovely flute solo.
Take amazing photos of my family members to put up in my house.
Eat more varieties of lettuce.
I'm thinking these could be entertaining and fun and almost as exciting as finding a new career after 50.
* But my love for Canadians continues unabated. I will not take out my spammer frustration on your sweet, Tim Horton delivering selves. PS Let's meet at the Eaton Center in Toronto and do some shopping, please? If I was younger and NOT looking like I was 50, we could hang out with the punks on Yonge Street. Do the kids still do that? Are they still called punks? Maybe we should just hang out at a hotel and drink.