Written by Chuck, Jan 22, 2008

The Wii for Christmas? When did I get so un-cool?

This year was my 36th Christmas. Something has changed. My wife spent countless hours on the internet researching, hunting, and bidding to get me the perfect gift. The Sony Wii. She even went so far as to buy the most popular game for the Wii, another feat of determination, Guitar Hero. Her logic was impeccable. I play the guitar and the purchase of video games and game consoles has often outpaced my 401K contributions. This gift should have been perfect. It wasn’t.

Somewhere in the last year, I have passed an invisible mile marker on the highway towards middle age. I no longer get jazzed about video games. I was the guy who once played missile command for 6 consecutive hours on one turn just to see if the score counter would turn over when you hit a million. It did and I lost one of the precious Saturdays of my boyhood solving that mystery. The irony? It was totally worth it. However, this Christmas I opted to finish a Norman Mailer (which physically hurt me to read) novel, rather than play the game. This sounds like the actions of a pretentious guy, who is “above” the video game form of entertainment. In reality, my disinterest in pop cultures’ latest rage disturbed me.

My new found indifference begs the question: “What other youthful indulgences will I stop enjoying as I age?”

Wearing my Nike muscle shirt in public? Alright, this was never cool. Furthermore, I can’t pull off the “look” in the pitch black of night.

Playing chicken with the fuel gauge on my car? It’s just not as thrilling to fill up at a gas station that isn’t “downhill” from you. I have driven countless miles with the engine in “glide” mode.

Or… gasp… sex? It is possible. When I was 18, I worked construction for a 36 yr old guy. He offered rather casually, that when I reached my 30ies, I could expect to get about half the number of erections I was currently experiencing. For the record, his comment was a horribly awkward non sequitor. Men don’t talk about that. Ever.

However, I have had his words in my head ever since.

Time is ticking. Someday I will wake up and be old. My parts won’t work. I’ll start wearing white dress shoes with the matching belt. I’ll openly share details about my enlarged prostate with strangers. Or worse yet, maybe it has already happened. Here are the signs:

• I tried to make a CD for my younger brother (age 13). It took me an hour to figure out the “burn CD” function on my computer and nothing in my music collection was produced after 1994. I am not sure he is going to dig Toad the Wet Sprocket.

• I said the following when leaving a shopping center “We should steer clear of those teenagers. They could be gangbangers”.

• I walk around the house complaining that people never turn the lights off.

• I wake up with injuries. I have no idea what caused them.

• I was aggravated that I could not remember certain details about the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Then I was reminded that I read it 24 years ago.

• The college girls who work at our local ice cream shop call me Sir or Mr. Rubin.

• The 20 something sales associate at a vintage sporting goods store had no idea what the “CCCP” on the red hockey jersey stood for.

• I recently went back to UMASS to catch up with friends. We sat in Charlie’s drinking beers and laughing. Then we realized that we were now the creepy old guys that return to campus still thinking they can relate to students. We can’t.

• I find myself frequently putting on light sweaters so I won’t “catch a chill.”

A poem hangs on my dining room wall. It reads “take council in the passage of years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.”

Well F*!@ that!

You can find me wearing my sleeveless t-shirt and playing Guitar Hero until I have broken the score counter. Norman Mailer is dead anyway.