Today is January 21st, 2003. For those of you that don't me, which is pretty much no one because unless you know me you have no interest in or knowledge of this website, today is my 25th birthday. What is the secret to my longetivity, you ask? Well, there are several. Firstly, I recommend marrying for money. I married for love, and if you'll forgive me a quote from Moonstruck, "When you love them they drive you crazy cause they know they can."

Next, drink at least 5 small glasses of whiskey a week. My intake varies from 0 to, um, many, but I consider it the ultimate internal cleanser. Everybody says alcoholics are sickly, but I haven't had a cold in months! A functioning liver is a small price to pay for feeling good every day.

Red meat is also key. I'm still trying to find a good balance here; too much, and my innards get uproarious (Footnote 1); too little, and I start gnawing off bits of my own arm. (I have severe mental defugalties when I'm hungry.)

So I'm now closer to the age of fifty than I am to my own birth. The good news is I'm still not half as old as my parents, although that point approaches rapidly. The bad news is . . . well, it's not necessarily bad, is it? I've basically reached the age where responsibilities take over. House payments, car payments, debt, cable bills, children, parents, pets, lawn mowing, job, debt, church, Lions club, PTA meetings, bake sales, dance class, music lessons, debt, exercise, evening news, 401Ks, Christmas shopping, anniversaries, dinner parties, debt, debt, debt . . .

But not all of those things are unpleasant. I mean, sure, owing money to people sucks like a nuclear-powered Bissell, but Christmas shopping is fun. Anniversaries are fun. It's just difficult, and no one else can do it. The responsibility belongs to me and Sarah. I don't know about all of you, but I don't feel competent or ready. When my father was 25, he had ME. That's terrifying.

I think the secret to getting old is the small joys: a glass of whiskey, a cigarette, gold bond on the unit, a motorcycle ride, wearing leather pants, etc. That's what life is for me now, a series of fun little moments interspersed with lengthy periods of complete boredom and toil. Which isn't as depressing as it sounds. You get through the boredom because of remembering the last fun moment, and anticipating the next. That's my resolution for the remainder of my life: work hard, but have fun however and whenever I can. And wear my leather pants at LEAST once per month.

Footnote 1: Yes, it's a word.
I'm thinking of starting a mailing list thang so that when I actually update my column once every eon, I can send out an email to folks telling them HEY! CHECK THE NEW COLUMN! OR BE SQUARE! YAAAAAAH!
Clearly I have some issues. Anyway, if you want to be on the mailing list, shoot an email to column@matthearn.com and I'll make sure you get on it, unless I don't like you.
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