For those

people who have seen me in person, you know I look pretty

good for a 54-year-old man. Problem is, I'm 41.

As I fight all the battles

typical of a person whose body has lost the power for

regeneration, I am starting to realize there are lots of

things on this earth that I am getting too old for, where

patience has gone the way of John Tesh's Career. Here is

my list so far.

I am getting too old for

politeness, diplomacy or being let down easy. Just tell

me. Give me the hard news, the facts. Don't tell me about

a fire that is ravaging some apartment complex in some

suburb and that I am going to have to wait until your 11

o'clock news to find out exactly where. Don't preface

everything with, "I've got some bad news for

you." It's like every ex-future ex-girlfriend I ever

had who prefaced her "dumping me" speech with,

"Billy, you know you are a great guy." I don't

need an icebreaker when meeting Satan.

I am getting too old for

wimps. Buck up and take it like a man. Quit complaining

about bad cell phone reception. Quit crying about how

expensive vacations are. Quit whining about your online

connection, your slower Pentium, and your need for a

bigger hard drive because you are running out of room. Is

it really that much of a pain waiting the three extra

seconds for your game of Solitaire to load? Grow up.

Quit thinking that your

stupid submission to "The Vent" is gonna make a

difference. You've had it too easy if you never had a car

without carpeting or if you never thought that air

conditioning was turning your pillow over on the cool

side.

I am getting too old for

hype. I stand and look around and think, "What

morons are falling for all this loud noise?" Did no

one worry about kids and violence before Columbine? Did

no one recognize women in sports before World Cup Soccer?

All our country is anymore is a bunch of bandwagon

jumpers.

When did making a talk show

or getting a free trip to Disney World become the

ultimate success on earth? My twin brother and I could

break the world record for two-man Polish sausage-eating

tomorrow and by the weekend we'd be invited into a menage

a cinq with Tommy Hilfiger, Katie Couric and Mickey

Mouse.

I am getting too old for

making excuses. I don't have the courtesy anymore to say,

"No, I was already awake." Well, I was asleep,

okay? And yes, it was a bother. I don't make excuses

about my fashion and I do realize what I left the house

dressed like.

And those telemarketers

that call my house, they hear a click before they get to

their first comma. I don't care if you substitute Pepsi

for Coke and if you're not looking, I will sneak a feast

into your movie theater and leave the Krystal boxes on

your floor.

Actually, getting old is a

pretty good thing.

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