20110517

Hark

I may yet be young, but life has been quite full for me. Not too full, I hope, for much living remains to be done. Much more if I can pull it together to quit smoking and drinking, put on some damn sunscreen every now and again, and learn to enjoy myself. But no battles can be won sans strife, and history does little to commemorate the bland.
I can recall a time when an unanswered phone call simply meant that you weren’t home, as opposed to dead or disfigured by some horrendous accident that has rendered you incapable of immediate response.
When I was a kid wars were Cold, lasted only one-hundred hours, were left unfinished, or were called a police action. My participation was limited to collecting Topps trading cards on the subject, not throwing spades using playing cards emblazoned with the portraits of the very enemies I’d been tasked to kill. Or capture.
My parent’s home used to be something that my parents paid for. Tijuana used to be a safe place for high school students to get fucked up. Pluto was a planet, for god’s sake! I didn’t have to buy it, but I’m certain that corn was cheap because it was consumed in stomachs, not gas tanks.
MP3 was two letters and a number. Terrorists were Irish, not Islamic. Cough Syrup employed codeine as an ingredient, and you used it for…coughs. Marriage was. Never mind, it was a failing institution then as well. You relished in the possession of any sum of money, where now we resent it.
Antiquity. I guess this could go on for another thirty years. But by then I’ll likely be writing about how cool it was when everyone didn’t possess matching tattoos on our foreheads. So long as cigarettes aren’t abolished, I’ll get by. And booze. And love.
And writing.
Fuck sunscreen.