Archive | January, 2009

Confession No. 2, I’m getting old

24 Jan

I feel like I’m getting older these days, which is only natural seeing as I’m rapidly approaching my 30th birthday. Now I know that 29 is not old, but it occurred to me only a year ago that I am no longer young. It seems like I’m trapped in an age-related Purgatory.

The feeling of growing older was intensified after a recent work-related trip to Las Vegas, where despite venturing out to explore the strip with multiple  drinks in hand, I was still in bed by 11 p.m. It wasn’t just Vegas, however. After all, Vegas- with its sidewalks coated in business cards featuring the pictures of naked escorts and streets lined in men wearing fluorescent T-shirts that read, ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ who tried to cram cards, flyers and other prostitute-related materials into my hand while muttering things like “Donkey Show” – just wasn’t for me.

There have been other signs that I’m getting older, and not all of them are bad. Sure, hair on my head has begun its migration south to floor of my bathtub, and the follicles who have chosen to stay in place decided on gray instead of the brown coloring that had suited them so well for these 29-years. And I even though I struggle to encourage new hair to grow from the top of my head; I find other hairs sprouting with ease from my ears and back, which I have long equated with old age.

I even had a 20-year-old refer to me as an old man the other day after I tried to convince him bonging beers was not the smartest way to consume Coors Light.

“I’m only 20 old man, don’t get mad you can’t do it anymore.”

And he was right; I can’t do it anymore. In college I drank mass-quantities of cheap beer with ease, only to wake up the next day to do it all over again. Being hung over in college was just an excuse to start drinking earlier; being hung over now is an excuse to lie around all day begging for death to pay me a visit. But at this point in my life it’s not like I need to be drinking like a 20-year-old anymore.

There are nights now were I’ll easily make the decision to trade a beer for a cup of tea and the bar from a game of Scrabble. Just typing that sentence made me feel so old I swear my fingers started to feel arthritic around the word “tea.”

But I’m okay with these signs of growing older. Aging is a natural part of life; I guess I’m just paying attention to it for the first time ever. Of course my hair will begin to fall out, I’ll require more sleep than I used to and I won’t be able to bong multiple beers in a row.

I know 29 is still very young in the grand scheme of things, but thinking back now to how much I’ve changed since I was 20, I can’t help wondering how much different I’ll be in the next nine or ten years. When you’re 20, nine years seems like an eternity, but since the age of 24 or 25- I can’t remember which one- the years have begun to move so quickly, that to me, nine years seems like just a few days ago.

I have no clue what life in my later 30s will be like or how much gray hair I’ll be left with; but one thing’s for sure, I won’t be drinking like a 20-year-old anymore, even if I wanted to.

 

 

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My first confession, I miss newspapers.

16 Jan

It was just over five years ago, but it seems like a lifetime ago that I took the job as the sports and outdoors writer and editor for the Sierra Sun, a bi-weekly newspaper in Truckee, California.

To this day I’m confident I’m the only sports writer in the world that had to ask spectators at soccer, tennis, and volleyball games and or matches for a brief rundown of the rules. I knew the basics of each sport I was required to write about, or at least I knew what each game was called, but I didn’t know how points were scored in one sport, or what constituted being off-sides in another. And I for damn sure didn’t know the names of the different types of offenses and defenses most sports journalists know like the back of their hand.

You’re probably wondering how I got the job then… The answer is simple. It was a mountain town, so I was probably the only person with a journalism degree in the area that was willing to work for $10 an hour.

In addition to being paid such a luxurious wage in one of the most expensive parts of the country I was also allowed to write a bi-weekly column called ‘Keeping Score,’ although I quickly changed the name of the column to ‘Go Big or Go Home.’ Although it was in the sports section, oddly enough my columns rarely had anything to do with sports. My columns were often rants about random things I’d observed throughout the week or simply about things I wanted to make fun of.

Although I quickly realized being a sports writer was not for me, my column was to this day one of my favorite things to write. Not only do I miss writing a column, I miss reading columns in newspapers. It seems like with the slow, but inevitable, death of print journalism, the first ones to go are the columnists; who are in some people’s eyes, easily replaced by bloggers.

I’m seeing this trend more and more. Columnists are moved on-line, then let go and newspaper publishers think no one will miss them with the addition of five mediocre bloggers who are put their place. But now it seems bloggers aren’t even safe. Blogs aren’t even fast enough anymore for our A.D.D society, we need to know what these people are doing when they’re not blogging.

Talking with a friend recently, he tried to convince me to set up a Twitter site, saying it is a great way to network. I begrudgingly did, and updated my account here and there for a few days, but I hated every minute of it. If Twitter is an example of the “New Media,’ I want nothing to do with it.

While watching the introductory video to Twitter, the voice explaining why the site is valuable, said, “You may be an avid blogger, but sometimes your friends want to know what you did between blog posts and emails. Maybe you mowed the lawn, or… and your friends want to know about that too!”

If you are one of my friends, let me tell you, as a friend, that I do not, and will not ever, care about all of the things you do in a day. When I ask, “How was your day,” I’m being polite, and I hope you’ll do the same by saying, “It was good.” I do not want to know every last detail of your life from the time you woke up until the time you went to sleep. And I do not need text messages sent to my phone telling me when you’ve added another post, because I know when your status says, “Hunk256 is enjoying a beautiful sunset,” you’re not really enjoying a beautiful sunset. You’re sitting there typing into your laptop or phone, that’s what you’re doing. Your status updates should always say, “Hunk256 is typing again.” If you were mowing the grass and realized a life lesson that you could put into more than a paragraph, I might want to read it, but don’t you dare post, “OMG, I hate mowing! LOL.” And while we’re on the topic, chances are, if you ever type: OMG, OMFG or LOL, I probably hate you or I am at least deeply disappointed in you.

I miss words, or rather; I miss when people actually used words to convey an important, fun, or inspiring message. Twitter makes me miss blogs and blogs make me long to hold a newspaper in my hand and read a column. As I stated in my “Purpose,” we are heading down a dangerous path. Technology is moving quicker than ever before and to fight it would be pointless, but at the same time we don’t have to embrace it.

There is a middle ground… I’m taking a piece of modern technology, a blog, and using it to start writing a weekly column again. I hope you like it, but if you don’t, I really don’t care! You’re probably one of the assholes I’m ranting about. OMG JK LOL!