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Middle Age

June 14th 2005

Recently I discovered something that both profoundly fascinates me, and yet simultaneously causes me a soaring degree of trepidation.   It has to do with middle-aged gay men primarily and more importantly, my place there in.

According to scientists on the discovery channel, whom I have come to accept as the authorities all our life decisions should be based upon, Humans are living so much longer, that scientists have moved the median age up 10 years.   The implications are staggering.  At 20 I couldn’t even imagine being with someone as old as 40 because… well… I was 20! That and they were all going through their midlife crises and besides, being honest; I wanted to date their sons!  Karma, being the demented soul it is, has shoved me up to 40 so quickly my 30s were a virtual blur... Ok, there may have been a few other factors at work too. (Blinks eyes innocently) 

Recently I realized why the big 40 terrified me to such a degree.  It’s Gay middle age.  G.M.A. used to be 30, but since the scientists have moved the median age up 10 years, it’s now 50 for straight people and 40 for gay guys.  The scientists didn’t actually so much mention the G.M.A. issue; I did all the difficult math conversion for my fashion conscious brethren on my own.  I’m as of yet unsure how this applies to women and lesbians, as I have never know a woman who got a hair transplant, bought a sports car, or seduce her babysitter… I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, just that I haven’t yet seen it.  And if there’s a god in heaven, I never will!

Apparently these conversions happened long before I was aware of it since 30 didn’t faze me too much.  Hell, I had more fun in my 30s then all my youth combined. (Well, what I can actually remember of it anyways)  But 40??? Apparently I was convincing enough  when I told my friends that ANY over the hill gag gift at my birthday would necessitate a prompt call to 911 to remove said gift from their mouth before they choked to death. 

I feel as though it’s not only terrifying for the fact that I can only call myself young now in the presence of retires and grandparents, but also for the fact that neither our gay culture nor society at large have developed a “Coming of middle-age ceremony.”  You know, something where a bunch of guys dress in rabbit skin loin cloths and dance around a fire reiterating stories about the “Big One’s” we’ve taken down… Oh, I meant… antelopes! Big Antelopes! You can all stop snickering now!

So what now?  Do I have to change my music tastes to include big band, Michael Bolton, and Ann Murry???  Do I get any store discounts?  Free coffee?  Is their preferred parking at my favorite bars?  Can I slap twinks across the face and call them brainless cum rags now???? (Ok, I meant ones I didn’t already know.)   OH GOD!!!!! Do I have to watch Matlock and Murder she Wrote now???????  If anyone’s aware of an etiquette manual or some kind of “Welcome to growing old graciously” pamphlet please let me know, until I get instructions I’m going to the Blink 182 concert, wearing all my piercings, and tipping extra for any bartender brilliant enough cards me.