Time Isn't On Anyone's Side

One of the other irritating things about eating at Fridays yesterday was that the whole time I was there 80s music was playing. Early 80s music.
It was as if the Universe was saying over and over again, “Yes, this is exactly how old you are. That young couple with the kid in the booth next to you? Probably weren’t even born yet when this song came out.”
Later on in the evening while flipping through the channels I landed on an episode of Sex in the City, and, momentarily distracted by the cuteness of Kristin Davis, the only attractive member of the cast, I wasn’t able to change the channel before Horseface McGinty (Sarah Jessica Parker) started loudly lamenting the fact that she was 35.
That was greeted with a “Screw you, Mr. Ed,” and a quick channel change.
(For the record, there was a brief window during which SJP was kind of attractive. I’d say she peaked somewhere around LA Story, and even at her best she was only ever okay. Still, the horse face comments are kind of cruel and unnecessary – which is why they’re so funny.)
Anyway, that got me to thinking something about birthdays: they shouldn’t be permanent.
I mean, they should only last as long as the day itself. You know, it’s 35 years to the day since you were born, so you’re 35 – for the day. After the day is over you go back to being 24 or whatever.
I mean, why do I have to get older. Deep down inside, I really don’t feel any different than I did when I was like 13. That seemed to be the age when all of the basic elements that make up Jon came together, and not much has really changed since then in that essential core. Sure, I’ve had a lot of experiences and learned a few things since then, but that core has remained essentially unchanged.
(And yes, that does mean that I was kind of a cranky old curmudgeon even as a kid.)
So why does the rest of me have to get older? The thought that I am 35 years old is absolutely ridiculous. I still read comic books and spend all of my time thinking about girls, for Christ’s sake.
And speaking of comic books, why can’t time work like that?
In the Marvel Universe time operates on this sort of sliding scale so that no matter what happens it’s never more than 15 years since the creation of the Fantastic Four. Everything just stays in its same place and the creation of the FF moves from 1962 to 1992 and everyone just moves with it.
I often cite Kitty Pryde as the perfect example of how time in the MU works.
In 1979 when Kitty was introduced she was 13 and a half years old. I was 7.
Kitty is now 21 while I’m 35.
(In Kitty’s case, time did move a little oddly, though. It took nearly 10 years for her to age a year and a half, but in the next decade she managed to age about 6 years, and she is now static once more.)
On the DC side of things, time is a little trickier and often has to be totally restarted to account for things, but in general, if you’re a major character, you can look forward to having your 20s last for decades.
Then, of course, there’s The Simpsons where Bart has been 10 for almost 20 years.
*Sigh* Stupid real life.
On the non-gerontological front, I took advantage of my day off to pretend like it matters what this place looks like even though I never have company and gave it a thorough cleaning.
After that I IMed with Scott for a bit.
He advised me to bring an appetite with me to tonight’s birthday dinner.
That much I can manage. It was fortunate that he didn’t ask me to bring a sparkling wit or debonair charm, because those I would have had a little more trouble with.