Old Man-isms....

I have to believe that it's about this age, nearly thirty, that the whole phenomena of starting to feel 'old' takes place. Our entire group of friends is fast approaching the 20-10th marker (what a ridiculous term) and many have already aquired marriages, mortgages and children. The vein of conversation has shifted from parties and speculations as to how wonderful life will be in the future to landscaping one's yard and disputes with neighbours and how crazy our parents are getting. Vehicle repairs and home repairs and the price of gas and career advancement and money, money, money. Who has it, who doesn't, how much everything costs and "I remember when the price of a pack of smokes used to be THREE DOLLARS!" And herein is the point of this post.
Every once in a while, Biff will let fly a comment that totally sells him out. I make fun of him when I hear these comments. I just say, "Oh alright there, Old Man Thomaes." Allow me to illustrate.

Just yesterday, I had to borrow Biff's Jeep to go out of town cuz as I have told you before, my car sucks. Sucks even more now that there are electrical problems on top of it's leaky nature, but that's a rant for another time. Knowing I needed to put some gas in this beast, I asked what type Biff prefers.

"Premium. It's a buck twenty five right now too."
I give a disgruntled look, as if to say, is that really necessary?
"You put the regular stuff in, the truck knocks. Put the premium in, doesn't knock. You put in the expensive gas and you'll save your engine. You might pay a little more now, but you'll save a lot down the road."
He's 28 by the way.
This of course justifies my typical response: "Okay, Old Man Thomaes."

There have been countless comments like this in the past. And not just from Biff either. A year ago, Biff and I went on a little vacation with a group of our friends. We all chipped in and rented a cottage. It was this totally charming little place on Pelee Island, decorated with a nautical theme and in my opinion, cute as a button. It was rustic and small and pretty much exactly what you picture when you think island cottage.
Upon arriving, we're all pretty excited, perhaps having envisioned a ramshackle hut that leaks or has bugs or something. We were all gathered in the kitchen, putting things away and shelling out alcohol and we noticed an old stereo on top of the refridgerator. Really old. As old as we were. Like circa late seventies type of old, with the wood paneled speakers et. al. Perfect. We turn it on, or rather, our friend Aarssen turned it on. The reception was clear as a bell, much to our collective pleasure. Upon this revelation, Aarssen, who has worked with, around and in electronics his entire life, launches into this diatribe about how, and I quote: "they just don't make things the way they used to" and the sound emanating from this thirty-some year old piece of equipment was "warm and clear, and you just don't get that from stereos today."
"This is a quality piece of manufacturing and look, look how well it's lasted all these years."
Please feel free to join me if you like: "Okay, Old Man Aarssen."

One more.
Biff coached hockey this past season, juniors, which range in age from 16/17-18/19 I think. Every Tuesday night, practice night, the phone would ring from the time Biff got home from work to about an hour before practice started.

"Uh, yeah, uh, can't make it to practice tonight. I've come down with a sudden case of teenager-itis."

One night we're watching television, a reality show, where the mom is berrating her teenage son because he wants to punk out on his soccer practice. The mom tells her son that the only reason you miss a practice is if you're too ill or there is a legitimate family emergency. I was on the couch watching this and Biff was in the kitchen, but still within earshot of the tv. Upon hearing this comment, Biff pipes up, "THAT'S RIGHT!"
Old Man Thomaes.

So I think I'll keep a running log from now on. Until later...