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Sunday Smiles – HotAir

As I have mentioned a few times, I was born in 1964, which unfortunately means I will turn 60 this year.

While I have yet to succumb to feeling old–despite the fact that the last time I got a haircut, the stylist asked if I qualified for a senior discount–I have noticed that others around me have somehow gotten a bit ragged around the edges.

This is actually a bigger problem for them than for me since I never was a heartthrob or considered a babe.

The only reason I am thinking about this right now is that I just read that one of my teen crushes–Paulina Porizkova–is getting a double hip replacement.

Yikes. She still looks amazing to me, but to somebody much younger, she might not stand out as being among the most beautiful women in the world.

Phoebe Cates still blows my mind, but I suspect that is at least partly due to her being one of the girls of my dreams in High School.

Cates is one year older than me, making her 60 right now. I still have a crush on her and would fight Kevin Kline for her affections were I not married (I am pretty sure I could woo her away as the most charming short, fat and balding guy she ever met), but I suspect a guy in his 30s would call her a “handsome” woman who was well-preserved.

Geez, time is cruel.

One of the few benefits of getting older as a man is learning to appreciate women as more than objects to lust after, and, ironically, to see beauty in a much wider range of ages. And by that I don’t just mean seeing “inner beauty”–I mean the old-fashioned, young man driven by hormones kind of gaze that characterized my adolescence.

Yes, there are women in their 60s who I think of as beautiful, and that would have been impossible to imagine when I was in my teens or even 20s.

When I was young I thought of women my age as simply old, and the conceit of youth in America is that younger is always better. When I thought of women in their 60s I thought they were all Aunt Tessie:

One of the funniest ways that people talk about the moving goalpost of age is the “Brimley/Cocoon line,” which is when somebody reaches the same age as Wilford Brimley when he was in the movie Cocoon.

Brimley played an old man in that movie, but he was only 50 years old when it was released–which means I am 10 years past the Brimley/Cocoon line, and I definitely am not old.

I wish I could say that with age I have acquired wisdom, but it is truer to say that I have acquired cynicism more than wisdom. I still haven’t found the secret to life–what I have found is that many of the “secrets” others are selling to younger folks are bogus and harmful.

At least I can take solace in making fun of those “solutions” to life’s problems. That is why God invented memes.



















































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