The age of me

In some ways, I am old man. In other ways, I’m a spring chicken.

Old: I go to bed (or try to) at a reasonable hour.
Young: I operate on less sleep than is reasonable.

Old: I have a mature perspective.
Young: I make inappropriate comments on long elevator rides.

Old: I watch PBS news programs about Hamas.
Young: I watch “Tom Goes to the Mayor,” the most annoying cartoon ever made. And I love it.

Old: Love Frank Sinatra.
Young: Love Avril Lavigne.

Old: Invested in retirement plans.
Young: Invested in one-third of the hard-bound “Calvin and Hobbes” master collection and a “My So-Called Life” lunchbox.

Old: I forget.
Young: Plenty of time for new memories … to forget.

Old: I’m cheap.
Young: I use only credit cards, because cash is quaint.

Old: I make old man noises.
Young: I make “mock” old man noises.

Old: I’m too old to be on MySpace.
Young: I’m on MySpace.

Old: We are not amused by your immaturity.
Young: We are not amused by your entrenched world view.

Old: I’ll never fall in love.
Young: I fall in love each day.

Old: Semblances of wisdom spring forth from time to time.
Young: I ask a lot of dumb questions.

Old: I eat salads and vitamins and small portions.
Young: I eat cereal for dinner.

Old: A few regrets.
Young: Time for change.