Just got back from the eye doctor, and well....I'm over 40, and apparently just went from zero-to-trifocals in 30 minutes flat. And, not being a particularly self-conscious (or particularly well-heeled,) sort at this stage of the game, I opted NOT to go with the no-line tris. In a semi-compensatory fashion, I suppose, (at least if you happen to be over 30, if you're not, it probably means nothing to you, although if you're under 30, a LOT of the stuff I say very likely means nothing to you,) went with a fairly nice set of frames from Ray-Ban. My practical mind says they're light, about as small as you could get away with for tris, and have spring-hinge temples so they'll stay on my head. They're also endowed with the Transitions lenses, so I can theoretically dispense with need a seperate pair of sunglasses.
For a while now, actually, I've had a hell of time reading small print without taking off my glasses, so I guess getting to this point comes as no particular surprise. Just another indication of the changes taking place within me, if on a somewhat different level of meaning. It's not really the same as deciding to do something you've never done before, like teaching English in Korea, but it IS indicative of the fact that as a person, I can't do the things I used to be able to, all-night sexual romps and impervious consumption of White Castle hamburgers included. (Not like my sexual capacity ever WAS an all-night proposition, but hey, a guy can dream, can't he?!) But, as always, I'm moving forward, so some aspects of looking back just fall to pure wistfulness. Theoretically, I could still endure the ride of a Mazda Miata, if I ever chose to buy one as a toy at some point, and were I to ponder perhaps a GTO, it would be of a vintage sans electronic fuel injection and air bags, have a usefully large trunk, although, once again, in a compensatory fashion, probably have leather Recaro seats, a really nice stereo, and air conditioning. And to clarify, "a nice stereo" does NOT mean one with pavement-destroying bass; it means if I turn that sucker up with Tchaikovksy's 1812 Overture on, the cannon-fire will wake the dead and still not destroy my speakers, and every other harmony, nuance, and color-with-sound will be absolutely PERFECT. Okay, perhaps I'm not as far away from hip as I imagine at times, but kids, know this; if a Waterman pen is more notable to you for being shiny and expensive than for the fact that it writes as though its ink were made of silk,
if a finely crafted dress shirt, with seams that are nigh-on-invisible, and a fabric that almost literally caresses your body leaves no impression, you're just not old enough yet. You'll get there. None the less, all things considered, given a financial state well-improved from my current life mode, I'd still be pondering a Lincoln Town Car Cartier L, or, given a huge book sale or lottery win, perhaps an Audi RS6 or one of the new Bentley sedans.
If the notion that you absolutely MUST spend money to impress your friends is something you subscribe to, you're obviously single and have gotten your first "real" job recently. Wait till the kids come along. Apart from the moments I have discussed before with regard to my little ladies, one of my favorites is still from last Father's Day, in church. While the church song, whose name I can never recall, but which is to the tune of Beethoven's "Ode To Joy" was being sung, my oldest daughter, Shelby, turns to me, and says, "when's the cannon part?" I just laughed, and said, "wrong song, sweetie," but I was proud of her; I mean how many 10-year-olds have it on the ball enough that they'd even THINK to confuse "Ode to Joy" and "1812 Overture," even if, as she would later say, it was a joke?! Hell, how many would contemplate making a joke like that?! In the immortal words of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, teach your children well. It will serve you in the end, if for nothing more than pure, seam-busting pride. And I can only suppose that it means as much to me to do this Korea thing, and go to these lengths, to show my daughters what it means to live, and to foster intelligence, and prove that fear, as I have been wont to say in the past, truly is for the unenlightened.