I turned 25. The big quarter century. One score five. A whole new age bracket. Older than I ever thought I would be. There are advantages to being 25 (the cost of car insurance goes down), but there are disadvantages, as well (eligibility for youth employment programmes is right out). Since I don’t have a car but I do need a job, on balance my 25th birthday seems to have come at an awkward time, but, believe me, there was little I could do to prevent it.
As I look over the agglomeration of memories that comprise my life, I wonder if I have learned anything that might help me later in life. Indeed, I have.
I have learned that you should never kiss a person with braces. I have learned that you should never see A Nightmare on Elm Street, Part Two: Freddy’s Revenge on a full stomach. Also, I have learned that, no matter how great the temptation, one should never call a punk rocker “Curly.”
I have learned that you shouldn’t trust a person who doesn’t know the difference between Spring Byington and a spring mattress. As well, you shouldn’t trust a swarthy looking man with a scar down one cheek named Abdul (the man, that is, not the scar). Then, too, you probably shouldn’t trust anybody who thinks that designer wood paneling is a really net thing. Readers have claimed to notice a paranoid streak in my writing, but I don’t think I’m paranoid, just very, very careful.
I have learned that drinking water cannot be trusted (but, I’m not paranoid). That’s why I only drink soft drinks: that way, at least I know what chemicals I’m putting in my body.
I have learned that one should never set a goal with a time limit (such as: “I will catch 8,000 beaver pelts by the time I’m 30 years old”). The goal may not be reached, but the time always will. If a time limit is absolutely necessary, one should set one’s sights ridiculously high (ie: “I will finish this sentence before I reach my 86th birthday.”)
I have learned never to judge a book by its author, but I still refuse to read anything by Stephen King, Harold Robbins or Jackie Collins. So much for an open mind.
I have learned that good always triumphs over evil in the end, but that good and evil are relative terms and the end is often delayed past the point where anybody cares much any more. Also, just to confuse the issue, evil always throws better parties than good, and good often has worse breath.
I have learned that people who spell thanks “T-H-A-N-X,” put hearts above the letter “I” instead of simple dots and/or are named Sunshine are too precious to be allowed to live with real people. I am not a cruel person, and I would be satisfied if such people were rounded up and placed on a desert island, waiting to be colonists on the first moon base.
I have learned to wonder about people who think S&M is a candy. Don’t you?
I have learned that politics cannot be taken seriously by anybody with an IQ higher than algae. This not only explains why politics attracts the kind of people it does, but why most people mistakenly believe that politics is too complicated for them to understand (in reality, it’s far too simple).
I have learned that a major part of the Canadian Identity is that there is no Canadian Identity, despite the obvious cognitive dissonance this can cause. Can an entire country be Zen? This belief in the non-Canadian Canadian Identity persists despite the fact that Canada is the birthplace of the telephone, insulin and Pierre Trudeau. Well, this just proves that no country is perfect.
I have learned that the only purpose for credit cards is to lure the unwary into buying more products than they could ever hope to afford, and I’m not saying that just because I never expect to be eligible for one in my entire life…
I have learned that Gumby really is worth the trouble.
I have learned that every person’s sense of humour is different, but that mentioning guacamole or Gerald Ford in the right context never fails to elicit a chuckle. Because humour is such a personal thing, I have always thought it should be on the universal List of Things You Shouldn’t Discuss In Polite Company at a Party or In Front of the Children (like religion, or the federal deficit), but I seem to be in the minority in this regard.
In fact, I have learned that I am in the minority in a lot of regards. Despite this (or, perhaps, because of it) I cling to my beliefs (although I am reconsidering the theory that the universe is just the headache of some minor deity and will cease to exist as soon as its prescription comes back from the corner drug store). Being in the minority does have one advantage, though: there isn’t a lot of peer pressure (there aren’t a lot of peers).
I have learned that not only does time heal all wounds, but it renders them totally obsolete.
Hmm…the totality of my experience does, on the surface of it, seem to be all…surface. Ah, well; I can only hope that more depth is to be found in the 25 years.