Its Tuesday morning. I'm sitting in my living room reading, relaxing, contemplating
complexity and chaos. Yesterday's "Adventure of the Anomalous Heart" has left me subtly more aware of the
preciousness of time and energy, and of the limits and
possibilities of life. It's quiet, and my heart seems calm.Suddenly: Flip-Flop!Over by the front door the mail has fallen through the slot. I
know from the sound it's a magazine. Bills of letters just go
tick, tick. I go to see what it is. The new issue of Guitar
Player? Civilization? Wired? No, Wired goes more like "ka-thlunk". Maybe Dr. Dobbs Journal?But, no. It's my first free trial introductory issue of:
Modern Maturity. Uh-oh!Now, this means that somehow somewhere some way someone or
some group in my culture of origin has determined that I am
qualified for status as an aging member of the population.
Modern Maturity is the official magazine of the American
Association of Retired Persons (hereafter referred to as the
AARP). But you don't have to be retired, you're qualified for
the Association, and to receive the 'zine, as soon as you
become a "person of accumulated years". Or "old".How did a young guy like me get on their list? Fifty? Me? I
still can bang my way up and down a mountain trail on my bike
or on foot. I can paddle a kayak out into the ocean, with only
minor mishaps. I still run with scissors, dammit!And what is this "Modern"? My gramma was modern, seventy-five years ago! Thoroughly
modern: Lois Daley, the flapper queen of Chicago. We've got
long beyond modern by now. We've been postmodern for so long I
think we're beyond that, too. We're apres-postmodern now.And "Maturity"? Big-time euphemism, there. Now, back when I
was a pre-adolescent [A Chorus Of People That Know Me Well:
"We are talking about last night, are we?"], or perhaps I
should say when my years were numbered in the teens, "mature"
had an ambiguous meaning. On the one hand, being "mature"
meant to you were old enough to "do it".On the other hand, the word was flung into your face when you
were acting like a—well, like a pre-adolescent. You were
exhorted to "be mature".So now I'm supposed to be both "Modern" and "Mature". Talk
about a strange attractor!But let's be fair: I'll look at this. We have Martha Stewart
on the cover. And, look! Articles on how the computer can
benefit me. Having written my first computer program in—gulp!—1964, these ought to be interesting reading for me.
I've always wondered.Looking inside, I see some nice ads for travel destinations
featuring generally wrinkle-free but gracefully silvering
people taking in the sights. Silvering seems more prevalent
among the men than the women. (Ms. Stewart has no silver, I
see. But she does have ethernet in her home and a fleet of
portable computers.)Ah, here's a page on people who turned fifty this month, and
here's Ozzy Osborne, looking horrified! Now I feel better!So I guess I'll be a member of the AARP. At the very least, I
get a good discount at many RV parks. And I might as well
admit that I am a "person of accumulated years". Heading
toward the brutal edge of chaos, one needs to cleave to the
facts. Maybe there's an aura of wisdom that adheres to the
accumulation.The votes are still out on quality, but at least now I know my
culture will have to accept that I've got quantity. If that is not good enough,
I will swallow a bullfrog and shuffle off this mortal creel.eez@inetarena.com