...and holding

The passing of another year in one's life is met with a variety of feelings and reactions, often largely dependent on what particular year it happens to be.  Well, this particular year happened to be the big one for me.

No, not that big one.  That's next year.  But as I can't promise I won't be under 24-hour psychiatric care by then...

Now if you think I'm going to sit here and ramble on about getting old or the blinding speed of the passing of time, and that I'm gonna be all pensive and self-wallowing, well then, I must say, you know me quite well.  Frighteningly well, as a matter of fact.  It's actually making me a bit uncomfortable.  Stop it.

Thirty-nine arrived this past weekend.  And I turned and ran like a little girl. I'm so not ready for this.

When I think of thirty-nine, I think of a guy with a beer belly who's out of shape and helps coach his kid's little league team, but really has no clue what he's doing, and besides, his kid isn't even interested in baseball and would rather be in band but he continues forcing him into sports.  No one in particular, just a general guy.

It just sounds so... grown-up.  So... not me.  And yet, it is me.  There's nothing I can do about it.  I mean, if Ponce de Leon couldn't find the Fountain of Youth, what chance do I have?  Although with GPS technology being what it is these days... Hmm.

Anyway, I celebrated -- or more aptly, commemorated -- the occasion by having dinner in Nashville on Saturday night with friends.  We ate at a Mexican restaurant called Tito's.  Then I closed out the evening by singing their baby girl to sleep.  My friends', not the restaurant owners'.

Sunday was spent with family, a blessing I treasure more and more as the years continue to pass.  It nearly freaks me out every time we're out to eat and Mom orders off the senior menu.  My Mom!?  In my mind, she should still be forty.

How did this happen?  Where did my thirties go?  For that matter, where did my twenties go?  And are they now in the same place comparing notes and saying things to each other like, "Really?  He did the exact same thing when he was with me."

I know all the platitudes.  Life begins at, er, after thirty-nine.  Thirty-nine is the new twenty-nine, or whatever.   But I, for one, happened to like the old twenty-nine just fine.  In fact, I've made a unilateral decision:  I will not be having any more birthdays.

Allow me to clarify.  I'll still be accepting presents, I'll just no longer be counting years.

And heaven help the person who dares put an ad in the paper next year with a photo of Baby Bone that says "Lordy Lordy, Bone is..."  Well, you know.

Anyway, I thank you for allowing me to freak out a bit as I prepare to approach that age which shall forever remain unspoken.  Thus begins my attempt to ward off a crisis of the mid-life variety which, by some acounts, may have already begun.  That should make for some fun blog posts in the coming year, wouldn't you say?

I figure at best, I'll continue to age gracefully and achieve my goal of being the youngest 39-year-old you know.  At worst, I'll go kicking and screaming every step of the way, torturing myself daily with the question of what have I done with my life, and maybe wind up with my own Scott-Baio-Is-45-&-Single-esque reality show.  Or at least, some good meds. 

Either way, I realize that someday we'll look back on this -- yes, even this -- with wistful heart and older eyes.

"She said, you're pretty good with words, but words won't save your life.  And they didn't, so he died..."

Sundays with Chachi

Well the eight-week Sunday night experience that was Scott Baio Is 45 & Single has come to an end. Therefore, this may be the last time I ever blog about Scott Baio, though I seriously doubt it.

I learned a lot from the show. Things like Chachi lost his virginity to Joanie; Scott doesn't like being called Chachi, which could come in handy, you know, if Scott and I were to ever star on the same reality show; "If This Is It" by Huey Lewis & The News is the ringtone on Scott's phone; some girls have the ability to remain bitter for many years; and last but not least, Nicole Eggert is still wawawa.

As reality shows go, this one was good. Very good. And keep in mind this is coming from a self-professed disparager of the reality genre in general. For example, I've never seen a single episode of Survivor.

But part of my dislike, I think, stems from the fact that so many of these shows aren't anywhere close to reality. Take Big Brother, for instance. Twelve people who don't know each other living in the same house is not reality for anyone I know.

Scott Baio Is 45 & Single, which will at times be referred to as SBI45&S, dealt with a very real and relatable situation, often doing so with humor, and other times leaving the viewer cringing.

The fact that Baio was a celebrity wasn't always in your face. Sure, there were guest appearances by Nicole Eggert, Erin Moran, and Julie McCullough, if you can consider her a celebrity, along with a phone call to Henry Winkler. But all of them combined got maybe fifteen minutes of airtime. That wasn't what the SBI45&S was about.

(By the way, Julie, I'm no life coach, but you might want to see about getting a mental evaluation sometime soon. I'm sensing some issues there.)

At first glance, Scott comes off as a pompous, shallow jerk. And he was. The show revealed Baio as having been a playboy and having commitment issues, yet at the same time managed to show some redeeming characteristics along with his desire to change.

Sometimes it felt like Scott was in rehab. But that's what made the show work, Baio's willingness to let his faults show, laugh at himself, and have his past exploits aired for all to see.

It wasn't always pretty. (See "cringing" above.) But that brutal openness, combined with Baio's surprisingly smooth and witty commentary, made Scott Baio Is 45 & Single enjoyable from beginning to end.

And now, a spoiler warning. Because ever since that whole Santa Claus thing, I've hated spoilers.

The show ended with Scott telling his girlfriend, Renee, that he is ready to be married. Then she dropped P-bomb on him. Yep, preggorama. So now Scott Baio is an expectant father. I just hope this isn't in going to affect my chances of Scott Baio Is 46 & My Mentor getting picked up next season.

Hmmm, I wonder if Jason Hervey is available. Oh, what am I saying? Of course he is!

"I'm not James At 15 or Chachi In Charge. I'm Adam and I'm adamant about living large. With the white Sassoons and the looks that kill..."

...But somebody's gotta do it

From Seinfeld episode #70, The Lip Reader:
Kramer: "Hey Jerry, do me a favor. The next time you see that lineswoman ask her how those ball boys get those jobs. I would love to be able to do that."
Jerry: "Kramer, I think perhaps you've overlooked one of the key aspects of this activity. It's ball boys, not ball men. There are no ball men."
Kramer: "Well, there ought to be ball men."

Lately, I've been considering looking for a new career. Or, as some might say, looking for a career. Obviously, my first choice would be to go from being the unpaid-disseminator-of-three-words to a well-paid-comfortably-living-writer. But what if that doesn't happen? I don't want to be sitting around in my mid-30's playing Nintendo and not knowing what I want to do with my life.

So I've been keeping my eyes open, and I've discovered there are a ton of fascinating career opportunities out there. And though I'm not quite sure how one would go about obtaining any of these jobs, let's look at a few now:

Career Option #1: Lindsay Lohan's driver

I was watching a VH-1 special this morning on the troubles of the voluptuous one. Now as I see it, the majority of Miss Lohan's legal troubles stem from driving under the influence.

Solution? Stop her from driving. And who better to drive around one of the great, misunderstood thespians of our time than yours truly?

The advantages would be tremendous. I'd live in California, could serve as both her father figure and trusted confidant, and in all likelihood I would be credited with helping to save her career and she would owe me big time.

Career Option #2: Commercial Lobster Fisherman

Last night, I was watching Lobster Wars on Discovery. Now I've heard people say this is a dangerous job requiring you to risk your life every single day. Friends, I risk my life everytime I sprint up and down the stairs in my apartment, running from whatever might be chasing me. Believe me, I've had a number of close calls!

Besides, not everyone on these boats are leaning over the railing risking their lives, right? I'm sure they have people who remain solidly in the center of the boat. Maybe I could work down in the hull, in the boiler room or something.

Wonder if I could get a note from my Mom. "Bone has a bit of an equilibrium problem. Please excuse him from hanging over the side of the boat and any other activities in which he might possibly die. Also, he dislikes loud noises and sometimes gets a tummy ache after he eats Mexican food." Wonder if that would work.

Career Option #3: Women's Pro Beach Volleyball Linesman

I was watching Misty May and Kerri Walsh on TV last weekend when the camera panned to this guy just standing at the corner of the court, signaling whether balls were in or out.

Where do I sign up! I could do that. I'm already sitting here in my underwear eating Doritos watching them. Why not put on my board shorts and watch them in person while getting some sun. Heck I could even apply sunscreen to the girls and get water for them during breaks in the action. I'm nothing if not a multi-tasker.

Don't discount this idea. Someone is doing this job right now. Why shouldn't it be me? They wouldn't even have to pay me.

Career Option #4: Sideline Cord & Wire Untangler

I go to a good number of college football games. Anytime the games are televised, there are several people who follow the camera operators and reporters around on the sidelines, holding their cords and keeping them straight.

I'm not sure what the prerequisites for this job would be, but I've always been good at getting shoe laces unknotted. I keep my garden hose coiled nicely when not in use, and I have braided a girl's hair before, in a standard, three-strand braid.

The benefits to this job would be tremendous. I'd get to travel around the country, take in a little football, and might even bump into Erin Andrews. Again, salary optional.

Career Option #5: Reality TV Show Star

This is probably the most obvious and natural career move for me to make. Here's the premise of the show. I would play the protege of a big-name celebrity, say for example, Scott Baio. The show could be called something catchy like, oh I don't know, Scott Baio Is 46 & A Mentor.

Scott would serve as my relationship mentor, with Nicole Eggert starring as my love interest. Since Scott is already unknowingly my relationship mentor, the transition would be seamless. Season one guest stars would include Henry Winkler and Willie Aames. Who wouldn't watch that!

There you have it, just a few of the career options stretched out before me on that vast horizon known as tomorrow. As you can see, the future looks bright for Bone.

"I study nuclear science. I love my classes. I got a crazy teacher. He wears dark glasses..."

The Boost Up

Please stop over and wish Pia a happy bloggiversary. I'm checking with Miss Manners right now to see what the appropriate gift is for the 3rd bloggiversary.

Summer has been forcing my hand lately, off the track and into the water. I only went running two nights last week, and spent most of the weekend not very far from the cool relief of H2O. I never remember us having this many 100+ degree days in one year.

I went swimming at my sister's this afternoon. While that was mostly uneventful, there was one noteworthy event. We were floating around and out of the blue she asked, "Do you ever watch Scott Baio Is 45 & Single?"

Sigh. What a proud moment in the life of a big brother. I'm not ashamed to admit I nearly became emotional. Just thinking for all the mistakes I've made, I must have done something right, you know? *sniff*

Saturday, Little Joe and I spent all day at my friend Jamie's house on the lake. Ten hours of swimming, boating, eating, reapplying sunscreen, repeat.

Also, I encountered a girl there who said she'd met me previously, though I have no recollection of such a meeting. And I mean, really, what are the chances I wouldn't remember meeting a girl?

Several of us went out to eat that evening at Mister Bean's Barbecue, owned by professional boxer Butterbean. He was there so we got to meet him. Normally I'm not a fan of people named after vegetables, i.e. Carrot Top, but Mister Bean seemed like a really nice guy.

Coincidentally, we'd been talking earlier in the day about the most famous person we'd ever met. Jamie's was Jimmy Carter, LJ settled on Jose Canseco, and mine was Faith Hill. I feel safe in saying none of those rankings changed after our visit to Mister Bean's.

After supper, we came back and swam a bit more. That's when the idea of jumping off the roof of Jamie's dock crossed my mind. I asked her if anyone had ever done that. She said a couple of people had, but that it was a bit tricky getting up there. You either had to stand on the railing of the pier and pull yourself up, or climb up the ladder of the slide and step across about a four-foot gap to the roof. I opted for the latter, or ladder.

It was a bit tenuous getting from the slide to the roof, but jumping off was worth the risk. You know, because I'm 34 and apparently still amused by the same things as a 16 year old.

I kept trying to get LJ to jump, but he was quite hesitant, claiming since he was shorter than me, it would be harder for him to get on the roof. Jamie urged him on saying, "Oh come on, Bone will give you a boost up."

Ah, yes, the boost up. That most ancient and reliable of methods for hoisting a human being skyward. The boost up is performed by clasping one's hands together in a virtually unbreakable grip, then turning them upside down like a stirrup. The climber puts his/her foot into the hands of the booster-upper and is lifted to higher ground.

It is unclear who invented the boost up. Some think Noah gave his wife a boost up into the ark. Others say no, that the ark had that big handicapped-accessible ramp. They surmise that perhaps Aaron gave the first boost up when Moses planted a dusty sandal in his brother's hands to get started up Sinai.

However it began, the boost up has endured for ages. I don't remember anyone ever teaching me how to do the boost up, it just seems I've always known. Maybe it's as instinctive as survival, blinking, or turning the channel whenever a Pauly Shore movie comes on. Someone needs to get somewhere vertically, there are no ladders or footholds around, your hands automatically go into position.

With the knuckles acting as a locking mechanism, not allowing the hands to slip apart, the boost up is virtually foolproof. I've never seen one fail.

I mean, think about it. Have you ever heard of someone getting injured and when you ask what happened they say, "Well, Bill was trying to give me a boost up, but it just didn't work?"

I didn't think so.

Anyway, after I had jumped about four or five times Saturday, LJ finally decided to give it a go. He stood on the rail of the pier while I proffered a trusty stirrup. And while the story would probably be a bit more entertaining if there had been a mishap, that did not happen. My friend clambered onto the roof, the beneficiary of another successful boost up.

Accidents happen. Ladders fall, feet slip, people go hunting with Dick Cheney. But the boost up never fails.

That's pretty much it for my weekend. I'm not sure what's on tap for next weekend, but after watching Scott Baio tonight, there may be a cuddle party in my near future.

"Man, it's a hot one, like seven inches from the mid-day sun..."