I had two rude reminders of how time is whizzing by here in my 40’s. First, I randomly put Peter Gabriel’s So on my kid’s CD player while we played a card game together. He really loved it and did a helicopter dance to Red Rain and Sledgehammer. But then, I went and looked at the back cover and realized that the album is 27 years old already. I hadn’t realized it was so old. I still remember the seminal Gabriel video “Shock the Monkey” from the days when the ‘M’ in MTV meant ‘Music’ and not ‘Megalomaniac’. And, naturally, the claymation classic for Sledgehammer. I have always been a Gabriel fan from his early Genesis stuff particularly Selling England By The Pound and his solo stuff as well. Hell, I even bought all the Passion CDs related to the Martin Scorsese‘s movie The Last Temptation of Christ. Admittedly, the quality kind of nose-dived after Us but there was a decent run there. Anyway, what I was getting at was that the album still sounds fresh and engaged. I still love the crispness of Sledgehammer and Big Time, the sad, angry Red Rain, the romantic In Your Eyes…all classics in the Gabriel catalog. But to think that this was made while I was still in high school was sort of a depressing reminder tonight.
The second rude reminder was when trying on suits to pack my bags for my trip tomorrow. If you are, like me, entering your 40’s and haven’t worn a suit in several months (or perhaps years), I’d avoid it if I were you. That’s what I did until now, almost the last minute, and the result was predictably depressing. To my defense, I have had this knee injury that has drastically reduced my sports activities from 10-15 hours a week to none and that hasn’t helped. But, I didn’t reduce the intake and have paid the price of several expensive suits and nearly all my dress shirts. So, do I pretend like in six months of post-surgery running, I’ll magically shed all the flab? Well, I suppose I can cling to that illusion for a few more months. But realistically, I have this real mental block when it comes to anything resembling a diet. Perhaps its a sexist/macho kind of thing or perhaps it is just ‘gourmandise’, but I feel that my reward for putting up with Parisian traffic and attitude is that I have some of the best food and wine on the planet all around me. Let’s just say that the jury is still out on how I am going to deal with this closet crisis…Getting older, I just refuse to accept that my metabolism and energy have irrevocably slowed down and that I am on the descending side of the hill. I feel so young in my head, just wish my body would catch back up…any guys out there (or girls for that matter) with the same kinds of issues that have a piece of advice – always welcome