I haven’t been particularly excited about leaving marketers’ “most coveted age bracket” (although this guy thinks the boomers are changing that). I like knowing companies spend millions of dollars trying to figure out how to please me and how to catch my attention. It’s like dating a Rockefeller.
But not any more. Tomorrow I hit 35. No longer lumped with the 20-somethings. No longer able to tell people “early 30s.”
So, I’ve been trying to curb the effects of aging by refusing to act my age.
Per these clips discovered by local law enforcement on an abandoned iphone in Buckhead, I’ve been encouraging fellow distinguished members of the GA bar to engage in strange behavior involving poles and microphones:
Make that “formerly distinguished.”
I found signs of abuse the next day on my legs and back: indicia that this activity was not without danger:
If ever there were iron clad proof that this behavior was not voluntary, this is decidedly it. Awful:
I like how the dude in the glasses doesn’t even know where the screen showing the lyrics is. It’s like he’s channeling Bret Michaels:
And if ever there were evidence of crossing into the “mid 30s,” it’s breaking out the Biz Markie:
I’m hoping to leave the office at lunchtime to do something I didn’t do a single time during my 34th year: go to the movie theater. I’ve missed it.
Hell, maybe I’ll get a senior discount.