How Not To Act Old

So I accidentally watched four minutes of MTV Cribs today, mainly because I’m home alone and I don’t know how to work the array of television, On Demand, TiVO, and sound system remotes littering the coffee table. All right, all right, I know that makes me old all by itself.

Anyway, I’m aware that MTV Cribs is not a new show, mostly because the episode I happened upon was called Best of the Decade. I had to watch for only about a minute and a half, however, before I was ready to check myself into a nursing home, or maybe do the world a favor and retire to that great Crib in the Sky.

I felt, in other words, like giving up, because I am obviously seriously out of touch with what it takes to become rich and successful, much less what to do with vast wealth in the highly unlikely event that I might acquire it.

I mean, I definitely would not spend — what would it be, millions? kajillions? — on a house so large I needed a Segue to get around it, like Shaq, or on a bathroom with a solid gold toilet seat, like Russell and Kimora Lee Simmons (now divorced, lest you think that gold toilet seats buy happiness).

OK, so Shaq is 8 foot 2, and I can’t hope to compete with that, and Russell Simmons is a rap producer, which is probably not in my talent set either. But Kimora Lee is hot and skinny, which theoretically — ah, who are we kidding? That ain’t happening either. Nor is it likely that I will tattoo stars down my flank, win any pro snowboarding competitions, or break glasses all over the kitchen floor for the sheer pleasure of making my girlfriend clean them up.

All of which leads me to believe, I will never be rich. Sure, I’m smart, and sophisticated, and driven, and talented, and experienced, and well-connected, and disciplined, and easy to work with, and all those other things I mistakenly believed for decades would win me fame and fortune. Which is exactly why I don’t have a diamond-encrusted skull on my museum-quality pipe organ.

There was obviously only one logical solution to this grim epiphany. Yes, you got it: I summoned all my considerable powers and changed the channel. Now I’m sitting here watching that new Ray Romano show about the three old guys, Men of a Certain Age. These characters have failing careers, bad relationships, screwed-up kids, ballooning waistlines, and itchy asses.

I feel cheerier already.