How Not To Act Old

Dear Tide:

I am writing to say what an excellent product you have! I’ve used it all of my married life, as my mom always told me it was the best. Now that I am in my forties I find it even better!

About a month ago, I spilled some red wine on my new white blouse. My inconsiderate and uncaring husband started to belittle me about how clumsy I was, and generally started becoming a pain in the neck. One thing led to another and somehow I ended up with his blood on my new white blouse! I grabbed my bottle of Tide with bleach alternative, and to my surprise and satisfaction, all of the stains came out!

In fact, the stains came out so well the detectives who came by yesterday told me that the DNA tests on my blouse were inconclusive and then my attorney called and said that I was no longer considered a suspect in the disappearance of my husband.

What a relief! Going through menopause is bad enough without being a murder suspect! I thank you, once again, for having such a great product.

Well, gotta go. I have to write a letter to the Hefty bag people.

Okay, Rolf and I barely had a chance to stretch our legs and catch our breath after a grueling winter spent kissing in the hammock writing How Not To Act Old, The Book, when we find ourselves forced back to active duty, covering the international phenomenon of Susan Boyle.

You’d think that a chimpanzee had recited Hamlet, or a statue of the Virgin Mary had climbed down from her pedestal and said Mass, so stunned is everyone that a 48-year-old woman — make that a 48-year-old not-so-attractive and not-so-thin woman — might actually have some talent. Might have, for reasons related to home and family, chosen to stay home in her village rather than hoof it to Hollywood. Might deserve our attention.

And just when the world was ready to round up all 48-year-old women and take them back behind the barn and shoot them! What are they good for, anyway? They can’t have babies anymore. They’re not sexy. At work they’re just annoying. And let’s face it, unlike Susan Boyle, most of them can’t even sing.

I, along with the divine Lisa Schwarzbaum over at EW and millions of other people, found tears springing to my eyes when listening to Susan Boyle. And then I slapped myself. Of course, she’s fabulous. Naturally, I’m pleased that her light has finally emerged and that she’s meeting with public acclaim.

But let’s not act as if she’s a freak or a miracle. When all the Susan Boyles routinely get a turn on stage and when the world expects them to be interesting and valuable rather than a joke, then I’ll cry tears of joy.

Look at poor Rolf sitting there.  Every day, he comes out of the villa, perches on the cliff, positions his fingers over the keyboard, and stares out to sea, waiting, hoping, for my yacht to pull into view.

He never goes in the pool, he never rides the jet skis….all he wants to do is get to work on How Not To Act Old, The Book.

But does it ever happen?  No.  And why not?  Because you’ve all been taking too much of my time.  A blog post here, a story in Money Magazine inspired by HNTAO  there…. ….why, this very minute, I’m overdue at a wine tasting for my friend Gail Belsky’s new book on how to shake up your life.

Never fear, Rolf.  As of right now — okay, well, right after the wine tasting — I’m going to shake it up myself.  I am casting off the daily demands of the workaday world and hurrying to our retreat far from the madding crowd  where it will be nothing but work work work in order to get the mostly-new and entirely-fabulous book version of How Not To Act Old ready to be published by Harper Collins in August.

Till then, dear readers, try not to yell into your cell phones or overindulge your email habits.  If you’re older than our new President, don’t admit it.  And if you slip up, don’t worry, Rolf and I will start blogging again next summer, and when the book comes out in August, it will solve all your acting-old problems, and much much more.

First off, let me say that I think Tracey Ullmann is a genius.  She’s one of my personal heroines, plus she very much does not look or act old — and at the same time, does not seem to be trying to look or act ridiculously young.  As I said, the woman is a genius.

What’s the fabulous Tracey got to do with poor ridiculous Andy?  Everything, as you’ll see in the video below.

You may think that there’s no chance you’re anything like Andy Rooney.  You would never, after all, rant about why pencils are just as good as computers or try to make a case for the revival of the apron.

But you may inadvertently be channeling Andy if you carry on about any of the following:

• The ridiculousness of contemporary baby names, epitomized by the child — you swear: your sister-in-law the nurse saw it with her own eyes — who was named Gonorrhea.
• The failure of young people today to move out of their parents’ houses, get married, and assume adult responsibilities before the age of, say, 43.
• The inflated cost of handbags.

All I can say is: Put down the pencil, Andy.  The only one who should ever channel Andy Rooney is Tracey Ullmann.  Here’s why:

I saw the first minute of Who’s Nailin’ Paylin this morning on the home page of The Daily Beast and I was so tickled I couldn’t resist posting a version of my very own, especially since “Sarah Palin MILF” seems to be one of the main search terms that drives people to HNTAO.  I can only imagine how disappointed they must be to find me.  Go to the Beast today too for the amazing story of the lost tapes of Madonna, another iconic over-40 woman I love to hate and vice versa.

More fodder for Palinphobics: The hilarious new photoshop book Terminatrix: The Sarah Palin Chronicles, featuring SP as Joan of Arc, Betsy Ross and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Okay, here’s XXX Sarah…..ooops, “Sara”:

My fashionista daughter in Paris forwarded me a link to Advanced Style, a blog on chic into one’s golden years, or silver years, or wizened years, or something.

Thanks for thinking of me and HNTAO, sweetie, though I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted by the viewpoint of this blog.  On the one hand, gee, it’s nice when someone, anyone, notices that people over 40ish exist, much less applauds them for their superior style. When that applause is public and coming from the Evil Young, it’s truly a breakthrough event.

And yet, do I detect a whiff of patronization here? A hint of: Yeah, those silver-headed wizened people, they’ve got individual style, sometimes even chic, but they’re not truly hot and cool like us.

I was disappointed not to find a single person on the blog who I aspired to dress like, though I’m always on the lookout for old people style role models.  The best one I ever found was an ancient Asian man I spotted on a beach in California, wearing a straw hat, a white shirt, black pants, and brown sandals.  Now that’s authentic and eternal chic.

I created this poll basically because WordPress just added this capability, and in the interest of Not Acting Old I have to immediately adopt all new technology and show off my blogging wizardry. Plus, it was really fun to try and drill down to the meaning of life, or at least the meaning of why people visit How Not To Act Old. Vote early and, well, not often, because the program won’t let you do that.

At 13, I aspired have a figure like Twiggy’s — and I wasn’t far off, either. Twiggy and I were both built like, well, twigs, and keeping that thin was disgustingly effortless.

Well, things have changed, and even Twiggy isn’t immune from middle-aged spread. She limits her diet to one chocolate square at a time, she says, and “one pudding a month” or risks bloating up like every other over-40.

There goes the myth of the naturally thin person who stays that way forever. If even Twiggy porks up, what hope is there for the rest of us? I’m thinking of the best diet pills here…. Or, I can switch it up and try the Waist Training Center that my sister keeps yaping about! 🙂 I love you sis!

Extra non-diet tip: Don’t reference Twiggy in relation to thinness, weight loss, or modeling. Young people won’t have any idea who you’re talking about. Kate Moss, maybe. Doutzen or Agyness (born Laura) Deyn: Now you’re talking.

I know that none of my readers are that middle-aged guy who attacked Zac Efron, star of High School Musical 3 (and also, reportedly, 1 and 2). I’m sure that you would never do anything like that, no matter how badly you might want to.

All of you know that beating up rich, famous young people is wrong, no matter how annoying they may be. Yes, even when they totally deserve it, even when they out and out provoke you, like Kenley has been doing every freaking Wednesday night on Project Runway for how many weeks now? I mean, that voice! Those hair baubles! That whine! Could you just strangle her, or what?

Whew. Calm down, Pam. Deep breathing. She doesn’t deserve to die, just because she feels so totally sorry for herself even though she’s young and thin and pretty and is going to Bryant Park instead of much more talented and deserving contestants such as Jerrell. But if she wins next week, I may not be able to keep myself from lunging at the screen.

In case you’re yearning for a masochistic fix, check out Kenley’s audition video.

This morning’s Today Show brings news of Steve Connolly (that’s NOT him, by the way, in the picture), a 53-year old Rhode Island manufacturing engineer who thinks he might have grown the world’s largest pumpkin, at 1900 pounds. Connolly calls competitive pumpkin-growing “just middle-aged guys having fun.”

Until about eight minutes ago, I didn’t know that competitive pumpkin-growing even existed. I figured I’d google “giant pumpkin,” this guy Connolly would pop up, and that would be the end of it. But now I know that the “giant pumpkin community” spans the globe, that it’s supported by dozens of sites detailing everything from giant pumpkin growing techniques to the doings of the annual convention, and that indeed most giant pumpkin enthusiasts seem to be men in their fifties.

I guess this is what happens when the kids are grown, the mortgage is paid off, and you’ve decided not to get a dog or a divorce. Everything else has been scratched off your life list, and what’s left? I guess instead of having an affair, leaving you, or getting hair plugs, I’ll just try to grow a pumpkin as big as a fucking house, honey. Don’t wait up.