Apparently, I turned fifty sometime over the last few days. Years. Old. God, what did you think I meant?
You know what else turned 50 this year? The 25th amendment. Just an observation.
Anyway. I celebrated by riding in the middle seat of a rented Ford Explorer for eight hours with two Labradors in the seat behind me breathing with such exuberance that I could taste it. Did you even notice that I didn’t say where I was going in that sentence? Pay attention! It’s like you don’t care about me!
We went to Manitou.
Manitou! Manitou–oo–oo, now we are here, in MAN…A…TOOOOOO!
Quit acting like you understand that reference. The first one is a town in Colorado. The second is the blockbuster greek god musical roller rink romance Xanadu, with Olivia Newton-John and Not Andy Gibb, who I thought it was for all this time, but now know is Michael Beck from The Warriors, which was not a homoerotic bondage musical even though it looks like it should be one.
Oh right – Manitou/Xanadu. Ma/Xa nah/nah/ tu/du. Get it? Do I have to do everything? Here:
I just spent 20 minutes researching why they didn’t cast Andy Gibb in Xanadu, in case you were feeling unproductive.
Anyway. Fifty. I spent the weekend reading Insomnia for the second time in a cabin in Green Mountain Falls, which is close to Manitou, but not close enough to have a dispensary.
I did not go into a dispensary. I especially did not go into one with my sister while our mother waited in the car. We are super thoughtful that way. Remember the time we didn’t take her to a piercing/tattoo shop called “Freaks” to not get her ears pierced by a guy not named Roadkill who did not have tattooed eyebrows and spinal dermal piercings? It wasn’t like that.
If I had, I am certain they would have taken our licenses to make sure we weren’t felons before ushering us into the main part of the building where were given a brief tour and we asked several questions of well-informed professionals before we had to dance on a pool table for a guy named Guillermo in exchange for a brick of weed.
But none of that happened.
I did spend a lot of time reading on a balcony with a beautiful view, and taking invigorating 30 second walks uphill that ended with me trying not to be conspicuous about the fact that I was dying from lack of oxygen, which is not as funny after 50.
I read Insomnia, which is, not surprisingly, about a man who has insomnia, while I had insomnia, which is like, meta-ironic, probably. I also couldn’t help but notice some similarities between the book that was published by Stephen King in 1994 to the current political climate. The main character, Ralph, starts losing more and more sleep until his consciousness is raised to the point where he can see auras and can tell who is sick and what they are hiding and there is a nasty little creature whose entire purpose is to fuck up people’s lives and kill them just because he can, and there’s a red guy who lives in a tower. The entire town of Derry, Maine is divided to the point of violence over ideology and rampant ignorance and there’s a hallucination of a talking red catfish in a dress knitting with entrails, although to be fair, they did fire Bannon.
Green Mountain Falls seems like a great place to
hide live and stockpile hummus.
As is traditional in our culture, I will be concluding the celebration tomorrow with a ritual known as a colonoscopy, which, one could argue, has similarities to today’s internet climate. I spent today drinking something called “Suprep” which tastes like salty lemon powerade that has been left on the dryer for a week with a dryer sheet floating in it. On the upside, I get to have all the non-red jello and chicken broth I want. Chicken broth doesn’t come in red, fortunately, which simplifies things. And there is some other stuff going on that I won’t share, but it absolutely bears a resemblance to the internet climate.
You’re looking for a point again, aren’t you? Well, stop it. Have you learned nothing? I know I haven’t….