Who You Callin’ Old?

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas

I’m weird. Most people my age (early 70s) don’t act as I do. I write funny to make people laugh. I laugh at my writings, which makes me forget for a moment what a cesspool the world can be and helps me maintain my natural optimism. I don’t like to gossip (well, not most of the time, anyway) and I can talk about other things besides arthritis, cataracts, my sore back, and my latest medical procedure. Politically, I stand left of center, and I am being pushed farther left every day. I take classes, and I can still maintain an A-/B+ grade point average.

AMC Loews’ meager senior discount helps me to see some of the latest movies in the comfort of a multi-layered multiplex theater. If the film is in IMAX 3D, even better. I’m in cinema heaven.

I get movie star crushes and sigh like a teenager when I see a hot guy up there on the screen. So what if my hair is now mostly gray? The guy on the screen doesn’t know that he has aroused the hormones of someone old enough to be his grandmother, and my daydreams of youth and wild romance, while everything is chasing us and exploding, aren’t hurting anyone. Let me have my illusions. Thank you.

I even love that part before an IMAX 3D movie starts where they shoot the numbers out at you, and you feel like the next one is going to hit you on the nose. That is SO cool!

I don’t have that much time left to make a difference in the world. The first two-thirds of my life went by before I noticed, and I got behind. I have to catch up.

So here I am, trying to start a second career as a writer. Writing is fun. You don’t have to leave the house to write something, and nobody cares how you look unless you’re at a book signing or on a video or some other place where you have to impress people. Even then, nobody expects most of us to look glamorous. We’re writers, for Pete’s sake, not movie actors. We’re doing well if all our clothes match and our hair is combed.

Last week, they released a movie that is the latest in the Halloween franchise. For forty years I have avoided watching more than a few minutes of any of the Halloween films. As much as I appreciate a good horror movie, I don’t go for slasher films. If I have to see blood, let it be from nothing more than a paper cut on my finger.

For some reason even I don’t understand, I decided I was dying to see Halloween 2018. Jamie Lee Curtis reprised her role as Laurie, and the reviews were saying she knocked it out of the park. I love good acting, and that tempted me enough to buy a ticket online. In the meantime, I had to catch up, so I watched the original Halloween on Amazon Video. I was happy to see that it wasn’t as violent as I thought it was going to be, but it was scarier than a letter from the IRS at tax time delivered by the ghost of that teacher you hated. I appreciated that.

It was great to see Jamie Lee Curtis, who is now a senior citizen, battling evil with everything she has, including excellent acting and effective firearms. Michael Myers is also a senior citizen now, but age does not seem to have diminished his power to go around killing people and scaring the stuffing out of everyone else. An old, ugly mask does wonders for one’s image. THIS senior citizen was sitting in the audience, putting my hands over my eyes and occasionally squealing like a teenager during the scary parts.

It was fun.

I’m with Jamie Lee Curtis. Age is not going to put me in a rocking chair. I intend to rage against the dying of the light until the light finally dies and takes me with it. I hope that won’t be for a good while yet.