Wednesday, June 29, 2011


It finally happened. The conversation I knew would come eventually.

My Irish Catholic Grandfather got on the other end of the line: "Happy Birthday!" in his most enthusiastic geriatric.

Pleasantries were exchanged.

Then, "So, you're heading into middle age now..."

For the record, I just turned 29, and the average life expectancy of men in the "Western World" is 73. I digress.

"So, you're heading into middle age now. When are you going to settle down and stop with all this film stuff. You don't want to be having kids when you're 50".

He's probably right about the last part, I mean, who wants to be changing baby nappies while a nurse changes yours? The majority of his points though, I just can't stomach.

When is the right time to let go of your dreams and start procreating?

Aren't we over populated? Most certainly.

Are we perhaps over-populated with people who want to be "filmmakers"? Probably.

Either way, he may have a point. But he is making the case to the 90% who place stability over chasing the life they want. The real estate over the raconteur.

Then again, how long is too long? Willie Nelson didn't have hist first hit until he was 51.

Grandpa may be right. But not about me.


P.S. I was flicking through an old notebook, as you do when you get a year older, and thought I would share something I found scratched on a page in my barely legible handwriting. I think it was my attempt at an opening line for a stand-up comedy routine:

“I have a good friend named Walt. He grew up in a naval family. He’s a deaf mute but he speaks using semaphore. I like him but I hate it when he talks during the movie.”

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