I turned 50 years old today, and, in keeping with the philosophy that you should never stop learning, I learned that there’s actually a word for it: Quinquagenarian. So I got that going for me. Which is nice.

Anyway, I felt that this would be an auspicious occasion to take a few moments to pass on a few priceless words of wisdom to you all. So I sat here and thought . . . and thought . . . and thought . . . and finally realized that I really don’t know squat. Now I know what you’re all thinking: “Wow, I never realized how much he had in common with Socrates,” and thank you. So kind of you to notice. Anyway, I thought about it, and realized that I wouldn’t really be telling most of you anything new (after all, you have the good taste and common sense to read this blog in the first place), so a post like that would really just be a waste of time and effort on all of our parts.

Next, I thought of writing a reflective post, contemplating the various triumphs I’ve experienced over the first half of my life (now that I’ve officially reached the half-way point), but my overwhelming humility rebelled at the thought. I just couldn’t bear the thought of the feelings of inadequacy that would surely overwhelm my beloved readership. I’m afraid such a post would just be bringing my throng of fans too close to the sun, so to speak (by the way, 32 1/2 is a throng isn’t it?). Also, since I was naked (calm down girls) for most of my greatest triumphs, telling you about them might be kind of uncomfortable.

Then, I realized that most of the important lessons I’ve learned in my life came, not from my dazzling array of deeply, deeply important, and monumental accomplishments, but rather, from the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” as the bard put it, or, as I myself have expressed it on numerous occasions, “the phenomenally stupid things I’ve done in my life”. Besides, who doesn’t like a good disaster story?

So here they are, a few tales of moronic adventure from various areas of my life, and the lessons learned therefrom:

Sports

Football:

In high school, I played football for Northeastern High School. My freshman year, I was 4′ 11″ and weighed 99 lbs. The coach was embarrassed that someone my size would try to play football, so he decided it was funny to put me in the tackling drills with the Seniors. I got the living crap beaten out of me, but I always got back up (not always quickly, but I always got up and got back in line). Every time I did, he just got angrier and angrier. This was the first inkling I had of my natural talent for infuriating and frustrating authority figures (a talent I refined during my 20 years in the Air Force). I also learned that I am not a quitter. Just think, if I had quit, I would never have risen to be Captain of the team my senior year (our third consecutive winless season).

Lessons learned: Any putz can be a winner. To keep being a loser and still go back year after year takes grit, determination, and character. Also, sports are over-rated.

Softball:

After my high school football experience and some unpleasant experiences with squadron softball leagues, I resolved never to participate in organized sports again, or even play a sport that I couldn’t play while drinking. This resolution led to a game of Beerball while deployed to Turkey. A bunch of us got a bunch of beer and had a softball game in a gravel field. Not being a beer drinker, I was playing 3rd base, and keeping the pitcher and myself supplied with Jack & Cokes. I smoothed a spot in the gravel just outside the base line for my drink, and after each pitch, would step out and have a sip. All was going well, until some smartass hit a line shot down the 3rd base line. This was several innings in, so my reaction time was a little slow, but I was still with it enough to realize my drink was in danger. Now, even in my heyday, I couldn’t have caught that ball, even Pete Rose couldn’t have caught it (at least not if he was in the condition I was in), but I felt it incumbent upon me to at least try to save my drink, so I leaned over that way a little bit. At that point, gravity kicked in, and I just kept going, sliding to a stop, facedown in the gravel. However, all’s well that ends well. Although my face took a pretty severe scraping, my drink was saved, and everyone was amazed that I dove for that ball. I saw no reason to disabuse them of that notion, and thus added another chapter to my legend.

Lesson learned: Sometimes bad stuff works out for the best. Also, gravity is not my friend, and the only safe place for a drink on a baseball diamond in inside you.

 

Romance

Shortly after my divorce, I was feeling kind of insecure and unsure of myself. I was spending my off-duty time delivering pizza, and there was a very nice, very pretty girl named Kelsey who worked there as a cook. I was pretty taken with her, but it took me weeks to get up the nerve to ask her out. Finally, my chance came. I was working in the prep area, chopping onions, and she walked in. We made small talk for a couple minutes, and I had finally screwed my courage to the sticking point. My next words were going to be “Hey, would you like to go out sometime?” (Okay, so I was not always the silver-tongued devil I am now), when she said, “Have you heard my news?”

“No,” I replied, “what news?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t heard.”

“Oh, you know, nobody ever tells me anything,” you know, playing it cool.

“I’m getting married!” She was practically bursting with excitement.

I, on the other hand, was standing there, with tears of frustration and disappointment streaming down my face as I stammered, “Congratulations!” I was so glad that I was cutting onions, so that at least I could play off the tears. She left, completely oblivious to my devastation.

Lesson learned: Onions are your friend in emotional situations. Also, don’t get too wound up about things.

While stationed in England, I became friends with a number of young, attractive female troops. We’d go out drinking and partying, and they knew that I could be trusted to keep the wolves off of them, walk them home, tuck them in, and leave. We always had a good time, but it did lead to a good friend asking me if I was gay, because I was running around with all these good-looking young girls, but wasn’t scoring with any of them. Lest anyone think that I was being virtuous or anything, it wasn’t that I wasn’t so inclined, but there’s something about a sweet, drunk, beautiful, young girl looking up at you with adoring eyes from the bed that you’ve just tucked her into, after puking her guts up into the trash can that you got for her, and hearing her say, “You’re the best guy, Moon. You remind me so much of my dad,” that tends to dampen any latent amorous intentions you might be harboring. Drunk girls can be so cruel. On the other hand, one evening, one of them brought the ultimate target of my affection (at least that’s what I’m calling it) up to meet me because I was so cool. That’s right. Thanks to my propensity for at least a minimum of decency, I met the love of my life, the lovely and in-all-ways-awesome Jess. You can bet that I made damn sure she didn’t compare me to her dad. I pursued her overtly, and unrelentingly until I wore her down enough to marry me.

Lesson learned: Decency can be disappointing in the short term, but always pays off in the end. Also, when you find a good thing, hang on tight.

Academics

When I graduated high school, I, like all kids, knew everything. So, when I took a couple of classes at the local college, I put about as much effort into it as I had put into high school. Until, of course, I remembered that I didn’t even have to go. I quit going to one class (English Comp), due to, much as it pains me to admit it, teenage arrogance and overconfidence. I stuck with American History, and, with the minimal effort, got a C. Flash forward 30 years. I go back to school, and, having realized years ago, that not only did I not know everything, I didn’t even know which questions to ask, I decided to apply myself. I’ve worked damned hard to do the best I can, and I’ve gotten nothing less than an A in every class (of course, I’m not too proud to admit that in some classes it’s more due to extra credit and a forgiving teacher), so far anyway. I’m pretty proud of it. The frustrating thing is that, thanks to screwing around in that history class, I’ll never manage to have a 4.0 GPA. Now, I know that seems like no big deal (and I realize that they don’t put GPA’s on the diploma), but still, it’s aggravating to work this hard and to know that if this were a race, I’ve basically shot my big toes off 30 years ago.

Lesson learned: Always do your best. Not doing your best will always bite you in the ass. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, it will get it’s teeth into you. Also, it’s never too late to pull your head out of your ass.

Finally

To finish this off, I’ll cease regaling you with tales of my life, and just list a few things that I’ve come to believe are true:

Salad is not food. Salad is food for the food. Eating salad circumvents the food chain and screws up the circle of life.

Nobody ever quits smoking. They may stop doing it, but they never stop wanting it.

Don’t wait until you do something stupid to do something nice for your spouse. A preemptive floral or chocolate strike can lessen the impact of your next (inevitable) screw-up.

If you don’t feel at least a little bit dirty after having sex, you’re probably doing it wrong.

Finally Finally

I’ll let Randy Newman (one of my heroes) have the last word: I’m Different.

Okay, Really Finally

Thanks to all the friends and family who’ve loved/liked/tolerated me, or at the very least, not beat my ass when I had it coming over the years. Thanks to you for reading this. I hope it gave you a laugh. Most of all thanks to my wife, the long-suffering and much-beloved Jess.