Old and Decrepit

These past few days have given me a bit of insight into various aspects of being old.
Mainly, though, it's convinced me that I *really* hope I don't become a senile old asshole that loses touch with time.
And though I've often reserved the term "asshole" as a title of pride, in the case of growing old, I'd think of it more as the act of lacking class and style... which brings me to the incident of the Old Bag of Sheng Kee:
Whilst waiting patiently with my father at the Sheng Kee bakery in a poorly-managed service line snaking all the way around the bakery, I had the misfortune of encountering a particuarly irritating member of the Adult Diaper-wearing community. This old crone had the nerve to cut in front of me, completely pretend nothing happened, and ignore all polite coughs and *ahems.* And at this point, if you're asking me to give her the benefit of the doubt for a hearing aid malfunction, you can forget it. Of all the nerve - and that's not the end of it! Damn prune got up to the counter took for-FUCKING-ever to pay while she was fumbling around for exact change. AHHRHRHGGGH! Can't believe the way some old farts abuse the supposed respect that age demands. I can only hope that experience will teach me to take the higher road when my time for old fartdom comes. A LINE IS NOT A PLACE FOR MERGING TRAFFIC, LADY!
Speaking of merging traffic... few words can aptly describe how much I *loathe* the road. As advertised in the last entry of the Bubonic Plague Luncheonette, my third, and final, road test on this permit will take place on June 7th, and as such, my father's been insistent that I "practice until I'm sick of it!" True to his word, he's been taking me on hour and a half drives every day since I arrived in CA. Mind you, while I'm greatly appreciative of the good intentions behind all this, it's been somewhat taxing, as I've not had a moment's peace during the day - mainly because I'm just far too Asian and therefore too much of a pussy to say "no Dad, I don't want to drive all the way to Emeryville and back just for practice today, and thanks, but I don't want to drive around El Cerrito to note the problem spots on the potential test route." That's another drawback, I'm sure, to having been raised Asian and to have the fear of elders drilled into you - at least, in my case, simply the fear of my own Asian parents. I'm telling you, Quentin Tarantino had to get his Kill Bill 2 character Pai Mei from *somewhere* (though sadly, in lieu of kung fu, I'll have to content myself with the Tai Chi exercises my parents perform at my mother's behest). Ah yes, my mother's deep-seated beliefs in eastern medicine - there's something else to put the fear of Asians into you. Alas, after growing up on a combination of herbal remedies and allowances of "western medicine," I've established a very unfortunate standard that "approximately 80% of everything that mom says about medicine is automatically wrong." I feel absolutely terrible about saying this, but what else do you say to a woman who believes that "allergies are a cold that you can't cure?" This by no means discounts her prowess in the use of remedies and curatives - simply that the reasoning behind it lacks a solid foundation in modern biology and smatters of an irrational "all western medicine is bad" attitude.
But hey, who am I to argue when her herbals managed to singlehandedly cease the incessent pain in my lower back that even extra-strength Advil couldn't? That's definitely something else that comes with age - being able to pick out the stuff that works, and I have to give mom credit for that. She's one savvy lady.
Another thing about getting old, I'm told, is that you hurt a helluva lot. And you're given rights to loudly complain about it :)
Alas, not even being 21 yet, I was forced to "shut my hole" and try to make myself comfortable. Gads, if I've got this many back problems now, I don't even wanna think about the way things will be when I'm 20 years older. At least there'll be the benefit of the cane - always something at hand to whack insolent kids and yip-dogs. Hell, maybe I'll even forgo the standard cane and go for a golf club; get some good distance on those punt-puppies.
But certainly, I assure you, my dislikes for children, yippy canines, and some young women are unilateral and stem from my deep-seated desire to put all the things I've ever disliked into shipping crates and sending them off to their own special brand of hell (or, the Stege sewer plant in El Cerrito, whichever is fouler). It's certainly not something that comes with age - though, like the finest of wines, I suppose it only gets better as it gets older. I'm pretty sure I'll never despise the young simply because their experiences don't mirror my own - I'll just pick out the ones I like and my golf club can have the rest. As my good friend Avi once said, "nostalgia ain't what it used to be, and it never was." I suppose I've truly come to terms with that more and more as I watch things that I love and value slip away to change. But such is life - it moves on, and I can't hang on to all the aspects of the past, or I'll become that which I fear the most - I'll know I've stopped growing. I'd only be lying to myself if I said "back in the day, nothing was as shitcake as it is now." Frankly, everyone and everything has always had its urinal mint-qualities, and it's only through temporary blindness (usually due to love, hope, or an errant piss-splash to the eye) that we delude ourselves into believing otherwise.
I suppose thus is the drawback to walking so terribly close to the goth line - sometimes I look at the world through such piss-colored lenses that I worry that one morning I'll wake up and try to put on eyeliner before stepping out. Somebody please stop me before that happens, all right?

Further bulletins as events warrant.

P.S. Hey, anyone familiar with the San Francisco area want to give me a lead on a good goth club in the city? I've got a 21st birthday to be celebrating in not too long, and damned if I'm going to be celebrating it by myself with a glass of DiSaronno at home.