First off, I wanted to take some time to talk about something that Iâ€™d say 99 percent of my readers may not care about. But how many times do I get to use my column for something not completely ridiculous?
So here it goes: I have a new member of my extended family, little baby Nathan Andrew. Congrats to my cousins Eileen and Craig on their beautiful baby boy.
I do have my reasons for bringing this up. First, baby talk is like pulling out a giant chick magnet. Thanks, Nate. Iâ€™ll explain that to you when youâ€™re older.
Second, Iâ€™m old. Baby Nathan sent me spinning into a quarter-life crisis thatâ€™s been festering for some time now.
Do you realize, Iâ€™m one of few undergraduates left who was born in the â€˜80s.
Iâ€™ve witnessed five presidencies. I remember when Green Day didnâ€™t suck.
And Iâ€™m sure a lot of you will just write me off because, in reality, Iâ€™m not that old. But for the first time in my life Iâ€™m starting to feel not youthful and jubilant.
No fear though. Iâ€™m still funny. (Arrogant much?)
So you know those giant warehouses with the wall-to-wall trampolines? You know, the places in which you host 8-year-oldâ€™s birthday parties? Good, glad weâ€™re on the same pages.
Those look so fun. Like, you canâ€™t understand the joy the thought of spending a day there brings to my soul. Itâ€™s the same joy a little boy has when he first realizes he can shoot BB guns at small animals … not like I did that.
But one of several â€“â€“ maybe all â€“â€“ things would happen if I attended little Billyâ€™s eighth birthday: I would break myself, as my calcium deficient diet isnâ€™t really helping my bones; I would break through the equipment; or god forbid, Iâ€™d squish the life out of little Billy.
2. Fart jokes
As the end of college nears, Iâ€™m seriously afraid of exposing potential employers to my complete and utter immaturity. (Maybe this shouldnâ€™t be in my column â€¦)
This is troublesome because, as my newsroom comrades can attest to, thereâ€™s no silly joke thatâ€™s below my standards. Weâ€™re talking some really lowbrow stuff here, flatulence jokes included.
Apparently Iâ€™m too old to have a pre-pubescent sense of humor. And like Blink 182 says, â€œNo one likes you when youâ€™re 23.â€
This may come as a shock, but you know why men as they grow older start wearing those ugly Cosby-like sweaters? Because they are cold.
Weird right? But seriously, I used to be able to just go out in a blizzard with a T-shirt and flip-flops. Now a light wind and Iâ€™m reaching for my parka.
On the bright side, I can predict inclement weather with my joints now. Sweet.
This goes out to former Collegian editor Matt Minich: Bald is indeed beautiful.
Thatâ€™s easy to say for you people; youâ€™ve got a nice full head of hair. The only bald people who believe that are those in denial and Bruce Willis.
And Iâ€™m not dogginâ€™ on my hairless homies. I too am losing. And itâ€™s sad.
Is it too early to try Rogaine?
5. Aches and pains
I wouldnâ€™t call myself a specimen of health. Can you blame me? Iâ€™m in this hell of concrete walls and no windows dubbed Student Media for like eight hours a day.
So when I work out ÂÂâ€“â€“ god help us all â€“â€“ it hurts in the morning. Bad. Really bad.
Even when I do something leisurely like golfing, I ache.
But as you get older, it gets worse. I stub my toe, and it hurts for a week. I sleep in the wrong position and my neck hurts for a week.
Even if I play video games too long, my butt hurts for like a good three days at least.
Send congratulations for Multimedia Editor Johnny Hartâ€™s newest first cousin to email@example.com.