I know I’m relatively young and I have miles and miles to go before I sleep, but I don’t feel it. I’m finally over the slacker existential angst of my early twenties (although with the occasional relapse), which I thought would be a good thing, until I realized that I was spinning headlong into a late twenties fear of impending decrepitude. They tell you that when you hit twenty-five, your car insurance goes down and you can rent a car. What they don’t tell you is that suddenly, the entire world has unanimously and silently agreed to start calling you “ma’am”. Or that you suddenly gain an opinion on the healthcare system. Or that gingervitis is really really brilliantly funny but gingivitis is suddenly really really not. Who knew that flossing would become such an obsession? Before I used to worry about the meaning of life, wonder what would come from my hands and my brain and my heart, worry if I would be able to leave an impression before it was my time to melt into the win. Now I worry about the ding in my car, the chip in its paintjob and whether I’m getting enough calcium in my diet to offset osteoporosis. I would normally wrap this up tidily with some sort of clever summation, but my creeping senility is rather overbearing today, and I can’t think of anything good.
This website is an archive of articles and commentary on branding, design, and culture in Lancaster, PA, from 2004 through 2010.