So, here I am...made a half-century. It's all downhill from here not that it was spectacular getting to this point.
50.
Hello. Now I'm officially an old cranky bastard. At least that's what the 18-49 demos think of me and others, although I did recently buy a new mattress, (NO, not that one), and consume vast amounts of Peets coffee, so I hope and assume they keep me on their mailing list.
The bottle is gone. Have to. Issues galore, and yes, everything you read about me and the rumors in the tabloids are true. (I will have no further comment.)
I might as well throw out all my greatest lines tonight because beginning tomorrow, I'll feel as if I was that Steve Martin character, (minus the million or two), playing footsie with Claire Danes in "Shop Girl", (a movie that about ten people saw and made roughly a hundred bucks). He was a shade south of 50 and she was about 30. They ended up falling in love, I think, but anyway, that only happens in Hollywood anyway. Suffice to say, it was a charming film--rent it if you didn't see it and you'll know what I mean.
Fifty. Like the BIG, 5-0, just not Hawaii 5-0. Damn, where's Dano when you need him? You know, if there a few more "Dano's" in the world and less Lew Dickeys, we'd all be in a safer place. Just sayin'.
I don't know what the future portends. Scary? Damn right. Paranoid, no, but definitely hypochondriac-central, which now I can use as a sound excuse--shit, I'm frickin' 50! No more trips to Disneyland alone for fear of being probed by the authorities. (Psst, you should never go to amusement parks alone past 35--just a tip).
I'm 50. Which supposedly is the new 40, but I'm not 40 and feel at times I can be 35, yet 55 eternally would be cool. Chris Rock, who shares a birthday with me is 47, but looks about 36. The Kutcher schmuck is 34, but could pass for 25. He slept with Demi Moore so he gets brownie points. Then again, Demi has issues, She's not the hot chick she was in "Ghost", but I've seen worse.
One thing--I'm now a certified, living, middle-aged, 50 year-old heterosexual. I hear they're making a comeback. You don't get a body like mine overnight--it takes years of neglect.
50. Have done it all...cars, ads, radio, TV, BLOGGER, (ouy)--(psst, so this blogger walks into a bar...)
My life is an open book. I'm happy to have made it past this part and can only hope that it gets a little more tranquil down the road. Those of you that despise me, still, yeah, I can't say that I fault you because even I admit I'm a bona-fide pain in the royal ass, which given today's circus, isn't all that bad.
One thing I've learned is that no matter how hard you try, things have a way of evening out. That's EVENing, like you know, karma is a bitch either way--been there done that. Still trying to cheat life and request the Almighty, whoever he/she/it is, that they give me a few more rounds on planet Earth. I'm not picky, God or Goddette.
You know, I never thought I'd be doing this. I can't write worth a shit, but for now, this will have to do. You don't turn 50 and NOT do this. It's mandatory even if you're a medicated recovering alcoholic that's been sober for 22 straight days. (Thank God for AA and a Jewish mother).
A small debt of gratitude to those of you who remain as my aces. My small posse of peeps that have put up with me and guided me through the tough times, past, present and future. Life is a little like that 70's thing, the Rubik's cube. Every conceivable combination? Give me chance to screw it up even if I hit a homer and I'll still screw it up. It's just so, we'll, Richard Lieberman.
50.
Scared? Sure. Anxious? Always. Hurt? Ya think? Confident? Just enough to keep on trudging and try to do this. This, whatever you think of THIS, seems to have found a niche, for better or worse. I keep saying to myself that I wish it were 1980 again and I was at that "Day on the Green" with the Eagles and Chicago, (the REAL Chicago and not the 20 or so impostor bands); anyway, the world seemed a tad more comfortable and less threatening. Shit, I'm starting to recollect. Dammit. Stop, you a-hole, you're damn 50 today and you keep going down that road, you'll soon be yearning for another Barry Manilow concert!
50. Let's groove tonight. (A damn great Earth, Wind, and Fire song that was essential 1980ish)--along with Lipps Inc, Bruce Jenner, Skyline High, The Gong Show, and odd/even gas lines. Go Bears! Go Titans!, (Skyline) and dammit, Lieberman, you're 50.
I mean, seriously now...
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