On Being Cool

Today was a 4th birthday party for the girls. It was a grim reminder that one day, they will be teen-agers.

There's a high school at the end of our block that they will probably attend. If they are anything like I was, our house will be a convenient place to come smoke pot and experiment with sex while mom and dad are away at work.

Note to self: Be sure that by 2016, I'm working from home.

We drove by the high school on the way to daycare a few days ago. They seem to have an open campus, and you often see kids around the neighborhood over lunch and during breaks. It was around 10 a.m. Apparently, that's when they get their smoke break. There were around 40 of them, milling about at the end of the block, trying desperately to look cool.

I remember what this was like. Being cool was huge in 1976 as well, although back then it was mostly about stupid hair.

One of the kids I saw had melded the punk and gang banger looks, and as a result could barely walk. He had the pants down-his-ass-below-the-boxers thing going on, but also had his black peg-legged jeans cinched tight around his upper-thighs with a heavily studded punk rock belt. Gravity was not his friend.

It's really hard to look cool when you're taking mincing little steps so your pants don't fall down, but I had to give the kid credit for trying.

It's funny how being cool is really about insecurity, and caring way too much about what others think.

The best thing about being over 40 is leaving all that shit behind.

But now, the girls are only four, and cool is just the way they prefer their juice. I'll enjoy it while it lasts.