be real in a fake world.

  I sat watching these two male twenty somethings go on about their age.  “How old do you think I am?” 
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“Ahhh…maybe twenty-five.”
“Ah…no man I am twenty-nine.  I’m turning thirty in two weeks.  I don’t want to turn thirty.  I’m getting so old but most people think I am only twenty-five so that’s good.”
“Yeah, that’s great.  I turned thirty two years ago but I still tell people I am twenty-nine.  People think I look like I am twenty-seven.”
“We’re lucky.”  they both said in unison with stupid smiley grins on their faces.
I sat there watching these two pinheads go on about their age as I drank my beer and pondered life at the age of fifty.
“who cares what age people think you are?  why are we so infatuated and consumed with age and what age you appear to look?  why do men give a rat’s ass about what age they look?  why are these two plastic people not consumed with how boring they both are?  how irrelevant they both are?  how dull and predictable they both are?  I don’t give a shit what age people think you are…if you are dull and boring at twenty-five then you will be dull and boring at fifty.  no face cream will fix that.”
phoniness constantly in play and seemingly no end in sight.  I finished my beer and then walked out of the bar.  I looked at the two dull robots and said, “bye.”  they did not respond.  they both looked at me but had nothing to say.  I am fifty years old and have fucked more than one hundred and fifty girls in my lifetime and could still out fuck both of these kids.  the youth of today growing up in a fake plastic world where Kim Kardashian and Justin Bieber are relevant while Charles Bukowski is an unknown.  sad and pathetic.
I walked to my car and drove home.
I turned on the radio and blasted Brian Jonestown Massacre.  I drove through the busy streets then sat in bumper to bumper traffic on the highways.  I listened to my music and looked at all the dull cars and dull people driving those dull cars.  I wondered if they enjoyed sitting in traffic for four hours a day and what money they made at their jobs to justify sitting in four hour traffic.  seemingly wasting their lives away on old rundown highways filled with beaten and rundown people with no souls and no fire.  dull lives just trying to get by and unable to see through the bullshit of life.  the daily grind common among their friends.
as I continued my journey home and as the darkness began to descend on my journey my cellphone rang.  ring.  ring.  ring.  I looked at the caller id and it said Usque which is the name I had given my Mom thirty years ago.  there is a whole long story to the name but the quick explanation is that, while in court many years ago, I looked above the judge and noticed a sign on the wall that read, “AD MARE USQUE AD MARE.”  which I later found out meant “from sea to sea”.  the name stuck but I doubt my Mom even knows what it means  .anyway, I answered the phone, reluctantly, as a few weeks earlier I had a falling out with my Mom that reinforced all of my frustrations with my Mom.  another long story but the short version being that I needed a place to stay for a few months as I struggled in my relationship with Nicole and we needed to take some time apart to figure out some issues.  My Mom agreed to let me stay but upon arriving she was cold and angry and nagged me over leaving lights on and wanting to do laundry etc etc etc.  It was all done with a look of “disgust” directed toward me and this drove me back out the door and back to Orangeville to try and mend things.  At that point, I decided to cut my Mom out of my life for good and, although sad, was necessary.  If you can’t get love from your family who can you get it from???
Anyway, I answered the phone and my Mom immediately apologized.
“i’m sorry for being a nag with you while you were here Chris.  I shouldn’t have treated you that way but I am stressed as my stomach has been bothering me again and I am worried that the cancer has come back.  I am waiting on tests but I am sorry.  we should have went out for dinner and discussed some boundaries and expectations before you moved in.  But I am sorry.”
and with that all was good again.  TRUTH.  HONESTY.  VULNERABILITY.  and COMMUNICATION. 
I hope my Mom’s cancer hasn’t come back and hope she never dies.  I hope we can go out for dinner and discuss her life with all of it’s ups and downs.  FAMILY.  REAL FAMILY.  REAL LOVE.  not fake bullshit “announce on facebook love”…REAL LOVE.  That is all you need.
be real.
“guess what Chris?”
“what?”
“I ran into Bob Beckett the other day and he was shocked that I am turning eighty years old this year.  He thought that I was seventy-two.”
“Amazing Usque…that is amazing.”
I hung up the phone and drove on.  Brain Jonestown Massacre still playing.