Comets are closed

You’d be surprised at how little criticism I actually receive. I really don’t. But much like Halley’s comet, when it comes (every 75 blogs or so), it does so in a ball of luminescent fury. I simply can’t look away. The most common critique leveled against me is that I seem to exist in a different time, another era, comfortably stuck in the past. The members of this meddlesome crowd accuse me of fondly recalling the “good old days” when linoleum was revered by one and all and man dreamed of installing carpeting from his living room to the horizon. I come across as nostalgic and old-fashioned. I can’t help if my upbringing in rocky Corsica plays a role in how I see the world. 

But it’s not true. If anything, I’m extremely, painfully, unequivocally ahead of my time. Frankly, I’d prefer to be a relic, choosing retro looks and Old World trends over future insights. But I can’t help myself. I can’t help who I am. Being ahead of one’s time is not as fun as it sounds. Allow me to explain.    

When you’re ahead of your time it’s difficult relating to most people. How can I get along with others when we’re not speaking the same language? I pepper my speech with phrases like “That’s fertile” instead of “that’s cool.” “You sound like a broken robot” when a friend is overly repetitious. These are phrases that won’t be popular for at least another 20, 30 years. 

Most people don’t realize what will be offensive down the road. But I know. I know all too well. “Oh boy.” That’s no good. “Oh man.” That’s out. “Oh brother.” Bye bye. Those are the obvious examples. I’m sorry to tell you all this but “Manhattan” isn’t long for this world. Sometimes I’ll slip up and say “Personhattan” in mixed company, giving others the impression that I’m a wayward time-traveler. And that’s only the start of it. Everything you know and say has a short shelf-life, destined to spoil like a carton of milk accidentally left on the counter for a bowl of cereal you never ended up having. Times change. Tastes change, too

Oh, it’s not easy being me. Though I wouldn’t trade it for anything. While I end up routinely missing buses and flights because my mental calendar is off by a few decades, I get by. Don't feel bad for me, feel bad for yourself. It's a much better use of time and energy. 

Cruise on.*

*In the future, that means “goodbye."