cyrano
Member
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2016
- Messages
- 23
- Reaction score
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Hi. New member who's old, or old member who's new. Old chronologically (63), new in the sense of having discovered this forum by accident, signed up, lost my password (it's probably out there on my lawn that I want you to get off of, see Clint Eastwood, "Gran Torino," 2008).
I'm an invisible drone in a learned profession, not really unhappy but still discontent and restless (and of course lonely) after all these years, see the precipice of death or decrepitude and uselessness looming ahead and wonder whether to make one more stab at greater inclusion in the world or just say **** it, go to some foreign clime with cheaper beaches, drink margaritas/mojitos/pina coladas until I burn through my investments, then wade out into the surf past the continental shelf. I guess the wife would like a vote in that decision.
Various parts of my body are in various degrees of pain. It's not awful, but it is annoying and limiting.
I am truly a strange-looking human being, hence the username. The picture in the avatar space is Gerard Depardieu in his role in "Cyrano de Bergerac." No one else on the internet identifies with the character, so I use the username in a variety of places. Age has regressed most people my age to the old and ugly person mean, so I'm no longer so much ugly as just odd-looking, a reflection of the genetic stew of robbers and charlatans in my genealogic tree.
Late at night, I weep good tears to Bach's Chaconne from the 2nd partita for solo violin, the slow movement from Mozart's clarinet concerto, and an old folksong (well, old to you guys), "Streets of London" by Ralph McTell, who is undoubtedly dead by now. I never felt more alive than when I was 22 years old and found myself, then an expatriate Texan, walking the streets of London.
I may chime in unbidden if I read something you write, secure in the delusion that (a) age has conferred some sort of wisdom, and (b) what I have to say might actually be of use. I delude myself that it might.
Au reservoir! C de B
I'm an invisible drone in a learned profession, not really unhappy but still discontent and restless (and of course lonely) after all these years, see the precipice of death or decrepitude and uselessness looming ahead and wonder whether to make one more stab at greater inclusion in the world or just say **** it, go to some foreign clime with cheaper beaches, drink margaritas/mojitos/pina coladas until I burn through my investments, then wade out into the surf past the continental shelf. I guess the wife would like a vote in that decision.
Various parts of my body are in various degrees of pain. It's not awful, but it is annoying and limiting.
I am truly a strange-looking human being, hence the username. The picture in the avatar space is Gerard Depardieu in his role in "Cyrano de Bergerac." No one else on the internet identifies with the character, so I use the username in a variety of places. Age has regressed most people my age to the old and ugly person mean, so I'm no longer so much ugly as just odd-looking, a reflection of the genetic stew of robbers and charlatans in my genealogic tree.
Late at night, I weep good tears to Bach's Chaconne from the 2nd partita for solo violin, the slow movement from Mozart's clarinet concerto, and an old folksong (well, old to you guys), "Streets of London" by Ralph McTell, who is undoubtedly dead by now. I never felt more alive than when I was 22 years old and found myself, then an expatriate Texan, walking the streets of London.
I may chime in unbidden if I read something you write, secure in the delusion that (a) age has conferred some sort of wisdom, and (b) what I have to say might actually be of use. I delude myself that it might.
Au reservoir! C de B
