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d_aulnoy"I'm going to be 40!"
"When?"
"Someday!"
- "When Harry Met Sally" (1989) (I was ten, people, and 40 seemed aeons away.)
The "when" in my case would be exactly ten years and three days from now. First, I have to get past 30.
Generally speaking, my outlook on aging is positive: I don't privilege pimpled youth, and I quite look forward to being a venerable crone. I plan to carry a sword-cane, and to wear my hair in either an unnaturally colored lacquered bob or a Gibson Girl pompadour. I shall take up smoking again (or, more likely, to buy a holder for my electronic cigarette that will allow me to punctuate my statements with bold gestures and plumes of glycerol). I will swathe myself in crimson velvet and pronounce strange and indecipherable advice cloaked as poetry. Bad poetry. I will be crazy Graunty![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
d_aulnoy , whom all the kids want to visit with, because I will tell them inappropriate stories and teach them how to do their eyeliner right. The thing is, there's a good 40 years between then and now, and while I may glorify decrepitude, I don't really feel strongly one way or the other about what comes in between. I suppose, like much else, it's what you make of it.
So! Care to tell me about your last land-mark birthday, and how you approached it? And care to tell me of your images of the 30's? You can tell me about the historical '30s if you actually lived through them, or your own thirties as you experience(d) them or your image of the platonic 30 if you have the same fantasies concerning that period that I have towards my probable future as a septuagenarian. No matter the approach, I need some solidarity! Pondering the Art Deco movement makes me feel much better about it all (and might actually be a fulfilling and aesthetically pleasing life path to follow for a decade or so), but I'd like a little more to go on ....
"When?"
"Someday!"
- "When Harry Met Sally" (1989) (I was ten, people, and 40 seemed aeons away.)
The "when" in my case would be exactly ten years and three days from now. First, I have to get past 30.
Generally speaking, my outlook on aging is positive: I don't privilege pimpled youth, and I quite look forward to being a venerable crone. I plan to carry a sword-cane, and to wear my hair in either an unnaturally colored lacquered bob or a Gibson Girl pompadour. I shall take up smoking again (or, more likely, to buy a holder for my electronic cigarette that will allow me to punctuate my statements with bold gestures and plumes of glycerol). I will swathe myself in crimson velvet and pronounce strange and indecipherable advice cloaked as poetry. Bad poetry. I will be crazy Graunty
d_aulnoy , whom all the kids want to visit with, because I will tell them inappropriate stories and teach them how to do their eyeliner right. The thing is, there's a good 40 years between then and now, and while I may glorify decrepitude, I don't really feel strongly one way or the other about what comes in between. I suppose, like much else, it's what you make of it.So! Care to tell me about your last land-mark birthday, and how you approached it? And care to tell me of your images of the 30's? You can tell me about the historical '30s if you actually lived through them, or your own thirties as you experience(d) them or your image of the platonic 30 if you have the same fantasies concerning that period that I have towards my probable future as a septuagenarian. No matter the approach, I need some solidarity! Pondering the Art Deco movement makes me feel much better about it all (and might actually be a fulfilling and aesthetically pleasing life path to follow for a decade or so), but I'd like a little more to go on ....