I wish I’d made it to Hermann Park on the 1st of the year for the little train’s final whoopdeedoo. I’m sure the new RR will be flashier and will go further and faster and will have more room for our fat asses, but it won’t have the comfort of history. I won’t be able to take my kids (or the kids I’ve stolen from unsuspecting parents in the parking lot) to ride the same train that I rode when I was a kid, which was also the same train that my parents rode when they were kids.
You know, it’s okay for things to be old. It’s okay to have wrinkles and saggy tits/balls and ride on a creaky, slow little train that starts its journey by going through a scary dark tunnel and then tools around a few trees and a little bridge over a pond. Not everything has to be a rollercoaster ride with an Aerosmith song in the background and puke stains on the seatbelt.
I saw an interview with Mary Tyler Moore recently. I kept looking at her face, trying to figure out why it was so interesting to me. Then it hit me. She has wrinkles. Lots of them. She’s not injecting botulism into her skin to try to hold onto something that’s not supposed to be held on to. And she’s still an attractive woman. An attractive woman with an interesting face. Not with that preternaturally smooth complexion so many actors sport these days. That shit is creepy.
The huge groove (can’t really call it a wrinkle) that appeared between my eyebrows a year or three ago is from living life. From laughing and squinting and being mad and pretending to be mad when I wasn’t and raising my eyebrow at something silly or preposterous or wrong. Would I look younger without that dent in my forehead? Probably. Would I look more interesting without it? Nope. I’ll take interesting over young any day.