Velociworld

LINES ON MY FACE

Time is not one's enemy. It is the enemy of one's vanity, however. I was pondering this fact as I watched the Andy Griffith reunion on television the other night (yes, I watch these things. I can't not watch an Andy Griffith reunion).

Andy Griffith just isn't the same character since his eye job. Now those soulful, droopy eyes are bright, sparkly eyes, signifying a perpetual smile. It just ain't right, damn it. Something was lost in the translation, and I'm the poorer for itl.

The worst eye job of all was Jack Lemmon's. Those basset hound googlers were the most expressive eyes in the history of cinema. He could evoke bathos, fear, and tenderness with a mere crinkle. Now he looks like a grinning skull. I don't see how the man blinks. What a fucking shame.

I realize the upper eyelid droop can actually impede vision, and become a serious pain in the ass, but these guys went beyond the pale. Sad stuff.

I may be speaking out of turn, and heading to the surgeon de plastique myself one day, but I can't see that happening. I like the lines on my face. They aren't flattering, but they tell a story. I like that story.

Oh, for sure, I occasionally grimace at my past, and remembrance can be a callous mistress, but I don't regret a damned minute of it. A person who regrets their past hasn't learned how to live yet, and will never enjoy their future.

I have a story for every line, and a dream for the ones still abirthing.

Oscar Wilde said "I can resist everything but temptation". I would add I can appreciate nothing but what I've rued.

One final comment, apropos of nothing: men have two recollections of their youth: the times they went too far with a girl, and got rebuked and shamed, and the times they didn't go far enough, and missed out on a wonderful time. Which of these recollections, do you suppose, absorbs a man later in life? Regret nothing, but it's okay to rue the missed opportunities.