"Today we’re younger than we’re ever going to be" - Regina Spektor (from “Small Town Moon”)
God, the new Regina Spektor album is a killer. I like it much better than Far. Have not loved an album this much in such a very long time. Many of her lyrics are insightful gems of wisdom, but the one above hit me right away (as its from track 1). Speaking of youth: Regina Spektor looks as beautiful as ever and she’s 32 and married now. I tried to find the age of her husband, Jack Dishel, but it was nowhere to be found. Isn’t that funny? You want the age of a woman and it will come up immediately, but the age of a man- who cares?
Oh, because I’m sure you’ve heard: once women hit 30, we are beaten with an ugly stick. Yes, that’s what people my age have started to believe (myself included). I’m 22…22! And my friends and I are already playing the numbers game- the countdown to 30. Can you believe it? It’s untrue: completely fucking untrue. The amount of beautiful women over 30 is a long, long list. It’s a list just as long as the under 30 list. Oh, and I know that these stupid lists exists, and you’re free to go look for them, but I’m not about to make those lists for you, because I don’t believe that people belong on lists. Groceries belong on lists: not people.
Let me say it again:
“Today you’re younger than you’re ever going to be.”
We all die, we all get old, if we are lucky: it just happens. Be grateful you are “old” and not dead. But 30 is not old….neither is 50 for that matter. My dad is 81, and yeah, that’s old, but he doesn’t even seem to think so. So, why does my dad, at 81, feel young and happy, and we, at 22, are scared? Do the math: it doesn’t compute.
Are you really planning to spend the rest of your life in fear of wrinkles? Afraid of becoming unattractive? Well, in general: I think fear and shallowness are two terribly unattractive qualities, so you’ve already lost the game in my book if you think youth is synonymous with beauty and happiness. Life is not a porno. Shitty porn is the only place where teenage girls are desirable forever.
I cross my heart, hope to die…I’ll never indulge my friends in the countdown to thirty talk. I’ll never do it. And judging women like this. I wouldn’t start commenting on who looks what age, just as I wouldn’t start commenting on who looks a particular size. What do these numbers even mean? The numbers really say it all? I don’t think so. Not in my experience. The numbers are fucking insignificant: they’re there, but they don’t mean anything other than the number.