A Sign of Age

I came here this morning to blog something really profound. Well. Let's be honest. Probably not really profound. But at least fairly profound. The thought occurred to me last night as I was laying on the couch eating cheese popcorn and finishing the 4th season of "Six Feet Under". I thought to myself, "Ooo! I'll have to remember to blog about this!" and now, for the life of me, I can't remember what it was.

Must be getting old.

What I can remember is feeling just a little bit sad that Aaron Spelling is dead. I grew up with his television (hell, who among my generation didn't?). When I was like four or five years old and put a nail through the bottom of my foot, it was because I was playing Charlie's Angels and was running after a bad guy. When I was in high school, my friends and I would all gather around and watch 90210 and we were so affirmed in our status as "the Year to Be" (at least, that's what the Josten's sales rep kept telling us we were) when the gang graduated the same year as we did--take that class of 92 and 94. You'll never be able to make the same claim to coolness as we did. I feel like we should all gather down at the Peach Pit and have some pie and diet Coke, and then go to a hotel and loose our virginity on prom night.

Also? My daughter seems to have made the decision to join the Ministry of Silly Walks. I don't think any step she took yesterday was just a normal one. She minced like a geisha, she pranced like a pony, she took huge lumbering steps and spoke in a deep voice, she walked on her tiptoes like a ballerina--what she didn't do was just walk. It was sort of fascinating, watching her discover all the different ways she could move her body to get to her various different destinations.

Perhaps I should start expecting the Spanish Inquisition...