THE BLOG
12/09/2013 03:15 pm ET | Updated Feb 02, 2016

49

Please ignore the egregious error being perpetrated by that nasty little website, Facebook. The folks at Facebook decided to send around a message to all my friends this week claiming that I have turned 49. This is obviously a glitch in the system. Clearly I cannot be this close to 50 years old. Right? I have been so angered that I am thinking of canceling my subscription and joining some other more friendly "friend" site. Is Friendster still around?

How do the people at the Internets allow these kind of fallacies to bounce around and ruin reputations? When I first noticed what was happening, I wrote a strongly worded letter to express my disgust. But then I could not find an address as to where to send it. And to whom would it be addressed? Is there a World Wide Web CEO? I vaguely remember that Al Gore had something to do with it, but I could not find a postal address for him either. Oh, it is just as well. I hate going to the post office nowadays, what with their stickers for stamps and all. What happened to the days when you licked the back of your stamp with your tongue, the way God intended?

I would have called someone to complain, but good luck finding a phone number. Even if I found a phone number, I never would have been able to call it anyway. My "smart" phone is so damn useless. When I try pressing the screen for the right numbers, my big fingers inevitably press the wrong buttons. And the numbers are so small anyway -- I cannot see them without my glasses, which I can never find when I need them. I long for the days when you stuck your finger in a hole that was just the right size for the finger, and you dialed a rotary to make a phone call, the way that God and Alexander Graham Bell intended.

My anxiety is kicking in. I need to forget all this and relax. Listening to music helps me calm down, but when I turned on the radio, there was no music to be found. All I heard was that rap "music," which just sounds like yelling. What happened to real music? You know -- songs like "I Will Survive" with stirring melodies and inspiring lyrics ("I've got all my life to live / I've got all my love to give and I'll survive / I will survive, Hey hey")? Or mysterious songs like "MacArthur Park," full of profound hidden meanings that you could spend hours pondering ("Someone left the cake out in the rain / I don't think that I can take it / 'Cause it took so long to bake it / And I'll never have that recipe again, oh noooooo")? Have you heard some of these songs today? When I tuned into my regular AM station, I actually heard a song about a thrift store. A thrift store! Don't get me wrong, the boys who "sing" it, Ryan and Mack-something, they seem like sweet boys. But, c'mon, how can I be inspired by lyrics such as "I'ma take your grandpa's style, I'ma take your grandpa's style, / No for real -- ask your grandpa -- can I have his hand-me-downs?"?! You call that music?

It would help if I could pop in a good videotape and be a couch potato. I would love to watch something like Airport 1975 with a gorgeous cross-eyed Karen Black miraculously landing an airplane -- that always cheers me up. But, unfortunately, my VCR is on the fritz. I have a life-long guarantee on it, but when I went to the store and asked for a new one, those little snot-faced clerks laughed at me. I will have to settle for some old episodes of The Golden Girls instead. And, yes, I like my Girls golden and in re-runs, not naked and on HBO, thank you very much.

My mind keeps racing, though. I cannot be 49 because I am gay. In gay culture, 49 may as well be 69 or 89. And if it is being spread around that I am 49, does this mean that AARP is planning on putting me on their mailing list in 2014? Oh no!

Oh -- and a quick note to The Huffington Post editors -- do not even think about placing my posts in the Huff Post 50 section starting next year. Got it? If that happens, I am planning to write a strongly worded letter to Arianna herself. If I can find her address. Or her phone number. Her information is probably listed in the fine print somewhere, right? I need to find my glasses. Where did I put them again?

Ugh. Forget it. I am getting a headache. I am going to take my anxiety medicine and lay down for a nap.