A couple of recent events have made me realize how old I’m getting and how un-hip or un-cool I’ve become.

I’m trying to get back into tennis after a bid of a break over the last couple of years.  I entered a tennis ladder and I’ve now played four guys.  The oldest was 70 and I would have sworn he was 58, tops.  Then he told me that if we got to a third set I’d have to be responsible for the score because he’d be tired and hi memory would go kaploot.  When I realized he wasn’t joking it hit me that he really was 70 and I was feeling a litle whipper-snapperish.  It didn’t last long.

I played the youngest yesterday; his mom had to give him a ride to the court because he’s not old enough to drive.  It hit me that he’s only two years older than my son.  I told him that if we played a third set he might have to keep score and/or carry me off the court, but he didn’t get it.

He was a bit shy so during changeovers I’d try to get him to talk.  I finally succeeded when I asked him if he’d gone to a Green Day concert (he had on a concert T) and he said, "Uh, yeah."  I mentioned that I’d seen a tape of a live show they’d done in a bar and the bass player broke his nose (hit himself with the bass while he was jumping around) and kept on playing.  He asked when it had happened I said some time in their early days and he said, I quote: "Wow, that was like way back in the 80s wasn’t it?"  It occured to me that he wasn’t alive in the 80s.  Sheesh.  And he beat me.  Crap.

So that was one event.  Another was when I started thinking about my cool-quotient in terms of technology.  I always thought of myself as being slightly ahead of the curve…I mean hey, I blog.  But then I realized that I’ve never:

• Edited video on my computer.
• Put together a playlist for an MP3 player, much less carried an Ipod.
• Played a video game online.
• Played a video game on my kids’ Xbox.
• Gone to a tech convention.
• Sat in a navel-gazing seminar on "new" media.

So I’m decidedly un-cutting edge and I’m actually quite comfortable with it.  That must mean I’m getting older.  Other signs include:

• Bathing suit models are beginning to make me uncomfortable because they aren’t a whole hell of a lot older than my daughter.  The term "dirty old man" permeates my brain.
• Ear hair.
• Nose hair.
• Beginning to not care that when I take off my shirt the term "Austin Powers" pops into everyones head.  My cousin, Jeff, didn’t stop at thinking it.  He blurted out, "Damn, Jon, you’ve got the Austin Powers rug thing going on."  Used to care, now not so much.
• Beginning not to care that my hairline looks like a satellite image of Brazil’s coastline.
• I’m making fun of pop culture.  A lot.
• I hate American Idol with a depth of passion that I used to reserve for sanctimonious a-holes.

You get the idea. The bad news is I’m not even 40 for another four months, which means I need to get a grip, or at least a little perspective.  Anyone know an octogenarian up for some tennis?