My 63rd birthday looms. How did I make it this far? How much is left in the tank? These days I feel every inch my age, especially when I catch sight of my legs, with their multiplying blemishes and crepe paper skin. Is it any surprise I’m down on myself when early external judgements – you’re unattractive, you’re unacceptable, you’re unworthy – were thoroughly internalized? As I march toward oblivion I thought this self-loathing might subside but via some awful alchemy I can still transmogrify the actions of others into relentless self-attack:
I have no time for you.
I’m not worth the trouble.
Any interaction is on my terms.
I don’t matter.
All fucking day, on an endless loop, until I purposefully distract myself by getting lost in some reading or out in the garage repairing something or upstairs on the Mac doing busy work. With my birthday imminent I ask myself Is my brain permanently wired this way or can I still walk away from relationships that no longer honor me?
I used to be much better at letting go of people. Back in 1985 when I made the painful decision to leave the Nihilistics it was borne of self-protection. I didn’t like how I looked through Mike and Ron’s eyes (I’m not sure Troy had a thought about me). They both seemed to feel I could be relegated to rhythm guitarist, that my chops weren’t up to snuff for the sub-Judas Priest shit they wanted to do. (not that Ron’s brother was Glenn Tipton). The bond between me and Mike (no longer two fat kids after he lost 100 pounds) frayed as he became more sexually active and debauched, Ron leading the way. I got tired of their shoddy treatment, culminating with a drunken Mike punching me in the face at the infamous failed Showplace gig.
Fuck this. And fuck you.
Leaving WFMU in 2016 was also driven by self-preservation. After the GM dropped his mask and angrily blurted what he actually thought of me, I reluctantly left a place central to my existence for three decades.
Fuck you. And fuck this.
There are numerous examples over the years but giving up gets more difficult as I age. I’m now on the cusp of abandoning several relationships, their backstories different but with the common thread, stated above:
I have no time for you.
Any interaction is on my terms.
I never responded well to Take it or leave it, usually choosing the latter. But now I sit with my anguish over what to do about these people, once important to me, who keep popping up in my dreams but nowhere else. I don’t want to be estranged but have little choice and can’t keep torturing myself asking Why don’t they love me? Of course, none of these people see it that way. They likely rationalize why things are as they are: He’s too needy, wants too much, I must set boundaries.
You call them boundaries, I call them terms. Non-negotiable terms.
63 is not a milestone birthday but I need a bright dividing line. Come September 5th I no longer chase anyone’s affection, consideration, respect… love.
Sweet T. always says “Why not focus on the people who DO love you?”
Per usual, she’s right.
Now here’s a curated alphabetical list of people with whom I share a birthday:
Al Stewart
Aleksey Tolstoy
Alexandra Kerry
Arthur C. Nielsen
Bob Newhart
Buddy Miles
Carol Lawrence
Cathy Guisewite
Chip Davis
Cornelius Vanderbilt III
Darryl F. Zanuck
David “Clem” Clempson
Dweezil Zappa
Freddie Mercury
George Lazenby
Loudon Wainwright III
Louis XIV (The Sun King)
Jack Valenti
Joe "Speedo" Frazier
John Cage
Jesse James
Michael Keaton
Paul Volcker
Raquel Welch
Rose McGowan
Sunnyland Slim
William Devane
Werner Erhard
Werner Herzog
For extra points, can guess which four I've interviewed?