My times, they are a changing.

The summer used to mean so much to me, low heating bill, tons of great female scenery, and bad television programming to view while laying semi conscious on my couch.

Then I fell in love-and I spent last summer doing normal people things, like playing mini golf, and watching bad television while laying semi conscious on my couch after we got into an argument. It was a big step, but I was able to swing it.

This summer has been far different. By the time you read this, it will be nearly over, and I will not have spent one second enjoying it.

I'm not bitter about this, but I am a wee tad suicidal. If you cage an animal for too long, they eventually break free, and being the wanderer that I am, I would probably cascade a block or two to go to a friends house, lie semi conscious on his couch and watch bad television. Behold the mighty conqueror.

My life has become boring. Now, when I say, “What the hell did I do last night?” it's out of complete forgetfulness because of the relative insignificance it holds in me. Before-it meant something different. I'm not saying it was better, just different, and more expensive.

Am I having a midlife crisis? I'm staring down 29-and I have just realized: I'm going to be 30 soon.

I smell now. I have a hair that keeps growing out of my nose. I have savings. Responsibilities. This sucks. I no longer remember some of my high school classmates that pledged, “We'll be friends forever!” My head is resonating with the voice of my father saying: “You should go to college!” which is something I still disagree with, because I don't know of a college that would teach me how to be a hack writer, stand up comic, and a drummer. People go to college to further their education and increase their income potential, I just went out and experienced life. That was my college. And I graduated Banga my heada on the walla laude.

I also drive a four dour sedan now, a precursor to a minivan, and I carry ibuprofen for toothaches, not hangovers. I think about my future, instead of drink specials. This is nowhere near as fun, so friends that are under the age of twenty-five, let me tell you: get it out of your system now. Go have fun and blow your rent check at a bar. Be irresponsible. Think only of yourself and no one else, because soon, the trappings of life will have a kung fu grip on you, and Jackie Chan is not going to help you.

I did get it out of my system, and I hold no resentment, I'm just amazed at how quickly it's ended. I'm looking at duplexes now, and it seems like yesterday I was looking at other types of two units that were much more fun but didn't yield much of a return on my investment. But they wiggled when they walked, so I was interested.

But most younger people don't know or don't care about getting anything back Their idea of a return on an investment then meant that if you charged five bucks a cup, then maybe the keg of warm piss lager will have paid for itself. And if you woke up face down on the kitchen table without having your face emblazoned with the expletives inked by a permanent magic marker, then you won.

I had my fun, but I want some more. I think I'm going to buy a case of beer, a ratty old couch, and put it on a mini golf course. I'll do that right my morning stretches, take my vitamins, and check my accounts. Bleh.