As a joke, I dragged out this picture to put into a frame for my brother’s birthday.

I have never seen Sharkboy laugh so hard.

Look closely. You can see where the finger cut bangs slope inward as if to say the “barber” was a bit lazy and working really fast. And what is up with those Deirdre from Coronation Street glasses?

When he opened it, my brother said “God! Ted’s face looks like someone is holding up a pork chop just off side of the picture.”

I’m in a fishbowl. At least that’s what my eyes are telling my brain.

Saturday I got my first pair of bifocals. Actually they’re ‘progressives’ – no lines to make me look 100 years old. That means when I’m lazily watching TV and not keeping my head at a certain angle to the screen I will suddenly realize that I’m squinting at the fuzzy image. And then sit up straight like a good boy.

I’m not sure I like them. I know it’s going to take a couple weeks to get use to them (they also bumped up my stigmatism perscription) and for now I look like I’m nodding “yes!” to zone in on the correct head angle to get the focus right.

Kids. Don’t get old.

Honestly ask yourself if you have any regrets. Dig deep.

Of course you do!

Here are some of mine:

I regret that I never dressed up wild in high school. I did a few envelope pushing things like dye a strip of tiger orange along the side of my head (thank you Lady Beautiful Upper Lip Bleach) or apply 100 tiny gold saftey pins to the lapel of a 3rd hand tux jacket. But I would eventually revert back to nice middle class kid shirt and jeans.

I regret that I never tried to bag my best friend in high school. He’s a cop now. That would have fueled so many masturbatory fantasies…

I regret not taking more drugs. The worst I’ve ever done was acid (twice), an “E” in the mid 90’s and The odd toke at a party. That’s it. I’m uncomfortable outside my skin but yet I can’t help feel that I’ve missed some sort of Hunter S Thompson-esque kind of spiritual revelation other than “HOLY SHIT MOM IS GOING TO KILL ME IF SHE FINDS OUT I’M HIGH”

I regret every illicit chemical I ever put into my body. Every time I did do drugs, I hated all but one moment of my entire drug experience. Once, while at a bar, on one of those hits of acid, the beer bottle I had in the washroom stall with me while I peed, arched it’s back and sighed. That’s the best I can describe it. Every other time, I wanted down far too soon before the body had flushed whatever it was processing.

I regret not being more social. I’m not a “tons of friends” kind of guy and I’ve made my peace with that, but I see people with hoards of friends and wonder where I went wrong. I bathe. Usually, I have one or two really close friends at a time and then move on. I don’t know how people with a million aquaintences can handle that-brain like a rolodex, remembering every detail of their first to last meeting.

I regret certain things I’ve said in social situations. Like “Wow, you’ve worn nicer things,” or “Is that all?”

I regret not learning another language. I tried. I really tried to learn French when I lived in Ottawa. I got pretty good too (If you count actual French tourists laught at me while I directed them to a nice restaurant as “pretty good” then you and I are friends). But it didn’t stick.

I regret buying that Blueberry Mac. Next time,  I’m going to wait until the geekboys spend the time and money to iron out the bugs.

I regret not kissing Sharkboy goodnight last night. Must. Never. Forget. To. Appreciate. Him.