Tuesdays with Curmudgeon

My profile picture features an old guy that may seem, at first glance, generic. It's really me.

Though I don't use a cane yet, the hunched-over posture comes from the heavy weight of realizing that I will soon be 40 and a grandfather. Granny thinks some of the poor posture comes from all the beer in my gut dragging me down, but what does she know? She's old, too.

The most telling part of the image is the hand resting on the painful lower back. I have actually suffered from an on again, off again back injury for about 8 years. In recent times, however, the pain has been much more on than off. My basketball buddies are beginning to wonder if I have become a homebody. The people with whom I work have suggested every remedy in the book, from chiropractors and pills, to acupuncture and voodoo.

You can't see my eyes in that image. I have had near perfect vision to this stage in my life. Now I am old. I have a hard time reading the scores at the bottom of the screen during SportsCenter, which makes life almost unbearable. I am sure that glasses are not far off the horizon for me.

Oh yes, you'll surely tell me. My home hasn't been destroyed by cyclone. I still have all my limbs. Only one of my teenaged children is pregnant. I should be thankful, you say.

I say, bite me. I'm old, and I'm getting crotchetier by the minute.