Yes indeed, I’m a millenium freak! Not in the sense that I believe in the scientist bullshit that the media are feeding us ("what’s going to change in our life"). Not in the way that cults start thinking about living on comets ("make reservations for your seat on the next rocket to Hale-Bopp"). Not in the sense of American TV series such as Millenium, that keep reminding us that there’s still time to become Christians before judgement day.
No, no, my millenium craze is more serious than that: what will happen in the year 2000 will make John’s Apocalypse seem like a weekend at the beach. The next thermonuclear war will look like a microwave oven breakdown. The time and space implosion of the whole Universe will pass for a goat’s fart in the woods on a summer night. To stress the importance of that thing, I guess the only apt comparison possible would be with Andre Agassi busting his elbow before a game. Tough…
Also, unlike the victims and followers of the media craze about the Y2K bug, I’ve been a millenium freak for a long time now. As a good fan of Protestant determination, I’ve known it since I was born. As they say in (cheap) TV series: it’s always been in me, and I’ve always known…
So, here it is: in the year 2000, I’ll turn 30. And when I’m 30, I’ll be old.
Don’t you laugh! It’s very grave! It’s as bad as when a Jedi goes for the wrong side of the force, if you know what I mean. Because I can tell you that I won’t like being old one bit. And the thought that I might be able to get used to it just puts me to shame.
A good number of my friends have already had their "year 2000" come before mine. With all the weddings and births, I can’t even count anymore the number of male friends who became fathers, responsible and serious. And what about female friends becoming mothers, protective and jealous? So, all my friends go through their "personal millenium" letting the worst happen: normality gets to them. Stable couples only hang out with other stable couples (a true but still unexplainable trend). The last few bachelors among them enter the club of smokers sent out to the balcony, and as for me, people are starting to complain about my grim spirits. Uncle Arno has a bad influence on the kids ("Arno, what did you tell my son about priests who become werewolves and eat children?"). Couples find themselves a sudden passion for family cars. My friends became quite knowledgeable on the pros and cons of diesel gasoline. Those are obscure concepts that can only be expressed by saying, in a preoccupied tone, "yes, but when driving in the city, it’s not for sure that consumption drops", and by concluding in a more upbeat tone with "yes, but you get more money back when you sell it". People become bourgeois: we used to roll cigarettes made with exotic herbs and share them ("wow, dude, pass it around!"). But now everyone has his own ready made cigar, rolled on the tanned thighs of a Cuban employee (anyway, the thought of passing around a cigar that’s been chewed for quite some time seems pretty gross to me). Cigars make me sick, too.
But there’s worse: I recently remarked that I didn’t feel any attraction for 18 year-old girls anymore. Just too young. Their juvenile faces turn me off, and they call me "Sir", like I could be their father. That doesn’t make me feel any younger.
So, I’m getting ready for that cataclysm. Already, when I try to dress in a hip way I look like an old fart disguised as a youth. When I try to speak like kids, it sounds as old as a silent movie. See, I’ve even started using the expression "back in my days"…
But next year will be even worse. I’ll be officially old, 30 year-old plus. I’ll start thinking about retiring, looking for a condo. I’ll look at girls with the thought of "settling down" foremost in my mind. I’ll have a cell phone and my only sense of revolt will be against taxes. I’ll find happiness in the ugliest of conformities.
Some people are stocking up with food for the year 2000, pilling up tin cans. I guess I’ll start thinking about moving to Florida and subscribing to "Houses and gardens".
