I’m a Gemini. That’s right start flipping your charts and calendars and yellow blocking the months cuz Rob’s got a birthday somewhere. Yes despite the rumor to the contrary, Rob is not eternal. He was born, and his golden calf butt is merely mortal.
Being a Gemini bears certain zodialogical responsibilities. Being naked twins trapped in one body is hard work. I’m required to cross everyone without looking simply to seem superficial and aloof. They say you can’t please everyone, but have you ever tried to displease everyone? It can be done, but it’s not easy. It’s a dirty job but some Rob’s gotta do it. Vanity, not just the Rob hiding in your bathroom anymore, just look in a mirror anywhere and I’ll be there—in all my twin glory. Oh, eyes up: I’m naked too.
Yeah, sorry. I know, like looking into the sun. You’ll never see again, but you are the one who looked. What do you want me to do, dance a jig? Oh yeah, naked. Fine, I said I was sorry.
Having a birthday brings certain celebratory responsibilities too. And they’re harder to juggle than a fleshy naked jig. Once a year I’m required to pretend I enjoy getting older and wiser. Ok, well at least older. Wiser, well that’s for smarter men than I; I’m still not intelligent enough to know how that’s done.
“Experience.” So says the fool in the mirror. He’s an idiot.
I mean really, I’ve experienced plenty. How smart do I look to you? Please, that was a rhetorical question. Keep your papers to yourselves; there will not be a grade on this quiz. Tell you what, pass them forward and I’ll file them away for reference later. I’ve filed many things away into my mental museum: artifacts of Robs past. I just don’t know what to do with them all.
“What does that naked statue amidst the laughing women represent, mom?”
“Never mind Timmy, maybe when you’re older you’ll understand.”
Older. Yeah. Isn’t that what we’re always told when we’re young? “When you’re older you’ll understand?” I have a list of “when I’m older” IOUs. Maybe I should call my parents and collect.
“Hello?”
“Ok, real quick Dad, Why is there divorce? Why didn’t Spido come back from his, ‘vacation?’ Why is the sky blue? Why are clowns so dang creepy? How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? If Cylons can have babies, and the Earth is a wasteland does that mean that John Connor’s Terminators won…”
“When you’re older.” Click.
Older? Older than what? Do I have to wait until I’m older to figure out that one too? Must I wait for the sand of my questions to melt into the glass eye of clarity? How long will that take? Will I be old enough to recognize the focal point?
Does wisdom really come with age? If so, why do we call old people senile? Where they just stupid middle-agers?
“Mongo like Sherriff Bart.”
I don’t have these answers. I wasn’t even smart enough to get past the dial-a-gatekeeper phase of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? Still, I’m not stupid. I just can’t always turn my museum of history into a reserve of applied knowledge. At least not for me.
See, I realized this the other day. A friend of mine was asking for advice about a bad influence in her life. Having had plenty, I told her that she should just shake free of this person, and move on.
“Really Rob? Is that what you would do?”
I thought about this; the answer was obvious, “no.” Like I said, I’ve had plenty of experience with people like that. One doesn’t gain that kind of experience by learning from their mistakes. Still, I have learned some thing: Other people don’t need to make my mistakes.
“Absolutely!” I lie.
See, that’s the thing about being an aloof Gemini. I may get old without showing signs of wisdom aging, but I can lie to save one of my two faces for others. Advice is like a good gift: its better to give than receive. Speaking of gifts, I advise that you get me something good for my birthday. And no, buying a pair of sunglasses to deny my nakedness is not the sign of a good gift.
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