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Advice Crush: Dear Boogie vs. Dear Abby

July 7, 2010

Since the well of Dear Boogie letters has run dry for the moment, I thought I’d nick a letter from last week’s “Dear Abby” and take a shot at it myself. Let’s compare answers and see who YOU would rather take advice from, huh?

DEAR ABBY: I am a 61-year-old, recently retired male. I think I am experiencing a midlife crisis, exacerbated by my wife’s decision to let her hair go natural – meaning gray. I know you and your readers will probably think I’m shallow and am trying to hold onto my young, 59-year-old “trophy wife.” We have been happily married nearly 40 years. In my eyes she represents our youth and vitality, which suddenly isn’t feeling so youthful or vital since her roots started showing. What can I do?
-YOUNGER AT HEART IN FLORIDA

Dear Abby’s Answer:

DEAR YOUNGER AT HEART: Try this. Remember the words of Benjamin Franklin on aging. He wrote: “In the dark all cats are gray.”

Dear Boogie’s Answer:

Dear YAHIF,

A “midlife crisis”? You’re 61, dude. Unless you’re part cyborg, you ain’t living to no 122, my friend. Especially in Florida. You’re smack dab in the middle of douchebag central down there. From what I understand, it’s like one big constant Nickelback concert tailgate party down there. The state bird is fucking your teacher. Florida is riggidy-rough. If you make it to 65 in that petrie dish of turdly human behavior, the next round of shuffleboard or crystal meth (whichever you’re into) is on me.

It’s really amazing how guys think, isn’t it? Even at your age, “youth and vitality” is what you’re striving for at all costs. Let me pour a little reality soy milk on your high fiber cereal for a minute here: you’re not young anymore! So you’re all mopey because your wife’s gray hair is finally breaking you of your weird delusions. She’s doing you a favor.

Here’s a little secret, YAHIF – being “young and vital” isn’t all that great. Personally, I can’t wait to shake off the few remaining vestiges of my quickly-vanishing youth and settle firmly into my “old guy” phase. My dad Pops Boogie turns 76 this year and do you know what he gives a shit about? Nothing! He says what he wants, does what he wants, and has a blast doing it. Why would he give a shit what anyone thinks? He has lived a fun, fascinating, adventurous life and now he’s digging his daily routine of walking the dog and teaching his grandkids how to swear. It kind of rules.

“But Brendan,” you may be saying, “thanks to pharmacology, we never have to get old! Or at least our penises don’t!” I’m going to say it – I don’t understand the appeal of Viagra. I can’t WAIT for the day when my dick isn’t running the show for me anymore. Maybe I’ll actually get a good night’s sleep or make a smart decision for once in my life. In the A*Team that is my body, my willie ain’t no Hannibal. There is no plan. And if there were, it would not very likely come together. No, my dick is more like Howling Mad Murdoch – good for a few laughs and a little excitement, but ultimately you’re in for a bumpy ride. And black men with mohawks hate it. (What?)

Youth is overrated, YAHIF. 60 is the new shut the fuck up and enjoy it.

Suck it, Van Buren!

What’s your vote – Abby or Boogie? Show your support of this column by sending a letter to dearboogie@bostonbandcrush.com. We need you and love you.

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