I love twenty-somethings. I like the energy. I like how everything is new to them. I like the fact that they drive people my age nuts, even though they are a helluva lot more pleasant than we ever were. I love thirty-somethings. They’re not jaded yet. Forty-somethings can be irritating the way forty-somethings are always irritating–that’s the age when people are at their most bitter and depressed and are still under the illusion that they are hipper than thirty-somethings. People my own age can be pretty obnoxious but then we were obnoxious when we were twenty-, thirty- and forty-somethings, too. What was rebellion then is just orneriness now. And hip seventy- and eighty-somethings are cool beyond words, a delight, and the hip among them long got over worrying about the threat of twenty-somethings. Wisdom comes with all those decades behind you. Then poof, you’re gone and it’s gone. That’s life, the man said, that’s what all the people say.