I’m Not a Kid, Not Yet an Old Man

Looking Towards Home from Debs Park

I watched Anatomy of a Fall last weekend, and it was marvelous. Both Sandra Huller and the kid Milo Machado Graner were riveting. But the thing that got to me had nothing to do with the movie at all. 

After the movie, I started watching the press that director Justine Triet did all through the film festival season. In Toronto she was asked about the younger generation directors, and she talked about how she worried about the kids having access to funds to make their films. 

Here’s the thing. Justine is a couple of years younger than me, and she has already realized that the new directors coming up are a different generation. That she is not a part of that group.


Well, I still think I’m a young’un. Even though my hair is turning white, my bones creak, I only have partial feeling in my left foot, that I need to be on medication to not die, I can’t stay out past 10pm if I even have any desire to go out,  my brain still thinks it’s in its 20s. I mean, I like discovering new music. Like, I liked the new Lana del Rabies album. The new Danny Brown, and his collaboration with JPEGMAFIA. The new Moris Blak. 

But then I realize I do some old man shit. Like I’ve slowly gotten rid of social media. I am not on Instagram anymore, and I have never been on Tik Tok. I still keep up a blog. I try not to perpetually have my phone in front of my face. I don’t listen to Taylor Swift or Beyonce or any of the pop stuff that are a snooze. I just don’t have that sensibility. 

It’s sort of like that Britney song from her movie Crossroads: I’m not a girl, not yet a woman. I’m not a kid, not yet an old man.