Each night the costumes on the participants are more exotic, the drinks are stronger and the overall feeling of well being and safety is pervasive. Last evening, I recall seeing a couple getting laid in a bathroom of a club that I have never even been to in my waking state. Who needs pornography? Ironically, I walked away from there to give them privacy. It sucks to have scruples even when you sleep!

As middle age approaches like a rushing bullet through a Magnum 45, it is jarring to have to confront ones own limitations. In waking life there are forms to complete, phones to answer, appointments to keep, bones that creek, gallbladders that scream, butts that grow wider and rush, rush, rush. There are also days when the only difference between you and a corpse is nothing more than the breath you take.

The bloom of Spring’s eternal youth has receded as fast as Bruce Willis’ hairline. The things that I worried about in my twenties, I should have worried about quite a bit more. That nagging twinge in the back from an all night dancing extravaganza should have woke me up to realize that the spinal discs may be compressed beyond physical endurance. The click in the knee has become a full percussion orchestra at this point which now encompasses the collaboration between the shin, foot and a few other bones and joints I was not aware of previously. I could probably survive on the island of Survivor’s just for having the most soulful sounding kneecaps that can keep time to any rhythm you can play. Even that subtle rippling sensation in the upper right portion of my chest should have been a warning that my days of macaroni salad were coming to a fast close.

Having worked with the elderly through most of my “day” career, I could not understand the fixations on some of these people. Some obsessed over bowel movements, flatulence, cholesterol levels, etc. You can’t understand it either until you find yourself thrust into the jaws of oncoming old age. Whoever said it got easier as you got older LIED. Bowel movements, flatulence and gray hair is NOT my idea of life getting easier. It just means more crap to buy to stall the advancement of an age you don’t want to think about. Good hard earned cash that could have gone to a CD instead, now has to take precedence in the home remedy and hair dye aisle of your favorite grocery store.

Whenever I find myself resenting this continued encroachment on my youth, I think of all the friends who passed away young. Some never even made it to 30. The guilt sets in like a Jewish mother with a pot of chicken soup. How is it possible to curse life and old age when so many never made it this far? The only solace is the thought that had they made it, we probably would be comparing notes on our aches and pains, not unlike that which we have seen our elders do in our own youth. Somehow it seems a bit funnier when it is personalized though. Who would have thought that when asked to describe oneself, the comment would one day become, “Body by Dom Deluise, personality by Maude?”

There are some advantages however. While watching a movie or listening to music, you can come up with a whole set of dialogue and lyrics that aren’t even there. The ears have a funny way of doing that to you. Judging from some of the films I have seen as of late, this is an attribute, of that I can assure you. The version of the films I heard was far more interesting than the actual lame dialogue that was in its place.

It seems the older I get the sillier my questioning on the sanity of life. We now have wide screen TV’s and many films and commercials are reverting to black and white. We have CD’s for crisp sound and there are artists who ADD the crackling sound from vinyl. Then too, we have beepers and cell phones that go off at the most inopportune times. I can’t imagine wanting someone to have the ability to get in touch with me at any time they felt the need. Heck, I may be getting old, but I still value my privacy. The last thing I would want is someone from the job beeping me in the middle of a rare romantic interlude. If it’s important, leave a message on the machine or send me an e-mail. I think I secretly fear enjoying the buzzing of a beeper and attaching the blasted thing to my back to be my magic fingers massager.

There is also the ever present and annoying ringing of your home phone at dinner time from the telemarketers asking if you want to switch your carrier...

Common sense would tell these people, that if I don’t use it all that much now, why would I want to switch to something else? If Alexander Graham Bell saw one of my phone bills, he would have said, “Pfft, there is no money in this.” I now chew loudly in their ear or ask them for their home phone number and name so I can get back to them. Even the Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t ring my bell asking to save my soul, now they offer me the investment plan.

As far as romance, it is safe to say that after the first 3 years, there is a different attitude. If you manage to stay with the same person for longer than that and you get to grow old together, there will be a pervasive thought that echoes in your mind. A voice will loudly declare in the back of your head, “ What the hell was I thinking when I got involved with you?” Sex eventually comes to mean the number after five and before seven. Out of habit you may turn to your partner on a weekend and say, “Hey babe, you in the mood?” The usual response is a wordless look like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Before you know it, your relationship starts to look like the one your folks had. There is an unwritten rule somewhere that dictates that after a set amount of time together, you go from being an item to being a living arrangement with occasional perks.

In my parallel universe, I can remain 21. The nights are laden with mystery, joy, romance, music and dancing. The people involved are always pleasant and the clubs are always brimming. I can’t turn back the clock, but I can still get the ambiance. At night, the candles in the sconces are lit, the goth music plays in the background and the tub is steaming and full of fragrant oils. Soaking by candlelight has to rank up there as one of the most non-sexual erotic experiences. If you happen to have a partner that does not respond like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, then it can be one of the most romantic experiences, but I digress.

As long as the knees can be bent, the tub will continue to be utilized as a recourse to escape the ever maddening world beyond my door. With just the candles burning, the warm glow envelopes like a cloak from a medieval past. With the assistance of some fluffy down pillows, I can escape back to that world of slumber that brings me face to face with a universe I want to experience once again. Another night of dancing with friends who have crossed over to the other side makes these nocturnal moments precious and worthwhile, even if I have to grow older to do so.