Getting older, and perhaps, more mature

I couldn't get much sleep last night, so I happened to be awake in that magical twilight when both Mtv and VH1 play music videos. Needless to say, they're not that entertaining, nor even pleasant to sit through, but they beat reading at 6 in the morning, and they keep me "hip" with what the "cool" kids are into these days. Do kids use the words "hip" and "cool" anymore? It's hard to tell with all their fancy gadgets and whatnot.

Anyway, while watching the pretty and/or disturbing images (what the hell is a London Bridge? And why does Fergie look like she's 90 years old?) through two half-open eyes, I happened upon the fact that Weird Al Yankovic (no relation to "Polka King" Frankie Yankovic, though it is a disturbing coincidence) seems to have a new album out.

Now, I'll admit it, at one point in my life, I owned every Weird Al album available. From vinyl to casette to CD, I had followed him. Of course, this was during middle school, when I was also a proud member of the Dio fan club. But still. At one point in my life, a Weird Al release would have been big news to me.

I briefly flirted with the idea of purchasing it for nostalgia sake, but then quickly forgot about it, based on the fact that I knew I would not be amused in the slightest by any of his stuff.

And a little bit of me died inside to know that I've come that far from childhood that the accordian-based parody songs of a minor pop-culture celebrity long past his prime no longer amuse me.

I'm getting old people, I'm getting old.