Everything must go...

So today I turn 29. Aging, as a wise man once said, is the process of reconciling yourself to the crushing realisation that you'll never be the man you'd hoped to grow into. With that in mind, I thought it was time to take stock; time to look back over the ambitions I once held for my 20s and to compare them with the accomplishments of my real life. The process of comparison is simple: I take a goal I held for myself at or before the beginning of my third decade and compare it with my life's achievement which most nearly corresponds to that goal. For example: as a young man I dreamed of writing a novel. As it turns out, I maintain an obscure weblog with a readership of two. I think that's a reasonably good result. Perhaps my other goals have been less completely fulfilled. The following list of goals and outcomes will no doubt demonstrate the mixed feelings that accompany my progress toward middle age:

Goal:

Find a cure for cancer.

Outcome:

Have thus far managed to avoid getting cancer.

Goal:

Play football for Arsenal Football Club.

Outcome:

Played foosball drunk off my arse.

Goal:

Own a 1959 Les Paul.

Outcome:

Hit on a 59-year-old lesbian named Paula.

Goal:

Speak fluent German.

Outcome:

Can speak fluent Gibberish (well... Pidgin Gibberish).

Goal:

Compose a symphony.

Outcome:

Can belch Islands in the Stream in two different keys.

Goal:

Have a torrid love affair with a French lingerie model.

Outcome:

Stole orthopaedic footwear from a bowlegged stripper.

Goal:

Conduct an a capella performance of Haendel's Messiah.

Outcome:

Taught a parrot to say 'Where's the Beef' on command.

Goal:

Direct stage adaptation of To Kill A Mockingbird.

Outcome:

Stole Gregory Peck's shoes, walked a mile in them.

Goal:

Direct sequel to Blade Runner.

Outcome:

Shot a guy during a job interview.

Goal:

Climb K2 without oxygen.

Outcome:

Spent a month living on nothing but grape soda and popcorn chicken.

Goal:

Write an award-winning sitcom.

Outcome:

Watched half a season of 18 Wheels of Justice.

Goal:

Run a marathon.

Outcome:

Lost $20 gambling on the outcome of a semi-professional prune juice drinking contest.

As you will no doubt have gathered from the above, my 20s have been a rich period of triumph, tragedy and personal growth. So what remains for the final year of my third decade? Well... I spent this evening watching the season return of How I Met Your Mother and I couldn't help but think that meeting Ms Right should be the project to which I devote this year. That said, I couldn't quite understand why 29-year-old perpetual lonely heart Ted, desperate to settle down, would second-guess his decision to marry Sarah Chalke because she didn't like Star Wars. Frankly, spending a lifetime with Dr Elliot Reid strikes me as a fairly good way to shuffle off this mortal coil. If she hadn't enjoyed The Empire Strikes Back, I might have understood Ted's misgivings, but Star Wars? Leaving this issue for a moment... Has anyone noticed how much that Ted guy looks like Arsenal 'striker' Nicklas Bendtner? It's kind of freaky:



Both of these men have trouble scoring, but only one of them is Danish. The question is: which one? Answers in the comments section, please.