I was on one of those websites where they overload you with information. On the periphery I saw which celebrities were celebrating their birthdays. Bruce Springsteen was 62, Mickey Rooney was 91, and Jason Alexander was 52. I sent them each a telepathic birthday card and was about to get back to work on assembling my fantasy football team when I started doing the subtraction in my head. If Jason Alexander, the actor who played George Costanza on Seinfeld, was turning 52 now, that meant in 1992 when Seinfeld was on the air he was 33 which is the same age as I am now.
It was hard for me to focus on anything after that. I know age is nothing but a number, but numbers are used to measure and quantify and it is keeping me up at night to realize a character that I equate with the soft underbelly of middle age has been on the Earth the same number of years as I have been.
When I turned 27 I told people I was middle aged. If life expectancy is 81 years then the middle trimester would be 27 to 54, but I didn’t really mean it. But now I must accept that if I am the same age as George Costanza I am in fact middle aged. I must reexamine my place in the universe. Am I too old for hare-brained schemes as George Costanza seemed to be? Must I now hang out exclusively at coffee shops or delis rather than bars? Does it seem as outlandish that I have a beautiful love interest as George Costanza would have from time to time?
But the truly terrifying aspect of this is that with the nature of television reruns unless I meet a timely death it will only be a matter of time before I am older than George Costanza.