Die young. Stay pretty.

The headline on this week's Parade magazine, paragon of useful information:


PARADE REVEALS THE SECRETS TO A LONG LIFE; DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO GO THE DISTANCE?


My thoughts (right after Ooh, yum cake!) were I sure hope not. 

What's with the big desire to live endlessly long lives? The things I enjoy--exercising, shopping at Forever 21 and wearing clothes meant for teenagers, eating high fat/low fiber/high sodium meals--are typically things that can't or shouldn't be done by old people.

Let's face it, most of life is a veil of fucking tears. What's the attraction to prolonging the misery?

Here's the bad news, according to this article, some of my behaviors are predictors of long life: unmarried, chronic worrier, introverted, active. Fuck. I don't, however, have a fulfilling, successful (or existent) career at this point, so staying unemployed isn't all bad.

Maybe I'll change my mind some day and want to live to 97 like my neighbor and Big Gun's dad. She's doing OK, but as far as I can tell, his biggest enjoyments are the three squares his caregiver mashes up on a plate and serves him, even though his doctor has ordered that they have to be low in salt/sugar/fat/flavor to ensure he lives even longer. Not my idea of nirvana. I'd take an early death over that, but ask me again in twenty years.