Remember when it used to be cold?  Yeah.  Seems like a long time ago.  All black-and-white, when people said, “Hiya, fella!” a lot and listened to Rosemary Clooney.

Actually it was in early December.  I know this because I picked one of those remote cold nights to go to a concert in Edmonds, and I had to park a few blocks away.  It was in the upper 20s and not pleasant.  I sort of relive it.

During the intermission of this concert, though, is when I warmed up.  Moving through a crowded lobby filled with people who were apparently bent on raising their body temperature via many glasses of wine, I spotted someone I went to high school with, if you can imagine.  Two thousand miles away from where we grew up, decades ago, and there he was in a corner, looking pretty much the same, given the years.  What are the odds?

Actually pretty good in my case, since he was the one who invited me.  When we had last met, which had been a couple of weeks before.  And I see him pretty often.

The point is, after nearly 40 years of friendship, you know things about another person.  Tastes.  Interests.  Hobbies.  Things that are likely to come out of their mouths in lobbies, so I was surprised when he suddenly said, “Did you hear that Donny Osmond just turned 52?”

As I say, I’ve known him a long time.  Since we were 15, in fact, so I feel secure in saying that over thousands of hours of conversations between 1973 and December 2009, I had never before heard him say the words “Donny” or “Osmond” in any combination.  Whatsoever.

Also, he was smiling, as if it gave him pleasure to pass on this bit of celebrity news, as if he were wishing Donny well.  This was the first thing that ran through my mind.

The second, coming almost immediately after, was “That’s funny.  I thought he was around our age.”

For some reason I managed to stop that thought from floating downstairs and out through my mouth.  This almost never happens.

You see where I’m going, I assume.

Everyone goes through it, surely.  You reach a stage where your statistical age, based on the year you were born, refuses to correlate with the person you think you are.  This is called “cognitive dissonance,” although maybe it’s not.

I believe there are also special circumstances in my case, although you probably feel the same way.  Still, I’ve been working out of my home for 20 years now, padding around in socks and always looking like I just climbed out of bed. 

I’ve aged in isolation, in other words, apart from the tribe.  And when I’ve had to venture out into the real world, into offices with other grownups, it’s always felt sort of like going to the prom, artificial and play acting.  Including the part about renting a suit.

So I worry a lot about aging in the wrong way.  I want to get older without anyone noticing, in other words, so I have to count on observation to learn what to avoid.

I have a list, then, based on my research, of tendencies and traits that are sure signs of aging gracelessly, although I’m positive none of them apply to you.  Or anyone else I know.  Just random old people.  And all guys; I’m not about to comment on aging women, other than to say that YOU ALL LOOK GREAT.

Think of this as a manual, maybe.  If it’s your wish to look like an old guy, do this.  If not, don’t.

First, you’re going to be tempted to make a really bad decision regarding facial hair.  This is tricky; obviously some older men, like the fine actor Sean Connery, and Santa Claus, look elegant wearing beards and moustaches.  Others look like the end result of a hunting accident involving a very white bird.  Rule of thumb?  If you’ve never worn facial hair, giving it a shot after 50 is maybe not such a good idea.

Secondly, you’re going to feel compelled to tuck in your shirt.  Any shirt.  Including shirts that shouldn’t be tucked.  You’re going to get up, put on a pair of inappropriate shorts, tuck your T-shirt into them and complete the package with an ugly belt and white socks that go up to your calves. 

Dude.  Have some respect for your cohort.  I’m asking.  Leave the shirt out.  Maybe skip the shorts, too.

Finally (given space limitations; I could go on), at some point you’re going to start talking.  To everyone.  The young woman who’s ringing up your groceries will suddenly look like the perfect person to hear about your first Steely Dan concert.  It’s much better to appear taciturn.  Maybe picture Sean Connery buying groceries.  He probably doesn’t say much.

Again, I could go on.  Maybe I’ll just write the manual.  Maybe everyone will buy it, I’ll get fabulously wealthy, grow a wild beard and talk to anyone I want, including Oprah.  In the meantime, though, I’ll stick with un-tucking and keeping my mouth shut.  You guys do what you want.