I'm going to have a good ol' ÜberRant. I may or may not link to the things I'm referencing. If I don't, you'll have to look them up your own damn self because I'm in a pissy, un-caffeinated mood.

Here's what set me off today: Hugh Hefner's claim that "80 is the new 40." No, you wrinkly-assed, prune-faced, limp-dicked old fart, it's not. It shouldn't be. Shut your Ensure-guzzling Viagra hole and face facts. You're old. There's nothing wrong with getting old. For once in your pathetically superficial life, would you please GROW UP???

Hef's annoying statement comes on the heels of my receiving this month's Elle magazine, which includes an article trumpeted on the front page that helps you choose your plastic surgeon.

What the f....Okay, I would consider plastic surgery if I had a masectomy or got in a bad accident or caught on fire or something. Some women want to see one for more cosmetic purposes; whatever. It's none of my business. But a front page article in a leading fashion magazine? That suggests that it's now become the norm. Why?

Add this to the endless tooth-whitening products, skin-tighteners and God knows what else and we've got a group of people in some serious denial here.

We all want to look good. I'm not saying anyone who uses one of these products is a moron. I have my share of alpha hydroxy products in my bathroom. But there comes a point when you have to face facts. I think that point should come at 60. But NOOOOOOO. Life Begins at 60. It's the new 20, by Hef's reckoning.

Unfortunately, this kind of thinking does impact people like me who don't want to pretend we're younger than we really are. Because we are perceived to be in the minority, we don't get clothing lines designed for us or haircuts geared toward us or anything else made for aging gracefully.

And we need them, people. When Dilf and I went out to dinner Friday night for our anniversary, there was a woman there who, if she wasn't older than me, had been treated especially cruelly by gravity. She was wearing a tube top made of jersey material, meant to resemble men's underwear, with the elastic band at the top meant to represent the underwear's waistband. She wasn't wearing a bra. She should've been.

There are worse things than growing old. Looking like a complete jackass, for example.