In my neck of the woods, real suburban men fight off the mid-life blues with a trip to the Jaguar dealer. You can pretty much set your biological clock to it. At the first sight of gray temples or thinning hair, menopausal males lug themselves straight to the overpriced car dealership and start picking out seat fabrics. Obviously, this makes for a pretty funny suburban life in my town. There isn't much more comical a vision than seeing a bulbous, half-bald fifty-something accountant trying to look cool while hoisting himself and his expandable Dockers out of a low-riding Jag - let alone trying to pry himself from an MG midget. It looks a bit like Bill Shatner, all puffy and sixtyish trying to look sexy as he bulges from Captain Kirk's commander seat.
It's not as if women don't play the same game of fighting off mortality with a shopping spree. Women are much better at image-management than men, however, and so they resist the frumpy years in subtler ways. Their hair gets progressively lighter, a futile attempt to hide gray and pretend blondness that ends up turning brunettes the shade of orange creamsicles. They slip quietly into Dr. Self E. Steem's "Rejuvenation Clinic" to get a facial stretch or a little butt demolition. And their cars get bigger rather than smaller - generally SUVs larger than the humvees that liberated Kuwait. Mid-life men are funny to watch on the streets, but their female counterparts are scarier. Imagine roadways filled with tight-faced, orange-haired moms in a hurry, all driving barely street legal personnel carriers. Think Hillary Clinton in a bad mood and driving a tank.
My forties are a time when I thank the stars I am a computer geek. Cars and tummy tucks have no appeal. All I need is a vehicle that makes it to CompUSA or Electronics Boutique - and protects me when Hillary and her SUV four-wheel their way up my tailpipe. Plastic surgeons would just laugh or run away at the sight of me in their waiting room, anyway. And who needs fancy clothes, when I've got a full wardrobe of gaming t-shirts dating back to 1996.
Instead, I find solace in "treating myself" to peripherals I really don't need. None of these add-ons is ephemeral, mind you. Each is an honest upgrade of a critical component. It's just that glowing optical mice, internet keyboards and hyper-speed CD-Rom drive are to geekdom what orange hair and Jags are to normals - expensive and unnecessary hedges against boredom.