Back to the Future

It was worse than a nightmare. I woke up this morning with excruciating back pain. For a few seconds, I felt twenty years older. Some years ago, I developed a particular fear of back issues, ever since two man friends of mine in their early thirties began experiencing back problems despite their dashing good looks and regular workout routines. “They’re too young,” I remember thinking as I drove home the morning after.

Once oriented, I realized that, for the first time in my life, I must have fallen asleep in an odd position. Honestly, I’ve never experienced such pain! How will I ever lie about my age if I’m never able to bend over for fear of backbreaking pain? After some salvific massage and a six-hour Family Guy marathon, I ventured vertically. I used to think that thirty was just a “state of mind;” that was, until I felt it. Shit!

It’s a good thing that I’m not hosting anyone this Shabbos. In fact, I have time to actually write on a Friday. I’m going to Brooklyn, b’ezrat Hashem, to the home of a friend currently in culinary school. It’s the Shabbat for Brooklyn-born gays chez our favorite Sephardi stud, Shaya. There will be so much drama; I guarantee it. The silver lining: I am relieved of cooking (save a dish or two) and entertaining for the first time since I was at the parents’ for Passover.

I’ll admit; my stomach’s a bit queasy. I’m not sure if it’s the whole “back equals old” equation. That can’t be it. Who wouldn’t be nervous about spending most of the weekend in Brooklyn? I haven’t been there in almost a year (since both airports are in Queens). I hardly ever leave the Upper West Side, much less Manhattan. Lately, it’s just been too hot to be hopping around the island. Except for good live music and Madonna, we have everything we need right here.

Who doesn’t need a holiday? Perhaps, it’ll do me some good to get away to a simpler place, like Brooklyn. My back is fine now, provided that I make no sudden moves. “You’re only as young as you feel,” I keep hearing. The problem is that, at this point, all I’ve got is the real numbers on my side.

Shabbat Shalom.