In “The Day I Turned Uncool – Confessions of a Reluctant Grown-Up”, essayist Dan Zevin gives a witty account of his personal experiences with aging. Through twenty-four confessions ranging from “I take pride in my lawn,” to “Expanding my horizons isn’t worth the hassle anymore,” Zevin juxtaposes his adult days with a wilder, less responsible time.
Not your average adult, Zevin makes the clear distinction between “regular” grown-ups and reluctant ones. “Regular grown-ups lead regular lives,” he explains. “They fret about their 401(k)’s and lose sleep over their receding hairlines. They use words like ‘interface’ and ‘multi-task’, and they are not even kidding.” Zevin, a self-proclaimed reluctant grown-up who still wears sweatpants he owned in college, admits to such reluctant grown-up behaviors as hiring a cleaning woman, joining a health club, and going out for dinner as a replacement for going out. Each confessional chapter paints an amusing image of the author, who would rather walk his surrogate daughter, a labrador named Chloe, than visit his friends with children.
Zevin is a pupil of the world, bumbling his way through etiquette courses, wine tastings, and golf classes. “I liked Ben,” he says of his golf instructor. “He had a pleasant laugh and the patient demeanor of a special ed teacher. Which was a very good thing, since I was going to be his pupil.” In “Back to School”, he incredulously relates his first experiences as an adjunct instructor at a local college:
On my first day of school, the kid sitting next to me raised his hand and made the following inquiry: “Professor, does that count toward our final grade?” I, for one, was taken aback, not so much by the question, but by the odd understanding that it was being asked to me. He may has well have called me Your Honor, or Captain, or some other title best reserved for serious, responsible figures of authority. “Professor”? That would suggest I have something to profess.
But he does have something to profess. Not many people, reluctant grown-ups or “regular” ones, are as undaunted as Zevin by the beckoning hand of Father Time. His ability to laugh at his fears makes him fearless, and his humbling tales lessen any misgivings we readers may have about our own advent into adulthood.
Zevin spins his tales from suburbia in a manner to which anyone can relate. In “The Grass Is Never Greener”, he laments his codependent relationship with his lawn:
Whenever I am faced with a looming work deadline, I’ll seize the opportunity to procrastinate with a little mulching. The effect is a lot like doing laundry: it’s never what you should really be doing, but it makes you feel like a productive and worthwhile human being nonetheless.
You don’t have to own a lawnmover to nod your head in empathetic appreciation.
Zevin joins the ranks of a refreshing new breed of writers who straddle the worlds of non-fiction and fiction through their humorous memoirs. Like fellow essayists David Sedaris and Amy Vowell, Zevin showcases his talent for storytelling, cleverly introducing a motley assortment of characters from neighborhood handymen, passive-aggressive etiquette instructors, and anti-social dog-walkers.
In one of the most entertaining selections, “Not My Junior Year Abroad”, he visits his brother, who is spending a college semester in Spain. Suffering from an unfortunate eyeball injury, Zevin compares his experiences as an early-to-bed, visually-challenged adult traveler with embellished entries from his college journal. The adult-aged Zevin watches HBO in his hotel and soaks his eye in tea, while the college-aged Zevin pens idealistic prose from his semester abroad in Copenhagen. College Zevin’s marijuana-induced journal entries reveal the truths of life, (“NEIL YOUNG = GOD”), whereas reluctant grown-up Zevin’s do not carry the same zeal. “The most intense drug experience I’ve had in recent memory involved double-dosing on ibuprofen,” he admits, “which, incidentally, you’ve got to try if you – like me – have been jonesing for a mind-blowing anti-inflammatory.”
Readers looking for earth-shattering subject matter need not look here. Zevin admits to steering clear of politics, philosophy, and just about any topic other than sports and his dog. Although some may prefer more socio-political commentary from their reading list, in an age of global warming, imminent war, and human cloning, Zevin’s sophomoric confessionals offer refreshing asylum from the world’s problems.
Zevin’s anecdotes strike the perfect balance between realism and hyperbole. He challenges us to rage against the dying of our youth, and reminds us that although we all grow older, with the right attitude, we can remain young at heart. Despite the book’s title, Zevin’s uncanny ability to make us laugh at the absurdity of adult life makes him anything but uncool.
