Midlife crises present themselves in many ways, but usually with the same underlying symptom: sudden awareness of mortality. It’s the surprise attack on the battlefield of life; the Pearl Harbor of what you imagined was the tropical idyll that would never end, the thought of which makes you want to get bombed.

I admit it. Every time I read about some guy ten years younger than me who dies after his clogged heart throws a cholesterol hairball and backs up his cardiac plumbing, I start thinking, “Wow! That could have been me! Maybe I should watch my diet and…hey, is that a cream-filled donut?”

In spite of things like other people dying, the gray hair (and lack thereof), wrinkles, sagging, and terminal bloating, I don’t seem to be immersed in a midlife crisis. I’m not sure why, other than I’m a pretty boring guy to begin with. I like things the way they are, changeless and eternal. I still tune in to CBS on Monday nights waiting for new episodes of M*A*S*H to start. (Oh, that Frank Burns! What a geek!) Boring? I’ve put crystal meth addicts to sleep with my life story.

Midlife crises are not pretty. Men afflicted with MC often begin dating younger women. I’ve seen them when my wife and I are out. Some 50-ish idiots with diamond studs in one ear and Bluetooth phones stuck in the other. They look like fat, balding, male Uhuras, vainly trying to connect with the Starfleet Command of their youth. The girls are laughing too loudly at their bon mots (they don’t understand what bon mot means), while the guys throw out hip terms they don’t really understand how to use. “Wanna go back to my hizzle for a little shizzle?” They sound like they’re speaking Yiddish.

Flashy sports car, hip clothes, martini bars. Not sure I could afford a midlife crisis even if I had one. Once I got the car, threads, and jewelry I’d have to find a young girl who thinks a hot guy is one who can’t spend more than $8.00 and change on a night out. Or stay up after 8:00 on a night out.

So for now, even though my peers may be trying to recapture their youth in frantic and farcical style, I’m letting mine slip away quietly, free to go where it wants. Besides, I’m happy with my life the way it is, and with my wife the way she is. You know. Apt to kill me the moment I mention the word Porsche.

Everyone makes New Year’s resolutions. This year I decided to make up a list of resolutions other people should follow, since I can’t seem to keep any of my own. Maybe I should set my sights lower, though I still have hopes I can become king of a small island nation populated with young, beautiful female swimsuit models. Here are a few I’d like to see. Only one each, and fulfilling them would certainly make the world a better place in my book:

Charlie Sheen – Realize that “Beyond the Law” was just the title of a movie you were in.

Sarah Palin – Stop writing books and try reading one for a change.

Joe Lieberman – Find a party you like and stick with it.

Barak Obama – Give up on those cancerous, white, death merchants. You know: Republicans.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad – Look for a job in which the last thing you see won’t be a mob of 10 million Iranians calling for your head.

Angelina Jolie – Adopt an American kid, for Christ’s sake.

Madonna – Ditto.

Rush Limbaugh – Ask yourself whether the money you make is worth ruining everything America stands for.

Dick Cheney – More shooting lawyers, less shooting your mouth off.

Tiger Woods – No matter how difficult it may be, try to find happiness and satisfaction with only fame, a billion dollars, and your Swedish model wife.

Hugh Hefner – Lose the pajamas. Unless you have Alzheimer’s, you shouldn’t show up for interviews looking like grandpa trying to find his teeth in the morning.

Did I miss anyone? Suggestions are welcome.

• Now that both my kids are over 21, they ask for fewer presents. Unfortunately the gifts they ask for are usually much more expensive. Like a down payment on a house.

• My wife and I no longer have to worry about getting woken at 5:30 Christmas morning by the happy squealing of kids who want to open presents. We’re old enough now that when we go to bed we worry we won’t wake up. Ever.

• We think we’re so smart because we don’t believe in Santa Claus. Then we put our faith for retirement in Social Security.

• The only reason Black Friday is the biggest and busiest shopping day of the year is because we’re all too stupid to think, “Maybe I should avoid the crowds and go shopping on Saturday or Sunday.”

• More and more, people walking around the malls at Christmastime remind me of the zombies walking Monroeville Mall in Romero’s “Dawn of the Dead.”

• Every new Christmas music CD that comes out has the same dozen or so songs. Can’t we write some new ones? Anyone? Put your hand down, McCartney.

• If Louis Farrakhan did a Christmas CD, I doubt he’d include “White Christmas.”

• I’ve been married more than 30 years. Twice I got presents for my wife she actually liked. This year I’ll get her a gift card and that big, flat screen TV I’ve always wanted. I mean she’s always wanted. Yeah. That’s it. She.

• I don’t want to offend anyone by saying Merry Christmas. So if you pass me on the street, and I shout, “Fuck you, asshole!” you’ll know why.