So I finally watched the Bond movie last night - I don't know why I bother - it seems to be some kind of cultural conditioning, like giving a shit about what Madonna is up to (and why in God's name does she keep doing movies? There are many fine, fine-looking women in their 40's - heyyy, Rene Russo - but dear Jesus, Madonna isn't one of them, and her "acting" - she's a complete stiff even in a Bond movie).

Of course, this particular Bond movie has a rather wonderful beginning. The very first person you see in the movie is… LAIRD! And he and his bros are doing their wonderful, over-the-top scary thing at Jaws while WEARING NIGHT-VISION GOGGLES! I whooped! (well I almost whooped, I was watching it at home and the kid had just gone to sleep).

After that, the idea of Bond as a hero is just silly. When Pierce Brosnan takes his shirt off, you know that his body belongs to an actor pushing 50. When you look at Laird, man, now THAT's a hero. Check the video titled, yes, "Laird" for some kick-ass Jaws, or "To" about the Tahiti mind-blower tube, and what you're seeing is somebody using his body, all the instincts of a lifetime, and, yes, his mind, to take us somewhere we haven't been before. Making us all more alive.

And the guy is only a few years younger than me!

Now, this probably doesn't occur to those of you younger than 40, but at some point you kind of run out of heroes. Early on there are pro sports athletes, beautiful musicians, actors, people building cool software, painting great paintings, being funnier than you can even imagine, whatever. You want to be a bit like those people, maybe steer a course through life to get a little closer to them. You put pictures of them on the wall. You think about how they get through life. They help out.

Later on, interesting ideas of who you might be get kind of scarce. The common images of a 55 or (God forbid!) a 65 year-old man are steel-haired CEOs, successful dudes checking their well-managed portfolios and smiling at the grand-kids before popping a little Viagra and having cuddly sex with the well-preserved wife (the first one, always in love, never a moment where she wound up and threw a full pasta dish at you just before your friends turned up - none of that). The notions of stoke, messiness, adventure, creativity - if you're over 45, those don't apply. "You should have that all that irresponsible shit out of your system by now", says the system.

Well. It's NOT going to HAPPEN that WAY.

I'm going to keep watching Laird as we get old together. And Lopez - the style-monk, and Wayne Lynch - the scary-wolf man, father of young kids. These guys are going to have adventures right up to the point they keel over, and if I can do 10% (5%? 2%? any %) of what they are doing when I'm 65, I'll be a HAPPY MAN!

(I haven't forgotten the women - that's for next week) (and if you have your own heros in their 40s and 50s, email me. Everybody else has Kelly, Andy Irons and all those fine, flexible dudes, who are completely wonderful of course) (and, yes I've watched "Surfing for Life" and that's what I'm talking about! Woody Brown rules all 80+ year-olds)