"AGING IS WHAT HAPPENS IF WE'RE LUCKY"

Tech Bros Trying to Be Voldemort, Aging is Not a Disease, and Dr. Ruth Saves The Day Again

“Aging is what happens if we’re lucky; it means that I’m alive." - Cindy Crawford

Hiya Friends!

It’s been a couple of months since I mostly* quit caffeine (*my coffee alternative has cocoa, which contains a tiny amount of caffeine) and I’m happy to report that I’m not nearly as sweaty or sluggish. That said, if you feel good drinking caffeine, you should keep on enjoying your best life. Whatever you do, don’t be like Bryan Johnson. More about him below.

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TECH BROS TRYING TO BE LIKE VOLDEMORT

A couple of months ago, Samantha Bee (who has an informative and funny Substack) shared an article from TIME about Bryan Johnson. If you haven’t heard of this guy, he’s a 46-year-old centimillionaire tech bro on a quest to live forever. (Insert: eye roll and groan.) I probably shouldn’t give him any more ink, but I can’t help but weigh in on his idiotic “Don’t Die” campaign. Please click the TIME link to see several ghoulish photos of Johnson.

In 2007, Johnson founded Braintree, a payment processing company that acquired Venmo. Then he sold it all to Paypal and basically attained supervillain wealth status. Predictably, in short order, he left his wife and kids, and quit the Mormon church. My guess is, he wanted to avoid tithing 10% of his newfound wealth to his brethren. Next, he sunk $100M into an AI company (natch) to replace humans or, as he puts it, “to develop new technologies for therapeutics, diagnostics, and synthetic biology.” Whatever.

The point is, Johnson, instead of using his oodles of cash to make the world a better place, or provide assistance to the less fortunate, invested $4M in a cockamamie eternal life regimen called Blueprint that might as well be packaged and sold by the ACME company. This is what his Blueprint life looks like:

he outsources every decision involving his body to a team of doctors, who use data to develop a strict health regimen to reduce what Johnson calls his “biological age.” That system includes downing 111 pills every day, wearing a baseball cap that shoots red light into his scalp, collecting his own stool samples, and sleeping with a tiny jet pack attached to his penis to monitor his nighttime erections. Johnson thinks of any act that accelerates aging—like eating a cookie, or getting less than eight hours of sleep—as an “act of violence.”

Honestly, reading this article made me want to commit an “act of violence.” Why does this guy yearn for immortality when he’s completely zapped every ounce of joy out of his existence? He claims his mission is to prove that, contrary to the laws of biology, and every medical expert interviewed for the TIME piece, death isn’t inevitable. I’m willing to argue that death seems like a dance party with free cake compared to the way Johnson “lives.” Just take a look at what he’s done to chocolate.

Tolo (Johnson’s assistant) offers me a little bowl of special chocolate, which had been “un-dutched,” stripped of heavy metals, and sourced only from regions with high polyphenol density. It tastes like a foot. She also makes me a juice-like concoction that contains chlorella powder with spermidine, amino complex, creatine, collagen peptides, cocoa flavanols, and ceylon cinnamon. Tolo and Johnson call it the Green Giant, but it looks almost black, like the stuff that washes off a duck after an oil spill. She manages to mix it without getting any of the dark sludge on her immaculate white jumpsuit. “It moves through some people’s digestive system faster than others,” she chirps, gesturing to the nearby bathroom. I take a tentative sip. It tastes like Gatorade, but sandy.

Of course Johnson isn’t the only ultra-wealthy dip💩 attempting to stop time. The whole band of supervillains including, Jeff Besos, Sam Altman, Peter Thiel, and Mark Zuckerberg have kicked in hundreds of millions of dollars to fund “anti-aging” research and technology. The PR around these efforts amplifies the promise of medical advancements, cell regenerating technology, and curing terminal diseases like cancer. I’m all for curing cancer. Let’s do it! But I firmly reject the idea that aging is a disease and we should all strive to be demons and vampires. These egomaniacal rich guys so desperately fear growing older, they’ve funded their own versions of horcruxes to achieve immortality. But this isn’t a fantasy novel. The laws of nature can’t be denied. Whether these guys like it or not, they’re all destined to perish, and their diabolical reigns will come to end. Sorry, not sorry, brahs.

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AGING IS NOT A DISEASE
Clearly we live in a world where we’re bombarded with anti-aging messaging. The eternal youth tyranny is so pervasive, especially here in LA, that I’ve heard about 20-somethings getting fillers injected into their faces on the regular. What in the hell? Most youngins don’t even have visible pores. I don’t get it.

It saddens me that “kids” today worry about looking “old” and suffer from loneliness in greater numbers than older adults. The world is completely upside down. If any young people read this, please, I implore you: Go out and have some damn fun. You look fantastic! The same goes for older folks too. We only have this life and we should make the most of it.

A recent article in The Washington Post titled, “Aging is a Disease”: Inside The Drive To Postpone Death Inevitably,” explores the anti-aging movement and the impact of longevity on society and the planet. Mr. Don’t Die aka Bryan Johnson kicks off the story and there are more photos of his creepy translucent skin and weird braided hair if you haven’t seen enough. You can also read about other snake oil sales people pedaling fountain of youth elixirs. Is it just me or do they all look as if their skin has been pumped full of embalming fluid? Click here to read.

What can’t be denied is just how much money these tech bros and entrepreneurs stand to make by promising eternal youth to a growing population of older adults. 10,000 people turn 65 every day. By 2050, the world's population of people aged 60 years and older will double (2.1 billion). Meanwhile, the number of caretakers has dwindled, which will leave many older adults without necessary support. Then there’s the environmental impact and loneliness epidemic to contend with.

There are ethical concerns as to whether it’s responsible to desire a century of life in a time of climate crisis, an expanding global population and an epidemic of loneliness, particularly if our partners and peers may not be there to share it. To some critics, the financial and time investments in a longer life — or, more precisely, the hope of a longer life — suggest an extended exercise in narcissism, so many more years of Me Time.

I’ve certainly fantasized about living to 100 and wearing thirty necklaces at once like my hero, Iris Apfel. I just think it could be fun to be a kooky centenarian. That said, if there’s no caretakers around, I’ll probably have to rely on some tech bro’s robot caretaker (sigh) to help me fasten all the clasps on my thirty necklaces. I guess this means we’ll never be rid of the Byran Johnsons of the world.

A scene from the movie Robot & Frank. This movie made me weep.

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DR. RUTH TO THE RESCUE
Earlier this year, the Surgeon General declared loneliness an epidemic that can lead to premature death, comparable to smoking fifteen cigarettes a day. I wrote about this subject in a previous Stack and what surprised me most about the report was that the group most impacted by loneliness today isn’t older adults. It’s young people, ages 15-25, who report having 70% less social interaction with friends. I bet they’re the same people injecting fillers into their poreless faces. It’s all just so freaking heartbreaking.

There is some good news on this front, however. Everyone’s favorite 95-year-old Jewish sex therapist, Dr. Ruth has just been named New York’s official Loneliness Ambassador.

“I still will talk about orgasms,” Dr. Ruth Westheimer said during a conversation over the summer. “I still will talk about sexual dysfunction. But I have done that.” She had recently turned 95, and after a long and spirited career as America’s most famous and least likely sex counselor, she was driven by a new challenge.

Dr. Ruth may seem like an odd choice for the job until you read about her traumatic childhood fleeing Nazis. In 1939, at age ten, she boarded a train to Switzerland organized through the Kindertransport and never saw her family ever again. During the pandemic, she unearthed her diaries from that time in her life and it reminded her of the intense loneliness she felt and how she got through it. Now she wants to tap into that experience to help others.

She decided that making a cheery public service announcement about isolation would be a great start. She had already been collaborating with a creative team on a concert based on her books about grandparenting, “Ruth Grandmother to the World,” part of her extensive work to bridge generations.

I just love that at 95 and following “a small stroke,” she’s using her powers for good. Take note, Bryan Johnson! This is what making a meaningful impact on society looks like.

You can check out the full article here via a gift link.

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RECOMMENDED READING
This is a beautiful and moving piece about grief.

I see that loss almost akin to the theory of our universe. Space continues to expand from a massive force over millions of years ago. That event is still very much actively shaping everything, including our future. Yet, things that occurred in the past can suddenly erupt and become critical to our existence. Time isn’t as linear as we think it is. (Click link below to read the full post.)

Grief is a Ghost Story

San Francisco’s 24-Hour Diner Stops the Cosmic Clock

I loved this tribute to an SF landmark that is frozen in time.

George and Nina run the kind of place you drive by for years, then one afternoon, your tire needs fixing nearby and at last you push through the old swinging doors. With a lurch, you unmoor from time. Before you, in faded pink and pale blue, is the kind of interior you’d believed extinct. A chipped old countertop stretches the length of seven round stools, then horseshoes around the other side. Cloudy salt and pepper shakers stand at the ready, last touched yesterday or in 1973, hard to say. A row of Triple Play pinball machines from 1955 lines a wall; stationed along the counter and at the adjacent booths are a series of personal Stereo Consolette chrome jukeboxes. A menu hand-lettered on what might be sheets of old plywood lists the offerings—burgers, eggs, fried ham, hotcakes. Beneath it, a door leads to the old barroom. Save for the effortful warming of an old carafe, the diner is silent.

Read full article here.

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That’s a wrap for today. Thanks for taking the time to read In With The Old. If you enjoyed any of my musings, hit the ❤️ or leave a comment. I always love hearing from you. xo H2