Reasons why I might be about 20 years older than my actual age:

Dixieland jazz. A wonderful affliction foisted on my by my father and his parents. Yes, Mom and Dad had Beatles/Stones/etc. records around when I was growing up. But Dad’s enthusiasm for the jazz rubbed off on me a long, long time ago. 1976: I could have been the only 10-year-old on the planet who knew the names of Kid Ory, Eddie Condon, Wild Bill Davison or Bix Beiderbecke. Come to think of it, I’m probably one of the few 41-year-olds on the planet who knows the same.

Manhattans. Again, my father’s fault. Martinis are much hipper — as are probably dozens of other cocktail options — but I like the bourbon and the sweet vermouth.

Newspapers. This is more than a professional problem for me. I do a lot more reading online than I used to, but you can’t lie on the couch and read your computer every Sunday morning. (OK. I know that actually can be done, but I’d still rather wander through an actual Sunday newspaper instead.)

The Tony Kornheiser Show. Mr. Tony occasionally gets ripped for being hopelessly stodgy, but his radio show — on XM 144 from 8:15 to 10 a.m. or via podcast at iTunes — is still his best work. It’s epic.

There’s probably more. I just can’t remember at the moment, because I’m up past my bedtime. Hey — you kids get off my lawn!