Illicit Youth Drug, "The Substance", Hawked on New York City Streets

Mayor calls it an epidemic, but Boomers look fabulous.

Demi Moore, unhappy with her aging body, attempts to remove her face.

I was eager to see the new Demi Moore movie in which she creates a younger version of herself by injecting a mysterious new drug called The Substance, though I knew it would take years to get FDA approval.

But within minutes of seeing the film, which shares the same name as the miracle drug, at my local Union Square cineplex, a sleazy, but strikingly handsome dealer sidled up to me.

“Uppers, Downers, The Substance?” he says.

“How much for the S.?” I ask, for, as the faithful reader knows, I have been feeling blue about my post-menopausal waist.

“A hundred and thirty bucks,” the dealer says. “Less than your co-pay on a three-month supply of Restasis. And once you take this baby, it’s goodbye dry eye.”

I knew from the movie that producing a younger, better version of myself was going to be messy — Demi pops out a younger self when her body rips open at the spine. But at a certain point in life, you’ve already got the waterproof covering on the mattress, so I was ready. I inject The Substance and within moments, as promised, the younger and improved me arrives.

“I met this guy who’s a shrink a while back and he was cute but he was married but he just called me and told me he’s left his wife,” Young Me says. “She had twins six weeks ago and it’s just too much for him, so he’s moving out. That did strike me as kind of selfish, but this guy said his shrink said it’s okay, that you can’t ignore your feelings, and if two shrinks think it’s okay, why not? and —”

“My goodness, you are young,” I say. “And still damp.  Why don’t you grab a towel while I brief the readers on Demi Moore’s movie?”   

In “The Substance”, Demi Moore, who in real life is about to turn 62, plays a television fitness instructor who is fired when she turns fifty. Demi spends much of the movie naked. It’s not just a flash of flesh, it’s extended, up close and extremely personal nudity that made me feel that Demi and I met regularly for long talks in the sauna, during which time I’d pretend to listen as she told me about Bruce’s frontotemporal problems, but was really checking out her bod so I could report back to my girlfriends.

She has a tiny, I mean minuscule, amount of belly poufiness and the prominent nipples of someone who’s had three children, but her thighs and upper arms are incredible – there is no jiggle anywhere. Her ass is flatter than it used to be, like she told the Times, but it’s solid – I’m balancing my MacBook on it right now. And she’s very nice. She asked me if I’d go with her to Nordstrom’s Rack after because she’d heard you can sometimes get 60 percent off the designer stuff–

“Are you even listening?” Young Me says. “This is important. I really like this guy. His new place is on Bleecker and he wants me to come over as soon as the movers deliver the bed. That’s not too soon, is it?”

I must pause once again and explain the finer points of The Substance: Young You and Old You take turns being conscious. When Young You is active, Old You lies there comatose. When Old You is active, Young You conks out.

Thus, I have very little time to give Young Me the benefit of my wisdom.

“ Never go out with a divorced guy until he’s been out of the house at least six months,” I begin. “And any guy who’d leave someone with newborn –”

SCHPLOTT!  And Old Me is out cold.

“Can you believe that jerk went back to his wife,” Young Me says when I awake a week later. “I sure didn’t see that coming. But I met this really good-looking new guy. He looks like he walked out of a ‘40s movie and he’s so sophisticated in bars, where I never know what to do. He knows exactly what to order and how much money to leave the bartender.  I asked him if he’s an alcoholic, because the other day he poured vodka into his orange juice before he went to work and he does get cranky if he hasn’t had a drink, but he said no. Anyway, he mostly drinks wine.”

“You can be an alcoholic even if you only drink —” I start to say.

 SCHLPLOTT!!!! I’m out cold for another week.

There’s a card with a number I can call if I want to stop this experiment.  Was it in the Clothes I Might Wear In Another Life closet that Young Joyce throws me in in my inert state?  I’m finding it harder to remember where I put things these days. But eventually it comes back to me.

“You won’t believe this, but one of the copyboys at the paper has this FIAT 850 convertible that he’s going to let me have for only $1,000!” Young Joyce says, when we do the next switch and it’s her turn to go unconscious. “It was so cute, I didn’t even bother to drive it. ”

“That’s exactly the way you should buy a secondhand car,” I tell her. “That’s going to work out great.”

Then Young Joyce conks out and I call The Substance people, tell them I’m canceling, and to come and pick up Young Joyce.

She won’t take a word of advice from anyone.