They say it's your birthday

The candles on my birthday cake get a little out of hand.

Tomorrow I turn 51. It’s bad enough to say that you are half-a-century old but even worse to say that you are more than half-a-century old. Be that as it may, I have more than enough stuff to depress me so I am not going to let another birthday get me down.

I know all the cliches: You’re as old as you feel, blah, blah, blah. I have to admit that my mind still feels relatively young even though the living medical laboratory that is my arthritic cervical spine tries to dash those feelings quite frequently. But I’ve had fun, had a few laughs, seen a few weird things in my time and almost got arrested for kissing a girl after Wurstfest in Gruene Hall. So I don’t think I have any right to rail about getting older. Besides, what in the hell can I do about it — popsiclyze myself like Ted Williams? Hey, many are cold but few are frozen. I’ve always wanted to use that saying and damned if I didn’t fit it in.

So I am taking the weekend off. Happy freaking birthday to me.

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