Forty-Eight

Hmm, I wonder how many times I've put this recording on my blog:



Whenever I return to this, it's probably because I'm having a birthday.  I sort of kind of celebrate my birthday for me by doing a radio show featuring my favorite music from a certain year.  If you've not heard why I do that, I'll talk about it in the next couple of days.

First, though, I need to nap.

Napping!  Is that a sign of age?  I mention it because I otherwise don't feel older.  My body doesn't creak the way it's supposed to, I don't have any of the obvious signs...  Well, let me qualify that:

Certainly I look older.  Since moving to this part of the world, my beard has turned mostly white.  There's gray in my hair.  & of course lines on my face & the beginnings of splotches on my skin.

Oh & of course I fumble for words now & then.  My brain will do a poorly-planned core dump at the most inopportune times.  There was a time I thought I might do well on a Jeopardy-like game show; now, my once formidable memory fails me regularly.  It could be age, it could be alcohol.  It could be the internet, actually; one thing my brain is aware of is that it doesn't have to hold all the information it once needed to - most of it is in a little device in my back pocket.  It must take comfort in that, since it has every damn song the Smiths ever recorded memorized for instant playback.

Damn it, my eyes.  Not damn my eyes - damn it, my eyes.  My eyes are failing.  I need glasses for driving, glasses for reading.  I need new glasses, actually.  That is a sign of age.

Otherwise, I don't feel like a middle-aged man nearing his fifties.  & I am with Oswalt on this: it's not a big deal, my birthday.

Except for the radio show.  The radio show will be cool.