ANOTHER YEAR ABOVE GROUND

Today is my birthday!  Da da da da da da!

That's one more year above ground, and a year closer to social security.

I used to have long hair.  Now I don't have any.

I used to not trust anyone over 30.  Now I don't trust anyone under  30.

I used to have dreams.  Now I have naps.

But I've done almost everything on my bucket list.  I got my pilot's license, did a lot of sky diving,  some scuba diving, became a radio celebrity, was in a major motion picture, have traveled through most of this country and some of the world, lived a lot of places and had a lot of sex, and married a beautiful woman who is smarter than me.

On the other hand I've never been a principle player in a Hollywood film, as I'd hoped to be.  Never had sex with (Insert your favorite celebrity crush object here).  I never made it as a New York DJ.  Unless you count Long Island.  I was thinking more Manhattan.

Yes, I know, I'm not the only baby boomer with diminished expectations.  Where are our flying cars?  Our jet packs?  Our TWA flights to the moon.  (Or TWA flights to anywhere, for that matter.)

And what happened to that nuclear holocaust we were expecting?

My father died at the age of 91 watching football on TV, no hospitalization, no lingering illness, and his team was winning.

So maybe I've got 30 years.  Or, given an annoying but persistent cancer tumor, maybe less.

So what to do?

I'd like to live long enough to collect social security.  I'd like to buy a small travel trailer and live a lot more places, if I can convince my wife.  Or maybe, if this fad for far right wingnuts fades away, I can return to the radio airwaves.

I should live so long.