The Passing Parade: Cheap Shots from a Drive By Mind

"...difficile est saturam non scribere. Nam quis iniquae tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se..." " is hard not to write Satire. For who is so tolerant of the unjust City, so steeled, that he can restrain himself... Juvenal, The Satires (1.30-32)

Saturday, July 26, 2008

BIRTHDAY: So everyone here and there is reminding me that it's my birthday and saying congratulations and the rest of it, and there's even some that are telling me that your fifties are probably the best time of your life: you're not a kid anymore and when you have something to say people just assume that you have the life experience to back up what you're saying. So I know that turning fifty shouldn't bother me; it just does, though. Being fifty is like being on the top of a steep hill in a gold 1958 Cadillac convertible: you see the great view, you can see where you've been and where you're going, you can feel the wind in your hair (or what's left of it), you can feel sunshine warm upon your face. The trouble here is that the Cadillac is starting to inch down from the top of the hill, slowly picking up speed as it goes, and on this particular 1958 model Cadillac, there's no seatbelts and the brakes are shot. Somehow or other, this does not bode well for the future.

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