happy birthday to me…
…happy birthday to me!
i might be forty-four, but i only feel forty-three!
okay, actually i feel forty-four. back injuries from my childhood have re-surfaced, and some old pain killers we had around the house yesterday helped tremendously, the other stuff i got my hands on last night didn’t take as well (but i appreciate the effort, bud) so here we are. i’m not gonna let it bum me out too much.
regardless of what math and my driver’s license tell me, i always go off the advice of an old friend. it was an octogenarian we had on a radio program i produced and he and i hit it off really well. after the show (he was a guest via phone) he called the office a couple times a week so we could talk broads and cigars…but after a few months he disappeared on me for two or three weeks. given his age i feared the worst, but when he suddenly re-appeared i asked where he’d been and got an answer i didn’t expect.
“i was down in palm beach judging wet t-shirt contests for spring break”, he half yelled, followed by that famous cackle of a laugh of his. i should interject the old man in question was actor al lewis, who most of you know from a tv role he did:
when i replied to this with, “al, how fucking old are you?”, he responded, “what does that matter?”. he then went to explain to me that when he was a kid he went on vacation with his family and they ended up on an indian reservation. he ran into some native kids and asked them how old they were, and they didn’t understand the question. their parents went on to explain that in their culture they don’t keep track of such things…and when al asked, “why not?”, their reply was “what does it matter?”. and then they asked him if he had no idea when his birthday was, and somebody asked him how old he was, what would his answer be?
in al’s terms he asked me, “how old would you be if you had no idea how old you were?”
so carry that with you, and you’ll never feel old. hell, it works for me. well, that and the pretty latina trophy wife…