Hard to believe, really. A bunch of my friends have turned 50, and now I have too. In the last hour, actually: I was born in the evening, if I remember the story right, during uncle Irv’s 25th birthday party. (I’d check with my Mom, but she’s galavanting about in Turkey right now, as I’ll explain in my next post.)
The “years that end in 0 are more important” concept has never really registered with me, but wow. Half a century. That’s a lot. for example, check out the knees above: those knees have lived a long time. Doctors who said I should take better care of them have died of old age by now, I think.
To celebrate my 50th, I came home to an unbelievable dinner Megan prepared for me. And since I’m one of those middle-aged white American homeowner types now, I mowed the lawn. It’s what we do, and besides I’ve let it go for several weeks. Which makes it a good workout. I mean, even with that massive 16-inch mower, the side yard still requires three passes across the full 40 feet of it. When you add up the time it takes to get all the clippings into the yard waste container, it’s easy to kill 15 or 20 minutes mowing this lawn!
I’m a child of the Space Age, and so I noticed a few weeks ago when Vanguard 1 turned 50 years old. Now me. Prince comes just a month after me as usual (June 7), then Madonna and Michael Jackson in August. The cool guys turn 50 in the spring, as Prince and I like to say. And Jeff — he said it first. Scott and Caroline Kennedy, on the other hand, they think December’s the month.
Thank God I’m not a virgin. Although I am in a screw-the-internet mood this evening, and not handling any email on principle. Must be the scotch. Cheers.