My final quarter-century above ground: I'm not older than dirt but I am older than Trump

Monday, April 11, 2016

I'm not older than dirt but I am older than Trump

I expect that Donny will have a very subdued 70th birthday celebration on June 14th so his fans don't learn how friggin' old he is. Maybe he'll spray some extra yellow paint on his head to hide the gray.

My 70th birthday is planned to be on 4/15/16, and if I survive that long I'll have _two_ birthday parties.

They'll be surprise parties because I'll be surprised to live that long. I expected to be killed about ten years ago by an overdose of brownies or by someone I pissed off.

Survival is the best revenge and I'm not embarrassed to show my gray hair. In fact, I'll add some gray hairs for the celebrations.

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What's this about?

I was born on 15 April 1946. I am a proud member of the first cohort of the Baby Boom (along with Dolly Parton, Donny Trump, Billy Clinton, Georgie Bush, Candy Bergen, Sly Stallone and Reggie Jackson).

When I was a young teenager, I felt invincible. I thought I could live FOREVER, or at least to a "hundert und zwanzig" (to 120, from a Jewish blessing for long life).

Now, at age 64 (in 2010), I'm much more realistic. I know that I won't last forever. I had a lens replacement a few months ago, and other body parts don't work as well (or as frequently) as they once did. I'm contemplating cosmetic surgery for my wrinkled old-man's neck, and I watch TV commercials for items that I previously ignored (NO--not adult diapers, thankfully).

As a teenager, I was focused forward. I contemplated getting a driver's license, getting laid, going to college, voting, drinking legally, making money, seeing a new century, seeing the world, and maybe even seeing other planets.

At 64 there's not that much to look forward to.

If I'm still around in May, 2012 (and if the Federal treasury is still around), I'll start receiving a big Social Security payment each month. Unless the politicians fuck it up, Medicare should keep paying for a big chunk of my growing medical bills.

I am not looking forward to retirement, because I love my work. I'd still like to travel some more.

I've had a fascination with Morocco since I watched "The Foreign Legion" TV show. I want to see Spain, Italy, Greece, Israel, India, China, Japan and Australia. I need to get back to Medicine Bow National Forest in Wyoming to take a picture I missed in 1961. Our station wagon was overheating and my father said we had to quickly drive to a lower altitude.

I have no children or grandchildren to see graduating or marrying.

I probably won't go back to school.

There are no foods I haven't tasted yet that I want to taste. 3D-TV doesn't impress me. (It might if the geeky glasses can be eliminated). I'll probably never own a Ferrari or go sky diving, bungee jumping or water skiing. I've done enough snow skiing, and even went SCUBA diving under the ice. I already own the best dog in the world and have been married to a very sexy woman for a long time.

So...it seems like the next big event after my 65th birthday will be my death.

If I don't start a new blog or website about every eight weeks, I get itchy. So I'll blog about getting old and getting dead.

Based on one online calculator, I should die when I'm 88 years old. My father died in 2009, at 87. Supposedly we should live five years longer than our same-gender parent, which should give me 92 years. Expecting to go beyond 90 seems a bit piggish, so I'll settle for 89 years. That's conveniently 25 years from now--a quarter-century--which gives me a good title for this blog.

It should be an interesting ride--even if it's all down hill.

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This blog is written and edited by Michael N. Marcus. He's a first-year baby boomer and president of AbleComm, "the telecom department store." Michael's also a journalist, author, editor, raconteur, maven, nitpicker, publisher, advertising copywriter and amateur attorney.

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Monday, April 11, 2016

I'm not older than dirt but I am older than Trump

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