Again? Seriously? Didn't we do this last year?

"When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I bought all the childish things I could not afford as a child." - 1 Corinthians 13:11(a)

hmmmmnnnnn.

Thirty-seven.

Not really sure about this whole "late thirties" thing.

Mathematically speaking I am now in my prime, something I haven't been for six years, but given my inability to effectively use the word "sick" in a non-ironic way in a sentence, the derision with which I greet the sight of young male haircuts and the increasing frequency with which I draw pop-culture references from continental philosophers rather than the D-list talking heads on "The Top 100 'Top 100 Shows' of All Time" shows, I must now accept the undeniable fact that I am getting old.

While American television and film is populated almost exclusively by 30-somethings playing the talented denizens of assorted High Schools and Colleges, only on a very, very good day could I hope to pass for an 18-year old. With progeria. In bad lighting. As viewed by a blind person. Who is also deaf. And has never actually encountered a real 18-year old.

Which is just as well, as 18-year olds are quite possibly the most useless thing on earth, good only for serving as cannon fodder in the overseas conflicts of fading empires. Unless they are a whiskey.

But no bitterness there, honestly.

Happy Birthday me.

Yay!