I don't want candles on the cake. Too great a risk for starting a forest fire. Anyway, I no longer have the energy to blow them out.
I've always considered the ritual of blowing out candles to be unsanitary. In the process, spittle and slop gets all over the cake - and then the guests have to eat it.
I won't have any guests to worry about. Only my trio of cats will be here. I probably won't have a cake, either. The nearest decent bakery is about 1,000 miles away (possible exaggeration) and I'm too damn lazy to bake one.
There's absolutely no joy in birthdays as one grows older. Anyone who tells you "the best is yet to come" is full of shit. Happy Birthday wishes are mandatory fabrications of goodwill.... meaningless to the donors and embarrassing to the recipients.
I remember a time long-ago when I looked incredibly young for my age. It was a deliciously encouraging illusion. I thought I was Dorian Gray. I never worried. As the years passed, however, I started worrying and began lying about my age. Soon I was lying outrageously.
Then a time finally came when lying was hopeless. Even if I shaved ten years off, I'd still be old. That hurt.
True age becomes evident when you're at the checkout counter in a store. There was a time when the cashiers flirted with me.
Eventually they started calling me "Sir". That's when I really got worried.
Lately - if my sole purchase is a carton of eggs - the bag boy will ask "Do you need help carrying the eggs out, Sir?"
No, you cheeky little bastard. But you can help carry my balls.
Am I exaggerating a little bit?
Naw, I wouldn't even think of it.
Am I old? Heck, yea. But I'm not ancient.
How old am I, exactly?
Hey, I might be an easy lay, but personal numbers will never be easily extracted from me.
If you must know - - I'm exactly between Has Seen Better Days and Almost Near Death's Door.
(the main reason I love blogging is because I always manage to amuse myself)
Since most of my personal photos are still stored on my old desktop computer, I only have a handful of readily available ones to choose from. That's why I keep using the same photos over and over. I know you've already seen them. Just be polite and pretend you didn't.
The photo at the top of this post was taken in New Brunswick, New Jersey at the Thomas Studio. Thomas was the most popular photographer in the city. All of my relatives had photos taken by Thomas. I distinctly remember when that photo was taken. The outfit I was wearing was navy blue and white.
Thanks for clarifying that, Jon. We always assumed that your early photos were taken by Matthew Brady.
No, but a few later ones were.
This is how I look now - a ravaged relic after years of heavy drinking and relentless carousing. A self-portrait that I took one day when I was soused. (actually I was very sunburned when this was taken)
My other blog
Cabinet of Curious Treasures