The Stones sang a song with a line: “What a drag it is getting older” , although you may remember the line about mother’s little helper.

But, my birthday was yesterday, and I can’t say I feel the way Jagger sang before he and Keith got ancient.

This was one of my better birthdays, really. I feel better about myself and my life and my future than I have in the past several birthdays.

I say this despite the fact that my objective position in life isn’t much different than it has been for some time. Truth depends on what you look for and where you stand when you look when it comes to things like that.

Anyway, I passed the weekend having fun and seeing friends and getting presents and phone calls and cards. I was the center of attention for three or four days and (considering my vanity and ego) what’s not to like about that?

As long as I live to be at least 118, I’m only middle aged. Sixty is the next 30, you know. Cough::bullshit::cough.

If I could just get someone to store a little of this excess crazy I’ve obtained, I wouldn’t have a problem in the world. My bills are paid, my house is nice, I drive a nice car, I have friends and a job and my mom’s healthy and … my cup runneth over.

Don’t expect that fact to mean I won’t be bitching, however. Bitching is one of my constitutionally guaranteed inalienable rights and y’all know how much the United States of America Constitution and its Bill of Rights means nowadays.

For example, my son Jack in New Orleans is cut out of my will for forgetting to call his father and his sister will get all the good stuff whether she wants it or not. I’ll be donating the crazy to the Grand Old Party, they’ll never notice it amongst their own.

Ah, well. I’m at that age where I’ve been there and done that but can’t quite remember it all exactly.

Sinatra demands my attention, I’ll catch you later, alligator.

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