Let's try to live another 32 years

Today is my 32nd birthday. I feel healthy and happy and have a lot to be grateful for. I've been flattered and delighted by well-wishing from friends, including the one who lives with me and went to the trouble of designing and constructing the banner above. Suzanne is a wonderful roommate and person. All's good.

I also had a routine doctor's appointment. I think it's a good idea to go occasionally to ensure that all functions are functioning functionally. Unfortunately, however, I'm extraordinarily squeamish about having my blood taken. It's been known to make me faint with panic. These days I can keep myself conscious with the help of headphones and a little Wilson Phillips.

My father told me yesterday that 32 is a great age, and I agree. First of all, it's a beautiful number: 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2. And it also has the winning quality of sounding simultaneously youthful and mature. As my dad said, in the professional world nobody takes anyone in their 20s seriously. But people may just listen to a fellow in his 30s. It's also a nice age dating-wise because there's an appealing radius of prospects. So I welcome 32. And I'm showing no signs of senility, even though I did run the coffee maker this morning without having added water. Just a fluke, I'm sure.

As I move through life, I find that whenever 5 is added to my current age, I consider that age "old." So from where I stand now, that age is 37. The thought of being 37 sends shivers down my spine. But when I was 27, 32 sounded old. And I'm sure if I re-read this at age 37, I'll say 37 isn't old, but 42 is, and so on through life until I'm dead.

I will be celebrating my birthday with Japanese food, as I often do, given that Dec. 7 happens also to be Pearl Harbor Day.