Six-Zero Hour

Midnight: I’m melting! Melting!

12:05 am: Feeling a strange urge to become a Walmart greeter.

12:09 am: Those seventysomething presidential candidates don’t seem that old.

12:13 am: Beware vacation suggestions about ice floes from young people.

12:19 am: We doing Dorian Gray or Benjamin Button?

12:23 am: Can’t swear I don’t remember Teapot Dome.

12:26 am: Wonder what they’re serving at the buffet?

12:31 am: That Lawrence Welk, he was quite the bandleader!

12:37 am: Dear god, random spittle.

12:45 am: Gilligan! Skipper? Gilligan! Skipper? Gilligan! Skipper? Gilligan! Skipper? Gilligan! Skipper? Gilligan! Skipper? Gilligan! Skipper? Gilligan! Skipper?

12:51 am: I’m comin’ to join you, Elizabeth!

12:52 am: Redd Foxx was only 50?!!!

12:59 am: Still younger than Madonna.

1 am: Acceptance.

Previously: Today in 1959 [2009]

Been there. Add in: What if I get cancer and have to miss more that the 3 weeks vacation and 3 days of paid sick leave I have from work? Never mind not being able to pay for treatment, given my basic insurance, I won’t be able to make my house payment, pay utilities, or buy groceries. Make note to ask financial adviser if I can make withdrawals from IRA without horrible penalties. I know I can after 59 1/2 yrs old–maybe I can go another 15 months before it happens. Grind teeth.

@Mistress Cynica: The way to get cancer is to learn it on a Tuesday, schedule the surgery a week later, then out in four days. That still leaves you with a $7200 bill after Obamacare, so make sure your insurance offers a no-interest 18-month payment plan. Works for me!

Does this have anything to do with your looming birthday? Feeling old? Yeah, I thought I was feeling old then, but what I wouldn’t give to be sixty again. (I’m not having any big problems with being 70 ; the indignities of decrepitude are still within the “manageable” range; it’s just that we’re expected to gripe about aging.)
Be well, chum, and note that the glass is always full — partly with water, partly with air.

@jhoughton1: Loomed and went. I’m ready for my ice floe, Mr. DeMille.

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