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Well today is my Natural New Year and I’m on the road.
By the time you read this, I’ll be somewhere on I35 at any of the three Bucc-ees which reside on my way home.
FRESH SMOKED BRISKET ON THE BOARD!
Since I’m traveling, I’ve taken the occasion to put the bulk of this post into the capable hands of my as-of-yet-unnamed AI engine.
Enjoy.
**“Turning 57: because life wanted to remind me that gravity wins, cartilage is a myth, and my warranty expired 12 birthdays ago. At this age, my back goes out more than I do, my knees sound like bubble wrap, and I can injure myself sleeping. I now make dad noises just standing up, and if I drop something on the floor, it stays there—because that’s its new home now.
My browser history is 90% ‘what is this pain’ and 10% ‘why does my phone flashlight turn on for no reason?’ I’ve officially hit the age where if I make a pop culture reference, there’s a 70% chance someone under 30 thinks I’m having a stroke.
So here’s to 57—old enough to remember landlines, dumb enough to still argue with strangers on the internet, and just spry enough to flip off the calendar one more year before it flips me off back. Cheers.”**
