I was born in ’62 and today I am turning 62. I like the symmetry.

Here is another thing I like about the day I was born: This was the number one song in the country that day

In recently re-reading Kurt Vonnegut’s 1982 novel Deadeye Dick (published when I was a mere lad of 20 and he was about the age I am now), I came across this passage that sums things up nicely:

We all see our lives as stories, it seems to me, and I am convinced that psychologists and sociologists and historians and so on would find it useful to acknowledge that. If a person survives an ordinary span of sixty years or more, there is every chance that his or her life as a shapely story has ended, and all that remains to be experienced is epilogue. Life is not over but the story is.

The remaining years are a sort of junk shop of events which are nothing more than random curiosities, boxes and bins of whatchamacallits.

There are plenty of examples of life taking on great meaning at a later age. Louis Pasteur developed the first rabies vaccine at 62. I have a new play and a new album coming out soon.

Welcome to the whatchamacallits.