“You must concentrate upon and consecrate yourself wholly to each day, as though a fire were raging in your hair.”
—Taisen Deshimaru
When I awakened on the morning of my 70th birthday, March 27, 2024, my heart was still beating. Tick, tock; tick, tock. Fifty-two beats per minute, just like clockwork.
I was pretty sure I wasn’t in Hell. I don’t know if we take heartbeats with us to Hell, but if we do, I expect they’re slightly more elevated, what with the pitchforks and roasting and screaming and all.
Also, it was almost six o’clock, and it seemed I had been allowed to sleep in. I’m almost certain that’s not part of the drill in Hell. If there’s any extra sack time in Hell it’s probably spent in an actual sack, being dipped like a teabag into a giant iron mug of boiling shit that you have to drink instead of coffee in the mornings that look just like midnight, only more so, while a grinning D.I. who looks like a cross between R. Lee Ermey and Hellboy screams at you: “You gotta be shittin’ me, Joker! You think you’re Mickey Spillane? You think you’re some kind of a fuckin’ writer? Now get on your face and give me infinity!”
When I finally crawled out of the sack I was 99 percent convinced I was not in Hell.
For one thing, instead of Gunnery Sergeant Beelzebub demanding an eternity of pushups I found a sweet little kitty-cat purring happy birthday to me. Like Herself, who had slipped silently off to work, Miss Mia Sopaipilla had granted me a little extra catnap instead of yowling me up at stupid-thirty to fill her bowl and/or empty her litter box.
And for another, it was 29° outside, with a dusting of snow on the green grass.
Huh. Not Hell. Albuquerque. Some people think it’s Hell, but everyplace is Hell to someone. Especially in March.
So I enjoyed two cups of coffee instead of a bottomless mug of Lipton Shitfire Hellbroth, attended to Miss Mia, and got back to the bloggery. Tempus fugit. Tick, tock; tick, tock.
Thanks to one and all for the birthday wishes. And apologies to anyone who had 69 in the office pool. I had 30; imagine my surprise.
Mad Blog Media 
happy birthday, pog.
at 79, my pulse is running in the 30-40s.
Hey, Miles … I might could get mine down that far with a fistful of Seconal and a bottle of Romilar, but I gave that shit up for Lent.
Imagine Keef’s surprise!
Just a few orbits behind you, happy birthday!(people dying everywhere,
everyone is in despair,
but
happy birthday,
anyway………)
We have to wave at these little moments as they rocket past. It’s a two-bit fireworks show with a smaller body count.
Speaking of Hell, a joke my colleague Dave Gallimore told me at work.
Since, found it on the web.
A man goes to hell and the devil greets him. He takes him to a hallway which has three different doors and tell the man he’ll have to choose one room to spend the rest of eternity in.
So he takes him to the first door and he opens it and sees everyone standing on their heads on wooden floors. The man thought that would be pretty terrible to spend the rest of eternity on his head on such a hard floor and asked the devil to show him the second door.
Everyone in the second room was standing on their heads on concrete. The man thought that was even worse to spend the rest of eternity on his head on an even harder floor.
Finally the devil takes him to the third door and in that room everyone is up to their knees in dog shit and drinking coffee. The man thought that was pretty bad, but at least they could drink coffee so he told the devil he chose the third room to spend the rest of eternity in. So the man, up to his knees in dog shit, drank coffee for a few minutes. Then the devil came back into the room and said “Coffee break is over. Back on your heads.”
Now, let me check to see if I still have a pulse.
I never figured on making it past 45 so the rest is all bonus. I’m not far behind you time wise. The Bike Barb is 90 something and Albert Eisentraut is 83 so it’s good company to be in. Have a relatively good birthday ifyou must.
I thought I’d see the red kite somewhere around 30, but someone keeps moving the finish line. Good to hear you’re still on the course, George. Remember when you were a squirt and thought your grandparents were ancient, doddering old fools? They were probably 45.
A little birthday mini-concert for you.
“so it’s a good day for paying your bills; It’s a good day so throw away your pills”
Hold That Tiger (Les Paul and Mary Ford); It’s A Good Day (Peggy Lee) and On and On (instrumental – Jeff Hamilton Trio).
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=0t8l1BGRSKw
https://youtu.be/lJCaM6jVjrk?si=Bo8XIo6BdchKQfvx
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=MgE9hJSDk1M
I hope this works with this new format.
^^^ the second video posted twice^^
the third video link is at the bottom.
oops my original comment with links was deleted or didn’t post. I don’t know how to use this format.
it was a mini birthday concert:
Tiger rag by Les Paul and Mary Ford ; It’s a good day by Peggy Lee; & On and On (instrumental) by Jeff Hamilton Trio from the Red Sparkles album.
all on YouTube
Sorry about that, Libby. I think the default with WordPress is to hold any comment containing three links or more, pending approval, and Herself and I were away from the Command Center for a birthday dinner.
good to know! Thanks. Glad to hear you got out to celebrate!
turns out I linked to Paul & Ford performing “How High the Moon” not “Hold That Tiger” (“Tiger Rag”).
I thoroughly expected to be dead before 2001, surprise, surprise!
We fooled ’em, didn’t we? Keep it up!
75 laps around the sun for me come June. Just 5 years ago, in May, Andy, Khal, you, and I rode the Santa Fe Half Century. Fond memories for me, but now I spend mire time on my ass, and not in a proper Terry Ti-Fly saddle. I think Khal has my last one.
Ay, yep. That Terry Ti-Fly proudly graces a Litespeed Ti gravel bike. And it makes my ass so happy…..
Ah, but you’re playing the guitar, and performing. Hiking, too, right? Spending quality time with the kinfolk and neighbors. Living the dream. You don’t have to be riding 75 miles, kilometers, or even minutes to be welcome here, amirite? There are Many Rooms in the Dog’s House.
Right you are mi amigo. And the Dog’s House is a welcome port in the digital storm that we all live in. But, it’s Saturday and time for us to go out and play!