Friday, November 25, 2005


Yeah, me, I turned 75.

That screwed up everything. My plans, my dreams, they’re up in smoke.

All my life, I planned to live to 65. I scheduled everything with that in mind.

When I started working overseas, I calculated that I was exchanging life expectancy for adventure. After all, it’s a lot less healthy in most undeveloped countries. Isn’t it? That’s what I’ve always heard. I thought it was a fair exchange. There is always a price to be paid to escape boredom.

But then when I turned 65, I wasn’t dead.

I truly was confused. I complained to my cousin, who is exactly my age, “I can still do a hundred yard dash. What’s going on? That can’t be right.”

Worse than that, I still lusted after women.

I said to my daughter-in-law, “I’ve looked into retirement homes but they don’t look right to me. The time is right but the feel is all wrong.”

What the hell do you do when you plan to die at 65 but you’re still alive?

It’s a real problem.

Now I’ve turned 75.

Research for my blog has forced me go to into some bars here in Bangkok. I enjoy playing the “How old am I?” game with the girls. I have to pull out my California drivers license for proof after they guess wrong. I ought to bet them drinks.

I enjoy dancing with them, (also research).

I still enjoy singing when I’m in voice, which is only about half the time.

I have planned what I’m going to do tomorrow.

I quit making plans beyond that.


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