My father would be 98 years old today.
If the diabetes and heart failure hadn't taken him a few years ago, England's recent performance in the World Cup would certainly have finished him off. (And that is no lie.)
Ninety-eight. 1912. The year the Titanic sank. Fucking history, eh?
Me, I've managed to step into Heraclitus' river and splash about during eight numbered decades. And yeah... it ain't never the same river twice. (Maybe that's why I can't get any latter-day traction.)
I have no idea what the hell I intended to say tonight. As Uncle Leo famously said: "I'm an old man. I'm confused."
I'm probably going to stop posting this crap. (If I haven't nailed any of my remaining 38 theses to the Lunch Counter doors by the autumnal equinox, you must -- I implore you -- consider me dead.)
"Will somebody answer that damn phone!"
3 months ago