B2, meet Methuselah
Yesterday, a work mate asked me if I wanted a lunchtime party for any future birthdays. Say what? Who vetted this snoop with uber clearance? I thought my birthday was a closely-guarded secret around the operations center. Then I realized that this person was privy to all such highly classified, double-secret probation data.
Plus, she plans our social stuff, including birthday lunches.
B2's coincidental days
My mom and I were born on the same day, and dad and my sweet Irene were born on the same day. My God - this is freaky. Do you realize what this means? Absolutely nothing, except that we all got to save on birthday parties. But remember what I covered in another entry, remember the X-Files, remember that The Truth Is Out There, and remember ... I forgot what I was going to write, but just remember anyway.
June is a great month to have a birthday - WooHoo, it's Summer! Laisser le bon temps roulez! Memorial Day followed by B2 birthday, then oh look, time to celebrate Independence Day! Sweet.
Although months away, I should plan now. What do I want for my birthday? A bit less pain each day would be a fairly decent present...but then Ibuprofen sales would dip, the manufacturer's stock would plummet, global financial markets would spiral into chaos, governments would collapse, and civilization as we know it would disintegrate.
OK, for the good of mankind, scratch the pain thing. I'd say world peace but I'm not that cheesy, not a lame, brainwashed college student, and certainly not competing in any beauty pageant.
Methuselah
How old is B2? Old enough to understand that life must have been pure, unadulterated Hell for Methuselah. Methuselah was the son of Enoch and it is written that he was part of God's plan, meaning that Methuselah's life was an indicator of God's coming judgment. Methuselah was the oldest man of whom we have any record, and died at the age of 969 years. 969 Years! Just shoot me.
This judgment was delayed as long as Methuselah was alive, but the very day he died, God's judgment came via Noah's Flood. The flood was, presumably, a very uncool thing for human-type people, except of course for the eight lucky folks and all the critters who scrounged up boarding passes for the Ark.
Mind you, I might just as well be Methuselah, especially whenever I talk to my children. Mention anything remotely relating to the '50s or '60s and they'll hit you with, "Dad, you're like, so ancient!" or "Hello! New Millennium calling B2!" And God forbid you make the mistake of comparative correlations such as, Me: "That song is a remake of a '50s classic." Them: "Yeah, right...As if!" Or, Me: "Girls were wearing hip huggers in the '60s." Them: "Sure they were ... It's time to get out of the sun now, Dad." And, Me: "Our phone number had only five digits in the '50s." Them: "They had phones back then?"
[Insert deep, pensive sigh here] A birthday is one of those milestone dates in one's life but you know what? I associate less meaning with the day of my birth as maturation leads me inexorably to the other side of the span. I haven't quite figured out whether that's because of onset presenile dementia (Alzheimer's for those of you in Okeechobee County) or the fact that there are so many other, truly important things that have become far more meaningful to me.
If I come up with an answer and then remember it, I'll let you know. Maybe. Or not.