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Unclassified Info: Nothing stays the same after this milestone

February 13, 2012

I’ve been hesitant to use my own life and insecurities as fodder for my column in recent weeks. Having one’s own words used against them in court will make a person reluctant to reveal too much personal data. This I discovered the hard way for the better part of a year.

But just as the moth cannot resist the flame in the dark of night, I find myself wanting to eviscerate myself in the public forum yet again. What this obsession really says about me, I don’t even want to analyze. I’ll leave that up to those who might be overjoyed to satisfy their own desires to yet again confirm the belief that I am fatally flawed, which of course, I heartily admit in the hopes of avoiding further litigation based on my own admissions.

But enough about them. Space in my column is precious.

The crux of my angst revolves around my birthday. Not just any birthday, mind you. In a little less than three weeks, I will hit the big 5-0. This is the one that usually indicates you are closer to the proverbial finish line than the starting block. In my case, that’s not true, of course. I’m going to be the first person in the history of human kind to evade death, if for no other reason than to aggravate my sister and ex-wife for the rest of their days on Earth. Petty, I know. But I did say I was fatally flawed.

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In the very unlikely event of my demise, I have asked my friends to gather around my lifeless body for five days in an attempt to resurrect me by any means possible. According to millions of people around the world, this feat has been accomplished once before, so there’s no reason to believe it can’t happen again, right?

Miracles aside, this age barrier thing has really taken up more mental energy than I ever imagined. And so I got to thinking: if I can’t avoid becoming consumed by my own mortality, the least I could do is offer some advice to those who are about to walk in my worn-out old boots.

Prepare to be freaked out by old high school friends posting pictures of their grandchildren on Facebook. One minute you are the hipster at the unknown dive bar in Hollywood and the next you are sending congratulatory comments to a buddy who now wants to be called Grampy.

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