As of today, my age is a pentagonal pyramidal number, a Størmer number, and the atomic number of zirconium.
If I had left Egypt with Moses the year I was born, I’d just be arriving in the promised land, and if I were Mozart, I’d have been dead for five years, and if I were a beer, I’d be wrapped up in a paper bag, sitting on the curb.
I suppose the classic American response to this turn of events and calendar pages would be to buy a little red sports car, but I’m going to wait for 3B to become a child prodigy in something and buy for me what my father always wanted me to get for him…well, perhaps a slightly newer version.
Until then, I’ll settle for this mini concert, in the theme of me. Well, except that last one, which is for a Foghead on a Friday.
Better by design
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