OAF is a sobriquet often used for me by my daughter and her BFF. I can't deny its accuracy any longer.

I am 72 today.

It still seems unreal to be a septuagenarian. My generation famously embraced Roger Daltry singing, "hope I die before I get old." I don't feel 72. I take that back, in my mind I don't feel 72. But periodically, my joints and tendons take it upon themselves to disabuse me of any notion that I'm still clinging to youth. That's the dirty little secret of encroaching age. You can keep your muscles strong and active. I lift weights 3 times a week. Ah, but joints, tendons, ligaments? Not so much. My legs might be saying, I can do more reps, go for it! Then my knees speak up: Try it and see what happens!

Ah, time to STFU about that. Next I'll be sitting on a bench, feeding the pigeons while bitching about aches and pains. "What do you know from pain?" Jesus, just kill me.

Life is good. What's better than good food, good wine, a scotch or bourbon with a fine cigar, and the company of friends and family? Not much. So, happy birthday, old man! I will raise a toast today, not to myself, but to Wotmania, RAFO, and all the amazing friends who have passed through my life via these sites. It's been a great ride. Here's to many more!