Today marks 3 x 2^⁴ years since I made an illegal uterine U-turn and backed into this life. That's 17,532 days of cardiovascular goodness; circa 2 Billion heartbeats. I'm three times the age I was when I got my first kiss. Presbyopia is now nagging me, and my temples are graying. TMI, you say? Be that as it may, I have an existential dilemma. This birthday is a round number, arguably rounder than 50 (2 x 5^²). I should celebrate. But how? "Take the day off!" cry the masses. But I haven't had a regular job since the late 1980's. I don't usually give any of my clients notice for taking a day off, and they rarely notice. "Buy yourself something nice." But I have a bad habit of buying what catches my fancy, plus an instinct not to fancy expensive or frivolous things. Ignore my slide rule, camera, and typewriter collections. Also, I recently ordered 10 lbs of aluminum dust, a controlled substance that will be brightly expended. You'll hear more about that in July. (hint) "Do something fun," is good advice. But I don't have a routine of drudgery to escape from. My aching, aging shoulder is too sore to properly "do" the City Museum, but I may go dancing in the evening.