I have a recommendation. Don’t turn 30. In fact, stay away from 29, too, just to be safe. If you’re reading this too late, well, I’m very sorry.

I reached my 29th birthday without any significant physical problems. I was never gifted as an athlete, but also seemed to be blessed with a degree of robustness. I could eat what I wanted, and do what I wanted, and never worried about getting fat, sick, or injured.

But several months before turning 30, things began to change. I’m starting to feel like the used cars I buy. Here’s a list of stuff that’s broken (and definately out of warranty) in the last two years:

1) I’ve gotten approximately 58 cavities and had two teeth removed.
2) I can no longer eat spicy food. Water gives me heart burn, now.
3) I’ve gained 20 lbs. (But then, who hasn’t.)
4) The formerly 20/10 vision in my right eye is now 20/11,436, and I have so many floaters that the view from inside my head looks like I’m snorkeling in a toilet bowl.
5) I injured my knee in a risky snowboarding maneuver known as “going in a straight line”.
6) I broke my hip.
6) My shoulders and back pop when I raise my arms over my head to put on my glasses.

At this rate of system failure, I’ll be having walker races in the hall of my nursing home by the time I’m 40.

… when the only thing you can think about blogging is the appearance of several very odd and out-of-place porcelein sculptures in the lobby of your office building. Welcome to my world. The sculptures are actually kind of cool, but they should be on Pearl Street in Boulder, or perhaps in Cherry Creek. In their current location, they look like aliens escaping from a government testing facility. That’s how I feel at the end of the work day, so I may be projecting.

Love to hear what other people think about this. Do public school teachers have a responsibility to not be crazy whack-jobs outside of the classroom?

Link

I’m about to go to the Five Points DMV to get plates for my recently-acquired, less-old car (a 1997 Saab). One of the few perks of living in the hood is that you don’t have to wait very long at the DMV. Nearly every customer is dispatched with the words, “Like I told you the last time you were here, sir, you need to bring proof of insurance.” Telling that to 15 people takes a surprisingly quick 5 minutes. Another perk is that sometimes your car is still there when you’re finished.

UPDATE:
Wow. It wasn’t like that at all. There was almost no-one there. I pressed the button to get my number, *BING*, my number is put up on the board. The only other people were a couple of professional-looking, honky-chicks, and an old black dude in a wheel chair accompanied by what I took to be his son. The son’s job was, apparently, to react to everything the clerk said with, “That’s bullshit.” Actually, it was more like, “Tha’s boo-shit.”

CLERK: “Hello. What can I do for you today?”

SON: “Tha’s boo-shit.”