I hope I die before I get really old

As a long-time fan of The Who, I have often sung along with their signature song, "My Generation". I find myself singing it with less gusto in recent years. As of today, I think I'll just hum along. It's my birthday today, you see. Many thanks to those who have already wished me well, and to Waffle, who tipped you off. The fact that she mentioned it already last week clearly means she did not expect me to make it this far. With good reason. I won't tell you my age, but I will say that this is the last time in my life when my age will be the square of a prime number. Unless I live to be 121.

So, how will I celebrate? Just waking up will be a good start. The guardian* has dispensed us from our usual custom of abstaining from meat on Fridays so that our good brother cook can fix us a special porterhouse steak dinner. I may have a glass of wine, hopefully not Merlot. When I lived in Rome, the guardian would give a little tribute to each brother on his birthday. Invariably—from the most pleasant, hardworking brothers to the laziest SOBs—it would end with, "We thank you not only for what you do, but for who you are." Fortunately, we do not have that custom here because my gag resistance is not what it used to be.

Then, as the highlight of the celebration, Brother Porcinus will douse himself with gasoline and set himself on fire in the courtyard. That's not true, but can't a guy have his dreams? No, actually, after dinner the others will say that I don't have to help with the dishes, but of course, they won't mean it. Then everyone will shuffle off to do their usual evening routine. Maybe I'll watch "The Kids Are Alright", and have a good laugh when Roger Daltrey sings, "I hope I die before I get old."


* The head of the house