It all started 40 years and 9 months ago. My parents got jiggy wit’ it, knocked boots, did the horizontal mambo, and I was conceived. Mom, Dad… thanks, you horny devils you. Then in early 1968, on a cold winter’s day known officially as GroundHog Day, I arrived. Lucky for my mom, I didn’t see my shadow, and so I decided to stick around instead of going back in for another 6 weeks.
So 1968 was a thrilling year. Yeah that’s right, because I was born. I mean, who cares about that whole landing on the moon thing? It was probably faked anyway.
If you’ve done the math, that makes me 40 years old today. Yeah, I’m officially old. It doesn’t bother me though. My ego is still 18, the body is holding together ok, I’m not forgetting things yet, so I figure I’m doing OK.
I am really bummed about one thing this morning though. My lovely wife went and got me Guitar Hero III for the Wii and I was so stoked to open it and get to throwing down some serious rockage. I popped in the CD, cranked up the volume, selected a Poison song, struck a pose……. and then realized that the second fret button was broken. Yep, broken… along with my rock starved heart.
Ahh well. I’ll simply have to postpone my rocking for another week until I get a replacement. It’s ok though, I still have a week’s worth of Africa blogging to do, and my bike really needs to be taken for a ride.
Thanks to everyone for the all the Happy Birthday emails and MySpace comments!