I turned 48 today.  Yay me!  I’ve outlived John Belushi, Chris Farley, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, and Jesus Christ.  I’ve been in the bonus round for years.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t feel old, but I do feel like I’ve been around a while.  When I was born, the #1 song in the U.S. was The Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”  I’m glad it wasn’t something lame and forgettable.

I wouldn’t say I’m a success, at least with any kind of career path.  I’ve had several full-time professional positions since I entered the workforce, most of those terminated by layoffs.  In fact, I’m unemployed now, but I’m hoping to change that as soon as possible.  I’m not a real ambitious guy, I guess because money and material things never meant that much to me.  It doesn’t help that I find corporate-culture politics and bullshit annoying.

So what have I done in 48 years?  Funny you should ask.

I’m a published author, in both newspapers and magazines.

I’ve written numerous songs (the debut CD is still in the works).

I’m a college graduate.  Which is mainly impressive because of the sheer amount of chemicals I ingested at the time.

I’ve taught high school, albeit poorly.

I’ve performed stand-up comedy professionally.

I’ve been on TV (performing on local cable, but still).

I won quite a few trophies and medals in high school.

I’ve visited Europe, Mexico and Jamaica.

I was married for 11 years.  You can interpret that any way you want.

I’ve played guitar for 36 years and have been in several bands, the first at age 15.  Performing paid my room and board in college.  I still love playing and play every day.

Not terribly remarkable for 48 years, I know, but I prefer it over “I dropped out of high school, I got a crappy job, I’ve been doing the same thing for 32 years, I’ve never had a girlfriend, I hate everyone, the guys at the bar make fun of me, I have no hobbies, and every morning I fight the overwhelming urge to put a slug in my skull.”

Plus: I like to think that, along the way, I taught a few kids a few useful things, I had something to say in print, and I cheered up hundreds of sullen comedy-show attendees.

But I hope my greatest accomplishments are being a good son, a good brother, a good uncle, and a good friend.  Because without those, all that other stuff don’t mean jack.

And to any other geezers reading this: Cheers! *clink glasses* Remember to take your pills!  Don’t break a hip!

Also, happy birthday to my cat, Frank Zappa!  Love ya, ya bitey carpet-poopin’ spazmo!