So I've been accepting lately my sorta kinda impending fortyness. My 20th High School Reunion (tm) came and went last month and I made a really concerted effort not to be there. And it worked.

That said, I still have some rather disturbing thoughts. Like this one that struck me Sunday night on the way to the bus stop:

We may very well see a Twentieth Anniversary Edition of the Beastie Boys' Licensed to Ill next year.

Has it really be twenty years since we first heard:

You're a fake wearin' sucker whose gold got rusted /
Cheaper than a hot dog with no mustard

Damn.

I sent a message to hypersquared with this troubling scenario and he replied (instantly, across 7 times zones - I love technology) that he'd had the very same thought not ninety minutes prior.

(He and I have known each other over 30 years; this doesn't exactly surprise me.)

I shot back that not only were we yea close to said album, but that we were now as far from the day LtI hit the streets as that day was from the release of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Down that road lies madness. Or as my friend put it, "There's only confusion and gloom to be found along the thread of such thoughts, my man."