Sunday, March 25, 2007

I don't know. I think I look better than Elton. I'm just ten pounds heavier than I was in high school. I still have ( my own ) hair. Yes, I wear glasses. But not the kind of glasses he wears. And I don't have a thousand pair in a room just for them. But he's handling turning 60 a lot better than I am. Throwing a party in Madison Square Garden. Televising it.

Me? I'm in the closet. With all those old ties ( Older than my nieces and nephews. Older than my couson Judy's kids ) With all those old shoes. With those bell bottom pants I wore in the...


Maybe I should try to be more like him. Change my ways. Change my look. Have Elton John surgery.

I know, I know. That's about as insider baseball as it gets and nobody, except the genius in Jacksonville ( And maybe Terry #1 and his pal Jake ) are gonna get it. But who cares? I'm in the last throes of my fifties and anything goes.

I can't be worried about people not getting the joke. It comes with the territory. We geezers say what's on our minds, damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead. Onward! Press ahead!

But my knees are killing me. It's gonna be a very long, very slow slog, but I'll get there.

There being somewhere nearBethlehem. Or maybe south of Pawtucket.

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