MUST. REMEMBER. TO. ACT. GRACIOUS.

As it turns out, social media won't let me forget that it's my birthday today. Despite the fact that the older an adult becomes, the more any annual count increase should be ignored.

From the very moment I opened my computer, there were reminders.
"Greetings, carbon-based. Inexorable ticking, yay! Enjoy your creaky celebration! We've told everyone you know, we applaud oldness, your operating system is outdated!"

Which, of course, proves that Facebook and Google are staffed wholly by bright young things who do not expect anyone over thirty to use social media. We're still using typewriters or something.

I actually still have a typewriter.
It's UNDERNEATH the computer desk.
Which has two dinosaurs from the nineties on top.


The computer I am presently using is a fold-up jobbie ("laptop", I think they're called) from a few years ago that has way more oomph than any of the other electronic doohickeys in this household. Faster, too.
Actually sits on my lap, without leaving wheals or bruises.


I also have a box-like computizing object from the late eighties, which I only keep because it's a dynamite paperweight, and will make a great conversation piece if I ever invite someone over.

And a 40 meg external storage device.

[Yes, I also still have slide-rules AND drafting equipment, and I know how to use them.]


At this advanced age (over thirty), I would rather not be reminded of my advanced age; I never thought that I would hit over thirty.

I can still remember the troops marching through Paris, as seen on teevee. It was shortly after Moses landed the Ark.


"Oh yeah. The important thing was I had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. They didn't have white onions because of the war. The only thing you could get was those big yellow ones... "


I will NOT tell you how old I am becoming.
You have no need to know that.
It's over thirty.

Dammit.


Anyhow, tonnes of folks are wishing me happy hip hips and all the rest of that hoohah, and sad to say not a single one of them is a cute round-headed twenty-nine-year-old with a degree in something abstruse and sexy. So it's a very good thing that it's on Facebook, instead of real-life.
I do not want to be smooched by any of my Facebook friends.
Sorry guys, no offense.

Now, where's the cute (female) graduate student with an abiding fascination for abstruse crap? I was told, guaranteed even, that there would be at least one of those if I remained patient, and I should hold out for someone exactly like that.

"Save yourself for the lively scholarette!"

See, she's probably thrilled by fossils.

And I am just the thing.




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