The perfect birthday: yesterday Ringo Starr turned 64. Presumably he got birthday greetings and a bottle of wine.
The Beatles were already (a) pretty much adults and (b) broken up by the time I noticed them with any gravity, but I was close enough to know that no one ever anticipated actually being 64. It was just rhetoric, you know? And it rhymed. It’s like stunts on TV – you’re not supposed to try it at home. Ah, time is a mocker, all right. Thanks to Mike from Randomness Personified for pointing this out.
Since I missed Ringo’s birthday and we already established that I suck at remembering anniversaries, here’s another milestone that recently zipped by on time’s highway: this past Monday marked two years of smobriety for me. By which I mean that on July 5, 2002 I put down the damn cigarettes after 19 years of thrashing through a pack or so day. According to my SilkQuit smober meter – free, and recommended – here are my current stats:
I’ve been quit for two years, three days, 2 hours, 2 minutes and 35 seconds.
14681 cigarettes not smoked, saving $5,505.64.
Life saved: 7 weeks, 1 day, 23 hours, 25 minutes.
(We’re not sure, but we think the “life saved” bit is a measure of the time I would have spent in the actual act of smoking. Though most of that time would also have been productively directed to drinking beer – two hands, two vices, that’s how we’re made.)