The Dog Ate My...Something That Would Keep Me From
Being Able to Write a Blog Entry
(a.k.a. The 1st Annual Festival of Excuses)
Being Able to Write a Blog Entry
(a.k.a. The 1st Annual Festival of Excuses)
1.) We've been really busy. Sweeps were just last month, and the damn TV's not gonna watch itself, Rick.
2.) We've lost the capacity to experience joy.
3.) Most of us are Amish now.
4.) The way Bush and Cheney are pissing people off all willy-nilly-like, we're all gonna blow up soon anyway. So what's the point of some pithy blog?
5.) Aunt Flo came to visit.
6.) Also, we got our period.
7.) We were passed out from a tequila binge and our ferret mistook us for dead and chewed off our fingers. Again.
8.) We're out there living life, not sitting in front of a glowing computer screen! Just yesterday we all went to Costco. We got som mayonnaise. (See picture at left)9.) Do you know there are over 50 million blogs out there? Dag. That's a lot of competition. So, we're thinking of getting into the roofing business or studying the dental arts.
10.) We got stuck on the word blog. Blog. Blog. It doesn't even sound real. Sounds like a sound a muppet might make. Blog blog blog blog blog blog! Then we started doing a muppet sketch and we got distracted. But now we're back. Sorry.
Love,
Faces For Radio Theater
60 comments:
Thanks Court, and thanks Father Rick. Our diminishing status in your bookmarks might just be the motivator we need to get off our asses, haul them over to the computer and get back on our asses again...'cept at the computer, where we can blog.
Thanks for your patience and dedication.
I had a wonderfully pithy and insightful response yesterday that vanished the second I tried to enter it. This morn, however, finds me pithless and blind. Everybody loses.
But really, thanks, and I am honored to the point of needing privacy!
Sir Padre,
You were missed as we put the "ass" in Astoria this weekend....
anon,
your fan,
p
Thank you, mon petite! I do wish my own ass had been there to enjoy all y'alls asses. I mean, in performance. Mostly.
And yes, this is an entirely different post to replace the one that vanished with a keystroke so frustratingly just a few days ago.
What was the deal with Astoria show guest Monica Drake's noisy little kid running all around the theatre for 2 hours!!?? We're all wondering. Drove 7 hours to/from Astoria to see-- and hopefully also HEAR-- the show but all we heard was this kid. I think you need a no 2 year olds after 8 PM policy. If the Astoria show sounded half as good as it looked, it must have been great so we'll still come back in the future though.
Hey, Anonymous!
I'm so sorry you drove so far and couldn't hear the show! I could hear her daughter (who was adorable, by the way) from the stage, but wasn't sure how bad it was for audience members. Please come to the Aladdin on us next time - just email court_at_livewireradio_dot_org and we'll put you on the list for the next show. We very rarely have kids at the Aladdin, and if there's an extra vocal one at the next one, we'll be more diligent about asking his or her parents to take care of it. ~court
Hello Courrrentay,
I was trying to send you a personal message, but can't seem to find your direct e-mail.
Let me know if you want to talk. For the most part everyone was really wonderful and understanding, and so fabulous to my daughter. People can be so great. My daugher was in love with the show. She was absolutely inspired, particularly by Laura Gibson. What a gift for her to be able to be there.
With apologies to the one person who voiced complaint.
Many thanks for having me on the show and for all the hard work you put into such a production. I have a new appreciation for all the work you do.
-Monica
I love it when things are about me. Me, me, me, me! And since this post alludes to ME! in the title, I just couldn't stand to see the responses stall at a mere 7. So now it's 8! And I was troubled that the subject matter had diverged from ME!. So, now we're back at the comforting and special source of the thread. That's right, ME!.
When I'm feeling ignored or all alone, I think I'll just come back here for some self-induced ME! time. No matter how many pages of threads pile on top of ME!, I will try to keep this little slice of ME! alive.
I'm sure that this is comforting to everyone, whether you know ME!, or not. I'm happy to provide that warm, squishy feeling for you, as long as you don't forget that I'm mostly concerned with ... yeah, you know ...
Finally we're back to the matter at hand: Father Rick!
Since we've all abandoned the blog proper to devote ourselves exclusively to the comments section of one posting, it's crucial that we maintain focus...that is until we come up with a comments section for this comment section. Then we can shoot off onto whatever tangents we so desire.
Back to Father Rick. Who the hell is this guy? What makes Rick tick? What gets the Father in a lather?
To me he's a bit like Charlie on Charlie's Angels, or that neighbor's face on Home Improvement. Unseen. Mysterious. Fleeting.
One thing's for sure, Father Rick (with the help of an extremely cute, noisy little girl) is the only thing keeping this blog kicking. Thanks FR! Keep it up!
But Tyler, you must come to know El Padre face to face! Mano a mano! Or something like that! For to know him is to love him. And I mean that in a sexual way.
He has been known to dress in ladies' clothing, he can erect a stage lickety-split in the middle of the woods, AND he came to my gig saturday night. Unlike some people I could name. Tyler.
I heart Father Rick!
xoxop
Mmmmm, I love it when le Pats goes all biblical on me. She's not the only one with a heart on.
Whom am I? Yesssssss, that truly is the essence of the question, 'tis it not? After a lifetime of study, even I find the answer elusive. It's as elusive, one might say, as the answer to the question of, "What is that 'w' doing in the word 'answer'?"
But let's move on.
To ME!
I, for example, might be late to work today, because I am sitting here writing about my favorite topic, ME! For example, Miz Pats paid just enough attention to me at her gig the other night to make me feel the event was about ME!, and my presence there. Good for Pats! We can all learn from her.
Everyone will be excited to learn that I (another way to refer to ME!, but really, only for ME!) will be enjoying an annual physical today. Not because I like the intimate part. No, really, I don't. Really. Even if doctor were a doctorette.
My enjoyment will arise (easy, ladies!) from abandoning my employment for a few precious moments to skedaddle crosstown in the sun and feel the wind in my hair.
Yes, I have hair ... a hint to my age.
Crap, now I'm late.
Toldja!
You all may want to sit down for this. Actually, if any of you stand up to surf the web, I'd like to know so I can start avoiding you right now. Please post photo with admission affidavit.
Back to the subject, which is, of course, everyone together now, "ME!"
Doc says there's a chance I may have gout. Or in olden terms, "THE gout."
This condition is related to uric acid which has something to do with consumption of meat. Now, as I am sure you have assumed, I've got nothing against meat. The clue? Why it has ME! right there in the name. ME!at!
Sort of.
I will be indiscreet enough to post the test results as soon as I get them. Isn't this exciting? It's like I have my own blog without all the muss, fuss and technical hassles. That you all care so much, warms my cockles ...and my heart.
Personally, I have no cares.
I have Vicodin for that.
ew.
Pats, could you be more specific?
gout makes me think of stinky old men, like Falstaff or somesuch. which you are not. and uric sounds like urine. ew.
Funny you should mention that.
I, too, am put in the mind of stinky old men with the goutishness. I think that that condition was one of the first ailments I discovered in my early efforts as a young reader. It was ascribed to some unfortunate, old man who embodied none of the positive aspects of the story I was reading. Up until that point, I had only been aware of ailments that had befallen family and friends.
I kind of doubt that I picked up the reference from the Trixie Belden series I inherited from my sister. Old men in that series often were either grandfather types, or crusty, misunderstood pensioners with masked hearts of gold. I expanded on that collection by buying all the Trixie Belden books my allowance would allow. Little did I know that, years later, on a whim, I would find that my long lost Trixie Beldens would be rabidly collected, at mythical prices, by gay men all across America.
So I'm here to tell you that reading doesn't make you gay. Unless, of course, it just hasn't hit me yet.
I'm so proud. All this verbage and not once did I use the "M!"-word.
Not quite hit with the "Trixie stick,"
ME!
Damn!
P.S. - Specificity becomes you, Pats. As does most everything.
I simply MUST schedule my livewire blog visits before my family blog stops, as, by the time I arrive here, I'm feeling pressed for time and cannot fulfill my self-ascribed duties to my own satisfaction.
Also, perhaps I am feeling less ignored and all alone because, as of late, I've been paying more attention to ME! Summer is arriving (if you look closely) and the newer, taller fence is allowing bolder tanning practices. The slowdown of work is allowing for more ME! time, so laziness of old (not-so-delicately pointed out recently by Miz Pats, thankyouverymuch) is starting to fade as I rejoin fourteen million, seventy-three thousand, eight hundred and fifty-two other suckers who have a screenplay "in-progress."
Please forgive ME! if I am less attentive from time to time. It only means that the world of ME! is on a roll.
Because, after all, it is just about ME!
Tiring of ME! yet?
Neither am I!
Point of clarification, here. Pats pointing out my laziness was a tough-love gambit, or at least that's the way I took it. Once repeated by another person whose opinion I respect, it sunk in. I 've always learned best by repetition. Thanks for getting the ball rolling, MizPat.
Last night, at work, I was able to knock out another ten pages of needs-to-be-looked-at-again writing. But it's there, pulsating on the screen. Backed up even. I'm so modern!
So ME!, I'm on a roll.
What could be next?
el padre,
that's fantastico!!! i'm ever so impressed. keep writing.
and if i ever did actually call you lazy, it's so much the pot (pat) calling the kettle black that it's not even funny.
funny thing is, a wise person pointed out to me recently that he doesn't believe in laziness as a concept. that if you're not doing something, you're not doing it for a reason (you need more sleep, you're depressed, you're scared to actually do the thing for one reason or another, your priorities have shifted)(often my reasons). and i'm now subscribing wholeheartedly to this belief. so put that in your pipe and smoke it. only smoking's bad for you. not that i'm judging. i've been known to do bad things for me once in awhile.
xoxop
That poor nail and it's aching head from you hitting it so squarely!
I promise to try to never let the above sentence be a model for my writing.
Fear. That's what I'm talking about. Fear that the product will suck so hard that it will punk black holes for millions of light years around. Another of my auspicious and learned friends advised me not to consider my work too "precious." Her meaning was that whatever I produced screenplay-wise would not survive in that exact form, regardless of it's "quality," so I shouldn't worry about it so much and just do it. A retread of good advice given for free from successful writers everywhere to wannabes. Proof that nothing becomes a cliche without some core of universal truth or commonality.
So, yes, "laziness" did come up, was true, and was an indicator of fear. I know again, now, that the only way to proceed is to barf out onto paper/screen what is turmoiling about in my head and dress it up real purty later, kinda like the process of sorting the mixed recycling.
Maybe if I continue to surround myself with people who aid me in moving forward, I might do so. So thanks to my girls Pats and Sonya for callin as they sees it. And the reason I see it as tough love is because I am vain. I hope you were all seated for that one. I know, based on our previous moments together here, that that was a shocker.
Does anyone else enjoy writing "that that" together like me?
Love me. Please.
Any previous promise to not intentionally write with ghastly sentence structure is, as of now, broken. Whilst in the shower yesterday, that diligently horrid writing method spawned a short film idea. Seems that using absolutes like "never" can karmically whip one into an about-face, showing that that all-knowing use of such a term will be proven wrong forthwith.
However, in the interest of crawling skin and gnashing teeth, I will endeavor to utilize the form rarely here.
See Jane run. Run, Jane, run. Pet the rabid hamster!
once in the shower i got the idea to write a story based on The Long, Hot Summer (which was in turn based on a buncha Faulkner stories). i'd call it The Long, Hot Shower.
Although this diverges slightly from being about ME! ...um, did you write that? And, um, might I ...?
OK, back to ME!, thankyouverymuch.
Free at last, free at last, sweet baby Jesus, free at last!
I've just completed my first full week of being unemployed. And let me tell you, I've taken to it like a duck to water. I was born to be retired!
Heading for cocoa brown, working out regularly and writing almost as much as I should and feeling like I f#*king well deserve this!
Wee vacations are in the offing and I've trimmed down expenditures to stretch this lifestyle's life span. Still wrestling with whether to return to the opera trenches come August. How does Daddy make the monthly nut if abandoning the customary trough? Since we're talking about the almighty ME!, I am opening up the highjacked blog to suggestions. Please don't feel that you have to restrict yourself to seriousity. (Wish that word worked - looks wrong on the page - should look more like it wants to sound, i.e., seer-ee-ah-si-tee) But I digress.
What's an aging boy to do with his late-blooming, mid-life crisis?
Funny. Just read my last post and the final question was answered in this Patsy-esque voice, firm but gentle, "Write about it, idiot!"
It's memorial day.
Exhume your inner child.
Today's word verification is "mukiz." How snotty!
I know that some of you are prone to singing from timt to time. A delicious vocal warm-up would be to choose a note, or scale, and sing, ME!, ME!, ME!, ME!, ME!, ME!, ME!, ME!, MEEEEEEEEEEE!
Of course, while doing this exercise, you think of ME!
Mmm, makes it so much better, doesn't it?
I interrupt this special, feel-good bulletin for our latest update on, "The Gout Report."
With a mere three messages into my doctor concerning test and x-ray results, we cannot expect any revealing response in the near future. More later.
On a side note to the above update, I would like to report that, out of the blue the other night, I noticed that my feet are beginning to resemble those of an old dancer friend of mine, who has the most Gibralter-like bunions. Needless to say, ME! was thinking, "ME!?" And still am. There will be no film at eleven, or any other time, even if Courtney and her pirate film crew stop by.
Ever had that song, "All By Myself" stuck in your head for hours?
You will now.
"If you whine about it, they will phone."
Some chipper office nurse called yesterday. There is no gout, says she. Just a little degenerative arthritis. After calling me a degenerate with a big phone smile on her voice, she hanged up and left me to stew in it.
What have I learned from this? Just this one thing: The whole feet topic line has been disgusting and I sha'nt inflict it upon youse again.
Kudos to those with the restraint not to mention it. Thanks for the tough love to those who just couldn't stand it.
Every day, in every way, I'm getting older and better.
Beats the dirt nap!
As far as we know.
Today's word verification is pwwgays!
Even I know enough to leave THAT one alone.
I!'ve taken stock.
I! have a few loose ends floating around here.
It dawned on ME! that I! would have to prove MYSELF! by not writing about those sub-shin, right-angle, bone-meat bags, if people were to lose their fear of treading here. So, let's get to it!
As you may have noticed (not that it matters), I! have found a way to skirt around the problem that the most common way to refer to one's self is ALREADY ALWAYS FREAKIN' CAPITALIZED! I! will now add, at no additional cost to you, the emphasis necessary to make this thread more self-referential and godlike.
you're welcome.
Also, many of you have already had a wonderful experience, the glory of which you've been witholding from ME!, that I have happened upon all on my own now (thanks to all of you). The other morning, I! had the occasion to write two very beautiful words in a row. And, no, although equally beautiful, they were not I! and ME!.
They were (yeah, a freakin' drum roll here, waddya think?) wait for it...
The End.
Yes, first draft of the phantom, eight-year screenplay finally popped out of the birth canal. OK, I! took about 7 1/2 years off in the middle, there, but the two beautiful words have been committed to the page.
And no sooner than the afterbirth was cleaned off, was I! rereading and prepping to hack some of it's precious little limbs off because this sweet, little baby is just too fat to make it in Hollywood. Van Sant couldn't get funding to produce this chubby, little charmer! Johnny Depp may keep butts in the seats for close to three hours, but since he's not returning my calls, this little booger is hitting the elliptical trainer twice daily until those little cheeks get lean, mean and concave like the rest of LaLaLand. Once there, a little rouge, some breast implants and a botox series and maybe I!'ll be able to sell the little whore. I! mean, darlin'.
I! have the uncomfortable feeling that there are monkeys readying themselves for takeoff somewhere.
Mr. DeMille?
while el padre has made some wonderful points, and given me a few giggles, what happened to the rest of the ffrt crew? and why haven't they been helping to supply me with giggles?
dear taryn,
your latest giggle delivery has been stuck in a warehouse in hoboken, NJ, for the last 17 days, due to import/export tax restrictions. rest assured we are doing our utmost best to ensure that your future chortle, guffaw, and hoot shipments are not so delayed....
love, ffrt
Short , inexpensive giggle.
Pronouncing the Faces For Radio Theater acronym.
Also, occasionally, trying to pronounce the word verification required to post here.
* Note: Type long enough and you may be required to match two or more w.v.s .
Oh, yes, ME!, ME!, ME!!
At the risk of making this comment thread even more epic than it already is, I have to second the motion to hear more from FFRT. No offense, Padre, but I'm really here to hear from "The Makers of the Funny." There are some that we've never heard from at all, I think. Where are you people?
If you're really here to hear from the "Makers of the Funny," then you are firmly misguided by checking out this thread. We are nearing 60 days in "The Great FFRT Holdout" with no sign of change in the offing. And, no offense taken. Well, actually, that's not true. How can I not be a little crushed when this tiny, hijacked corner of the world has now been used against itself?
I can't even get up the gumption to abuse caps and exclamation points.
Oh god, here we go ... the vortex, swirling ever downward ... depression ... rejection ... again ... high scholl all over again ... for the third time.
I'm spent.
Done.
Red pill or blue pill.
Maybe both.
Relief for all.
Goodbye.
Oops. Did I do that?
Jesus Christ!
Fine!
I!'m posting something for keerist's sake!
My head was going to explode if I! didn't post something on this godforsaken, freakin' sad-ass excuse for a blog supposedly built by a bunch of goddam supposed writers.
Of course, I! say that with the utmost respect.
In five short days I! and my lovely bride of 14 years, and two friends, are blowing this upper left chunk of dirt for the sunny beaches and swimmy reef fishies of old Mexico. Well, part of it is old. The villa looks rather mo-dern, and whether I am scrabbling around in the 4 inch surf just off our beach or lounging by our pool, I will be wondering, just a little, if anyone has gotten off their (your size here) asses and written even a smidgeon of anything on this site.
If you want to get that truly Kelly green shade of envy, call Patsy and ask her just how magnificient I! am going to be, for she has had that same sand between her succulent toes within the last four months. Word on the web has it that the whole area is absolutely dee-licious.
So, while I wander amidst ancient ruins, my squeeze bottle of margaritas dangling from my belt (who am I! kidding? Belts will not make this trip.), I will think of ... well... ME!
Love, and fresh-seared seafood,
Moi!
Welcome back Rick. This is your house. Don't let the Crankypantses and the whoever elses tell you otherwise. This comment section is your domain. Enjoy Mexico, and your comment section, like Esperanza, will await your return.
Thanks Ty. I! was meaning to get back immediately after my post with the following:
To quote another venerable poster, "Oops! Did I! do that?
Because, if it is not apparent, I! do not keep a daily journal. So, sometimes my inner monologue escapes through my buttery fingers and on to this non-paper page. One might recommend to all that it is prudent to differentiate between momentary flashes of thought and deep seated convictions. Imprudence in this area might lead to divination that I! am, somehow, lacking in love. Au contraire... Daddy! has a truckload of love. Count on it. And I!'m backin' it up to this dock upon my return from the land of pink and green. Just as soon as the hangover subsides.
Always remember:
The drinks are free in first class because they WANT you to make up the difference in that ticket price. Look for yourself ---the sick-up bags are LARGER.
Although I! didn't think it possible, I!'m leaning toward branching out to subjects slightly not centered on ME! But just slightly.
For example, I! atended the Emily Post show last night and was thoroughly entertained. I! listened. I! watched. I! was firmly embraced. 'Twas a good show and I! have Courtney to back me up on that assessment.
Perhaps most importantly, I! got the hell off my ass and out of the house. It fely damn sexy.
Maybe everything does find its way back to ME!, after all.
Question:
When I! die, will I! trade in my underalls for afteralls?
ADIOS!
I! meant "felt." Or maybe "feely."
You pick.
el padre croco-cun,
i like feely. and thanks!
adios y buenos margaritas. have a whale shark of a time...
xop
Just feel like rounding up to a nice even 41 responses.
Prep for Patsypalooza is ongoing. Plan to make a big splash in the Mackenzie this year, as I'm currently pushing 190 lbs. The last gasp of vacation celebrating over 6 weeks of unemployment, now. I'm like a duck to water with this faux retirement thing. Too bad I'll probably never get the chance to actually retire. America ... cradle to grave labor. When I was a youngster, they fooled us into believing that leisure was ours to wait for, as all the progress being made would lessen the need to work and extend our lifetimes of ease and luxury. This wool really is scratchy on my eyeballs.
hey! i just found the original signs from 40 in '04 mouldering away in the toolshed, including one quite worse for the wear Doobius village one... it all awaits.
xo
I'm just so damn excited I can hardly wait! Camp hard, camp often and if you only camp once this summer, camp PatsyPalooza!
Mmmm, hot chicks and cold dunks!
I am sated. That was just one porktacular weekend. I'm so proud of the absence of barfing and head lice and, well, I'm about to kvell. The Mr Buck portapotty was a big hit, as was the 3&1/2 tons of pork that fueled it. Big shout out for the added dunking space at Bennett-2 on the Mackenzie. Once Sweeney left, we had no visitors at Doobious Village, so mayoral duties were light. Sign of the times? Our gracious hosts were porktastic, as usual. The children were bigger (howzathappen?) and the dogs even groovier. And water-skiing? Omigod, still fun 30 years later. Though, work today will not occur without vicodin.
Til we meet again in Paloozaville year next .... Adieu!
yes, that was one for the record books, both for the pork tonnage consumed (i finished the carnitas in my lunch burrito today just before i departed the scene of the crimes)and loveliness of music produced. i'm surprised about your duties--had your mayoral graciousness been better advertised, you'd a definitely been busier, but no harm done i'm sure.
the place was seriously low on dogs today...
That was some tasty-ass Wire last night! I may have to quit my job entirely and just become a Wirehead. Definitely radiotastic!
I'm having a yard sale this weekend, 7/28-9, at 1825 SE Woodward. Please check your calendars and see how many weeks/months ago this was.
Yeah.
See?
I googled "dwindle" and it provided a link to this thread.
did not!!
did too!!
not!
Nuh-huh!
Well, it's Sunday and the "I have to work out and go to work" excuse won't function today. And the fourth-grade style, verbal arm-punching with Pats has run out of steam. Even I'm sick of the tired, old ploy of capitalizing references to Myself. (See, just tired and sad.)
So, I'm opening up the floor to extremely personal questions, guarantteeing my future inelectablity to any public office, should I decide to answer truthfully. Of course, this is far less brave when you consider the fact that I, and maybe ... maybe Pats, are the only ones who even remember that this thread exists.
Perhaps coining the word variation, "patheticism" would be appropriate right now.
Wow. Out here, drifting in space ... I find that it's true. No one can hear you pee.
Another reason to go to New Seasons Seven Corners is to hang wit' da Hameister. Yeah, Court and I clog up the busy Sunday traffic there by standing around yammering about art and such. Why, just yesterday, our checkout line closed in mid yam and then reopened with a different cashier before we concluded "Yamfest 8/25/07."
Your Visa account will be automatically charged for the privelege of perusing this scintillating account of "Life In the Aisles."
Tune in again, Schmendrick.
I'm here just because, like Sammy, I can't drive 55. So this is number 56 only because, well, I don't have an agenda today. Sure, there's little stuff. Restock the Depends, shave the cat and maybe mix myself a Loosey Goosey. (Willamette River water and vodka, with a twist)
Tomorrow's Labor Day, when few folks actually work. Welcome to America. The way things are now, that tiny irony doesn't even register. Like everyone else, I'm torn between pity and disgust regarding Pageant Girl's answer. Much the same way I feel when President Puppet Boy opens his mouth and HIS stuff falls out.
Maybe if I work out I can sweat some of this bad start out. Hmmm ... maybe.
One more quick post before we head in to Rocktober:
I wonder if it would shock the people at work (Portland Opera) to know that I've never seen an opera? From the front, like normal opera-goers. Not once. Would they loathe me because I'm mostly there for the money? Would they be relieved that I wouldn't be distracted from my duties by the "wondrous, uplifting glory of that last passage?"
Hello?
You've all left, haven't you?
That's it. The clamoring has become too great. I'm shutting down this thread. Well, at least, my portion of it. I can't really prevent anyone from tagging more on here. But, my bit is done. 58 is not a bad number to end with.
If you've happened upon this space and need to leave some notes somewhere safe, I assure you, no one will ever see them here. I've been casing the joint for months and, believe me, no one's around. Now that I'm jumping ship, it's yours for the taking. It's a minor miracle that you even found this. Enjoy!
As the odometer rolls over to 59 next week, I thought it might be time to add Post #59. I mean it's only been what, six years? Six years and nary a post. Oddly, one would think that after all that time, I would have had unimaginable post-pressure building up, leading to a novella post the likes of which are at the core of every deep-seated horrifying nightmare. But, relievedly, no. Though MizPat no longer graces the halls of FFRT, the resurrection of PatsyPalooza after a five year(?) hiatus looms in the near future. The path of my marriage forked and now I stumble down mosquito infested, nighttime paths solo. More, you need not know. Perhaps I'll drop by next summer and round this sucker off at 60. If I'm still sucking wind.
I don't fit the sign in requirements anymore, so the above was none other than El Padre Rico
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