364 in dog years.
I had a birthday on Friday. Not a big deal, or so I figured. Birthdays are big deals when we're kids and bigger deals when we're in our 80s. In mid-life, they're numbered occasions remembered by loved ones and retailers who send me coupons for 10-percent off a purchase this week. How nice. It's my birthday, so spend some money on myself. Thanks. To mark the occasion, I went home and got drunk, although I failed to drink 52 beers, but I did manage to consume more than my age in ounces, so I have that going for me. On Saturday, I treated myself to a Doug Stanhope show in Philly. He's a funny fuck, and I marked the occasion with shots of Jägermeister, stopping short of the fabled Jägerbomb , although it sounds good. Maybe next year. Or next week. The following is in need of German/English translation from my friend in Germania: Das ist des Jägers Ehrenschild, Daß er beschützt und hegt sein Wild, Weidmännisch jagt, wie sich’s gehört, Den Schöpfer im Geschöpfe ehrt. ...