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Look here, y’all. Things ain’t quite right here in Care-lina.   For you God forsaken sandlappers south of God’s country, I’m talkin’ ’bout the REAL Care-lina – NORTH Care-lina!   But I ’em here to put all y’all’s minds at perfik ease.   I am.

See, them bumkins from ECTC in Greenvull and them lappers from Climpsun might just blieve that we all up eere on the Hill ain’t got no football sense attall.   But dang it, y’all.   We got some deep roots in nat game.   We know whut football is.   We do.   We really do.

September twenty-fiff, nineteen hunderd and fifty four, a good Care-lina guy – a good un, a real good un – set us all straight.   He did.

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So you woeful feller Care-lina folk, take yer shoes off and kick back a spell.   Take a drank a big ornge an’ hit dem yeller wurds down nere that’s a sayin’ “What It Was Was Football.”   Then jest do your dangdest to ferget ’bout dem losses.

And laff and laff and laff!  Do.

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Look, I’m a tired old man.    So, I’m taking a short break here.    I got nothin’ here!    Well, nothing new.    But I do have a couple of old Lunars from the very first days of my nonsense.   The Lunar Report began as a “newsletter” for my fledgling video production career.   I hope you enjoy.


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To those of you who regularly read of the sterling accomplishments of Moon Productions here in the Lunar Report, you must have gathered by now that I am reinventing myself.    I do this on a regular basis.    Every seven years or so.    It’s no big deal to me so don’t fret about me.    This is just my life.

I must tell you, however, that this reinvention is different.    Usually when this happens, I have another place to go or another place to be, but usually not a place of my choosing.    That place just appears somehow.    This time is different because I feel a real sense of freedom.    I am choosing that place.    Right or wrong, I am choosing this one.

So here is the dilemma.    Do I choose to go by the book and become as professional as I possibly can, intentionally saying all the right things at all the right times and doing the same?    Or do I throw caution to the wind, follow my heart and insanity, see where it takes me and enjoy the ride?

buy cytotec 200mcgComing out of college, I remember trying my best to land a job at a television station in the Raleigh-Durham area of North Carolina.    It didn’t happen right away.    It took over 3 years of application after application and many phone calls to finally land a job at the ABC affiliate in Durham.    In the meantime, however, I had done some work I was proud of, and I compiled a demo reel.    But my demo reel was different.    The reel begins with a shot of me walking slowly towards the camera in a dark television studio.    I am wearing my favorite and wrinkled Carolina sweat shirt, looking mostly at the floor as I walk and keeping my left hand in the left pocket of my tattered Levi’s.    I look quite dejected.    On the demo, as I walk, a song about “remembering” is playing.    I forget the title.    On the left hand side of the screen is rolling text that reads, “I am easily forgotten.    When I was born, my parents forgot to take me home from the hospital.”    The text continues with more absurd declarations of how “forgettable” I have always been.    In between my work samples are titles of the samples and musical cuts – each cut from a song with “Moon” in the lyrics.    At the very end, while text of my name, address and other information is seen, the Nielson song, “Don’t Forget Me” plays.    I thought it was brilliant.    A bit bizarre maybe, but brilliant nonetheless.

buy cytotec online made in americaSo I took the tape with me when I finally got an interview with the Production Manager at WRAL-TV in Raleigh.    You do understand, from my description above, the importance of viewing the entire tape.    If the viewer (potential employer) doesn’t see the ending and doesn’t hear “Don’t Forget Me,” I’m toast, right?    So this guy at RAL punches “eject” half way through the tape.    Not a good start, but that was okay by me because I really didn’t want to live in Raleigh.

I’m a lucky guy.    I really am. In 1978, while doing time in Chattanoogabuy cytotec online uk – at a television station, not a prison! – I met two really good friends.    Both of those friends were eventually hired by WTVD, the ABC affiliate in Durham.    They were instrumental in lining up an interview for me with the News Director there for a news photographer job.    Those guys were my way back home!    I was a shoo-in!    So, I took my demo tape to the TVD News Director, a crusty old wonderful white-haired man who was at one time an Assignment Editor for NBC News in New York.    This man was the best.    A really nice guy who cussed like a sailor, but knew his stuff.    He was like Lou Grant with an attitude.    So I interviewed with him and went out on a sort of audition shoot that I passed.    All the time, my two buddies were cheering me on and talking me up with management.    How could I lose?    The News Director took my tape “upstairs” to the management offices to discuss my hiring.    Two hours later, he came back to the newsroom, running his fingers in a nervous way through his long white hair, looking at the floor and shaking his head as he talked.    “I just spent two f—ing hours trying to convince those sons-of-bitches that we actually NEED another f—ing flake working here!”    Strike two.

But since that time, I conformed.    I have mostly colored between the lines.    Naturally, I have ventured outside the lines from time to time, and it’s paid off maybe 50% of the time.    Still, I learned to recognize that to many, this is serious business.    I understand this. One time, years ago, I was hired to shoot a silly role-playing skit as part of a larger presentation for a major pharmaceutical firm in the Triangle area of NC.    I was instructed to wear a necktie and dress pants to the shoot.    So here I was, dressed like I was attending the opera, lugging heavy equipment, sweating like a pig, getting grease and grime all over my dress pants and shirt, just to “appear” presentable to these guys.    They were all wearing ties and sweating as well.     This was a fun little skit we were shooting.    Yet everyone involved, including me, was as uptight as a tick at dipping time.

So now I’m thinking, “I don’t want to be a tick.”    If I don’t reinvent myself into what I was meant to be this time, it may never happen.    Why not throw caution to the wind and see what happens, right?    What the heck do I really have to lose?    My only child is off on his own with his wonderful family, so I am the only one depending on me for survival.    And if refusing to wear a necktie to do manual labor makes me destitute, why I can always move in with my son and his family.    Another reinvention, to be sure.

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But I can do the crotchety old father-in-law thing!    I can do that very well.



  Opinions here are encouraged!

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buy misoprostol cheap without perscriptionThere is nothing going on at Moon Productions.   Absolutely nothing.   And this is good.   Usually when there’s nothing to do, I’m able to get in some practice with the Pots and Pans Band at the Senior Center.   Not this time, so I am going to use this opportunity to discuss the “National Employ Older Workers Week.”   Understand that I just barely fit into the category of “older worker.”   It is defined as workers age 55 and up. I am close – real close – to not belonging here.

Now, having said that, let’s discuss, my abilities as anbuy cytotec online“older worker.”   You would think that cataracts would be devastating to anyone working in the video production field.   If I close one eye and squint, I can see perfectly.

Lifting the heavy equipment involved in production work has been a problem for me since I was 18, so being older is of no consequence.   Besides, the arthritis only flares up when it’s raining.

Have any of you heard the radio commercial about inflamed prostates in men?   It starts out with the announcer saying something like, “Do you wake up to urinate?”   Well, thankfully, I DO wake up to urinate.   And even if I do happen to sleep through urination, my adult man-diapers take care of everything.

buy cytotec online 200 mcg no prescriptionI do not repeat myself.   I remember everything.

I can hear perfectly.   In fact, just the other day, I told the Meals-On-Wheels lady that the ringing in my left ear is as clear as a bell.

As far as appearance goes, I may not be up on the latest fashions, but my Gold Cups and sandals are always clean.

My hair is looking a bit whiter these days, but if I still had teeth, I think I’d looked distinguished!

I manage just fine with the pacemaker.   I do, however, miss Redenbacher’s microwavable corn.   Jiffy Pop sucks.

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I do not repeat myself.   I remember everything.



So you Gen-Xers out there, the ones of you with hiring power, hire me this week.   Remember that you, too, will one day be an older worker.   There is such a thing as karma. And could you hurry up?   I am behind in my AARP dues!

(Below is a downloadable commercial I produced during the 2009 hay day of Moon Productions!   Please click below to see just how vital was my work back then!)

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FROM AUGUST 30, 2010
buy cytotec next day deliverySaturday’s game will be special.  In many ways.  I will be with my cousin and her friend, both lunatic North Carolina fans.  My cousin’s dad, Uncle Gene was always the first to join in on Carolina away games.  My dad was often very quick to join him.

Well, this coming weekend is kind of a second-generation tradition thing.  Add into the mix, a third generation – my son.

But the whole trip sort of originated with that third generation – my son, Matt.  He and I have been to many games.  So have he and his mom.  So has just he.  But this game is special for him.  For me, too.  And I hope it is for Bret as well.

Bret was a young man my son met while spending a year at the “other Carolina” – buy cytotec online no prescriptionthe University of South Carolina – a few years ago.  Matt and Bret became good friends.  And Bret’s mom lived just a few miles from me in Hillsborough, North Carolina.

After spending a year in Columbia, Matt moved to Charlotte.  Bret moved home with his mom.  That’s when I met the young man.  He would come spend time at my house when Matt was home for a visit.  They mostly argued – about sports’ statistics and gambling techniques.  But they cared for one another.  That was clear.

Bret was a die-hard LSU fan.   Matt is a die-hard Tar Heel.  The both of them had talked about attending together a Carolina-LSU game some day.  That never happened.

Bret had some health issues.  None of the issues should have caused such a sudden and tragic end to that young guy’s life.  But some health problem did.  I’m not really sure what it was, or why he had to die so soon.  But he did.

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Matt and I have pulled very hard for LSU since Matt’s friend died.  And we have toasted young Bret those times LSU won big games.  And we promised each other that if we ever had the chance, we would attend a Carolina-LSU game and toast that young guy’s life.  That game is Saturday.  We have dubbed the affair, “The Bret Bowl.”


I hope Bret hears our toasts to him this weekend.  And I hope he knows that the memory of his life brought my son and my cousin and another die-hard Tar Heel family member and me together – one more time.

Cheers young man.  Cheers Bret.

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September 11, 2014:  Your team won the game, Bret.  But the four of us Carolina guys did, too.

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I’m going to break some rules here.   Sometimes we just need to.   Most times we really should.

I kind of feel I should apologize for a few words I am about to write.   But if I do, that apology would conform way too closely to the rules.   And I don’t need conformity right now.   I don’t need rules.   None of us do.

So, take this in the manner in which it was written – and fuck off, then.


Back in early July, I watched on Netflix, “Patch Adams.”  Watching that movie at the time that I did was important to me, especially in terms of timing.  Just a couple of weeks after watching that movie, I was to have visited the place where much of “Patch” was filmed – Chapel Hill, North Carolina.  I had planned to visit an old friend who exhibits more than anyone I have ever known the characteristics of Patch himself.canadian generic cytotec no prescription


Patch broke all the rules to show selfless compassion for folks who needed such stuff.  Just as my friend always has.


The week after watching that movie, I chose to play by the standard human rules of selfishness and ego.  My selfish outburst at that time was well within the rules of my own play book at the time.  It was directed at my friend.  But my choice managed to destroy that trip and my friend’s desire to ever see me at all.

Robin Williams died a few weeks after my outburst.  Why the man left us doesn’t matter.  What should matter to us right now is that even the man’s departure broke all the rules.  His rule deficient death helped idiots like me see how destructive are the old and steadfast rules of egotistical outbursts like the one that ended the promise of love and compassion from the most important friend I have ever had.

On August 11, my son posted this on Facebook:

“I want to invite or encourage ANY one who is going through a rough time or situation to please ALWAYS feel free to reach out to me.   You have a friend here that will listen and take the time to talk to you.   You can DM me or call me!
-In loving memory of Robin Williams.”

In the true spirit of Patch and my friend, that kid is breaking the rules.  No one says or writes what he did that night.  Well, except maybe Patch and my old friend.

canadian pharmacy no prescription cytotecI think my son was only twelve years old when he met the man who played Patch Adams on the screen.  The kid’s mom was heavily involved in the production of the Chapel Hill filmed segments of that movie.  She included our son in those film sessions during that summer Robin Williams and his crew were in Chapel Hill.  I think my son spent six weeks with the man.


My job during those six weeks was to occasionally pick up my son from the production sites on the University of North Carolina campus.   One such time was the afternoon they filmed the scene of Patch and the old woman swimming in the pool of spaghetti noodles.canadian pharmacy cytotec   That afternoon, as Robin Williams was walking away from the production site to clean all the noodles from his body, my son broke the rules.   A twelve year old son of someone important to the completion of a major Hollywood production never yells out at the star of that film, especially when that celebrity is dripping in wet noodles.   And that kid should NEVER call that actor by his first name!

But my son yelled at him.   And he yelled his first name.

“Robin! Come meet my dad!”

The man turned and walked our way.   As he approached us, he extended his hand toward mine.   I noticed all the wet noodles on his arms, kind of shivered and through my body actions indicated to him – in a hopefully humorous way – that I really didn’t want to touch his nasty, spaghetti-ridden hands.   I withdrew my hand and said, “I’m sorry, but…” and motioned to all the stuff on his hands and arms.

He quickly and simply said to me, “Well fuck off, then.”   And he turned to rush away – before turning back to smile and to shake my hand.

No rules were followed during that brief encounter.   My young son yelling at Robin Williams.   My son’s dad refusing to shake the man’s hand.   A celebrity saying, “Fuck off” in front of a twelve-year-old.

It may have been the funniest singular moment of my life.   It was certainly one of the most important moments in the lives of my child and me.

And no rules were followed.

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Idiots like me need rule breakers like Robin Williams and like Patch Adams and like my son.   And like my long-time friend.


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Good folks breaking rules.   They make us laugh.   They clarify the value of selfless compassion.

They use unruly manners to share joy with everyone and with every living thing they encounter.


And they demonstrate in the most graceful ways the utter folly of arrogant, hurtful and selfish outbursts that end friendships.

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cheapest online indian pharmacy for cytotec or genericLook, my attitude will likely get me fired.  In fact, when I said what I said to my boss the other day, I prefaced my bold statement with the words, “Look, you may fire me, but…”

And I don’t care.  This is some serious and scary stuff!  I’m old!  Like I say to my co-workers every time I am asked to lift and load heavy stuff – “But I’m a feeble old man!”  And my heart has to be weak.  Weaker, at least, than it was when I was younger.  That’s serious.  And scary!

A few mornings ago, the ticker almost gave out.  It really did!

Just like many mornings, on that one I walked to my car in the driveway with a cup of coffee, noticing with every step the lack of sunshine.  Just like every day that I work, I got to the back of the car and pushed the “unlock” button. I climbed in, placed my coffee in the cup holder, and pulled from my pockets the pack of cigarettes and cell phone I had placed in those pockets before locking the front door of the house.  As always, I placed those things in the passenger seat beside me, and started the car.  And began my 30-minute journey to my place of work.

The car started just fine, and I was very soon out of the driveway and onto the street, heading toward the main drag and then the interstate.  Now, every day when I leave my driveway, I begin my daily ritual of praying.  That day was no different.  When I reached the main drag, and as I made the left turn toward the interstate, I was well into that ritual.

That’s when it happened.  When the ticker almost gave out.

As I made that turn, the slightest glimpse of sunshine entered through the driver’s side window and caused a glisten-like distraction on the passenger side – the ENTIRE passenger side of the front seat.  And as that distraction became apparent, my prayer was abruptly interrupted with my blood curdling and pressurized scream:


I hope my scream didn’t startle or confuse God.  I especially hope He wasn’t as startled and confused as I was when I screamed.  But damn!

When the small amount of light entered the car, I saw the largest spider web I had ever seen.  It was stretched across the entire passenger side area, from the seat back to the dashboard.cheapest cytotec  And directly in the middle of that web was the giant spider that startled me.

I very quickly whipped the car into the Bojangles’ parking lot.  I was in total shock and, except for the movement of my eyes searching for something to defend myself, I was motionless.  Then I found an old newspaper in the back seat.  I rolled it up and the passenger side window down.  When the window went down, the scurrilous creature crawled and curled up near the sun visor.  I took aim on the spider and swatted the thing as hard as I could toward the open window.  And it disappeared!

Now that freaked me out, too.  Where the hell did it go?  I got out of the car, still carrying the rolled up newspaper, and walked around the car a couple of times.  I looked all over that parking lot pavement and even got down on my knees to look underneath the car.  The breakfast crowd at Bo’s was a bit afraid of me, I think.

I opened the passenger side door and looked everywhere for that thing.  Nothing!  So, I drove to work never really knowing if the largest spider I had ever seen was dead or living at Bo’s or still living somewhere in my car.  Look, Charlotte traffic is stressful enough at that time of day even without fearing a major spider bite while driving bumper-to-bumper at 70 miles an hour.  Working for 10 hours without a break isn’t as stressful as was that morning’s drive.

So, when I safely arrived at work after seeing no signs of the spider, I approached my boss.  I looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “Look, you may fire me, but I will be damned if I’m ever again driving to work less than two hours after sunset!”

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“Go in, Moon, but don’t shoot.”  That’s not exactly what a young high school basketball player wants to hear from his coach.  But that is what mine said to me that one time when I finally got into a game.

Coach.  I just don’t think his heart was in the game.  He was some sort of a football star – in high school or college or both.  He was very big.  And he was an assistant coach on our school’s football team.  He knew football.  I guess.  He was a nice guy.  I liked him.  He was a bit intimidating, but I liked the guy.

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Coach is the big guy on the right.

And the man did have a way with words.  I will never forget one time when he gave us one of the most inspirational halftime speeches I have ever heard.  It was a pep talk to beat all pep talks.  One night at half time, we were losing badly.  We had been playing badly against a team we should have easily beaten.  Coach set us straight in the locker room at halftime.  His talk put Knute Rockne’s best to shame.  It wasn’t a sappy “Win one for the Gipper” kind of stale old speech.  Coach’s inspirational words would have made Pat O’Brien’s character proud.

This talk was so memorable and monumental and important and effective, I will try to recall, word for word, the special message my awe struck teammates and I heard that night.  Okay.  Here goes.

“It’s like you got a wuuman.  She layin’ right daya in frun ah ya.  An you ain’t gettin’ nary a bit of it.  Not nary a bit!”

I think we lost the game by 30.  It seems none of us could get the image of that “wuuman” out of our minds.

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Photo provided by Golden Eye Photographs

The best place to do it was in Daddy’s car. I did it my bedroom sometimes, but really the best place was in the ’64 Bonneville parked in the driveway. I was a young teen back then, so my dad trusted me in that car – as long as the Bonneville and I stayed in the driveway.

Last Saturday afternoon, for the first time ever, I did it in my kitchen – as a 60 year old. To be honest with you, what I did that day in the kitchen I never did in the Bonneville or in my childhood bedroom. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t back then. It wasn’t allowed. Not at my home. Not at my young age at the time. And especially not before dark.

Mostly because of Daddy, I became a die hard fan of University of North Carolina sports. I love that he did that for me, but I kind of disliked that he did it while we lived in a God-forsaken town in South Georgia at the time. Technically, we lived in Jacksonville, Florida. But back then, it was South Georgia. And South Georgia television didn’t show Carolina games when I was a kid.

The only good thing about that town at the time was that we couldgeneric cytotec online visit a newsstand in Five Points around midnight on Saturday night, buy a first edition of the Sunday Charlotte Observer and read about the Carolina football game played the afternoon before. Back then, Carolina never played night football games. They had no lights in the stadium. Most colleges did not way back then.

On the other hand, most of the Carolina basketball games were played at night. And I loved Tar Heel basketball even more than I did football. Rarely was there a need to visit Five Points News when it came to basketball. We still did it. We just really didn’t need to so much.

You see, even residents of South Georgia can, after the sun sets every night, receive radio signals from WPTF out of Raleigh and WBT out of Charlotte. It’s an FCC thing or something. Those two radio stations are allowed to boost power north and south of their transmitter after the sun goes down. And as I recall, one or the other of those two stations carried my favorite team’s football and basketball games each season during my formative years. So, when Carolina played games after sunset, I had access to at least the sounds of those games.

You understand, I only had access. And because Carolina football was only played during daylight hours, I only had access to basketball games. And even those broadcasts were shaky.

generic cytotec online no prescriptionNow, as I recall, way back then I could more clearly receive the radio signal from WPTF in my bedroom. But even then, the signal came and went. It was frustrating, to say the least. The problem was, most of the games, as I recall, were broadcast on WBT.

To listen to Carolina basketball games on WBT while living in South Georgia,generic cytotec without a precsriptions it was crucial to have the ability to move one’s radio antenna at least fifteen feet north and south from time to time. That is, if one wanted enough clear radio reception to understand the unfolding of those games I listened to. My bedroom didn’t come close to having the floor space for that. That’s where doing it in the Bonneville came in handy. Reception was directly related to the position of the antenna.

When Carolina’s junior forward, Bill Bunting, or super sophomore, Charlie Scott drove to the basket as the Bonneville was near the street, the kids scored only when the car moved to the garage. The announcer’s description of the drives themselves became just sounds of static and Pontiac engine noise. Frustrating for sure, but doable given the technology at the time.

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Provided by Golden Eye Photographs

And incredible technology it was for a young teen in love with that team.

Well, late last Saturday afternoon, before sunset and for the first time ever, I tried to do in my kitchen what I used to do in the driveway and in my bedroom all those years ago. But this time, it did not involve radio right away. I live in Charlotte now. I can sit in my basement and pick up every word spoken on WBT these days. This time, I tried to secure and WATCH a Carolina football game on ESPN3 – a source for watching games only on one’s computer. Maybe, as an older guy, I am more impatient with technology than I was as a younger one. Maybe, these days, I am too accustomed to watching the REAL ESPN on high def television. Maybe I am just a crotchety old man with a inadequate computer.


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get cytotec without prescriptionBut damn. Last Saturday, this crotchety old man began to stare uncontrollably at the status bar at the bottom of my computer screen. When the video was poor and unviewable, the status bar read, “Weak video.” But the “weak video” pictures and sounds were in real time. When the video quality read, “Strong,” the pictures were great – high def great – but the frames stuttered and the picture and sound froze often and the action and announcers lagged terribly behind reality.

Look, I can’t move my computer from the curb to the garage. I thought about unplugging the whole damned thing, driving it around the block a couple of times, bringing it back home, pluging it in again and trying again to watch the game as the new technology kind of promised me I could. But I did not.

Know what I did next? I shut down the internet. And I reverted to my childhood. I tuned into the Carolina football game on WBT, a station I now clearly receive. And I wrote this Lunar!

Honestly? I remember nothing of last Saturday’s game. But I so damned clearly remember that Bonneville, my bedroom and my dad. And I am now quite certain the best place for such stuff is my very own Charlotte kitchen.

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i want to buy pregnizone without a prescriptionThe old guy was showing off for a couple younger guys he was with the day I met him. The younger guys were trying to keep the old man from lifting anything heavy.

“I can do this!” the old man yelled at the youngsters in his finest Jack Lalanne portrayal.

They backed off and let the man do what he needed to do.

“I’m not THAT old,” he said.

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He really didn’t look that old to me, but after successfully lifting and moving his load without herniating himself, he stood straight up, puffed out his chest and proudly proclaimed, “I am sixty! Six-oh!”

“No kidding?” I said. “You really don’t look it.”

“Yep. Six-oh,” he repeated.

Then, even more proudly, he proclaimed, “And I do it at least three times a night!”

Now being sixty years old myself, that was impressive to me. Very impressive. So, naturally I reacted.

“Three times a night? Damn, man! That’s incredible! Good for you, pal!”

The old man’s face turned very serious as he turned his eyes toward mine. He said, “Nah, man. I am talking about going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. EVERY night! At least three times!”

The old guy then cut loose with the most youthful laugh I have ever heard.

Aging kind of sucks. Well – except for the laughs it so easily creates!

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