I've begun to hope that, as I age, either (a) the people around me will begin to recognize that I have important things to say, or (b) I will begin to recognize that I don't have important things to say. If reality doesn't approach one of those outcomes, I'm envisioning some combination of a mountaintop hideout, excess facial hair, a 1200-page manifesto, and a lot of shouting at no one in particular.

In other news, our important things keep breaking, and I'm finding it increasingly irritating. In case you'd been wondering, this is why I can never bring myself to spend any of the money you've been sending for my birthday and Christmas gifts. A gas leak in the engine compartment, eh? Well, let me just plug it with these checks I've been hoarding for just such an occasion ... and they're a perfect fit! Good thing I didn't buy that Martin acoustic guitar I'd been 'saving' for: it wouldn't have fit under the alternator.

See what I did there?