Fresh as canned peaches

This ain't live. It is Memorex. I suspect you have to be of  a certain age to understand that near-archaic reference. Restated, this is a canned post (I wrote it on Tuesday to be precise). I closed the store last night (Friday, stick with me, and be in the present. Today is Saturday, unless the World ended, then you won't be reading this anyway). That means I worked until 11 PM. The scheduling geniuses have me opening this morning (Saturday, keep up). Yes, I have to be at work at 6 in the ayem. I am already hard at work as you read this. I am operating on a handful of hours of sleep.  The lone bright spot is I get off by mid-afternoon.

The whole point of the opening monologue, complete with asides, is that I am free this evening to celebrate yet another trip around the sun. Yes, yes, some of you are focusing on the lesser First Day of Spring thing. I suppose you may be forgiven since my birthday has not yet received the national attention it deserves. March 20 is both, the equinox and my birthday. Two, two, two mints in one (yet another old commercial reference).

Do not fret if you failed to note the anniversary of my nativity today. There is no need to send gifts or cards. The fact I am alive and breathing is gift enough (again, I am making assumptions several days in advance. If I have croaked in the interim this whole entry seems even more silly than already in evidence) (On the other hand, if I have assumed room temperature, there is really no way for you to know other than posts will stop at some point. Probably today). Confused? Me too. 

Hopefully, I will not be too tired for the birthday nookie I anticipate this afternoon (wishful thinking on my part, certainly -- even though that is the only present I have asked for for decades). If we can scrape up the cash, I hope we will go for a cheap steak at the joint down the road. 

This post has been brought to you by the numbers five and nine. That makes me not yet sixty, so suck it oldsters.