I read in a magazine that some emotions I regularly experience are in fact jejune. This was announced with an air of trendspotting, the leading edge of feeling I suppose. This might present a problem, but luckily I read several magazines, covering my bets, and so switching my allegiance to a different magazine is simple, whereas I'm more or less stuck with certain pesky emotions. I wish it was the other way around. How nice to let my subscription to Stinging Regret lapse, then to ignore those plaintive entreaties, junk mail offering twelve months at a reduced rate. Won't you come back? We've missed you!

Yesterday was my birthday, or as I like to call it, "that cherished anniversary of a gift to the world." I tried to calculate how many days I've been alive, but in the end I couldn't be bothered with precisely figuring in the leap years. The number is whopping, in any case. I didn't need an exact figure to be taken aback. Upon looking at the number for several minutes, I became hyperaware of minor joint pain, patches of dry skin, and other subtle betrayals of the physical envelope.

I am entering the Age of Moisturizer. In a profound sense, every age is the age of moisturizer, of course, such are the dry times in which we live. I guess I mean The Age of Renewed Commitment to Regular Moisturizing. I feel I am transitioning into The Age of Moisturizer from the Period of Getting Away With It Just a Little While Longer.