Since I'm not dead yet, I'm still getting older. It's not my fault. I compensate by agitating against holding anyone's date of birth against them. No one gets to choose. (Though I'm glad that when I went swimming at Nusa Dua I was the only person on the beach, and that I got to see Jerry Garcia on pedal steel opening for the Grateful Dead.) Some people have thought me extreme, some ways, some times. Since I've never been anywhere I couldn't see people a lot further out that way than I, I'm less convinced.
OK, to be as sure as I can that you'll recognize me, beyond my lifelong devotion to my home city of Chicago, I'm the guy with the hair. Actually, at the moment, I WAS the guy with the hair, but (wait for it to come 'round on the git-tar again), that's another story. If I win The Big One in the lottery, and they ask what I'm going to do, the answer is, “Never shave again.”