This blog post is all about me. All my posts are about me. I’m the Gloomy Boomer. All my posts are not quite so personal, however. You might be wondering why I’ve gone a week without posting a blog.

Truth is, I had a accident.

I fell off my boat.

I slipped off the flying Bridge of Scruffy

slammed my ass on the deck

bounced

Slammed my face on the stern rail

and ripped my cheek wide open.

I don’t have a picture of me with my face ripped wide open like a gutted fish cuz I was in no mood to take a selfie before driving myself to the VA hospital.

I wasn’t thinking about blogging

It was like 9 a.m. on a tuesday, last tuesday, and I was feeling good about finally getting around to working on old Scruffy when I had my stupid fall.

You take a fall you feel stupid. I don’t remember the last time I fell on my ass. Falling on my ass is not something I spend a lot of time thinking about. Falling is something Old People think about.

Because old people fall.

Yet now I’m old.

I’ve been thinking about turning seventy

Seventy means you’re OFFICIALLY old.

Don’t let’s pretend age is just a number. Age is a number. That’s it in a nutshell…

You get old your old.

No big deal.

Nothing wrong with being old.

Being a wiseguy punk with his head up his ass…plenty wrong with that.

Or being a middle-aged wise ass punk braggart can’t keep his mouth shut and likes to throw his weight around.

Plenty wrong with that.

No…you get old chances are you get better.

Your quality grows like wine.

Not always. Sometimes you get worse. Turn rancid. I’m an idealist I guess.

I like to think most people get better.

Aging molds character.

Character is all about depth. The more depth you have the more understanding you gain and before you know it you’re feeling empathy for all the saps in the world and even for a few of the punks though it gets harder feeling sorry for punks the closer they are to those two above…but the main deal is, you’re expressing gratitude.

I’m not blowing a spiritual horn here. I’m just saying. Expressing gratitude don’t mean your a weak shit.

It means you’re a survivor. You learned some things. You gained wisdom.

They oughta hand out medals to old people.

A purple heart gold star medal of honor for old farts.

I’m looking forward to turning Seventy

All last week a couple weeks I’ve been betting on making it to seventy crossing my fingers knocking on wood hoping I’ll make it to seventy without dying or fall’n on my ass and what do you know I don’t die but I fall on my ass…bounce…and slam my face against a rail.

I don’t have a before picture.

This is what I looked like after they sewed me up.

Not pretty.

Like I said I drove myself to the V.A. Hospital which is no big deal just a drive over the golden gate bridge maybe 8 miles or 10 miles through the robin williams tunnel down onto the bridge across the bridge along the coast past the palace of fine arts a bit farther no big deal…I’m surprised I made it.

V.A. Hospital patched me up.

Showed my face to the emergency room lady she hustled me in to see doctor B doctor B said no big deal we got a pair of plastic surgeons on hand they’ll patch you right up.

And they did!

Two hours of surgery and 60 stitches later and I’m good to go.

My feet on the operating table.

I could’ve had on better shoes, I guess.

My Plastic Surgeons.

Angels saved my ass.

Don’t talk down the V.A. hospital to me. Best damned care you can get anywhere on the planet. They treat a bum like me as if I’m the fucking President of the United States.

I love the V.A. Hospital.

These Angels say I’ll have a nice scar.

Battle Scar they call it.

I don’t give a shit. I’m seventy. A nice jagged ass scar will only improve my appearance. I’ll tell people I got in a knife fight. Scare off the punks.

This was last tuesday

Today is Sunday 27 August.

My birthday.

I made it to seventy.

I’m on the mend.

I’m feeling Grateful…