OMW 2 Fitty

Ladies and gentlemen, I sit here at the outset of my 49th birthday listening to my favorites on the iHeart Radio app of my AppleTV.

 

For whatever reason, the good people at iHeart Media can remember what songs I’ve keyed as “Thumbs Up” or “You can just go fly a kite if you think I ever want to hear that aural abortion again”, but they just can’t figure out how to include the full spelling of my name when I want to play my favorites playlist.

 

Anyway, by the time you read this, I will be 49.

 

Forty nine.

 

That’s ((6 x 9) + 7).

 

It occurred to me just recently that my parents got married 50 years ago this week.  I showed up a year and a few days later.

 

That marriage only lasted 16 years and change.  The conscious uncoupling of that relationship can be looked upon all these years later as a defining moment in the life of your favorite blogger on the whole world wide web.  One can only guess what path I would have taken if Mom and Dad had stayed together beyond the time they did.

 

But I’m not really here today to expound on my theories about how coping mechanisms drive a big part of our lives.

 

At least not yet.  

 

Even still, I can’t help but feel a little awe inspired that a coupling that took place 50 years ago would lead to yours truly sitting here at the keyboard waxing poetic while cranking the volume to the guitar solo on “Wanted Dead Or Alive”.

 

If that ain’t spooky enough, consider this.

 

Mom doesn’t like cilantro.

 

Dad doesn’t like cilantro.

 

Seems like they both liken it to musty underpinnings of dirt.

 

In recent years, we’ve learned that this is due to a genetic trait in some people where their booger factories (trying to keep it clinical here) can pick up various chemicals on the cilantro that generate a soapy aftertaste for them.

 

TharpSter likes cilantro.

 

Yesterday, while dining at an establishment which “specializes” (consider that term used loosely), in various flavors of chicken wings, I sampled a flavor which invoked cilantro.

 

They were half way decent.

 

If they tasted like dirt, or soap, I can assure you it wouldn’t have been resultant of the cilantro.

 

As you usually do, you’re probably wondering where in tarnation I’m going with this rant.

 

Who knows?  Who cares?

 

The answer to both of those questions is “Me”.

 

Here’s the deal, ladies and gentlemen.

 

If you’re reading this post within 12 months of publishing, I’m less than one year to moving on to a new decade in my life which promises all types of new life changing events.

 

In that time, I could become a father-in-law or grandfather.

 

My parents and / or my dogs could graduate.

 

I could see Def Leppard five or six more times before they decide they’ve rocked, rocked, and dropped a few too many times.

 

I could see a whole gaggle of new Star Wars movies.

 

I could develop and host a series of malignant growths.

 

I could make a whole lot of smart ass comments on social networking.  

 

I could finally finish that story about the dragon I’ve been writing for the last several years.

 

I could have a heart attack.

 

I could get my garage cleaned up.

 

 

Before I do any of that though, I’m going to look back on the previous decade and reflect on what went right and what went wrong.

 

Fortunately for you, I’ll post those reflections here on the gosh darn bestest website on the whole worldwide web.

 

Stay tuned y’all.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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