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It’s a little after midnight[1], which means it’s my birthday. I would say “fucking hell, I’m 34”[2] but if I tell the truth I’d kinda thought I was already 34 last year. Haven’t really marked the years since I turned thirty. A year is a year is a year. Hardly like I’m old enough that I’m counting the days to retirement[3].

But yeah. Thought I’d mark it. In lieu of a real point, some light music.


  1. Well, it isn’t yet. It’s about half ten as I’m writing this, but I’m not going to post it until a bit after midnight.  ↩

  2. A sentiment for which most of my coworkers and co-drinkers will scoff and say “bairn”, but still.  ↩

  3. Common wisdom holds that those of my age and generation won’t ever retire. Our brain-scans will be downloaded into immortal robot bodies, so that we may work forever. According to this wisdom, I’m just forty years off being Bender.  ↩

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